by Amy Boyles
Carmen tapped the top of the pie with her fork. “This is my recipe. I can tell by the hint of orange in it. It’s one I liked, but eventually decided not to pursue because I could never get the spices quite right. It has a touch of star anise, orange zest, nutmeg, cinnamon, allspice and cardamon. It’s my recipe all right.”
She studied us one by one before finishing with, “The Sweet Witch stole my pumpkin pie recipe. Lori Lou is selling it as her own.”
FOUR
“My magical recipe Rolodex was hacked a few weeks ago. At first I thought it was a mistake, that I just imagined it, but now I’m positive.”
We sat in the back of Carmen’s shop, drinking coffee. Amelia and Cordelia were squeezed into a booth, and I sat in chair. Mattie the Cat lay curled on the floor beside us. She had her eyes closed, but she didn’t fool me. That cat wasn’t napping; she was zeroing in on everything we said.
“Your magical recipe Rolodex?” I said.
Carmen waved a hand, and what looked like a fiery golden cookbook appeared. She flicked her wrist and the book opened, revealing recipe card after card. They flipped like a book. I don’t know why Carmen called it a Rolodex.
But heck, I wasn’t going to argue.
Carmen pumped her palm, and the recipes stopped flipping. They landed on a page titled Zingy Pumpkin Pie.
“This is it,” Carmen said. “This is the recipe that was stolen. I wasn’t sure with the first bite, but after a couple I know it’s the one that thief took. You can’t replicate those flavors. Why would you try?”
“It does make a good pie,” Amelia said. “It’s different.”
Carmen’s mouth coiled into a sad smile. “That’s also how I know it’s mine.” She paused, tapped her mouth and straightened. “Well, they’re not going to get away with this. You can’t steal a witch’s recipe and not expect consequences. You just can’t. That’s wrong.”
She clapped her hands, and the recipe Rolodex disappeared. Carmen gazed out the window of Marshmallow Magic to the Sweet Witch. “One way or another, that witch is going to pay.”
“Wow, I have never seen Carmen like that,” I said.
“Me neither,” Amelia added.
We went back to Familiar Place. Since the great Magnolia Cove Thanksgiving Turkey Hunt was going to start soon, I decided to lock up shop.
After all, the entire town would be consumed with hunting and pecking for frozen turkeys because that was their crazy tradition.
I followed my cousins to the park behind Bubbling Cauldron. It was a meadow that spread behind the courthouse. Magnolia and poplar trees sprinkled the grounds. Far in the corner sat a small pond. It was so pretty. The leaves had all turned at this point. Most of them had fallen except for a few stragglers.
I zipped my jacket to my chin and punched my hands into my pockets. Mattie wound around my legs.
“Don’t trip me.”
“I’m trying to stay warm,” she said. “This place is cold.”
“You need a sunbeam,” I said.
“Here, you can rest in my arms,” Cordelia said.
Amelia and I exchanged confused looks as Mattie jumped into Cordelia’s arms and snuggled tight. Never, and I mean never, had we witnessed Cordelia giving any kind of love to an animal. She never even planted sugar on their heads.
By sugar, I mean a kiss.
The entire park had been roped off with brown and green ribbon. Most of the town surrounded it, waiting patiently for the ribbon to be cut.
“Aren’t y’all excited?”
I glanced over my shoulder to see Idie Claire Hawker, town gossip and hairstylist, standing next to me, grinning from ear to ear.
“Excited about the hunt?” I said.
Idie plumped her hair that was teased to heaven. “Yes, it’s just so much fun. And with that new baker in town, leaving her pies for us to find, this should be a winner.”
“Sure,” I said.
Betty Craple appeared over a grassy knoll, flaring to life like a phoenix rising from the ashes.
Her fists were clenched tight and her lips zipped so hard I thought the extra pressure might make her head pop slap off her neck.
“What’s going on?” I said when she reached us.
“That woman is causing more mayhem than a prostitute in church.”
“Shouldn’t prostitutes be allowed in church? They’re people, too,” Amelia said.
Amelia withered under Betty’s glare. “Don’t you be back talking me, young lady. These pies are causing all kinds of problems.”
“What kind of problem?” I said.
“Just look at those people over there; they’re barely staying behind the ribbon.”
I glanced at a cluster of townsfolk under a copse of maples. They gripped the ribbon. White knuckles flashed in the sunshine.
“It’ll be fine,” I said.
Betty scoffed. “Someone’s going to get hurt.”
I scanned the crowd, and for the briefest of moments I wished Axel was standing beside me. I had loved attending town events with him. It was fun hearing him explain the ins and outs of town dynamics.
Now all I had was Betty crab appling about how her event was ruined because Lori Lou had hijacked it.
Of course, Lori Lou had also stolen Carmen’s recipe. According to Carmen, that is.
“You thief!”
Everything stopped. All of us turned. I cringed. Actually I didn’t just cringe; my stomach twisted into a pretzel and then plummeted past my feet to the center of the earth.
Carmen stood on the outskirts of the circle, confronting Lori Lou.
“You stole my pumpkin pie recipe and are selling it off as your own!”
Lori clutched her pearls. Her face twisted into a horrified expression. “I would never do anything like that!”
“You did and I’ll prove it,” Carmen shouted.
Cordelia nudged Betty. “Time to start.”
With a light of triumph in her eyes, Betty waddled over to the small platform that doubled as her stage. She tapped the microphone.
“Ladies and gentlemen.”
Carmen and Lori Lou parted, but not before my cousin shot the newcomer a hideous glance.
Everyone turned their attention to Betty. I scanned the crowd.
“Everyone’s here,” I whispered to Amelia.
“Yep. The mayor, all the store owners.”
I nodded toward a spot catty-corner from us. “There’s moonshine guy, Parker Moody, and even Dicky.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Dicky?”
“You want me to fix y’all up?” Cordelia popped her head between us.
Amelia retreated. “No, why would I want that?”
“I don’t know. He’s cute, rich, available.”
“You don’t know he’s available,” Amelia said.
Cordelia clicked her tongue. “I didn’t see a ring.”
Mattie blinked from her spot in Cordelia’s arms. “Ain’t no ring, sugar. Means no wife. He’s free for the taking. Though you might not want him.”
“He’s not a moon pie or a GooGoo Cluster,” I said. “He’s a person.”
Amelia stared at Cordelia. “You’re being too nice.”
Cordelia shrugged in response.
Amelia prodded. “You hate Dicky.”
Cordelia ignored her.
Betty was almost finished. “Mayor, if you’ll cut the ribbon, I’ll sound the alarm and the twentieth annual Magnolia Cove Turkey Hunt will begin!”
The mayor swiped a hand over his silver hair. Wielding a huge pair of silver shears, he cut the ribbon. Betty brought her fingers to her lips and whistled so high it hurt.
“Ow.” I plugged my ears to keep the drums from popping.
“Let the hunt begin,” Betty shouted.
And they were off. A couple of hundred people flooded the meadow, sprinting for frozen turkeys.
Frozen turkeys, y’all.
Now if it had been a princess-cut diamond in a platinum band, I would’ve knocked folks over to
find it.
Of course, I would’ve needed a guy to put the ring on my finger, and Axel was nowhere to be found. I fished my phone from my purse and checked the screen.
No phone calls, same as the last three weeks. Well, no phone calls from him, anyway.
I sighed and dropped it back inside. Amelia shouldered me. “You want to see if we can find a turkey?”
I shrugged. “Sure. As long as we don’t get trampled by folks, that is.”
“I’ll protect y’all,” Mattie said, yawning.
“From what? A pack of mice?”
She pawed her whiskers. “Sounds about right.”
“I’ll come too,” Cordelia said.
We traipsed the meadow. A few people already held turkeys and pies high in victory.
“It’s always nice to win a turkey the day before Thanksgiving,” Amelia said. “Gives a person a sense of accomplishment.”
Cordelia opened her mouth and shut it tight.
Amelia fisted a hand to her hip. “What?” she said dramatically. “What were you going to say?”
Cordelia tucked a long strand of blonde hair behind her ear. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”
“Yes, you were,” Amelia stated. “You were going to say something mean. I know you were.”
Cordelia sighed and shot me a look full of resignation. “Fine. I was going to say something smart about the fact that I’m sure, yeah, finding a hidden turkey in a bush gives a witch a real sense of accomplishment. It’s nothing like creating a spell that clears up your eczema or mends a broken leg.”
Amelia pressed her fingers to her forehead. “All I meant was that it’s a nice thing. Why do you have to be such a meanie all the time?”
Cordelia inhaled a staggering breath. Y’all, I’m not kidding. She sucked air so loud I could hear the rumble in her throat. She glared at Amelia.
“I’m trying to be nice, get it? Nice. I’m trying to be helpful and kind. It’s the freaking holiday of giving thanks, and I’m trying to give, here. I stopped myself from saying it, but you’re the one who pushed me to speak. You realize that, right?”
Amelia shrank back. “Okay,” she whimpered.
“Sheesh. Can’t a person be nice when they want to?”
Amelia punched her hands into her jacket pockets. “Yes. Sorry I questioned you. Let’s go find a turkey.”
Most of the crowd had veered left, running and chasing the ever elusive hidden bird and pie. I pointed to a small koi pond. “There’s a turkey in the bushes back there. Let’s go see if someone found it.”
“Can I have the gizzard?” Mattie said.
My gaze darted to her. “You want the gizzard raw?”
“No, sugar bear. I want y’all to cook it up good and crispy and then place it delicate like in my bowl.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
We rounded the bushes. “I think Betty stuck it behind that tree.”
Mattie sprang from Cordelia’s arms. “What’s that smell?”
The cat bounded into the trees, skirting behind a four-foot-wide trunk.
“What smell?” I said.
“Blood,” Mattie said. “I smell blood.”
“I don’t smell blood,” Amelia said.
Cordelia shot me a hard look. I knew she wanted to say something smart, was dying to, so I did it for her.
“Cats have better smell than we do, Amelia. If Mattie’s picked up the scent of blood, it’s true.” I walked around a tree. “Where’s the blood coming from?”
Mattie’s voice drifted to me from a couple of trees away. “It’s coming from right here.”
The three of us rounded the oaks, coming to a stop at Mattie’s feet. Amelia screamed.
“Looks like we found the last turkey,” Cordelia said.
Splayed out beside a frozen Butterball was the lifeless body of Lori Lou Fick. The giant ribbon-cutting scissors were punched squarely through her throat. Lori Lou’s lifeless eyes stared at the blue sky as she clutched a turkey with a clawlike grip.
Amelia pulled her fingers from her lips. “Gosh. I guess that wasn’t an accident, was it?”
Cordelia shook her head. “Nope. Ladies, looks like we’ve got a Thanksgiving murder on our hands.”
Great. Just when I was hoping that we’d have a quiet holiday, it looked like my dreams were getting thrown out the door and sucked into a witch-nado.
“You thank someone didn’t like her pie?” Mattie said.
I shook my head. “No. I think someone wanted her dead.”
FIVE
Garrick Young, the town sheriff and Cordelia’s boyfriend, swooped in and cordoned off the body.
Garrick was tall and lean, and wore a thick brown belt on his low-slung jeans. He also wore the official uniform of the Magnolia Cove Police—a wide-brimmed fedora and long leather duster.
Don’t ask me why, but that’s what the police wore. I think they wanted to pretend they were Hugh Jackman in Van Helsing.
“So y’all didn’t see anything?” Garrick said, his brown eyes lighting on me, my cousins and Mattie the Cat.
“Not a thing,” Cordelia said. “We came across her when we were looking for a turkey.”
Garrick pinched his hat’s brim and slid his fingers across it. “I heard Carmen Craple and Lori Lou got into it right before the hunt.”
“Oh yes,” Amelia offered. “Carmen accused Lori Lou of stealing her pumpkin pie recipe. Carmen’s been ticked because the Sweet Witch is taking all her customers.”
“Really?” Garrick said with a heavy dose of police interest.
I shot Amelia a scathing look. Her gaze darted to me; then she gulped loudly. “I mean, I think Carmen was ticked. You know, now that I recall, I’ve never really seen our cousin angry.” She turned to us. “Have y’all?”
“No. Nope,” we said.
He tapped his fingers against his hips. “Good try. I’ll be talking to her. Don’t worry, seems like several folks were ticked at Lori Lou.”
“Why?” I said, hoping that Garrick would divulge police business mainly because I didn’t want to see Carmen in trouble. I mean, I know my cousin was royally annoyed by Lori Lou, but not enough to kill.
Right?
Garrick laughed. “Now what in tarnation makes you think I’m going to be sharing that?”
“Our good looks?” I said cheerfully.
“Think again. Now y’all run along. I’m sure you’ve got lots of preparing to do for dinner tomorrow.”
We stalked back across the meadow. A crowd had gathered on the outskirts of the yellow police tape. I saw Becky Ray, Lori Lou’s sister, on the edge of the tape. My chest seized.
I mean, I was pretty sure it was Becky Ray. She was the only person wearing a chef’s hat when she should’ve been wearing normal, everyday clothing in strong fall colors.
The poor woman’s sister was dead. Dead. Thanksgiving was tomorrow. It was just horrible.
Without thinking, I quickly crossed the field and threw my hands around her neck.
Becky Ray was stiff as a board. However, she wasn’t light as a feather, if you know what I mean. “I’m so sorry about your sister.”
I released my grip. Becky wiped tears away with the heel of her hand. “My only sister.”
“Listen, I don’t know what you’re doing tomorrow, but if you want to, come to our house for dinner. I know it won’t be the same, but you can’t be alone.”
“I have Collinsworth,” she said. Becky had a really deep voice, almost gravelly. She was also thickly built, reminding me of a boxer or an ultimate fighting champion.
“We’d love to have you both.”
Becky Ray frowned but didn’t say anything other than, “Thank you.”
I rejoined my cousins and explained about inviting Becky Ray to dinner. Both of them thought it was the right thing to do. As we were walking back, I realized I’d forgotten to turn off the lights in Familiar Place.
“I’ve got to run by the store and shut off the lights. Y’all going straight home
?”
Amelia scoffed. “Sure as heck we are. It’s Thanksgiving Eve. Betty’ll be in a tizzy about the meal, plus the fact that she has to make the chicken poulet.”
“Chicken poulet?” I said. “What’s that?”
Cordelia rolled her eyes. “It puts Betty in an ugly mood every year, is what it is.”
“That explains it,” I said.
“What Cordelia means to say is that it’s the most amazing dish ever. It’s dressing and chicken and milk and eggs. Basically it’s chicken cooked in dressing but the recipe is foolproof—you can’t screw it up. The dressing won’t be too dry and it won’t be flavorless because you use good old Pepperidge Farm straight from the bag. But because it’s the only dressing-like thing she makes on Thanksgiving, it always freaks her out and she gets all wound up. It’s horrible.”
Cordelia nodded. “That sounds about right.”
“And Axel loves it,” Amelia said, smiling. She stopped, closed her eyelids tight. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”
I raised my palm. “It’s okay. He exists. He existed. We can talk about him.”
“But he ripped out your heart and threw it on the ground,” Amelia said in her exuberantly optimistic way that made it hard for me to want to witch-slap her.
“Amelia,” Cordelia warned.
Amelia’s eyes widened. “I’m sorry, did I say something wrong?”
“Almost everything,” Cordelia said.
“It’s okay, really. It’s fine. I’m okay. Getting by day by day.”
“Has he called?” Amelia said.
Cordelia yanked her by the arm. “Let’s go. We can talk to Pepper about this another time—not right after witnessing Lori Lou scissored to death.”
“Ew, why’d you have to put it like that?” Amelia said. “That’s so gross.”
Cordelia waved. “We’ll see you at the house.” She dragged our cousin down the street. I could still hear Amelia protesting as they disappeared onto the next block.
Mattie blinked at me from the ground. “Well, sugar bear, come on. Let’s go shut off those lights.”
I raked my fingers through my hair, snagging on a knot along the way. “You sure you don’t want to go home?”
