Declan drained his glass of wine before going into the living room. Moments later I heard Cookie’s voice. I put our supper in the fridge and went to join them, Mungo trailing at my heels.
Cookie stood in the doorway. She’d changed into black slacks and a sleeveless lime-colored shell. Since she’d started working in residential real estate, she’d gotten rid of the purple—or blue, or green, depending—streak in her long black tresses. Now they tumbled down her back, the angled light bringing out just the slightest hint of red in their depths.
“Katie! Are you ready to see the absolutely most perfect place you can imagine?” She bounced a few times on the balls of her feet. “I can’t wait to show you what I found!”
I smiled and walked to the row of hooks by the French doors where our coats hung. “Sure thing. Let me grab a jacket.”
She put her hand on her hip and looked around the room. “You know, you keep this place neat as a pin, and it doesn’t really need any repair work. Is there any reason I shouldn’t go ahead and list it? I’m sure I could start showing it right away.”
The pang of impending loss that I felt every time I thought of selling the carriage house struck beneath my sternum, but I kept the smile on my face. “Let’s see how we like this new place, first. Okay? You’re right that we don’t want two mortgages, but we don’t want to be out of a place to live, either.”
As Mungo and I walked out to the yard, I heard her say something to Declan about contingencies. Ignoring them, I hurried to the dark blue Lexus she’d parked in the driveway behind my car. I couldn’t ignore her excitement, however. It fairly oozed out of her pores.
Maybe this really will be the perfect place. Maybe I’ll like it even better than the carriage house. It’s possible. I just have to keep an open mind.
Declan and Cookie chatted about a recent television series in the front seat, and Mungo and I buckled up in the back. I was grateful for their meaningless chatter, which was entertaining enough to keep my mind off the memory of Orla Black lying in Broughton Street, but unimportant enough that I didn’t feel a need to offer my own opinion.
She drove with a deft hand for someone who had for years relied on public transportation, guiding her recently purchased vehicle in and out of traffic. After a while, I realized the route was familiar. In fact, I frequently drove these streets to get to Lucy and Ben’s town house in Ardsley Park. A few minutes later, Cookie made the turn into their neighborhood.
“Are we going to the Eagels’ first?” Declan asked.
A grin broke out on her face as she met my eyes in the rearview mirror. “Nope! This is the surprise! A town house right down the block from your aunt and uncle’s place is up for sale, Katie! You always talk about how much you love their home, and I know you stayed with them for a while when you were getting the bakery going and looking for your own place.” She practically vibrated with delight. “The layout is even the same. Lots of light from those big, two-story windows in the living room, and, Declan, you can have a man cave just like Ben’s.”
“Wow” was all I could think of to say.
“Man cave,” Declan repeated. He turned to give me a questioning look as we drove by the walkway that led up to Lucy and Ben’s front door. I could tell he was trying to gauge whether I liked Cookie’s surprise.
Two blocks later, she pulled to the curb and bounded out of the car. “Come on!”
We followed her up the stone walkway more slowly. She had the front door open by the time we got there. The three of us stopped in the foyer to look around, while Mungo ran into the living room.
Yip!
His bark echoed off the bare walls and high ceiling.
The layout was, indeed, identical. The spacious kitchen was to the left, and a staircase led from the far end of the living room to the second and third floors and the rooftop above. But instead of Lucy’s dark cherrywood floor, this place had a nondescript mottled carpet. There was a white marble mantel instead of warm brick, and I could see cold granite and white cupboards in the kitchen rather than Lucy’s welcoming butcher block and glass-fronted cabinets, where she displayed her casual stoneware and rows of home-canned produce. The staircase was metal rather than wood, and the paint throughout was standard eggshell white.
But mostly, the difference was that there was no flora. Lucy had plants everywhere. She was, after all, a hedgewitch. They lined the front walk and flowed from pots on the steps. Inside, ivy twined up the brick fireplace facade, palms towered near the windows, and vines trailed from hanging planters.
“Can’t you just see yourself here?” Cookie gushed. “Of course, you’ll need new furniture. Get rid of that old stuff of yours and start all over. Maybe hire a designer. The sellers just did the kitchen over, and the baths, too.”
“Nice,” I said, noncommittally.
Declan looked over at me. “Cookie, this is a terrific place. I mean, what a nice idea, moving in so close to Ben and Lucy. And we do love their home. But I’m pretty sure Katie and I want a real yard.” He glanced down. “Mungo, too.”
She waved away his words. “Oh, I know Katie likes to garden. It’s part of her gift. But Lucy is the same way, and she has that terrific space up on the roof where she grows all her herbs and magical plants. Katie can do the same thing.”
“But I don’t—” I began.
“Sure, Lucy makes that work for her,” Declan said in an easy manner. “But you see, I like to garden, too. Katie and I put in most of those beds in her backyard before we were even officially a couple. I really enjoyed the work. I don’t think it would be the same, growing tomatoes in pots.”
A quick frown flashed across Cookie’s face, but she wasn’t giving up. “Well, let’s go upstairs. You need to see the view from the roof. It’s terrific.” There wasn’t as much bounce in her step as we went up the stairs.
I gave Declan a grateful smile. It was true that he liked to garden—he’d grown up gardening with his mother and four sisters—but his current apartment didn’t have room, either. He knew I wasn’t crazy about living in a town house, in this neighborhood or any other. And since he was so good at reading my feelings, he probably understood why.
While I adored Lucy and Ben’s place, it was because it was theirs. They’d put their own mark on it, making it cozy and welcoming, verdant and rich with texture and atmosphere. Of course, I had done the same thing with the carriage house but in my own style. And that style didn’t seem like it would translate well to this high, wide, and handsome space.
Get rid of my “old stuff” and start all over, indeed.
Also, while Lucy had created an oasis on her rooftop, with built-in planter boxes, trellises all around the exterior, and pots attached to the brick walls and wrought-iron railings, I didn’t want to do the same thing. I wanted my wending garden beds, flowing from one to the next. I wanted the little stream that cut across the corner of my backyard. I wanted to see my rowan tree grow tall and beautiful. I wanted—
Stop it. You have to give up on seeing that rowan tree mature. Can’t have everything. This town house might not be the right place, but some place will be.
“This is where Lucy has the guest room,” Cookie said on the second floor. “You can make that room on the third floor that she uses as a hobby room a guest room instead, and use this as a nursery.” She winked. “And your aunt and uncle will be close by for babysitting.”
What’s with her obsession with nurseries? Let us get hitched before we start talking about babies.
I looked at Declan with eyebrows raised. “Gosh, hon. Cookie’s thought of everything.”
“Darn straight,” she muttered as she turned to go up the stairs again.
We went out on the rooftop. The view was of stately mansions mixed in with Craftsman bungalows, punctuated by a sea of green lawns and leafy treetops. The owners had installed Astroturf and a putting green on the roof. Mungo ran out and sat by one of the tiny flags, tipping his head to the side as if to fetch any balls that came his way.
“Now, Ben would love this,” I said with a grin.
“It would be easy enough to take out,” Cookie said, knowing neither Declan nor I golfed. “You could replace it with rows of raised beds relatively inexpensively.”
“That’s true,” I agreed.
Back downstairs, I dutifully checked out the details in the kitchen and the brand-new bath. The front door had been open as we looked around, and Mungo was waiting on the step when we went back outside.
“You’re not going to buy it, are you?” Cookie’s voice was heavy with disappointment.
“Oh, sweetie,” I said, “I’m sorry. We’re the worst clients ever, aren’t we?”
She laughed. “Of course not. But you’re a challenge—that’s for sure. I’ll find something you love, though. Don’t worry.”
We got into the car. She started the engine and pulled away from the curb—in the opposite direction from home.
“There another place for sale in this neighborhood. As long as we’re here, let’s do a quick drive-by.”
“Sure,” I agreed, and Declan nodded his head.
After a few turns, she slowed in front of a three-story brick house complete with antebellum-style columns, gabled windows, a three-car garage, and a sprawling lawn. “What do you think?”
“I think we could never afford this. It’s enormous, Cookie!” I said.
She stopped smack-dab in the middle of the street and turned around in her seat so she could see both Declan and me. “Tell me again exactly what you’re looking for.”
“More space,” I said. “But not nearly this much. A yard, but not like this.”
“Garage?”
I shrugged at the same time Declan said, “That would be great.”
She listed another dozen items, and we did our best to answer. Finally, I said, “I’m sorry, Cookie. I’m still a little distracted by what happened at the bakery today.”
“Oh, gosh. Of course you are. Let’s table the house hunting for a couple of days and come back to it fresh.”
She started driving again. I looked out the window in time to see the sign for Paulsen Street going by.
“Hey, hold on,” I said.
“What is it?” Cookie asked, slowing the car.
I pulled out of my skirt pocket the receipt from the Fox and Hound that Orla had given me. I’d glanced at it after she jotted her address on the back, and sure enough, her house was less than a block away. If she hadn’t died that afternoon, I would have been there at that very moment finding out what the heck she’d seen in my future.
“Do you mind going by this address?” I read the street number.
“Oh . . .” Cookie said as she whipped a U-turn. “Remember those town houses I told you the Black family owns? That sounds like it’s one of them.”
“It’s Orla’s,” I said. “I was supposed to go see her tonight.”
Oops. But Cookie didn’t appear to put it together that I had been going to cancel our showing.
Declan frowned. “You didn’t mention that.”
“We made the arrangements right before she was killed,” I said.
“Oh.” He ran his hand over his face.
“This is it,” Cookie said, and stopped across the street. “There are six of them, connected in a row. They share a common space in the back. There’s a nice swimming pool.”
“How do you know all that?” Declan asked.
Her white teeth flashed in a smile. “I sold a house on the street behind them. There’s a fence, but it was easy enough to take a peek over the top.”
I suppressed a laugh. Sheesh. She’s getting to be as nosy as me.
The Black compound took up a whole block. The three-story town houses were constructed of gray brick, and each had a veranda rimmed with an elaborate wrought-iron railing on the top floor. Ivy crawled up the corners and spread like fingers to the middle units. The front doors on the ends were red, and in between them, bright orange-, blue-, green-, and yellow-painted doors brightened the otherwise somber building.
The blue door opened, and a stocky, dark-haired man came out. He looked to be about sixty. Two younger men followed behind. They appeared to be arguing. The older man pointed to a flatbed truck parked at the end of the block, and the taller of the others scowled but took a set of keys out of his pocket. He walked down, got into the truck, and drove away. As the other one turned to go inside with the older man, I saw it was Orla’s son-in-law, Taber.
Then the orange door opened, and a woman came out. I recognized Fern by the way she moved and the color of her hair. A girl who looked to be about ten years old ran out and took her hand. Fern ruffled the child’s brunette locks and led her over to the two men.
Right then, the older man looked over at Cookie’s car and frowned. He put his arm around Fern, gestured toward us with his chin, and led her back to the door she’d come out of. Taber followed behind. Moments later, everyone was inside, and we were left staring at curtained windows.
“Any idea who those guys were?” I asked Cookie.
She shook her head. “I don’t know any of them.”
“The woman is Orla’s daughter,” Declan said, catching my eye.
“She’s quite beautiful,” Cookie said, putting the car in gear and pulling away.
“And that must have been Orla’s granddaughter, Nuala,” I mused.
Silence descended in the car on the way home, each of us thinking our own thoughts. Mine kept going back to the book Orla had bought at the Fox and Hound. I turned over the receipt I still held in my hand and scanned the front. Beside me, Mungo leaned over to take a look, too. I shifted the paper so he could see, then mentally chided myself. Still, I wouldn’t have been entirely surprised if my familiar could read.
Apparently, Orla had asked Croft to order another book for her and had prepaid for it when she’d picked up the book for Nuala. It was a guide to the best places to live in northern California. Had Orla planned to move away from Savannah? Or was it a gift for someone else?
Back at the carriage house, I invited Cookie in to share our light supper.
“No, thanks. Oscar made up a mess of Dominican braised chicken and stewed beans. I need to get going.”
“Sounds delish,” I said, and got out of the Lexus. “See you soon.”
She waved out the window as she drove away. Declan and I headed inside for our own meal and an early night. At least for one of us.
• • •
Declan snored quietly in the bedroom. Not quite ready for sleep, I settled on the couch near the floor lamp. I picked up the first of two books on the cushion beside me.
Maeve, Traveler Girl was aimed at middle-grade readers and was an easy skim. It told the tale of an eleven-year-old girl who was born into a family of travelers in Connemara, Ireland. She grew up moving from place to place in a caravan, discriminated against by the “settled,” and being educated by her mother and older sister. Then the family made the move to the United States, and themselves “settled” in northern Florida.
I’d heard of Irish Gypsies, and Maeve’s fictional journey made me want to know more. However, the story focused on her family relationships and having to overcome the difficulty of getting used to a new country after a very rural existence in 1950s Ireland, rather than the history and details of her subculture.
Mimsey seemed to know about Orla’s connection to the travelers. Perhaps she can tell me more.
I put that book aside to take to Fern later and picked up the volume that one of the spellbook club members had brought into the Honeybee library, Telling Fortunes for Fun and Profit. A quick look at the table of contents revealed an extensive list of possible methods of divination, including tarot, runes, palm reading, pendulums, dowsing, dreams, dice, tea leaves, and crystal balls.
The sections on tarot and scrying with a crystal ball made me think of the cards Orla’s client had furiously swept to the ground and the clear glass sphere the fortune-teller had pushed aside to do her reading. They also reminded me of Jaida’s expertise in tarot reading and Mimsey’s shew stone. Jaida preferred the classic Rider-Waite deck for spell work but had a collection of unique and beautiful decks for her own use. And Mimsey’s shew stone looked like something out of a bad movie, but it did the job. It was a polished pink quartz sphere atop a rather gaudy bronze stand studded with what looked like glass jewels but were real precious gems.
Still, the idea that you could simply look at a spread of cards or into a chunk of crystal and see your future, or anyone else’s, wasn’t exactly how it worked in real magical divination. It was more like murky hints and hazy visions ripe for interpretation. Being able to accurately make those interpretations turned out to be as much a part of the Craft as invoking elemental forces in the course of casting a spell. The others in the spellbook club had been schooling me for two years, but I was still lousy at it. I’d had a little luck with a dowsing rod Lucy had given me, but I didn’t know how to use it to find out what Orla had been going to tell me about my own future.
But I have tarot cards. I can at least see what they say.