As soon as I stepped out to gather the tubs of dirty dishes from the busing station by the reading area, I heard a familiar voice and looked up.
Steve Dawes and Angie Kissel were standing by the coffee counter. They’d been dating ever since I’d cleared her of murder in November. I’d met both Steve and Declan within days of moving to Savannah, and I had to admit that for a while I’d been very attracted to the blond-haired, brown-eyed reporter for the Savannah Morning News. Not to mention, he was a druid and still maintained that he’d known I was a witch even before I did. Maybe he was right. Either way, he’d pursued me for months, even after I’d chosen to date Declan exclusively. Indeed, Steve had crossed a few lines to try to get his way, and while I was willing to forgive, I wasn’t dumb enough to forget.
His excuse was that we were supposed to be together because we both practiced magic. Well, it turned out Angie did, too. In fact, she’d been Mungo’s former witch before he’d become my familiar. It made for some complicated emotions when she and Steve were around, but mostly I was just glad that Steve and Angie had found each other.
Ben started up the espresso machine, and I knew he was making Steve’s dry cappuccino. I’d never seen him drink anything else. It looked like Angie had opted for a simple Americano and a raspberry muffin.
With her elfish features, petite build, and dark spiked hair, Angie wouldn’t have looked out of place in The Lord of the Rings. Steve gazed down at her with warm adoration. I remembered being on the receiving end of that look, and a slight pang went through my sternum at seeing it directed at her. Funny, I hadn’t been upset when Steve had been engaged for a short time. I’d been concerned, of course. Samantha had obviously been wrong for him. I mean, I knew something was off about her. And I’d been right.
But Steve hadn’t ever looked at her like that, I realized with a jolt. He and Angie were the real deal.
Good. It’ll keep them both out of my hair. Steve’s persistence was nice for the ol’ ego, but remember that it was a pain in the patootie, too.
Besides, I’d chosen Declan. And I was happy that I had. More than happy.
I heard Cookie’s voice in my mind. Choice always comes with sacrifice. It’s the way of the world.
Well, that was one sacrifice I’d make over and over again. Even now, a year and a half after Declan and I had been together, hearing the sound of his voice or seeing him walk into a room made my pulse quicken and my heart smile. It was one of the reasons I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him.
I could only hope I’d feel half as good about the sacrifice Orla had predicted.
Angie looked up and saw me. “Oh my! Katie, are you all right? We heard what happened. Have you been crying?” A worried frown creased her face.
I smiled. “It’s just allergies. The medication has kicked in, though. I’ll stop sniffling any minute.”
“You sure?” Steve asked, his voice deep with concern.
Angie gave him a sharp look, and Ben gave me one. Always Declan’s advocate, he didn’t care for Steve.
“Yup. Just fine.” I changed the subject. “How’re things with you guys?”
Steve ignored the question. “So, this accident out front—as Angie said, we heard what happened. Then I learned that the victim was a fortune-teller.” He quirked an eyebrow. “Are you at it again?”
I debated for a moment, then moved closer. “The police are calling it an accident.”
Steve and Angie exchanged a look. “That doesn’t exactly answer his question,” she said.
I licked my lips. At least I didn’t have to explain myself to these two. “There are a few aspects to what happened that make me think it wasn’t an accident at all.”
Angie’s eyes grew round. “Murder?” she whispered.
“It’s possible. I’m trying to find out.”
“Is there anything we can do to help?” Steve asked.
I thought for a moment. “Don’t suppose you know anything about Black and Sons Concrete.”
Steve grinned. “Not yet.”
I couldn’t help grinning back as Ben handed him his drink.
The two lovebirds went to find a seat, and I turned toward the reading area again. A woman sat curled in one of the poufy brocade chairs, a steaming cup in her hand and a half-eaten blackberry thyme muffin on a plate beside her. Her head was bent over the book in her lap, but when she raised it to take another bite, I recognized Vera Smythe.
Surprised, I went over to her. “Hi there. Looks like you enjoyed that muffin enough to stop in and get another.”
She blinked, then recognized me. “Oh, they’re delicious.”
I saw the book that had captured her attention. What to Expect When You’re Expecting a Divorce. My heart sank.
She saw me looking and tucked the book down in the cushion next to another one, whose title I couldn’t make out. A wan smile played on her lips. “This place is lovely. I’m so glad you told me about it. And all these books are really here for the taking?”
“Absolutely.” I nodded. “If you have something you want to donate, that’s fine, but it’s not required.”
“What a handy thing to have in a bakery. I’ll certainly be back.”
That loud voice I knew so well came floating over from the register. “I forgot to ask when I was in before! When is Cookie’s little darlin’ due?” Mrs. Standish boomed.
“I’ll leave you to your reading,” I said to Vera before hurrying over to help Lucy.
“Mrs. Standish!” I exclaimed. “Fancy seeing you here twice in one day!”
“Oh, Lord, Katie. I couldn’t stay away. I simply must have another half dozen of those chocolate chip cookies I picked up this morning. They are something else! So good that I finished off the first six before Skipper Dean even got a taste.” She was referring to her paramour, a short, slight man who managed her excesses with remarkable aplomb. She waggled her eyebrows. “And I wouldn’t want to deny the skipper such a treat.”
“Let me wrap them up for you.” Lucy reached for a bag with the Honeybee logo of a stylized tabby cat on the side.
“Now,” Mrs. Standish said to me. “I understand the other day there was an accident out front.”
I made a face and nodded.
“Did you see it?”
Lucy frowned and silently began retrieving Mrs. Standish’s cookies from the display case.
Mrs. Standish was nice as pie, but she did have a salacious streak. Over her shoulder, I saw Steve and Angie watching. Wisely, they were staying out of the conversation.
“It was tragic,” I said flatly.
“Oh, heavens. Yes, tragic. Horrible, horrible.”
“I’d just seen the woman who was killed the evening before,” Vera said from behind me.
I turned to see her clutching the two books she’d chosen.
“She had a booth down on River Street,” she said. “She read my fortune.”
“Really! Oh, my goodness,” Mrs. Standish exclaimed. “Do you think it will come true?”
For a moment, I thought Vera was going to cry. Then she rallied. “It already has.”
Ugh. Poor thing.
“Well, I must be going,” Vera said. “I’ll be back, though.”
“Glad to hear it,” I said.
She began to leave but stopped herself. Digging in her purse, she extracted a card and handed it to me. “Give the salon a call next time you’re looking for a haircut. We can help with those eyebrows, too. See you later.” She walked to the door and pushed it open.
I stared after her, then turned to Lucy. “What’s wrong with my eyebrows?”
“Nothing, honey. Your eyebrows are lovely.”
Mrs. Standish peered into my face. “Well, that left one is a little shaggy. Might as well take the woman up on her offer.”
I felt my face grow warm. Had Steve and Angie heard? They didn’t seem to be paying attention.
“Here you go, dear.” Lucy held out a bag to Mrs. Standish.
The other woman took it and said conspiratorially, “I must ask—what on earth makes a simple chocolate chip cookie taste like something the angels sent down from heaven?”
I looked around as if the walls might have ears. “You promise you won’t tell?”
She made a zipping motion over her lips.
Leaning close, I whispered, “We brown the butter that goes into the batter.”
“Oh!” She shuddered with delight. “That’s ingenious.” Beaming, she paid Lucy and said good-bye.
“You know she’s going to tell everyone our secret now,” my aunt said.
“Probably. Better than obsessing over Cookie’s ‘bun in the oven,’ though.”
Lucy laughed.
“Or giving me grooming advice,” I grumbled.
• • •
We closed the bakery at five, and Ben got ready to leave. “I’m stopping by Sweet Spice to grab my supper, then spending the whole evening camped in front of the television watching the Braves,” he said with a grin.
“I’m jealous,” I said. “I love their food.” Sweet Spice had fantastic Caribbean dishes.
Lucy gave him a kiss. “Enjoy yourself, my love. I’ll be home in a few hours, and Colette will be with me. We’ll be sure not to disturb you.”
He gazed down at his wife with evident adoration. “Don’t be silly. I forgot she was coming over. Do you want me to pick up some extra food for you?”
Her eyes danced. “Well, if you insist. How about some jerk chicken?”
“You’ve got it,” he said.
Bianca and Colette came in then.
“Hello, young lady,” Ben said to Colette. “I understand you’ll be spending part of the evening with us.”
“Yes, sir. My mother has a hot date.”
Bianca bit her lip to keep from laughing.
My uncle, on the other hand, didn’t hold back. “Ha! Well, you’re in luck, because I’m cooking tonight. And that means takeout from Sweet Spice. How does some jerk chicken sound?”
“Actually, I prefer their curried shrimp,” the little girl said.
Ben raised his eyebrows. “All righty, then. I’ll see you two ladies after your egg-dyeing party.” He kissed Lucy again and left.
Margie and the JJs were the next to arrive. “Hi, Katie! Hi, Lucy!” the twins said in unison as soon as they came in the door. They grinned up at me, identical eyes bright and their cheeks tan from running around in the sunshine. White blond hair like Margie’s stuck out from under Jonathan’s baseball cap, while Julia’s was drawn back into a ponytail that bounced every time she moved her head.
“Hey, guys.” I gestured to a big table in the corner. “You can toss your stuff over there. Everyone can.”
The entrance bell jingled. We turned to see Ginnie Black and Nuala in the doorway. Nuala’s eyes were wider than ever in her thin face as she looked around at the group.
“Come on in,” I said. “We’re just about to get started.”
Lucy took a step but then hung back as Bianca’s daughter walked over to the newcomers. “Hi, Ms. Black,” Colette said.
Ginnie nodded. “It’s good to see you. How’s third grade going?”
“Okay. I like my teacher.” She turned to the older girl. “Hi. I’m Colette. You must be Nuala.” The way she said it, she might have been the older of the two.
Nuala nodded. “Hi.”
“Don’t be scared. Everyone’s real nice. And Katie and my mom—” She pointed. “That’s my mom. Her name’s Bianca. She told me you were coming. Anyway, they have all sorts of fun stuff set up in the back.”
“Okay,” Nuala said with a little smile.
“Have you ever been in the kitchen of a professional bakery?”
“Huh-uh.”
“It’s pretty cool. Come on.” The two girls went into the kitchen. They could have been sisters from the back, with their slight figures and dark hair.
Jonathan and Julia exchanged glances, nodded at each other, and followed.
“Well, I guess Colette took care of her own introductions,” I said with a smile. Ginnie had been watching her niece with an indulgent smile. Now she said, “She’s a good kid. A gem in class, and smart as they come.”
My eyes cut to Bianca. Quiet pride shone on her face.
I introduced Margie to Ginnie, and they exchanged pleasantries as we followed the kids back to the egg-dyeing stations.
“Okay, everyone,” I said. “Over there in the corner, we have natural colors set up. Here in front, the regular egg dyes from the store. Then at this end, lots of decorations for the eggs once they’re dry.” I walked over to another counter. “And we have some other experiments to try here.”
Colette and Nuala craned their necks to see.
“I thought we could try some tie-dye and marbling,” I explained. “Now, everyone grab an apron and put it on. Don’t worry about staining them—I chose them just for tonight.”
“Green,” Jonathan said.
I turned toward him. “Sure. We have green dye.”
“That’s all I want. Green. Lots and lots of green eggs. All colors of green.”
Lucy’s head tipped to the side, and I could tell she was amused. “How come?”
“For the ham.”
Margie said, “He rediscovered Dr. Seuss on National Reading Day a few months ago.”
My aunt’s face cleared. “Of course. Sam-I-am. Okay, buddy. Let’s go get you set up with some green dye. How about making some of the eggs striped?”
Jonathan nodded, the picture of seriousness. “That would be good. As long as they’re green.”
Margie rolled her eyes and led Julia over to the cups of dye mixed with vinegar that I’d already set up. Nuala and Colette had already started dunking eggs in the metallic versions. Vaguely, I recalled my magpie stage as a tween, when I loved anything that shone or shimmered.
“You said you have some natural dyes?” Ginnie asked. “I’ve seen eggs dyed with green or black tea. Like that?”
I nodded and waved her over to the corner. “Like that, only with a few other colors. I did brew up some tea, and I like the results, I guess. Only . . . they’re kind of dull.”
She peered over my shoulder at the eggs I’d already dipped a few times. “They look like they came from the farmers’ market. Like eggs actual chickens would lay.”
“Right. That’s it. They’re white eggs that look like brown eggs now, or those green-blue eggs Araucana chickens lay. No wonder they don’t seem like Easter eggs.”
“Well, Araucanas are also called Easter egg chickens,” she said.
I looked at her sideways.
She shrugged. “My mom grew up on a farm.”
“And your dad?” I asked, stirring the mess of purple cabbage leaves that were soaking in hot water and vinegar. They were supposed to give off a blue dye. Weirdly, the red onion skins produced a green color once the vinegar was added.
“Detroit,” she said. “Three generations of automobile workers on that side.”
Putting an egg into a wire holder, I said, “So you’re not part of . . . the . . . uh . . .”
Ginnie balanced an egg in another holder, then dunked it into a yellow-orange mixture of turmeric and paprika. “The ‘family’? Nope. I’m the black sheep of the Black family. Of my own as well. My parents acted like marrying Finn was the same as running off and joining the circus or something.”
“Well,” I said, treading carefully. She seemed willing to talk about her in-laws, but I didn’t want to alienate her. “They do have, er, circuslike aspects to them.”
I needn’t have worried that she’d take offense, because she laughed. “You mean the sideshows? Ventriloquism and unicycles, shell games and”—she sighed—“fortune-telling. Poor Orla.”
“Poor Orla,” I echoed, remembering how her face had lit up when she spoke of Nuala. I dipped my egg into the pink dye I’d made from crushed amaranth flowers.
“As if I didn’t earn my spending money in college with a magic act,” Ginnie said. “They sure didn’t seem to mind that.”
“Who?”
“My parents,” she said. “That’s how I met Finn. In Florida.”
I must have looked confused, because she said, “The magic act. I worked onstage a bit, but I had a street show, too. Made more money working the tourists, you know.”
Magic . . .
I sent out a few tendrils of intuition but didn’t get a hint of any unusual magical power. That didn’t mean she wasn’t developing abilities in the Craft. Could she have killed Orla somehow in the process of a spell? On purpose or even by accident like when I’d almost killed Declan? I considered my next words carefully.
“Magic, huh. So you’re some kind of sorcerer or witch?”