After retrieving my Volkswagen Beetle from the parking garage, I wended my way through the precise squares of Savannah’s historic district and continued down Abercorn Street toward Midtown. As I drove, I mulled over the evening’s events. My conversation with Quinn had intensified my misgivings about getting involved in Leigh Markes’ death.
Murder, I reminded myself. Even if only a few people knew that so far.
One of whom was her killer.
If Teddy was telling the truth.
I shook my head, remembering the haunted expression on Teddy’s face when she spoke of her ability. The shy flutter of her eyelashes when she first admitted to it and the shame that rolled off her as we spoke hurt my heart. Hers was a stunning talent, but I also understood the weight that carried. When I’d been told I was a hereditary witch, I’d resisted for a while but then embraced my gift with everything that I was. It explained why I’d felt alone and out of place for most of my life, why I’d never fit in. Learning about what made me a little different had opened a world of friendship and belonging I’d only dreamed of.
Then when the spellbook club discovered I was also a catalyst, meaning things kind of happened more around me than other people, it had explained why since moving to Savannah I’d found myself involved in a ridiculous number of homicide cases for someone not in law enforcement. However, when I’d been told—by a witch hunter and police detective, no less—that I was a lightwitch, I’d rebelled. Because he’d told me I was destined to right magical wrongs, I’d felt I didn’t have a choice. According to him, I hadn’t. Since then, and with the help of my coven mates, I’d come to realize that I could, of course, choose whether or not to answer when I was called.
This situation was one of those. Though I could choose to walk away and a big part of me wanted to, I wouldn’t.
Not when Teddy LaRue was Gregory’s goshdaughter. Not after seeing the pleading look on her face. Not after the actual murder victim asked for my help.
Okay, demanded. Still.
Suppressing a shudder, I turned my thoughts to how I might go about finding out more about Leigh’s life, because by now I’d learned the only way to figure out how someone died was to figure out how they’d lived.
“Mungo, I sure wish you were here right now to bounce things off of,” I murmured under my breath. My familiar didn’t say much, but he was an invaluable help when I was trying to arrange my thoughts and emotions. Any other night, he’d be strapped into the passenger seat of the Bug, watching me with earnest eyes as I laid it all out for him in my messy, stream-of-consciousness manner. Tonight, he was probably on the sofa in the loft with Declan and Uncle Ben, sleeping off his supper of brisket and ribs.
Ben’s pickup was parked at the curb in front of the carriage house when I pulled into the driveway. My husband’s even larger truck would be parked inside the new garage, alongside the bench and collection of woodworking tools he’d been adding to once we had the extra room for his burgeoning hobby. It had been his deceased father’s hobby, too. Declan had inherited the oldest hand tools from him when only a child, and I was delighted he was learning how to use them.
Though truth be told, I wouldn’t have minded him taking up a slightly less dangerous leisure pursuit. Not that woodworking was exactly high risk, but since his guardian spirit had gone missing, I was on high alert for the slightest mishap.
I’d been wrong about Mungo. As soon as I opened the front door, he barreled out of the kitchen and ran to me, toenails skittling as he scrabbled for purchase on the hardwood floorboards.
Yip!
I dropped my tote bag and leaned down as he jumped straight into my arms. Wrapping my arms around him, I nestled my face into the comfort of his fur and squeezed my eyes shut. He instantly fell still, sensing my distress.
I carried him over to the eggplant-colored sofa and sat down. His presence calmed me, as did this space. Dark green bookcases punctuated the gentle sage green walls of the postage stamp–sized living room. Along with the richly hued sofa and matching wingback chairs, Declan’s old rocking chair, now painted a dark maroon and festooned with pillows, added to the warm atmosphere of our home. Light wood shutters covered the front windows, and French doors opposite the entrance led out to the backyard, gardens, and gazebo.
“Katie?” Declan called from above. “That you?”
I gave my familiar one last little squeeze, put him on the cushion, and moved out to the middle of the room so I could see up to the loft. “Who else would it be?”
He stood at the top of the stairs. Ben stood next to him.
“How was the game?” I asked.
“Good enough, but we lost,” Ben said. “The food and company made up for it.”
“And somehow we males managed not to spill barbeque sauce all over the new sofa,” Declan said with a smile.
My eyes inexplicably filled with tears.
The two men exchanged looks and quickly came down the stairs.
“Something happened,” Declan stated flatly. “On the ghost tour.”
I brushed at my eyes and sighed. “A woman was killed.”
“What?” Ben took a step toward me. “How?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know. Strangled, I think. Detective Quinn said there hasn’t been any record of a homicide anywhere near where it happened. He’s, uh, not very happy with me right now.”
Declan’s mouth tightened. “You know what you said makes no sense, right?”
I nodded miserably.
His expression relaxed, and his gaze grew tender. “Okay. Maybe you’d better explain.”
“It’s weird,” I said. “You know. Witchy stuff.”
His eyes crinkled at the corners. “I expected nothing less. Ben, you want another beer?”
“Nah. I’m driving.” He sat down in one of the chairs opposite the sofa.
“Well, I’m not,” Declan said, and went into the kitchen. I heard the sound of the bottle opener. Then he came back with two sweating bottles and handed one to me.
I accepted it gratefully, took a deep breath, and told them what had happened.
After Ben left, Declan and I got ready to go to bed. He’d ended a forty-eight-hour shift at Five House that morning and only had a chance for a brief nap before his evening with Ben and the Falcons. He was practically asleep on his feet. I’d be up by four to go for a run and then get down to the Honeybee to get started on the day’s baking, but since I usually only slept a few hours a night, I planned to read for a while.
I came into the bedroom after washing my face and brushing my teeth to find my husband already in bed, covers pulled up to his chin. Mungo lay near his feet, chin resting on his paws, watching for me. Upon seeing me, he immediately huffed out a doggy sigh, closed his eyes, and went to sleep. The dim light from the bedside lamp threw elaborate shadows behind the intricate wrought-iron headboard, a gift from Lucy and Ben, and the waxing gibbous moon hung high in the sky outside the window. A breeze outside brought the scent of night-blooming jasmine into the room, along with the shushing sound of the leaves moving on the magnolia tree at the corner of the house.
Declan pushed himself up on his elbows as I climbed into bed. “Have you decided what to do?” he asked.
I gave a little shrug. “I guess the first thing in finding who killed Leigh Markes is making sure Leigh is actually dead. It would be a heck of a thing to run into her on the street after all this.”
“But you don’t think that’s going to happen, do you?”
“Nope. I believe Teddy LaRue, and I saw those dragonflies on Leigh’s scarf.”
“So then what?”
“Call in the spellbook club,” I said. “Six heads are better than one, after all. Besides, the way Savannah works, at least one of them is bound to know something about Leigh Markes or her family or her gallery. At least I hope so because I sure don’t.”
“Once you have a thread, though, you can start pulling it and see where it leads,” he said.
I grinned. “That’s how it seems to have worked before, eh?”
“Pretty much.” He reached over and stroked his finger down my arm. “Are you sure about this one? It seems a little . . . spooky, I guess. Someone who talks to dead people and all.”
I gave him a look. “Seriously? Worse than a voodoo curse? Worse than someone trying to unleash an evil spirit from the other side to give them unlimited power? Worse than . . .” I trailed off.
“Worse than a séance that brought my not-quite-dead leprechaun guardian spirit out of the woodwork?” Declan asked with a gentle smile. “I guess not.”
I was silent for several seconds.
“Katie?”
Might as well bring it up.
“You know how I said I wanted to help the murder victim, and that I wanted to help Teddy LaRue, too?” I’d pretty much told Declan and Ben everything I’d been thinking as I drove home from the Honeybee in order to justify getting involved in another murder case.
But not quite everything.
“Yeah . . . ?”
“Something else occurred to me. On the one hand, I’m not proud of it, because it feels selfish and maybe even wrong to ask someone to do. On the other hand, it might be just what we’re looking for, you know?”
Declan’s eyes sparked. “You think Teddy could be the tether we’re looking for?”
Though I didn’t know exactly how to get Connell back, one thing I had discovered was that the process would require a tether—someone who could straddle the veil between this world and the next, someone with access to both planes at the same time. From what she’d said, it seemed to me that Teddy LaRue had that access most if not all of the time.
“Would she do it?” Declan asked.
I lifted one shoulder and let it drop. “No idea. It can’t hurt to ask, though.” Which was true, but there was something about the young woman that made me hesitate to approach her with what could be a trying, even potentially dangerous proposition. I sensed that she had a deep core of strength, but there was also a delicacy, a fragility. A smile lit up Declan’s face then, and I pushed away my uncertainty. Getting Connell back was really important.
“Well, then! Things are looking up.” He reached for me, still grinning.
“I thought you were exhausted after your shift,” I teased.
“Why don’t you just turn out the light and see?” he asked.
I turned off the light.
The next morning Declan was still fast asleep by the time I left for the Honeybee. I propped a little love note alongside a lime poppyseed muffin, loaded the French press coffeemaker with freshly ground dark roast, and filled the electric kettle. Outside, Mungo trundled across the dark yard and jumped into the Bug as soon as I opened the driver’s side door. He settled into the back seat next to my ginormous tote bag and promptly took his first nap of the day as I drove to work.
The edge of the eastern sky was lightening toward dawn, and the streets were still mostly empty. After parking, I hauled my tote bag, now mostly full of Mungo, onto my shoulder and made my way to the bakery. All the while, my senses were pinging around me, alert to danger in the dark. Usually, it was so automatic I didn’t notice myself doing it. Most women would relate, I thought. I also knew I drew on my witchy intuition to augment my vigilance. However, this morning the feeling of danger was palpable. A woman had been murdered last night, just down the street. At least I thought she had.
Not to mention that for all I knew, otherworldly spirits surrounded me on my journey from the car to the front door.
Maybe even inside.
That was a disconcerting thought.
After locking the door behind me, I revved up the ovens to crackling hot for the sourdough loaves that had risen overnight. Then I started in on the buttermilk batter base for the different muffins our breakfast crowd went for first thing—lime poppyseed, banana pecan, blueberry maple, and brown butter oatmeal with a brown sugar crust. After the first batches were in the oven, I mixed up dough for the cathead biscuits we served our specialty breakfast sandwiches on. The Lucy was piled with sausage, swiss cheese, spinach, and egg, the Iris was a delectable combination of tasso ham and homemade pimiento cheese, and the Ben was bacon, lettuce, and tomato, slathered with avocado and topped with a fried egg. The Katie was our vegetarian version, with soft brie cheese, sauteed mushrooms, and fig jam.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a text from Quinn.
Call me ASAP.
I called him and he answered immediately. “Katie, you will be pleased to know a dead body was discovered this morning near the Marshall House.”
“Pleased? Are you kidding me?”
He sighed. “Sorry. Bad choice of language. But I want to know about this, er, premonition you had last night.”
“Um.”
“Katie, I’m looking at a murdered woman as we speak. Stop ‘umming’ and tell me why you called me last night.”
“I just had a feeling?”
Another sigh.
I barreled on. “And since you’re, you know, a homicide detective, and you’ve always been so nice to me, I thought I’d check in with you about my, um . . . feeling.” He hadn’t always been so nice to me, of course, and indeed had tried to pin a murder on Uncle Ben before we’d even managed to open the Honeybee, but now wasn’t a good time to bring that up. “How did she die?” I asked.
“She was strangled,” Quinn said. “How did you know—”
“The dragonfly scarf,” I said without thinking. “Dang it.”
“Katie! How did you know the victim was strangled with a scarf? And yes, those do look like dragonflies!” Apparently, he was looking at the murder weapon as he spoke to me.
“I told you,” I said. “A premonition. Can you tell me the victim’s identity? Was she found inside the Marshall House?”
He swore. Quinn seemed to swear a lot when he talked with me. Then a few seconds of silence passed before he said, “I guess it can’t hurt to tell you. After all, the time of death was determined to be at least a couple of hours after you called me last night, so I’ll have to take your word as a”—he took a deep breath—“a witch, that you experienced some kind of clairvoyant . . . something. The victim is named Leigh Markes, and she was found strangled inside her car in the parking garage behind the Marshall House.”
My vision seemed to contract, and I felt lightheaded. Leigh Markes was dead. It had all been theoretical until Quinn said it out loud, but now it was all too real. She had been murdered, strangled with the lovely silk scarf she’d been wearing when last I saw her, and now any slight doubt I might have harbored that her spirit had been in contact with Teddy was gone.
Quinn broke the spell. “What else can you tell me?”
“Nothing,” I answered honestly. “I’ve told you all I know.”
He harrumphed. “More like I told you all I know.”
Then I realized just what he had told me. “Are you sure she was killed after I called you?” I asked.
“Our people know how to do their jobs.”
“Of course.” My voice sounded faraway to my own ears. Distracted. Could Leigh’s spirit have contacted Teddy before Leigh died? It didn’t seem possible.
I heard the key turning in the lock of the door that led to the alley. “I have to go, Quinn. Talk to you later, okay?”
“Are you sure you can’t tell me anything useful to the investigation, Katie?”
“Sorry. If I come across anything, I’ll let you know.”
“Well, don’t go looking, all right?”
I made a noncommittal noise.
“Katie!”
“Gotta go. Bye.” This time I was the one who hung up first.