“Do we follow?” I asked Lucy.
She looked out at the bakery, which was half full of seated customers, all involved in their own conversations or what was on their laptop screens. Ben was at the register, and she raised her eyebrows after catching his eye. He gave a little shake of his head, indicating he didn’t need our help right then.
“No,” she said, moving to the counter that ran along the back wall behind one of the industrial ovens. “She’ll be back.”
Sure enough, Iris returned. Her eyes were a little red, but the sniffles were gone. She still looked mad, though. She came over and crossed her arms over her chest. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I said with a mild smile.
“It’s Taylor,” she said. “He’s being a jerk.”
“Yes, you did use that word a few times yesterday,” Lucy said.
“I did?” She seemed surprised.
“Under your breath, mostly, but yes.”
“Oh. Well, he is.”
“And what flavor of jerk is he being?” I asked. After all, there were several. I’d once had a jerk practically leave me at the altar, and I was pretty sure this wasn’t that bad.
“So, he’s studying sound design, right? At SCAD.”
We nodded. Savannah College of Art and Design was also where Iris had decided to focus on studying graphic design.
“Well, he’s working on a movie project, and there’s this girl who’s also working on it, and I happen to know she really, really likes him.” She took a deep breath. “And they’re in Atlanta.” She paused.
“Atlanta,” Lucy said.
“The film’s being edited there. It’s not a SCAD project. They’re both interning for an editing company. It’s some kind of nature documentary.”
“Okay,” I said.
Iris looked between us. “Don’t you see?”
“There’s a girl there with your boyfriend, and she’s got some kind of crush on him,” I said.
“Yes!”
Lucy frowned. “Does he like her?”
Iris blew out a breath between pursed lips. “He says he doesn’t. But he’s still there with her.” She hesitated, then said in a small voice, “And she’s cute. Really cute. Long blond hair and blue eyes and perfect skin and super skinny. I know she’s going to make a play for him. I just know it.” She grimaced. “If she hasn’t already.”
“Oh, dear,” Lucy said.
“I know, right?” Iris exclaimed.
But I knew where Lucy was going and was already shaking my head. “Iris, since he’s a sound engineer who, from what you’ve told us, wants to work on films for a living, isn’t Taylor going to be in a lot of situations where he’s out of town and around women?”
She looked down at the floor. “Well, yeah. But this is different.”
“How?”
“She’s . . . she’s . . . he’s . . .” She trailed off.
“Don’t you trust Taylor?” Lucy asked in a gentle voice.
“Yes!” She frowned. “Well, mostly. But Shawna’s so pretty and—”
“Iris, there are lots of pretty women out there. And another standing right in front of me,” Lucy said, pointing at her. “I don’t know Taylor very well, but if he’s a player, then you are better off without him. And if he’s not, and he is trustworthy, then you don’t need to make yourself miserable with all this jealousy.”
“But how can I tell?” Her voice was full of anguish. “How do I know whether to trust him or not?”
Lucy put her hand on the young woman’s arm. “You trust yourself first. Your gut. And then you make a decision. If you decide not to trust him in the end, then that’s a very shaky foundation to try and build a relationship on. And if you do trust him—”
“And I’m wrong?”
My aunt sighed. “Then you’re wrong. Seriously, Iris. You have very powerful intuition. It’s a gift of yours, which we recognized as soon as we met you. So did the other spellbook club members, as a matter of fact.”
“Really?” Iris asked in a small voice.
“Yes! Really! And you know it, deep down. You just don’t trust it yet. Once you do, you’ll know what to do about Taylor.”
“But—”
“No buts,” Lucy said firmly, ending the conversation. “Now, we’ve got baking to do. Iris, you start in on the sourdough levain for tomorrow’s loaves, and Katie and I will make the candy corn cupcakes for the Halloween party. We’ll freeze them unfrosted. Katie? How do you want to flavor the cupcakes?”
“I think a simple vanilla batter will do. What’s better than yummy cupcakes that encourage luck and love?”
“Indeed.” My aunt grinned and gave a brisk nod. She went into the pantry to retrieve the ingredients, and I reached for the yellow and orange food coloring.
I was tired when I pulled into the driveway that evening. It had been a twelve-hour day at the bakery, which wasn’t all that unusual since I generally went in early to get things started in the kitchen and often stayed until we closed. However, today I felt the extra weight of Leigh Markes’ murder, her ghost demanding that I find her killer, the look in Teddy’s eyes as she asked me to hurry, and the urgent hum of needing to bring Connell back for Declan.
Suppressing a sigh, I turned off the engine and leaned over to give Mungo a kiss on top of his head and scratch behind his ears. He responded by wiggling closer and leaning his forehead against my shoulder. We sat that way for a few calm moments before getting out of the car.
As I was hauling my tote bag out of the back seat, I heard the sound of children’s voices from next door. I straightened and closed the door, turning toward them. Margie Coopersmith waved at me from her porch, and I saw her towheaded twins, Julia and Jonathan—known collectively as the JJs—playing a beanbag toss game on the far side of their front yard. Their little brother, Bart, helped by running back and forth to retrieve the beanbags for his siblings. Mungo nudged my leg and looked up at me. I nodded, and he took off to join the fun with a loud yip!
Margie came down the steps and hurried across the lawn to where I stood. “Got time for a quick glass of wine?” she asked by way of greeting. “I hardly ever see you these days.” She blew a stray strand of her white-blond hair off her forehead, looking hopeful.
“Oh, I wish.” I glanced over my shoulder at the carriage house.
“I take it Declan is on days off and waiting eagerly for his bride to come home.” It could have sounded sarcastic, but I knew it wasn’t. Margie was all about family.
“Something like that,” I said. “Mostly I’m just tired. If I drink a glass of your pink wine, I might not make it through supper.”
She squinted and looked me up and down. “You’re working too hard.”
I waved my hand. “Nah. Just one of those days.” I gestured over her shoulder to the kids playing. “Are you guys still coming to the Halloween party?”
“Of course! Redding will be out of town, surprise, surprise, but Evelyn will help me wrangle the kids.” Redding was Margie’s husband and a long-haul truck driver. He was often gone for days at a time, though he checked in via computer every evening and read to his children before bed. Evelyn was Margie’s mother-in-law, and they got along famously.
“Oh, Evelyn made Julia the cutest skeleton costume! Painted a black leotard with glow-in-the-dark paint. She’s so talented. Researched how the bones should look and it’s cute and creepy at the same time. Julia wanted to wear it to school this morning.” The JJs were six.
“Sounds adorable. Do they let them wear their costumes to school on Halloween?”
“Of course! Though I don’t think Jonathan will manage to wear his all day. He insisted he wanted to be a school bus.”
“A school bus,” I repeated.
“Uh-huh. It’s . . . cumbersome. Took me a while, but I figured out how to make it light enough that he could wear it with straps over his shoulders.”
“You made it?”
“Oh, sure. I can’t cook a lick, darlin’, as we both know, but I can make a Halloween costume with the best of them. Hot glue gun at the ready.” She pantomimed drawing a gun from her hip.
“What’s Bart going as?”
“A bumblebee.”
“Again?”
“Yep. We were going through the trunk looking for ideas, and he saw his wings from last year and wanted to wear it again. Lucky break for me.”
Some moms might have been disappointed at their child wearing the same costume two years in a row, but Margie just wanted her boy to be happy. I loved that about her.
“Well, I’d better go inside and see what my husband has been up to all day,” I said.
“He worked in the garage most of the afternoon, I can tell you that. And I don’t know what that man is cooking up for you, but I can smell it from here. I’ll think of you as we eat our mac and cheese and hotdogs for supper.” She rolled her eyes. “Kid food.”
Now that she mentioned it, there was a savory fragrance riding the evening air, and it did seem to be coming from our place.
I said goodbye, called for Mungo, and headed inside.
The full effect of Declan’s culinary efforts hit me like a cartoon anvil when we stepped inside. Even Mungo made a little noise in the back of his throat.
Mmmm. Onion, something smoky—sausage? Something else . . . aha! Filé powder!
Made from the crushed leaves of the sassafras tree, filé powder had a distinctive scent. Declan had made us one of his delectable firehouse recipes—gumbo.
I stashed my tote in the corner as my husband came out from the short hallway that led to the bedroom and bathroom. He was wrapping a thick piece of gauze around his hand.
Rushing to him, I demanded, “What happened?”
“Knife slipped in the kitchen. No big deal.” He kissed me.
“Since when does no big deal require enough gauze to wrap a mummy?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Will you relax? The cut is in an awkward place, that’s all. And yes, I would have done the exact same stupid thing with Connell around. It’s not like I was in a plastic bubble my whole life.”
I bit my lip, chagrined that he had read my mind so well. “Sorry.”
“No worries,” he said, trying to keep it light. But I could hear the irritation under the words. “Now come on. I’ve set the table, and the rice should be ready now.”
I let it drop and followed him into the kitchen. The table was set for two, and he’d added a vase of the rambling Cherokee roses that grew beside the house. I didn’t know how long this romance stuff was expected to last in a marriage, but I sure liked it.
Lifting the lid of the pot, I inhaled the fragrant steam. “What a treat!” Chicken, sausage, shrimp, crab, and okra swam in a combination of beef and chicken broth flavored with spices and aromatics and thickened with the classic filé powder.
I fished out a chunk of chicken from the gumbo, added a few pieces of okra—which my familiar loved—and placed the bowl on Mungo’s placemat on the floor. He started in on it at once.
“Rude,” I noted, but he ignored me.
Declan and I dished up and dug in.
After dinner, we both washed up, and I asked Declan if he would mind giving some of our leftovers to Margie. I knew she’d welcome the respite from kid food. He readily agreed and took the dish over himself. By the time he got back, I was already in my pjs and had a movie queued up in the loft. Two hours and a light comedy later, Declan was snoring in bed beside me while I perused the pile of spellbooks I’d gathered.
I was tired, but there was work to do.