Paisley hurried to join us, then led us to the door, pushed it open, and followed us out to the sidewalk. “I’m so sorry about all that.”
“Don’t worry,” I said.
“I’m going to go get the truck,” Declan said. We’d had to park down the block, but I was pretty sure he was giving me the opportunity to talk with Paisley alone.
I nodded, and we watched him stride away. “You sure have your hands full with your new boss,” I said.
She sighed. “I don’t know how long he’ll be my boss. That wife of his has threatened to fire me twice already today.”
“Do you really want to stay?” I asked, genuinely curious.
“That’s a very good question,” she said. “I loved working with Leigh. She was passionate about art and expert at finding unknown talent and nurturing it. I learned so much from her.” She looked back toward the gallery. “I think perhaps it’s time to move on to a new mentor. One day I’d like to start my own gallery.”
“Is Aldo Bracket one of her finds?” I knew he wasn’t, of course, but I wanted to know what she’d say.
“God, no. He fooled me for a little while, I guess. Not Leigh. Of course, I think she knew who he really is. I heard you call him Alessandro, so I guess you know, too. I don’t run in those social circles, though, so I had no idea.” She leaned close. “I think he’s planning to have someone buy all his work, so his show will look like a big success.” An undercurrent of disgust ran beneath the words.
“And Stokes is just fine with that,” a voice said behind us.
We whirled to see Aldo had silently slipped outside. Remembering how easily and quietly Bianca and I opened the door two days earlier, I could see how.
He glared at both of us. “Leigh Markes should have known better than to cross me. I always win.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Is that a confession to murder?”
His lips parted in surprise. “A . . . Of course not! I’m just saying that if I’d had to, I had a little something on your sainted Ms. Markes. She was no angel, though. She was having an affair with a married man, and if she’d stood in the way of my show much longer, I was going to tell the world.”
Paisley’s lip curled. “Or threaten to tell the world.”
“You have just confessed,” I said, “to blackmail.”
He smiled. “To potential blackmail. That’s not the same.”
“Who was she having the affair with?” I asked.
Paisley looked intrigued. She didn’t like the idea of blackmail any more than I did, but she was curious.
Aldo’s response was a smirk.
“Leigh’s beyond caring.” At least I thought so. Teddy might disagree. “And it might be pertinent to her murder investigation,” I added.
He looked taken aback, then thoughtful. “Nah. I don’t think so.”
Not very convincing. Maybe I could talk Quinn into questioning this guy in between his attempts to nail Walker Stokes.
I changed the subject. “Why do you want a show so badly?”
Aldo’s chin came up. “Because I’m an artist, and I deserve one.”
Spoiled little brat.
“No, you’re not,” Paisley said. “If you really wanted to be an artist, why not go to art school, learn your craft, do the work?”
He fell silent for several seconds and then said, “That’s exactly what I’m going to do. I just have to convince my father to allow it. And the only way I’m going to do that is if he thinks I can make money at it. Otherwise, he’ll refuse to pay.”
Paisley and I looked at each other, and I could see she felt a little sorry for him. Goddess help me, so did I. Which was ridiculous, wasn’t it?
“By the way, no one will believe you if you spill the beans that I’ve rigged this show to sell out,” he said, and my pity vanished. “I’ve got it all figured out.” He turned and went back inside without another word.
Paisley took a deep breath. “Well, I guess I’d better get back in there. I haven’t been yelled at enough yet today.” But she said it lightly. She’d be okay.
Declan drove up then, and I said goodbye to Leigh’s assistant.
“Say, Ms. Lightfoot?” she called as I walked away.
I stopped and looked over my shoulder. “Yes?”
“Is there any chance you might buy the Hanta piece? I’d get a nice commission, and it might be my last one.”
“We’ll talk about it,” I said. Lied, really. After paying for our wedding and before that the renovation of the carriage house, we wouldn’t be buying a piece of art that expensive anytime soon.
She nodded. “My commission aside, I hope you do. It deserves a good home, and I can tell you’d give it one.”
For the rest of the afternoon, my aunt and uncle and I busied ourselves getting things ready for the Halloween party at the Honeybee. Iris had worked the morning shift and had classes in the afternoon, so we were on our own. The city had closed two blocks of Broughton Street to traffic, and from four to five o’clock, a procession of the youngest trick-or-treaters had straggled past the bakery. Some were in child carriers or pushed in strollers, and all were dressed in adorable costumes and cute as heck. Many of their parents made a side trip into the bakery for a bit of sustenance or caffeine—or both—before moving on.
Halloween was always good for bakery business, despite all the goodies we gave away.
By seven o’clock, two hours after our usual closing time, Lucy and Ben were standing in the open doorway of the bakery and inviting passersby of all ages to come in and get a treat. We planned to stay open a couple more hours but would play it by ear according to how many customers were still coming in as the evening progressed. The sun had set outside, and the lights inside were down low. Foggy “smoke” swirled up from the chunk of dry ice in Lucy’s cast-iron cauldron, lazily drifting to the floor and flowing around the ankles of those closest to the register.
The members of the spellbook club had stopped by earlier, all except Cookie, whom I’d talked to on the phone. Everything was set for the spell we would be casting at midnight. Cookie would be there. She’d insisted on coming, though I’d tried to get her to stay home with Isabella.
“Oscar and my mother can handle her for a couple of hours,” she’d said. “This is important, and I want to be there. You’ll need the whole coven.”
Relieved and grateful, I’d agreed.
Thoughts of what might happen when I crossed the veil ping-ponged in my mind as I handed out marshmallow ghosties and candy corn cupcakes, jack-o’-lantern shortbread and spiderweb cookies. As the time passed, I found myself getting more and more nervous.
What if I really messed up this spell? What if I couldn’t ever get Connell back for Declan? And worst of all: What if I got lost in the Otherworld, too? I’d assured Declan that I wouldn’t, but there were no guarantees. Though I’d figured out some particulars about the spell, the truth was that we’d be making it up as we went along. I didn’t know what would happen.
“Katie!”
I looked up from the tiny witch—pointed hat, striped tights, and all—politely asking for a cupcake to see Margie waving at me. Evelyn herded the JJs in front of her and my neighbor carried Bart on her hip. The bumblebee costume looked a bit small on him, and the wings were bent at an odd angle, but he seemed happy enough.
I delivered the cupcake to the little witch and went over to where they’d settled in the corner because Jonathan’s school bus costume was impossible to maneuver between the tables. Margie had taken a large rectangular box, cut out the top and bottom, painted it bright yellow with black markings, and fashioned a short, sloping hood for the front. It had big, round headlights that I was pretty sure were made from glass salad plates, and a stop sign by Jonathan’s left elbow that he extended as I approached. The whole shebang hung from two wide straps across his shoulders.
“I like it,” I said to him. “Are you the driver?”
He looked at me as if I were an idiot. “No, Ms. Katie. I’m the bus.”
“Ah. Well, you’re a pretty awesome bus.”
He nodded his agreement. “Mama made it.”
I grinned at Margie. “Good job, Mama.”
“Why, thank you, hon,” she said.
I stood back to take a better look at his twin’s skeleton costume. “Margie was right, Evelyn. She said you made Julia’s costume cute and scary at the same time. It’s great.”
“Glows in the dark, too!” Julia informed me as she did a quick pirouette next to her brother.
“Nice,” I said.
“It was tricky painting that leotard without anyone in it,” Evelyn said. She was a sturdy woman who screamed practicality—short gray hair, no makeup, blunt fingernails, slacks and button-down shirt, low heels. “I finally stuffed it with pillows and socks. Worked like a dream.”
“I love it,” Julia proclaimed.
Margie patted her on the head, then put Bart down. “Oof!” She tried to adjust his catawampus wings, then gave up.
“What can I get you?” I listed the options, then went and loaded a tray with their selections. As they munched on the treats, I slid into a bistro chair and rubbed the small of my back.
“Long day for you,” Evelyn said.
I nodded. “It’s nice to sit down, let me tell you.”
“Well, at least most of the trick-or-treaters will be done by the time you get home, and you can go straight to bed,” Margie said. “I always turn off the light at nine. You only get the teenagers wanting to cause trouble that late.”
“Tonight, we’ll wait until ten,” her mother-in-law said. “We have a few families on my street who come downtown for all this”—she waved her hand—“and then come back and hit the neighborhood later.”
“We’re staying the night with Evelyn,” Margie explained.
I fervently—and silently—thanked the forces that be. Margie had a bad habit of sneaking out of her house at all hours to visit the stash of Twinkies she kept hidden in the backyard. Without realizing it, she’d unintentionally interrupted my late-night spell work in the gazebo more than a few times. I’d planned to use a cloaking spell around the yard, but they were notoriously unreliable and took a lot of energy. With no nosy neighbor, however much I loved her, to interfere with tonight’s spell, that energy could be focused on the important work of bringing Connell home.
Declan and his fellow firefighter, Randy Post, came in then. I left the Coopersmith clan to their Halloween goodies and went over.
“Hey, darlin’,” Declan said, giving me a one-armed squeeze. “I don’t suppose we could talk you out of a couple of cups of coffee.”
“Just made fresh. Grab something to eat while I get it.”
He shook his head. “Just the caffeine. It’s going to be a long night.”
I whirled around with a mug in my hand. “You’re still coming home tonight, aren’t you?” I couldn’t keep the alarm out of my voice.
Randy looked amused. “Relax. Your husband explained to the lieutenant that you don’t like to be alone on Halloween, so he had to be home by midnight. We’ve still got a few hours to go before then is all. And I’m working all night.”
Slightly chagrined, I raised my eyes to Declan’s. “Thanks for explaining my nervousness to your boss, hon. He’s very understanding.”
He reddened and looked away. “Yeah. He is.”
I didn’t really care that Declan had made me sound like a ninny as an excuse to leave work before midnight. As long as he came home, he could tell his boss I was a raving lunatic.
They were finishing their coffees when both of their phones pinged. “Gotta go,” Randy said, draining his mug and standing. “Someone’s cat is stuck up a tree.”
I laughed.
Declan sighed, looking at his phone. “He’s not kidding.”
I blinked. “Seriously? That happens?”
“The cat’s not the problem,” he said. “Apparently the husband climbed up after it, and he’s deathly afraid of heights. Now he’s stuck.”
I laughed again, harder. “Good luck.”
“Thanks.” His tone was dry.
“And see you at home around eleven thirty, right?”
“Yes, dear.”
“Aren’t you excited to get Connell back?” I asked. Randy was already at the door.
He hesitated. “I just don’t want to get my hopes up.”
“Oh, honey.” I didn’t know what else to say. After all, I couldn’t promise the spell would work.
He kissed my forehead and they left.
Margie and Evelyn headed out with the kiddos, and I did a cleanup pass. Ben was out on the sidewalk, chatting with some of the other business owners. Lucy came back in to grab more treats to give away out front. I was putting away the towel I’d used to clean tables when Iris and Zoe Stokes came in. Calista was with them. They weren’t really wearing costumes, but they were dressed for the evening. Zoe wore a peasant dress, gladiator sandals, and a ton of necklaces—including the one Cookie had made for her. Glittering combs held her hair back from her face. Iris wore all black, except for a pair of dark orange Vans on her feet. The outfit plus her orange-and-black hair were spot-on for the holiday. Calista was in a tie-dyed maxi dress and had flowers in her long red hair.
“How are things going?” I asked them.
Zoe shrugged. “Okay. I’m still at Calista’s, but at least Dad apologized. We’re planning a memorial for Mom, but it won’t be for a few weeks—he wanted to coordinate it with the big art walk, and I don’t see why not. So I’ll probably head back to school in a couple of days.”
I gave her a hug. “That might be for the best.”
“I’ll miss her,” Calista said. “It’s been nice having the company, even if the reason my niece is here is so awful.”
“Have you heard anything from the police about their investigation?” I was wondering if Quinn had tipped his hand about his main suspect.
Calista shook her head. “They questioned me, of course. Someone told the detective that I’d fought with Leigh the afternoon of her . . .” She trailed off, then suddenly gave me a sharp look. “Hmmm, I wonder if it was someone who worked here. Because our argument was right over there.” She pointed to the reading area.
I quickly steered the subject away from Leigh’s death. Pointing to the table set with goodies, I said, “Hard to say. Thanks for coming in. There are all sorts of treats out for you to choose from. Take whatever you’d like.”
Calista’s eyes lit up, and Zoe followed her to where Lucy was now womanning the register. She greeted them with a bright smile.
I turned to Iris. “You’re a good friend.”
She gave a sad smile. “Thanks. I want to be. I like Zoe a lot.”
“Me, too. Any news from Taylor?”
Her eyes softened. “I talked to him last night for almost an hour. And you know what? I came right out and told him how I felt about him hanging out with Shawna. I mean, I know it’s not supposed to be attractive when you’re jealous, but I wasn’t mean or anything. Just honest.”
“And?” I prompted.
“He laughed at me.”
I drew myself up to say something about that, but she held up her hand. “No, it’s okay. He didn’t really laugh at me. He just laughed at the idea that he’d ever like Shawna like that. Or even that she’d like him. I guess they work well together, but then they go their separate ways. She has her own set of friends, and what he called ‘vapid’ interests. He hangs out with some musicians he met there. Anyway, he said she’s not his type at all.”
“You’re his type.” I grinned.
So did she. “Exactly.”