Chapter Six

The next morning, Bev once again locked her door, especially when she caught sight of her garden out her bedroom window. It looked even more horrific in the early light, but Bev was determined to put it behind her. Today was a new day, and there was too much to be done to worry about things she couldn't change.

Instead of his usual muffins, Allen had opted for some sweet pastries glazed with sugary icing and different fruit fillings, and they certainly put Bev in a fine mood as she sank her teeth into the raspberry. She promised herself she'd only eat one, though the lemon curd was tempting, and forced herself back into the kitchen to begin her day's work.

Although she didn't have any rosemary, she did have everything else to make the bread, so she grabbed the jar of leftover dough from the day before, barm, flour, and the salt well, and set to her daily task. As she measured the ingredients, she let her mind drift toward Ida and her conspiracies.

Truth be told, if someone had wanted to sabotage Bev's baking, they could've taken her starter and barm and that would've been much more devastating.

She rubbed her forehead with the back of her hand, as she gathered and put it away to proof. The more she thought about it, the more she agreed with Rustin's assessment of a wild animal.

Especially because they left the amulet behind.

"Now, Bev, we're going to forget we saw that thing, remember?" she muttered.

In fact, once this festival was over and the town cleared out, she'd be finding a more permanent spot for the darn thing. Perhaps she'd chuck it into the dark forest on the north end of town and never have to think of it again. Whatever purpose she'd had for hiding it before she'd lost her memory didn't seem worth all the trouble of having it so close to the Weary Dragon Inn.

With the bread proofing, she cleaned up her mess and hung her apron on the pin by the door, walking out to the front room to greet her guests for the day.

Ira Bower was already working his way through a pastry. He was something of a regular, having made his reservation for the upcoming year upon checking out of the previous one, and Bev always delighted in seeing him walk through the door.

"Good morning, Ira," she said as she sat on her stool. "Pastries are good this morning, eh?"

"I'd swear it was Fernley herself baking over there," he said, wiping the icing from his lips. "Her boy's finally got the hang of things?"

"You could say that," Bev said, pushing the basket away from her slightly instead of giving into her temptation. "How'd you sleep?"

"Like a lamb, as usual. Say, what are those new knitted blankets made of? I'd like to get my hands on some to crochet with."

Bev smiled. "I can't recall the name of the beast, but they live underground. The knitter himself is submitting to the contest in a few days, I think."

"Oh…" Ira's face fell. "Suppose it's another year without a blue ribbon for me, then. I don't know if I can compete with that craftsmanship."

For all the years Ira had been competing, the sweet man had never once won as much as an honorable mention. "Don't say that. I thought for sure my bread wasn't going to make the cut, but it somehow pulled through to the final round."

He smiled. "Yes, but the rosemary bread is delectable. I couldn't help but snag myself a piece before I went to bed last night."

"Say, Ira," Bev said slowly, "you didn't hear anything last night, did you? In the garden?"

"No, why?"

"Well, darnedest thing." She forced a half-smile. "My garden was dug up last night. Or sometime yesterday, can't really be sure. But everything's either been eaten or thrown somewhere. Not even a rosemary sprig left."

"Your garden?" He put his hands over his mouth. "Well, isn't that the… Who in the world would do such a thing?"

"Haven't a clue. Sheriff Rustin is on the case, but you know…" Bev chuckled as she leaned on the counter. "Not sure he's going to be able to devote all his attention to it, considering he's in charge of festival security."

"Well, I do hope you find the culprit and bring them to justice." He plucked the lemon curd Bev had been eyeing off the top of the basket. "Absolutely horrific. Destroying a good innkeeper's garden. Whatever are you going to do about…" His eyes widened. "Oh, what about the bread-making contest? You won't be able to submit if you don't have rosemary."

Bev almost told him she had a couple sprigs upstairs, but Ida's warning was too fresh in her mind. She did trust the old man, but who knew who he'd tell once he left here. "I'm sure I'll find some somewhere. But tonight's bread will have to be the regular kind, unfortunately. Hope that won't be a problem."

"Of course not." He patted her hand. "I'm off to the festival. Have a good one. I hope…" He shook his head as he took a big bite of the pastry. "Goodness. I can't even believe…"

Bev waved him off. "Have a good one, Ira. Enjoy the festival."

Bev asked the other guests the same question, not really expecting them to be much help, but hoping the knowledge that the rosemary was gone would soften the blow for dinner tonight.

Petula was one of the last to make her appearance, and Bev couldn't help but glance at her fingernails to see if there was any dirt under them. But they were pristine and perfect.

"Ugh, is this what we have for breakfast?" She sniffed the basket. "When I return to Queen's Capital, it won't be a moment too soon."

"Sorry to hear your visit isn't going well," Bev said with a forced smile.

Petula seemed to notice her fakeness. "You know, I was surprised to find your name attached to that bread yesterday. I would've thought, based on the temperature when you brought it inside the tent, it would've been too mushy, not cooked. And yet it was perfectly done all the way through." She lifted a brow. "Are you sure there's no tomfoolery afoot in your baking?"

"Tomfoolery?" Bev chuckled. "Like what?"

"You know the use of magic is strictly prohibited in festival competition. Not to mention it's prohibited everywhere unless officially sanctioned by the queen." She adjusted her shirt. "And if I were to find any kind of illegal magic use, I'd have to report it to the queen's service as quickly as possible."

"I'm sure you'll find no such magic in my inn," Bev said with a small shrug. "Just got lucky, I guess."

"Hm. Well, I hope your luck continues through the end of the festival." She walked to the door. "Have a good day."

Bev watched her go, for the first time, wondering if maybe…maybe the judge might be on to something. Not that Bev was intentionally using magic (she hadn't the foggiest how), but…that amulet had been buried in the garden. What if it had somehow infused magic into the plants grown there?

Was that even possible?

Had Bev been unknowingly serving patrons of the Weary Dragon Inn magic-laced bread all this time? Did that explain why it was so heavenly?

It was enough to make an innkeeper's head spin.

Leaving behind a sign promising she'd return later—not that she expected any of her guests to return for the next few hours—Bev headed back into the kitchen. This time, she made a beeline for the jars of dried herbs on the shelf Petula had been so interested in the other day. She pulled the top off the dried thyme and inhaled deeply. Nothing about it seemed out of the ordinary…but was that because Bev was so used to the scent of magical herbs?

Or am I going mad?

It was nearly ten, and she needed to pay a visit to the butchers anyway. So with a question on her mind, she headed across the street.

~

"How long do you remember the rosemary bread at the inn being delicious?" Bev asked Vellora as she walked inside.

"Excuse me?" Vellora chuckled as she ran her knife through a large piece of beef. "What kind of a question is that?"

"Just trying to make sure I'm not seeing things," Bev said, coming to the counter. "It's always been good, right? I didn't really… I mean, it didn't markedly change when I came along, right?"

"I wouldn't know," Vellora said. "You were already at the inn when I showed up in town, remember?"

Bev made a face. That was true. "Where's Ida? Is she around?"

That was decidedly the wrong question to ask as Vellora's face darkened. "I suppose she's busy screwing around with the festival nonsense while I'm here slaving away keeping our business afloat."

Yikes. "Oh. Um. Can I help you with anything?"

"Not unless you can carry these big pieces of meat across the shop." As if proving a point, Vellora grunted as she picked up what was easily a hundred pounds of meat and hung it on a hook. The butcher was a former soldier who'd never lost her strength. But if Ida'd been the one doing the lifting, she probably could've thrown the carcass up there. "Every year, it's the same. She disappears for a whole month. Meanwhile, I've got to keep the town fed all by myself. I tell her to hang up her hat, but she swears no one else will step up to run things." Vellora grunted. "I hear they're talking about moving it to Middleburg. I'd pop open a bottle of wine if they did."

"Oh, but what about all the influx of money we get?" Bev asked. "Mayor Hendry is keen to make sure it stays here."

"Bah, we all make enough," Vellora said. "So what's this question about your bread? Is it because your garden was destroyed?" She glanced around, as if expecting the queen's soldiers to pop out at any minute. "Do you think someone's still searching for that magic object?"

"Yes and no," Bev said. Ida clearly hadn't told her wife about Bev's amulet piece. "Petula Banks said something to me about using magic to bake my bread, and it got me wondering about…well, things. I don't know the first thing about magic, and I don't think I have any—"

"Yeah, well, neither does my wife," Vellora said with a low chuckle.

Bev hesitated. "Has she…said anything else about that? It seems like she's content to ignore it."

"She is. Doesn't believe she's got any. But—" the butcher grunted as she picked another carcass off the table and dragged it to the hook, "—you can't tell me a woman her size lifting three times her weight isn't weird."

"I suppose it is a bit strange," Bev said with a kind smile.

"So you think your bread is magical?"

"I don't know. Maybe?" She leaned on the counter. "I suppose I'm more interested in knowing it was my skill that got me to the next level and not some kind of cheat."

"You're a good baker, Bev," Vellora said. "Don't let anyone tell you different."

"Stanton Bucko certainly did," Bev said with a chuckle. "You know, Ida thinks he's responsible. Or one of the other bread-makers."

"I heard all about it last night." Vellora rolled her eyes. "Giant conspiracy to keep your bread from getting the due it's deserved."

"Funny thing is I wasn't really eager to enter in the first place. Hendry convinced me. And all I've been doing since I tossed my hat in is scramble." She let out a breath. "Don't tell a soul, but when I realized I probably couldn't continue, it was such a relief. Then Ida showed up with the rosemary and…well, I feel like I have to now."

Vellora chuckled. "Don't let my wife bully you into anything. If you don't want to participate, don't. And don't let her suck you into her wild theories, either. She's full of 'em. Everything is always some grand conspiracy to her. I think it comes from never leaving this place. Easy to come up with fantasies when you've never experienced the real world."

To an untrained ear, it might've sounded like an insult, but Vellora's eyes had gone distant, the way they did when she thought about the horrors of the war. Bev had never pried—she didn't remember the war and wasn't keen to know more than she did—but Vellora had always given her enough to know those who'd been on the losing side hadn't fared well in the aftermath.

"Even if it was sabotage," Bev said, "what is there to be done about it, you know? Dirt can be washed off. It's not as if the culprits are walking around with sprigs of my rosemary on them." She chuckled. "Well, except your wife. And lucky she did. You know, I put one of them in a pot and I'm saying a prayer it takes root. Not that I'm against starting a whole new plant, but…" She smiled. "That little rosemary and I have gone through a lot."

Vellora nodded. "I gotta say, I've gotten spoiled with rosemary in my evening tea. If either of us had a green thumb, we'd grow our own, but we don't, so we leave it to the experts."

"Well, if it does grow, you're welcome to as much as you like," Bev said. "I suppose I'd better be getting back to it."

"What are ya having tonight, Bev?" Vellora smiled. "You never did actually tell me what you're ordering."

Bev could've slapped herself. "Goodness. I'm a bit befuddled, hm? What's looking good tonight, then?"

Vellora eyed the back. "What did we have yesterday? Pork shank?"

"And it was delectable." Bev rubbed her hands together. "Maybe something that doesn't require a whole lot of tending to."

"Let's do another roast, eh? Beef this time. Ten pounds?"

"Sounds like a plan." Bev smiled. "I'll be back in a few hours to pick it up."

"I'll drop it off. Don't worry," Vellora said. "Or maybe, if my wife wants to show up, she can do it."

Bev didn't like to see the butchers in such disarray, but it wasn't her place to intervene in the marriage. "I'm sorry things are hectic. If I can help in any way, I will."

"Find me some handcuffs so I can keep my wife in the shop," Vellora muttered with a wry smile.

"I'll see what I can do."