Brownies and Broomsticks: A Magical Bakery Mystery (21 page)

“But you think my own uncle did it! Good heavens, doesn’t
that
give you the willies?”

His voice hardened. “And you’re trying to protect him. I understand that, at least in theory. But I’m good at my job, and you need to trust me.”

Did I mention I rarely trust people who tell me to trust them?

“Albert Hill and Ethan Ridge are not people you want to mess with. You have to trust me on that, too.” His condescending tone made me want to kick something.

“What, are you afraid Albert’s going to sue you?” I couldn’t quite keep the sarcasm out of my voice.

The silence on the other end of the line dragged on for a painfully long time. Finally Detective Quinn said, “Now that is exactly the kind of thing I don’t want you to go around doing.”

“What?”

“Pissing people off.” And he hung up on me.

Stunned, I slowly replaced the office phone in its cradle. I didn’t go around making people angry at me. Not Katie Lightfoot. Uh-uh.

Except … I had. Detective Quinn had made me mad first, of course, with his patronizing attitude and his insistence on viewing Ben as a suspect. Still, it wasn’t like me to be so defiant in the face of authority. I’d always followed the rules, careful to dot my i’s and cross my t’s.

Maybe Mama was right. Maybe Lucy was turning me into a whole different person.

Or maybe it was simply the confidence that resulted from knowing who—and what—I was.

I stood and began pacing back and forth in the small space.

At any rate, it was obvious Quinn didn’t care about what I’d learned, and he wouldn’t follow up with Albert or Ethan. Frankly, I wasn’t much for confronting Albert, either. For one thing, his vitriolic attitude made it unlikely he’d give me the time of day.

Not to mention he smelled bad.

However, I was up for another visit to Ethan. Perhaps Cookie would be available to help again, to use her Voice to impel him to give some answers. It had worked pretty well before.

At least at first. The effect of her Voice had seemed relatively short-lived.

I had my Voice, though.

Nah. That would be stupid, right? No matter my heredity or the innate ability Lucy was so convinced about, I was a newbie witch. Going around and using what must be a pretty rusty Voice to get people to talk made no sense. Not to mention how badly it had backfired the one time I remembered using it.

Besides, I was haunted by the whole Rule of Three thing Bianca had told me about. My gut—and almost three decades of life experience—told me she was right. I paused in my pacing and leaned against the desk. Despite a murder and the police suspecting Uncle Ben, life was better than it had been for a very long time. No way was I going to start messing with karma now.

So I needed someone other than Cookie to go with me. My thoughts flew to Steve Dawes. After all, he was a witch and a man. Double your protection, double your fun. But I didn’t know him well enough to trust what he’d do if confronted. In other words, I’d only just discovered he was a witch, and I didn’t know what kind of witch.

Though I could at least infer he wasn’t the type to take magical revenge on the man he blamed for his brother’s death.

A man I realized I didn’t know much better than I
knew Steve, but whom I did trust. Part of that feeling I could rationalize from Declan’s relationship with Ben, and part came from the short amount of time we’d spent together.

Plus, he was a very nice kisser.

I was pretty sure Steve would be, too, given the chance. Not so much
nice
as
hot
. But for all I knew, Steve wasn’t even talking to me after the encounter with Declan at my house the evening before.

Focus, Katie.

Okay, Declan it was. If he wasn’t working.

I went out front. “Ben?”

“Hmm?” He looked up from the register receipt tape he was changing.

“What is Declan’s work schedule like?”

My uncle smiled broadly. “Firefighters typically work two twenty-four-hour shifts a week. The rest of the time they’re free. He should be free now, in fact.”

Excellent. I asked for Declan’s phone number then, which elicited yet another big grin. I ignored it. The less Ben knew about what I wanted to do, the better.

“Katie!” Declan’s surprise at my call was evident. “How’s the grand opening going?”

“It is indeed grand,” I said. “I’m actually surprised at how many customers we’ve had the first day.” I suspected Lucy et al. had cast a prosperity spell that went beyond cinnamon-laced peaches. If they had, it had sure kicked in quickly. However, Ben had also worked hard on the advertising, and word had certainly spread after the DBA brunch. And perhaps Steve was right about people wanting to check out the bakery where Mrs. Templeton had been just before someone killed her.

We chatted for a few minutes before I sprang my request. I was surprised when Declan showed so little enthusiasm about accompanying me.

“But, Deck,” I said, trying out Ben’s nickname, “I found out today that Ethan Ridge and Albert Hill knew each other long before Mrs. Templeton was killed. In fact, they’ve likely had some illegal dealings already.”

“So tell the cops,” he said.

“Um, yeah. I tried. They aren’t exactly open to my suggestions,” I said. “Detective Quinn doesn’t think I should be involving myself in the investigation.”

“He’s not exactly wrong about that.”

“Oh, please. Not you, too!” Irritation flared. How was I supposed to find Mavis Templeton’s killer like this? “I’m getting darn sick of people trying to protect me when I’m only trying to help Uncle Ben. And by people, I mean men. The women who know I’m looking into her murder are all very encouraging.”

“Katie …”

“Don’t you ‘Katie’ me. Ben is your friend, your mentor even. How you could walk away from a possible clue is beyond me. But don’t you worry. I’ll take care of talking to Mrs. Templeton’s apartment manager without any help from you.”

His soft sigh drifted through the earpiece. “Oh, for Pete’s sake. All right, I’ll go with you. But I’m busy until six o’clock.”

“That’s fine. Can you pick me up?”

“Your place at six thirty. See you then.”

“Declan?”

“Yeah.” Defeat in his tone.

“Thank you.”

A pause, and then he laughed. “You’re incredibly stubborn. And you’re welcome.”

Nobody seemed to mind Mungo riding around in my tote bag in the hardware store. In fact, while I was selecting a shovel, the guy in the garden department made goo-goo eyes at the terrier as if he were the cutest baby in the world.

Which, come to think of it, maybe he was.

At home, with an hour and a half to kill before Declan came to get me, I changed into grubby clothes. Then I quickly fixed Mungo a snack and grabbed my shiny new shovel. We went out to the backyard, where I stretched my arms wide and inhaled spring deep into my lungs. A heron flapped lazily in the blue above, heading for water.

Walking along the fence line in the backyard, I dropped stakes in a rough outline of the garden area while Mungo delicately ate his poached chicken from a plate on the patio and watched me. I was vaguely aware of the sound of children’s laughter as I rearranged the stakes a few times. Once satisfied, I pounded them all in. Finally, I began cutting the outline of my herb garden from the sod. Mungo, his belly full, trotted over to supervise.

“Whatcha doin’?” Margie called.

I turned, and realized my neighbors could see my garden area from their patio. She and two men were sitting under a ginormous umbrella, sipping from green bottles. Unwilling to bellow back at her, I waved, then dropped my hand as I saw that one of the men was Frank Pullman.

He really did look like Uncle Ben from this far away, especially in the few seconds it took to register his beard and glasses. Was there a killer sitting on my neighbor’s lawn chair, drinking and laughing? What would Pullman have to say to me now? Or had Quinn even talked to him?

“Come on over!” Margie called. “I want you to meet Redding.”

I sighed and looked at Mungo. He licked his lips in concern.

“I’ll come around front, okay?” I said in a loud voice, then murmured to the dog at my feet, “It’ll be okay. You stay here, though.”

Margie launched to her feet and hurried inside.

She was waiting when I came around the corner of her porch, still removing my work gloves. She led me through a living room littered with so many toys you could hardly see the beige wall-to-wall carpet. It looked clean, though, and I could only imagine how hard it was to keep up with the JJs as well as a baby.

Outside, both men stood. I gestured them back into their seats. The JJs waved from their bright plastic play structure, and I waved back. Bart lay sleeping in a playpen on the shaded patio.

“This is my husband, Redding Coopersmith. Say hey to our new neighbor, Katie.”

Tan and blond like his wife, Redding’s crooked smile was wide and friendly. “Hey, neighbor. Margie’s talked a lot about you. Glad to have you here, especially since I’m gone so much these days.”

I leaned forward and shook his hand. “I’ll keep an eye on her, don’t you worry.”

Margie rolled her eyes and turned to Redding’s companion.

But before she could say anything, he said, “Ms. Lightfoot,” with a nod.

I couldn’t read his expression. Of course, the last time I’d seen him, he’d been so giddy about Mrs. Templeton’s being dead that he’d hooted out loud.

“Call me Katie, Mr. Pullman.”

“Oh! You’ve already met Frank?” Margie asked.

“I, uh, sought him out after you told me about his attention to craftsmanship.”

She looked puzzled. “Are you planning to make changes over in that adorable little carriage house?”

“Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of a small gazebo in the backyard.”

“I could probably help you with that,” he said.

Uh-oh.

My smile felt like it might split my face. “That’s wonderful! But it might be a while. I’m still getting my feet under me at the bakery, and finances are a little up in the air.”

“You let me know, all right? Looks like I might be able to start working here in Savannah again, now that … well, you know. Margie here will know how to find me.”

“Okay.” All brightness and sunshine.

“Frank here was telling us the cops came to talk to him about that old witch who was murdered,” Redding said.

Old witch, indeed. “Really?” I prompted.

“Wanted to know where he was and who he was with and what he was doing. Can you imagine? Someone
treats you like that, then gets herself killed, and the cops have to go bother poor Frank here.”

I kept the smile pasted on my face.

“Oh, it wasn’t such a big deal, Red,” Pullman said. “You know, they have to do their job. I’m just glad she’s gone.” He saw the expression on Margie’s face and quickly looked between us. “I am sorry, ladies. And, Katie, you in particular must think I’m a horrible person after my reaction to the news that Mavis Templeton had forcibly met her Maker. I’m afraid intense relief is my only excuse.”

“I think I understand.”

“How about a beer, Katie?” Margie said, gamely trying to change the subject.

“Sure.”

She jumped up and went inside.

“I might not have time to finish it, though,” I called.

She reappeared in the doorway. “I’m afraid you won’t even be able to start it. Your fireman just pulled into your driveway.”

I looked down at my frayed cutoffs and dirty sneakers. “Darn it. He’s early.” I stood. “It was nice to meet you, Redding. I’ll see you around. Frank. Good luck, and I’ll call if I decide on that gazebo.”

As I hurried across the front lawn to where Declan stood on my front porch, I reflected that Detective Quinn must not have told Frank Pullman I was the one who suggested he might have a motive for killing Mrs. Templeton. At least Frank didn’t seem to blame me.

I changed clothes in a jiffy and told Mungo I’d be home soon. Declan held the truck door open for me, and I could see it was habit and not something he’d been doing to impress me before. Come to think of it, that I was impressed in the first place said a lot more about my previous taste in men than about his good manners.

“What exactly are you planning to ask this Ridge guy?” He buckled his seat belt and backed the truck out of the driveway. The engine rumbled as we took off for the Peachtree Arms.

“I’ve been thinking about that. It would probably be a good idea to come at him sideways, you know? I think we’ll have to play it by ear. Did I did mention he wasn’t very happy when Cookie and I talked to him the other day?”

“No, you didn’t say anything about that. I’m afraid we only discussed me last night. Sorry.”

“Don’t be silly. I’m glad you feel comfortable talking to me.”

He signaled a left turn, a small smile tugging at his
lips. “So Ridge didn’t tell you anything when you finally tracked him down?”

“Oh, he talked all right. He just didn’t like us being there,” I fudged.

Declan’s eyes cut my way. “What makes you think he’ll say anything else now?”

He was more right than I liked to admit. A part of me wondered whether Ethan would even remember what he’d told us after Cookie had used her Voice. But that was probably just wishful thinking.

Cookie’s Command had worn thin in a matter of minutes. Mine had lasted for years. Heck, for all I knew those kids were still obeying my Voice. I wasn’t in contact with any of them. Could Cookie have used a diluted version? Were there variations in Voice strength? Could I have somehow reversed my Command to the other children to leave me alone way back then?

Darn it. If Mama and Daddy had given me the proper instruction about what I’d done, I might have been a lot less lonely in school.

Stop it. Feeling sorry for yourself won’t do any good now
.

“Tell me about Ridge’s association with Hill,” Declan said.

So I did, relating most of what Mrs. Standish had said verbatim. I finished with, “We can’t know for sure that those two didn’t help with her husband’s cremation like she said. They could have been as sweet and generous and selfless as she seems to think. But having met both of them, I highly doubt it. We could always tell Ethan that Albert blurted out something he shouldn’t have when he came into the bakery and threatened us. See if he takes the bait.”