Dizzy Spells (4 page)

“Do you want to try to make a batch?” Thyme
waved a hand toward the leftover ingredients scattered over the
counter. “Your sponge cake there wasn’t anywhere near as bad as
usual.”

“Huh, I know you’re joking,” I said. I
nervously studied the cake cooling on the wire rack. It looked
normal enough, if a bit on the flat side. Well, if you can call a
big hole in the middle ‘flat’. Plus there was the fact that it had
squashed the metal cooling rack. It looked like a giant donut gone
wrong, complete with thick charred edges.

Thyme waved a spatula at me. “All righty,
but you’re not getting out of making the glaze. Even if you can’t
cook, icing will be a big help this weekend.”

I nodded. At least I was able to make the
glaze. It was hard to mess up butter cream, so I was glad I would
be able to contribute somewhere. Still, the marzipan and fondant
were going to take some getting used to. Until I had taken over
ownership of the cake store, I had never realized how many types of
icing there were.

“The cakes should be cool enough to ice by
now.” Thyme picked up one and broke off a piece. She popped the
treat into her mouth and chewed thoughtfully. “Never mind, you
might be able to make some passable cakes soon.”

“Don’t start looking for a new job, yet,” I
warned her.

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere
anytime soon,” Thyme said as the bell alerted us to a new
customer.

My pulse quickened, and I quickly chided
myself for my reaction. But truth be told, the view was fantastic.
Craig looked as rugged and handsome as ever with his work jacket
tossed casually over one shoulder. I found myself wondering how he
could possibly be single. Something had to be wrong. My thoughts
ran away with me—multiple personalities? An extra toe or two? A
house overrun with display cases of Barbie dolls? Live taipans or
other deadly snakes as pets?

“Hey.” Craig gave a quirked grin.

“Hi.” A wave of mortification hit me when
the high squeak leaked into my voice. Serves me right for ogling.
What was wrong with me? I cleared my throat and gave him a bright
smile. “Sorry, I’m a little hoarse today. How are you?”

“Good.” To my relief, Craig seemed more
amused than anything. He bent over to study the cupcakes.

The phone rang and I half turned to see
Thyme hurrying to answer it. “Fingers crossed, I might have my own
cakes out soon. I just need to make them edible first.”

Craig gave a good-natured laugh. “Well, let
me know if you do. I’d like to boast about being first in line when
you sold your first cakes here.”

“You got it.” My shoulders relaxed as I
settled into the more familiar chit chat. “What can I do for you
today?”

Craig shot me a winning smile. “We have a
new officer in the department. I’ve volunteered to pick up cakes to
celebrate her surviving orientation. You know how we are. Any
excuse to unwind a little.”

“Nothing wrong with that.” I grinned and
looked over the display. “There’s some biscotti, too. Maybe a
couple of those to go with someone’s coffee would be an idea?”

“That sounds good. Give me a dozen of those,
and a half dozen of the chocolate cupcakes.”

“You got it.” I reached for the boxes to
pack the treats for his order. “Anything else?”

“That should do it for today.”

Before he could say anything else, a man
hurried in. “What’s the soup of the day?”

I shook my head. “We’re a cake store.”

The man seemed puzzled. “You’re not a
diner?”

“No,” I said politely. “We’re a cake
store.”

“So you don’t sell coffee, or soup?”

“No,” I said, “just cakes. We’re a cake
store.”

The man’s brows furrowed, and he left,
muttering to himself.

Craig looked over his shoulder at the cake
shaped logo painted on the glass door. He looked back at me and
pointed at the logo.

I just gave a sigh and a half shrug.
“Apparently the sign is a tad vague for some. It happens all the
time.”

He shook his head, and then frowned. “Is
everything all right, after, well, you know, the body at your
house?”

I nodded. I tried not to let the image of
the crumpled body on my porch resurface as I took his payment.
“Everything’s fine. I still don’t know what happened to him,
though.”

“Well, you let me know if you need
anything.”

My chest tightened as Craig stared into my
eyes. “It’ll all work out. One day at a time.”

“No truer words,” Craig agreed as he picked
up the box and balanced it on one broad forearm. “You take care of
yourself. No more fires while you experiment back there.”

“No promises.” I smiled as I reluctantly
watched him go. It was always so easy to chat with him when he made
the fire’s department’s cake run.

Thyme gave her shoulder a friendly slap.
“Way to ruin a perfect opportunity.”

“Say what?” I looked at her in
confusion.

“Everything’s fine,” Thyme imitated me in an
overly perky tone. She sighed dramatically. “Would tossing the guy
a bone kill you? If you’d said you needed someone to talk to, he’d
have asked if you were free for coffee or something. He was totally
scoping an excuse.”

“Don’t be silly, Thyme.” I cleaned the
crumbs from the counter.

“I’m not being silly. I know he likes you.
You guys are so transparent that it’s painful to watch.” Thyme
snagged the washcloth in mid air and nudged me out of the way with
a hip bump. “And after I sacrificed my cupcakes for you to chat him
up! I gotta start a new tray now. Anyway, you’re improving. You
made a cake and didn’t even set off the fire alarm. Go with it.”
She grinned. “You’ll be a baker before you know it.”

“Not by this weekend, though. How am I
supposed to help with fifteen cakes when I can’t tell salt from
sugar?”

Thyme winced slightly and forced a smile.
“Fourteen. That call was a cancelation.”

“Really?” I frowned, torn between the
disappointment of lost business and relief it was one less burden
on Thyme this weekend. “Did they say what happened?”

“Word spreads fast. They heard about the
body on your porch and…” Thyme’s voice trailed away with a sigh.
“Some people are ridiculous. Don’t let them get to you.”

Before I could press for details, the door
chimed. I turned to see the two detectives who had come for Madam
Dianne.

“Detectives Harrison and Sassafras,” the
taller one said, nodding to me. “Ms. Amelia Spelled.” He was
staring at me as if I were an insect under a microscope. “Could we
sit and talk?”

I felt a pang of dread. No good news ever
came from sitting to talk with the cops.

As soon as we reached the back room,
Detective Harrison wasted no time coming to the point. “The
victim’s name was Thomas Hale. Does the name ring a bell at
all?”

“No. I’ve never heard of anybody by that
name. Well, I’ve heard of him now, of course, because it’s all over
town. I had never heard of him when I found him, though; that’s
what I mean.”

“He was a new resident. He arrived in town
in last week to work as a realtor for Bayberry Creek Realty. Do you
recall ever having the company approach you about the house while
you were settling in? Did you maybe see a letterhead or a business
card in your aunt’s belongings?”

I shook my head. “Sorry, no. Dianne Longley
did tell me that she’d hired him to approach me about the
possibility of selling my house. He died before he could get in
touch with me, obviously.”

The second cop studied me with concern. “Mr.
Hale had a notebook of your work hours as well as photos of you and
your house in his motel room.”

“He had my what?” I felt my voice tighten
into a sharp squeak as a wave of anxiety overcame me. I could
understand him having photos of my house, but of me? Some strange
man had a photo of me in his motel room. I hated having my photo
taken. I would twist, run, crouch, and crab walk sideways to avoid
a camera. I had chased down friends to delete ill-gotten selfies
from their phones. What was this man doing with photos of me?

“They were likely provided to him by the
company. Maybe from your social media pages.”

“No,” I said sharply. “I have no photos of
myself online. None.” A cold chill passed down my spine at the
thought. Had people taken photos of me without me knowing? What in
the world was going on? “A strange man has photos of me—what does
this mean?”

“Likely nothing, Ms. Spelled. He was
probably assigned to approach you about selling your house, or he
might have been acting independently, given that Ms. Longley had
engaged him to approach you.”

“But he had my photos.” I was concerned.

“I wouldn’t worry too much about it, Ms.
Spelled. He can’t use them where he’s at.” He paused and removed
his glasses to wipe them clean. “You could always file a complaint
with his office, if you feel the photos were in violation of your
privacy.”

“No. No, that’s all right.” As creepy and
weird as it was to have perfect strangers keeping notes about me
and my house, a dispute would go nowhere given that the man was
deceased.

The man also had a note of my hours. If I
hadn’t gone shopping with Thyme, I likely would have been there
when the man collapsed. Madam Dianne’s face came to mind as the
cops droned on about the various formalities, asking me to sign a
statement to affirm my claims.

“There is great trouble coming your way.”
Her voice echoed in the back of my mind as I tried to focus on the
forms in front of me.

Why did the dead man have photos of me?

Chapter 7

Ruprecht Foxtin-Flynn’s shop,
Glinda’s
, had a way of making a person feel welcome, even on
a dreary, overcast day. The air was heavy with rain that refused to
fall. The trees seemed to droop in depression from the sun’s
absence. Not even the birds were out in this weather.

Yet
Glinda’s
was completely
unaffected by its gloomy surroundings. In fact, it was the most
cheerful looking building on the street. The ‘Open’ sign beckoned
in an inviting handwritten script.

The red brick stones and the heavy burgundy
curtains in the window made the rest of the street look drab and
lifeless by comparison. I could not help but wonder if the shop had
some sort of life of its own, like my house. Well, a more social
one of course. It wouldn’t do to have a shop that booted people out
at every turn. I smiled to myself as I imagined a shoplifter
suddenly finding themselves out on the sidewalk.

I was jolted from my thoughts when the door
opened with a cheerful jingle of silver bells tied to the
handle.

“Amelia, what are you doing standing out
there in the damp? You’ll catch pneumonia!” Mint gave me a welcome
smile as she scolded me, waving for me to come inside. “Come on
in!”

“Sorry, I was lost in thought.” I balanced
the plastic tray between my hands.

“I wouldn’t know why you would have so much
to think about. Things have been so dull and tranquil since you
made it to town.” Mint winked at me before looking up at the sky
and waving me in insistently. “Come inside before it starts to
pour.”

As if to emphasize her point, thunder
rumbled in the distance. I hurried inside and handed her the tray.
“I hope sandwiches are okay. I wasn’t quite bold enough to cook
anything.”

“These were so thoughtful! Thank you,
Amelia.” Mint accepted the tray and closed the door. “I have some
tea brewing. How about you join the others at the table?”

Before long everyone was chattering around
the table. No matter how many times I came by, I always felt that
the place was truly magical. The shelves lining the walls were all
wood, but not the glue-and-sawdust-from-the-store type. They were
true blue heavy polished wood. Each one was hand carved with
intricate Celtic knots and swirling vines, and each leaf was
chiseled out in exquisite detail.

The table must have been made by the same
craftsman. The dark cherry wood gleamed in the light that came from
a myriad of candles, giving this particular room a special
ambiance.

The books on the shelves were all leather
bound. Most of them looked ancient. Mint had explained that this
room was for private gatherings, and housed their rare collectibles
for special patrons. There were even display cases with handmade
books dated to the eighteenth century. These were no doubt
Ruprecht’s pride and joy.

Despite the rows of books, the place did not
smell dusty or old at all. The jars of herbs that lined the upper
shelves along with the rows of candles gave the place a witchy
atmosphere. There was a tapestry on the far wall, depicting a woman
and a dragon under a crescent moon. The many candles burning threw
the dark blue walls threw into relief.

Ruprecht smiled as he followed my eyes to
the tapestry. “An old friend in England just sent that to me. His
daughter crafts them for festivals every year.”

“That’s amazing!” I gazed enviously at the
tapestry. I wished I had half that sort of talent. In fact, I would
be happy if I could just ice a cake evenly, and maybe make icing
flowers look like more than blobs of abstract colors. “She has
amazing talent.”

“I’ll forward your praise when I talk to
them next,” Ruprecht said with a smile on his face.

“Has there been any word from Madam Dianne?”
Thyme asked as she took a sip of her tea.

I shook my head. “I was thinking of taking
her something to eat.” I raised my hands in surrender as every head
turned in my direction. “Nothing I cooked, of course! I was hoping
one of you suggest something she’d like.”

Camino offered me a tray of crackers. “The
diner always has a nice soup. It would be easy on her stomach,
given that she must be stressed.”

“You could take some cakes from the store,”
Thyme said. “The plum cake I made yesterday would probably be a
treat. Sweet things help make everything better.” She gazed up at
the ceiling thoughtfully. “Except blood sugar levels, I guess. But
other than that, it’s a win-win.”