Magic and Macaroons (21 page)

She made a face. “The timing of that break-in is pretty suspicious. I wonder if she would even notice if someone took ‘Frankie’s’ stuff.”

“No kidding. I almost asked her to go check, but she was already suspicious enough.”

“Will Quinn follow through?” Jaida asked.

“I don’t see why not. He wants to know more about his old partner’s death, too. And he asked me to call if I had any information that might help.”

She looked at me curiously. “Have you told him about Dawn’s message? About the gris gris?”

“Not yet. After all, what could he do? He doesn’t even believe in magic.” We’d reached the car, and I hit the keyless entry.

“Are you sure?” she asked.

I responded with a humorless laugh. “He yelled at me about believing a psychic, Jaida. Finds what he sees as my preoccupation with the paranormal somewhat amusing. I’m pretty sure he’s not going to help when it comes to voodoo curses.”

She shrugged. “You’re probably right.”

“He’ll want to know Franklin left with a suitcase. He’s been someplace else for the past three months. Possibly in a coma.”

“Detective Quinn might be able to find out where,” Jaida said, stopping at my car.

“Exactly what I was thinking,” I said, and stepped off the curb. “Though I’ll have to convince him why it’s a possibility, and I’m not sure how to do that.”

A car drove by as I was opening the driver’s door, and I looked up to see Steve’s black Land Rover. I smiled and raised my hand to wave, then dropped it when I saw the blond locks winging out the open window were a much lighter shade than Steve’s smooth, honeyed hair.

And, wouldn’t you know it, tied with a pretty pink ribbon.

Tamping down the instant irritation that flared when I realized Samantha Whatshername—Hatfield?—was driving Steve’s car, I deposited Mungo into the backseat and slammed the door. Steve let other people drive his car all the time. His dad. His lawyer.

Not me, though. Not once.

But I hadn’t needed to borrow his car. Maybe his girlfriend’s Porsche, or whatever she drove, was in the shop. Steve was a generous guy, after all. It was a perfectly reasonable explanation. Still, I couldn’t help watching the vehicle turn at the corner, showing Sam’s cute, ski-jump nose in profile.

“Get in,” I said to Jaida. “Quick.”

“What?” But she slid into the seat and shut the door. I started the engine and pulled away from the curb, tromping on the accelerator.

Jaida reached for the seat belt. “Where are we going now?”

“I’m just curious about something. Bear with me.”

Jaida settled back in the seat. I felt her eyes on me as I turned onto Park.

A movement caught my eye, and Tanna rounded the corner on foot, heading away from Mother Eulora’s with a large shopping bag in her hand. Her head came up, and she saw me watching. Her expression hardened in recognition, and her eyes narrowed into a glare as we passed.

I saw the Land Rover ahead, and slowed to keep a Prius between it and the Bug. My car wasn’t ostentatious, but it was memorable enough. Not that Samantha knew what I drove.

“Why are we following Steve?” Jaida asked.

“We’re not. We’re following his girlfriend.”

“Oh. Well, that makes perfect sense, then.”

I glanced over at her. She wore an amused expression. “There’s something off about that woman,” I said.

“You’re going to feel a little foolish when she pulls into Whole Foods.”

“Yeah. Probably.” But some intuition had told me to follow her, and more and more I was learning to pay attention to those feelings. If I made a fool of myself in front of Jaida, so be it.

Samantha drove through Midtown, apparently without noticing the celery-green Volkswagen hanging back behind. We drove by Esoterique, and I pointed out Marie LaFevre’s shop to Jaida. Then, when we reached the Southside, I started to get a funny feeling of familiarity. It was confirmed as the Land Rover turned onto Davidson Avenue. I slowed to a crawl just before the street sign.

Jaida leaned forward. “You’re going to lose her.”

Mungo chimed in from the backseat.
Yip!

I snorted. “Funny how interested you are all of a sudden.”

She spared me a sarcastic look.

I guided the car around the corner. By the time we reached the periwinkle house belonging to Mambo Jeni, we were going the speed limit. The Land Rover was parked in front, and Samantha was walking up the sidewalk to the door. She didn’t even look around as we passed.

Jaida wrinkled her nose. “Do you think she lives there?”

I shook my head. “No. But that’s where one of the other voodoo queens lives.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Oh, really?”

Now I nodded. “Mambo Jeni. And you know what? She told Cookie and me that love potions are one of her specialties.”

*   *   *

When we got back to the Honeybee, Jaida grabbed a coffee drink and headed off to her office. My call to Detective Quinn about Cozie Temmons went to voice mail, so I left a message for him to call me, and hurried out to the kitchen. The lunch rush was just starting, and I spent a solid hour and a half constructing custom sandwiches on fresh sourdough bread and croissants. We’d recently expanded our menu from eleven to one thirty to accommodate downtown businesspeople on the run, as well as visitors to Savannah on their midday tourist march. It had increased our traffic by at least ten percent during those hours.

In the middle of it all, Declan stopped by with Joe Nix and two other firefighters I knew from Five House. I made them all giant grilled-cheese sandwiches with layers of Tasso ham, thinly sliced pears, and a hefty slather of mango chutney tucked between the slabs of sourdough bread. Before they left, I managed to pull Deck aside long enough to update him on what Jaida and I had found out from Cozie Temmons. Then the guys were off, and I was back on more sandwich duty.

Things wound down, and I policed the emptying tables. As I took a bin of dishes from the bussing area into the kitchen, the bell over the door rang. Cookie marched in. She spied me and threaded her way toward the kitchen. She must not have been working, because she wore cutoff denim shorts that showed off her leggy beauty and a casual top.

“Hi!” I called, opening the dishwasher.

She came in and stood at the counter. Her eyes flashed.

I paused in reaching for a dish. “Is something wrong?”

“Did you tell him?”

“Tell who what?” But I had a notion.

“Oscar!” She planted her fists on her hips. “He knows we didn’t go shopping yesterday.”

“Huh. Well, I sure didn’t tell him.”

She glared at me. Iris came into the kitchen, took one look at us, turned around, and left.

I lifted my palms. “Oh, come on, Cookie. When would I have even talked to him? And you asked me not to say anything about the”—I lowered my voice—“voodoo stuff, so I wouldn’t.” I turned away and started stacking dishes in the rack again. “Not that I think it’s a great idea to lie to your husband, but as you pointed out, your marriage isn’t really my business.”

She was quiet. When I turned back, I saw her anger replaced with tearful hurt.

“He’s very angry with me, Katie.”

I hid a sigh and gestured her toward the office. “Come in here, where we can have some privacy.”

Mungo jumped down the second he saw Cookie. “Thank you, little man,” she said. “But I don’t need to sit down.”

“Well, I do.” I sank into the desk chair. She leaned against the file cabinet, searching her fingernails as if they held the secret to the universe.

“What happened?” I prompted.

“He accused me of lying about what I was doing yesterday afternoon. I think he’s more jealous than I believed.”

“Oh . . .” That didn’t sound good.

“I assured him I was with you, and when he didn’t believe me—after all, you work here all day, and he knows that—I admitted that you asked me to help find a mambo here in Savannah.” She licked her lips and looked away. “He didn’t seem that surprised, so I wondered if you’d already told him.”

“Well, I didn’t.”

She sighed. “I know. I’m sorry. But he was so angry.”

I jumped up. “Why? You can do whatever you want to, Cookie!” I held up my hand in a traffic cop gesture. “Not that you wanted to help me in the first place. I get that. But you decided to in the end, and that’s
your
decision, not his!”

She sighed and slumped down in Mungo’s chair, anyway, right on top of his fuzzy sheepskin bed. “I shouldn’t have lied. You were right about that. It hurt his feelings.”

“Yet he still got angry when you told him the truth.”

“Yes.” Her dark green gaze rose to mine. “As I mentioned, he has his own past with voodoo, in Santo Domingo, where he was raised before he left for school in Barcelona. It’s something we have in common, you see, and now he feels I have betrayed him by reengaging with the community.”

“Honey, I’m sorry.” I bent over and gave her a hug. “I never thought your helping me would trigger such difficulty with Oscar.”

She stood and gave me a proper hug in return. “It’s not your fault. You’re my coven sister. He has to understand that.”

I stepped back and searched her face. “Does he? Or
is practicing the Craft the same to him as practicing voodoo? Is this irreparable?”

Cookie blew out a breath and lifted one shoulder. “It’ll be all right, I think. I’ll give him some time, then try to explain again.” She gave a tiny wince. “I wasn’t terribly tactful during our conversation.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “You are as fiery as they come, darlin’. I’m glad to hear falling in love hasn’t tamed you too much.”

A grin split her face. “Ha! No, you’re right. I’ll make this all right with my husband—whether he likes it or not!”

*   *   *

As much as I hated hearing about the tension between Cookie and Oscar, I’d been wondering how to tell her I wanted to go see Mother Eulora without her. She probably wouldn’t have minded; she hadn’t exactly been over the moon about our visits to the various voodoo queens, and now her husband was angry at her. At least she’d had the chance to reconnect with Poppa Jack. I hoped they would stay in touch; perhaps he might help to fill the void her father had left behind.

However, what with all the talk of Franklin, dark magic, voodoo curses, and the power of the gris gris, I hadn’t been able to ask Mother Eulora about being a lightwitch. I’d come to Franklin’s mentor in a roundabout way, and under downright awful circumstances, yet I felt sure Eulora was the person he’d promised would tell me more about my apparent gift. Or calling. Or whatever. That was the point—to find out just what being a lightwitch was all about. I didn’t really want to have that discussion with anyone else around. Even Cookie. Certainly not Tanna.

“I’d better call first,” I said to Mungo, who stood and stretched on the club chair. However, 411 didn’t have a listing for either Eulora Scanlon or Mother Eulora.

“Dang it. She probably has a cell phone. I should have asked for her number. I wonder if Poppa Jack would have it.”

I could have sworn Mungo rolled his eyes.

“Well, how would you know? You haven’t met any of the players in the voodoo world.”

He jumped to the floor and climbed into my tote bag, which was leaning against the file cabinet.

I couldn’t help but grin. “I take it you want to meet Mother Eulora?”

Yip!

I laughed. “Okay. Let me check in with Lucy, and we’ll head over there. The worst thing that can happen is she’s not there.” I considered. “Or that Tanna won’t leave us alone to talk.” Yes, that was a real possibility, especially given the look she’d given me earlier. “Or that she doesn’t like dogs.”

Rrrr?

“Well, it’s possible. Some people don’t.” I picked up the tote and slid my cell phone into an outside pocket. “Not our kind of people, of course. But one thing at a time.”

He gave a doggy snort and, as I picked up the tote, settled into the bottom of the bag so even his ears couldn’t be seen.

Ben was being Mr. Social with a group of Savannah business owners who’d stopped in for sweet tea and macaroons, and Lucy and Iris were in the kitchen, talking in low tones with their heads close together. Seeing them, I thought of Lucy teaching me about hedgewitchery and was surprised to feel a flicker of jealousy. It was short-lived, however. Having another willing student, as well as an employee who knew what we did so that we didn’t have to hide our kitchen spells, was an unqualified good thing. I really liked Iris, too.

When I saw Lucy put her hand on the teen’s shoulder, I realized something else. Lucy and Ben were madly in love even after a dozen years of marriage, but they’d met later in life and didn’t have any children. Iris’ mother had passed, and her stepmother was a perfectly nice woman who owned the cheese shop down the block. Still, I knew they weren’t particularly close.

And, really—can you have too many mothers?

Smiling to myself, I untied my gingham half apron and hung it on the wall with the rest of my vintage collection. “You mind if I take off for a couple hours?” I asked my aunt.

“Of course not,” she said, then stopped and gave me a sharp look. “Where are you going?”

“Mother E.’s,” I said, keeping it casual. “I’ll be back right after.”

She squinted at me but didn’t ask questions, understanding that I didn’t want to elaborate with Iris standing right there. Iris herself watched me with sharp curiosity.

“Okay, honey,” Lucy said in a mild tone and turned back to the jar of dried herbs she held in her hand. She said to her new apprentice, “Now, this is thyme. It allows one to access the courage we all carry deep inside.”

Setting my bag—and Mungo—down behind the register counter, I quickly filled a bag sporting the Honeybee logo of an orange kitty with muffins, macaroons, oatmeal chocolate-chunk cookies, and an assortment of scones.

With a friendly nod at Ben and his friends, I exited by the front door. The weather had taken a pleasant turn overnight, and the early afternoon was only in the eighties.

“Shall we walk?” I asked Mungo, who had raised his head and was taking in the sights.

Yip!

“Do you want down to walk?”