Bewitched, Bothered, and Biscotti: A Magical Bakery Mystery (28 page)

Maybe I should make Margie’s Coca-Cola cupcakes for the party.

I shook my head. This order was already late. Just stick with the plan. Tomorrow was
going to be another really long, really busy day. Thank goodness we’d have the professional
help of Nel Sandstrom to lighten the load.

Speaking of Nel, I fished her file out and got going on her W-2 paperwork and the
tax forms we had to fill out for the Honeybee’s accountant. Glancing at her application,
I saw her address was in a rather upscale neighborhood. Probably living in her father’s
house after his death, as Greer had planned to do…

I grabbed the application and ran my finger down to the bottom. Mungo’s head snapped
up. Nel had listed
three references. I’d called only one of them—the bakery in Athens where she’d worked
the last nine years. I’d used my cell to call David Talbot, owner of the Halcyon Bakery,
so Nel wouldn’t inadvertently pick up the Honeybee phone and hear me checking with
her old boss. That call was the only one I’d made in the last week to a number I wasn’t
familiar with.

I picked up my phone and scrolled to my own recent calls. There it was. The number
matched the one on the application. I began to dial it again.

Yip!

I ended the call before it rang. “Right. Thanks, Mungo.” If this was the number for
the phone I’d found on Greer Eastmore’s dresser, the police would know if I called
it now.

But was it Greer’s phone? Or was it David Talbot’s?

I thought about calling the number from a pay phone, or blocking the caller ID on
my own phone. But I didn’t trust the latter, and I’d have to leave the town house
to call from a public phone. A better idea came to mind.

The Halcyon Bakery’s Web site was fancier than ours, but they focused more on specialty
breads and decorated cakes. The phone number was different, but the man I’d talked
to had told me that I’d reached his cell phone. The site said the owner’s name was
indeed David Talbot, the name Nel had listed on the application.

Was it even possible that Greer Eastmore was in possession of the phone of a guy who
owned a bakery in Athens?

I scrolled down to the bottom of the homepage and caught my breath. Mungo padded up
to look at the screen with me. I clicked over to the
STAFF
page.

“Oh, no,” I said.

Mungo made a questioning sound.

“It says here that David Talbot is originally from Ireland. The man I spoke with had
a strong Southern accent. And not only that, but Nel isn’t in this group photo. She
should be.”

He tipped his head to the side.

“It was taken two years ago, when she was supposedly employed there.”

Yip!

Sure enough, a little more digging revealed how much Nel had lied in order to get
a job at the Honeybee. First, I called the other two numbers she’d listed as references,
figuring that even if Emily Post would have disapproved of the late hour I’d probably
just get voice mail anyway. I was wrong. One number was a pizza place, and the other
was a very confused teenager in Seattle.

At least it was earlier there.

Giving two blatantly fake references was a rookie mistake. Though, come to think of
it, as potential employers we’d be more interested in her most recent job, especially
since that was supposed to cover nine whole years of her baking experience. The others
were short-term positions. Perhaps Nel had thought it worth the gamble. And, in fact,
it had worked for a while.

Then I searched online for “lily airbrush cake” and bingo!—the exact same photo of
the cake Lucy had loved so much from Nel’s portfolio filled the screen. The name of
the person credited with the cake was definitely
not
Nel Sandstrom. A few more minutes of searching netted me two more fake photos of
award-winning cake decoration—also not Nel’s work.

I slumped against the pillows. Looked at Mungo, who waited expectantly.

“Yeah, yeah. I guess I have to go tell Lucy and Ben now.”

 * * *

The door to their bedroom was open. Lucy was propped against a mountain of blue-paisley-patterned
pillows on the bed, legs tucked under her as she read a section of the newspaper from
that morning. She wore white pajamas and had woven her wavy gray-blond hair into a
thick braid, which fell over one shoulder. Purple-framed half-glasses perched on her
nose, and Honeybee the cat curled in the crook of her legs, orange tabby stripes vivid
in the light from the bedside lamp.

Ben, still in slacks and a polo shirt, sat in the overstuffed reading chair with another
section of the
News
. He looked up when he saw me in the doorway. “What’s up?”

Lucy put down the paper, peering at me over the tops of her reading glasses and smiling.
But her smile faded and her eyes grew wide as she listened to what I’d found out about
our new employee. Ben’s jaw set and his eyes narrowed as he heard the catalog of Nel’s
deceit.

When I finished, Lucy took off her glasses and pinched the bridge of her nose. “She
lied about everything? Her experience, those beautiful cakes? How could we not know?”

Honeybee rose and stretched, then rubbed her head against Lucy’s arm. My aunt distractedly
stroked her familiar, who purred encouragement.

“She’s a very good liar,” I said.

Lucy looked up at me. “And I wanted to believe her. I convinced Ben, too.”

He stood and walked over to the bed. “Don’t even try to take on the blame for this,
Luce. I liked her, too.”

“Sometimes I think I’m intentionally naive,” she insisted.

He pushed a stray strand of hair from her forehead. “No, my darling wife. You have
managed to retain the ability to look for the best in people. Do you know how rare
that is?”

“He’s right,” I said. “Rare and valuable. Don’t ever get cynical on us, Aunt Lucy.”

A tentative smile tugged at her lips. “I’ll do my best. Sometimes it’s hard to stay
optimistic, though.”

I looked at Ben and nodded. “That’s why we need you to stay just the way you are.”

 * * *

Questions had swirled through my mind as I’d fallen asleep the night before. They
were still there to greet me when I awoke, and stayed with me as I rushed around the
Honeybee kitchen trying to get the regular day’s baking out of the way so we could
get cracking on the food for the Halloween party that night. Why had Nel wanted to
work at the Honeybee so badly? Other than being childhood friends, what was Nel’s
recent connection with Greer Eastmore? Dead men tell no tales, but I was sure as heck
going to get the answers out of Nel.

I realized I was gripping the edge of the counter, staring into space with my jaw
clenched. I deliberately loosened it, did a few shoulder rolls, and began gathering
ingredients for miniature ginger pecan Bundt cakes.

The woman we’d hired was really Nel Sandstrom—Steve knew her. But who the heck was
the
real
Nel Sandstrom? She’d seemed so
nice
, and had totally fooled Cookie, Lucy, Ben…and me.

The more I thought about it, the angrier I got. And the angrier I got, the more things
I wanted to say to her. I glanced at the clock. Almost six. She’d be coming in the
door any minute.

Except she never did. By the time we opened at seven it was pretty obvious that Nel
wasn’t going to show up for work. I tried the number she’d provided on her application
and was immediately shunted over to voice mail. At least it was her voice inviting
me to leave a message.

“Hi, Nel. It’s Katie. It’s after seven, and we were wondering where you are. Give
me a call, okay?” It was difficult to keep my tone light.

Then I called the Halcyon Bakery—the real one—using the number I’d found on their
Web site. Sure enough, David Talbot himself answered with a charming Irish lilt. He’d
never heard of Nel Sandstrom. He wished me luck and we hung up.

“I’m calling Cookie,” Lucy said from the office doorway.

“Good,” I said. “In a few hours maybe you could call the other ladies, too,” I said.
“They were going to help with the last-minute decorations, anyway. Maybe they could
come a little early?”

She pointed her finger at me. “Good idea.”

The morning rush kept us busy for the next hour. Cookie showed up then, and responded
to the news about Nel with more puzzlement than anger. When things slowed down a little,
I left her and Lucy out front and got back to work in the kitchen. As my hands sifted
and mixed, my mind went back to work on Nel.

Why on earth would anyone lie so she could work
at a bakery? It had to be related to the murders somehow. But what did we have that
she wanted?

She’d filled out the job application the very same day Declan and I found Lawrence
Eastmore in Johnson Square. Now I wondered about that timing. The next night she’d
been at Brandon Sikes’ art opening and convinced Cookie that she would make a great
Honeybee employee. Then she’d shown up the day after that and charmed Ben and Lucy
before I got back from the fund-raiser. The topper had been when she told us she was
a practicing Wiccan—but who knew if that was even true? She’d known we were witches,
though. Then Greer, posing as David Talbot, had given her a glowing recommendation.

I paused in kneading blueberries into a mound of scone dough, mulling over what I
knew. So Nel had been working with Greer. I’d heard that murderers sometimes tried
to involve themselves in the investigation, and in this case the real center of that
investigation was definitely at the Honeybee, not the police precinct. Greer wasn’t
even supposed to be in town when his father died, and he couldn’t fake bakery experience
like Nel could. But if they were working together…how? Greer had been in Europe for
years. I thought of the Parthenon wallpaper on his laptop. Nel’s application had listed
addresses and employment in Athens, Georgia.

However, it had already been established that Nel was a liar.

Steve had mentioned Nel living in Athens. So had Andersen. They could have meant Athens,
Greece.

Go, Bulldogs.

No, that had been Carolyn Powers, talking about her husband.

But Nel had definitely led us to believe she’d been in Athens, Georgia, before moving
back to Savannah. My bet was she’d been living in Athens, Greece, all along. And in
some kind of contact with Greer Eastmore.

I remembered the click on the office phone when Andersen Lane had called to ask me
to find
The 33 Curses
. Had Nel listened in? The more I thought about it, the more it made a creepy kind
of sense. Between that phone call and the next day I had been attacked. By Greer,
as I’d first thought?

Or…could it have been Nel who had invaded my mind? She’d looked a bit tired when I
saw her at the bakery the next day, but nothing like I’d expect if she’d worked that
kind of magic against me.

I shook my head and reached for the butter. I needed more information about our absent
employee, and I needed it soon.

 * * *

Declan came in around noon with Scott and Randy. This time they were all out of uniform,
though with all the logo T-shirts those guys wore there was no question that they
were firefighters all the time, on duty or not.

“Coming to the party tonight?” I asked.

“You bet,” Declan said.

“How would you feel about helping me a little sooner than that? I feel kind of bad,
asking after the whole, well, you know…”

Amusement played across his face. “You don’t have to feel bad. I thought I made that
clear last night.”

Scott and Randy exchanged knowing looks.

“Thanks,” I said. “In twenty minutes? Half an hour?”

Declan nodded and took a bite of molasses oatmeal cookie.

Fifteen minutes later, Mimsey came in decked from head to toe in black in a skirt-and-tunic
combination. Along with the black hose and black shoes, she might have looked downright
witchy. The black satin bow in her hair kind of ruined that effect, though. But I
knew she’d picked the color not only because it was Halloween, but because black was
a deeply elemental color, representing the earth itself, and powerful in protection.

“Is everyone ready for tonight?” she crowed, her eyes shining.

Customers turned toward her, smiling and nodding. Ben waved from the reading area,
where he was adding another loop of candy corn garland to the Halloween tree. I greeted
her from behind the espresso machine, and Lucy hurried out of the kitchen. “Thanks
for coming early,” she said. “We’re nearly ready, but Katie has to leave for a little
while.”

Mimsey shot a look at me.

“Lucy will explain,” I said. No need to air anything about a Honeybee employee in
public.

“Jaida was looking for a parking space. She’ll be here in a few minutes,” Mimsey said,
emanating curiosity as she bustled into the kitchen and donned a royal blue apron
covered with ruffles.

“Perfect.” I raised my eyebrows at Declan across the room.

He nodded and pushed back from the table. “Duty calls, guys.”

“Duty.” Randy snorted around another maple cardamom scone. “Right.”

I wrinkled my nose at him and took off my apron. In the office, Mungo happily jumped
into my tote, and I smuggled him out to the sidewalk. Declan looked
surprised to see that my dog had been in the bakery, but no way was I going to confront
Nel without my little wolf. Maybe she was just a rotten liar, but evidence pointed
to her being something worse.

Outside, I headed for my Bug, but Declan put his hand on my shoulder. “We’re going
someplace?”

“To Nel Sandstrom’s.”

“Really? Well, what do you say I drive?”

It was true that he always looked a bit uncomfortable folded into the seat of my little
car. “Okay, sure.”

We crossed Broughton Street to where he’d parked his big king cab pickup. He opened
the door and lifted me in with one hand on my elbow. As we pulled into traffic, I
told him about discovering Nel’s lies the night before and that I wanted to talk to
her.