Charms and Chocolate Chips: A Magical Bakery Mystery (22 page)

“Cut him off!” she shouted.

The others clasped hands and reached out to us with additional support.

“Cut him off!”
she growled. She wasn’t talking to us.

She was Commanding the tree.

I joined my voice with hers.
“Let him go
.
”
Over and over.
“Let him go, let him go, let him go
.
”

“No,” Rickers moaned. Then he screamed, and the staff fell from his hands. He fell and lay on the path, unmoving.

The sense that my head was on the verge of exploding stopped instantly. The silvery quality in the clearing faded, leaving us in the gloaming. Taking deep, shaky breaths, I assessed my companions.

“Mimsey?” I rushed to her at the same time Lucy and Wren did.

Slowly, she sat up. Her complexion was gray, but she grasped her granddaughter’s arm and allowed herself to be pulled to her feet. “I’m all right. Is everyone else okay?”

“Shaken and stirred,” Jaida said, “but intact. What the heck happened, Katie?”

I looked at Cookie. “A battle of light and dark,” I said with a small smile. I didn’t explain that they had both been on the same side. “Thanks. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

She blinked, then slowly nodded. “You’re welcome.”

You must trust that you have whom you need in your life.

The difference between good and evil had become even more complicated. Or maybe it hadn’t. Maybe it really was all about intention.

Steve approached Evanston Rickers and knelt beside him.

“Is he dead?” Cookie asked.

“No, he’s still breathing. His eyes are open, too.” He took hold of Rickers’ shoulders, and we all tensed as he pulled him into a sitting position. Lucy frowned, puzzled, then looked at me.

The man who had killed Autumn Boles and tried to kill my friends—and me, twice—stared at nothing. There was no longer any connection to the tree, but something else had been severed as well. His will? His . . . soul?

Whatever it was, I had done that to him. With Cookie’s help, I had done that.

Squaring my shoulders, I walked to where Steve sat beside him and looked down into those blank eyes. Maybe it wouldn’t last. Maybe it would. Either way, I’d do it all over again to save my friends.

“Who wants to come with me to find some cell service?” I asked.

Two long tables groaned under the rows and platters of scones and cookies, biscotti and brownies, tea and coffee cakes, and a big batch of peach pecan mini-pies as Mrs. Standish had requested. The morning had been cool but sunny, and attendance at the bake sale sponsored by the Honeybee Bakery was brisk. Cookie and Mama were handling the regular bakery business while Ben, Lucy, and I worked the booth on Rousakis Plaza. We’d stretched a canopy overhead in case of rain, but now the early-afternoon sun warmed the air and the shade was welcome.

Mama and Ben had done a great job getting the word out about the Georgia Wild fund-raiser in a short amount of time. People who worked in the historic district dropped by, and the normal tourist traffic in Rousakis Plaza made a beeline toward the plethora of goodies we had on offer. Several customers also mentioned the feature Steve had written about Georgia Wild that had appeared in that morning’s
News
.

Nearby, Wren had set up a table with a large sign with Georgia Wild’s motto—
SPACE AND A PLACE FOR ALL
—and had spent a lot of time answering questions and handing out literature. A few people had written checks on the spot.

The loan officer at Bianca’s bank had given Wren the short-term loan, and one of the grants had come through the day before. She was still waiting for the second one, a little worried because she had to repay the loan in sixty days. She also wanted to hire some full-time help and arrange for more volunteers than yours truly.

The last few days had been busy. Lucy, Mama, and I had spent long hours at the Honeybee getting all the extra baking done for the sale. We’d still found time to meet with the ladies of the spellbook club at the Georgia Wild office. We’d finished the cleaning job I’d started, and then my mother had given the whole place an organizational makeover. The former living room of the renovated house was now Wren’s office, and Autumn’s office had been converted to a storage and file room. Finally, we’d smudged the whole place with white sage and French lavender to get rid of any of Evanston Rickers’ lingering influences. I was happy to report there was no remaining trace of the unpleasant, intangible essence I’d perceived from Autumn’s origami bat.

As for Dr. Rickers, he was still being evaluated in the hospital. So far he’d only sat and stared at the wall, saying nothing. According to Quinn, one doctor had speculated that his apparent catatonia may have resulted from a mental break caused by guilt over killing another person. Quinn himself thought Rickers was faking it to get out of going to trial. The police had found ample physical evidence that he was guilty of Autumn’s murder. Besides the formaldehyde he used to preserve his snakes, they’d discovered a packet of maroon origami paper stuffed under his mattress, and his fingerprints matched some found in Autumn’s office as well as in Logan Seward’s smashed-up BMW.

Of course, there was also the fact that he’d confessed to eight people who were willing to testify to that effect.

I didn’t think it would come to that, however. Something had happened in the swamp that cut Evanston Rickers off from more than the tree. I’d been a part of what happened, even if I hadn’t been entirely responsible. Thoughts of going to visit Rickers had gone through my mind, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. At least not yet.

Hunter Normandy had been released after his deceased client’s family agreed not to press charges. They only wanted their mother’s ring back. He did lose his job at the mortuary, however. Peter Quinn told me Hunter planned on moving to the West Coast and starting over. He might not have been a killer, but after the unfortunate episode with him in my carriage house, I was glad to hear he would be leaving town.

“Thank you,” I said to a petite, dark-haired woman who had purchased a baker’s dozen of chocolate-filled sandwich cookies. “You have a nice afternoon.”

“Oh, I will.” She winked. “Starting with eating at least two of these in the car on my way home.”

As she walked away, a tall man with a shock of sandy blond hair approached the Georgia Wild table. Skip Thorsen appeared much better than when I’d talked to him in the Old Familiar—clear-eyed and ruddy-cheeked. He stopped in front of Wren, said something, and held out his hand for her to shake. Instead, she stood and gave him a hug. He blinked away tears as she sat back down, then pulled a checkbook out of his back pocket and began writing.

After he left, I sidled over. “Autumn’s ex made a donation?”

She blinked up at me with a stunned expression. “He just wrote me a check for a hundred thousand dollars.”

“Holy cow!”

“He said it was the amount Autumn’s life insurance policy will pay out. He knew she’d want Georgia Wild to have it.”

“Wow.” I shook my head. He hadn’t been kidding about still being in love with his ex.

Declan still hadn’t called. The day before, Ben had pulled me aside and asked what was going on. How could I tell my uncle what I’d done to his protégé—and one of his favorite people? But he’d pressed me, and I’d settled on saying that something had happened to make Declan realize that my being a witch involved a lot more than burning incense and dancing around a fire. It was something that he’d found very alarming and had needed time to think over.

Margie stopped by with Baby Bart in a backpack carrier. He grinned at me over her shoulder.

“Where are the JJs?” I asked.

“At my sister’s. She watches them once a week so I can run my errands. Oh, my
God
, Katie. Those are the cutest little pies I’ve ever seen!”

My neighbor turned to my aunt. “You make cakes for special occasions, don’t you?”

“Of course,” Lucy said. “What did you have in mind?”

“My mother-in-law’s birthday is coming up, and I wouldn’t dare try to make her a cake myself.” Margie was a self-proclaimed disaster in the kitchen, while Redding’s mother was a culinary genius.

“Oh, now,” I said. “I happen to know you make a mean Coca-Cola cake.”

She made a face. “That’s fine for the kids, but not exactly proper fare for Evelyn Coopersmith.”

I waved at Lucy. “This is your gal, then.”

“What kind of a woman is your mother-in-law?” Lucy asked.

“Kind of formal. Not snooty-formal. More like . . . precise.”

They discussed a few designs, deciding on one that featured Mrs. Coopersmith’s favorite pastel colors.

“How about if I add some iridescent candy pearls?” Lucy suggested.

Margie laughed. “She’ll love it. Heck,
I
love it.”

Steve came up to the booth. “Hello, Ben,” he said to my uncle.

“Steve.” Ben’s monosyllabic response was stiff at best.

“I’ll take a dozen of anything,” he said. “The guys at the
News
will go through whatever I bring back like a panzer division.”

Ben nodded and began loading up a bakery box. I noticed he chose the most expensive items we offered, and I suppressed a smile.

“I took my father out to the swamp,” Steve said to me.

“Finally,” I said. “I can’t believe he’s going to purchase the property without even looking at it.”

“Oh, he’d seen it.” Steve said. “However, as you might guess, he’s not one to tromp through swampland, so he’d checked it out from the air. Helicopter.”

“Naturally.” I rolled my eyes.

“This morning I took him to see the cypress in person.”

“And?”

“He’s already steered the other investors to another property they’d been considering for the golf course, and he’s buying the entire swamp from Gart Fagen.”

My jaw dropped. “You’re kidding. Talk about moving fast. What’s he going to do with it?”

“Nothing. He wants to preserve it. Learn more about the tree and the ley lines.”

I rushed out of the booth and gave him a big hug. “You are awesome.” Stepping back, I found myself grinning so hard it made my cheeks ache. “Go tell Wren. She’ll be over the moon.”

On the other side of the booth, Mimsey’s granddaughter was going over a Georgia Wild brochure with a long-haired teenager, oblivious that even more good news was headed her way.

“I want to show you something first. Ben, do you mind if I borrow Katie for a minute?”

“It’s up to Katie,” he said.

“I’ll be right back,” I said.

Steve led me to a nearby bench and we sat down. He opened his messenger bag and took something out. It was the old
Life Magazine
I’d seen him flipping through at the Honeybee, the one with Kim Novak on the cover.

“Look at this.” He opened the magazine and handed it to me. “It’s about the area around Fagen Swamp.”

“It’s about more than that,” I said, skimming the story. “This confirms that someone else knew about the ley lines as far back as 1958. A PhD, no less.”

He nodded. “Dr. Seymour Gold. The story makes him sound like kind of a wacko, but enough people took him seriously that a magazine of that stature wrote about his theory.”

Our eyes locked for what felt like a long time. Finally I said what we were both thinking. “Could that be how the cypress tree became so powerful?”

“Maybe.” A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Do you think it’s dangerous?” I asked.

“It was for Evanston Rickers,” he said. “And at least some of the animals in the swamp were affected.”

“Mutated,” I said. “Like those snakes in Dr. Rickers’ specimen jars were.” Quinn had told me they all had mutations, some freakish and some practical. “Your father isn’t going to rent that cabin, is he?”

Steve shook his head. “No way. Rickers may or may not have been nuts to start with, but it seems likely it was the extended exposure to the tree that sent him over the edge. No one is going to be living in that swamp.”

“Good.” I glanced over at the bake sale booth. “I’d better get back. Mind if I take the magazine and show Uncle Ben?”

He handed it to me.

“Do you think Dr. Rickers really saw maroon bats?” I asked as we walked.

Steve shrugged. “I doubt it. They were just an excuse to keep the swamp the way it was. And to keep his privacy. I wouldn’t be surprised if he planned to stay there instead of returning to Oregon.”

“Wren mentioned going back out there to set up cameras in places the bats would likely roost. Just in case. Do you think Heinrich would let her do that?”

“I think so.”

Steve went to tell Wren the good news. Ben was looking over my shoulder as I approached the booth, and I turned to see what had caught his attention. Declan strolled down the redbrick sidewalk. Steve saw him, too, and veered into his path. He stopped and held out his hand. He said something I couldn’t hear. Declan paused, then shook Steve’s hand before continuing toward us.

Well. Will wonders never cease?

When my boyfriend—could I still call him that?—turned and caught my eye, I realized I had stopped breathing. Ben heard my sudden inhalation and gave me a knowing nudge.

“Declan,” he said, “what can we get you?”

“Nothing at the moment, thanks. Katie? Can we talk?”

This time Ben practically pushed me out of the booth.

We walked to the edge of the echo chamber and sat down on a retaining wall. We were near enough to the Savannah River to hear the water lapping at the shore. Butterflies flapped like bats around the sandwich I’d had for lunch. I ducked my head and looked surreptitiously at Declan’s face. Was he here to break up with me?

“Ben called me last night,” he said.

I sighed. “I’m sorry. Yesterday he asked what was going on with us, and I told him . . . a little. I didn’t expect him to bug you. You should take all the time you need to decide what to do about me.”

He smiled. “What to do about you, huh?” He looked at the toes of his work boots. “You tried to tell me. I didn’t take you seriously enough, I guess. But you did try.”

“I’m sorry I hurt you.”

“I know you are.” He was quiet for several seconds. “And I know you’ll never do anything like that again. Ben pointed out that he’s been with Lucy for almost thirty years, and some weird things have happened. But he loves her, and that’s stronger than anything else.”

The butterflies in my stomach returned to a more manageable size. “But . . . how should I put this? Lucy’s ‘weird things’ and mine might be a little different.”

“Because you’re a catalyst. And something else, from what Ben told me. I still don’t entirely understand what that means.”

“Honestly, neither do I.”

“And I don’t know how I’ll react to future, um, situations, but I’d like to give it a try and see what happens.”

I leaned my head against his shoulder. “Deal.”

He put his arm around my shoulders and pulled me close.

“You’re a brave man,” I said.

He smiled. “Shut up and kiss me.” A trace of sweet gardenia swirled around us as Declan bent and touched his lips to mine.