Some Enchanted clair : A Magical Bakery Mystery (9780698140561) (17 page)

My phone buzzed then, and I shifted my familiar in order to retrieve it from my tote bag on the floor. It was Declan.
Supper at your place? I'll grab takeout.

“Let's check in tomorrow,” I said to Jaida. “I have a date with my fireman.”

I agreed with alacrity to Declan's suggestion, sending him a quick text and then buzzing home to quickly run a broom and dust rag through the carriage house and tidy a few things here and there. By the time he arrived, I'd also swept out the gazebo in the backyard, lit a few candles, and loaded a couple of beers into an ice bucket. Not exactly champagne, but perfectly suited for the Low Country grub he'd brought from The 5 Spot.

“Oh, yum!” I said by way of greeting, ushering him and his take-out containers into the kitchen before bestowing a big smacker on his lips. “I can't tell you how much I appreciate this.”

He grinned. “Sure you can. Over and over, if that's how you do it.”

I lightly slapped his arm with the back of my hand. “Get the plates. I have beer outside.”

We loaded my fried green tomato BLT and his chicken and waffles with red-eye gravy onto bright Fiesta plates and carried them outside with silverware and napkins tucked under our arms. Mungo trotted ahead, ready to partake as well. Declan had brought him his own order of biscuits and gravy, of which I'd dished out a minor portion. When I put it down on the floor of the gazebo, my familiar spared me a brief look of consternation.

“A half biscuit is plenty,” I admonished. “Save the rest for tomorrow's breakfast.”

He huffed a sigh for effect before digging in.

Declan shook his head and took a seat in one of the thrift store chairs I'd put in the gazebo. Truth be told, the mishmash of seating in the small space looked more like my boyfriend had been in charge of it. However, I'd wanted kitschy casual, and the other, more important touches he was probably unaware of.

I'd had the structure built shortly after moving into the carriage house—and shortly after learning I was a green witch. It was my sacred space for gardening, for casting outdoors, and the bare cedar of the walls, the bundles of angelica tucked into the five corners of the ceiling, and the crudely painted white star in the middle of the floor outlined in purple all added to its power. Even the broom leaning against the wall was really a besom, a tool I'd made myself from willow branches and an ash handle. I used it to ritualistically clear the space before casting a circle.

Never mind that we witches were supposed to be able to ride brooms like those. I hoped that bit of lore never came true; I'm not that fond of heights.

As the sun went down, we joined my familiar in filling our bellies, sipping beer, and chatting about anything except murder or magic. As we finished, the crickets started to chirp and the fireflies came out to play with Mungo. He raced to the lawn, chasing them for a while before rolling onto his back and looking at us upside down.

“Yes,” I assured him from where we sat watching. “You are well and truly adorable.”

He licked his nose and, belly full of biscuits and gravy, his eyes drifted shut in the gloaming. The fireflies drifted down to form a circle in the grass around him.

Declan pointed. “He's the only dog I've ever seen attract lightning bugs like that. It's downright weird.”

So much for staying on neutral subjects.

“Not really,” I said. “It's a familiar thing. They're his totem.”

“Totem?”

“Mine are dragonflies.”

He turned to look at me, his eyes catching the last of the light so they glowed ice-blue in his handsome face. “What else am I going to learn about you and this hedgewitch business?”

“I don't know,” I answered honestly. “I'm still learning myself.”

We sat in silence for a moment, thinking about that.

“And it doesn't sound like I'm going to learn anything more from Detective Taite if he's passed on,” I said. “But Quinn doesn't seem to know anything about him. Including that he's likely dead.”

“You don't know that for sure, either.”

“Do you have another explanation for why someone named Franklin would contact a psychic with a message for me?” Deep down I knew the little detective was gone.

Deck made a face. “Not really.”

“I didn't think so.” I took a sip of beer and ran my gaze over the vegetables arranged in trios along the fence. Squash, corn, and beans were classic combinations from the Southwest Indians that also worked together in my garden. The heirloom tomatoes were planted in threes, supported by sturdy square cages I'd painted bright magenta, periwinkle, and green. The attractive spikes of onions and garlic delineated the curves of the garden edge, warding away pests.

“I wanted to get Ursula to contact him again the other night. After the séance.”

He looked at me sideways. “And?”

I shrugged. “It was too late. She was too tired, and the other spirits in the house would have interfered. I don't know which.”

“You could ask her again.”

“Yeah. I might, if I could do it without Althea finding out. She's remarkably stingy with her psychic.”

“I'd think a psychic wouldn't be so easily controlled,” Declan said.

“
Hmm
. I don't know that Ursula is really being controlled. I know she likes the pay, but sometimes I've had the feeling she's not being controlled so much as managing Althea. Steve is doing the same thing, it turns out. And heaven knows Althea could use it.”

“Steve,” Declan said.

“You saw me speaking with him on the set today,” I said in a light tone.

But a sour atmosphere settled into the gazebo. Not wanting our evening to be spoiled, I jumped to my feet and began gathering plates and leftovers.

“Let's watch a movie,” I suggested.

“Good idea,” he said, as willing as I was to change the subject.

He helped me take everything back inside and put things away while I changed into a spaghetti tank and yoga pants. I popped some corn, dosed it with plenty of butter and salt, and we headed up to the loft. Declan sifted through my abbreviated collection of DVDs and selected an old Pink Panther film.

Talk of Althea had derailed me from the question I'd been leading up to, and as we settled onto the futon with Mungo, I ventured, “Do you think you might be able to contact Taite?”

His head whipped around. “What do you mean?”

I held up my palms. “Well, since you obviously have a, er, knack for the whole, you know, medium thing . . .” I trailed off as his jaw set and his eyes blazed.

“I do
not
have a knack, as you put it, for the
medium
thing. That was a fluke, a onetime event. I have no idea how to contact the other side. It will never, ever happen again.”

“But, Deck—”

“Absolutely not! Why would you even ask me that? Do you have even the slightest notion how weird it was to be
possessed
? And now you want me to voluntarily let some dead guy use me to talk to you?” He was definitely angry, but I could see the fear behind his eyes.

I bit my lower lip. “I'm sorry.”

“Good.” He settled against the back of the futon and crossed his arms over his chest.

“But you do have the ability, you know. It might help you to explore it.”

He clicked on the movie and the theme song swelled. “Talk about boundary issues, Katie. Let it drop.”

“Okay.”

“Okay, then.”

It was a pretty good movie. We made small talk, commented on the acting, crunched through popcorn, laughed at the funny parts.

But the elephant in the room was so big that sometimes it was hard to breathe.

* * *

An unseasonably warm wind blew through our part of Georgia the next morning. I'd awoken in a cloud of thoughts about the secrets people keep, and those thoughts stayed with me as I drank my morning coffee on the back patio while Mungo ate maple oatmeal sprinkled with crushed peanuts. They followed me inside as I got ready for work as quietly as possible. Declan's snores echoed from the bedroom as I showered and dressed in a denim skort and gauzy blouse.

The morning baking went smoothly and quickly, and at around nine Mimsey came into the Honeybee, fanning her face with a newspaper and announcing, “It's going to be a hot one today, girls!”

When I asked if she'd mind helping Lucy yet again, she beamed. “I'd be tickled pink, sugar,” she assured me. I gave her a quick hug, admonished Mungo to stay in the office while I was gone, and beelined over to Reynolds Square on foot.

There was one person whose secrets I hadn't thought to explore yet: Simon Knapp himself.

A new guy was working security when I got to the set. I'd never met him before, and his sharp eyes and dour expression did not bode well for my entry this time around. Nonetheless, I waved him over with a big, friendly smile.

“Where's Declan?” I asked when he approached my position on the looky-loo side of the barricade.

His eyebrow cocked as he looked me up and down. “You know Declan?”

“Pretty well, actually,” I said, managing not to waggle my eyebrows.

The sternness drained from his face, and he returned my smile. “You must be his girlfriend, Katie.”

Relieved, I inclined my head. “Guilty as charged. Ben's niece, too.”

“Visiting?”

“Hoping to,” I said. “Niklas Egan knows who I am, too.” I didn't mention anything about catering, but I didn't need to.

“I'm Tyler.” He lifted the heavy rope and I ducked underneath. “Ben asked me to help out for a few hours. Declan had to go to a training session at Five House.”

I nodded. Declan hadn't mentioned it, but he'd still been fast asleep when Mungo and I had left for the Honeybee at o'dark thirty.

I said, “So you haven't been working security here the whole time?”

“Filling in,” Tyler said. “Just a few times. Ben's over there with the director.”

We began walking toward my uncle. “So how well have you gotten to know these people?” I asked.

“Not very. I know about the production coordinator's murder, of course. Hard to believe. He seemed like a decent enough sort.”

“I thought so, too,” I said.

Ben and Niklas saw me at the same time, and my uncle's face lit up.

“I'll leave you here,” my escort said and headed back to patrol the perimeter of the square.

“Katie!” Ben said.

Niklas blinked slowly at me and then turned to Ben. “So we'll start breaking down today and be out of the city sometime tomorrow. Thanks for all your help.”

Ben's lips thinned at what could have been sarcasm. It was hard to tell with the director, but I knew my uncle was still smarting from Simon's murder on his watch.

I put my hand on Ben's arm as Niklas strutted away. “Don't mind him. And honestly? I'm going to be really glad when they shut everything down and go away. It'll be nice to be able to come straight down Abercorn to get to work, and there are certain members of that cast I won't miss one little bit.”

“Althea Cole?”

“Althea Cole,” I confirmed. “Lucy told you about her visit to the Honeybee yesterday?” We hadn't had a chance to talk about it when we'd met after hours.

“God. What a spectacle,” he said. “At least Quinn is on our side.” He narrowed his eyes. “So what brings you back here? I went through everything I could think of when we moved the tents away from the crime scene area and again whenever I had a spare moment to snoop. Not to mention that Quinn's crime techs were awfully thorough.” He looked thoughtful. “Of course, I couldn't get into the private dressing trailers.”

“I'm afraid those are probably off-limits,” I said. “But can you tell me where Simon worked? He had to have some kind of office or something.”

Ben grimaced. “No office for Simon.”

“So where did he work?” I asked.

“Nowhere. Everywhere. His phone and computer were his office. He had them with him all the time.” His expression brightened. “Peter Quinn confiscated them both. The laptop was a fancy thing, light and small. He carried it with him everywhere. Maybe there's something incriminating on it.”

“Maybe,” I said. “I'm sure they're checking it out in the crime lab.” But I didn't have great hopes. Simon seemed awfully savvy, and I wouldn't have been surprised if that extended to hiding things electronically.

“If he didn't have a workspace, then where did Simon rest?” I asked.

Ben barked a laugh. “Simon? He never rested. Always on the go.” He snapped his fingers. “You know, he did go into the prop tent sometimes when he needed a little privacy, like to make phone calls or to talk one-on-one with someone.”

“One-on-one? Like with who?”

He shrugged. “Niklas, most often. Althea once that I remember. And his assistant, of course.”

“Okay, thanks,” I said. “Mind if I take a look?”

“Like I said, the police have already gone through it.” He pointed to the one tent I hadn't explored yet. “But be my guest.”

That was all the invitation I needed. Skirting around the back of the catering canopy—without even looking inside to see what culinary travesty Robin Bonner had visited upon the remaining
Love in Revolution
cast and crew—I avoided Niklas' attention and slipped inside the property tent.

Unlike the wardrobe tent, this one held mostly vintage furnishings as well as an impressive array of muskets and bayonets slotted into a wooden cabinet. They had to be worth a good amount of money. Ben's security detail was only partly to keep the paparazzi and curious in their place. Even if most of the filming equipment was removed from the set at night or locked up in one of the RVs, between what was left, the antiques, and the elaborate costumes, there were a lot of valuable items for his teams to guard.

Walking the perimeter of the tent, I peered into crevices and trailed my fingers along items in search of any kind of energy signature. Other than the dusty sense of age that surrounded some of the firearms and a few pieces of furniture, nothing grabbed me. I breathed in the smell of wood polish and straw and soldiered on without any idea what I might be looking for.