Some Enchanted clair : A Magical Bakery Mystery (9780698140561) (21 page)

“Ben.”

My call went to voice mail. “Hey there. It's Katie again. Call me.”

Declan had backed down the steps and now stood with his neck craned back, looking up at one of the middle windows. “Call him back,” he said, returning up the steps two at a time.

My brow knitted. “Why?”

“Just call him.”

As I dialed my uncle's cell again, Declan leaned forward and put his ear to the door.

“Listen,” he hissed.

I let the hand holding the phone drop and pressed my face next to his. It took me a moment, but then I heard it, too.

The sound of crickets.

My uncle's ringtone.

I ended the call, and they stopped. Declan and I exchanged a wide-eyed look, then reached for the door handle at the same time. I wrapped my fingers around it first, but it didn't matter. The door was locked.

“Ben!” Declan yelled, and pounded on the door with his fist.

I shook the handle, as if that would make it miraculously unlock. “Back door,” I said, and we took off at a jog around the house, Mungo leading the way.

The small front yard, so close to the front sidewalk, belied the surprisingly large area in back. Formal gardens surrounded a small patch of lawn in the middle, filled with neat rows of annuals studded with towering animal topiaries—eagle, puma, dolphin, and snake. A stone girl poured water in perpetuity from her earthenware jug in the fountain in one corner, and the muscular branches of an ancient wisteria hugged the pergola, which shaded a small seating area near the back entrance.

Which was also locked.

Declan moved immediately to the windows and began checking them. Following his lead, I started doing the same thing, working my way to the other corner of the house.

No luck.

At the corner, I continued around, but the two windows there were too high for me to reach. Then my gaze dropped and I saw the slanting door built into the ground.

Declan joined me. “The place is locked up tight.”

I pointed to the wooden door. “Basement?”

He shook his head. “Unlikely. You won't find very many basements in this part of town. The water table is too high.” He bent and fingered the rusted metal ring on one side. “Only one way to find out.” Grasping it firmly, he planted his feet and pulled.

For a few seconds I was sure that door was locked, too, but then a horrible sound erupted as the wooden door screeched free from its swollen frame. Declan staggered back, pulling it open all the way. He pulled a hooked chain out of the opening and latched it to another ring set into the ground that I hadn't noticed, effectively propping the door open.

We peered inside, blinking as our eyes adjusted to the dim light. The strong musty smell of mold and dust drifted up, and I blinked. My dog hovered on the edge, then without warning bounded down the steps, his black fur mingling so quickly with the darkness that it looked like he'd disappeared completely.

“Mungo!” I whispered, which after the loud squeal of the door opening was almost comical. “Come back here.”

A low
yip!
sounded from below. Leaning farther in, I could see light reflected off his eyes and then the flicker of tiny white teeth.

“Stay here,” Declan said, and started down the stairs.

“No way,” I said, taking my phone out of my pocket. Using the light from the screen to navigate, I followed.

We found ourselves in a small space, really a hole in the ground. The dirt walls dripped moisture, and green mildew streaked the back wall, which was made of brick. The smell was worse at the source, and I wrinkled my nose. It was like some primordial dungeon. Paradoxically, when I moved, a cloud of dust rose from my feet. I sneezed.

“I think this is where they used to store coal, back in the day.” Declan pointed to the back wall. “That's where it would have been accessed to stoke the furnace, which would have heated the whole house. They bricked it off once they updated their heating system.” He put his arm around my shoulders. “So much for getting in this way. Let's go wait for Detective Quinn out front.”

“And call 911 if he's not here already,” I said, turning toward the stairs.

“Oh, I don't think that's necessary,” Declan said.

But something had caught my eye. I pointed. “Up there.” It was an opening in the sealed wall where the mortar had failed and the bricks were crumbling. “I could fit through there.”

“Are you sure?”

I gave him a look. “Pretty sure. But where would I end up?”

“The old boiler room, I imagine. It would likely be connected to the kitchen.”

“Give me a boost,” I said, bending my left leg at the knee.

“Katie,” he protested.

“Uncle Ben is in this house with at least two, if not three, murder suspects and no one will answer the door,” I said. “Boost me up first. Then check out front for Quinn and call 911 if you have to. I'll get to the back door and unlock it.”

“Oh, all right,” he grumbled, and linked his fingers under my foot.

I gripped the edge of the opening and straightened my leg. Brick and mortar broke off under my hands as I launched up and forward, my momentum sending me arse over teakettle through the narrow opening. There was a ripping noise as my gauzy blouse snagged, and I thumped to the stone floor on the other side.

Ow.

I sat up after a few moments, gasping to catch my breath.

“Katie! Are you okay?” Declan demanded from the other side.

“Shh. I'm fine,” I called in a low voice as I looked around. The light from my phone was lost in the daylight that streamed in from a small window set high into the wall near the ten-foot ceiling. I put it in my pocket.

Declan had been right. A huge metal stove was tucked into a brick alcove. A chimney led straight up, and rusted metal ducts led out of the room. The door hung open on its hinges, and a rustling sound inside alerted me that I likely had rodent companions.

As well as some spiritual ones. I could almost feel the resident ghosts swirling around me in surprise.

“There's a door,” I softly called to the opening I'd just tumbled through. “I'll try to see what's on the other side. Take Mungo and go find Quinn.”

More grumbling, but I heard the sound of his steps on the wooden stairs that led back outside. I turned back to the door opposite the furnace, hoping there was indeed a kitchen on the other side.

It was at the top of two wide wooden slats that served as steps. They were framed by a wobbly railing, and the bottom one was broken. Gingerly, I put my foot at the outside edge of the one above it, testing it carefully before putting my full weight on it. I reached for the round doorknob and turned it.

And turned it. It spun like a stripped screw. Sighing, I laid my forehead against the flimsy door. It was up to Declan now.

The sound of a woman moaning reached my ears.

Ursula?

I rattled the doorknob again.
Screw it.
I braced my hands on the rickety railing, lifted my foot, and kicked.

It took three tries, but each time, the frame splintered a little more. On the third kick, the door flew open. I rushed through and found myself in a glorified mudroom. It held gardening tools and expensive ski equipment, no doubt belonging to the absent owners of the house. Another door beckoned, and I trotted to it. The woman's moan sounded again from the other side, louder this time.

The knob turned easily, but it was hard to open nonetheless. Something on the other side was blocking it. Suddenly, the impediment shifted, and I pushed the door open a foot, which was enough to squeeze through. I found myself in a glamorous kitchen full of marble countertops and shining appliances. Other than the mudroom in between, Declan had been right about where I'd end up.

Ursula lay at my feet, eyes closed but conscious enough to moan. Ben sat on the Italian tile floor with his back to her, and I realized he must have pulled her out of my way, even though his hands were tied behind his back. I dashed to him, quickly pulling the gag from his mouth and letting it fall around his neck.

“Katie, be careful,” he choked out, licking his lips. A trickle of blood traced his hairline. “Owen has Althea upstairs. He's furious about something, and throwing around all sorts of accusations.”

“Where are the others?” I asked, working at the knots that bound his wrists.

“Knife,” he said.

I rose obediently to retrieve a knife from the wooden block on the counter and came back to saw at the nylon cord.

“Grayson and Egan left already,” Ben said, his voice raw. “Owen knew that and tricked me into coming here. He thinks I took something of his.”

“He hit you?” I asked, eyeing the blood on his face.

My uncle nodded. “Surprised me but didn't knock me out. Stunned me long enough to tie me up, though. Ursula tried to fight him, too. I think he hit her harder. He seems afraid of her.”

The blade snicked through the last cord, and Ben's hands were free. Bringing them together in front of himself, he rubbed feeling back into them while I turned my attention to Ursula's bonds.

“Katie!” Declan called from outside.

I swore under my breath and handed Ben the knife. “Deck's waiting for me by the back door.”

“Go,” he said, taking over with the knife at the psychic's bound wrists. “But be
careful
.”

I ran out of the kitchen, through to the dining room where we'd had the séance, and out to the front hallway. Declan bellowed again, and I backtracked to another hallway from the kitchen that led to the rear of the house. Flinging the back door open, I ushered him inside, Mungo at his heels, while placing a finger over my lips in a be-quiet gesture.

“What's going on?” he asked in a low tone.

“Owen attacked Ben and Ursula, tied them up.”

“My God.”

“Did you call 911?” I asked.

He nodded. “Right before you let me in.”

“Good. Come on.” I led him back to the kitchen, where Ben was bent over Ursula with a glass of water, trying to get her to drink. She was sitting upright but still seemed disoriented.

“Can you get her up?” I asked.

Ben reached for her, but Declan gently pushed him aside. “I've got her.” He lifted the groggy woman unsteadily to her feet, bent to one knee as she collapsed over one shoulder, and rose with her draped around his shoulders in a traditional fireman's carry.

As impressed as I was, there was no time to waste on kudos. “Let's go,” I said, turning toward the hallway that led to the back door.

Owen Glade blocked our way.

His hair stuck out in tufts on his head, and one arm of his round glasses was bent so the lenses sat crookedly on his nose. His lower lip was beginning to swell, and a small cut on his cheek oozed blood. Despite his disheveled appearance, he had a tight hold on Althea's hair at the nape of her neck, pulling down so her head was at an awkward angle. Her face was pale, and her eyes were wide with terror.

Which might have been because in his other hand Owen gripped a rather nasty-looking gun.

“Put the psychic down,” he grated.

Declan didn't move.

Owen shook Althea by the hair, and she whimpered. “Put her down!”

Slowly, Declan bent so Ursula's feet touched the floor; then he lowered her the rest of the way to the hard tile floor.

I kneeled beside her, and Mungo joined me.

“Leave her alone!” Owen demanded.

I stood again, but not before I saw the spark of full consciousness in her eyes. And from the brief look she gave me, Ursula was one angry medium.

“Owen,” I said with my palms toward him in a gesture of surrender. “There's no reason to hurt anyone.”

He snorted. “That's what you think, baker.”

Baker? Seriously?

“The police are on their way,” Declan said.

“You called the police?” Owen's face flushed with outrage.

I stepped forward. “Of course we did. You don't think you can get away with all this nonsense, do you?”

“Katie,” came Ben's warning voice from my left.

“You have no idea. And you.” He pointed at my uncle. “You shut up unless you're going to tell me where you put it.”

From the corner of my eye, I saw Ben shake his head. “I wish I knew what you were talking about.”

“I know it was you,” Owen grated. “Snooping around all time. You found it.”

Ben tried again. “What are you—”

“Shut up!”

“He doesn't have it,” I said. “I do.” I knew he meant the inkwell.

Owen's gaze lasered to me. “You? Ha.”

Althea moaned. “Let me go.”

He shook her head so hard I was afraid he'd fracture a vertebra. “You be quiet. You could have killed us all with that stuff you put in the cookies. I've never spent a worse night in my life than I did at that hospital.”

“What's he talking about?” Declan asked.

“Althea poisoned the Honeybee cookies,” I said.

“Why?”

“I'll tell you later,” I said.

“Will. You. Stop. Talking!” Owen said.

Althea kicked at her captor. “He killed Simon.”

He yanked back on her hair.

“Stop it,” I yelled. “We already know you killed Simon, Owen. Everybody knows. Your potion didn't work. Your alibi is bogus.”

He stilled. The blood drained from his face. “You know about . . .”

“Forget-me-nots fermented with soap plant,” I said. “I found the inkwell. I took it, not Ben.”

“Where is it? Do you have it with you?”

I ignored the question. “But the potion wasn't yours.” I was guessing now. I heard Ursula move behind me, heard her deep breath. I continued. “It was Simon's potion.”

“
Simon
.” Hatred dripped from the name.

“Did he do something to you, Owen? Because we'd all understand how you'd hate him if he did. He wasn't a nice man.” I was really reaching now, working on nothing more than instinct.

Owen's eyes filled with tears. I thought of the picture of Simon and the woman in front of the library.

“Or maybe he hurt someone you loved?”

“No!” he screamed. “I hurt her. I borrowed some of the potion to give to Becca Ford, only Mama took it by accident.” He was crying now. “It was only supposed to make Becca forget that she didn't like me so I'd have a fresh chance with her. But Mama took it, and there was no
focus
to it.”

No focus . . . Oh, my goddess.
My hand covered my mouth. “Oh, honey. How much of her memory did it wipe out?”

“Me! It wiped out me, my childhood,” he choked out. The gun was pointing at the floor now, but his grip on Althea seemed as strong as ever. “She knew she was my mother, but she didn't
know
me anymore.”

I heard Declan's intake of breath as I took a step toward Owen. “And you blamed Simon.”

Owen wiped his eyes with the back of his gun hand, dislodging his glasses even further.

“Simon blamed himself. At least at first. That's why he gave me that stupid assistant job. Trying to make it up to me. She remembered him, though, even though they'd only dated for a month or so. He still goes to see her . . . went to see her . . .” He trailed off. “He told me that day, that day that I . . .”

“Hit him with the wine bottle,” I finished for him. “And then stabbed him.”

My uncle made a hissing sound.

Owen's eyes blazed. “Simon told me he'd done all he could. That he was going to have to find another assistant for his next job, that he couldn't keep carrying me forever. But he wasn't going to stop seeing my mother.”

I took another step, and the gun came up. For a long moment all I could think was that the barrel looked impossibly big, like a black hole in space. Then my familiar lunged at Owen's leg, snarling and snapping.

“Mungo,” I screamed. Declan grabbed me around the waist and swung me behind him. Owen kicked out, but Mungo was too fast for him, especially since he wouldn't let go of Althea.

Ursula grabbed my hand, and I pulled her to her feet. As power zinged between us, I recognized her trio of personal guides and felt dozens of the resident spirits coalescing in the room at her command. The scent of gardenia wafted through the air. I let go of her and touched Declan's arm. Suddenly his back arched.