by Bailey Cates
“Mmm-hmm,” was her murmured response. She walked over to the jewelry case. “Some of this stuff is pretty nice, actually. A lot of sterling silver.”
Joining her, I scanned the contents. One necklace in particular snagged my attention. It was a round locket with a smooth silver face. It was larger than most lockets, however, perhaps an inch and a half across. An idea began to form in my mind.
Footsteps sounded from beyond the open doorway behind the counter. Seconds later a man entered the shop from the back, completely engrossed in the electronic notebook he held in his hand. When he looked up and saw us standing there, his eyes widened in surprise.
“Oh!” His gaze flicked over our shoulders to the front door, and he frowned. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t hear you come in.”
“No worries,” I said, walking toward him. Cookie trailed behind me.
He wasn’t much taller than me, with a bit of a paunch and the beginnings of jowls that would only grow more severe as he aged. His wispy blond hair was cut short and beginning to gray. Khaki Dockers and a T-shirt with the Savannah Bananas logo made him look kind of geeky, which wasn’t helped by the bright white sneakers on his feet. His eyes were blue behind rimless glasses and held frank curiosity.
“Ladies, may I help you find something?” he asked. “Are you visiting from out of town?”
Cookie and I exchanged glances, then I shook my head. “Actually, we both live here in Savannah.”
His eyebrows rose for a moment. “Oh? I usually don’t get a lot of local traffic in here.”
“I’m Katie Lightfoot. My uncle is Ben Eagel,” I said. “We own the Honeybee Bakery. He told me about you. If you’re Caesar Speckman, that is.”
“That’s me!” he said. “Ben’s a good guy, a real good guy. Like him a lot.” Then an amused expression crossed his face. “What did he say about me?”
I shrugged. “Just that he knows you from the DBA, and that he’s been here in your shop.” I looked around. “I bet you do a lot of business in high tourist season. He did mention something else. . . .”
Cookie stepped in. “Magic tricks. Katie is looking for some for her nephew, and Ben told her this would be the place to get them.”
“Um, for Declan’s nephew, actually.” I was an only child and wanted to avoid an obvious lie. Plus, Declan did have a twelve-year-old nephew who would probably love to perform tricks for his friends.
“Of course! I know just the thing you’re looking for. Come with me, ladies.”
We followed him into a back corner of the shop.
“Here we are. What do you think?” he asked. “Cards? Cups and balls? Coins? Or there’s scarf magic, or the ring trick. Here’s a whole set with all of that and more.” Standing on tiptoe, he grabbed a dusty box from an upper shelf and handed it to me.
“I bet you could sell us some real magical items,” Cookie said.
I shot her a sideways look, but she ignored me.
He smiled. “You mean tricks for adults rather than children? I don’t—”
“No,” she said. “I mean the real deal.”
I cleared my throat.
“I’m not sure . . .” He trailed off, looking apologetic.
“Do you sell genuinely magical items?” she asked.
A chill ran down my back. My friend was using her Voice to elicit a truthful answer from the magic-store owner. Hers was more powerful than the other spellbook club members—except mine. However, I was careful not to use my Voice unless absolutely necessary because it had caused so much grief when I’d used it in the past. In fact, I’d nearly killed Declan with it once. That kind of thing can ruin a relationship pretty darn quickly, and I was lucky he’d forgiven me.
Speckman stared at her. “Genuinely magical?” Then his gaze sharpened.
Uh-oh. Cookie’s Voice usually lasted longer. So much for treading lightly. I nudged her with my elbow.
She gave him an innocent look and put her hand on her belly, as if to distract him with her condition.
It didn’t work. “So, you want the real thing, huh?” His eyes narrowed, and he looked between us. “Who the heck are you, really?”
I held the box of magic tricks in front of me as if it were a shield. “As I said, I’m Katie Lightfoot, Ben Eagel’s niece. And this is Cookie Rios.”
He sighed. “And you fancy yourself witches.”
Chapter 12
Cookie started to protest that we were real witches, but I cleared my throat.
“Something like that. And we heard you were Kensington Bosworth’s magic dealer,” I said.
Caesar looked surprised, then frowned. “I see. You knew Kensington?”
“He was a customer at the bakery,” I said. “And I’ve seen some of his extensive paranormal collection.” No need to mention that I’d seen it after he’d been killed.
“Is that so? And he told you I procured some of the items for him?”
I smiled and kept my mouth shut.
He smiled in return. “And now you wish to use my services. Wonderful!”
Cookie opened her mouth to speak again, but I beat her to it. “Perhaps. What can you tell us about Kensington’s magical practice? His collection was quite eclectic. Did he focus on practicing one particular kind of magic?”
Caesar Speckman gave a little laugh. “I wouldn’t know. The poor guy was all over the board. Little bit of this, little bit of that. He’d talk about how he could use his collection to tap into real magic, but I never believed it. I mean—” Then he seemed to catch himself. “Not that I don’t believe! No, indeed. If you want me to find something for your, er, rituals or whatever, I’d be happy to do my best.”
He doesn’t believe in magic. He’s just a businessman.
I exchanged looks with Cookie.
“When did you start working with Mr. Bosworth?” I asked.
His eyes drifted to the ceiling as he thought. “On a regular basis? About two years ago. Before that, I’d found a few items for his father.”
“Um . . .” I trailed off.
Caesar smiled. “Yes?”
“His house was very well protected.” I took a deep breath and plunged on. “Magically, I mean.”
“Oh?” His smile faltered, and he looked uncertain.
“Do you know anything about that?” I asked.
“Um, not really my bailiwick, you know? But I do believe, yes sirree! Maybe ol’ Kensington managed a bit of real magic after all.” He spoke encouragingly, as if talking to children.
It was really irritating.
“It wasn’t enough. He knew it wouldn’t be,” I said. “He had an alarm system installed.”
Caesar quirked an eyebrow. “Is that so?”
“Two weeks ago,” I said. “Any idea what he was so afraid of?”
“The usual, I suppose,” he said. “Robbery. After all, his home was chock-full of valuable items.”
Which was exactly what Malcolm Cardwell had said. Maybe they were both right. Maybe the shielding I’d felt around Bosworth’s home had been a simple, everyday precaution. But had he done it himself, or had he enlisted help from someone else? Cardwell thought he’d seen his boss casting a salt circle, but Speckman didn’t seem to think Bosworth had possessed any power.
Then again, Speckman didn’t appear to believe in real magic at all, despite his lame claim to the contrary. Valuable ceremonial items, along with cheap stage tricks, were just a way to make money.
“So, do you see anything your nephew would like?” The shop owner’s eyes twinkled. “Or was there something else you really wanted me to find?”
I realized I was still holding the box labeled JUMBO MAGIC TRICK SET. “This looks perfect.”
Disappointment flashed across his face. “That’s a good one. Lots of variety. Come along then. I’ll ring you up.”
We were being dismi
ssed. I guessed I was lucky he’d answered my questions at all, even after Cookie used her Voice on him. Not that he would have necessarily known, of course. Even if he was as big of a believer in magic as he claimed.
I paid for the magic tricks, and he came out from behind the register and walked Cookie and me to the door. We went out to the alley, and he firmly closed the door behind us.
“Hey, hang on a sec,” I said to my friend. “I forgot my wallet in there.” I turned and went back inside, while she waited by the entrance to the alley.
Caesar Speckman was only halfway across the shop. He turned back when I entered, an irritated look on his face.
I hurried toward him. “Say, there is something else I wanted.”
His expression instantly became solicitous.
“I was wondering if you could get more of those silver lockets.” I pointed to the one that I’d seen earlier in the jewelry case.
He leaned down to take a look, then nodded. “How many do you need?”
“Six.”
“I’ll make a call. Can I reach you at the bakery?”
I assured him he could, thanked him, and hurried back out to where Cookie leaned against the corner of the brick wall. Patting my tote bag, where my wallet had been the whole time, I said, “Got it.”
She nodded, and we resumed walking toward the riverfront.
“Did you think it was strange that no one came in the entire time we were there?” she asked. “I mean, I know it’s not high season, but there are still a lot of people in town. You’d think someone would want a souvenir or two.”
“Yeah, but the place isn’t exactly located where there’s a lot of foot traffic.”
“I wonder how he even makes a living, then.”
“Probably why he has a side business finding items for collectors,” I said. “And apparently he’s linked up with one of the ghost tour companies.”
“It sounds like he lost a good customer in Kensington Bosworth,” she said. “Hardly a motive for murder. If anything, he’d want to keep the guy alive so he could sell more stuff to him.”
I made a sound of agreement, but I was still thinking about those lockets. If Caesar could get six of them, I’d found the bridesmaid gifts I’d been looking for. The lockets were silver, a potent metal that provided security and protected from outside spells, plus they were large enough that I could concoct individual herbal spells and place them inside for each of the ladies of the spellbook club.
Perfect.
* * *
* * *
When we got back to the bakery, Iris was standing on a stepladder behind the register. She’d cleaned off the tall chalkboard where we listed menu items and was halfway through rewriting it, taking off the discontinued pastries and including the new additions, like red velvet whoopie pies.
“Hey, Katie. I found some muffins and cookies in the back corner in the kitchen,” she said as I walked by. “Do you want me to put those in the case?”
“Nope. That’s a special order. I’ll wrap them up and get them out of the way.”
“Okeydoke.” Using green chalk she started drawing a vine around the outside of the board, and I continued into the kitchen to store the treats I’d made specifically for the spell that night out of harm’s way.
“Oh, and Mimsey came by,” she called. “She brought some flowers you ordered. I told her to put them in the fridge. Hope that’s okay.”
“Of course,” I said.
She looked like she wanted to ask a question, then seemed to think better of it. I let it go without comment.
Iris was a hard worker, and she’d taken very well to the hedgewitchery we—Lucy mostly—had been teaching her in the last year. She knew the ladies of the spellbook club were witches, and sometimes I saw a look in her eye when she knew we were meeting that told me how much she wanted to join us. I felt torn. On one hand, everyone liked her, and we wanted to encourage her in magic. On the other hand, at six members, we worked very well together.
Either way, I wasn’t going to tell her what I was planning for later that evening. I needed to be able to focus completely, and I wanted everyone else to as well. I loved Iris to death, but that night I didn’t want any distractions.
Stowing the magic set in the office, I wondered whether Declan’s nephew would like it. If so, I could check that Christmas present off the list.
Dad walked in a little after noon. He looked freshly shaved, and his hair was still wet.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said. “I stopped by Ben and Lucy’s to take a shower. Couldn’t help starting in on the bathroom tile this morning. I think I can get it done in a couple of days.”
“Oh, man. I can’t tell you how happy that makes me.” I gave him a big hug.
He laughed. “Well, then you’re going to like the rest of my news, too. The stonemason is a real master. He’s going to have to fix some of the work the other guy did, but it shouldn’t be a problem. A little unexpected cost, but worth it, believe me. Plus, I got the drywall guy going in the kitchen, and it will be ready for paint in three days. The framers will finish up the closet this afternoon, and then they can get back to finishing up the garage.”
I felt my eyes inexplicably fill with tears. “Oh, Dad. You are amazing. Thank you.”
His lips curved in a gentle smile. “This stuff is why I’m here, honey. I’m only too glad to help.” He ruffled my hair as he’d done when I was a kid. I ducked away as I had then, too. “You ready to go see this murdered fellow’s sister?”
I nodded. “Let’s go.”
* * *
* * *
Dad drove us to Pooler in Declan’s truck while I navigated. On the way, I told him about my plan to cast a spell that night to confer temporary clairvoyance.
“I’ve been in too many scary situations while following my ‘calling,’” I said. “This time, I’m going to try an end run. I mean, if it works, then I’ll have done what I set out to do—bring justice to Kensington Bosworth’s killer and wipe Randy right off of Quinn’s suspect list. And if it doesn’t work, no harm, no foul, you know?”
He looked sideways at me, then returned his attention to the road. “Then why are we going out to see the sister?”
“Because Quinn asked me to.”
“I see.”
“And because I don’t know if the spell tonight will work or not,” I admitted.
“Do you want a little advice?” he asked.
“Sure.”
“When you’re casting this evening, ask your totem for help, too. You don’t have to do it out loud if you don’t want to, just incorporate the request silently into your spell. Your animal is strong. She can help.”
“My animal is an insect.”
“Do you respect her any less for that? You don’t need a bear or a puma, Katie. All beings have their strengths.”
“Of course. I’ll be sure to ask my dragonfly for help.”
I didn’t tell him anything about Connell’s warning. See, Dad didn’t know Connell existed. Even if I had wanted to try to explain who—or what—he was, it wasn’t my story to tell. It was up to Declan whether he wanted to confide in my father or not.
Florinda Daniels lived on an acreage outside of town in a ranch-style home accessed by a well-maintained dirt road. Two horses grazed in the field behind, and chickens pecked around the edges of the fenced front yard. The house was neatly painted white with green trim, while the outbuildings were all bright barn red.
Dad stepped down from the truck, stretched his back, and stood with hands on hips regarding the house. The door opened, and a golden retriever bolted toward us, barking furiously. Dad murmured something as it got near, and it fell instantly silent. Tail wagging its whole back end, it cocked its head and eagerly nosed his hand. He leaned down, slid his fingers beneath its collar, and massaged the back of the dog’s neck.
&nb
sp; “That’s a good way to make a friend for life,” said the woman who had followed the retriever out the door. “I hope Jackson didn’t scare you. He’s a bit enthusiastic about letting us know when we have visitors, but he’s a gentle soul.”
A sleeveless collared shirt topped her Wrangler jeans, and scuffed paddock boots protected her feet.
Dad gave Jackson another scrub under the collar and straightened. “He certainly is. An old soul, too.”
She smiled. “Not everyone notices. I’m Flo Daniels.” Her words flowed like smooth honey. I could see the resemblance to her brother. However, despite her Southern tones, she didn’t strike me as a belle from an established Southern family.
I introduced myself and stuck out my hand. We shook.
“And this is my father, Sky.”
She held her hand out to him next, her gaze frankly assessing. It was a little disconcerting to see a woman give my dad the kind of once-over she was giving him. Then she looked at me and stepped back.
“No one just happens onto our property by accident. You must be looking for my husband.”
“Actually, we’re here to see you.”
She looked surprised. “Me?”
“You,” I confirmed.
“All right.” She waited.
I looked at Dad, and something passed between us. She already liked him. With an infinitesimal nod, he stepped forward. “I understand there was a terrible tragedy in your family.”
Florinda stared at him.
He tried again. “I’m so very sorry to hear about your brother.”
Finally, she blinked. “You’re obviously not a friend of his.” Now her expression was skeptical. “Because if you were, you’d know I’m not sorry he’s dead.”
No love lost between them.
My father’s face remained impassive as he held her gaze.
She turned pink. “I mean, I didn’t want him dead or anything. I’m not happy he’s gone. I’m just not, you know . . . sad.”
He nodded. “Well, I must say that makes the reason I’m here a bit easier.”