Seashells, Spells & Caramels: A Cozy Witch Mystery

by Erin Johnson

  I’d scrawled my target goal of $110,000 across the top of the page and circled it, doodling cupcakes and loaves of bread all around it. I’d eaten like a starving college student, worked seven days a week (the weekends at the market), lived in a tiny closet, basically had no friends because I could never afford to go out—all to get to $107,000 seven years later.

  I know, woe is me. All of my pain was self-inflicted. I could’ve gone out more with my coworkers and friends from the market, but I was usually either too tired, or just had more fun working toward my dream. After seven long years though, I was ready for a change. I’d thought it’d be a couple more months before I hit my goal, but with Victoria’s cake tomorrow, I’d be there sooner than I’d thought possible. Finally.

  I moved to the kitchen and popped open the bottle of wine. I needed to bake for the market tomorrow, but before I did I held up my glass of wine (just a plastic cup, I did not have the budget for fancy glassware) and said, “To my future bakery!” As I sipped, it did not escape my attention that it made me a total loser to toast myself, alone. And to a future where I have friends to cheers with.

  3

  Rehearsal Dinner

  “You’re late.”

  I whirled to find Victoria standing in front of me. I smoothed my hands over my dress and stood straighter, blowing my bangs out of my eyes. “Victoria. Hi.”

  Her blond locks cascaded over her shoulders in perfect curls, her shimmery golden cocktail dress matching her flute of champagne. She glanced at the table behind me.

  “Dinner’s about to start and you’ve barely begun setting up.”

  “Right. Well….” I considered explaining what my whirlwind of a day had been like. From rushing to the store to buy ingredients, edible flowers, and more cupcake carriers, to baking three different batches of batter till I got it right, to decorating a cake and eighty cupcakes, to transporting it all by myself across town. Once I’d arrived at the mansion, I’d made four separate trips up and down the slippery stone pathway that led from the street to the manicured garden out back. But one look at Victoria’s on-edge expression, and I held my tongue. I tried to change the subject, lighten the mood. “This is… incredible, so beautiful.”

  Her arched brow pulled higher. “You’re here as staff. The beauty is for the guests to enjoy. Get to work.”

  I burned with annoyance. “Right, will try my best not to enjoy the beauty.”

  I unpacked a carrier of cupcakes, setting an edible flower atop the cream cheese frosting of each one. The cake table sat at the back corner of the peaked white tent, a little removed from the guest tables, the string quartet, and the dance floor. Victoria edged closer, speaking out of the corner of her mouth. “My parents divorced when I was five, you’d think they could figure out how to be in the same five-hundred-foot radius of each other. But no, I have to play go-between.” She heaved a great sigh as she scanned the tent and lush garden beyond it. “Ugh, and Ben’s psychic grandfather isn’t even here yet.”

  Without thinking, she picked up one of the little white-topped cupcakes and scooped a fingertip of the frosting into her mouth. I watched her reaction with trepidation, biting my lip. She closed her eyes and sighed. No longer speaking, she peeled away the crisp white wrapper and took a huge bite of the little cake, a soft moan escaping her lips. I opened my mouth to tell her a white frosting mustache lined her upper lip, but she tilted her head back, closed her eyes and let out a low groan. My cheeks grew hot, and I debated if I should interrupt my boss’s sensual encounter with my cupcakes to let her know that an old man with bushy white brows stood a few feet away, watching her. When he cleared his throat and Victoria startled, I pretended to be engrossed with arranging flowers on the cake. The old man took a few steps closer. He held out a hand, and when she offered hers, he held it to his lips instead of shaking it. My brows lifted. I didn’t know anyone actually did that.

  “You must be Victoria.” His voice rumbled deep from inside his chest. He wore a deep blue velvet suit, and his eyes twinkled.

  “And you are?” Her tone walked the fine line between civil and icy.

  The old man chuckled. “Why, I’m Ben’s grandpa, Arthur.”

  I sucked in a breath and sensed Victoria stiffen next to me. The psychic diplomat grandpa she cared so much about impressing?

  “Of course!” Her voice went up an octave. “Silly of me, of course. So good to meet you, I’ve heard so much about you.”

  “I’m sure you have.”

  The silence stretched on too long, and I glanced over my shoulder. Victoria’s blue eyes blinked rapidly, and she opened and closed her mouth several times while her fiancé’s grandpa watched, his head cocked to one side, a bemused grin twisting his lips.

  Finally, Victoria spat out, “I’m sorry, when you walked up, I was just testing the baked goods. I wanted to make sure they were up to stand—”

  The old man cut her off with a wave of his hand. “I like a person who can truly enjoy themselves now and then, you know?” He smiled at her, his eyes twinkling under his bushy brows. “I’ll leave you to your taste testing, but I’m glad to have met you and look forward to getting to know you more in the future.” He turned to go, but paused and eyed the cupcakes strewn about the table. He raised his eyes to mine. “May I?”

  I smiled. “Of course, sir.” I’d only had time to place flowers on top of some of them. I searched one out and handed it to him.

  He gave me a nod. I watched him wander off a few steps, peel back the wrapper, and take a bite. He then stopped and turned back to me, a question on his face. He cocked his head to the side, opened his mouth to say something, then glanced at Victoria and seemed to think better of it. He gave me another nod and wandered off toward the tables. What was that about? I watched him disappear into the crowd.

  Victoria turned, her face blank with shock. “He said he wanted to get to know me better… in the future… as if… there will be a future, with me and Ben.”

  I smiled. “I think you’re in.”

  Her face softened, and her lips tugged into the first genuine smile I thought I’d ever seen her give. “I passed the test.” She giggled, a sound so startling from Victoria that my brows shot up under my bangs. It seemed to startle her too, because she covered her mouth, then giggled again. Even more shocking, she grabbed my hands in hers and held them tight. “Thank you, Imogen.”

  I swallowed. “For what?”

  “I don’t know exactly, but I think you’ve helped me out, quite a lot in fact.” She gave my hands another little squeeze, then turned and scanned the crowd. She gave a squeal, another foreign noise coming from my boss, and waved someone over, bouncing on her heels. She turned to me, smiling. “Here he comes.”

  Okay, who are you, and what have you done with Victoria? A tall, handsome man in a tuxedo strode toward us, looking from Victoria to me to Victoria. She took his face in her hands, pulled him down closer, and gave him a kiss that had my cheeks burning. I suddenly found my shoes very interesting. After a few moments, my boss pulled away from the man I assumed (hoped) was her fiancé, and turned to me.

  “Imogen, Ben. Ben, Imogen. She made the most delicious cupcakes.”

  Ben eyed Victoria with a mix of doubt and wonder, his brows pulling together. “You ate… a cupcake?”

  Victoria nodded emphatically, threw an arm around me, and pulled all three of us into a conspiratorial huddle. “Don’t tell my trainer.” She burst into giggles.

  Ben asked, “Have you… uh, had some drinks?”

  Victoria, mouth full with another dessert, shook her head, then said around her food, “No, bug id sounds lige a goo idea.” She took a hunk of cupcake and pushed it toward Ben, who looked at it cross-eyed, then opened his mouth and chewed. The more he chewed, the more glazed his eyes got. He took Victoria’s hands. “Dance with me.”

  Had I accidentally spilled a bottle of rum in the batter? I glanced at my desserts strewn about the white-linen-covered table. They seemed innocent enough. I looked back a
t the frolicking couple and smiled. Probably just love. Halfway to the dance floor, Victoria pulled Ben to a stop, their kissing and giggling drawing stares and then indulgent smiles from the other guests. She pulled her fiancé back to me as he fished around inside his jacket.

  “Didn’t want to forget,” she explained as Ben pulled out a checkbook and pen. He scribbled something, ripped out the check, and handed it to me.

  “I added a little extra,” he said in a low voice. “I don’t know what you put in those cupcakes, but they’re pure magic—I’ve never seen Victoria like this.” He winked and off they went, literally skipping to the dance floor, where they somehow managed to shimmy to the string quartet music, pulling other friends and couples up to join them. I sighed. Once I opened my bakery, would it be enough? Victoria and Ben stared into each other’s eyes. Or would I still want someone to share everything with?

  I flipped the check over and read $4,000. What? A little extra? My mouth fell open, and I pressed the check to my chest, letting out a high-pitched squeal that probably only dogs could have heard. Four thousand dollars! Thank you, baking gods. And now, finally, I really, truly had enough money to open my bakery. The realization nearly knocked me over.

  After dinner and speeches, a waiter announced that dessert would be served. Time flew by as I sliced and served cake on little glass plates and said, again and again, “Yes, the flowers are edible,” and “No, I didn’t put in any liquid courage.” Apparently, Victoria wasn’t the only one whose spirits were lifted after eating a few bites. Soon, the entire party danced and swayed and laughed all over each other. People rushed up, smiling like naughty children, and dashed off with a cupcake in each hand. Champagne flowed, cocktail glasses clinked, and couples from their twenties to eighties snuck off into the shrubberies. What had gotten into everyone?

  The string quartet, persuaded into playing the conga, churned out the familiar song as a middle-aged man sat next to them, an upended ice bucket between his knees, playing the “drum.” The line of guests snaked between tables. I peeled my eyes away from the conga line as a beautiful guest sauntered toward me.

  She smiled, her teeth bright against her dark skin. Her hair, tightly curled and piled atop her head in an enormous bun, bounced as she swayed her hips to the music, her snow-white gown catching the candlelight from the tables.

  “Cake or a cupcake?” I asked for the umpteenth time. I smiled and held up one of each.

  She tapped a slender finger against her lips as her dark eyes darted from one to the other. The diamond bracelets she wore slid up toward her elbows as she threw her hands in the air. “Oh, ow about zem both, eh?”

  I grinned and handed over the plates. I loved French accents. Not that I’d ever been to France, or anywhere really. Before I’d moved from St. Louis, I’d never even been out of state.

  “Are you ze baker?”

  I nodded.

  “I’ve been earing all night about ze desserts.” She stepped closer and lowered her voice. She smelled like jasmine. “I eear they’re just bearsting weeth mageeck.” She winked, then held the cupcake up to her mouth, gingerly taking a bite around the wrapper. She moaned and bent her knees, sinking halfway to the ground. “Incredible. Just incredible. You should enter ze contest, you reeally should. And I don’t do false flattery, believe me.”

  I raised a brow. “The contest?”

  She looked me up and down. “You reeally don’t know? Ze Water Kingdom’s holding a contest for ze new royal baker. Last one died recently.” She looked around and leaned closer, her voice hushed. “Ze official word is she died of a ‘art attack, but if you ask me, eet was dark mageeck. Somezing underhanded, you know? Murder.” She leaned back and straightened. How much had this woman had to drink? “Zat shouldn’t scare you zough. I reeally zink you should enteer, zhere’s steel time. I probably ’ave a flyer somewhere.” She set the plates down and fished around in her sparkly white clutch. “Zey’ve been distributing zem all over ze kingdoms. Anyone can apply, anyone at all… well almost, no shifters, ze usual, but ze’ll take emigrants like you.” She poked around some more in the tiny clutch.

  Pretty sure if you haven’t found it by now, it’s not going to suddenly appear. The bag looked like it could barely hold a credit card… maybe.

  She looked at me and shrugged her slender shoulders. “Can’t find one.” She glanced around and then winked. “Don’t usually break ze rules when traveling on visa, you know. But I am here as ze date of ze retired ambassador, so if I geet in a beet of trouble, he’ll just geet me out.”

  I scanned the conga line. Did she mean Ben’s grandpa?

  A small sound, a zap, like snuffing a candle out with wet fingers, made me turn toward her again. In her hand she held a large, brown sheet of paper. “We’ll just keep zat between us, eh?”

  Goose bumps prickled up the back of my neck and arms. I looked between the paper and her face. Where had it come from? It was too large to fit in her bag without folding, yet it was completely smooth and crisp. She handed it to me. The oddly thick paper seemed to be coated in wax. I sniffed it and smelled honey.

  “Well, I’m off.” She lifted the plates. “Thank you for ze delicious treats. So good to have met you.”

  I nodded, not sure how I felt about this strange and beautiful woman. “You too.”

  “Think about eet.” She lifted her chin toward the flyer in my hand and danced her way back to the party.

  I held the waxy paper up to my face and read, “The Magnificent Contest for the Water Kingdom’s Next Royal Baker.”

  4

  Celebration

  Ping! Ping! Ping! I lay in bed that night, listening as the rain leaked through the hole in my ceiling and landed drop by drop in the pan on the kitchen counter. Ping!

  I stared up at the cracked ceiling and willed my eyes closed for the umpteenth time. Go to sleep, Imogen. It’s late. You’re tired. Except, I wasn’t. Not even a little.

  A huge grin on my face, I bolted upright, threw off my quilt, and slipped on my fuzzy slippers. I practically bounded the few steps to the kitchen. I should’ve been tired, especially after all the trips up and down the steps at the mansion, followed by more up and down the stairway in my building to unload all my cake gear. But I absolutely vibrated with energy. I felt as if I’d eaten the entire cake and was flying high on the sugar trip of my life.

  I pulled the window in the kitchen up a crack, inhaling the clean scent of rain. A car whooshed by outside, its tires splashing through the flooded streets. Nothing else stirred. My phone read 3:00 a.m. I grinned wider. Same time I’d be waking to start the first batches of the day once my bakery opened. Might as well get some practice in.

  I moved to turn on some lights, but decided it was a special occasion, after all. I wandered back to my front door. I’d dumped all the trays there, along with the stubs of about a dozen candles.

  Victoria had told me to take centerpieces, whatever I wanted at the end of the night. I’d taken the biggest candles I could find. I never had money for little luxuries and I’d been happy to discover they were beeswax, my favorite.

  I gathered up the candles in my shirt, then arranged them all over the counter, along the top edge of the stove, and standing on tiptoe, placed some on top of the fridge. I set little plates and scraps of paper under them to catch the drips. I fished out a matchbook from the back of a drawer and lit them all. The warm, woozy scent of honey mixed with the smell of rain drifting in the open window, made the most delicious perfume in the world.

  I donned my frilly apron then padded back to my purse and fished out the four thousand dollar check. It marked the beginning of me fulfilling my dreams. It was probably safer to leave it in my purse, but I wanted to keep it close. I tucked it carefully in the pocket of my apron.

  Now for the other slip of paper. I fished the thick, linen-like flyer out of my purse and carried it to the kitchen. I leaned my elbows on the countertop and held up a candle. The wax coating made the flyer stiff and thick.

 
; An idea occurred to me, and I crumpled the paper up, then folded it into a cup shape. No matter how I moved it, it held its shape. Interesting. I flattened it back out, new wrinkles crisscrossing its surface, and read. Across the top, in bold, wood block letters it spelled out,

  “The Magnificent Contest for the Water Kingdom’s Next Royal Baker.”

  Below the title, in smaller, curly letters it said,

  In anticipation of the Summer Solstice Festival, held every year between the Water and Fire Kingdoms, as a symbol of our two peoples’ unity and loyalty, the Water Kingdom invites all peoples* to enter the contest.

  A little asterisk next to “all peoples” led to the clarification at the bottom of the page that this excluded “shifters and Badlanders.” Shifters and Badlanders?

  Please bake a signature dessert, a delicacy so delectable, so delightful, so definitely representative of your immense talents, as to convince our celebrity judges, Francis Valhaven and Rhonda the Seer—

  I frowned. Never heard of them.

  —of your deservedness of the high position of Water Kingdom’s royal baker. All entries must be received by midnight on June 8th, with contestants to be announced the same day. If selected, entrants are responsible for securing their own transportation, though appropriate visas and stamps will be provided, to Bijou Mer, capital of the Water Kingdom, in time for orientation on June 11.

  I checked my phone. As it was after midnight, technically it was June 8. The end of the day marked the contest’s deadline. No way could I get this to wherever it needed to go in time. Come to think of it, how would I ship a baked good to these “celebrity” judges? I had to flip the flyer over to get the details. Outlined in block letters was a list.