Sweet Magic

by Connie Shelton

  “Hey, everyone,” said Beau, walking in the back door. “Mmm, chicken smells good.”

  They filled their plates and took seats around the table. “So, what was the best thing about the trip?” Sam asked, pulling the crispy crust from a chicken leg and popping it into her mouth.

  “Private jet!” they both said.

  Sam laughed. “Well, obviously. That must have been a world away from the usual crowded airliner. Otherwise … tell us about the best parts.”

  “Cakes,” said Kelly

  “Cambridge,” Scott added.

  “Me first,” Kelly said, “because this is quick. Mom, I brought back a couple of the English specialties. It would be so great if you could figure out how to make them for Sweet’s Sweets.” She nodded toward the shopping bag on the countertop.

  “I’ll give it a shot,” Sam assured her with a pat on the hand. “So, Cambridge? What was the big attraction, Scott?”

  “An interesting little connection to that Victorian house you bought for the chocolate factory.” He launched into the story about Eliza Nalespar and her studies in England before returning to her childhood home to become a writer.

  “Her books became enormously popular in Cambridge and that area of England. One was actually used as course material for a class on the occult.”

  Sam felt a ripple of uneasiness. “Really?”

  “Yes, the class was sort of an exploration of whether Eliza’s ideas were based on fact or whether she’d completely made it up as fiction.”

  “I’m going to vote for fiction,” Sam said with a little chuckle to lighten the mood. “Remember, my office is in the same room where Eliza wrote her books.”

  “No ghosts so far?” Scott asked.

  “None. And let’s keep it that way.” She turned her attention to her mashed potatoes. No way was she going to bring up the strange sounds she often heard in the old house at night. They would only lecture her on how she shouldn’t be working so late anyway.

  Kelly pushed her empty plate back. “Yeah, there were several interesting connections between that part of England and our lives here in Taos.” She suppressed a yawn. “And when I’m more alert, I’ve got stuff to show you.”

  Sam knew about the box from the charity shop and couldn’t wait to see it, but it seemed like something she and Kelly should talk about another time, alone.

  * * *

  Kelly texted at six the next morning. You up? We’ve been awake so long it feels like lunch time.

  Sam was in the kitchen, pouring her first coffee of the morning. She pressed Kelly’s number.

  “Hey, good morning. Figured it would be just as easy to talk than go back and forth with lots of texts. So, you’re ready for lunch already?”

  “Not really. But I’ve already finished unpacking and all the laundry is done. Scott’s gone out for a run and then he’s got some kind of meeting at the university. Thought maybe you and I could get together about the … you know.”

  “Definitely. I can’t wait to see the box you found in that shop. I have a real feeling it’s Uncle Terry’s.”

  “So come on over. Any time.”

  “Give me thirty minutes.”

  Sam carried two mugs upstairs. Beau was just getting out of the shower and accepted his coffee gratefully. Sam pulled her standard bakery uniform of black pants and white shirt from the closet. It couldn’t take more than an hour to get the full story on the box from Kelly, and she really did need to put in some time with her business. For one thing, now that she had more specifics about the upcoming orders for the cruise line, she needed to negotiate better quantity discounts with her suppliers.

  She and Beau walked out the door at the same time, and she pulled into Kelly’s driveway a few minutes later. Kelly ushered Sam into the living room where two new bookcases held some of Scott’s huge collection of books. A dozen cardboard boxes were stacked beside them, presumably containing additional volumes.

  “Well, here it is,” Kelly said, holding out a rectangular object wrapped in a beautiful piece of cloth. “Oh, sorry, not the scarf. That’s for Rupert once I do a little mending job on the hem.”

  Sam unwound the fabric. The sight of the box nearly took her breath away. She held it with both hands, closing her eyes and imagining. It was surely the one Terrance O’Shaughnessy had given her in Ireland.

  She looked at Kelly. “Did you handle it much?”

  “Cleaned it up. When I spotted it in the shop, it must have had an inch of dust and grime on it. I dusted it and used a little furniture polish.”

  “Did the … did the appearance of the box change at all? I mean, other than being cleaner, did it …” She stared at the ceiling for a moment. “I’m not quite sure how to ask this. Did the wood turn a different color, did it … I don’t know … gleam, or did it get warmer to the touch?”

  Kelly shook her head. “Mom? What about it?”

  Sam set the box on the coffee table and paced the length of the room. How much to tell? How much should she say? The powers of the other box had been such a closely guarded secret. But Sam had touched this one when she visited her uncle’s home, and it had not exhibited the same effects. It was probably just a plain old box that just happened to look like hers. She turned back toward her daughter.

  “Kel, I don’t know whether—”

  Kelly had picked up the box again and sat with it on her lap, the lid open.

  “It looks like there was some lettering in here,” she said. “Starts with an M, I think. Toward the end there’s maybe an E, but I can’t actually tell what it says.”

  She ran her fingers around the perimeter of the inside. “I don’t feel any additional carving,” she said.

  All at once, when her fingers reached the fourth side, she let out a yelp. Her body stiffened and the box dropped to the carpet. She fell unconscious to the sofa.

  “Kelly!” Sam shouted and ran to her side. “Kelly! Wake up!”

  Chapter 29

  Sam knelt beside her daughter and felt for a pulse. It was rapid, pounding. Kelly’s eyes were moving beneath her closed lids, but she didn’t respond to Sam’s pleas.

  This must be what happens, Sam thought. She remembered the night she had brought her box home from Bertha Martinez’s house. The old woman on her deathbed had insisted Sam take the box, saying she was meant to have it, to do good things with it. She had taken it to her bedroom and handled it in a similar way to what Kelly had done just now. And she had apparently lost consciousness too, although no one had been present as witness.

  Kelly’s movements began to quiet down. Her eyes were no longer moving. Her pulse had slowed, but she remained unaware. Sam gently stretched her out on the sofa and draped a blanket over her. She sat on the floor at Kelly’s side, holding her hand, for what seemed like a very long time.

  Sam was wondering whether she should call for medical help, but what would she tell them? The truth certainly wouldn’t work. Kelly began to stir in her sleep. By the clock it had been forty-five minutes when her eyes finally opened.

  “Mom—what?”

  “We need to talk. Can you sit up?”

  With assistance, Kelly sat, leaning into the corner of the sofa that had always been Sam’s favored spot. “This is about the two boxes, isn’t it?”

  Sam nodded. “Maybe I should make us a cup of tea.”

  Kelly perked up. “There’s some of the really good English kind in that shopping bag on the counter.”

  Sam headed to the kitchen and put the kettle on. She found two mugs and the packet of tea bags from Marks & Spencer. Before the water boiled, Kelly had come into the kitchen, hugging the blanket from the sofa to her chest and holding the carved box. She sat at the kitchen table and set the box down.

  “What happened to me just now?”

  Sam switched off the stove burner and made the tea. With a sigh she said, “Same thing that happened to me once upon a time.”

  She set the mugs down and took a seat. “Back when I was breaking into house
s, right before you came back from California …” The whole story unfolded—Bertha Martinez, the town’s reputed bruja, the old woman’s deathbed, the bequest of the box. Sam’s nearly identical experience the first time she touched the inner surfaces of it, the strange ‘powers’ she seemed to have acquired.

  “Those times you worked late into the night, getting the bakery started, turning out so many fantastic cakes in record time …” Kelly’s eyes were wide.

  Sam nodded. “Yep. It took me a while to make the connection between the box and all this amazing energy I suddenly had, but it was true. And now it looks like the second box is … okay, this sounds really strange … The second box seems to be your destiny.”

  “Does it seem weird to you that right now, after passing out for, what, forty-five minutes that I feel like jumping up and cleaning out my kitchen cabinets?”

  Sam laughed out loud. “It doesn’t seem at all weird to me, sweetie, but I doubt it’s a good idea. Take your time. Get used to the box’s powers gradually. I never told anyone, not even Beau, but those times I worked long hours … afterward I would sleep for a very long time. We might feel like we have all the energy in the world, but the body can only take so much.”

  She finished her tea and took the mug to the sink.

  “Kel, I’ll also tell you this—I tried several times to get rid of the box and couldn’t—it actually came back. It seems Bertha Martinez was right about it being meant for me. Others have said it, too, but you’ll be on information overload if I try to tell you everything at one time.”

  Kelly was staring at the box, cupping her mug between her hands. “Mom, I have more to tell, too. I know you’re busy at the bakery and with the chocolates now—we could do this another time.”

  Sam felt as if a shadow had passed over the room. “There are dangers involved with this stuff, Kel. At least give me the basics. Did anyone approach you, any strangers wanting to know about the box?”

  “Not strangers, exactly. Just Bobul. I told you about that, how he showed up and talked to me in Bury St. Edmunds. Well, it wasn’t only one time. He met me again, and he gave me something—a book. And he said some things, about you, crazy things about how you’ll be alone.”

  Not the OSM people or the Vongraf Foundation people, Sam was relieved to know. “Look, I’m not alone. Beau and I are happy and doing fine, as you saw last night when we were here together. And I’ve got you and Scott. So don’t fret over that.”

  “I haven’t had time to really look at the book or read it,” Kelly said. “I don’t even know if it’s anything important. He just said something about Fas … no, what was it … Facinor?”

  Bobul and his tales. Sam felt her interest perk up, but her phone rang at that moment. She saw the caller was Jen from the bakery. She held up her index finger to pause Kelly and picked up the call.

  “Sam, are you going to be here soon?” Jen asked. In the background it sounded like a crowd scene. “Becky’s getting a bit behind and well, she was in tears a minute ago.”

  Poor Becky. She’d taken on the burden of so much of the summer business.

  “I’m coming now. Tell her to hang in there.” She hung up and looked apologetically at Kelly.

  “They’re swamped. I need to go. Will you be okay?”

  Kelly smiled and sprang up from her chair to show off her newfound energy.

  “Okay then. We’ll talk about Bobul and his stories later. For now, please take this seriously.” Sam put her hands on Kelly’s shoulders and looked deeply into her eyes. “Find a safe hiding place for the box and don’t leave it out in plain sight. Don’t show it or tell anyone, and warn Scott not to talk about it either.”

  “He didn’t seem interes—”

  “That’s fine. That’s good. I’m not saying this to scare you, but there are bad people out there who want to get hold of these boxes. We both need to be careful and to keep the secret. Got it?”

  “Got it.”

  Sam drew her close and gave her an intense hug. She went out to her truck and drove away, filled with a whirlwind of emotions. Happiness because the box from Uncle Terry was in the family again, fear for her daughter and the maelstrom she might have just stepped into.

  Chapter 30

  Kelly watched as Sam backed out and drove away. She cleared the tea mugs and thought about where she would hide the carved box. For now, a lower kitchen cupboard would work. She wrapped the box in a plastic bag and nestled it behind the toaster oven and a stack of saucepans. Between Sam’s warnings and Bobul’s, she knew she should consider having a safe installed. She would bring it up with Scott tonight.

  She debated calling Riki. Her best friend and her boss at Puppy Chic had insisted she take a couple of extra days off to compensate for jet lag. But since the recharge she’d received from the box, she felt energetic and ready to work all day.

  “No need,” said Riki when she made the call. “Jen’s niece is helping and we can handle it. Take the time and I’ll see you on Monday.”

  Well, there are certainly other things I can do, Kelly said to herself. She showered and used extra conditioner in her hair, then gave herself a pedicure. When she went into the bedroom to dress, she noticed only a half hour had passed. Was this what Mom had meant by having so much energy tasks just flew by?

  Her gaze fell on the bags of gifts she’d brought back from the UK. This would be the perfect morning to deliver them. She made a few phone calls, gathered the presents, and carried them to her car.

  Zoë and Darryl were her mother’s best friends and had been secondary hippie parents to Kelly as a kid. She drove the few blocks to their B&B, where last night’s guests had checked out and the hired helper was in the process of cleaning the rooms in readiness for the new people who would arrive this afternoon. The lawns were brilliant green from recent rains, and Zoë’s touch as a flower gardener was evident both in the front beds near the road and surrounding the patio, Kelly noted as she parked near the back door.

  Zoë had seen her coming from the large kitchen windows and she was standing in the doorway when Kelly got out of her little red car. She wore a calf-length crumpled linen skirt and loose sleeveless top, and her masses of wavy gray hair were pulled back in a thick single braid that trailed down her back.

  “Kelly! You look radiant—such a beautiful bride. Well, come on in. I have some time between cycles on the washer and dryer. I tell you, the laundry is a never-ending thing when guests come and go all the time.” Zoë led the way through a small room that served as mud porch and gardening catch-all, and they went into her large, sunny kitchen.

  “When you called, I thought what a perfect time to take a break. Would you like coffee, tea, soda …? Well, you know all the stuff I usually keep on hand.”

  “Just a glass of cold water would be great for me.” Kelly handed over the small gift bag she’d carried inside. “Keep these for your own special moments.”

  Zoë set the bag on the counter and pulled out the contents, a small version of the sticky toffee pudding Kelly had loved so much in England—that spiced, gingery, moist cake with the infusion of sticky caramel sauce which soaked right in. “And a box of real English tea!” Zoë exclaimed. “I know we will love it.”

  “I ate this cake in nearly every restaurant in town,” Kelly said. “At least that’s my excuse for the extra five pounds on my gut.”

  They sat on stools at the kitchen counter while Kelly told about the high points of her trip. She found herself focusing on Scott’s finds in Cambridge and his research at the museum to avoid going into anything about the box or Bobul.

  “Darryl and I have been wanting to have Sam and Beau over for dinner these past couple of weeks, but there hasn’t been the chance, what with the shooting he’s trying to solve and your mom’s trip to New York.”

  Shooting? Kelly couldn’t remember if Sam had told her about that.

  Zoë caught her puzzled expression. “Honey, you know your mom wouldn’t want to worry you with that. If she’d told you so
meone was killed right there at their house, well, you would’ve wanted to come right home.”

  At their house? She felt her expression freeze. “No, no, of course not. Mom never wants me to worry.” But it’s about time she started to share some of this stuff with me.

  Kelly changed the subject, asking about Zoë’s garden. While Zoë talked about her ongoing crop of tomatoes and offered zucchini to take home, Kelly thought again about Sam’s warning to keep the carved box hidden and safe.

  When Zoë fetched a grocery sack and filled it with her home-grown produce, Kelly took the opportunity to thank her and excuse herself.

  “I’ve a couple other little things to deliver,” she said as she hugged Zoë. “Plus, I’ve taken enough of your morning already.”

  “You come back any time. And we’ll plan a dinner with you guys so we can get to know Scott better.” Zoë watched from the back door, waving as Kelly backed out.

  It was almost noon when she arrived at Rupert’s house. Another of her mom’s longtime friends, Rupert was a writer who kept his mornings as sacred, uninterrupted time to create the bestselling romances he wrote under the pen name Victoria DeVane. By now he should be ready to stretch his legs. He’d already told her he had a lunch date—no doubt the latest of his incredibly good-looking hunky lovers. Kelly wanted to time her arrival for a quick delivery of the cashmere scarf, a hug, and five or ten minutes of chitchat. And hopefully she wouldn’t learn any other frightening news, as she had at Zoë’s.

  Rupert raved over the scarf and, as usual, was all hugs and love and blessings for Kelly and Scott. He’d spent some time in Cambridge himself, so the topic went that direction, and he asked whether they’d tried any of the favorite restaurants he named. When she admitted she had only been there for an afternoon and one meal, it brought the conversation to a natural close. She wished him a good lunch and said she was off to the bakery.