“Katie, wait!” She pulled back, laughing. The lilt of her Haitian accent was evident in those two words, and I realized how much I’d missed it.
I stopped. “You want something to eat?”
Still laughing, she shook her head. “No. I want you to meet Oscar.” She pronounced it Oh-scar.
I looked up to where she was pointing. A man stood by the front door. His dark shock of thick hair curled down to his bright hazel eyes, and his full lips curved into a blazing white smile. He was, simply put, gorgeous. I smiled a welcome at him and said in an undertone, “Oscar, huh?”
She nodded. “I met him in Paris. He’s from the Dominican Republic. We have a great deal in common.”
“What happened to Brandon?” I asked.
“He didn’t want to leave France,” she said. “And I did.” She flipped her hand in dismissal, and something flashed.
I grabbed her hand. “Is that an engagement ring?”
Eyes sparkling, she shook her head. “Oscar and I are married.”
I didn’t know whose mouth dropped open wider: mine, Lucy’s, or Ben’s.
* * *
In celebration of Ben’s return to the Honeybee, I’d taken Saturday afternoon off to tend to the neglected weeds in my garden. My uncle had been happy to cover for me, especially since he wanted to play his usual round of Sunday golf the next day.
Cookie had offered to be on call if we needed her over the weekend, as well. I didn’t know if they’d call her in today, but I knew I’d have a hard time not getting her to at least stop by the Honeybee on Sunday—to answer the gazillion questions I had about her new husband, if nothing else.
Iris, Patsy’s Goth stepdaughter, had taken me up on my invitation to stop by the Honeybee, and while there had filled out a job application. She was about to graduate from high school and had already been accepted at the Savannah College of Art and Design. Lucy and Ben had both taken to her, and heaven knew we needed some regular help. Iris was slated to start part-time at the bakery in two weeks.
A toad hopped out from under the sprawling leaves of the watermelon vine and stared at me with bulging yellow eyes. “Well, hello,” I said, and continued to pull weeds from around the tender base of the plant. So far I’d made it through about a third of the vegetable patch and still had the herb garden to weed as well. At the rate I was going, I’d finish the task about the same time Declan got off work at the firehouse on Monday.
The toad was good luck, however, a sign of cleansing and renewal in magical circles and simply a harbinger of good ecology in the scientific world. “Bring your friends,” I encouraged him, and moved on to tie up some indeterminate tomato vines.
Mungo sprawled on his back in the morning sunshine, napping after a big breakfast of bacon and eggs with toast and his favorite orange marmalade. The hot weather had faded away to unseasonable coolness, surely a temporary shift, which I welcomed nonetheless.
In my peripheral vision, my familiar rolled onto his stomach and turned his attention to the front of the house. Moments later I sensed rather than heard the gate open. Looking up from where I crouched on my knees, I saw Steve come into the yard.
Pushing myself to my feet, I brushed dirt from my knees and hands. “Hi.” It had been months since he’d stopped by the carriage house out of the blue. That, plus his recent declaration of affection, put me on my guard. I waited, rooted among my vegetables.
“Hey,” he said easily and strolled over to Mungo. My dog rose to his feet and allowed a scritch under the chin, but he’d never greeted Steve with the same enthusiasm he showed Declan. “Doing a little garden maintenance, huh?”
“Yup.”
“Take a break?”
“Okay.” I stripped off my gloves. We settled into mismatched chairs in the gazebo, and I offered him some lemonade from the sweating pitcher I’d brought out for the work.
“There’s only one glass,” he said.
“I wasn’t expecting company. But I haven’t had any yet, so this is clean.” I filled it with lemonade and handed it to him.
“You don’t seem that happy to see me.”
My fingers drummed on the table as I debated about what to say. “Steve,” I began.
He held up his hand. “Listen, I get it. In fact, that’s why I’m here. I think I kind of scared you the other day. When I said I was still hoping?”
“Not scared. Just . . . Steve, you can’t wait for me. I’m not going to change my mind.”
“I know. I needed to clarify what I meant. I’m not expecting you to dump Declan or change your mind. I know you guys are solid—maybe even more so now that he can channel spirits from the other side.”
A grimace sneaked onto my face before I could stop it.
Steve smiled. “He’s not too happy about that, I imagine.”
“Would you be?”
His eyes widened. “Seriously? Of course I would. Imagine how useful it could be.”
“How practical of you.”
“Yeah. Well, anyway, he’s not your run-of-the-mill firefighter anymore. I can see how that would bring you even closer together.”
“Declan was never run-of-the-mill,” I said quietly.
Steve shook his head. “I’m botching this. I’m sorry. All I wanted to say was that you don’t have to worry about me waiting for you, because I’m not. I mean, if I meet someone, I won’t hesitate. It’s just that I haven’t yet.”
I smiled.
“And honestly, it’s hard to imagine who would interest me more than you do.”
My smile dropped.
He stood. “But someone will. I’m sure of it.” He stepped out of the gazebo and I heard him mutter, “And soon, I hope.” He turned. “Just wanted to clarify. Thanks for the lemonade.”
I stood and followed him out into the yard. “You didn’t drink any—”
“That’s all.” He was walking rapidly toward the gate now. “See you around.”
“Steve!”
He paused and waited with a pained expression for me to catch up.
“Did you know Simon Knapp was a sorcerer of some kind?” I asked.
He blinked. “What?”
“Did you? Was he a druid, by any chance? Is that how he knew Heinrich?”
He frowned.
I waited.
“I’m sure I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about,” he said. “I have to go.”
“But—”
Mungo gave me a wry look as Steve barreled through to the front yard and the latch snicked closed behind him.
“Well, that was interesting,” I said. “Do you think he was lying about Simon?”
Yip!
I heard the gate open again and looked up hopefully.
But it wasn’t Steve returning. Instead, Ursula rounded the corner of the house, grinning ear to ear when she saw me. “Steve said you were back here. Hope you don’t mind me showing up like this. Your aunt gave me your address.”
I waved her in. “How’s your head?”
“Hard as stone, apparently.”
“How are you at weeding?”
“Lousy.”
I laughed. “How about drinking a glass of lemonade, then?” I indicated the pitcher still sitting on the table in the gazebo.
“Much better.” She laughed.
“Hang on. I’ll get another glass.” I went into the kitchen through the open French doors.
When I returned, she was standing with her hands on her hips, examining the garden. “Katie, this is stunning. I’ve never seen a vegetable garden landscaped like this. Simply beautiful.”
“It’s a potager garden,” I said, pleased. “I’ve added a few of my own design elements, but all plants are attractive, don’t you think? And arranging them like this pleases me aesthetically as well as taking advantage of beneficial companion plan
ting.” I bent and snapped a spent flower head off a marigold that was tucked in next to a cherry tomato plant.
“There’s something else.” She paused, her eyes narrowing in thought. Or perhaps she was listening to one of her spirit guides, because suddenly she laughed. “You’re a garden witch as well as a kitchen witch!”
“Um, yeah. It usually works that way,” I said, covertly checking the Coopersmiths to see if my neighbor was anywhere about. I heard Margie call to the twins through the open window. Relieved, I turned back to Ursula. “It’s not something I advertise.”
“Why not?”
“Hmm. Well, I’m certainly not ashamed of it. But not everyone understands. And since Lucy and I practice at the bakery, I don’t want customers to think we’re doing anything weird to the food. All we do is harness the magical aspects that are already in the seasonings we use, even the food itself.”
She nodded her understanding and turned her attention to the gazebo, where I was pouring the lemonade. She stroked the bare wood, which was beginning to turn gray from the weather. “And this? It feels well guarded.”
“It is.” I didn’t offer more, feeling strangely vulnerable. Ursula might be psychic, but she wasn’t a witch. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust her—I simply felt private about my Craft.
Ursula pursed her lips, then nodded once. “Okay.”
I handed her a sweating glass, and she took a sip. “Mmm. Mint, too. Nice.” She folded her lanky frame onto the grass next to Mungo. “I’m here because I got a message for you that I promised to pass on.”
Three dragonflies winged past, heading for the tiny stream in the corner of the yard. A shiver ran like a mouse down my spine, and I sat down beside her. “Oh?”
“It’s from Franklin.”
I bit my lower lip. “He came to you again?”
She nodded. “Yep. He said for me to tell you he’s sorry.”
“About what specifically?” Though I could think of a few things, truth be told.
“That he didn’t tell you more about what it means to be a . . . lightwitch?”
I nodded. “Go on.”
“I’ve never heard of a lightwitch,” Ursula said. “Anyway, he said you already know what you need to do if you pay attention.”
Great. More of the same. “Did he say how he died?”
“Nope. But he said he’s going to remedy his failure to properly mentor you before he passed.”
“How is he going to do that?”
“He’s sending someone.”
“He’s . . . Who? When?”
She threw her hands up in the air. “Don’t know. That’s all he said.”
My shoulders slumped.
She drained her glass and got to her feet. “Listen, I have to meet Althea to drive back up to Dahlonega.”
I stood as well, and Ursula threw her arms around me, surprising me with the force of her hug. “Don’t worry, okay? I don’t know what a lightwitch is, but I can tell that Franklin is a good soul and he has good intentions. So do you, Katie.” Together we walked to the gate, Mungo padding through the grass behind us. She opened it and put her hand on my shoulder. “Really. Everything will be fine.”
I watched her stride out to her rental car and returned her good-bye wave as she drove off.
Mungo leaned against my leg, and I bent to pick him up. Snuggling him under my chin, I muttered, “The problem is that her idea of fine and mine might not be exactly the same thing.”
My familiar’s soft pink tongue swiped at my cheek, and I had to smile.
“You’re right. Even with all the crazy stuff, life is awfully good, isn’t it?”
Yip!
Recipes
Detective Quinn’s Favorite Lemon Sour Cream Cake
Makes one 8" x 8" coffee cake
2 cups all-purpose flour
11/2 cups sugar
5 teaspoons freshly grated lemon peel (be sure to avoid the white pith of the lemon, which is bitter)
1 teaspoon cinnamon
3 Tablespoons fresh lemon juice
1/2 cup vegetable oil
1 cup sour cream
1 large egg
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon baking powder
confectioners’ sugar (optional)
Preheat oven to 325 degrees. Butter and flour an 8" x 8" glass baking dish.
Stir together flour, sugar, lemon peel, and cinnamon in a large bowl.
Add the oil and lemon juice, mixing until evenly moist and small clumps form. Set aside one cup for the crumble topping, leaving the rest in the bowl.
In another bowl thoroughly blend the sour cream, egg, vanilla, baking soda, and baking powder.
Add sour cream mixture to flour mixture all at once and beat with an electric mixer until the batter is smooth.
Spread the batter in the prepared pan, and sprinkle the reserved crumble topping evenly over the top.
Bake 40 minutes or until a toothpick comes out clean. Transfer the pan to a rack to cool.
Sprinkle with confectioners’ sugar, cut into squares, and serve. Can be made one day ahead.
Fast and Easy Gluten-Free Peanut Butter Cookies
Makes 12–24 cookies, depending on size
1 cup sugar
1 cup chunky peanut butter
1 large egg
Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Mix the three ingredients thoroughly together and roll into small balls.
Put on a cookie sheet and flatten with a fork.
Sprinkle with a dash of kosher or sea salt and bake 10–15 minutes (depending on size) until slightly browned.
Allow to rest on cookie sheet for a few minutes before transferring to a rack. Cookies will crisp a bit as they cool.
Honeybee Carrot ’n’ Apple Cake or Muffins
Makes one 10" x 14" sheet cake
1 cup vegetable oil
1 cup sugar
1/4 cup molasses
4 eggs, well beaten
3 cups grated carrots
1 cup applesauce (chunky or smooth)
1 cup unbleached flour
1 cup whole wheat flour
2 teaspoons soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 teaspoons ground allspice
2 teaspoons ground cinnamon
11/2 teaspoons vanilla extract
11/2 teaspoons orange extract
Preheat oven to 325 degrees. Butter and sugar a 10" x 14" pan.
Cream oil, sugar, and molasses.
Add eggs, carrots, applesauce, and vanilla and orange extracts. Mix well.
Mix dry ingredients together in a separate bowl.
Add flour mixture to carrot mixture a small amount at a time, blending well. Batter will be quite thick.
Spread in the prepared pan and bake for an hour or until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean. Cool before frosting.
This recipe will also make approximately 24 muffins. Start checking for doneness after 40 minutes in the oven.
Cream Cheese Frosting
8 ounces cream cheese
¼ cup butter
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
11/4 cups confectioners’ sugar
Beat all ingredients together until smooth.
Spread on the cake.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Bailey Cates believes magic is all around us if we only look for it. She’s held a variety of positions, ranging from driver’s license examiner to soapmaker, which fulfills her mother’s warning that she’d never have a “regular” job if she insisted on studying philosophy, English, and history in college. She traveled the world as a localization program manager but now sticks closer to home, where she writes two mystery series, tends to a dozen garden beds, bakes up a storm,
and plays the occasional round of golf. Bailey resides in Colorado with her guy and an orange cat that looks an awful lot like the one in her Magical Bakery Mysteries.
CONNECT ONLINE
baileycates.com
Some Enchanted clair : A Magical Bakery Mystery (9780698140561) Page 24