by Bailey Cates
But under the influence of my Voice, she hadn’t told me that she’d killed Dr. Dana, even though I’d asked if she had any ideas about who had. I slumped in my chair. Voice was such a slippery thing. Could she have lied? Lied by omission? I hadn’t told her not to.
The image of Declan with his heart and breathing stopped because of one word I’d said with my Voice came flooding up from memory.
No. Even though I think I can control it, no more Voice. Ever.
* * *
Lucy and Iris were in the kitchen, and I was making my tea and chatting with Mrs. Standish, when Steve came in. Ben looked up from where he sat checking our inventory lists behind the register. He frowned but quickly recovered as Steve approached.
“Ben. Good to see you.”
My uncle nodded. “Steve.”
Steve’s lips twitched. He hadn’t missed the subtle snub and directed a questioning look at me.
I kept my face neutral. Let him think I’d blabbed about all the things he’d told me the day before.
“Those jalapeño corn pones sure look good,” Steve said.
Ben put one on a plate and handed it to him. “Anything to drink?”
“Dry cappuccino,” I said.
Steve smiled as I turned to fill the order.
“Why, Steven Dawes, as I live and breathe,” brayed Mrs. Standish. She wore a leopard-print caftan with a burnt orange scarf wrapped about a dozen times around her broad shoulders. “I heard you’d left town for a while. Glad to see you’re back, my boy.”
He opened his mouth to speak, but she kept right on going. “I spoke with your father last month, and he said you were living the life of a beach bum.” She grinned. “Must suit you, because you look healthy as a horse. Honestly, you were looking a little peaked the last time I saw you.”
“Thanks, Edna. I feel great,” he said. “I wasn’t exactly being a beach bum, though.” He brought his corn pone over and leaned against the counter. “I’ve sure missed the Honeybee pastries, though. And I brought Katie a trinket from the Bahamas.”
The steamer shrieked, drowning out his next words. He waited me out and tried again when I turned it off.
“It’s just a kitschy souvenir I thought you might like. Nothing fancy.” He handed me a little statue about three inches long. It was heavy, perhaps bronze, and had the body of a large dog, the face of a cat, and a beak like a bird. My hand closed over it automatically, and I savored how perfectly it fit in my palm.
“It’s just a little keepsake. I hope you’ll think of me when you see it—and I hope you put it someplace where you’ll see it a lot.”
This was getting ridiculous. I put the figurine down on the counter. “I can’t accept this.”
He looked surprised. So did Mrs. Standish. Lucy came around the corner and stopped when she saw us.
“Gosh, Katie,” he said.
“You have to stop this,” I said, unable to keep my frustration out of my voice. “Declan asked me to marry him last night!” As soon as the words came out, I wanted to shove them right back. I knew what was coming.
“Oh, Katie!” Lucy squealed.
“Holy smokes!” Ben said.
Mrs. Standish reached around and clapped me on the back, nearly sending me sprawling into a rack of mugs. “Congratulations!” she all but shouted. Heads all over the bakery turned our way.
I felt heat in my face, and it was suddenly hard to breathe. The pressure of their approval felt suffocating.
Steve was watching me through all the exclamations. Now his eyes narrowed, and he smiled. “You didn’t say yes, though. Did you?”
I was silent.
“Uh-huh.” He pushed the figurine toward me, took the cappuccino I’d set on the counter, and walked toward the door. “See you later, Katie-girl.”
“Don’t—” I stopped myself. I’d had a knee-jerk reaction from the very first time he’d called me that. Now he was making a point.
He was still smiling when he left.
“Is that true?” Ben demanded. “You said no?” He sounded incredulous.
I took a deep breath, my eyes scanning the bakery. The customers had gone back to chatting, working, or reading. “I don’t think we need to talk about it right now.”
Mrs. Standish started to say something, but a curt shake of my head stopped her. I adored the woman, but she could disseminate news more efficiently than any media outlet in existence.
“Bianca and I have an appointment,” I said. “I need to get going.”
Ben looked surprised, but Lucy’s face was placid as she followed me through the kitchen to the office. Of course, I’d already told her of our plans to visit Angie over the lunch hour.
“Honey, are you all right?” she asked as I quickly texted Bianca to see if she was on her way.
“I’m fine.” I stopped and put the phone down. “No, wait. You know what? I’m not okay. Steve has resigned from the Dragohs and stopped working for Dawes Corp. in an attempt to convince me I made the wrong choice when I started dating Declan.”
Her mouth formed an O of surprise.
“The very same day, Declan asks me to marry him when he knows darn well I’m not even sure about moving in together. And now everyone is upset that I haven’t made a decision yet! I get to make my own choices, and not just when it comes to magic.”
“Of course you do, Katie,” Lucy said gently. “And not everyone is upset with you.” She wrinkled her nose. “Ben, yes. And no doubt Declan himself is feeling a bit on edge. I don’t even know what to say about Steve. But you stick to your guns, honey, and know I’ll support you in whatever you decide.”
My shoulders slumped, and I felt tears prick my eyes. “Thanks, Lucy. I didn’t mean to go off on you there.”
She patted my arm. “I’m glad you can talk to me.”
“You’re the best.”
My phone buzzed. It was Bianca. She was out front.
I squared my shoulders. “Okay. I’m off to see a witch who is on the verge of being arrested for murder. Let’s hope she can shed some light on the victim—and the victim’s husband.”
* * *
Bianca’s red Jaguar was sitting at the curb out front. I got in and we roared away. She had the top down, and the wind made it hard to talk. Nonetheless, I managed to remind her about Angie’s experience with her ex-husband.
“Sounds a lot like what happened to me,” Bianca said as she slowed for a turn. “Except my husband might not have been such a jerk if I wasn’t practicing the Craft anymore. It was my growing interest in magic that made him decide I wasn’t good enough to be his wife. He was such a social climber and was terrified I’d embarrass him.” She snorted. “Good riddance.”
She pushed down on the accelerator, and the force pushed me back into the plush leather of my seat.
“Well, maybe Angie would appreciate hearing your story,” I shouted over the rushing air.
Bianca nodded as she pulled into the parking area in front of Angie Kissel’s small apartment building. “I’m happy to commiserate if it comes up.”
We got out of the car and stood looking at the building. It didn’t take long to identify the upper unit that was Angie’s. The balconies were all surrounded by wrought iron, but hers was lined with planter boxes filled with trailing geraniums and creeping Jennie that spilled over the sides in such profusion that the greenery nearly hid the sturdy metal of the railing.
We walked up the exterior stairway to the entryway, our footsteps loud on the hollow wooden steps. At the top we discovered more pots planted with herbs and flowers, many with magical properties. That didn’t mean anything, though. They were also simply pretty—jasmine, verbena, alyssum, and corkscrew reeds, among other things. Anyone could have chosen them for decoration, whether a former green witch or not.
The door flew open before we could knock. Surprised, I stepped
back. Then I saw Angie’s tear-streaked face.
“Oh, Katie. Thank heavens you’re here.” She glanced at Bianca and wiped at her eyes with her fingertips. “Hi.”
“Hi,” Bianca said with a mix of curiosity and kindness.
Angie looked fearfully over our shoulders, scanning the parking lot and street as if they held a threat. Alarm bells went off in my brain, and I hurried to introduce the two women.
“Angie, this is Bianca. Bianca, this is Angie. Can we come in?” I moved toward her as I was speaking, and Angie stepped back and opened the door wider.
We stepped into an herbal oasis. There were potted plants on every surface, tucked into corners, lining the windowsills, and even clustered on the counter that separated the living room from the kitchen. They all boasted verdant health. A skylight above poured indirect light into the space. The air smelled green, and I could sense the live energy thrumming through the atmosphere.
“Wow,” I said.
“Katie.” Bianca pointed to where Angie was holding out a piece of folded paper to me. It trembled in her hand.
I took it. Inside was a simple, typed note.
We all know you killed our Dr. Dana. If the police don’t punish you, we will.
Wide-eyed, I handed it to Bianca. “When did you get this?”
“I came home from work and found it slipped under my door.” Angie’s voice quavered. “I’m really scared.” She swallowed, hard. “Maybe I’m overreacting, though.” She sounded hopeful, like I’d assure her the note was utter bunk.
Bianca handed it back to her. “Better safe than sorry. I really don’t like how they used the word punish.”
Angie blanched.
“She’s right,” I said. “Have you called the police?”
“The police? Right. Because they’re on my side. If I called them about this, that Detective Quinn would probably arrest me on the spot.”
I didn’t think that was true, but I understood why she didn’t exactly see the police as reliable allies. “I can’t force you to call them.”
She shook her head. “It would only make it worse.” She buried her face in her hands.
I put my arm around Angie, and a small sob escaped her. She took several deep breaths, struggling to get control of herself again.
When she had, she said, “I don’t want to stay here by myself. I’m off work until Friday, too.”
“Is there a friend you can stay with?” Bianca asked.
Angie sniffed. “I thought about that. My good friend is hosting a big Thanksgiving dinner, though. Her house is full of family from out of town.” She turned a pleading gaze on me. “Maybe I could, you know, if you have room . . . ?”
I’m sure my face showed surprise, but I managed to hide the suspicion that rose with it. Why would she want to stay with me? Because I was helping her? Because of Mungo?
Mungo. He wanted me to help her. If he’d been standing there, I knew darn well he would have wanted me to invite her to stay at the carriage house. It also occurred to me that having a little company while Declan was on his forty-eight-hour shift at the firehouse might be nice.
More than nice. It might keep me from obsessing about his proposal.
But I wasn’t willing to go so far as to just give her the keys to my home. “Is there someplace you can stay until I get off work?”
Angie looked doubtful.
“I have to get back to the Honeybee.” I looked at my watch. “And soon. We have a gazillion pumpkin pies to make tomorrow, as well as the usual prep for tomorrow morning.”
“Maybe I could come with you?”
My eyebrow rose. “You bake?”
“Not so much, but I can still help clean up or whatever manual labor you might need.”
Cookie had said she’d come back after her client appointment, but Iris was leaving with her family for Hilton Head that afternoon. Maybe Lucy would welcome a little extra help. I looked at Bianca.
She smiled and inclined her head. “You’ve hired day help before.”
“Oh! You don’t have to pay me,” Angie said.
“Nonsense,” I said. “Bianca, do you mind if I ride back with Angie?”
“Not at all. I have to get back to Moon Grapes soon, anyway.”
Angie looked surprised, then nodded. “Okay. Just let me take care of a couple of things here and pack a bag.”
“We’ll help,” I said.
Chapter 19
Angie asked me to water some plants, while Bianca offered to help her pack her overnight bag. I could feel the power wafting from the delicate star-shaped flowers of the borage, protecting the apartment with peace and cheer. A trio of amaryllises held fat buds on their long stems, promising to bloom in time for Christmas, and potent with something I couldn’t identify. Since they were poisonous, Lucy and I never used them in the kitchen. But no doubt Angie knew what the amaryllis’ properties were; she might claim to have stopped practicing the Craft, but the fertile greenness in her home demonstrated an innate gift she couldn’t escape.
I heard my coven mate’s soothing voice in the bedroom, and then Angie responded in a low tone. From the few words I caught as I tended the garden, they were talking about their ex-husbands. The meeting with Mungo’s former witch hadn’t gone at all as I’d intended, but at least she and Bianca had discovered their common ground.
And I’d have a chance to talk to Angie about Nate Dobbs on the trip back to the Honeybee.
Bianca took off for Moon Grapes, which she said was doing a booming business for the holiday. “Good thing I stocked up on Pinot Noir.”
Angie locked up, and soon we were on our way back to the Honeybee in her Toyota. She seemed to become more relaxed by the mile.
“Feeling better?” I asked.
She nodded. Then she glanced over at me. “You said on the phone that you wanted to talk to me about Dana Dobbs.”
Glad that she’d brought the subject up herself, I said, “Actually, I thought you might be able to tell me some things about her husband.”
“Really? Why?”
I shrugged, trying for casual. “Well, they were talking about getting a restraining order against you. So I figured if you were following Dr. Dana around, you might have seen some things about her husband as well. Or their marriage.” After what Ronnie Lake had told me, I was curious about whether the Dobbs’ relationship problems had been evident.
However, Angie glared at me with her red-rimmed eyes. I suppressed a sigh. Maybe I should have been a bit more tactful, but we were getting close to the Honeybee, and I didn’t want to ask her these questions where others could hear. It also seemed slightly precious to think I had to tread on eggshells around a stalker.
“I wasn’t following her,” she said.
“Oh, now. She saw you . . .”
“No! I went to two signings—one in Port Royal, and the one the other night. That’s all.” She slowed to a stop at a red light and turned to me.
“Really?” I said. “Why would she say you were following her?”
Angie’s lips pressed together. “Dana and Nate happened to live about five blocks away from my apartment. We belong to the same gym, we shop at the same grocery store, and she was a jogger. Naturally, we ran into each other every once in a while.” She made a face. “She ran by my apartment and then accused me of following her. Though I do admit—I tried to approach her when I saw her at the gym. I wanted her to understand how literally people took her advice and how ruinous it could be.” She sighed. “Not that she’d listen. I thought I’d try one last time on Saturday night.” She fell into silence.
“And the letter-writing campaign aimed at taking The Dr. Dana Show off the radio?”
She nodded vigorously. “Yep. I did that. Absolutely.”
“All because you blame her for your divorce?” I couldn’t help it. It just didn’t add up.
Angie shook her head. “Not just that. I mean, I made the decision to tell my husband I used to be a witch. I own that. In fact, maybe I wanted him to know all along. But what happened to me made me pay more attention to her show, and I realized that she was doing real damage to her listeners. Katie, have you ever heard her?”
“Once. She told a woman to stop talking to her father because he didn’t get along with her new husband.”
“Yes! I remember that one. What if the woman followed her advice because she assumed Dr. Dana knew more than she did? And believe me—Dana Dobbs made sure that people thought she was smarter than them.”
I thought of Margie crying on my sofa because she’d fallen for the psychologist’s concept of Radical Trust.
“Was all of her advice bad?” I asked.
Angie shook her head. “No. But enough of it was.” She made a left-hand turn onto Broughton.
“Okay. I get it.” I frowned. “So you don’t know anything about Nate Dobbs.”
Angie shook her head. “I don’t even know where he worked.” She pulled into the parking lot around the corner from the bakery.
“I looked that up. Some kind of agricultural fumigation.”
She parked and shut off the engine. I opened my door, but she didn’t move. “Fumigation? Like grain silos and the like?”
“I think so. Why?”
“Sometimes big nurseries get insect infestations in their stock. The one where I work never had that happen, thank goodness, but there’s a method they borrow from big agriculture to solve the problem.” She turned to me with wide eyes. “They tent the affected plants and dose them with hydrogen cyanide. They use the same method to kill insects in grain silos, weevils in cotton, and the like.”
“Agricultural fumigation uses cyanide,” I said thoughtfully. “Good Lord.”
* * *
Things were hopping in the Honeybee. Lucy was working the register, Ben was making one coffee drink after another, and Cookie was in the kitchen mixing up the sourdough levain for the next day’s baking. They all looked surprised when I brought Angie in, but after she greeted Mungo briefly in the office, I set her to work measuring out spices for the pie filling. Soon we’d made real headway into prepping for the four dozen pumpkin pies we had orders for the next day.