by Bailey Cates
I looked over to see Bianca smiling at him.
Randy saw, too. His eyes flashed. “Come on, Bianca. Declan can vouch for me. And if you’re feeling adventurous, there’s a gallery opening tomorrow night that I think you might like. We can have that coffee date afterward if you enjoy yourself.”
Colette raised her eyebrows and looked between them.
Bianca looked down at her, then back at Randy. “Okay.”
“Okay!” he echoed. Then, to Colette: “By the way, my name is Randy.”
“I’m very pleased to meet you,” she said formally. “I’m Colette Devereaux.”
They solemnly shook hands. Then he said, “Bianca, may I pick you up tomorrow? Around seven?”
She looked at Lucy. “Would you mind hanging out with Colette tomorrow after we dye eggs?”
My aunt’s eyes twinkled. “Of course not. We’ll have a grand time together.”
Bianca and Randy arranged for him to pick her up at the bakery. He said good-bye to all of us and left with a bounce in his step. Colette went back to look for more books and finish up her toasted coconut cupcake. I poured out sweating glasses of mango sweet tea and joined Lucy and Bianca at a table.
“You do know him, don’t you, Katie?” Bianca asked. I could tell she was wondering what she’d gotten herself into.
“Just through Declan. Seems like a good man, though.”
“Easy on the eyes, too,” Lucy observed.
Murmured agreement all around.
“But how old is he?” Bianca asked.
“Mid to late thirties?” I guessed.
She frowned. “That’s what I thought, too. He’s way too young for me.”
“Oh, pooh,” Lucy said. “You don’t look a day over thirty-eight.”
“Thank you, but that’s not the point,” our friend said. “I’m still forty-five. And that’s not all. You know I have terrible luck with men. Even if I do end up liking him, I’ll eventually tell him that I’m a witch, and he’ll freak out like all the rest.”
Lucy and I exchanged looks. “Not necessarily,” she said. “There are men who are okay with it.”
“Yeah, for all the rest of the spellbook club,” Bianca muttered. “But apparently not for me.” Puck stuck his head out of her pocket, nosed her wrist, and then slithered up her arm to comfort her.
My aunt shook her head. “Now you’re just feeling sorry for yourself. You’re never going to meet the right man if you don’t give any of them a chance.”
“Sounds like kissing a bunch of frogs,” Bianca said wryly.
“Aphorisms exist because they’re true.” Lucy stood. “And no one said you have to kiss them all.”
• • •
At five o’clock, we closed the bakery. In the office, I found Mungo had already climbed into my tote bag, ready to go.
“Nice try, buddy,” I said. “But I’m afraid you’re going to have to get a little more exercise before the day is out.” I held out his leash.
His mouth turned down in a doggy frown, and he didn’t budge.
“Come on,” I coaxed. “It’ll be a nice walk down by the water. You like walking by the river, remember? There are lots of birds to pretend you want to chase.”
The terrier buried himself into the tote so far that I could see only his black nose and shiny brown eyes peering up at me.
“Anubis is coming,” I said.
Yip!
He bounded out of the bag and to the floor, his back end wiggling with excitement.
I laughed. “That’s better.”
Jaida and the Great Dane were waiting for us out on the sidewalk. He was a regal beast, his coat a gorgeous brindle, and his intelligent eyes watched everything around him. When he saw Mungo, his mouth opened in a wide grin, and he bent his square head to touch noses with my little guy.
Greetings complete, we set off toward the river. Soon we reached the stairs that led from Factors Walk down to the river. Though it was only a bit after five o’clock, the pedestrian traffic was starting to increase. I led everyone down the tabby sidewalk, stepping around Bermuda-shorts-clad tourists and professionals heading to the local watering holes for an after-work cocktail. We had passed Rousakis Plaza and the waving girl statue before I spied the tattooed juggler.
He was already at work. Sure enough, he’d moved into the spot where Orla had told fortunes, and his audience was already twice the size of the one he’d had two nights before. As we approached, he dropped the four batons he’d been casually tossing and picked up seven balls. He began juggling them in a circle, then added in a few rolls across his neck, bounced a few off the top of his head, then behind him, continuously keeping in rhythm and never dropping a one. It was impressive, and he appeared to be enjoying himself.
We joined the edge of the crowd. Anubis sat beside Jaida, his enormous head even with her elbow. A few people looked at him sideways, but she didn’t seem to notice. It probably happened to them all the time. Mungo sat beside the bigger dog, mimicking his posture in a comical way. My familiar had always respected the spellbook club’s animals—except Heckle when he was particularly obnoxious—but I was pretty sure Mungo looked up to Anubis more than literally.
“Wow,” Jaida said.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “The guy’s good. And he was right when he said more people would stop to watch him if he worked in this spot.”
“This is where Orla was telling fortunes when you saw her, then?”
I nodded. “She told Lucy and me that she didn’t want to work down here any longer. That she didn’t like how her family had handled things with the other buskers and vendors. That’s one of the reasons I want to talk to this guy.”
With a flourish, he caught all the balls and dropped them dramatically into their case. A smattering of applause erupted from his audience.
He bowed and then straightened with a big smile on his face. “Thank you very much! I hope my humble abilities have entertained and amused you.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “And if they have, I hope you’ll drop a coin or two in the hat.” He removed the porkpie hat from his head, revealing his hipster man bun, and tossed it brim up on the ground in front of him.
Several people filed by, dropping more dollar bills than coins. I hung back until everyone was gone. He’d started arranging the torches to light when I added my own dollar to the hat.
He looked up. “Thanks!”
“You bet. It looks like things are going better on this part of the riverfront.”
“True that. This was my original spot. . . .” He trailed off, and the smile dropped from his face. “You were here with them the other night.”
“Only briefly. Having my fortune read, you know. I did see you confront Orla Black, though.”
“She had it coming,” he growled.
The way he said it made my stomach clench. I held up my hand. “Relax. What’s your name?”
He scowled.
I waited.
“Spud.”
I blinked. “Seriously?”
His chin came up. “Yeah.”
“Okay, Spud. You said that someone in Orla’s family threatened you.”
Jaida, who had hung back, now walked up next to me.
Spud’s eyes widened when he saw Anubis. “Is that your not-so-subtle way of telling me you’re going to sic this monster on me if I don’t move back to my old spot?”
Jaida looked at me. “What’s he talking about?”
“I’m not sure,” I said. “Spud, you can’t really think we’re trying to threaten you.”
“You weren’t ‘having your fortune told,’ honey. I saw you guys talking. You’re friends.” His chin came up again, and his shoulders squared. “Well, I’m not moving. You’ll have to put me in the hospital first. And you can tell Orla Black and her goons that.”
“Oh.” I exchanged a gla
nce with Jaida. “You haven’t heard.” Or you’re an excellent actor. Watching him carefully, I slowly said, “Orla was hit by a car yesterday.”
He stared at me for a long moment. Licked his lips. Looked away.
“And you’re right—we were friends. She told me she wasn’t going to work here anymore because she didn’t like what her family had done to you.”
Spud’s shoulders slumped, and he looked down at the ground. When his eyes met mine, he seemed . . . frightened? “Really?”
“She didn’t like it when you said you were threatened.”
Jaida’s head tipped to the side. “Who was it?”
“John Black and a couple of other guys. One of them was here the other night.”
“What did he do?”
The juggler hesitated for a few beats. Then: “Told me if I didn’t move to another spot, he’d make sure I did. Then he—” Spud made a face. “I know it sounds stupid, but he threw my balls all around. I had to go chase them down. A couple of them I never did find.” His voice had lowered as he spoke, and his face was two shades pinker.
“That’s horrible,” I said. And humiliating. The kind of thing that could spark a desire for revenge.
But Spud the juggler hadn’t been anywhere near Orla when she’d died. Still, he could have been closer than anyone knew. Lucy said Orla had looked away and stopped talking before stepping out. Had she seen Spud on the far side of Broughton Street? She’d just been talking about him, in a way. If he’d gestured for her to cross, she might have done so without checking traffic first.
Simple? Definitely. Possible? Maybe. Intentional? Unlikely.
“Listen, I’m not the only one those people threatened,” Spud said.
My attention veered back from my speculations. “What do you mean?”
“Hannah. She makes jewelry and sells it down here most evenings. Sometimes during the day, too.” He pointed at a young woman arranging shiny objects on a table a few hundred feet away. “She was set up nearby, but that guy Taber? He wanted her spot for his creepy ventriloquist act. He and some other dude told her to move. She didn’t give them any argument.” He shook his head. “That bunch is bad news.”
Not all of them, I thought. I said, “Well, good luck with your show.” We turned to go.
“I don’t need luck,” he said to our backs. “And hey?”
I paused and looked over my shoulder.
“I’m sorry about Ms. Black. I mean, we had our problems, but I didn’t wish her any harm.”
I nodded. “Thanks.”
“Shall we have a chat with Hannah?” Jaida asked.
“Can’t hurt,” I agreed. “You think that guy’s name is really Spud?”
“Maybe his parents liked to drink Bud Light,” she said with a snort.
I grinned. “Or he was a really chubby baby.” Then I sobered. “What do you think about Orla’s son-in-law threatening him? Is he telling the truth?”
Jaida looked thoughtful. “I wouldn’t be surprised. The competition for tourist dollars is fierce down here during high season. If the Black family worked together to get the prime spots, it would benefit them all.”
“Hmm. I don’t think Orla realized it was going on.”
“I didn’t really know her, but I trust your judgment. Honestly, the whole idea that they worked down here at all is kind of odd.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Well, Cookie mentioned that the family has property here in town. And some of it is commercial, so they have an income from that. And then there’s their concrete business. Construction is on the rise, so a business like that is bound to be doing well.”
“Right. The concrete business. You said it was sued by a customer.”
“It was. However, Aiden Black had done the subpar work, so he was the one who had to deal with the fallout. He’s one of the owners, and he’s the only one I worked with during the lawsuit.”
“Huh. Aiden was on that list of beneficiaries.”
“Yup,” she agreed.
“Can you tell me if they lost? As in, does the business owe someone a bunch of damages?”
She shook her head and grinned. “I’m a better attorney than that. Aiden had to redo the work for free and pay court costs.”
I shrugged. “Well, maybe it’s more than a little lucrative to work down here. I have no idea how much Orla charged, but Spud already had fifty bucks, and it’s still early.”
But was it lucrative enough to kill for?
Chapter 10
Hannah, the jewelry maker, was young and fresh-faced, with a bright, hopeful smile. “Hello, ladies! Are you in the market for a bauble or two? Or perhaps you’re hunting for a gift. No matter the occasion, I’m sure I have something that will suit.”
A pair of silver dragonfly earrings glinted up at me from a bed of black velvet. “Those are gorgeous,” I breathed, forgetting for the moment why we were there.
“Here, try them on.” She handed them to me.
Jaida shot me an amused look as I held them up to my ears and looked in the mirror.
“I’ll take them,” I said.
“Terrific!” She beamed at me and reached for an old-school receipt book.
“You’re Hannah, right?”
“Um, yeah?” She didn’t sound too sure of it.
“Spud down the way told us about you,” Jaida explained, fingering a chunky turquoise necklace.
“Oh! That was sweet of him.”
“How’s business?” I asked.
“Um, it’s good,” Hannah said, putting my purchase in a small bag.
I handed her a bill. “As good as it was before Taber O’Cleary made you move?”
She stopped what she was doing, and the smile faded from her face. “Spud has a big mouth.”
Jaida ignored her. “Can you tell us what happened? He must have been pretty convincing.”
“I, uh . . .” Suddenly she looked over our shoulders, and her eyes grew wide. “Um, hi, Mr. Black.”
I turned to see the stocky, dark-haired man who had been standing in the yard with Fern the evening before when Cookie had taken us by Orla’s house. My hand shot out.
“Mr. Black? Oh, gosh. You must be a relative of Orla’s,” I said a little too brightly.
Alarm crossed his face. “What would that be to you?” he asked.
My hand dropped like an anvil.
Jaida stepped forward. “We were friends of hers. Please allow us to extend our deepest sympathies for your loss.” Unlike my birdlike chirp, her smooth voice was warm and confident.
Hannah looked confused, evidently unaware that Orla had died.
The man hesitated; then his expression softened, and he gave a single nod. “Thank you.” Then he turned his attention to the young jeweler and his eyes narrowed. “Best be minding your own business, Hannah. Understand?”
She nodded vigorously, obviously intimidated. “Oh, yessir. Don’t worry, sir.”
He held her frightened gaze for a few more seconds, gave us another small nod, and strode away.
“Good Lord,” I said when he was far enough away not to hear. “Who is that? The godfather of the Savannah riverfront?”
“That’s John Black,” Hannah said in a small voice. “And you’re not far off.”
• • •
With Declan on the first night of his shift, Mungo and I were on our own for supper. It happened every week, but I still missed my fiancé. I’d texted him after Bianca and Colette left the bakery, curious about whether he might have mentioned anything to Randy about Bianca’s practice of the Craft. He responded that he hadn’t felt it was his place—but that his friend seemed so smitten that she could have been on the FBI’s most wanted list and he probably wouldn’t care.
I hoped Declan was right, and Randy’s infatuation wasn’t just a flash in the pan. I wis
hed I knew him a little better.
Let’s just hope things work out and you get a chance to know him better.
The Coopersmiths were grilling in their backyard when I got home. As I unlocked the door, I heard Margie call something, then the high voices of the twins in response. The sound of Redding’s deep, booming laugh followed me inside. I thought about dropping over and mooching a burger, but it was rare that he was home from his over-the-road trucking job for so many days at a time, and I didn’t want to interrupt their family time.
Still, the smell of hot dogs and hamburgers made my mouth water, inspiring me to fire up the little hibachi on my patio. I blended a sprinkle of Old Bay Seasoning into some hamburger. Then I chopped a red potato into chunks and tossed them with olive oil, finely chopped rosemary, salt, and pepper. I bundled the potatoes into a foil packet and tossed it on the hibachi, then went back into the kitchen to form the meat patties and make a green salad.
My familiar definitely approved of burgers for dinner. I topped his tiny version with cheese, pickle, and ketchup, as he preferred, and loaded mine up with leftover bacon and mashed avocado. After we’d eaten, I cleaned up the dishes and got out the ingredients for my favorite thinking food: peanut butter swirl brownies. They used to be my go-to sweet treat at home, but I’d fallen out of the habit of making them since I baked all day at the Honeybee.
My phone rang. When I saw it was Declan, I picked up right away.
“Hey, you,” I said. “Everything all right?” We usually spoke later in the evening when he was working, unless the crew was out on a call.
“Everything’s fine here. Slow day so far,” he said.
“My favorite kind,” I said with relief.
“I heard from my friend at the medical examiner’s office about Orla Black’s autopsy,” he said.
I sank into a kitchen chair. “They’ve finished so soon? It must be slow over there, too. Which is good, of course . . .”
“Could be, but it also sounds like there was some pressure to complete the autopsy in record time and release the body.”
“Pressure? From whom?”
“From higher up. Maybe they’re just trying to be more efficient,” he said.