by Rose Pressey
I placed the pie in the oven. Now I’d wait until the opportunity came to give Rory a slice. That was, if there was an opportunity. Rory had said he’d come by for a piece. I prayed he wouldn’t change his mind.
Chapter Seventeen
Tom was waiting by the door when I opened it for the day. Little did he know I’d already been practicing magic. With any luck, I’d slip Rory the pie, and Tom would be none the wiser. Tom wanted to watch all the magic performed at the café and apparently, he planned to be around every second of the day the café was open. Did the man never sleep? Didn’t he have more important magical tragedies to investigate? Maybe I could slip him a sleeping spell in a pancake or something. That would probably be frowned upon, too. Too many magical rules and I probably only knew a fraction of them so far. Without Tom breathing down my neck, watching every move I made, maybe then I could reverse Rory’s spell.
“Good morning, gorgeous.” Tom waved.
Whether the day would be good or not was yet to be determined.
“How about a cup of coffee?” he asked.
“You know, Tom, if you’re going to be hanging around I think I’m putting you to work. I think you know where the mugs are and you’ll spot the coffee.”
A sly grin spread across his face as he marched off to retrieve his own coffee.
A few customers strolled in, but one in particular had me wanting to turn the sign to read Closed and lock the door. Miss Perky Blonde strolled into the café. I hadn’t expected to see her, not without Rory, at least. She’d volunteered to come by for pie with him. Where was he? She plopped down at the counter, setting her Louis Vuitton bag on the counter next to her. Her emerald green blouse matched her long-lashed eyes.
“What can I get you?” I smoothed the apron over my T-shirt and wiped flour off my jeans.
Next to her I was underdressed, but I needed to remember, I was working. No time to play dress-up in Mystic Café. Had she ever worked a day in her life? What had Rory seen in her, anyway? Was it purely looks? Men were superficial that way. Surely someday he’d realize there was more to a relationship than looks and sex. Ugh, sex. I didn’t want the image of the two of them going at it like rabbits.
“I’ll have a skinny cinnamon dolce latte.” Her golden hair curled slightly inward on each side, falling perfectly in place next to her cheeks.
Was she looking at a menu that I wasn’t aware of? Mary Jane walked behind Kim and made the crazy sign with her index finger. I averted my eyes to keep from snickering.
“Will coffee work?”
“Um, sure. Can I at least get cream and sugar?” Her neatly plucked eyebrows rose into confused arcs.
Mystic Café was the nearest thing we had to a Starbucks in town, but I still didn’t offer more than plain old coffee.
“Of course.” I placed the mug down in front of her and poured. “It’s none of my business, but you seem upset. Is everything okay?” It was none of my concern but nonetheless, I really wanted to know. Why was she here? Maybe if I attempted being nice to her, she’d do the same in return.
“I don’t know what’s wrong, actually.” She hesitated, picking at the napkin on the counter. “Heck, I don’t even know why I’m in town. I woke up the other morning with this overwhelming need to come here and see Rory. Now we’re back together and I don’t know what to think.”
She might as well have stabbed me in the heart. What would she say if I told that her magic had brought her back? Letting her talk may give me answers, but did I really want to know? But wow, the guilt was awful.
“Oh, really?” I asked.
“He broke up with me last year.”
“What?” I almost dumped the pot of coffee.
“Yes.” She sipped the coffee, then puckered her lips. “He spread nasty rumors about me, but I forgave him.”
This was the opposite of what Mrs. Perkins had said. Could she have had her facts wrong? She was rather old.
“What kind of rumors?” I had to know.
“Basically that I was a nasty person and that I’d cheated on him.” Kim pursed her lips together.
“Oh, and you didn’t cheat on him?” I tried to hide my emotions.
“Of course not. My mama taught me how to be a lady.”
I had to get to the bottom of this. Was Rory really a dirty rat? No, he couldn’t be. Kim probably couldn’t be trusted. Mrs. Perkins seemed far more trustworthy.
“The fact is I have no idea why I’m here. It’s as if I can’t control myself, you know?” She poured more cream, and then dumped more sugar into her cup, stirring feverishly.
“That doesn’t make much sense.” I chuckled.
I knew all too well what she meant. And if she knew it was my fault, she’d probably strangle me with the strap of her ridiculously expensive purse. Maybe she’d jab me in the eye with her stiletto heel. Heck, if she knew my stomach did somersaults every time I saw Rory, she’d really want to clobber me.
“Well, I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” I waved to a new customer, attempting to appear nonchalant.
She responded with a careless shrug. “I don’t know if I will, but maybe this is fate telling me Rory and I need a second chance. I’ve never really been alone before. When I break up with someone, I always have someone else waiting in the wings. I have to be in a relationship.”
There was that fate word again, and hearing Kim confessing to not wanting to be alone made me feel bad for her. Nonetheless, I couldn’t allow the spell to continue without trying to stop it. “How do you know Rory really wants you back? If he dumped you once, what makes you think he’s interested again?”
She waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, I heard he never got over me. Of course he wants me back. I just don’t know what to do.”
“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” I said halfheartedly.
I watched as she took another sip of coffee, then placed her mug down.
Kim leapt to her feet, slinging her purse across her shoulder. “Well, thanks for listening to me. I’ll sure we’ll be back later for that cherry pie he keeps raving about.”
My stomach danced. Rory raved about my pie to Kim? “Not a problem.”
She placed a couple dollars on the counter and sashayed toward the door. Why had she come into the café just to take a few sips of coffee and tell me the opposite of what Mrs. Perkins said had happened between her and Rory? Maybe she had done it on purpose. But why? The thought hit me: because she thought I liked Rory. Or because she knew I liked Rory. Was I that obvious? Did I have an ‘I’m smitten with Rory’ sign across my forehead?
Tom sauntered up behind me right after Kim walked out and tapped me on the shoulder.
I groaned. “Now what?”
“Take it easy, tiger, I just wanted to prepare you for what’s about to happen.”
“What’s about to happen, Tom?” By the expression on his face, I guessed he wasn’t delivering happy news.
Chapter Eighteen
Before he answered, movement drew my attention to the glass entry door. A man in a wrinkled suit stumbled up the old front steps—the concrete had cracked and crumbled a long time ago.
The bell on the door handle jangled as the man entered. His brown, striped suit looked as if it may have fit him about twenty years ago, which was probably when he’d bought it. His thinning gray hair stuck to his head with perspiration.
“May I help you?” I asked and gave the widest smile my face would allow. The café may be on the verge of closing, but in case this man was a real customer, the least I could do was give him a pleasant dining experience. I’d want the same done for me, although some folks in this town weren’t the hospitable type, to say the least.
“This is a legal matter,” he said.
My eyebrows rose and I wiped my hands on my pants. “You’ll have to speak to my lawyer. I told Ray I wasn’t talking to him about this anymore.”
I wondered if this wasn’t about magic and really had to do with that snake, Ray Russell. No way was he gettin
g the Mustang back. I’d burn it first. Well, maybe not burn it, but still….
Ray had persuaded me to accept his engagement ring with his smooth talk. Thank goodness I hadn’t followed through with it. Why had I let him talk me into moving in, anyway? I’d given up my dreams to be with that slimeball. What can I say? I was young and in love—and stupid. I had no way of knowing I was making such a big mistake. My grandma knew, though. And my mother, my best friend, cousins… They tried to warn me when I’d first met him, but when you’re twenty-one years old, all the answers seem to be at your fingertips. I knew it all. At twenty-eight, I realized I knew nothing. But deep down, I’d never pictured a future with him. Not a real future, nothing past six months. I’d always lived day by day.
Things had a way of working out for the best sometimes, though. If I’d married Ray, I would never have gotten the café. Grandma Imelda never had liked him and she’d probably never have given me the café if he was still around. A small price to pay, I guess. After all, I had loved him—I’d been blinded by love. I wondered what Ray would say if he knew I was the owner of this place now. He’d probably want to be involved in some way. Over my dead body.
The man scrunched his brows together and placed his briefcase on the counter. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.” He popped the lock on the old leather tote and pulled out a card. “I’m with the National Organization of Magic.”
So, my original hunch had been correct. Was the situation really that serious? Why was he here?
The man’s wide brown eyes gave me the once-over. “I’m lookin’ for Elly Blair. Is this her?” He glowered at Tom and pointed at me.
I frowned and waved my hand halfheartedly. “Yes, it’s me.”
“I’m here to talk about the magic.” His lip twitched.
I’d assumed as much.
I swallowed hard. My mouth turned dry. “All right. Please have a seat anywhere you like.”
He seemed so formal I wanted to ask if I really needed an attorney. I didn’t actually have one, but they didn’t know that.
“Mr. Owenton has briefed me on the situation. I understand what has happened to the poor man in question.”
Poor man? He had women following him everywhere he went. Did they realize how many men would pay big bucks to be in that exact situation? Sure, it sucked, but it wasn’t as if I’d turned him into a toad or a donkey. There were worse fates.
“My name’s Bart Wibble.” He shifted the ratty leather briefcase clutched in his right hand to his left and stuck out his hand toward me. I reached over the counter and grasped it. His palm was as sweaty as his head.
I eyed him up and down. “You’ve come to look into my magic, I assume?” With Grandma Imelda’s perfect track record, I realized how lame of a question that was. Of course it was my magic in question.
“Yes, young lady, I have. This is a serious situation.”
He knew my name, why didn’t he use it? It was as if my father was scolding me.
Tom avoided my glare. Did he call Mr. Wibble here?
“You called in backup?” I whispered in Tom’s direction.
Tom glanced at me, but remained tight-lipped.
Mr. Wibble pulled a stack of papers out of his briefcase. One flew across the floor. Mary Jane reached down and grabbed it. She’d been straining her neck to hear what he was saying from the moment he walked in the door. I should have just told her to come on over before she did permanent nerve damage.
“And? How bad is it?” I asked. Did I really want him to answer?
Mary Jane handed him the paper, but she didn’t back away. She lingered nearby.
“I can’t answer that just yet, not without a full investigation, but I can tell you it doesn’t look good.” He stepped closer to the counter, his shoes squeaking as they moved across the hardwood. “Do you want to go somewhere else to talk, or is this good right here?”
“Well, um, we can speak here, if that’s all right with you?” No way was I waiting to hear what he had to say. Mary Jane would drill me for the details anyway.
I paused, waiting for him to speak. He didn’t say a word as he looked down at his shoes. How long could he keep up the silence? Was he trying to kill me with anticipation? After a few seconds, he cleared his throat.
Awkward silence again. Was he praying while looking at his shoes? Was it a moment of silence for my soon-to-be closed café?
“It’s fairly straightforward, Ms. Blair. You have to right this wrong.” Mr. Wibble cleared his throat and continued, “Or we’ll close the café for good.”
Tom had said the same thing earlier, but I thought he had been exaggerating. Mr. Wibble appeared to be dead serious. I glanced at Mary Jane and practically saw the little wheels spinning in her head. She lived for gossip and big events such as these. It didn’t matter if it was someone getting good news or bad news, as long as there was news.
“Your face looks green.” Mary Jane placed a hand on my arm.
“Are you okay? I didn’t mean to shock you.” He leaned closer to the counter, meeting my gaze.
“I’m fine. I don’t need y’all fawning over me.” I waved a dismissive hand and grabbed the towel next to me, then wiped my forehead. “Please, do go on.” I took the glass of water Mary Jane handed me and gulped half of it. They watched me as if they’d never seen anyone almost pass out before.
Chapter Nineteen
After another few seconds, Mr. Wibble studied one of his papers, then stuffed it back into his briefcase. “Like I said, unless you correct this little snafu, we’ll be forced to close the café.”
“But I have tried to reverse the spell.” I covered my mouth with my hand. “Well, I made a pie. He hasn’t eaten it yet.”
“Secretly,” Tom said and looked at Mr. Wibble. “She didn’t know I was aware of what she was up to.” He smirked as if proud of himself.
Mr. Wibble frowned and I swallowed hard. “That’s the problem,” he said. “There’s more to it than that. Yes, you must reverse the magic spell, which is more complicated, but first you need to get to the root of the problem.”
I quirked a brow. “What does that mean exactly?”
He pulled the paper out again and adjusted his glasses. “This woman…Kim?” He glanced up for confirmation. “She needs to understand why she’s here, and Mr. Covington….” He studied the papers again. “He needs to understand his feelings for her.”
“So I need to play matchmaker?”
Mary Jane coughed from somewhere behind me.
“If need be, yes.” He nodded.
There was no way I could put the two of them together. “I can’t do that.”
Tom placed a hand on my arm.
“Then shall we put the closed sign in the window now?” He gestured over his shoulder.
“No, no. I’ll do it.” I knew when I’d been defeated. “But I have no idea where to even start.” I fidgeted, not quite sure what to do with my hands. How would I even begin this process? A ripple of panic rose in my throat at the thought.
“Obviously, you’ll need to talk with the victims.” Mr. Wibble pushed his eyeglasses up on the bridge of his nose and stared at me, waiting for a response.
Victims. I loved his choice of words, as if I didn’t feel bad enough already.
When I didn’t answer, he dropped the next bomb on me. “You have forty-eight hours to correct this problem.”
“What?” A pain rippled through my chest. “I have a time limit? There are movie marathons that last longer than that. This isn’t some game show. People’s lives are at stake.”
“Exactly.” He frowned. “That’s why time is of the essence.”
“How can I work under such pressure?” I asked.
“You should have thought of that before you were so careless with your magic.”
Yeah, stupid me. “Look, in my defense, I wasn’t exactly trained very well.”
“This is the way it’s done. Most people don’t have a problem with it.” He waved his hands as if to
tell me he’d heard enough.
I continued, ignoring his gesture. “But some do? I’m not the only one who’s failed miserably?”
“No.” He shook his head. “No, you’re not the only one. But it doesn’t happen often.”
“Well, that’s good to know.” Maybe I could start a club for magical miserable failures. I’d be president.
He stood, attempting to brush the wrinkles out of his jacket. “I should get going and let you get back to work. I have a case involving mistaken identity waiting for me a few towns over.” He glanced over my shoulder in the direction of the dessert case. “I hear you make a delicious pie. No offense, but it’ll be hard to beat your grandmother’s.” He licked his lips and patted his belly.
Had he been here before? Tom had said they’d never had any problems with Mystic Café until now. It probably wasn’t unheard of for magical folks to visit other magical folks. Mr. Wibble had probably visited the café for grandma’s wonderful food.
“Would you like a slice to take with you?” Was pie a sufficient form of bribery? The answer to that question was probably no.
“Oh, well.” He smiled, an expression I didn’t think his face was capable of making. “If it isn’t too much trouble?”
“No, no trouble at all.” Maybe if I gave him the whole pastry display, he’d drop this entire issue. Somehow, I knew not to even ask.
“The blackberry looks good.” He pointed at the glass case.
“Excellent choice. It’s my favorite.” I reached for a container and plastic wrap, then covered up a slice of blackberry and placed the package in a bag.
He clutched the pie in his chubby hands. “I’ll be back in forty-eight hours. Remember, I’ll close the café if the spell isn’t reversed by then.”
Yeah, I’d heard him the first time, loud and clear.
“Just like her grandmother,” Mr. Wibble muttered as he shuffled toward the door.
Tom frowned. “I’m very sorry. I hope you don’t blame me for this. He’s my boss, I couldn’t keep him away.”