Brownies and Broomsticks: A Magical Bakery Mystery

by Bailey Cates

  Mostly for show, I made my way around the periphery of the store. War memorabilia in general didn’t appeal to me, though I could see how many of the items in Johnny Reb’s brought the past tangibly into the present. But I imagined that many of them also represented grief and tragedy. How could they not?

  The daylight didn’t quite reach the back of the store, which made it harder to see the contents clearly. Absently, I fingered the worn leather cover of a book, then flipped it open to reveal the scrawled notes of a journal. As I leaned forward to take a look, something in my peripheral vision caught my eye.

  Tucked under a shelf was a flat-topped wooden trunk reinforced with dark metal and wrapped with leather straps. Abandoning the journal, I knelt in front of the trunk. No price tag that I could see. That didn’t bode well, but I couldn’t help it: I had to have that trunk.

  Returning to the counter, I asked how much he wanted for it. The response was higher than I liked, but manageable. “You have excellent taste. You should know it’s been restored, so the straps are new, but the patina of that old wood is beyond lovely.”

  “It almost glows,” I said in agreement. “Do you deliver?” I dipped into my bag for my wallet. No way would that big trunk fit in the Bug.

  “Well, that depends. Are you a visitor to Savannah?” He licked his lips as if in anticipation of my answer.

  “Recent transplant.” I moved to the counter. “My aunt and uncle and I are opening the Honeybee Bakery.”

  “You must be Ben Eagel’s niece, then! I’m so very pleased to make your acquaintance. My name is Jack Jenkins.”

  I shook his outstretched hand. “Katie Lightfoot.”

  “Well, well, well. Of course we can deliver the trunk—for a nominal fee, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  “Isn’t that something. Ben’s family come back to roost.”

  “Actually, he’s my uncle by marriage. I grew up in Ohio.”

  Unfazed by this information, he went on. “So sorry I wasn’t able to come to the extravaganza you threw for the Downtown Business Association.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “It’s so very difficult to get really good help anymore. My latest employee called in ill at the last moment, so naturally I was required to tend to my business and miss the meeting despite my role as president.”

  I found myself rather taken with Jenkins. “Well, I don’t know that I’d call it an extravaganza, but we did feel it was a success. Until, of course, a woman was murdered out front.”

  His shoulders slumped, and his head swung slowly back and forth. “I could not believe it when I heard someone had done mortal violence to an elderly woman like that. Right downtown, too. Mavis Templeton might not have been the most popular citizen in Savannah, but no one deserves such a horrible end.”

  “It was pretty awful,” I replied. “You knew her, then?”

  “Oh, heavens, yes. We were both natives, you see, and despite our age difference it’s very difficult not to encounter every soul who was born in this area over a lifetime of living here.”

  “Plus, she was in the DBA,” I pointed out.

  “Yes, of course. And she is … was my landlady.”

  I had wondered how I could bring that up, and now I didn’t have to.

  “Here at the store, of course. This building. I’d no more live in one of her apartments than I’d stab myself in the leg with a dull knife.”

  I blinked. His voice had remained even and flowed with the same mellifluous tones I’d quickly grown accustomed to, even lulled by, but his choice of words seemed a bit over the top. Then I realized he’d handed me a new piece of information.

  “She rented apartments?”

  For the first time, he hesitated. “I don’t know that I should be talking about the dead like this.”

  Like what? But I kept my mouth shut and waited for him to fill the silence.

  Finally he spoke. “Mrs. Templeton didn’t rent out any of the apartments at the Peachtree Arms personally, you understand. She hired a manager to handle all the day-to-day for that”—he took a deep breath—“that place.”

  I forced a light laugh. “It doesn’t sound like a terribly nice address.”

  “It’s a cesspool of neglect.” Another pause, then, “It’s a shame no one forced her to maintain it properly.”

  “You couldn’t do anything as the president of the DBA?”

  Jenkins shrugged. “Our focus is the historic district. Mrs. Templeton’s apartment building is in Midtown. Still, I spoke to her about it on two different occasions.”

  “What did she say?”

  “My dear, she just out and out laughed at me.”

  I believed it.

  Jenkins’ eyes narrowed slightly, though his manner remained easygoing. “Ms. Lightfoot, you seem inordinately curious about Mrs. Templeton. Are you by any chance a student of the macabre?”

  “Gosh, I don’t think so. It’s just the, um, proximity of her sudden death—” Now he had me talking funny. I cleared my throat. “Sorry if I’ve been rude.”

  “Not at all!” He beamed at me. “Death, gruesome occurrences, voodoo—this city has it all, and we do love to talk about it.”

  My smile in return felt a little weak.

  “Now, allow me to show you what I mean.” He came out from behind the counter and went to one of the display cases. Opening it with a key he took from his pocket, he held a handful of yellowing papers out to me. “This is a murder pamphlet from 1860. It details a woman tavern owner who killed three husbands and seventeen of her patrons before she was caught and tried—and promptly put to death.”

  “Good grief,” I said. “Murder pamphlet? So it’s just a story?”

  “Oh, no, my dear. People have been fascinated by the grisly details of true crimes for centuries. These sensational little pieces professed to contain those details, in addition to trial transcripts and often a confession from the murderer. They were sold on street corners, in taverns and all the other places you’d expect to find newspapers. Quite the moneymakers, I imagine.”

  Murder as big business. Delightful.

  Chapter 8

  Mimsey was chattering excitedly to Lucy in the reading area when I walked into the Honeybee. Jaida followed close behind me. Mimsey spied us and called, “Thank goodness you’re back. Get that last blind, won’t you, Bianca? I can’t have any direct sunlight on the work surface. And, Cookie, could you please turn off the lights?”

  I blinked as my pupils widened in the sudden dimness.

  Reaching into her capacious purse, Mimsey removed a pink quartz sphere and rose to her feet. It was only five inches in diameter but looked heavy. “My shew stone. It’s a scrying crystal.”

  Oh, dear. I’d been kidding earlier about the crystal ball, and this literally was one. No wonder she’d taken umbrage.

  She removed a bronze stand studded with green stones and took them both to the table that had the map still spread on it. Then turning to me, she hefted the quartz and put it on the stand. “It would be better to do this after dark, but last night was a full moon, so the stone is fully charged. It should work fine in these circumstances.”

  Okay.

  I began to approach, but Lucy waved me back. When she reached my side, she said, “I don’t think you should be inside the circle yet.”

  Circle? “But you said I’m a witch.”

  “You don’t fully believe it yet.”

  My lips pressed together.

  “Do you?” When I didn’t answer, she said, “This is all still so new. I don’t blame you. But until you truly believe you are what you are—and that magic is possible—you can’t take part in any spell work. Your disbelief would negate what we’re trying to do.”

  “But—”

  She held up her hand. “And even if you did believe, I haven’t had a chance to give you any instruction or training. Honey, you’re just not ready for spell work yet.”

  I swallowed my disappointment. “Can I at least watch?”

&nbs
p; She hesitated, looked over at the expectant faces of the others, then said, “That should be all right.” She turned back to me and held up a finger. “Pay attention. And keep an open mind.”

  I nodded, curious all over again. She led me to a table at the edge of the room. She joined the others, and I heard her explaining what she had told me. Jaida shot me a look of sympathy, and Bianca and Cookie smiled in my direction. Mimsey, on the other hand, looked utterly crestfallen, bless her heart.

  I sat down and rested my elbows on the table as Lucy placed four black votive candles at equidistant points on tables surrounding the one with the map on it.

  “East, South, West, and North,” she called to me as she set each one on a small saucer.

  From a tiny brown bottle, she added a drop of oil to each wick. Soon the welcome scent of cloves filled the air. The other women sat around the map, reserving an empty spot for her. Mimsey placed her stone ball in front of her, on top of the word Savannah on the map. Lucy went into the kitchen and returned with a bowl.

  Looking over at me, she said, “Salt.” Beginning at the eastern candle, she walked in a clockwise circle around the tables that held the candles, sprinkling salt on the floor and murmuring under her breath.

  I sighed, wondering who’d get to clean up the mess. My guess? Me.

  Inside the circle, Lucy lit one candle, then moved around the circle in the same direction lighting the other ones, again murmuring as each one came to life. She ended at the first candle, then joined the others at the table.

  The women grasped hands. “We call upon the element of earth,” they chanted together.

  Mimsey closed her eyes and said. “We call upon the element of earth to reveal mortal hatred for Mavis Templeton.”

  They repeated this call-and-response four times before they all closed their eyes, except Mimsey, who opened hers. Utterly silent, she stared at the crystal with a slightly unfocused gaze, blinking slowly once or twice. Her shoulders moved with her breath, but everything else was stillness.

  I became aware of pedestrians walking by outside, the voice of a trolley tour guide blaring down the block. Those noises faded and the sound of the refrigerator filled the silence, augmented by tiny grumbles from the drip coffeemaker.

  But my eyes were glued to the spellbook club at work.

  Then Mimsey’s eyelids fluttered a few times, and she squeezed Lucy’s and Jaida’s hands. Her gaze intensified, her eyes widening. The concentration on her face increased until her whole being thrummed with it. A shiver ran down my back.

  A loud pop! sounded from the map, and everyone’s eyes flew open. Mimsey’s head jerked back, and then she slumped forward. The women looked around at each other.

  Lucy leaned toward Mimsey. “Hon, are you all right?”

  The older woman inhaled deeply and nodded. “What the heck was that?”

  All eyes turned to me.

  “What?” I asked.

  Jaida looked at the others. “Oh, my gosh. She’s a catalyst. Did you know that, Lucy?”

  My aunt shook her head, but looked pleased. They released hands, and after several moments Lucy got up again and thanked the element of earth and blew out the first candle. Walking counterclockwise this time, she thanked air and fire and water as she blew out the remaining candles. The smells of burning wax and smoking wicks filled my nose.

  Mimsey sighed. With a tired, happy smile, she gestured me over.

  “What’s a catalyst?” I asked.

  Lucy smiled. “It means you add extra … punch … to magical workings.”

  “Oh, now, I don’t see how that can be. I was just sitting over there.”

  She patted me on the arm. “Don’t worry, dear. Mimsey, why don’t you explain the spell to Katie.”

  “That was a little spell I adapted from water scrying to use with my shew stone,” Mimsey said. “Black is an earth color, and always helps me concentrate better, so that’s why the votives are black. Besides, even pretty pink crystals are of the earth.”

  I nodded. Apparently magic adhered to a certain logic.

  She continued. “And I think I found something.” Grabbing my wrist, she pulled me to the map on the table. “It took a while—I think there are others who despised her, but nothing this strong. The crystal guided my attention to a single block on the map. It’s a nexus of hatred,” she breathed, emanating delight. “An absolute nexus.”

  With considerably more calm, Jaida met my eyes. “Other than the house her husband left Mavis on East Hull Street, I was able to track down only one other asset belonging to her.”

  “An apartment building in Midtown?” I nonguessed.

  Jaida nodded and pointed to the spot on the map Mimsey had indicated. “In this block.”

  Wait a minute. That meant the crystal ball thingy had really … worked?

  “The Peachtree Arms,” I said slowly.

  Mimsey’s face fell. “How do you know that?”

  “Mr. Jenkins told me.”

  Ben and Declan came in then, laden with take-out bags from Mrs. Wilkes’ Boardinghouse.

  “Provisions.” Ben lifted his bag high in the air. “At last.”

  “Did you find out anything else at Johnny Reb’s?” Lucy asked as they unloaded containers of fried chicken, biscuits, corn on the cob, macaroni and cheese, bacon grits and collard greens.

  I looked at the spread and barely managed not to groan. Tomorrow. I would eat next to nothing tomorrow.

  Gathering flatware and napkins, I said, “Jack Jenkins is Mr. Charm, isn’t he? But other than calling the Peachtree Arms ‘a cesspool of neglect’ and saying he’d rather put a dull knife in his leg than live there, I got nothing. No address, no indication that her tenants hated her.” I nodded toward Mimsey and Jaida. “These two did that.” No mention of the particulars. Ben must know about their witchy antics, but I didn’t know about Declan.

  “Sounds like all y’all make a great team,” Ben said.

  We fell silent and dug into the food. I was ravenous, and only after a few mouthfuls realized I was attacking my food like an animal. Glancing up, I saw Declan watching me with an amused expression on his face. He winked at me then, and turned his attention back to his plate. For some reason the wink didn’t strike me as icky. That was weird. Winking always struck me as icky.

  “Uncle Ben?”

  “Mmmph?”

  “Do you know anyone with a pickup? I bought an old trunk from Jack Jenkins, and he said he’d deliver that, but I also found a sofa I like—or I think I like—on Craigslist for a stupidly good price.” Which might make up for what I paid for the trunk. “I need help moving it.”

  “I’ll help you,” Declan said. “I’m on days off.” He cocked his head toward Ben. “If that’s okay with you, of course.”

  I glanced at Uncle Ben, and he nodded his approval. Jaida’s words about their near father-son relationship sounded in my mind. Good enough for me.

  “Sure. When do you want to go?”

  “I’m completely at your disposal,” Declan said, a happy grin on his face. You’d have thought he’d won the lottery instead of having volunteered to schlep a sofa across town and into my house.

  “How about two thirty?”

  “I’ll be here.” He stood and laid his napkin on the table. “In the meantime I’ll go get that floor polisher you wanted, Ben. Be back in a jif.”

  After he left we cleaned up—including thoroughly sweeping the salt from the floor—and the ladies took their leave. Mimsey was the last to go, and before she did she pulled me aside. Reaching into her ginormous bag, she pulled out three books and handed them to me.

  “I picked these up when I ran home for my shew stone,” she said.

  One claimed to be a beginning spellbook. Another promised to tell me all I needed to know about various kinds of magic, and the third one boasted a familiar yellow and black cover: Spellwork for Dummies.

  “Well, that’s apropos,” I said, indicating the last book.

  “Now, honey, don’t be
discouraged. You’ll learn very quickly, I’m sure. I’ll see you soon.” She hastened out.

  I turned to my aunt and hefted the books. Ben had managed to disappear while my back was turned. Lucy smiled when she saw what Mimsey had given me.

  “I think you’d better tell me a little more about your book club.” I needed to know what I was getting into, and with whom. “You’ve been friends with these ladies for a long time?”

  She gestured to the reading area, and we sank onto one of the sofas. I tucked my feet under me and waited.

  “We are a coven of five, though we like to stick with calling ourselves a spellbook club. I’ve known Mimsey the longest. We found each other and began doing spell work together shortly after I moved to Savannah. She’s taught me so much.”

  “She does seem a bit older than you are,” I noted. Lucy was fifty-seven.

  “Oh, heavens, yes. She’ll be seventy-eight this year.”

  I gaped. “Seventy-eight? She doesn’t look older than sixty.”

  Lucy smiled and shrugged.

  It took me a moment to cotton on. “You mean she’s magically made herself younger?”

  “Well, I couldn’t really say. There are spells for that, and Mimsey might dabble with them a bit. She’s never shared that with me. She’s not one to out-and-out glamour, though. She’s too proud to try to fool anyone to that extent. Prefers to simply be considered well preserved.”

  I could feel the skepticism creep onto my face.

  “However, practicing magic, at least the way she does it, can make you feel younger,” Lucy said.

  “Hmm. Okay, tell me more about her and the rest of them.” The need to understand these women and what they did grew with every word Lucy spoke, like an itch I needed to scratch.

  “Well, Mimsey’s the oldest, but she still loves to work. She goes to her florist shop almost every day. As you may have guessed, her special interests are flower and color magic. You’ve seen the way she dresses?”