Witches and Wedding Cake

by Bailey Cates

  As I came back around toward the front door, Lucy pulled up in her 1964 convertible Thunderbird. Mimsey Carmichael was in the passenger seat and popped out the door as soon as Lucy put the car in Park. She bustled toward me, blue eyes twinkling, and her mouth curved up in a delighted smile. The bright pink of her gauze tunic and slacks made her look like a spring camellia bloom, and the bow perched on the side of her white pageboy haircut matched perfectly in tone. Pink was the color of both calm and energy, as well as youth and childlike joy. Mimsey loved color magic and wore pink a lot. Perhaps that accounted for her youthful appearance and demeanor though she was over eighty.

  “Lucille offered me a ride, and I took her up on it faster than green grass through a goose. I do love a convertible.”

  “You should get one, then.”

  “Don’t think I haven’t thought about it. Especially one like Bianca’s.” She pointed.

  I looked over to see the last member of the spellbook club parking across the street. I agreed with Mimsey. I loved Lucy’s big ol’ boat of a soft top, but Bianca Devereaux drove a cherry red Jaguar.

  She turned off the rumbling engine and got out. Her cropped slacks and a lacy cold-shoulder top looked cool and comfy and probably cost more than my new refrigerator. Bianca had made a ton of money in the stock market after her husband discovered her newfound interest in Wicca and moon magic. The jerk had left her high and dry. That was bad enough, but he’d also unforgivably abandoned their daughter, Colette. However, Bianca had found she had a talent with numbers and investments—and the occasional spell didn’t hurt, either. With some of her investment proceeds, she’d opened Moon Grapes, a wine store on Factors Walk overlooking the river. She, too, carried a wine bottle.

  Of all of us, Bianca looked the most like a stereotypical witch. Her long black hair was piled high atop her head this evening, her skin remained almost translucently pale despite the fact we were well into summer, and her green eyes were so bright they would have been alarming if they didn’t contain so much kindness.

  Lucy had gotten out of her car with Honeybee’s carrier, and now waited for Bianca. As they approached, a white ferret with a black Zorro mask peeked out of Bianca’s bag. Puck was an unconventional familiar, but at least he didn’t give me the heebie-jeebies like Cookie’s did. Which reminded me that I hadn’t seen Rafe, Cookie’s king snake. He was probably lounging at the bottom of her bag, content to stay hidden and not frighten Margie. Rafe was a nice enough snake, as snakes go, but I’d be fine if he remained hidden. I wasn’t unhappy that Heckle, Mimsey’s obnoxious parrot, had apparently elected to remain on his perch in her flower shop, either. He was a loyal and brave companion to her, but he wasn’t above offering the occasional mean-spirited comment.

  “Looks like the gang’s all here,” Lucy announced with a smile. “Show us where to start, and we’ll see what we can get done before Ben shows up with our supper.”

  I went to hold the door for them. “You all are the best friends. Thank you for coming to help get this place in order.”

  “You’d do the same for any of us,” Mimsey said as she stepped across the threshold.

  That was true but didn’t make me any less grateful.

  “Oh . . .” Bianca trailed off as she came inside. She hadn’t seen the place since it had been gutted after the fire. “I love it.”

  “Nice fireplace,” Jaida said, trailing her fingers along the gray stone mantel as she passed it on her way to the bedroom to change her clothes.

  I gazed around in satisfaction. The hand-scraped teak floor gleamed, and the formerly peach walls were now painted a gentle sage green. We’d replaced the purple fainting couch and wingback chairs I’d found on Craigslist right after I’d moved to Savannah with a contemporary sofa and matching chair in a dark eggplant shade. Declan’s red rocking chair, repainted a deep maroon and softened with pillows, joined the seating area around a low coffee table. That filled up most of the postage stamp living room, and we’d painted the built-in bookcases by the short hall to the bedroom and bathroom a darker shade of the green on the walls. They would soon be filled from the boxes stacked in front of them.

  The wooden shutters that covered the windows had also suffered from the flames and smoke, but I’d loved how they’d looked. The replacements were lighter and had adjustable louvers. Opposite the front entrance, French doors still opened out to the back patio, a poured cement affair that was next on my list to spruce up when our budget allowed.

  Which wasn’t going to be for a while. Between the wedding—even though we’d kept costs down with the help of our friends—and the renovations, we’d gone through the insurance proceeds and tapped our savings. Even our honeymoon would have to wait.

  I didn’t care, though. Being back in the home I’d adored since the very first time I’d laid eyes on it, new and improved and with my new husband, was all I could wish for.

  “Most of the changes are in the other rooms,” I said, sparing a glance up at the loft. It was our television room as well as the guest room, but with the expansion of the bathroom and the addition of a laundry room and a walk-in closet on the main floor, the space above had grown as well. There was room in the loft for a queen-sized foldout sofa now, rather than the futon I’d had before, and we’d added an office area by the window that looked over the backyard.

  Jaida returned from the bedroom wearing white shorts and a black tank top. She strode to the entrance of the kitchen, now twice as wide as it had been so the space between the kitchen and the living room felt more open, and the rest of us joined her.

  “You guys can really cook in here,” she said with an overblown wink. “If you know what I mean.”

  “Jaida!” Lucy said.

  I shook my head.

  Bianca rolled her eyes. “Where are your wineglasses?”

  “In one of those boxes.” I waved at the stack on the floor.

  “Never mind,” Lucy said, leaning down. Her cat was out of the carrier and batting at a half-open carton. “Honeybee found some juice glasses. We’ll use those.”

  I stifled a sneeze and rubbed my eyes. Bianca had brewed a moon potion that had largely cured my allergy to cats, but now my sniffles seemed to be kicking back in.

  Lucy straightened with a glass in each hand and noticed my distress. “Oh, dear. Honeybee, I think you need to join the boys in the backyard.”

  The cat arched a skeptical eyebrow before agreeably sauntering to the French doors. Mimsey opened one side, and Honeybee went out to join Mungo and Anubis, who were collapsed in the shade of the gazebo.

  “Now.” Lucy rubbed her hands together and looked around. “Let’s dive in.”

  And dive in we did, juice glasses of wine at hand, and managed to empty several boxes before Ben showed up. Once he did, we set up the unbelievably fragrant Cuban food buffet style on the counter and loaded my newly unpacked Fiestaware plates to take into the living room to eat. It was a tight fit for everyone, even though the familiars willingly partook of their share al fresco and left the indoors to us.

  I was so hungry by then that I ate like a ranch hand. Soon, I was back in the kitchen for seconds. My phone rang on the counter as I was returning to the living room, and I doubled back to grab it. My heart did a little happy dance when I saw it was Declan. The image of my handsome fiancé flashed through my mind as I put my plate down and answered his call. I always missed him during his weekly forty-eight-hour stint at the firehouse.

  “Hi there!” I greeted him. “Guess what? The spellbook club is all here, helping to unpack. I thought it would take me all night, but we’ll probably be done in a couple of hours.”

  “Hey, darlin’. Glad to hear it.” There was something in his voice.

  I took a deep breath. I didn’t want Declan to know how much I worried now that his guardian spirit wasn’t watching and guiding him. On one hand, I never wanted him to doubt that I had the utmost c
onfidence in his ability to deal with anything that might come up. On the other, I figured the last thing he needed was to worry about my worrying about him.

  Keeping my tone light, I asked, “Is anything wrong?”

  He took a deep breath. “You could certainly say that.” Another deep breath.

  With difficulty, I waited. Whatever it was, Declan wasn’t too injured to phone me.

  “Rori just called me. She found her ex-husband at the Spotlight Motel.”

  A deep sense of dread plunked into my solar plexus. “Found? What do you mean, found?”

  “He’s dead.”

  Chapter 4

  “Dead? How? Oh, Declan.”

  “More than just dead, is my guess. I mean . . . well, you haven’t met Tucker. He’s . . . he was a real piece of . . . anyway, for some reason Rori called me instead of the cops. She told me there’s blood, and the room’s torn apart, so I’m guessing he didn’t die from natural causes.” I heard the roar of an engine.

  “Are you in your truck?”

  “Yeah, I’m on my way over there. I’ve already called the police. I don’t get why she was even there. I have a really bad feeling about this.”

  The image of dozens of multicolored dragonflies flashed to mind.

  “I have a bad feeling, too. See, I met Tucker this afternoon.” I told him everything I could remember from my visit to his family’s vacation rental, ending with, “Declan, there was something off about the guy.”

  “I’ll say. But he’s been out of her life for three years. Why would she go to that motel when she loathes the guy?”

  “I’m guessing he still had some sway over her.”

  He swore quietly.

  “Where’s Rori now?” I asked.

  “I told her to go to the motel office and wait. Then I notified the police and called you.”

  “I’ll be there as soon as I can,” I said. “I’ll bring Jaida.” A glance at my friend elicited a nod of agreement as she rose from her seat on the sofa and grabbed her briefcase. “You know—just in case.” I was thinking of Rori’s parting words to her ex that afternoon.

  I’ll do whatever it takes to get you to leave me alone.

  Surely, she wouldn’t have . . . nah. I knew better than that. Still, having a lawyer around wouldn’t be a bad idea.

  “Thanks.” I could hear his relief in the single word. He might be the big bad emergency responder, but this was his baby sister. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too,” I said.

  We ended the call, and I turned to see everyone had stopped eating to listen to my end of the conversation. Ben and Lucy stood at almost the same time.

  “What was that all about?” Cookie asked from the rocking chair. “Who’s dead?”

  “Rori’s ex-husband. Tucker Abbott. She found him at the Spotlight Motel.”

  Jaida wrinkled her nose and moved toward the door. “That’s a pretty seedy place. What was she doing there?”

  “No idea,” I said. “She wouldn’t tell Declan anything on the phone. He’s on his way over there, and so are the police. Sorry to bolt like this. Lucy, will you take Mungo with you and watch him tonight? I don’t know what’s going to happen, or when I’ll be home.”

  “Of course,” she said. “Don’t worry about a thing. Shall I take Anubis, too?”

  Jaida shook her head. “Gregory’s working late at the office.” Gregory was her partner in life and law. “I’ll drop Noobie on the way and meet you at the Spotlight.”

  “All right,” Lucy said, then looked at her husband. “Ben.”

  He smiled at her with his eyes. “Of course I’m going with them. How about I drive, Katie?”

  My shoulders relaxed a little. “Thanks, Uncle Ben. I’ll get my bag.”

  “One of you call Lucy when you find out what’s going on,” Mimsey demanded as we were going out the door. “Then she can let the rest of us know.”

  “Okay,” I agreed, and offered a faltering smile to the four women still gathered in my living room.

  “It’ll be okay,” Bianca said with a confidence I didn’t feel. Then I remembered not too long ago when I’d said the same thing to her. Turned out, I’d been right.

  Jaida called Anubis from the backyard and they hurried to her vehicle. She drove off almost before Ben and I were out the door.

  “Did Declan talk directly to Quinn?” Ben asked as we crossed the front yard.

  My uncle had been Declan’s mentor in the fire department. Their deep, almost father-son relationship had been the reason I’d met Declan in the first place. They’d both known Detective Peter Quinn for years. I’d met the detective after moving to Savannah, but since then I’d ended up involved in eight of his homicide investigations in a little over two years—the last one only a month before.

  Quinn was not going to be happy when he saw me again so soon.

  “I’m pretty sure he’d have told me if he had.” I grabbed my phone out of my tote bag. “I’ll call Quinn on the way.”

  Ben pulled open the passenger door for me. I was about to slide into the seat when two brown eyes blinked at me in the dim light of the cab. My familiar cocked his head at me as if to say, What took you so long?

  “Dang it, Mungo. How do you do that?” When he’d first come into my life, he’d insisted on showing up in the back seat of my car whenever I left for work. Eventually, I’d had to agree to let him come with me to the Honeybee every day.

  Now his mouth opened in a wide doggy grin that showed his pink tongue and pearly canines.

  “You are one stubborn boy,” I said. “Okay, fine. You can come. But you’ve got to stay in the truck. I’ll leave the windows wide open, but you can’t jump out and nose your way into things. I have to be able to trust you. Deal?”

  Yip!

  Ben rolled his eyes and closed the door after I was seated with my dog on my lap. “You gals and your animals. Sheesh.” He wasn’t a witch, but because of Lucy, he’d known the spellbook club members for years. Thankfully, he accepted our quirks with equanimity and good humor.

  For the most part, at least.

  Ben headed toward the Southside neighborhood, and I called Lucy to let her know she didn’t have to dog-sit my familiar after all. Then I brought up Detective Quinn’s direct cell number on my phone. After six rings, my call went to his voice mail.

  “Hey, Quinn. I understand a body was found at the Spotlight Motel. There’s a—” I stopped myself from saying a personal connection. That could come across entirely wrong. And I didn’t want to mention Rori until I knew more. “—a reason I’m interested in this case, and wanted to give you a heads-up that Ben and I are on our way over there.” I hung up and looked over at Ben.

  “That sounded pretty lame,” he said.

  I sighed. “Yeah. You’d think I’d know what to say in circumstances like this.”

  Ben reached over and patted my shoulder before putting his hand back on the wheel to make a turn onto Bull Street. “If memory serves, you’ve never been in circumstances quite like this before.”

  “No kidding,” I muttered.

  Mungo licked my chin, then leaned his head against my chest. I settled back and wrapped my arms around him. Ben stopped at the red light on Derenne Avenue, the intersection where Bull turned into White Bluff Road. My thoughts racing too fast to track, I watched drivers pumping gas under the sterile LED lights of the Chevron station. Ben was quiet, too. Soon we were winding past Bianca’s neighborhood of Habersham Woods and then the Oglethorpe Mall.

  “You obviously know where we’re going,” I said.

  “Occupational hazard,” he said. “You get to know everything about a town when you’re its fire chief.”

  “Do you know anything about the Spotlight? I don’t know it.”

  “It’s been around since the fifties. Back then, it was quite something, I gue
ss. The original owners had a café across the street, too. The Dizzy Spoon.” He shrugged. “Now the Spotlight is simply a cheap place to stay the night. Or the week.”

  “The hour?”

  He side-eyed a look my way, then returned his attention to the road. “No-tell motel? Not that I’m aware of.”

  “I was asking because Jaida said it was seedy.”

  “Hm. Well, yes. There have been a few incidents over the years. Low-level stuff, though. Not murder.”

  He made a few more turns, and the blur of emergency lights painting the darkening sky guided us the last few blocks to our destination.

  The Spotlight was on the edge. It was on the edge between Midtown and Southside. It was on the edge between a residential area and a strip mall that featured a laundromat, a pawn shop, a nail salon, a sub shop, and a low-rent lawyer I’d seen advertise on late-night television.

  One final turn revealed the tableau: a single-level series of rooms in an L-shape, each with a parking space directly in front of the door. At the end of the short branch of the L, neon script in the window read OFFICE with V C NCY flashing beneath it. A tall, Sputnik-shaped sign hovered above the empty swimming pool in front of the office. The sign read SPOTLIGHT MOTEL and below that advertised Wi-fi! in an excited font above the well-worn offerings of Free HBO and Air Conditioning.

  Declan’s king-cab truck was parked on the street in front of the whole shebang, which made sense because the parking lot was crammed with emergency vehicles. I recognized the white van near the motel office and knew Ed Carroll, the Chatham County medical examiner, must have already arrived. An ambulance with a caduceus on the side and a Savannah fire truck took up a chunk of real estate in the middle of the lot. I knew this place didn’t fall within the jurisdiction of Five House, where Declan was stationed, so he’d had to take off from work to go to a call another firehouse was responding to.

  A call he’d instigated. Oy.