Witches and Wedding Cake

by Bailey Cates

  “The sooner the better,” I said.

  “I’m sure they’ll meet you if I call them. You know where their office is?”

  “I can look it up.”

  “Of course you can. Is there a good time?”

  “In the morning, I guess.”

  “Excellent.” She stood. “I’ll call as soon as I arrive home and let you know the time.” Her eyes glinted. “In exchange, you must have tea with me after all the wedding festivities and fill me in on all the wonderfully sordid details.”

  I had to laugh. “I don’t know how sordid they’ll be, but I’ll do my best.”

  “All righty then!” She sailed out of the office and through the kitchen, startling Iris, who was getting ready to leave for the day. “Goodbye, dears!” she trilled, then grabbed her box of pastries and strode out the door.

  “Good heavens,” Lucy said. “What was that all about?”

  “Mrs. Standish is helping me find out a few things about Tucker Abbott.”

  My aunt shook her head, but she was grinning. “I adore that woman.”

  “Me, too,” I agreed, looking after the whirlwind that was Mrs. Standish.

  My cell buzzed in my pocket, and I saw it was a text from Quinn.

  No ring. Why?

  I texted back.

  Possible paranormal connection. Will let you know when I find out more.

  My phone rang. It was Quinn.

  “What’s going on, Katie?”

  Ducking into the back of the kitchen, I lowered my voice. “I’m not sure. The murder victim may have been using a ring with a magical spell on it. Magically enhanced, see? To make that glamour I told you about even stronger. And I saw him wearing a giant gold and ruby ring earlier in the afternoon, before he was killed. I actually saw it, Quinn. It looked like it might have been worth a pretty penny. Not a fortune, but a few thousand dollars at least. He wasn’t wearing it?”

  “Nooo.” Quinn drew the word out. “And we didn’t find it in the room. This is good information, Katie. Not the spell thing. I mean, I know you’re a, well, you know.”

  He can’t even say the word witch.

  “But I still don’t see how, um, magic, got Abbott killed. However, a ring like that could be valuable enough to kill a man over.”

  “It might.” That wasn’t what I’d been thinking, but he wasn’t wrong. “He supposedly owed someone money.”

  “I’ll look into it. And Katie?”

  “Yes?” I waited for him to thank me.

  “You can stop looking into Abbott’s murder. Okay?”

  “But—”

  “I need to go now. I’ll see you at the wedding on Saturday.” And he hung up.

  “Well, I never!”

  Lucy peered around the edge of the refrigerator. “Everything okay?”

  “Sure, if you think Detective Quinn putting me in my place is okay.”

  “Now why would he do that?”

  Why indeed?

  Though I hadn’t decided whether Tucker using a glamour had any bearing on the case, I had at least been going to tell Quinn about the estate sale Tucker supposedly bought the ring from. Now I’d have to fill him in after I talked to the Gibsons the next day.

  * * *

  * * *

  The rest of the afternoon passed quickly. Declan called to say he was making his mother and sisters a big spaghetti feed at their house. Aggie had gone out to pick up ingredients for a salad, and I agreed to bring garlic bread from the bakery.

  “And dessert, of course. What sounds good?” I asked.

  “Surprise us,” he said.

  I hung up and took stock.

  Something cool and light and fruity to offset the heaviness of a big Italian supper. Ah . . . of course: pavlova.

  Egg whites whipped with a bit of sugar, cooked in a low oven until the top became a bit crisp and chewy and the inside was the decadent texture of marshmallows. As I whipped the eggs, I conjured up a topping of fresh peaches macerated with cinnamon, topped with a puff of whipped cream, and drizzled with a tiny bit of balsamic glaze.

  Perfect, I thought. Just perfect.

  Chapter 14

  We locked the door after the last customer had been served and flipped the sign in the window to CLOSED. Lucy mopped the floor, while I vacuumed the furniture in the reading area. Ben wiped down the blue-and-chrome bistro tables and chairs with disinfectant. Iris had already shined the kitchen to gleaming and left to get ready for a date. I’d finished vacuuming and was about to start tidying the bookshelves when a knock sounded at the door.

  Expecting Ben to let whoever was at the door know we were closed, I was surprised when I heard the sound of the door unlocking and then noise from the street as it opened. Peeking my head around, I saw Bianca come in. She wore designer athletic leggings, and a soft yoga top hugged her slim figure. Her hair was pulled up in a ponytail, which swished every time she moved her head. When she saw me, a smile lit up her face.

  “Katie! I was on my way by and wanted to drop this off, so you’ll have it on Saturday.” Puck’s masked face popped out of her Coach bag as she rummaged through it. Seconds later, she drew out a velvet jewelry box and held it out to me. “Your something borrowed.”

  “Oh, Bianca. The earrings?”

  She nodded, the smile still dancing on her lips. “I’m so happy you’re going to wear them with that gorgeous dress.”

  I opened the box and gazed down at the pendant earrings inside. Two inches long and set in intricately worked platinum, each sparkled with a large amethyst in the middle and . . .

  “Are those brown amethyst?” I asked, pointing to the rows of the jewels that surrounded the semiprecious purple stone. “I’ve heard of it but never seen it.”

  “Nope. Those are cognac diamonds,” she said. “The lighter ones are champagne diamonds.”

  “Oh. Wow. That’s a lot of diamonds.”

  When I’d been searching high and low to find the right piece of jewelry to go with my off-the-shoulder wedding dress, Bianca had announced that she had the perfect thing.

  And she was right. They were perfect. Also, probably worth more than my car.

  “I love them. I really do.” Then I managed to tear my gaze away and look up at her. “But I don’t feel comfortable having something this expensive just, you know, around. Can’t you keep them in your safe until the time comes?”

  She laughed and waved her hand. “You keep them. Put them in the freezer or something if that makes you feel better. But they’re insured.”

  Shaking my head, I closed the box. “How can you be so cavalier about something like this?” I asked.

  “If it really makes you nervous, I’ll take them back,” she said. “But I think you should keep them until the wedding.”

  “You sure?” I asked.

  “Absolutely.” She looked at her fitness watch. “Listen, I have to go. I’m going to slot in a workout at the gym before I’m due to pick up Colette from her friend’s house.”

  My head came up. “The River Street Athletic Club?”

  She nodded.

  “Do you know someone there named Carolyn Becker?”

  “The personal trainer? Sure. She’s a friend of Randy’s.”

  “That’s her. Say, does the management at your gym let you bring guests in?”

  “Of course.” Her head tipped to the side. “Why? You thinking of joining?”

  “Not exactly. I’ll stick with running. I really want to talk to Carolyn. Do you know when she might be there?”

  Bianca shrugged. “She’ll be there now, I expect. When she’s not on shift at the firehouse, she usually comes in to train her clients after they get off work.”

  I did a few calculations. I could go with Bianca to her gym, talk to Carolyn, then buzz by the apartment to change out of my work clothes, swing by th
e Honeybee to grab the bread and pavlova, and make it in time for spaghetti dinner at Wisteria House with my soon-to-be in-laws.

  “Can I come with you?” I asked Bianca, already untying my apron. “I’ll drive my own car. But if you could introduce me to Carolyn . . .”

  “No problem,” she said easily. “I take it you’re not looking to engage her professionally, though.”

  “Nope. Tucker Abbott tried to hook Declan into a real estate scheme. Declan passed, but Carolyn got involved. She lost some money and ended up suing Tucker for it. She won, but apparently, he never paid the judgment. From what I hear, she wasn’t very happy.”

  My friend’s eyes widened. “You think Carolyn is a murder suspect?”

  One shoulder lifted and then dropped. “I don’t know. But it couldn’t hurt to talk to her. If nothing else, maybe she can tell me something about Tucker I don’t know.”

  Bianca made a face. “Sounds to me like there’s a lot about this Tucker guy you wouldn’t want to know.” She sighed. “Go grab your things. I’ll wait.”

  I hurried into the office to tell Mungo I’d pick him up on my way to Wisteria House. He responded with a doggy frown and a glare.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “Unless you think you might want to try out the treadmill?”

  He did not look amused.

  “We’re having spaghetti for dinner,” I said.

  He sniffed.

  “With bread. I made some for you without garlic. Just butter. Lots of butter. I’ll let you have an extra bite.”

  He huffed.

  I kneeled in front of his chair. “Please don’t be mad at me. I’ve got a lot on my plate right now. I’m doing the best I can. And I promise to make it up to you after the wedding.”

  My familiar studied me, then his eyes softened. He leaned forward and licked my nose, then settled back into his chair.

  “Thanks, buddy.” I stood. “I’ll be back in a little bit.”

  Yip!

  * * *

  * * *

  Before I left with Bianca, I stowed her earrings in the Honeybee freezer. I felt kind of silly doing it, but it did make me feel better. We parked down the block from each other and met at the door of the River Street Athletic Club. Inside, I was surprised at the warm atmosphere. I always thought of gyms as being lit with fluorescent lights and boasting lots of shiny surfaces and too many mirrors.

  This place had warm wood floors, gentle ambient lighting, and walls painted in soft orange and yellow tones that reminded me of the colors we’d chosen for the interior of the Honeybee. A small juice bar was right inside the door, and through doorways that led from the main gym, I could see a small daycare area and several people dancing to Zumba music.

  Bianca greeted the ponytailed man behind the counter. “Mind if I show my friend around a bit?”

  He was feeding vegetables into the juicer for a waiting customer. The smell of cucumbers filled the air.

  “Of course! Let me know if you have any questions.” This last he directed at me. “We have a special right now. Sign up for a year and get three months free.”

  “Good to know,” I said over my shoulder as I followed Bianca between the row of weight machines on the right and elliptical machines, stair steppers, and treadmills on the left. A sign on the wall at the back of the room indicated the entrances to the locker rooms.

  Bianca stopped to peer into another room that opened off the main workout area. I joined her in the doorway. A series of straps hung from the ceiling, looking like so many devices of torture. No one was in the room, though.

  “What the heck are those?” I asked.

  “TRX suspension training. Uses your own body weight. Works on strength, balance, flexibility, and core, all at the same time.”

  “You do that?”

  She laughed. “Sometimes. It’s hard. It’s also kind of amazing.”

  “No wonder you look so good,” I murmured.

  “Doesn’t look like Carolyn’s here,” Bianca said. “This is where she usually works with her clients.”

  “What about the Zumba class?” I asked.

  “Not Carolyn’s thing. You can look, though.”

  “What’s not my thing?” a voice behind us asked. “Unless you’re looking for a different Carolyn.”

  I turned to find a tall African American woman grinning at us. She wore electric blue yoga pants and a racerback tank top. A wide floral headband held her braids off her face, and she wore a flame pendant around her neck. I nodded to the necklace.

  “Firefighter, right?”

  She looked surprised but nodded.

  I stuck out my hand. “I’m Katie Lightfoot. I’m engaged to Declan McCarthy.”

  Her grin widened. “Declan! Good guy.”

  “I sure think so.” I stopped, not sure how to proceed.

  “Are you looking for a personal trainer? At least I assume Bianca here told you that’s my moonlight gig. I have a few openings in my schedule.”

  “Actually, no. I’m good. But I did want to talk to you.”

  “Sounds serious.” She pointed inside the room with all the crazy straps hanging from the ceiling. “I have a few minutes while my client gets changed. Let’s go in here.”

  Bianca looked toward the locker room, then seemed to change her mind and came along with us. Carolyn closed the door and went over to a rack of large rubber exercise balls. She bounced three of them to the floor and took a seat on one. Bianca and I exchanged a look, then perched on the other two.

  “What did you want to talk to me about, Katie?”

  “Tucker Abbott,” I said.

  Her demeanor instantly altered, her expression hardening. “I must say, that’s a surprising answer.”

  “Declan told me you knew him.”

  “That little pipsqueak? Tucker, not Declan. Yeah. Why? Did he pull something over on you, too?”

  “He, um, didn’t get the chance. But Declan told me what happened with the real estate investment group.”

  One eyebrow lifted. “And?”

  “Declan said you sued to get your money back and won, but Tucker never paid the judgment.”

  “Well, Declan was right,” Carolyn said. “Tucker Abbott screwed me over, not once but twice. First by fooling me, and then by refusing to pay what the judge ordered him to.” She bounced a couple of times on the ball, then stretched her arms over her head. The movement seemed to ease her irritation a bit. “Now, if Tucker didn’t pull the wool over your eyes, what’s your interest in him?”

  “Did you know Declan’s sister married him?”

  She gave a wry half smile. “I’d heard something along those lines.”

  “They eloped. Declan told me they met back when Tucker was trying to rope Declan into the real estate scam. They divorced not long after they were married.”

  Carolyn swayed her hips side to side on the exercise ball. “Well, at least it didn’t last. Hope he didn’t take her for too much. I’m determined to get that SOB to pay me. He thinks I’m going to forget about it, let it go.” She grinned again. “But that is so not my style. I’ll wear him down if it’s the last thing I do.”

  Bianca and I exchanged a look.

  Carolyn noticed. “What’s going on? Because”—she waved her hand—“something obviously is.”

  “Tucker Abbott was murdered,” I said.

  Her jaw slackened, and she leaned toward us, staring first at me, then at Bianca, then back at me. “Murdered? You have got to be kidding.”

  “Not so much,” Bianca said. “Last night. He was killed at the Spotlight Motel.”

  Carolyn bounced up and began pacing back and forth across the open space. “The Spotlight! That was him? Crud. I guess I’d better give up on getting my . . .” She trailed off. Turned and looked at us. “I wasn’t on shift today, so I haven’t heard. Do they have the k
iller in custody?”

  I shook my head.

  She came over and stood, looming above me. I scrambled to my feet.

  “Why are you asking me about Tucker Abbott, Katie?”

  “I, uh. Well, you had a history with him, and I was wondering what you could tell me about him . . .” I trailed off.

  Her eyes narrowed. “I’ve heard about how you get involved in Peter Quinn’s cases sometimes. This is one of his, isn’t it?” She tipped her head toward me. “You think I’m a murder suspect, Katie? Is that what’s going on?”

  Taking a deep breath, I said, “Tucker hurt a lot of people. One of those people probably killed him.”

  “Hmm.” Nodding to herself, she dropped back to sit on the exercise ball. “And you’re probably right. That guy made enemies left and right. And I was one of them, for sure. But not the kind of enemy that would kill the guy. For one thing, he didn’t hurt me. He made me mad. And I still wanted my money.”

  “Yeah. I get it. I didn’t mean—”

  “Also, in case Detective Quinn is feeling frisky about suspecting any and all who Tucker wronged, he can take me right off his list. I was filling in at Two House last night. Overtime, baby. And alibi galore.”

  I felt thoroughly chastened. “I’m sorry.”

  “Oh, don’t be. Though I do find it kind of funny that Quinn has you doing part of his job for him. But whatever. Good for you.”

  “Thanks for being so understanding.”

  “Honey, that is not something most people say about me. And let’s be honest. I’m not happy Tucker finally got his comeuppance, but I’m not heartbroken, either.”

  The door of the room opened, and a middle-aged man in shorts and T-shirt came in. “Carolyn?”

  “Come on in, Marty. Ladies, I need to go. It’s been . . . interesting talking with you, though.” She looked amused.

  “No hard feelings?” I murmured.

  “God, no. I’m just sorry I’m out my twelve grand.”

  Chapter 15