Witches and Wedding Cake

by Bailey Cates

  * * *

  * * *

  That evening Declan and I grabbed a pizza and took it to the carriage house. We sat at one of the tables under an awning in the backyard and ate our pepperoni, black olive, and mushroom pie, crunched on Caesar salad, and sipped red wine. Mungo took the fat leavings of a crust to a back corner and gnawed on it like a bone.

  When we’d finished, we put on some music and tidied the inside of the carriage house, making sure everything was right for the next day. Then we walked around the backyard, arm in arm, Mungo trundling along beside us. The gardens looked fantastic—lush and green. I deadheaded a few flowers, and Declan rearranged a couple of the seating areas to be more inviting to wedding guests.

  Suddenly, I snapped my fingers.

  “What?” Declan asked from across the lawn.

  “The sundial,” I said. “I’ll be right back.”

  I went inside and rummaged through my tote until I found the sundial that I’d bought at Vase Value. It was remarkably heavy, and I rolled my eyes at myself for hauling it around in my tote. Taking it outside, I searched the yard for the right spot.

  There. By the birdbath.

  Walking over, I set the sundial on a rock that protruded above the plants around it. It had a flat top, allowing the piece to rest evenly. I stood back, and two dragonflies promptly landed on the copper gnomon.

  Declan joined me, and when he saw my totems on our new yard art, he laughed. “An auspicious sign, don’t you think?”

  I did. The dragonflies didn’t always portend drama, and in this case, I could tell they were offering a blessing.

  * * *

  * * *

  The next morning we dawdled over a tasty breakfast. It was the big day, which was exciting and nerve-wracking and delicious all at once.

  “Everything’s set on my end,” Declan said. “Unless there’s something I don’t know about?”

  “I don’t think so,” I said. “I need to check in with the salon. The ladies are supposed to start in on hair and makeup right after lunch. Oh, and I should get over to the Honeybee and see if the wedding cake needs any final touches.”

  As my maid of honor, however, Lucy had already checked in with Vera Smythe at the salon and left a text on my phone. Everything was set up there. I just needed to get to the bakery to put the final touches on my wedding cake.

  Still, I couldn’t help texting Quinn before I left.

  Any word from Hudson Prater?

  Not so far. Looking into the Wiggins family now. You were right about how badly they need the money.

  I sent an “okay” emoji and put my phone away. Today was my wedding day, and I needed to leave the investigating to Quinn. If all went well, he’d find the killer, Rori would have her closure, and that would be that. I’d certainly done my part.

  As for what would happen to the lottery ticket, there were still six days to figure that out. Someone would get that money. The Wigginses, I assumed.

  And hoped. Two point eight million dollars would solve a lot of problems.

  Because Quinn wouldn’t let a winning lottery ticket go to waste because it was evidence, would he?

  Stop thinking about it, I admonished myself. At least for today.

  Chapter 24

  I stood back and surveyed the cupcake-crowded countertop. Lemon whipped cream nestled on top of carrot cake, each topped with tiny piped carrots. The frosting on the German chocolate version was topped with thick coconut shavings. Strawberry boasted pink frosting and candied hearts that looked like stained glass. The devil’s food was chocolate all the way, and more chocolate ganache dripped from the lemon-soaked orange sponge. Caramel buttercream whirled up from the bourbon pecan cupcakes, and the banana and pineapple hummingbird cupcakes were slathered with cream cheese frosting and wheels of dried pineapple.

  “Do you think we have enough?” Lucy asked in an amused tone.

  I gave her a look. “No need to be sarcastic. I want there to be plenty for the guests.”

  “There will be plenty—for the whole neighborhood,” Iris quipped. “Maybe the whole town.”

  “Hush,” I said.

  “It’s fine, honey,” Lucy said. “There are five graduated tiers to the stand, and the strawberry will look nice interspersed with the devil’s food on the lower layer. On the next one up, we can mix the hummingbird and German chocolate. That way, the pineapple wheels on top of the hummingbird cupcakes won’t crowd each other. Then each of the other layers can hold a single variety.”

  When I’d embraced the idea of the cupcake wedding cake, it had surprised the heck out of my mother, since we’d argued about everything from my dress to the venue to whether my old pastor should marry us. After spending a week trying to help me, Mama had finally thrown up her hands and left me to my own devices.

  The idea of a wedding cake made up of different kinds of cupcakes really had been inspired, though. Iris and Lucy had been baking and decorating most of the morning, and though I’d come in late to check on things, I’d frosted my share as well.

  “It’s really going to be beautiful,” Iris said. “And we’ll pack up all the extras so the caterers can keep the tiers full during your party.”

  “You’re coming, aren’t you?” I asked Iris.

  “Of course.”

  “And you’re bringing your new beau, aren’t you?” Lucy asked.

  Iris blushed and ducked her head. “Yes. He’s coming, too.”

  “Good,” my aunt said decisively. “It’s about time we met him.”

  “Well, hello, you two!” Ben called from out front where he was juggling customers at the register between making coffee drinks. “Are you ready for some caffeine? It’s going to be a long day.”

  I peeked out and saw that Mama and Dad had come in. My mother kissed Ben on the cheek, and Dad paused to talk with him when she continued into the kitchen. She stopped in front of the myriad of cupcakes, momentarily speechless.

  “What do you think?” I asked.

  Finally, she said, “Well, you sure don’t do things in a small way, do you?”

  “Not when it comes to baking,” Lucy said.

  Mama turned and smiled at me. “It’s beautiful. And now I’m on the way to help Mimsey’s assistant with the flowers in your backyard, so she’ll be free to spend the afternoon at the salon with the rest of the spellbook club. I just wanted to stop by and see if you needed anything.”

  “Nothing that I can think of,” I said. “Everyone is going to bring their clothes to the carriage house, so we can change after Vera does the hair and makeup. I’ll bring Mungo by before I go, so maybe you could watch him later?”

  “I can take him now, if you want.”

  I hesitated. “That would save me a trip, but I was thinking I should see the flowers . . .”

  She cupped my chin in her hand. “Trust me. They’ll be beautiful.”

  Deep breath. I could feel the tension of the day thrumming under my skin. “Okay. Yes. Thank you. Mungo,” I called.

  “I’ve got him,” Mama said, and went into the office. Moments later, she came out carrying my familiar in her arms. “He’s fine with it, aren’t you, Mungo?”

  He directed a soulful look my way but didn’t protest.

  Bacon, I thought. He gets lots of bacon tomorrow.

  * * *

  * * *

  “There!” Vera Smythe announced as she stepped back and whirled my chair around to face the mirror.

  “Wow,” I said. “I look like I have twice as much hair as normal.”

  She’d curled my short auburn hair, then sprayed it and recoiled it and so on, with the end result that my usual casual ’do was converted into a soft and lovely vintage style—subtly studded with tiny pearls no less.

  “Thank you so much,” I went on, turning to catch the back with the hand mirror.

  Vera smi
led and nodded, still looking at my hair. “You’re so welcome.” She adjusted a curl and gave it another spritz of spray. Tentatively, I touched a carefully arranged lock by my temple with a fingertip. It looked utterly natural, but was crispy to the touch.

  Lowering my hand, I appraised my reflection. She’d gone light on the makeup, allowing the sprinkle of freckles across my nose to shine through. My eyes were expertly shadowed and highlighted so that they looked greener and bigger than ever, and there were tiny wings of liner at the corners. I rarely wore lipstick, but this shade was a few perfect tones lighter than the rich plum of my dress. The polish on my nails and toes was lighter still, staying within the color palette but not too matchy-match.

  “You’re beautiful, honey,” Lucy said.

  There were murmurs all around.

  “Everyone looks beautiful,” I said. “Vera, you’re amazing. You, too, Zoe.”

  Vera’s assistant blushed.

  The entire spellbook club was there, each in their own full makeup and hair for the wedding. I’d gone last. It was late afternoon, and soon we’d all troop over to the carriage house and get dressed there. Ben and Iris had been holding down the fort at the Honeybee for the afternoon, though they’d closed an hour early to transport the cupcakes for the wedding cake tiers. Thanks to Mama, Mungo was already at the carriage house, where Declan was keeping an eye on things along with his mother and mine.

  Zoe had curled Mimsey’s usual white pageboy into loose ringlets, drawn together on one side with an ornate silver clasp rather than the bow she usually wore. Bianca sported a single fishtail braid down her back. Lucy’s gray-blond hair was pinned into an adorable updo that brought out her elegant jawline. Vera had woven a band of enameled leaves into Jaida’s short-cropped hair, right at her hairline, and she’d gone all out with the eyelash extensions. Cookie wore her dark mane in long loose curls augmented with a few strands of copper that caught the light when she turned her head.

  “Now a few lash extensions for the bride, and we’re done,” Vera said.

  My phone rang, and I reached beneath the cape that covered my jeans and T-shirt to take it out of my pocket. Vera rolled a trolley over, then started checking her supplies as I looked at the number. It was local, but I didn’t recognize it. However, with the wedding only hours away, I was afraid not to answer. What if it was the caterer, or the musicians who were supposed to be setting up right this very minute?

  “Hello?”

  “Is this Katie Lightfoot?”

  “Yes, this is Katie.”

  “This is Hudson Prater. You gave me your number when you brought that music box in? Well, I didn’t know who else to call.” The words tumbled out of the antique dealer. “I tried to call Detective Quinn, you see, but he didn’t answer. I left him a voice mail, but I wasn’t sure what else to do. He mentioned your name when he, um, talked me into helping him out with the investigation into Tucker Abbott’s death, and I thought perhaps you could help me.”

  “I’ll do what I can,” I said once he slowed enough for me to get a word in.

  “Well, you probably already know Detective Quinn asked me to put the word out about that music box you and Tucker’s ex-wife brought in. And that’s what I did, you see. Put the word out. To other antique dealers, pawn shops, my usual, er, suppliers, that kind of thing. Well, it worked.”

  I sat up straighter in my chair. Vera pointed at the phone, a bottle of lash adhesive in her other hand. I shook my head and turned away.

  “What do you mean, it worked?” I asked.

  Vera leaned against a sink, looking annoyed. I made an apologetic moue and turned my attention back to Hudson Prater.

  “I mean someone called and said not to sell it to anyone. That they’re on their way over. Right now, Ms. Lightfoot. That’s why I called the detective. Someone is on the way to buy that music box, and I don’t have it to sell them. And when Detective Quinn spoke with me, well, I got the feeling that whoever might be interested in it might not be the friendliest sort if crossed. I was about to call 911, but I didn’t know if I should . . .”

  My mind raced. “No, no, don’t call 911.” The last thing we needed was for a bunch of lights and sirens to show up and scare off Tucker’s murderer forever.

  “Did you call the general number or Quinn’s cell phone?”

  “He gave me his cell number.”

  I suppressed an oath. Would it be better to tell Hudson to stall while I tried to get ahold of Quinn myself? The murderer, assuming that’s who was coming to buy the music box, might realize what was up and scamper. Or worse. I thought of the unnecessary destruction at Wisteria House, the violently broken mirror, Tucker’s room at the Spotlight Motel, utterly torn apart—not to mention Tucker himself, dead on the floor.

  I didn’t really see any other choice. Reaching for the Velcro clasp of the nylon cape, I said, “Keep trying to get ahold of Detective Quinn, and I’ll be right there. Was the caller a man or a woman?”

  “The connection was bad. I couldn’t really tell.”

  My internal alarms clanged louder. Bad connection? That seemed unlikely. What seemed more likely, oddly enough, was someone using magic to disguise their voice. This whole case had revolved around things not being quite what they seemed.

  Vera made a noise of protest as I loosened the cape and took it off.

  “If the person shows up, tell them the music box is on the way.”

  “Are you bringing it?” He sounded worried.

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t have it. The police are holding it for now. But I’ll do what I can.”

  I felt badly that Quinn had hooked the elderly antique dealer into this case, even if he was a fence. The detective knew Tucker’s murderer was dangerous, but once again, he didn’t understand the possible paranormal danger.

  However, to be honest, I didn’t, either. Maybe I was overreacting.

  I hoped so.

  Ending the call with Prater, I stood.

  “I don’t know who that was,” Vera said. “But you sit yourself right back down and let me finish your lash extensions. They’re the pièce de résistance of your wedding makeup.”

  “Sorry,” I said. “I’ll have to go old school. Mascara will have to do the job. I’ve got an unexpected errand I have to run.”

  I turned to find the entire spellbook club regarding me. Lucy looked pensive, Jaida thoughtful, Bianca resigned, and both Cookie and Mimsey looked excited.

  “Katie, can’t you skip it this time?” Lucy asked in a pleading voice. “Let someone else take care of whatever’s going on? It’s your wedding day.”

  “That was the antique dealer. He tried to get ahold of Quinn but couldn’t.” I gave a little shrug. “I feel responsible that he got dragged into this whole mess. Don’t worry.” I looked at my watch. It was after four thirty. “I should be able to get ahold of Quinn, and he can take over. In the meantime, I’m going to pop by the antique store.”

  And find out who the murderer is.

  That part I didn’t want to admit out loud. If Quinn’s plan worked, then we’d finally know who killed Tucker Abbott. I’d be able to tell Rori, and she’d have the closure she’d been looking for.

  “I’ll drive,” Jaida said, looking around at the others. “My vehicle can fit us all.”

  Everyone nodded.

  Relief swooshed through me. I’d known going to Prater’s alone wasn’t a great idea and had been hoping my friends might jump on board. And bless them, they had.

  Mimsey eyed Cookie’s baby bump. “I’m not sure . . .”

  I nodded. “Cookie? Would you mind going to the carriage house and letting Declan and Ben know what’s going on?”

  She pouted, then she looked down and rubbed her belly. Her eyes softened. “Yeah. That might be better.” She looked back up. “You should call Declan, though.”

  “I will at some point. In the
meantime, you fill him in.”

  She looked amused. “Coward.”

  “I’ll be there. I will. I’m not going to miss my wedding.”

  Vera looked alarmed. “What? Where are you going? Who the heck is Quinn?”

  Her assistant looked on, wide-eyed.

  “I’ll tell you all about it when I get my next cut.” My hand went to my fancy hair. “Thank you for everything. You’re an artist. An absolute virtuoso with scissors and spray and makeup.”

  She didn’t appear impressed with my praise. “I want to see the wedding photos,” she said.

  “Deal,” I said.

  Chapter 25

  I gave Jaida directions, and she drove quickly and efficiently to Prater’s Antiques. On the way, I called Quinn and immediately went to voice mail. I texted him that Prater had called me about the person who wanted the music box, adding that I was on my way to the antique store.

  Then I quickly filled the spellbook club in on Quinn’s plan, not sure whom I’d told what over the last few days. They all seemed up to speed already, which I credited to the constant chitchat between the members of our coven.

  Finally, I texted Declan, who I knew was already at the carriage house with his family and my parents. The caterers would be getting ready to set up, and Ryan would have finished with the flowers.

  Will be there soon. Cookie on her way. She’ll give you the details.

  He texted right back.

  Details? What details? What are you doing?

  I responded.

  Will be there soon. Just get things going if I’m a little late.

  We pulled into the parking lot, and I put my phone away but not before I saw his response.

  !!! Katie?

  Jaida parked and we all got out. The sun had warmed the asphalt of the parking lot, and now it radiated heat. “Let’s go inside and see what’s going on.” I looked around at the group. “No one’s going to try anything with five women standing around as witnesses.”