Wedding Bells And Magic Spells Box Set

by A. R. Winters

  I frowned at her. She didn’t have an Uncle Hank, but she did delight in being contrary.

  “Well, that’s interesting,” I told her. “I suppose I’ll have to find my plus-sized models somewhere else.”

  “Couldn’t you use her?” said Wanda pointing at my mother.

  Mom glared at Wanda.

  “Her?” I said, running my eyes over my mother as if for the first time. “My mother’s far too old.” I almost felt bad for her. Almost.

  “She’s your mother? I thought you were sisters!”

  I quickly grabbed my mother by the elbow. “Come on, we’re leaving!”

  Chapter 10

  Three days later, I was walking down Main Street with Kiwi on my shoulder. It was a chilly day and no one else was foolish enough to be walking. But our destination was so close to our shop and home that I hadn’t even considered driving.

  Wanda’s not so subtle implications about me needing to join her Weight Warriors club also provided some small incentive to burn some calories with a walk.

  “You’re sure you want to come?” I said to Kiwi.

  “Of course! I loved Sandra,” he said, finishing with a sad caw.

  “You didn’t know Sandra!”

  He took a moment to consider.

  “I loved Sandra...’s fudge,” he said, cackling and fluttering his wings in a mini-display of triumph.

  “Yeah, that’s more like it. Just make sure you behave yourself, Kiwi. I don’t want you making a scene. It’s a memorial. This is a serious and solemn event.”

  “With snacks,” he said, confirming yet again.

  “Perhaps. Or perhaps they won’t allow animals near the food.”

  Kiwi answered with an angry chattering sound but no further words.

  We could hear the memorial before we could see it. As we rounded the corner, we were greeted with the sight of Randi’s Candy Shop almost overflowing with people. The double doors at the entrance had both been propped open, and a large black banner hung across the entryway.

  “She must have been a popular lady,” I said absentmindedly.

  “More like popular fudge,” said Kiwi surreptitiously into my ear.

  I peered in to survey the scene before fully committing. Inside, I could see Randi dishing out fudge. Sarah was already there, standing by a table on which she had a scrapbook. Mayor Donovan Charlston was standing awkwardly with his assistant. Rick and Nina Wellington, a young married couple whose wedding I’d organized, were nibbling on fudge, and numerous other locals who I recognized by face if not name were milling about.

  Notable in her absence, though, was my mother. I hadn’t seen her since our chat with Walnut Wanda and she seemed to be in hiding until either the effects of her spell wore off or she found some way to reverse it.

  Finally entering the fray, I walked in and headed straight toward Randi to grab some of the free fudge. Though Kiwi had complained before, it wasn’t all that bad.

  Randi looked down at her tray and up again at me as I approached, her eyes flashing with uneasiness.

  “Hello, welcome,” she said.

  “Hi,” I said with a bright smile. “Can I have a piece of fudge?”

  Randi nodded and quickly handed me a napkin with a little square of the sweet creamy treat. Kiwi remained resolutely silent on my shoulder, with no interest in Randi’s fudge at all. It was Sandra’s or nothing for him. I took a bite. Then I took another one. And then it was all gone.

  “This fudge...”

  I wanted to say that it was much better than what we’d bought the previous week, but I didn’t want to retroactively insult her, so I just let my words hang instead, hoping she would provide an answer of some kind. And she did.

  “Good, isn’t it?” said Randi, smiling now.

  “It is good,” I said, nodding thoughtfully. “Did you change your supplier again?”

  Randi shifted her weight from one foot to the other and looked around furtively before replying.

  “I... made it myself,” she answered finally.

  “Oh, it’s very good. Can I have another piece, for Kiwi?”

  “Sure, of course,” she said handing me another napkin.

  I broke the piece of fudge in half and held it up for Kiwi. Tentatively, he gave it a nibble.

  “Fudge!” he shrieked, before snatching the rest of what I was holding right out of my fingers.

  “It tastes like Sandra’s,” I said.

  Randi nodded.

  “It is Sandra’s. Her recipe, at least.”

  Just then, Sarah appeared by my side, briefly abandoning the scrapbook and her table which were just a little to the right of the fudge display.

  “Did you say it was Sandra’s recipe?” said Sarah eagerly.

  “It is. She told me her secrets a long time ago, but out of respect I never made and sold her fudge. But now that she’s gone, it seemed like a nice way to keep her memory alive, don’t you think?”

  Kiwi gave a happy caww and I nodded in agreement.

  “It tastes wonderful,” I said, balling up the napkin I’d just finished with. “I’m sure Sandra would be proud.”

  “I don’t suppose you have one of her recipe cards, do you?” asked Sarah with a thoughtful frown. “It would really complete the scrapbook I’ve put together. Look,” she said pointing at her table, “people are really enjoying it.”

  “I’m afraid not,” said Randi with a shake of her head. “Sandra told me the recipe. She didn’t write it down for me. Nope, now it’s all up here.” Randi tapped her temple with a finger.

  “Do you have anything else then, from her? Photos or something?”

  Randi shook her head again, and before Sarah could hassle her any further another lady squeezed in front of her.

  “Can I try a piece?” said the newcomer.

  She was a friendly-looking woman in perhaps her mid-thirties, with a mop of curly brown hair and tortoiseshell horn-rimmed glasses. Clutched in her left hand was the downtown map that was given out in the tourist office, and hanging from her neck was a camera on a strap. Despite clearly being an out-of-towner, there was something familiar about her, but I couldn’t quite place my finger on what it was.

  “Here you go,” said Randi, handing over another napkin with a little square of fudge to the newcomer.

  Curiously, I watched as the tourist raised it to her face and gave it a tentative sniff before taking a small nibble, then a bigger bite. She closed her eyes as she chewed it with the air of a connoisseur, and I had to stop myself from giggling. She would get along well with Kiwi.

  “How is it?” asked Randi, beaming, fishing for a compliment with all the confidence that comes with having the best fudge in town.

  She snapped her eyes open again, swallowed and then fixed Randi with a stare.

  “Almost perfect,” she said with a smile.

  Randi’s face had developed a quizzical frown. “Almost?”

  “It would have been perfect, if only it hadn’t been stirred,” she said enigmatically.

  Randi blushed, nodded and then scurried away, abandoning the tray of fudge and pile of napkins to the fate of being a self-service buffet. It wouldn’t last long, I wagered.

  “Fudge!” screeched Kiwi in my ear.

  Obligingly, I grabbed another napkin and loaded it with three more squares of the fudge to keep him quiet during the somber moments that would presumably be coming.

  “Come on,” said Sarah nudging my arm. “Let me show you my scrapbook of Sandra.”

  “A scrapbook?” said the fudge-connoisseur tourist. “Since I didn’t know her at all, that sounds like it would be very interesting.”

  “Please feel free join us,” I said to her.

  At least two of the three of us would be interested.

  Chapter 11

  The tourist was flicking through Sarah’s scrapbook dedicated to Sandra.

  “You must have been very close,” she said and offered a sad smile.

  “Close? No, not at all. I never eve
n met her!” said Sarah brightly.

  The woman cocked her head at us. “Then...”

  Not wanting to leave her hanging I decided to jump in. Not everyone appreciated Sarah’s various eccentricities quite the way I did.

  “Sarah recently got into scrapbooking,” I explained, “and this terribly sad event has been the talk of the town. It seemed like a perfect opportunity for Sarah to put her new scrapbooking skills to work.”

  “I wanted to do something useful,” Sarah added.

  I was tempted to ask what use it would serve, but thought it would be a bit too cruel. Sarah’s non-stop parade of passions was one of her most endearing qualities, even if some of the passions were less fun for me than others.

  “Well I think that’s very noble of you,” said the tourist with a smile. “Scrapbooking is a wonderful way to make memories last.”

  “We’ll never forget Sandra Cobb,” I said.

  The woman frowned at me.

  “I thought it was Sandra Webb?”

  “Oh! So it was. Cobb... Webb... I get confused. Did you know her then?”

  The tourist shook her head as she pointed up at a banner that was hung above the counter. It read “In Loving Memory of Sandra Webb.”

  We both had to cover our mouths to stop from laughing. It was a solemn occasion, after all.

  “I’m Lara Fischer, by the way,” she said, quickly dropping the napkin she’d been holding and extending a pale hand.

  “Aria Whitmore,” I said with a little curtsy as we squeezed each other’s hands.

  “I just love fudge. I was walking around and I saw the sign, and I thought, ‘I absolutely have to go and try their fudge!’ I had no idea there was a memorial going on.” She made a show of looking around the crowded room. “Do you think it’s all right for me to be here?”

  I nodded and gave her my best welcoming smile. As a business owner in Sequoia Bay, I’m an ambassador for the town, and I try to be nice to all the tourists and visitors that are its lifeblood—even the annoying ones. Luckily, Lara didn’t fit into the ‘annoying’ category. At least, not yet.

  “Of course not! I’m sure Randi—that’s the owner of this shop—is delighted to have you and everyone else here. She’s using Sandra’s fudge recipe, you know, so even though you didn’t know her, it’s like you’re getting to know her now, right? Or at least getting to know her fudge.”

  Lara grinned and reached out to squeeze my forearm. “Thank you. This is a very friendly town.”

  I beamed back at her.

  CLINK CLINK CLINK.

  “Could I have everyone’s attention please?”

  Mayor Donovan Charlston was holding out a half-filled whiskey glass, which he was tapping repeatedly with a silver spoon. No one else had a glass. He must have brought it with him.

  “As the mayor, I thought it would be best if I were to say a few words.”

  There was a rumbling of appreciation and encouragement from the gathered throng. I’d thought the memorial needed to have some kind of focal point, and it seemed like the mayor had the same thought.

  “We are gathered here today, not just to listen to me, but also to listen to what I have to say. As the mayor—for many wonderful years, and for many more to come, I hope—of this amazing town, I have had the honor of meeting so many wonderful citizens. Sandra...” The mayor took a brief pause as if trying to recall something.

  “Cobb! I mean Webb. Sandra Webb!” I shouted out.

  “Sandra Webb,” said the mayor, staring at me as he emphasized Webb, “was one of them. We mayors—and I am the former president of the highly prestigious Mayors and Mayoresses of Northern California, excluding San Francisco Organization—have a saying. And that saying is this: we know half of our citizens half as well as we would like, and half of them twice as much as we hoped we wouldn’t. And half and half make a full glass.”

  The mayor paused for a moment to let the words sink in. Glancing around, I could see that he had succeeded in confusing just about every person in the room, myself included.

  “The exact words aren’t important. It’s the spirit of the saying that is. And that spirit reminds me of the spirit of dear, departed Sandra Cobbwebb, who I knew personally and dearly. She was a passionate and fiery woman of excellent taste and excellent tasting fudge.”

  There were murmurs of agreement and amusement from the crowd.

  “I will share one brief anecdote with you. About Sandra. My Sandra. Our Sandra. Fudge’s Sandra.”

  The mayor took a sip of his whiskey before continuing.

  “Sandra once said something to me. Not long ago. Just a few weeks back. She said, Mayor Donovan Charlston, I make fudge and you are the mayor. She said that she hoped to continue making fudge for many, many years to come—which unfortunately she will not—and that she hoped that I would remain mayor for many, many years to come. I hope that you all will honor her memory when it’s time for my re-election, by following her dearest, deepest, and almost dying wish for me to continue to be mayor, so that I can serve this city the same way I have done. I think this little story just shows what kind of woman Sandra was, doesn’t it? The kind who wanted the very best for Sequoia Bay, and she knew, she knew that the best way to do that was to keep re-electing me as mayor.”

  Some of the crowd were looking a little perplexed now. Not me, though. I’d known Donovan for years and this was exactly how I’d expect him to give a eulogy at a memorial.

  “So, I’d like you all to raise a glass. Or some fudge, to me.” He lifted his own glass up. “And of course, no less importantly, to Sandra the fudge lady.”

  “To Sandra the fudge lady!” said the crowd, raising their balled-up napkins, water bottles, or little squares of fudge. After the mayor had taken another sip of his whiskey, the crowd broke out into a round of applause.

  When the clapping had abated, Donovan made his way over to me.

  “Interesting speech, Donovan,” I said to him with a smile.

  “Thank you, Aria. I felt someone had to step up and be the man of the hour, and who better than me? I’ve probably given more speeches than everyone else in this room put together. It comes naturally to me, you know.”

  “Does it?” I said with arched eyebrows. “Was that speech off the cuff?”

  He took a sip of whiskey as he nodded.

  “Oh yes. Didn’t prepare at all, and I still aced it!”

  “It sounds very impressive when you put it like that,” I murmured.

  He bowed his head in acknowledgment.

  “Tell me, Aria, have you spoken to your mother today? You see, she’s not here. I left her a message but I don’t think she got it.”

  I shook my head. I hadn’t spoken to Mom since we’d visited Walnut Wanda’s and I guessed she was in hiding until either the spell wore off or she found some other way to lose all that weight.

  “I haven’t seen her, Donovan.”

  “Well, when you do, tell her to call me.”

  “Right. I’ll keep that in mind,” I said evasively. I wasn’t about to start acting as a go-between for my mother and Donovan if could help it.

  “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to mingle. As mayor, it’s my job to talk to everyone. People don’t realize it, but I actually work harder than any other single person in Sequoia Bay.”

  I nodded at him again to get rid of him, though I strongly suspected he didn’t even rank among the top one hundred hardest workers in Sequoia Bay.

  “I’ll just take a piece of fudge to keep my energy up. No rest for the wicked!”

  Donovan walked away, laughing to himself as he grabbed several squares of fudge and left to mingle with the masses.

  “Are you friends with the mayor then?” asked Lara when Donovan had fully departed.

  “I wouldn’t exactly call us friends, but my mother and the mayor are quite close. Or they were, anyway.”

  “Oh interesting. Excuse me, I hope you don’t mind me asking, but your parrot…”

  I’d almost forgotten h
e was there, but at the mention of the word parrot he perked up again.

  “Fudge!” he demanded.

  Kiwi had taken a brief respite from eating sweet treats while the mayor had been speaking. He had been so quiet that I suspected he may even have dozed off for a few minutes—perhaps a crash after so much sugar. But he was awake again now and squeezing my shoulder to provide emphasis to his demand.

  I passed a square of fudge up to my shoulder, which Kiwi snatched up again quickly, as I smiled at Lara.

  “His name’s Kiwi.”

  “He’s adorable. I didn’t know parrots liked fudge. Isn’t it bad for them?”

  “He is occasionally adorable,” I said and was quickly rewarded with a hard squeeze to my shoulder. “And yes, he does have a bit of a soft spot for fudge. It used to be cheese puffs, but he’s become a fudge addict recently. That’s why I thought I would bring him along today—Sandra’s fudge was his favorite.”

  “Really?” said Lara in surprise. “He has favorites?”

  “Oh yes. You should have seen what happened when we fed him some fudge that wasn’t up to his standards. He spat it out and screeched like he’d been bitten!”

  “Oh my!” said Lara, giggling.

  “It was funny. Actually, it happened right here. Randi—the owner—was using a different supplier. But now that Sandra’s gone, she’s using Sandra’s recipe instead, and Kiwi seems to be happy again!”

  “It is pretty good,” said Lara.

  Kiwi banged his head against mine to indicate he was ready for another mouthful of fudge, and I quickly obliged him.

  “Just ‘pretty good?’” I asked with a grin.

  Lara giggled again, setting her curly hair bobbing up and down. “I’m a bit of a connoisseur, actually. I learned to make it as a child from my mother, and ever since I’ve been trying fudge wherever I travel, testing them out right across the country trying to find the very best.”

  “Oh? And where’s the best you’ve found so far?” Despite not having as much interest in fudge as, say, Kiwi, I found myself fascinated by Lara.

  “At home!” she said, dropping her head back in a laugh that seemed louder than appropriate.