“Great, thanks.” Wes nodded to Misty. Then he angled himself towards Willa. “No, it definitely wasn’t murder. Do I give off murderer vibes?”
“No,” Willa grabbed a slice of pizza and dropped it on her plate. “But you never can tell these days.”
“OK..?” Wes shifted his weight, looking uncomfortable. “Why are you asking?”
Willa smiled, and I could see the wheels turning in her mind. “Does Sam have your number?”
“Willa,” I pleaded.
Wes looked at me, puzzled. “No. We didn’t get that far.”
Willa shook her head. “Classic Samantha. Sleeps with a guy and doesn’t even get his number.”
“That joke is really getting old,” I said.
Willa hopped off her stool and reached over the steaming pizza to grab my phone. She tossed it to Wes. “She’ll take your number.”
“Willa!” I grabbed her wrist.
“What?” Willa shook my arm off. “Maybe you can call him if we have any job leads for him.” She gave me a pointed look. “In food service. Maybe somewhere with a wood fire oven.”
Wes turned my phone over in his fingers. “Sure, if you did hear of a job, that would be great.” He aimed those walnut-colored eyes on me. “Is it OK if I give you my number, Samantha?”
I sighed, taking a slice of pizza off the pan and slopping it on my plate. “Can you bake sourdough?”
“Sure. Bread is simple enough,” he said.
“Can you make it so it’s not burned to a crisp on the outside and raw on the inside?” I asked.
“Um, yes…?” Confusion clouded Wes’ eyes.
Willa jumped in. “What about recipes? Can you follow an old school recipe exactly as written?”
“Anyone can follow a recipe,” he said.
“Like, a really old recipe,” Willa clarified. “I’m talking, like, from the Middle Ages.”
Wes shrugged. “Probably. As long as I had the right ingredients.”
“Hypothetically speaking,” Willa said, “would you follow a historical recipe that asks you to chant a poem as you knead the dough?”
“OK, what are you two talking about?” Wes lowered the phone, his eyes darting between Willa and me. “I’m all for a good joke, but this is getting weird.”
I motioned to the phone. Maybe Willa was onto something with this guy. We needed someone who would put up with the quirks of a magical bakery without asking too many questions. Plus, if he did blab about stuff, it would be our word against this ex-felon’s. “Go ahead and put your number in. We might know of a job for you. At least, temporarily.”
Willa was scrolling on her phone screen. “Greenwood was the last name, right? I’m just going to google and make sure you didn’t murder anyone or light an orphanage on fire.”
“Nope, haven’t done that.” Wes' forehead creased, still not totally sure what to think of all of this. He saved his number in my phone and handed it back to me. “What kind of job?”
Willa squinted at her screen, probably skimming his arrest records. “It’s the kind of job you’d only want if you were really, really desperate.” She paused, glancing up at him. “How desperate are you, Wes?”
7
After our late lunch, Sam and I decided to spend some time getting the bakery whipped into shape. I sprayed the counter with some pink disinfectant and scrubbed until it made that satisfying squeaky noise.
I was anxious to start looking into Mom’s death, but I knew the more time I spent at the bakery, the stronger my powers would get. That was how the Craven magic worked.
“Willa, we need more wood for the oven,” Sam called from the back.
I stopped wiping, feeling irrationally annoyed, a feeling that was always reserved for Sam. “I’m cleaning. Why can’t you do it?”
“Because I’m busy,” she called back.
“Busy doing what?”
Footsteps sounded through the bakery as Samantha appeared in front of me and slammed a large Tupperware container full of whitish goo onto the counter.
She peeled off the plastic lid. “This is the magical mother dough. We’re supposed to somehow combine some of this smelly stuff into other dough, and then we do some other mysterious baking stuff and end up with a loaf of sourdough bread.” Sam rested her elbow on the glass display case and buried her head in the crook of her arm. “I’ve followed the recipe and watched, like, eight YouTube videos and I still have no clue how this,” she pointed at the weird substance in the Tupperware, “becomes bread.”
I wadded up my paper towel and tossed it into the trash. It hit the rim and landed in the corner behind the metal can. “How many more sourdough loaves do we have left?”
“Two,” Sam said.
I swallowed. “Did you text that criminal chef?”
“Yes, and I gave him this address.” She poked at the sourdough starter with her finger. “He hasn’t texted back.”
“Maybe you should’ve slept with him,” I muttered.
Sam narrowed her eyes at me. “Hilarious.”
“Trust me,” I said. “He’ll walk through that door any minute. I know desperation when I see it.”
“Are we sure we want that guy as our employee?” Sam forced the lid back on the Tupperware. “He has three different mugshots floating around online.”
“At least he looks good in orange,” I said.
“Can you be serious for a second?” Sam demanded.
“I am being serious. We’re powerful fire witches.” I dropped into one of the chairs, kicking my boots up on the opposite chair. “We can create fire with our minds, among other abilities. Why should we be afraid of a guy who wrote a few bad checks and ran a few cons? He didn’t get arrested for anything violent. We’ll just watch him around the money.” I paused. “Besides, I liked the guy, didn’t you?”
“We barely know him,” she said, grabbing the roll of paper towels and spray bottle.
“I don’t care if he’s Jack the Ripper. If he can make a few sourdough loaves, he’s going on the payroll.” I rubbed my temples. “Unless you want to be responsible for the end of the world.”
“Fine. We can hire him on a trial basis.” She spritzed the front windows and started wiping them with big, sweeping movements. “If he shows up.”
“He will.”
Just then, the front door to the bakery swung open.
And there stood the last guy in the world I wanted to see.
“Hey Connor,” my sister said, greeting the sheriff. “If you’re here for pastries, you’re out of luck. We’re still getting things ready.”
Connor kicked clumps of mud off his boots before he stepped into the little pink and white bakery. “I’m here to talk about your mother’s death and bring by the rest of her stuff. Is this a good time?”
“Sure,” Sam said, wiping off the last of the spray.
“Just make it quick.” I straightened up in my chair. “We’ve got a lot to do.”
Connor tapped his finger on the “Help Wanted” paper sign in the window. “I see you’re hiring someone.”
I folded my arms. “Is that a problem?”
“Are you sure that’s wise?” Connor hedged. “This bakery is a lot more than a local business. It’s—”
“We know exactly what this place is.” I stood up, pushing in my chair. “We’ve known longer than you.” I didn’t like Connor walking in here thinking he knew better than us how to take care of things.
Sam tried a more diplomatic approach. “What exactly do you know about this family?”
“Just about everything.” Connor shifted the box he had tucked under his arm. “I know Rebecca was a witch and that it runs in the family. The way I understand it, that makes you two witches.”
“We’re nowhere near as powerful as our mom was—not yet.” I headed into the kitchen and washed my hands in the sink, busying myself so I didn’t have to look at the handsome man filling up the bakery doorway with those broad shoulders of his.
Connor followed me ba
ck like he felt perfectly comfortable strolling through the bakery kitchen. “I know that too. The bakery is built on top of the gateway. The longer you’re here, the stronger you’ll get. I know that you need to keep that oven above 111 degrees at all times. I also know you need to put one fully baked loaf of sourdough into the fire once a day to keep the spell active.”
“You do know everything,” Sam said, hanging the towel over the side of the sink.
“Who do you think put the sourdough in before you got to town?” Connor asked.
“Thank you for doing that.” Sam patted his elbow.
Connor set down the box in his arms on one of the stainless steel counters. “I’ve worked at the Denali police department since I finished my training at the academy. I’ve always suspected there was something unexplainable going on in the area. I’d done a lot of research on the Alaskan Bermuda triangle.”
“What’s that?” Sam gathered her hair up into a ponytail and secured it with an elastic.
I answered before Connor could. “It’s an area between Barrow, Anchorage, and Juneau where an unusually high number of people go missing.”
Sam grabbed a clipboard off a hook on the wall and surveyed the assorted ingredients on the shelves. “That doesn’t surprise me. Alaska is dangerous.”
Connor pulled open the flaps of the box. “Over 11,000 people have disappeared since the 1980s. That means roughly four out of every thousand residents goes missing—gone without a trace. That’s not even counting the number of documented deaths.”
Sam moved the bags of flour onto their own shelf as she counted. “I suppose that’s notable.”
“It’s a staggering statistic,” Connor said. “I didn’t get briefed on the existence of supernatural creatures in the area until I took over this position. Normally, the former sheriff will pass along this information, but my father died unexpectedly. Rebecca filled me in. Before me, she worked closely with my dad.”
“We know,” I said. I wanted to ask him about his dad’s death, but that would have prolonged this conversation.
Sam glanced up from her clipboard. “Are you regretting taking this job now that you know about witches and supernatural creatures?”
“The opposite actually.” Connor scratched at the stubble along his jaw. “This world is more dangerous than I’d ever imagined. These people need to be protected.”
“And you think you’re the guy to do it?” I asked.
“Someone’s got to.” Connor paused, his shoulders slumping as he took a deep breath.
“But you don’t have any supernatural abilities.” I wiped my hands on my jeans to dry them.
He widened his stance. “The way I understand it, neither did you while you were away.”
I held up my hands. “I’m just saying that someone like you is a liability in this kind of work.”
Connor’s expression hardened. “I’ve been doing just fine, thanks.”
I glared at him. “Until you got my mother killed.”
Connor’s nostrils flared. “Willa, I’m sorry about your mother, but you need to remember, she is just one of the many deaths we deal with up here.”
“She’s not one of many. She worked with you on cases. She was basically your partner.”
A muscled pulsed along Connor’s jaw. “If I had known she was in danger that night, don’t you think I would’ve been there? Don’t you think I would have done something?”
Sam tucked the clipboard under her arm. “OK, both of you need to settle down. There’s no need to get upset.”
I opened my mouth to say something, but Sam’s glare silenced me.
She cleared her throat. “What’s in the box, Connor?”
Connor glanced down and started pulling objects out, laying them on the counter. There was a shiny ballpoint pen, a bird figurine, and a black velvet drawstring pouch. “These were the items found with Rebecca’s body. I’ve already documented them, so they’re all yours now.”
I leaned over the counter, reaching for the drawstring bag first. As soon as my fingers touched the material, I could feel the white-hot magic trapped inside. I poked my fingers into the top, loosening the string. Inside was a mixture of crystals, herbs, and bits of paper. The fragrant scent of frankincense and rosemary wafted out.
I dropped it back on the counter. “It’s a charm bag spelled with protection magic. A lot of good that did her.”
Sam came over to see the items. “I recognize this. Mom’s spell pen.” She picked up the ballpoint pen. “She used this for drawing sigils or runes and writing incantations. The ink inside will add power to any spell.”
“I know what these objects are,” Connor said, an edge to his voice. “That’s why I wanted to get them back to you girls before anyone else got their hands on them.”
I rubbed my thumb over the bird figurine, again sensing the pulsing magic within. “It doesn’t make sense. If Mom was murdered by some supernatural creature, why would they leave these things behind? These are clearly objects of power. Anyone with a basic understanding of the supernatural world would know that.”
“Maybe Mom’s death wasn’t supernatural,” Sam suggested. “Maybe it was an accident after all.”
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t be naive.”
Ignoring the jab, Sam looked up at Connor. “What do you know so far about my mother’s death?”
Connor shoved his hands in his pockets as he ambled around the kitchen. “Several days ago, Rebecca didn’t show up to open the bakery. I put out an APB for her. A few hours later, her body was discovered in a lake about eight miles north of here. Technically speaking, drowning was the cause of death.”
Sam started placing the items back into the cardboard box. “What do you think happened?”
“This stays in this room, understand?” Connor lifted an eyebrow.
“Of course,” Sam said.
I nodded.
Satisfied, Connor went on. “I think it was foul play. The things your mom could do…” He shook his head. “There is no way Rebecca drowned in that lake. She’s lived here all her life. She knows how to handle herself when she goes out.”
“That’s what we assumed,” I said.
Sam’s eyes sharpened. “But why would someone want to murder our mom?”
Connor hooked his thumbs into his belt loops. “Plenty of reasons. She was a very powerful woman and she’s been responsible for many arrests over the years. Maybe someone wanted revenge.”
Sam hugged the clipboard to her chest. “If it was about revenge, that could explain why they left Mom’s magical tools. In that case, the murderer wouldn’t necessarily care about magic or power. They just wanted her to die.”
I smirked. “Sammie, that’s kind of dark for you.”
“Murder is dark, Willa.” She chewed her lip thoughtfully. “Another possibility is that someone was planning a crime and wanted her out of the way.”
“How many people know about the oven?” I directed the question to Connor. “If someone wanted to open up the gateway, that’s a motive. Sam knows, I know, and I guess, you know. Is there anyone else?”
“My dad knew, but he’s been gone for four years,” Connor said, trapping his hands under his armpits. “Someone could have found out, though. The thought crossed my mind.”
Sam stiffened. “In that case, the murderer would be coming for us now.”
“But the oven is still going,” Connor pointed out. “If that was their motive for murder, I believe they would be trying harder to get through Rebecca’s wards on that back room.”
“You know about the wards? Is there anything my mother didn’t tell you?” I asked, irritated.
“Of course, I know. She set them so I’d be able to get through them,” Connor said. “Knowing things like that is part of my job.”
I narrowed my eyes, an odd wave of jealousy hitting me. “You and my mom were pretty close, huh?”
Connor studied my face. “Yes.”
I leaned forward. “Tell me, Sheriff, where were
you the night she drowned?”
“I was at home sleeping.”
“Alone?” I asked.
Connor's eyes flashed a warning. “How is that relevant?”
Sam pressed her hand on my shoulder. “Willa.”
I shook her off. “I’m asking if anyone can confirm your whereabouts.”
Connor clenched his jaw. “Are you asking because you think I had something to do with Rebecca’s death or is there another reason you’re asking about my personal life?”
Heat flamed up my cheeks—a combination of anger and embarrassment. “What other reason would there be?”
Connor fixed me with a hard look. “You tell me.”
I squared off with him. “I’m trying to figure out who killed my mom.”
“By interrogating me?” His hands curled into fists. “Come on, Willa. You know me. You know what kind of man I am.”
I leaned against the big stainless steel dishwasher. “That’s not an answer.”
“That is an answer,” Connor said. “And that should be enough for you.”
I shrugged. “I’m trying to get all the facts.”
“Fine. Whatever will make you feel better.” Connor shook his head, hurt flickering behind his green eyes. He glanced down at the tile before answering. “I was sleeping alone.”
“How convenient,” I said. “Do you live with anyone?”
Sam dragged her hand over her face. “Willa, seriously.”
“It’s fine. She’s upset. I get it.” Connor planted his hands on his hips. “No, Willa. I live alone. Most nights, I sleep alone. That particular night, I was sleeping alone.” He took a big step towards me, getting right in my face. “Is there anything else you’d like to know about my personal life?”
“Don’t flatter yourself.” I rolled my shoulders back. “I don’t care about your personal life.”
Connor closed his eyes, fighting back some kind of emotion. “Just make sure you two keep this place locked up when no one’s here. Keep your cabin locked up, too.”
Sam stepped between us, physically separating us with her hands. “Of course, we will. Magic or not, this is business. We have money and expensive equipment in here.”
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