The Witching Flour

Spellford Cove Mystery #1

Samantha Silver

Blueberry Books Press

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Fairy Falls

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Chapter 1

There’s only one thing worse than entering your home and realizing you’ve been robbed, and that’s entering your home and realizing you’re being robbed.

As soon as I opened the front door to my apartment, I froze. My heart leapt into my throat as my veins turned to ice. I was rooted to the spot, unsure of what to do. In front of me, the living room had obviously been ransacked. The pillows that had been on the couch when I left that morning were now on the floor, the papers on my coffee table were scattered all over the place, and a few of the knickknacks on my bookshelf had been strewn about.

Worse than all of that, however, was the noise from the kitchen. Whoever had been here was still here.

Taking a deep breath, I stepped back into the hall and closed the door as quietly as I could. Pulling out my phone, I dialed 911 and told them what was happening.

I was barely listening as the operator told me to stay there and not to enter the apartment, and that a police car would be along shortly.

Bile rose in my throat. There was someone in my apartment right now. What were they doing? Were they going through my things? Taking the few valuables I had? It wasn’t like I had a lot in there. Mom’s diamond studs, the only piece of real jewelry she’d had, were sitting on my earlobes. I only ever took them off to shower.

Still, the idea that someone was in my apartment, going through my things, made me want to puke.

Minutes passed, each one feeling like an hour. I didn’t live in the best part of Minneapolis, not by a long shot, and after fifteen minutes passed with no sign of the cops and whoever was in there still in my apartment, I decided enough was enough.

I wasn’t going to sit here and wait for a criminal to take his time going through my home.

Closing my eyes, I tried to think about what I could use as a weapon. Just inside the door, in the hall closet, was a hockey stick an ex-boyfriend had left at my apartment one day and never picked up—the woman he was cheating on me with found out that she wasn’t his only girlfriend and messaged me on Instagram to let me know he was cheating on both of us. This hockey stick was going to be the most useful thing I got out of that whole relationship.

I grabbed it out of the closet as quietly as I could and held it in front of me like a baseball bat.

“Who’s there?” I shouted and then immediately headed down the hall toward the bedroom. That way, if the intruder came by looking for me, they’d head right past me and I could clothesline them.

But instead, the rustling in the kitchen turned silent for a moment, then continued. The nerve of this intruder. I had had it. I stormed into the kitchen, hockey stick at the ready, holding it like a baseball bat I was ready to swing, and found him.

He was black and gray, about a foot tall, and was currently sitting in the kitchen sink eating from a bag of chips that I’d left on the counter.

It was a freaking raccoon.

“You have got to be kidding me,” I muttered with a nervous laugh as I put the stick down. If I hadn’t been scared out of my wits I probably would have found the whole thing hilarious. The raccoon looked up at me, as if wondering if I was about to ruin his meal and kick him out. He had come in through the open window and must have been responsible for the mess in the living room.

But then, I was sure I’d closed the window this morning. After all, it was fall in Minneapolis, it was too cold to leave it open all day, and I didn’t have the money to pay exorbitant heating bills.

I was sure of it. How had he gotten in? The window had been locked. And I lived on the second floor of a building with no fire escape. Sure, Simone Biles probably would have been able to get into my apartment, but your average junkie looking for a quick score? Not a chance.

That was when my eyes landed on the letter.

Sitting on the counter, next to the raccoon, was a plain white envelope addressed to me, Robin Carter. How had it gotten here?

I stared at it for a minute. There was no way. My door had been locked when I came in. There was no sign of forced entry. No one could have gotten in through the open window.

Had the raccoon been trained to bring the letter in for me?

That was ridiculous. This whole situation was making me insane. There was no such thing as a trained letter delivery raccoon, not even in Minneapolis.

I didn’t like this at all.

Just then there was a knock on the door, and I jumped about three feet in the air, letting out a little yelp and betraying just how on edge I really still was.

“Get it together, Robin,” I muttered to myself.

“Police,” a voice announced.

I breathed a sigh of relief. “Coming!” I shouted. “I’m the one who called you.”

I headed over to the still-open front door to find myself staring at two officers, both of whom looked to be in their late thirties. One was Latina, with her hair pulled back into a tight bun, while the other was a serious-looking white man, his gun already drawn but at his side.

“You’re the owner of this place?” he asked.

I nodded. “Well, renter. Sorry, I have to apologize. I thought there was a robber in here when I saw the stuff in the living room had been ransacked. It turns out it was just a raccoon. He’s in my kitchen eating chips.”

The policewoman behind him bit back a smile.

“Do you mind if we come in to have a look and confirm?” the man asked.

I nodded and stepped aside, letting the two officers in. They quickly scanned the entire apartment, prepared to take down any intruders, but returned a moment later, obviously satisfied.

“That’s one fat raccoon in the kitchen,” the man noted. “But sure enough, he seems to be the only intruder. He must be quite the gymnast to get up here.”

“Agreed,” the woman replied. “We can take him out with us if you’d like.”

“That would be great, actually. Thanks. He can keep that bag of chips too. I’m not going to be eating from it anymore,” I said. “Sorry for calling unnecessarily.”

“Don’t worry about it,” the female cop said. “I’d rather be called out to a non-robbery than find you the victim of one. You shouldn’t have entered the home after calling us. You should have waited. It would have been safer.”

“Right,” I said, biting back the retort that maybe if they’d arrived in less than twenty minutes I would have. Keeping my mouth shut had never been a strong suit of mine, but I managed to do it now.

The cops went back in and wrangled up the raccoon, leading him out with the help of the bag of chips, and I closed the door behind them before sinking into the couch with a heavy sigh.

The adrenaline was beginning to wear off, but something still felt wrong. Right. The letter in the kitchen.

I jumped up and headed back to where the letter sat, on the middle of my kitchen table. How had it gotten here?

There was no stamp on it. It obviously hadn’t come from the post office. And besides, my front door had been locked. The only way in was through the open window, and there was no way Simone Biles had gone to this much effort to leave me a letter.

Well, there was only one way to find out what was in it.

Half expecting it to be filled with anthrax, and ready to drop it and run if I saw anything that remotely resembled a strange white powder, I opened it and instead found a single sheet of paper.

Robin,

There’s no easy way to tell you this, so I’m going to come straight out and say it. You were adopted as a baby, and we, your biological family, never knew of your existence until your birth mother died last week. She left instructions upon her death telling us you existed and how to find you. I understand if you want nothing to do with us, but on the off chance that you do, the bakery your mother owned is now yours. We’re keeping it running until you make a decision either way. I don’t want to pressure you into doing something you don’t want to do, but for what it’s worth, the whole family was very excited to learn about your existence, and we would love to meet you if and when you’re comfortable with that.

Let me know if you want to move to Spellford Bay, Washington. We would love to have you.

Love,

Your Aunt Heather

360-555-4581

What?

My head spun, and I put the letter down. I had to be imagining things. There was no way any of this was real. An intruder who wasn’t really an intruder, a raccoon eating chips in my sink, a letter appearing out of thin air on my kitchen table, and now an inheritance from my birth mother?

I knew I was adopted. My parents had never been secretive about that. Besides, it wouldn’t exactly have been hard to figure out. My mom had red curls and blue eyes, while my dad looked like he’d just walked off a beach in California with his blonde hair and eyes that matched my mother’s. Meanwhile, I had ramrod-straight, black hair and huge, round eyes the color of coal. In tenth grade I had learned that it was practically genetically impossible for me to be their child, but I already knew.

The way they told it, they’d tried to conceive for eight years, and had just about given up, when out of nowhere they received a letter from a woman letting them know she intended to abandon her child, and asked whether they would consider adopting her, instead.

They immediately accepted, and three weeks later they held me in their arms for the first time and fell deeper in love than they could have possibly imagined.

Mom and Dad were working class, and we were never rich in money, but none of that mattered. We were rich in love, and that was so much more valuable. I never knew that growing up I didn’t have what the other kids had, because it didn’t matter. I had a mother who took me to the park every afternoon and pushed me on the swings until the sun went down, no matter how sore her arms must have been. I had a father who always came home from work with a smile and a joke, and whose strong arms I always felt safe in. That was all I needed, really.

They had died in a car accident three years ago, when I was twenty-five. I still missed them terribly, but I had to admit, I had never wondered about my biological family. After all, I had a family. I might not have looked like them, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was they loved me fully and unconditionally.

That was why I was tempted to throw the letter in the trash and never think of it again.

But a part of me was curious.

I scanned the letter again, reading the words. My biological family were happy to know me, at least. Aunt Heather sounded nice.

And really, what did I have here in Minneapolis?

That raccoon was the first guest I’d had in this apartment in at least two months, I worked a minimum wage job that barely paid the bills, and I was loaded with about fifteen grand in credit card debt with no insights as to how that was ever going to go away.

But a bakery? I was okay in the kitchen, sure, but being able to whip up the occasional batch of cookies and running a bakery were two very different things.

On the other hand, winter was coming, and the Washington coast sounded like a much better place to spend it than Minneapolis. Heck, Siberia was probably more pleasant in January than Minnesota.

I decided I was going to make a decision later. After all, today had been weird, and creepy, and I didn’t like any of it. But when I jumped into the too-small shower in my one-bedroom apartment to find that the hot water heater had broken—again—I made a decision. I was moving to Washington.

Chapter 2

My trusty old Toyota Corolla—she was almost older than me—wasn’t a big fan of the road trip. She guzzled more oil than Homer Simpson drank beer, and as soon as we went over sixty on the interstate the whole engine bay began to rattle, but after three days of straight driving and sleeping in the back of the car with all my possessions, I saw the weather-worn wooden sign announcing my arrival in Spellford Bay.

I was wracked with nerves, but I kept telling myself I could always go back to Minneapolis if this didn’t work out. Of course, I wasn’t sure my car was going to want to make the return trip, but whatever. This was a new start for me. I was going to live a fun new life in Washington. I was going to learn to run a business, and while it would be hard, hopefully it would pay a little bit more than working as a cashier at the grocery store down the street.

The road took me straight down Main Street, right along the coast. To my right was the Pacific Ocean. Dark waves lapped against the shore of a gorgeous beach on which a few people walked their dogs in the cool October afternoon.

On my left were a number of adorable little shops, designed as classic beachside cottages, and I immediately fell in love. I’d never seen anything like this. I slowed down as I my eyes were drawn to a pale blue cottage with a deep yellow door and white trim and shutters. The sign above the door read Queen of Tarts, and the window display held some empty pie display cases. A few flowers had been left by the front door, and a piece of paper on the window announced a temporary closure—I assumed due to the death of the owner.

It was strange, knowing that the woman who physically gave birth to me had run that store, and yet I felt absolutely no connection to her. Mom and Dad had told me they had no problem if I wanted to look into my family, though they had no idea who they were. I’d never felt any desire to, and even now, knowing that the woman who owned the store had died, she just felt like a stranger.

I didn’t realize I’d fully stopped in the middle of the road and was just staring at the cottage until a car pulled past me into the oncoming traffic lane.

“Whoops,” I muttered to myself, waving a hand in apology. It was a miracle I hadn’t been honked at.

I checked into a local hotel—it being the slow season tourist-wise it was very cheap, and I didn’t want to start my stay here with strangers—and took a deep breath before calling my Aunt Heather.

“Hello?” she answered.

I swallowed hard. “Hi, it’s Robin,” I said.

There was silence on the other end of the line for just a split second. “Robin? As in, my niece Robin?”

“That’s me,” I replied.

“Honey, let me just say how wonderful it is to hear from you. I would have completely understood if you wanted nothing to do with us. It sounds like you had a wonderful childhood, and I was sorry to hear about your parents’ passing, which I found out about as I looked for you.”

“Thank you. Um, listen, I may have come to Spellford Bay already, without letting you know. I hope that’s alright. I’m staying at a hotel. I’d like to meet you.”

“Of course,” Aunt Heather replied. “Are you just visiting, or are you planning on taking over Queen of Tarts? Not that you have to have an answer for me now. Whatever you want is just fine, and please take as long as you need to make a decision.”

“I think I’m moving.” The words were still strange to hear coming from my own mouth. I had quit my job on the spot—and oh boy did it feel good to finally tell my harassing boss where he could go shove it—and handed the keys back to the management company at my apartment. Everything I owned fit into my Corolla that was so nineties it should have had frosted tips and been in a boy band. It was pretty sad that at twenty-eight years old I could still pack my whole life into an entry-sized sedan.

“Well isn’t that just wonderful news?” Aunt Heather gushed. “I’m so pleased to hear it. The apartment above the bakery is all yours, of course. You’re welcome to live there, or if you’d rather rent it out and live elsewhere, that’s obviously fine as well.”

“Oh,” I said, surprised. That was certainly going to make apartment hunting easier. “Thanks.”

“Not a problem. Listen, I’m having a couple of your cousins over for dinner tonight, if you’d like to come over. I’m sure they’d love to meet you. If you’d rather take your time to settle in with us, I completely understand that as well.”

“No, I think I’d like that,” I said. I’d never really had an extended family before. Mom’s parents died when she was young, and she didn’t have any siblings, and Dad didn’t get along with his family, so we never saw them. They lived in upstate New York somewhere, I was pretty sure. It was never a part of my life, so I never missed it, but I wondered if it would be nice to have cousins.

“Fantastic. Let me text you my address. If you show up around five, that would be great.”

“Excellent, I’ll see you then. Should I bring anything?”

“Oh no, dear. Just your beautiful self.”

“Thanks, Aunt Heather,” I said, trying the words out on my tongue. They felt surprisingly natural, and even though I didn’t know the woman yet, I already liked her. I had a good feeling about tonight.

I thought my life had already been turned upside down. Little did I know it had just been tilted a little bit. A few hours from now, my life was going to change forever.

* * *

At five o’clock on the dot I rang the bell in front of a beautiful old craftsman cottage nestled in the woods behind Spellford Bay. This location was practically perfect, as far as I was concerned. A five-minute walk from the beach and the ocean, nestled away in a little private corner of the woods, not a single neighbor in sight. The porch was small but useable, and the house was painted white with deep-green trim that fit the location perfectly.

The woman who opened the door was obviously related to me. It was a bit of a shock, actually, for the first time in my life seeing someone who looked exactly like me, only about thirty years older. She had the same big, dark eyes as I did and the same button nose.

Her clothes, however, were something else entirely. Aunt Heather was dressed like a Bohemian hippie, wearing jeans, a fitted tank top printed with colorful feathers, and hemp sandals, all topped with a boho-style kimono that reached her calves.

Her hair was a bit curlier than mine, the flowing waves that reached just past her shoulders suiting her perfectly. “Robin. I’m Heather, your aunt, and I cannot tell you how nice it is to finally meet you.”

She took me into a huge hug, and it was so warm and genuine I melted into her arms like jelly despite her being a complete stranger.

Pulling away a moment later, she looked me up and down. “Yes, you’re definitely one of us. Come on. Come meet your cousins.”

I stepped nervously into the home—the boho style extended into the hallway and living room—and found myself standing in front of two more women. Although they were my age, neither one of them looked like me as much as Aunt Heather did. They were obviously identical twins, although they dressed completely differently.

Both had straight, light brown hair, but they wore it very differently. The twin on the right had a cute pixie cut that framed her face beautifully, while the one on the left kept her hair long, with it reaching about half a foot past her shoulders. Their eyes were dark, the same as mine, and they both had just the slightest resemblance to me in the face shape. We weren’t exactly identical, but it wasn’t too much of a stretch to think we were related.

“Hi,” the twin on the right said. “It’s so nice to meet you.”

I reached forward, expecting a handshake, but instead she took me into a big hug as well. Apparently, my biological family were huggers.

“I’m Elsa. I’m the fun one of the two of us.”

“And I’m Emma,” the other twin said, smiling shyly at me. “Elsa’s right. She is the fun one. But if you ever want to discuss classical literature, or play piano, I’m the one to see.”

“Pfft,” Elsa said. “That’s because you’re ninety years old at heart.”

Emma shrugged. “I simply enjoy the arts a lot more.”

“I joke, but Emma is really wonderful,” Elsa said, looking at her twin with an appreciative smile. “She’s the kindest soul you’ll ever meet. She’s amazing with animals too.”

“And Elsa might be a bit rambunctious, but she’ll go to the ends of the earth for you if she likes you,” Emma said. “Anyway, there’s plenty of time for us to get to know each other over dinner. There’s nothing quite like food to bring new family together, and I’m pretty sure I smell Mom’s pot roast in there.”

Aunt Heather laughed and stepped aside to let us all come into the home. “You got it. I figured since we have a special guest here tonight it was time to break out the big guns.”

“You’re going to love Mom’s cooking,” Elsa said to me. “She’s amazing. Her cooking is magical.”

“Sounds great,” I said with a smile as I followed the others into the dining room.

Chapter 3

Aunt Heather’s home was open and airy, and the boho styling suited her personality perfectly. Exposed beams gave the modern interior of the home a bit of a rustic feel, while the furniture and decorations were colorful, consisting mainly of natural fibers such as wood and wool, and gave the home a very comfortable feel.

We sat at the live-edge dining table, and Aunt Heather brought over plate after plate of food. The smell of the pot roast, Brussels sprouts, mashed potatoes, and green beans wafted toward me, and my mouth began to water. Emma handed me the serving utensils, and for the next ten minutes, the four of us focused mainly on food rather than anything else.

“I do have one question,” I eventually said. “How did you get the letter into my apartment?”

Aunt Heather shared a look with the other two, and I started feeling uncomfortable. When she put her utensils down completely, I had a feeling the answer wasn’t going to be something I liked. In my mind, I began charting out an escape plan. If these people were actually weirdo serial killers, I was going to make a run for it. I wasn’t going to let myself be led to the slaughter.

“Did you seriously not send the letter through the post office, Mom?” Elsa asked.

Aunt Heather shook her head. “I couldn’t be sure it would get there.”

“Then you send it registered mail,” Elsa said.

“What, so someone can hack the USPS website and list it as delivered?”

“Yes, Mom, there are hackers all over the internet just waiting to mess with the tracking of your letters.” She turned to me. “Sorry, Robin. Mom is a bit weird when it comes to the post office. I knew we should have let Grandma send the letter.”

“Absolutely not,” Aunt Heather said. “Your grandmother is a lot of things, but subtle is not one of them, and I didn’t want to scare poor Robin off before she had a chance to get to know us.”

“Yeah, well, now she’s going to be scared off since you couldn’t get over your irrational fear of the post office and deliver the letter like a normal human being,” Elsa said, shaking her head.

“What’s going on?” I asked, my eyes darting from one woman to the other. “Someone tell me how that letter got into my apartment.”

“It was magic,” Elsa said, and Aunt Heather gasped.

“Seriously,” I replied. “I want to know how it got there.”

“I am completely serious,” Elsa said. “We’re a family of witches, going back generations, and you’re one of us.”

I looked at Aunt Heather, my brow furrowed. “What is she talking about?”

“She’s right,” Aunt Heather said quietly. “Everyone in this room has magical powers.”

I couldn’t help myself, and I rolled my eyes. I had always been good at science, and people who believed in that hippy-dippy nonsense were kind of ridiculous. I couldn’t believe my own biological family was part of that group. “What, so you use crystals and stuff and chant at the moon? Lots of people do that. That doesn’t explain how the letter got into my apartment.”

“No,” Aunt Heather said quietly. “We have real, actual magical powers. I flew into your apartment and left the letter on your table.”

I stared from face to face. Aunt Heather looked apologetic. Elsa looked defiant, and Emma just looked concerned, as if she wasn’t sure how I was going to react. “Okay,” I said. “Fun joke. But seriously, someone tell me how that letter got into my apartment.”

“She’s telling the truth,” Emma said. “We all have magic within us, and you’re no exception. You can cast spells. You’re a kitchen witch, like the rest of us, which means you have an easier time making delicious food than humans do.”

I sighed. “Okay, maybe this was a mistake. I shouldn’t have come here.”

Suddenly feeling overwhelmed, I pushed back from the table and ran toward the entrance.

“Robin, wait,” Elsa called out after me, but I heard Aunt Heather behind her.

“Let her go. Give her space.”

I shook my head as I rushed out of the house. Why had I come here? I had hoped to find a better life in Washington, hoped to maybe start a new life here with people I was related to.

And yet, it turned out everyone in my biological family was completely insane. They thought they were actual witches? With real magical powers? And then Aunt Heather said she used magic to get into my apartment and leave the letter?

It was all so ridiculous, I couldn’t stand it.

Tears filled my eyes as I half-walked, half-ran away from the house. I hadn’t known what to expect, but literally insane people wasn’t it. Was this why my mom had given me up when I was a baby? Was she a normal person who knew the rest of her family were insane and didn’t want me to be a part of it? Did she know how ridiculous they all sounded?

I stopped, breathing hard. This wasn’t my fault. Aunt Heather had seemed perfectly normal in her letter. In fact, she’d seemed perfectly normal at first even in person. It wasn’t my fault. I couldn’t have guessed that she believed she had magical powers and led her daughters to believe the same.

Honestly, it was the twenty-first century. It wasn’t like we lived in Salem hundreds of years ago. Everyone knew witches weren’t real. Nobody put Harry Potter on TV and went “hmm, yes, a documentary.” That was ridiculous. It wasn’t my fault for assuming my biological family weren’t going to be a bunch of completely insane people.

I was still a few minutes from town, in the middle of a road surrounded by woods, and it was getting dark. I was going to have to pick up the pace. Suddenly, a small kitten rushed out in front of me. He stopped when he saw me. His eyes were a beautiful hazel, and his coat was the color of a caramel latte, with darker streaks that gave him a bit of a tiger look.

“Hi there, sweetie,” I said, smiling at the kitten. “Are you alright?” I made the pss-pss-pss noise everyone seemed to make to attract cats, trying to see if he’d come over to me.

“Seriously?” the cat said. “Why do humans always think that’s going to work?”

My mouth dropped open. “What?”

“That stupid sound. Why do you think it’s going to work? If you want me to come over to you, give me a reason. Maybe you’ve got a piece of salmon in your pocket. That would get me to come over in an instant. But a stupid noise? You’ve got to do better than that.”

Oh boy. The cat was talking. Why was the cat talking?

Aunt Heather had drugged me. That was the only explanation. It must have been in the pot roast.

Thank goodness I’d gotten out of there when I did. There was no telling what her plans for me had been.

I ignored the cat and continued walking. I had to get back to the hotel, sleep off this weird high, and then get into my car and get out of here. I had no idea where I was going, but there wasn’t a chance of me spending another minute in Spellford Cove. Not a chance.

“Excuse me,” the cat said, obviously annoyed at the fact that I was ignoring him. “First you try and goad me over to you, and now you won’t reply when spoken to? They just gave me the rudest human on the planet, didn’t they?”

I stopped and looked at the cat. “Fine. Let’s pretend you’re really talking.”

“I am really talking.”

“No, I’m having a bad trip, that’s what’s happening. Some crazy woman drugged me. Cats don’t talk.”

“Normal cats don’t talk, sure. But I am no mere normal cat. I am your familiar, Robin Carter. My name is William Shakespaw, but you can call me Shakes. It’s my preferred name.”

I rubbed my temples. I could feel a headache coming on. Probably from the drugs. “Right. Shakes. And you talk. Because you’re my familiar.”

“Exactly. I’m glad you’re starting to get it,” Shakes replied.

“Yeah, I only have one question… what on earth is a familiar?”

“Seriously? What kind of witch doesn’t know what a familiar is?”

“I’m not a witch,” I shrieked, and in that moment I realized maybe I didn’t have quite as good a grasp on my emotions as I should have.

“Great, they gave me a psycho,” Shakes muttered.

I looked at him, incredulous. “Really? You’re the talking cat and you think I’m a psycho? Whatever. I’m not a witch, you’re not really talking, I’m going back to the hotel to sleep this off, and in the morning I’m getting out of here and going somewhere—literally anywhere—else.”

I continued down the street, and to my dismay, Shakes kept following me.

“I knew you had no idea about your past, but I had no idea you’d be this deep in denial. Do you know how many humans there are who would love to find out they had magical powers?”

“Sure,” I replied. “I was one of them once too. When I was twelve. And then I grew up, realized magic isn’t real, and got straight As and Bs in my science classes, where we learn how the world actually works.”

“Wow, you are deep in denial,” Shakes said.

“Whatever.”

We had reached the main part of town again, and as I walked down the street I refused to talk to Shakes, even though he continued to follow along. After all, unlike the rest of my biological family, I wasn’t about to talk to a cat in public and let any passersby think I was insane.

I got to the hotel, closed the door behind me, leaving Shakes out in the night—after all, cats weren’t allowed in the hotel—and went up to my room to sleep off whatever it was I’d been given.

And in the morning, I was going to get the heck out of Dodge as fast as I could.

Chapter 4

I woke up the following morning to the sound of birds chirping outside and sunlight streaming in through the window. For a minute, I didn’t quite know where I was. Birds, chirping? Certainly not in the part of Minneapolis where I lived.

Then, it all came flooding back to me. I wasn’t in Minnesota anymore. I was in Washington. And I’d met my biological family. My aunt Heather had tried to convince me I was a witch, and then she drugged me, and I thought I could speak to a cat who had followed me back to the hotel. At least the effects of the drug had worn off by now. I felt completely fine.

So when the cat that had followed me home the night before jumped up on the bed, I let out a little yelp of surprise. “You!”

“Of course, me,” he replied. “Did you really think I was going to let my witch go so easily?”

“How did you get in here?”

“I’m a cat. We’re known for our stealth,” he said, licking a paw casually, and that was when I noticed the grate leading to the heating vent had been moved. He must have gotten in that way.

“Why are you still talking? Haven’t the drugs worn off yet?”

“There were no drugs, Robin,” Shakes replied, shaking his head. “Your Aunt Heather was telling the truth. You’re a witch.”

“I’m not. There’s no such thing as magic.”

“Did you ever have friends as a kid that people thought were imaginary?”

I thought back to my childhood. There had been Peter, an old ship captain who had been shipwrecked near Duluth. My parents had always told me he wasn’t real, but I could see him.

“Okay, fine,” I replied. “There was one person.”

“And you were the only one who knew he wasn’t imaginary, right?”

I nodded. To be honest, I had always struggled with the fact that when everyone else abandoned their imaginary friends, I could still see mine. Peter used to come by once a week or so to hang out with me. He told me he enjoyed the company. But eventually, when I got older and it got embarrassing to have “imaginary” friends, I started ignoring him when we were around other people. He began coming around less and less often, and then eventually he disappeared completely.

I always figured that was what had happened to everyone’s “imaginary” friends.

“The thing is, Robin, you weren’t talking to an imaginary friend. You were talking to a ghost. You have phantasleosis, the ability to speak with spirits, a skill that’s rare even among witches.”

“That’s not a thing,” I said. “It’s just not.”

“Didn’t you ever notice when you were a kid that sometimes things would happen because you wanted them to? Because you needed them to? Things that didn’t seem normal, and didn’t really have an explanation?”

Again, I had to admit that had happened a couple of times. Like when we went to the aquarium on a field trip in fourth grade and Sandra Bellamy spent the whole day bullying me. At the end of the day we were at the shark tank, looking down into the water, and she leaned over the edge. I wished with all my might that she would fall in, and lo and behold, that was exactly what happened. It was as if an invisible force pushed her into the water, and even though she kicked her feet to try and regain her balance she fell right in.

The aquarium staff were immediately on it, of course. They got her out, and Sandra didn’t become shark food that day. I eventually told myself that it was just a coincidence, that I had nothing to do with it. And I believed it. I still believed it, to this day. But it kind of made sense…

No. Magic wasn’t real. I wasn’t having it.

“This is stupid,” I said. “Magic isn’t a real thing. You’re not really talking. I’m getting breakfast, and I’m getting out of here.”

“I’ll be here when you come back,” Shakes replied.

“Don’t shed anywhere,” I warned him. “Pets aren’t allowed in this hotel, and I don’t want to find myself with an extra cleaning fee. I can’t afford it.”

“Sheesh, it’s ironic when humans tell cats not to be dirty,” he muttered as I left the room.

I shook my head. There was no way. I was still going insane. Maybe the drugs were long-lasting. I mean, I didn’t really know of any hallucinogens that lasted over fifteen hours, but then I’d never been a drug user, so it wasn’t as if I was an expert or anything.

Hopefully a nice, strong coffee would get any remaining drugs out of my system and I could stop talking to the cat.

I did a quick Google search and found that the Forest Café on main street was the go-to place for a cheap, good breakfast. Sure enough, it looked like every single other diner-style establishment on the planet. Vinyl-coated booths, the warm smell of coffee wafting through the air, a cheerful-looking waitress wandering around with a jug doing refills, that sort of thing.

“Hey there, have a seat wherever you’d like, dear,” the waitress told me in passing. Her voice was like honey, with a bit of a southern twang to it. I decided to head for the counter, rather than taking up an entire booth myself, as the place was bustling, even on a Tuesday morning.

That was a good sign, for sure.

I settled myself in at one of the stools at the counter and found they were quite comfortable. I was already feeling good about this decision.

“Let me grab you a menu there,” the waitress said, sliding over a laminated book with at least four pages worth of options. Yes, I was feeling better and better about this decision.

After a couple of minutes I placed my order—a large coffee and a grand slam breakfast of bacon, eggs, sausage, toast, and hash browns—and pulled out my phone to figure out where I was going to go today. The world was my oyster, after all. There was no way I was staying in Spellford Cove, but I also didn’t really have anything to go home to in Minneapolis, either. I’d mostly stayed there out of inertia rather than any real sentiment toward the city.

I had grown up as a city person, and I naturally gravitated toward them. The natural option, of course, was Seattle. It was the biggest city nearby—I didn’t think my poor car would be able to handle much more interstate travel—and while I knew cost of living was an issue, I figured I could make it there.

Plus, I had always thought the Seahawks had a nicer color scheme than the Vikings. Not that I could admit to that back when I was in Minnesota.

The waitress put my food in front of me right as a man slipped onto the stool next to me. I didn’t really look over or anything. I was caught up in my food and trying to figure out how long it was going to take me to get to Seattle and where I could stay for cheap until I found a place to live. Or where I could sleep in my car and get a cheap gym membership to shower.

I began eating my food while the waitress took the order of the man next to me.

“Now, what’s a pretty woman like you doing sitting here eating on your own?” he asked, and I rolled my eyes, ignoring him. Creepy guys weren’t exactly a new thing, and I refused to give a man the time of day if he didn’t bother to respect my personal space.

“Hey,” he said again. “I’m talking to you.”

I turned and looked at him while the waitress put a cup of coffee in front of him. “And I’m not talking to you.”

“What the hell? Why not?”

“I don’t have to give you a reason. You’re not entitled to my time. But for the record, it’s because you automatically started hitting on me, which is super creepy.” I turned back to my phone and began munching away on my food again, ignoring the man. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted the waitress giving me an approving grin.

“Whatever, bitch,” the man muttered as the waitress put his order in front of him. He grunted and wandered off. While he was gone, I took the opportunity to move to the next seat over, and the waitress came over to me. Her brown curls framed her face nicely, and she had a real friendly, motherly look to her.

“Don’t you pay Charlie Johnson no mind,” she told me. “He’s the worst, and we all know it. You ignore him, but if he starts to be too much of a bother, you let me know, and I’ll make sure he gets kicked out of here. I’m Dora, by the way.”

“Thanks,” I said to her with a grateful smile. “I appreciate it.”

She winked at me and refilled my coffee. I took another sip of it, and tears welled in my eyes as I realized how stupid I’d been. I’d moved across the country on a whim, with no money, a negative net worth, no prospects for the future, and no safety net.

I had no family I could depend on. Mom and Dad had both been only children, and all of my grandparents had died when I was a teenager. I was all alone in this world, and I’d seen a chance, and it had blown up spectacularly in my face.

Now I had no home, no job, no place to live, I didn’t even know what state I was about to live in. Everything in my life fit into my car, I’d been drugged by crazy people, and it was all just… a lot.

I took a deep breath and tried to settle myself down as Charlie returned to his chair.

“What, you’re too good to have someone try and be nice to you?” he asked me when he realized I’d moved over, and I couldn’t help myself. I flipped him off in response.

I didn’t want to make a scene. Not here. Not now.

No, I wanted to eat my food, check out of the hotel, drive north to Seattle, and try to forget about this unfortunate side trip to Spellford Cove, a place I would never visit again in my entire life.

“What the hell is wrong with you, girl?” he snarled at me.

I looked over at him, realizing a few of the nearby patrons were suddenly paying attention to us. “What’s wrong with me? You’re the one who can’t take a hint that I don’t want to talk to you, and yet you don’t seem to be getting the picture. I came here to eat breakfast in peace, and I’m allowed to do that without having some creepy old man trying to hit on me.”

It was one of my pet peeves that men thought they were automatically entitled to my time and space, as if women existed as nothing more than vessels for their own enjoyment that they could use and speak to at will. Men like Charlie would never have struck up a conversation with a random man. And as much as I didn’t want to make a scene, sometimes I just didn’t know when to keep my mouth shut.

“Charlie, you’re going to have to leave if that’s how you’re going to be,” Dora said from her spot behind the counter, crossing her arms. He looked over at her.

“Seriously, how am I the bad guy here?”

“Because our patrons have the right to eat their food in peace without being bothered. She says you’re bothering her, and you don’t get to decide that you’re not. So either sit your butt down on that stool and don’t say another word to her, or you can leave right now.”

Charlie looked like he wanted to say something, opened his mouth to argue, then saw Dora’s serious-as-anything face and decided against it.

He turned to me, glared, and sat back down on his stool, focusing on his food.

Dora shot me a wink, and I realized half the restaurant was staring at us. Great. At least in an hour I was never going to see anyone in this place again. I buried myself in my food, finishing off the eggs and bacon and starting on the hash browns. Nothing was going right in Spellford Cove, and I wanted to get out of here and on my way more than anything.

Suddenly, Charlie began choking on his food. I rolled my eyes; could a person not eat in peace here? But when a moment later he hadn’t stopped, I realized there was something really wrong with him. His face had gone red, and he stumbled about.

Before anyone had a chance to do anything, he fell forward, landing face-first into his plate of bacon and eggs before slipping off the edge of the counter and landing on the floor, less than a foot away from me, motionless.

You could have heard a pin drop for about five seconds before a woman jumped out from one of the booths. “Albert, call 911,” she ordered, pointing to her companion while she rushed over to Charlie. She crouched over him and checked his pulse, and after a moment sat back on her haunches.

“He’s not alright, is he?” the waitress asked in a hushed whisper.

The woman shook her head.

“I’m afraid he’s dead.”

Chapter 5

I’d never been more stunned in my life than when I heard the woman utter those words. Dead? I’d never actually seen someone die before.

“Did he have a heart attack?” I asked.

The woman shrugged. “There’s no way for me to know. It didn’t look that way to me. But we’ll have to see what the officials say.”

She got up and went back to her table, where her husband was on the phone. She whispered something to him and then came back.

“Dora, would you mind making sure everyone who’s here now stays in the diner until the police get here?” I heard her ask the waitress quietly. “And make a note of everyone who’s in here now. I think there’s a chance Charlie was poisoned.”

Dora’s face lost all color, but she simply pressed her lips together and nodded, grabbing her notepad from the apron at her waist and jotting down names.

“And you, sweetie?” she asked me after a minute. “What’s your name?”

“Robin Carter,” I replied. “I’m just passing through town.”

“Well, I’m sorry you had to see this,” Dora said quietly.

“Thanks.”

Dora went around refilling coffee cups and apparently explaining to all the patrons that they had to stay in their seats. I was surprised; most people seemed completely fine with it. In fact, people seemed more curious about the death than anything else.

My appetite was gone; I wasn’t going to be eating anything with a dead man just lying about a foot away from me. In fact, I crossed my legs underneath me under the counter. Luckily, it only took about five minutes for an ambulance to arrive, along with a man who was obviously the chief of police.

Medium height, chubby, bald, and looking to be about fifty, although I had a sneaking suspicion he had to be about ten years younger than that, the man walked in with a badge on his belt and that kind of swanky attitude that screamed “I know I’m a cop and there’s nothing you can do to me, even if I do something wrong.” I immediately disliked him. The two officers who had come to my apartment in Minneapolis were much more obviously friendly, and approachable, and willing to help.

The man waddled over to the body.

“Charlie Johnson, then,” he said, nodding as he looked at it. “Who knew he’d meet his end in the Forest Diner? I guess his heart finally gave out.”

“If you don’t mind me saying, I don’t think that’s what happened,” the woman who had checked his pulse said, and the chief turned to her slowly, narrowing his eyes at her.

“Who asked you?” he asked.

She shrugged. “You know, with my medical expertise—” she started.

But the chief shook his head. “I don’t care what you think you know, this is my case. And as far as I’m concerned, he died of natural causes.”

“Umm, I don’t think that’s accurate,” one of the EMTs loading up the body said. “This body smells like almonds. I think you may have cyanide poisoning on your hands.”

“You have got to be kidding me,” the chief said. “Fine. Well, load him up and take him away. I’ll start taking statements.”

I barely listened as the chief continued to bark out orders. Cyanide? Someone had killed the guy next to me on purpose? But how? And why?

It was then that I realized that whoever had poisoned him must have done so while I was sitting right there. I was only a few feet away. I had my face buried in my phone half the time while he had gone to the bathroom; someone could easily have slipped something into his coffee and I wouldn’t have noticed. But it was incredibly creepy to think that someone put cyanide in his cup not far from me.

I really, really couldn’t wait to get out of this place. Everything just got worse and worse.

The chief of police came over to me. “I don’t recognize you,” he said.

“I’m just passing through town.”

“Look, this is likely to be a murder. I need you to stay in town until I can sort things out.”

“What?” I said, my face blanching. “But… I can’t.”

“Where do you live?”

“Minneapolis,” I replied instinctively. The man shook his head.

“Nope, sorry. I can’t have you crossing state lines. Look, it’s just going to take a couple of days to sort this out, tops, okay? If it turns out he wasn’t murdered, you can go on your merry way. But I’m told you had an argument with the deceased minutes before he collapsed, so I need you to stay in town. Where are you staying?”

“The Spellford Lodge,” I replied quietly. Seriously? Okay, I actually did understand why I couldn’t leave town. This guy didn’t seem like the sharpest tool in the shed, but it did make sense that he’d need to get in touch with me if this was a real murder. At the very least, he had to be sure.

So yeah, this messed with my plans a little bit. But just because I was stuck in Spellford Cove didn’t mean I had to be involved in the town at all. I could spend a day or two holed up in my hotel room, looking up places in Seattle. I could start job hunting. And I wouldn’t have a thing to do with my weird family that drugged me and tried to make me think magic was real.

“Fine,” I said. “I’ll stay in town for now.”

He pulled open a notepad. “Let me get your phone number. I might need to take a statement from you.”

I gave it to him, then he nodded. “You’re free to go.”

I went to pay Dora, who waved me away. “On the house. Don’t worry about it. You’ve been through a lot this morning.”

“Thanks,” I said to her gratefully as I left the diner. My head spun. Had that really just happened? Had a man just died next to me? What was going on? This town was cursed.

I headed back to the hotel, focused on my destination, when I suddenly heard a voice call out to me.

“Robin! Robin, wait!”

I turned to see Elsa coming after me and waving. I groaned. I didn’t want to talk to her. But it would be rude to keep walking now. At least we were in public, and I was strictly going to refuse any food or drink she offered me.

“Hi,” Elsa said when she reached me, puffing slightly. “Thanks for waiting. Listen, I know last night was a shock to you.”

“Yeah, because your whole family is insane.”

“I know it seems like we’re not telling the truth, but we are.”

“I’m not doing this. You drugged me. I know you drugged me.”

“Wait, what?”

“Was it LSD? What you gave me.”

Elsa laughed uneasily. “Seriously? You think we drugged you?”

“Well, how else do you explain the fact that on my way home from you I ran into a talking cat? Yeah, you drugged me. I know it.”

“First of all, LSD is expensive. There’s no way I’d be wasting the good stuff on you.” I raised my eyebrows. “Secondly, we didn’t give you anything. That cat’s your familiar. Most witches have them. You can speak to your familiar, and they can reply.”

I shook my head. “Okay, I’m going. I’ve had it with this.”

“Robin, wait,” Elsa said again. This time, I kept walking. I’d had it. Just then, I stopped in my tracks. The sidewalk in front of me had suddenly turned purple.

I looked to Elsa, who pointed at it again. It turned blue and then went back to plain gray.

“What on earth are you doing?” I asked.

“Proving to you that we weren’t making it up.” Elsa looked around. “Look, we’re too exposed here. I can’t cast a spell for more than a second or two in case someone sees, but I’m telling you, magic is real.”

I wanted with every fiber of my being to argue with her, but the fact was, I’d seen the sidewalk change color. There was no way she could have done that.

“Come with me, then,” I said, leading her away from the street. We went down an alley. “If you try to stab me or something, I’m telling you, I am a very good fighter and I won’t go down easily.”

Elsa laughed. “Good to know, but don’t worry. I have no intention of doing anything other than showing you your true self.”

She closed her eyes and held her hands out toward the wall, as if she were blindfolded and reaching out for something to hold. Suddenly, a mural appeared, a gorgeous crow with its wings spread wide in front of a full moon. I gasped as I watched the art appear out of nowhere.

When she was finished, Elsa motioned me toward it. “Go ahead. You can check it out. There’s no trick to it, nothing weird about it. You genuinely have magical powers. I’m sorry we didn’t show you last night. Honestly, we’ve never had to explain magic to a human before, and I don’t think any of us realized just how vehemently opposed you would be to the entire idea.”

I stepped forward carefully, as if expecting the whole mural to disappear. “Okay, I have to say, this is gorgeous,” I said, my hands carefully tracing the outside of the mural. Sure enough, it was painted onto the wall, as if it had been there for months. I looked around but couldn’t find any sign of some sort of trick.

I turned and looked at Elsa. “Tell me to do something,” she said. “I’ll do it.”

I looked around the alley. There was a shopping cart in the corner. It was old and rusted, one wheel was missing, and the coin slot had long since been pried open, obviously by someone who didn’t realize you got the coins back after shopping.

“Make that look brand new again,” I said, pointing at the cart. Elsa nodded, and I watched as she looked at the cart and pointed a finger at it. I gasped when, a second later, the cart was instantly transformed into a glimmering, brand-new stainless steel cart, with all its wheels, and the coin slot back to functional, instead of lying in plastic pieces on the ground.

Chapter 6

“How did you do that?” I whispered, even though deep down I already knew the answer.

“Magic,” Elsa said simply. “I wasn’t kidding. I have magical powers, and so do you. You could do this, too, if you honed your skills. I know, it must be a lot to take in. But you’re not on drugs. You can talk to that cat because he’s your familiar. What’s his name?”

“Williams Shakespaw,” I answered. “But he goes by Shakes.” It felt weird telling this story to another person. I mean, regular people didn’t talk to animals.

“Cool,” Elsa said. “My familiar is a dog. I’m sure you’ll meet him at some point; he loves people.”

I rubbed my eyes, then looked at the mural and the shopping cart again. A part of me had half expected them to disappear, like this was all just some sort of cheap trick. “Shakes was saying that I can see ghosts,” I said.

“Can you? Wow, that’s a rare skill.”

“I don’t know,” I replied. “But I did have an imaginary friend when I was a kid. Well, everyone else said he was imaginary. I knew he wasn’t. He stopped coming around when I got older and started pretending I couldn’t see him.”

Elsa nodded. “It certainly sounds like you can see ghosts. Not all witches and wizards can. None of us can.”

“Is it… hereditary then? This magic thing?”

“Yes. It’s a recessive gene, though. So there aren’t a whole lot of us out there, and we have to continue the magical line by marrying into other magical families.”

“How many witches and wizards are there in the world?”

“Millions,” Elsa said. “Although we make it a rule not to let humans know about our powers. There’s a council of paranormals that you can be brought in front of for breaking paranormal rules, and that’s numero uno. Never, ever let the regular humans know about your powers.”

My head spun. “So how come you never found me until now? Did you not know I existed?”

Elsa shook her head. “No, we had no idea. Not a clue. I asked Aunt Heather about it when she told us about you. She said right around the time when your mother would have been pregnant she went on a road trip. None of us thought anything of it, of course, and she came back after four months raving about the Grand Canyon and beignets from Café du Monde.”

“How did you find out about me, then?”

“Your mother cast a spell on you the instant you were born. Witches and wizards have an aura to them. It can sense when there’s a paranormal they’re related to. For example, I can sense you very strongly right now, since you’re my cousin.”

“I don’t feel anything around you,” I said.

Elsa nodded. “That’s because your magical powers aren’t developed yet. You will. Anyway, the moment your mother died the spell she cast to hide you from other paranormals was lifted. Grandma, the most powerful of us all, sensed your presence and told Aunt Heather. They then decided to offer you your birthright, the bakery your mother built and spent most of her life running.”

“How did she die?” I asked. “My biological mother, I mean.”

Elsa sighed. “I don’t know. Mom said she had pancreatic cancer, but I’m not sure I believe her. There was no sign your biological mother was sick. She found out two weeks before, and then she was gone. And Mom isn’t a great liar. But there’s no reason for her to lie. And that is what the hospital determined: complications from cancer. I had a friend who works there check for me.”

“Who’s my biological father then, do you know?”

“No. No one has any idea. Your mother never even told anyone she was pregnant. She just up and left, and Mom says she didn’t know of any boyfriends your mother had at the time.”

“Wait,” I said. “So if magical genes are recessive, if Mom had a relationship with a human I wouldn’t have magical powers. How do you know I’m a witch?”

“Your aura,” Elsa replied simply. “I can feel it. I wouldn’t if you didn’t have powers. We don’t know who your father was, but he was a wizard, or at the very least he had magical blood in him.”

“Okay. Listen, this is a lot to take in at once.”

“I get that,” Elsa said. “Sorry for kind of launching it on you last night. For what it’s worth, Emma didn’t think it was a good idea. She figured it would go exactly the way it did go. I came down this morning to try and find you to apologize. We should have been more… I don’t know. But we did screw up.”

“Thanks,” I said with a laugh. I was starting to warm to Elsa once more. “If you don’t mind, I might just spend a bit of time at the hotel. I’ve got a lot to think about.”

“Sure,” Elsa replied. “Here’s my number. Call or text anytime, about anything. Don’t forget, we still have the apartment above the bakery for you if you decide you want to live here after all.”

“I have one more question,” I said.

“Shoot.”

“Do you regularly do LSD?”

Elsa laughed. “No, certainly not. I’ve been known to partake on occasion, usually to celebrate the equinox, but even then it was mostly when I was younger. But I know enough to know it’s too expensive to dose someone for fun. And also, I would never do that, for safety’s sake.”

“Fair enough,” I said. Honestly, I was a bit relieved to know that I hadn’t been drugged at all, even if that did mean magic was real.

I took the number and headed back to the hotel. It was going to take me a bit of time to decompress and come to terms with what I’d just learned. It was… a lot. To say the least.

Magic. Magic. Magic was real. And apparently I now had a cat who could speak to me.

And that wasn’t even counting the fact that a man was murdered right next to me earlier.

It wasn’t even ten in the morning and I desperately needed a bottle of wine. Or seven.

Instead, I went back to the hotel, checked in for another night, and headed up to my room, where Shakes had found himself a spot in the sun and was curled up into a little ball, sleeping soundly. I slapped the Do Not Disturb sign on the door, wished I could apply it to all of humanity, and crawled under the covers, wishing I could go back to when life was simple.

Unfortunately, reality didn’t exactly work that way.

* * *

Between the coffee and the adrenaline from the day, as much as I wanted to slip back into unconsciousness and forget about everything going on in my life for a minute, it just wasn’t happening. I lay in bed, my eyes closed, but all I could think about was this new reality. Magic was an actual thing. It wasn’t just created in a Hollywood studio. It was a real, honest-to-goodness thing that existed.

Then, I had to laugh: all those conspiracy theorists who thought things like NASA had faked the moon landing or that Australia was a giant hoax and the country didn’t exist had missed a super cool and super real conspiracy theory that was right there for the taking: magic was real and there were actual witches and wizards living in broad daylight among all of us.

In fact, there were millions of them, according to Elsa.

Then, my mind moved on to Charlie Johnson. He had died right in front of me. And the EMTs said he’d been murdered. A man had been killed just feet away from me and somehow that was the second most interesting thing that had happened to me today.

Life really does come at you fast.

Eventually, Shakes woke up. “You’re back,” he said.

I nodded. “Yeah. And I found out you really are talking to me. This isn’t a bad trip after all.”

“I’ve been telling you that since yesterday.”

“Yeah, but if I was on drugs that’s exactly what the talking cat in my head would say.”

“I suppose that’s true. You know, Samuel Taylor Coleridge wrote the entirety of Kubla Khan when he was on drugs.”

“I didn’t know that,” I replied. Was I seriously discussing English poetry with a cat?

“It’s true. The poem came to him in an opium dream, and as soon as he woke up he began writing it down. Then, after a while, a man came to his door and Coleridge spoke to him for a while. When the man left, Coleridge went back to his poem and found that he’d forgotten the rest of it. So it remains unfinished.”

“Go figure,” I said. “Well, I don’t know how well I work on drugs, and I have no intention of ever finding out. I suppose in a way it’s a relief that your talking is actually real. Although it might take some time for me to get used to it.”

“Hey, I’m not used to talking to witches, either,” Shakes replied.

My phone binged then, letting me know I had received a text. I pulled out my phone and checked the screen; it was from Elsa.

Mom wants you to know you’re invited to dinner again tonight, but no pressure. She gets it if you don’t want to come back.

A smile spread across my face. That was exactly the way my mom would have reacted too. She was quick to forgive. The fact that Aunt Heather was the same way made me feel so much better about this place.

I supposed I should put my plans to move to Seattle on hold. I mean, if my biological family hadn’t drugged me after all and magic was real—and as much as I tried, I couldn’t figure out how Elsa could have made that mural or fixed up the shopping cart without magic—then I was wrong about them being crazy people.

And I figured I could give them another chance.

I texted Elsa back, letting her know that I’d come to dinner. She said to be there at six, and there would be a place set for me. I also found, to my surprise, a warm and fuzzy feeling I hadn’t felt in a long time taking over me. It was the feeling of unconditional love. Aunt Heather didn’t know me. In fact, we’d spent maybe twenty minutes together before I called her crazy and stormed off. But she’d still invited me back for dinner the next night, and I had to say, it had been a long time since I’d felt that kind of pure love.

Three years, in fact.

I let myself reminisce about my parents for a little bit before turning back to matters at hand. If I wanted to learn to be a witch and use magic, I was going to have to stay in Spellford Cove. And if I was completely honest, I desperately wanted to learn. I mean, I’d grown up like everyone else, believing magic wasn’t a real thing. Magic was for books. But now I’d learned it was real, and I could do it? Heck yes. I was all for it.

That meant staying in Spellford Cove. Which meant I’d have the opportunity to take over my mother’s bakery. Did I want to do it? I wasn’t quite sure. I had never actually run anything before. I had been the assistant manager at a job a few years ago, and I didn’t think I was too bad at that, until the manager decided he wanted to date me and fired me when I turned him down.

Still, I had never been the type of person to back down from a challenge. I figured as long as I had a support team behind me, and a whole lot of intensive learning, I could figure out how to run a bakery. After all, I knew my way around a kitchen already. And sure, I wasn’t great at accounting or anything, but I could figure it out.

I couldn’t believe I was considering this. But then again, it was probably the least weird thing that had happened to me today.

My phone rang a moment later with a local number that I didn’t recognize. I picked up on the second ring.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Robin?”

“Speaking.”

“This is Police Chief Harry Styles.” I bit back a smile; even though they shared a name the local chief of police looked nothing like the pop star. “I was wondering if you could come by the station sometime shortly so I can take your statement about this morning.”

“Sure,” I replied. “Where is it?”

“Take a left at the end of Main Street onto Beech Avenue, and it’s the second building on the right.”

“Got it, thanks. Do you want me to come by now?”

“Yes, if at all possible.”

“Okay, I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

I hung up the phone and did a quick search on my maps app. Sure enough, Beech Avenue was only about a block away from here, which meant I wasn’t far at all. I got out of bed, ran a brush through my hair, double-checked in the mirror to make sure I looked human—although I suppose I wasn’t human, really—and headed out the door after saying goodbye to Shakes.

Chapter 7

The police station in Spellford Cove was located in what had once been an old craftsman’s cottage. It was actually pretty cute, painted in gray with white trim, and set back a bit from the street. The station was even surrounded by a white picket fence, although the fence was dotted with official signage indicating it was a police station, as well as a few PSAs about drunk driving and that sort of thing.

I passed through the gate and walked up to the front door, stepping inside to find myself in an entrance-hall-turned-reception-office. A bored-looking woman in officer’s clothing sat at the desk in front of me and looked up from her computer when I walked in.

“Yes?” she asked, not bothering to make her voice sound remotely interested in my problem.

“I’m here to see Chief Styles,” I said.

She motioned with her thumb to the room to her right. “Through there, to the room at the back.”

I went through and found Chief Styles sitting behind a plain wooden desk, the bulge of his stomach pressing against it. He looked up when he saw me and motioned for me to sit in front of him.

“Right. I need to get a statement from you.”

“Sure.” I sat down gingerly on the chair in front of him.

“So you say you’re from Minneapolis, then?”

I nodded.

“What brings you here?”

“My biological mother died,” I blurted out. “I don’t know her name, but she owns the bakery here. Queen of Tarts.”

Chief Styles raised an eyebrow. “Your mother was Diane Eames?”

I nodded. “I only found out about her when my Aunt Heather contacted me a few days ago.”

“So you came to town to…”

I shrugged. “To meet my biological family, I guess.”

“Are you taking over the bakery?”

“I’m not sure yet.” I did want to, but I also didn’t feel like opening up to this guy. I didn’t know him at all, and the impression he’d made on me so far wasn’t exactly that of a fantastic cop who always did his best to help people.

Chief Styles made a sound in the back of his throat then looked down at his sheets of paper.

“Right. So what were you doing in the diner?”

“Eating breakfast.”

“The victim was Charlie Johnson. Did you know him?”

I shook my head. “No.”

“How long have you been in town?”

“Since yesterday, late morning.”

“So you only came across Charlie for the first time this morning at the diner?”

“That’s right.”

“I heard you had an altercation with him.”

My blood began running cold in my veins. “If that’s what you call his refusal to take no for an answer,” I replied.

“Tell me about it.”

“He tried hitting on me, I told him I wasn’t interested, he insisted on continuing then got mad when I wouldn’t give him the time of day. I told him I didn’t exist entirely to do his bidding, told him to leave me alone, and he took exception to it. Eventually Dora told him off and threatened to kick him out if he didn’t leave me alone. He stopped, took another bite or two of his food, then started to choke. He was dead within, I don’t know, thirty seconds or so.”

“Did you notice anyone going near his food?”

“No, but I wasn’t paying attention to his plate. I was looking stuff up on my phone.”

“Right, your generation is always on their phone. Did Charlie get up from his spot at all?”

“Yeah, he left for a few minutes at some point. I assumed he went to the bathroom, but I don’t know for sure.”

“How long would you say he was gone, exactly?”

I shrugged. “Again, I wasn’t really paying attention. Maybe two, three minutes?”

“Do you make a habit of carrying cyanide around with you?”

“What?” I replied, my mouth dropping open. “You can’t be serious.”

“Just answer the question.”

“No, of course I don’t, because I’m not a freaking psycho.”

“Do you currently or have you ever had possession of cyanide?”

“No.”

“When Charlie began choking, what did you do? Did you try to save his life?”

“No. I froze, because I didn’t know what was going on, just like everyone else in the diner. And as I said, it all happened very fast. Within seconds, he was dead.”

“Right. So you’re saying you didn’t kill him.”

“Of course I didn’t. What reason could I possibly have had to want him dead?”

“Well, there was that altercation you had with him. Everyone I’ve spoken to so far has mentioned it.”

“For goodness’ sake, it was a tiny spat with a stranger in a diner. It was literally nothing. If I murdered everyone I had the slightest disagreement with I’d be the most famous serial killer Minnesota had ever seen. This is ridiculous.”

Chief Styles raised his eyebrows. “You seem particularly upset.”

“Yeah, that’s what happens when an idiot with two brain cells accuses you of murder,” I snapped at him. Okay, maybe it hadn’t been the smartest reply. But he had kind of deserved it.

“Excuse me? I’m the chief of police in this town, and I deserve a little bit more respect than that.”

As far as I was concerned, respect was earned, not given, and him accusing me of murder showed that he didn’t deserve any. Seriously, could he have been any more ridiculous? Who just goes around carrying cyanide in their purse, anyway?

Not me, that was for sure.

“You’re staying in town for a while then?” he asked.

“For the forseeable future,” I replied.

“Good. Don’t leave the state.”

I narrowed my eyes at him and stood up. “If you want to speak to me again, go through my lawyer.”

Chief Styles grunted, and I was glad he didn’t call me out for not actually having a lawyer. And I had to admit, as I left the police station and went back to Beech Avenue, my legs felt like jelly. He seriously thought I could be the killer. He had all but accused me of it. What was I going to do? Was I going to go to jail?

Obviously, I hadn’t killed Charlie Johnson, but I couldn’t prove it. And it was true that we’d had an argument only seconds before he died. Still, I hadn’t killed him. I was going to have to prove it, somehow.

Maybe magic could help with that.

I sent Elsa a quick text asking if she wanted to meet up for coffee. She texted back that she’d love that and suggested we meet at The Steam Room, a coffee shop right on Main Street, and I agreed. I walked down the street until I spotted it. The Steam Room was located in an old-style red-brick building that looked to have been built in the beginning of the twentieth century. Huge windows at the front showed an industrial-style interior, full of exposed brick, geometric lighting, Edison bulbs, and tables and chairs made with copious amounts of wood and metal.

The place still managed to have a warm and cozy feel, however—helped in part by the large fireplace in the middle of the room surrounded by comfortable-looking chairs and love seats. I looked around but didn’t see Elsa yet, so I went to the counter and ordered a white hot chocolate. The chalk sign behind the barista announced they made it with real Belgian chocolate, and I definitely wanted to give it a shot. That would be my treat for the day, since I was currently on a budget of approximately zero dollars.

“I got it,” a familiar voice said behind me as I pulled out my credit card to pay, and I turned to see Elsa smiling at me as she handed the cashier some cash. “And can you add a milk chocolate mocha to that order, with extra whipped cream?”

“Of course I can, Elsa,” the cashier said with a smile at my cousin, and her eyes turned to me. “Who’s your new friend?”

“This is Robin. She’s from Minnesota, but try not to hold that against her,” Elsa said with a wink, wrapping an arm around my shoulders, and the cashier laughed.

“It’s nice to meet you, Robin. I hope you’re going to be staying with us for a bit?”

“For a while, I hope,” I said.

“Oh,” the cashier said, her eyes widening. “You’re the one who had that fight with Charlie just before he died, aren’t you?”

Elsa turned to me. “Really?”

I nodded, suddenly feeling shy. “Yeah, that was me. He wouldn’t leave me alone. But I mean, I didn’t kill him!”

“Of course you didn’t,” the cashier replied. “Don’t listen to anyone who says otherwise. And frankly, if you ask me, he had it coming, anyway. The guy was a creep. He’d always come in here when we hired a new cashier or barista and try and hit on her. I had to tell him where to shove it a few times.”

“Yeah, I’m not surprised someone finally did him in,” Elsa said. “But are people saying Robin had something to do with it? You know what, actually? Don’t tell us.”

“No, I want to know,” I interrupted. “Are people saying that? Do people really think I might have killed him?”

The cashier looked uncomfortably from side to side. “I mean, I heard a couple people saying they think it was you. But that’s probably just because you’re from out of town,” she added quickly. “No one wants to think someone in the town they live in is a killer.”

“I hope you’re right,” I said. “Thanks.”

“It was nice to meet you,” the cashier said. “My name’s Indi, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you too.” I forced a smile and followed Elsa to a table by the window, where we sat while waiting for our coffees.

Chapter 8

“Do people really think I’m a killer?” I asked Elsa, looking her in the eye. “Tell me the truth.”

Elsa sighed. “Yes. I mean, I’m sure Indi is right. People are just eyeing you because you’re an outsider and it’s easier to pretend that means you killed him rather than looking at their neighbors with suspicion. But that’s what’s going around right now.”

“Great. I just finished giving Chief Styles my statement, and he practically interrogated me too. He wanted to know if I had cyanide with me. As if that was the sort of thing that I’d just carry around to murder random people with.”

“I know, it sucks,” Elsa said. “This is a small town, and it’s one of the disadvantages of it. The rumor mill moves fast here, and sometimes it grinds up innocent people along the way. But look, give it a few days. People will move on. Some teenagers will get drunk behind the high school and spray-paint a penis on the windows, and people will start talking about that instead. I promise.”

“I hope you’re right,” I said, but I couldn’t help but feel as though maybe Elsa was just trying to make me feel better. After all, a murder was a big thing. Even coming from Minneapolis, I knew that. This wasn’t just going to be talk for a few days. It was going to be longer. Especially if the police didn’t make a quick arrest. “But still. I mean, I’m new in town. I don’t want to make a first impression by having everyone think I’m a murderer. Especially if I’m going to stay here.”

Elsa’s eyes lit up. “You’re thinking of staying?”

“Well, I was considering it. After all, I don’t know anyone else who can…” I paused and lowered my voice to a whisper. “Teach me magic.”

“That’s such seriously wonderful news, and I’m thrilled to hear it,” Elsa said. “I would love to teach you everything I know, magically. I hope you decide to stay. You know what? We’re going to prove you didn’t kill that idiot. And sorry, I don’t believe in not speaking ill of the dead. Not when the dead were awful.”

I smiled. “You sure don’t mince words, do you?”

The barista called out Elsa’s name, and she held up a finger. “Hold that thought. I’ll be right back.”

She got up from her chair and came back with two steaming mugs, one of a gorgeous white chocolate and one of a mocha. The mug she placed in front of me was topped with a heaping tower of whipped cream, with white chocolate shavings scattered over the top.

It looked absolutely scrumptious.

“Thanks for buying,” I told her.

“Oh, of course. You’re the one who moved halfway across the country to be here, and we’re the ones who then scared the poop out of you by telling you you’re a witch without expecting your reaction. The very least I can do is buy you a coffee.”

“I wanted to talk to you about Chief Styles,” I said. “Is he good at his job?”

“He is… not,” Elsa admitted after a moment. “He’s the chief of police in a small town who basically got the job because he managed to spend the most time here without deciding to move somewhere more exciting first. He ended up essentially inheriting the position after the last chief keeled over at his desk.”

“Great. So what you’re saying is the chances of him finding the killer are pretty low.”

Elsa paused for a moment. “Well, they’re not great, to be honest.”

I took a sip of the hot chocolate, and for a minute my world stopped. This must be what it was like to fall in love at first sight. Although in this case, love at first taste. The sweetness of the Belgian white chocolate and the warmth of the milk was cut perfectly with the whipped cream, and I instinctively decided I was going to live here forever so long as The Steam Room was here.

That was how good this hot chocolate was.

“See, I’m thinking whoever killed Charlie knew he was going to be at that diner and purposely went there to kill him,” I said. “After all, it’s ridiculous to assume I had cyanide just hanging around in my purse, and it’s ridiculous to think anyone else would, either. The only reason anyone would ever have that just hanging around is if they were planning on killing someone. Which means this had to be premeditated.”

Elsa nodded. “Good thinking. You’re right, of course. That has to be the case.”

“What I don’t know is anything about Charlie Johnson.”

“Well, I can help with that,” Elsa said. “He’s famous in town for being just a straight-up loser. He used to teach at the high school here, back when I was a kid. That is, until it was revealed he had tried to sleep with a student. She kicked him where the sun don’t shine and went straight to the principal, and Charlie was fired. No charges were filed, but he had his teaching license revoked and basically became a pariah in town after that.”

“No kidding,” I said, shaking my head.

“Frankly, I’m not sure why he insisted on staying in town. Most people thought he’d leave, go make a life somewhere else. But he never did. I guess he was attached to this place. His family has lived here for generations, so it’s not like he had anywhere else to go. So he stayed, working odd jobs in whatever place would take him. He loaded the shelves at the grocery store for years and years before he managed to get himself fired from even that job for stealing.”

“Yikes,” I said, raising my eyebrows.

“Yeah. I think the owner figured as long as he didn’t have to do anything customer-facing he didn’t have much to worry about, but he was wrong.”

“And so now what does he do?”

“Mostly works odd jobs around town. Last I heard he worked as a security guard at a warehouse one town over. I guess he finally ran out of employment prospects here in Spellford Cove.”

“No kidding,” I muttered.

“And it’s not like he’s been an angel here, either,” Elsa said. “A lot of people suspect him of dealing drugs. About six months ago a teenager here overdosed, Daniel Farraway, and it was suspected that Charlie sold him the heroin that killed him. They never found any proof of it, of course. And Charlie denied it vehemently, but he was very much considered to be bad news.”

“No kidding. So let me guess: there was no shortage of people in town who would be glad to see him dead.”

“You can say that again,” Elsa agreed. Then, she gave me a curious look. “Are you trying to figure out who might have killed him?”

“I’m thinking about it,” I admitted. “I mean, if the cops aren’t going to figure out who did it, and people in town are going to think I’m a murderer, then why not? It’s not like I have a ton to lose. I can build a case against someone, then when I figure out who did it, hand everything I know to the cops.”

Elsa nodded. “You know, that’s not the worst idea I’ve ever heard. And Grandma will be all for it too. She loves that sort of thing.”

“Does she live here in town, our grandmother?” I asked.

Elsa nodded. “Yeah. She’s a bit… eccentric, though. Mom thought it might be better to let you get settled in a bit first before you meet her. And that was probably pretty smart of her.”

“Wow, if you guys think she’s weird then I’d definitely better watch out,” I joked.

Elsa laughed. “Don’t let her fool you, either. She has a heart of gold, deep down. Anyway, that’s for a later time. Have you thought about what you want to do with the bakery? Mom says not to ask you about it and to let you take your time, but I can’t help it, I’m curious, and Mom’s not here. Just don’t tell her I asked.”

I laughed. “Fair enough. I was thinking I might give it a shot. I don’t have any experience with running, well, anything though. I’m a bit worried about it, but nothing like jumping into the deep end and trying to figure it all out from there, right?”

“Cool,” Elsa said with a grin. “I was hoping you would say that. I want the shop to stay in the family. It’s a great place. I spent so much time there growing up. Your mom was really cool.”

“Oh yeah?” I asked, curiosity getting the better of me. I had never cared about my biological family while living in Minneapolis, but now that I was here, and spending time with people who had the same blood as me coursing through their veins, I was kind of curious.

Especially given the whole magic situation.

Elsa nodded. “I liked her. She would let me steal cookies from the tray when they’d just come out of the oven when I was a kid. Mom always said she shouldn’t let me do that, but Aunt Diane would say that if I could get the cookies without burning my hands, or if I was willing to burn my hands for the cookies, then I deserved to have one.”

I laughed. “That’s funny. I never liked cookies as a kid, but I loved cookie dough. So whenever Mom would make cookies she’d always separate the dough and make a bit for me that didn’t have any eggs in it. Then she’d roll it up into a log and slice it up into cookies for me, even though they never saw an oven.”

“Aww,” Elsa said with a smile. “That sounds nice.”

“Yeah.”

“Your mom was the cool aunt, the one we could always go to when we had problems. Of course, Emma never did; she was basically perfect. Always had been. But when I had boy trouble, your mom was the one who would give me the best advice. I could go to her about anything.”

“She sounded nice.”

“She was,” Elsa said. “I’m really glad you’re taking over her shop.”

“Thanks.” It felt strange, not really having any sort of connection to her. Even though she had given birth to me, it was like finding out about the death of a complete stranger. I was sad for her, obviously, but it wasn’t as if I felt any real pain.

I took another sip of the world’s best hot chocolate.

“Do you want to check out the shop once we’re finished drinking here?”

“Sure,” I replied. “But first I want to pick your brain a bit more about Charlie Johnson. After all, if I’m going to find out who killed him, I’m going to need a list of suspects.”

Chapter 9

“Okay,” Elsa said. “Frankly, it’s probably easier to come up with a list of people in town who didn’t want him dead. But then again, wanting someone dead and actually doing it are two very different things. That second list is probably a lot shorter. Do you know anyone who was in the diner?”

I balked. “Well, there was Dora, the waitress. That’s the only person whose name I know. Do you think she might have done it?”

“Oh, no chance. Dora has a heart of gold. She’s worked at that diner since before I was alive and she’s never killed anyone yet. I’m sure worse than Charlie has passed through her doors. She can stand up for herself, and the people she likes, but she’s got a heart of gold. Besides, I can’t think of any reason she’d have to kill Charlie specifically.”

“Well, that’s the only person who I actually know that was in there. When Charlie died, a woman immediately jumped up and checked his pulse; she was the one who told her companion to call for help.”

“What did she look like?”

“Blonde, hair tied back in a short ponytail. Kind of a round face.”

“A birthmark under her right eye?”

“Yes, now that you mention it,” I said, snapping my fingers. “She did have one.”

“That’s Lucy Byers. She works as a nurse at the local clinic. She’d never kill anyone, but honestly, her husband might have had reason. He got demoted at the grocery store after Charlie was caught stealing. Her husband, Tony, was the manager there and was the one who had decided to hire Charlie. The owner, Carl Sampson, thought it was a bad idea, but Tony insisted that even someone like Charlie deserved to make a living and that at least by stocking shelves he wouldn’t be in contact with anyone.”

“Wow, he actually demoted Tony?”

“Yeah,” Elsa replied. “I thought it was rough too. Tony made a bad call, but it shouldn’t have cost him his job. Now he’s an assistant manager again, and I know he’s upset about it. It came with a pay cut as well, and as we all know, life isn’t exactly cheap these days. I could see Tony blaming Charlie after giving him a shot and Charlie messing it up.”

“Okay, so Tony Byers is a suspect, and he was actually in the diner. At least, I think he was.”

“It’ll be easy to find out,” Elsa said. “This is a small town. As for who else would have wanted Charlie dead, there was the father of the student he tried to sleep with. That man was angry, obviously.”

“No kidding.”

“Frankly, if it was him, I wouldn’t be surprised if most people in town would be fine with just sweeping it under the rug.”

“Who’s that?”

“Oliver Jones. He works at the diner as a cook.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Okay, that gives him a really good opportunity to poison the food. Was Charlie a regular at the diner, do you know?”

Elsa shrugged. “Everyone in town goes there sometimes. Honestly, he might very well have just brought the poison to work with him every day and just waited for the time Charlie would come in. I don’t think there’s a person in town who goes there less than once a month. The food is amazing, it’s cheap, and Dora always has a smile for you. I love that place.”

I nodded. “Yeah, I can understand that. It would have been a really nice experience if not for the part where a guy died in front of me.”

“That’s probably worth one less star when you write your Yelp review,” Elsa deadpanned, and I snorted into my mug.

“No kidding.”

“Is there anyone else you can think of who’d have actually carried out a murder?” I asked.

Elsa thought for a bit and then shook her head. “No, but of course, it’s not like I knew everything going on in Charlie’s life. I’m sure it’s all going to come out soon, though. I can talk to some people for you and find out what other skeletons were hiding in that particular closet.”

“Thanks,” I said with a smile. “I appreciate it.”

“Now, I know you must have a million different questions about magic.”

“I do,” I said, looking around furtively. “But is it safe to talk about it here?”

“Not when you look around like you’re about to tell me you kidnapped the president,” Elsa said with a laugh. “But in short, yes, it’s fine. No one is eavesdropping on our conversation. You can’t let humans know that we have magical powers, but it’s fine to talk about it between us.”

“Okay,” I said with a nervous laugh. “In that case, I have about eight thousand questions.”

“Well, why don’t I give you the basic rundown?”

“That would be great,” I said. “I have no idea about any of this.”

“Right. Well, for one thing, let’s go over basic spells. Essentially, to use magic, you have to want something to happen. The more you want it to happen, the more likely it is your spell is going to work. Also, the easier the magic, the more likely it is to work as well.”

“Okay, so you’re saying that if I tried to, say, open a fridge door without touching it, that might be pretty easy. But getting a bird to change into a cactus would be a lot harder.”

“Exactly,” Elsa replied with a nod. “And as with anything else, the more you practice, the better you’ll be at it.”

“When I was twelve, I think I might have accidentally used some magic,” I said quietly. I told Elsa about the story at the aquarium, and she nodded.

“I could see that happening. You would have been so mad, you would have wanted her to fall in more than anything, right?”

“Yeah,” I replied.

“So that was your first use of magic. You didn’t know it at the time, of course. Honestly, I’m surprised something that powerful came from you as a witch with no experience. But if you wanted it badly enough, it would have worked.”

“That’s it, then? All I have to do is want something badly enough, and it’ll happen?”

“Essentially, yes. The more clearly you’re able to picture it happening in your mind, the more likely it is that spell will work. Tonight, when we’re at Mom’s house, I’ll show you how to do it. Also, every witch belongs to a certain coven that finds some things easier than others. We’re part of a coven that has an easier time with baking and cooking. We’re kitchen witches. So you’ll find that casting spells and doing magic that involves cooking and baking will be easier for you than anything else.”

“Oh, that’s interesting.” I began feeling a little bit nervous, despite myself. I was going to cast a real magical spell in just a few hours. I set down my empty mug. “I appreciate the help.”

“Oh, no problem. What are friends for?”

Fifteen minutes later we were in front of Queen of Tarts, the bakery my biological mother had owned before her death.

“Do you have a key?” I asked.

Elsa grinned. “One of the cool things about being a witch is that keys aren’t really necessary anymore,” she said. “Watch this.”

She grabbed the door handle, closed her eyes, and a moment later I heard a click as the deadbolt in the door magically opened. I let out a small gasp.

“Wow.”

Elsa looked over at me and grinned. “Cool, huh?”

“It is.”

The two of us stepped inside, and Elsa flicked on the lights while I looked around. My biological mother was obviously going for a French countryside look inside, and she had nailed it. The tables and chairs—small and metal, with ornate filigree— were white, as was the trim around the whole shop. The large wall behind the display case featured gorgeous floral wallpaper, and the other walls were all painted a very pale pastel pink. Overall, the place looked incredibly inviting. I looked up to the high ceilings to see elaborate white cornices and had to say I was very impressed.

“This place looks great,” I said.

Elsa nodded. “Your mom had a great eye for design. She came up with all of this herself.”

I stepped toward the counter, where a large display case now sat empty. On a large table against the back wall sat a number of woven baskets, with hessian bags inside and the last couple crumbs of bread caught in the fibers.

“So she made bread and pastries?”

“Yup,” Elsa said, nodding. “Mom did most of the baking. She had a woman who helped out as well, who also happens to be from one of the only other witch families here in Spellford Cove. Yoko Hachimuro. She’s wonderful. Her family are also part of our coven, so she’s a kitchen witch as well. The bread she makes is incredible. Be warned: you’ll probably gain like ten pounds your first week working here if you taste the stuff Yoko makes.”

I laughed. “As long as there’s a gym here where I can work it all off afterward.”

“There sure is,” Elsa replied. “And when it gets warm again I’ll take you hiking. There’s a whole network of trails outside of town that are amazing and great exercise.”

“Sounds good,” I replied with a smile. The west coast was known for its amazing hikes, and I was looking forward to experiencing that life now that I lived here.

It still felt a bit strange to think that I was living here after a lifetime spent in Minnesota. And as I looked around the bakery, it didn’t feel like mine, either. But I supposed I was going to get used to it.

“Is Yoko still okay with staying on at the bakery?” I asked.

Elsa nodded. “One hundred percent. Mom is still paying her until you decide if you’re going to run it or not, so she’s on board with waiting.”

“Cool. It’ll probably help to have someone who knows what they’re doing here with me to start.”

“Totally agree. And I worked here a little bit when I was in college, too, so I can show you how to work the point of sale and the coffee machine.”

She motioned to the corner, where an automatic coffee machine rested.

“I didn’t even see that.”

“I won’t lie, the coffee’s not as good as The Steam Room. But it’s drinkable, and the pastries here are way better,” Elsa said with a wink. “It’s easy to use too. You just stick the beans in the top, press a button, and a latte comes out.”

“Well, I think even I can manage that.”

Elsa motioned for me to follow her. Next to the coffee machine was a plain white door that swung open to reveal a large kitchen at the back of the shop. Under the stainless steel tables were a number of shelves that held every baking item I could possibly imagine, and then some.

On the right-hand wall was a large walk-in fridge, next to which was another door. Elsa motioned for me to follow, and I did so, finding that the door led to a set of stairs. Climbing them, I found myself in a cute little two-bedroom apartment. It was still furnished, and if this was my biological mother’s stuff, then she really did have an eye for design.

The walls were a soft cream, with pops of color from the blue couch that matched the blue-and-white dual tone cabinets in the kitchen perfectly. Looking over at the main bedroom, I saw a mattress and box spring on a gorgeous wooden frame.

“You can change the furniture, of course,” Elsa said. “Mom took down anything that could be considered personal. She thought you might not want to see stuff from your biological mother, and that you might just want to decorate it in your own style, but she kept the furniture in case you liked it. She also kept all of Aunt Diane’s stuff in case you do want it.”

“I love all of this stuff,” I said, making my way to the couch and running my hand along the stitching. “She had great taste.”

“She sure did. Anyway, this place is yours to do with as you want. Mom will give you the keys tonight, but as you saw, you probably won’t need them for long,” Elsa said with a chuckle.

“Thanks for showing me this place,” I said. “It’s neat, seeing the place where I’m going to live. But in a way it doesn’t feel real yet.”

“I can understand that. I felt that way when I went to college. It was weird, being away from home for the first time. But you’ll get used to it. I promise.”

“What did you study?”

“Biology. I work as a ranger at Spellford National Park, just outside of town.”

“Oh, that’s cool,” I said.

“Yeah, it’s pretty awesome. I enjoy the work. I get to use my brain, and I get to work toward keeping our natural environment pristine and beautiful.”

“You’ll have to show me around the park sometime.”

“I will. It’s gorgeous. You’ll love it.”

The two of us went back downstairs and left the bakery.

“You know what?” Elsa said. “Why don’t you try and lock the door again?”

“Really?” I asked, looking around. “But we’re in public. What if I mess up?”

“Then I’ll fix it immediately,” Elsa replied. “Besides, you’re not going to mess up. It’s one of the easiest spells out there, and it’s perfect for a beginner witch. Put your hand on the door and imagine it locking. You have to want it to lock, and it will.”

“Alright, let’s give it a shot, then,” I said, stepping forward. Honestly, a part of me was pretty sure nothing was going to happen. Even though I’d seen magic with my own eyes, the part of my brain that was good at science, the part of my brain that respected logic, still had niggling doubts.

Only one way to find out if this was really real.

I stepped forward and put my hand on the door handle. I imagined the inner workings of the lock, and pictured the deadbolt clicking into place. Go, you can do it. You have to do it, I willed the deadbolt mentally. I really wanted it to work. After all, if I really had magical powers, this would change my life forever, and I imagined mostly in a good way. This couldn’t be some sort of elaborate prank. It just couldn’t. The deadbolt had to move.

When the familiar click reached my ears a second later, I gasped. I pushed down on the door handle to check, and sure enough, the door was locked.

My eyes met Elsa’s, incredulity written all over my face, I was certain.

“You did it,” she said with an excited squeal. “You cast your first spell. Congratulations!”

“I did,” I said, almost breathlessly. I stared at my hands, as if I could see the magic if I looked hard enough. “I really did it.”

There was no denying it now. Magic was real, and I was a witch.

Casting a spell myself was a whole new level of crazy.

Chapter 10

“Okay, I’m going to let you go,” Elsa said. “I’ll see you at dinner in a couple hours. One word of advice: don’t go nuts with the magic. I know it’s probably exciting and you’re going to want to cast all sorts of spells, but it’s going to take a lot out of you, especially at first. You need to build up your stamina, like with everything else. Magic is a muscle, and you need to work it out to make it stronger, but you can also exhaust it when it’s not fully formed.”

“Got it,” I replied.

“Besides, if something goes wrong, it’s probably easier to have someone else who knows magic around.”

I nodded. “Also a good point.”

I said goodbye to Elsa and went back to the hotel. Shakes was back to lying on the ground in his warm spot, but he opened his eyes when I came in.

“How did it go?”

“Good! I cast a magic spell,” I said with a grin.

“Congratulations! That must be exciting,” Shakes said.

I nodded. “It totally is,” I said with a grin. “Want to see?”

I knew Elsa had told me not to use magic without supervision, but I was just going to try something super basic, something that would almost certainly work.

Nothing could really go wrong if I did that, could it?

I looked around and tried to figure out what kind of spell I wanted to cast. I thought back to Elsa changing the color of the sidewalk to show me how magic worked. That seemed easy enough; I could try something like that.

My eyes settled on the lamp next to the bed. “Watch this,” I said to Shakes. I stopped, took a deep breath, then focused all of my energy on the lamp. I imagined it changing from a plain brass color to a bright red. I wanted more than anything for that to happen.

Then, as I was imagining that, my brain decided to go a bit rogue.

As I pictured the lamp changing color, it reminded me of the Kool-Aid Man in commercials from my childhood. The thought made me giggle inwardly just a little bit, until I realized that it had affected my magic.

Instead of simply changing the lamp from brass to red, it transformed in shape as well. The lamp went from being a classy mid-century modern style to a kind of deformed version of the Kool-Aid Man. He was missing one leg, he lacked a handle, and the expression on his face wasn’t a smile so much as a grimace that screamed “Kill me.” I couldn’t really blame him for that; he was grotesque. At least he was the same size as the lamp, only about two feet tall.

“Ohhhhhhhh… yuuurrrrrr…” he said, the voice all wrong.

“Good job, Dr. Frankenstein,” Shakes said, jumping up from his spot on the floor and leaping onto the desk, his back arching as he hissed at the deformed Kool-Aid Man I’d created.

I honestly did feel like I’d just created a monster. And worse, Kool-Aid Man jumped off the side table and started running around, red fluid sloshing out from the top of his, well, rim. It spilled onto the carpet, and while I was worried that I was going to get charged extra by the hotel for cleaning, right now the more immediate problem was turning him back into a lamp.

Maybe I should have listened to Elsa after all.

“Do something,” Shakes said. “I don’t like him. I don’t like him at all.”

“I don’t like him either,” I said. I pointed at the deformed Kool-Aid man as he hobbled along—he wasn’t very quick given he was missing a leg—and he immediately ran toward me, hitting me in the shin.

“Ow,” I exclaimed, clutching at my leg. I climbed up onto the bed to escape him then tried again. Pointing at the Kool-Aid Man, I willed for him to turn back into a lamp. I wanted it more than anything. In a second, I had gotten my wish. He was back to being the normal, brass lamp that had been sitting on the side table next to the bed a moment earlier.

I carefully climbed off the bed and gingerly set the lamp back in its place before looking over at Shakes.

“Alright, I believe you, you can use magic,” Shakes said, his hair still on end. “Now let’s never do that again.”

“Fair enough,” I agreed with a nervous chuckle. I looked down at the red-stained carpet. I figured I could probably cast a spell to fix it myself, but I’d learned my lesson. No more magic without adult witch supervision. Elsa had been right; I shouldn’t have tried it on my own.

I could always ask her for help to fix the stain. I was sure for an experienced witch it would be easy as pie to remove.

“Alright, I have to get ready to go to dinner with the rest of my family. Are you going to be okay here?”

“Only if you bring me leftovers,” Shakes replied. “I’ve been sneaking out to answer nature’s calls through the open window, but I’m starting to get hungry. I consider myself to be an intellectual, not a barbarian, so I don’t hunt my own food.”

“Right,” I replied. “Okay, I’ll come back with some cat food.”

“Ugh, cat food. Can’t you bring me back some of whatever you’re eating?”

“No. Cat food is designed for you. It’s good for you. Maybe I’ll bring you back some treats as well. If you’re good.”

“Well, seeing as you just turned a lamp into some sort of creature that H.P. Lovecraft would have been proud of, I’m pretty sure that compared to you I’ve been an angel.”

He had a point there, I had to admit.

“Fine, I’ll bring you some treats too.”

“Good,” Shakes replied before jumping up onto the bed and curling himself up into a little ball.

I made a mental note to ask Elsa to get rid of the cat hair when I got her to fix up the carpet for me too.

* * *

At five minutes to six I was knocking on Aunt Heather’s door once more. When she answered, her face broke into a large smile as soon as her eyes landed on me. “Robin! How lovely to see you again. Elsa told me all about the conversation she had with you today. Come in, come in. I really do need to apologize. Having grown up with magic, I don’t think I recognized just how insane it must have sounded to someone with no idea of its existence.”

“It’s okay,” I said. “I get it. You don’t need to apologize.”

“Well, aren’t you just wonderful for being so kind and understanding. Well, let me tell you, we’re all just so excited to have you here. You’re staying in town, then?”

I nodded. “I’d like to learn to use my magical powers. And I think I’m going to take over the bakery, although I don’t really know what I’m doing.”

“Wonderful news all around. When it comes to the bakery, don’t worry. We’ll all help you with whatever you need. Yoko knows how to bake everything your mother sold, so she can show you the ropes there. As for the rest of it, we’ll all help how we can.”

“Thanks.”

“Now come on, your cousins are already here, and we have dinner set up and waiting. Tonight is chicken and bacon fettucine alfredo.”

My stomach began to rumble just at the idea of it. I followed Aunt Heather into the dining room, where sure enough, my two cousins were seated at the table, loading their plates with scrumptious-looking pasta coated in a thick, white sauce.

“Hey, Robin,” Emma said with a kind smile. “It’s nice to see you again.”

“You too,” I replied.

“I heard Elsa showed you how to cast a spell,” Aunt Heather said while I took my plate and began serving myself from the large pasta dish.

I nodded. “She sure did. And speaking of, at some point before I check out of the hotel would you mind coming in and helping me clean the carpet?” I asked my cousin. “I was trying to show off my newfound magical skills to Shakes, and it didn’t exactly go according to plan.”

Elsa laughed good-naturedly. “Of course. I’m guessing you didn’t take my advice not to do magic without supervision to heart, then?”

“Well, it was supposed to be an easy spell,” I said, my face reddening.

“Great. You and Elsa will get along just fine,” Emma chimed in. “After all, she’s always going around breaking all the rules as well.”

“I do not! I mean, not so much anymore,” Elsa countered. “Maybe when I was a kid.”

Emma snorted. “Oh please. You got in trouble last week for telling a woman at the park that the mushrooms on the ground had a higher IQ than she did.”

“I was doing a talk about bats, for children, and she interrupted me to tell me that bats have excellent vision and that I didn’t know what I was talking about,” Elsa replied. “I politely told her that she may have confused bats and eagles, and she called me an idiot in front of all the kids and told me she knew the difference between two different birds. Then, when I informed her that bats weren’t in fact birds, but mammals, she told me she was going to complain to my supervisor for spreading misinformation to children. So that was when I told her I always stuck with facts, like the fact that she was dumber than the mushrooms on the ground over there.”

I snickered. “Okay, I can’t exactly fault you for that.”

“I’m still surprised you didn’t get into any trouble from your boss,” Aunt Heather said, shaking her head. “You really do need to learn to control yourself better when you’re dealing with the public. You’re taking after your grandmother.”

“Yeah, but Grandma has the best life ever,” Elsa replied with a smile. “She’s always doing whatever she wants.”

“She was also incapable of holding down a job for most of her life,” Aunt Heather replied.

“Well, either way, I didn’t get in trouble, because Georgina understands what it’s like dealing with people who refuse to believe in science and yell at us for daring to spread facts and knowledge. Why even come to a national park if you’re going to argue with the people that work there about the stuff they deal with every day?” Elsa complained.

I laughed. “Yeah, that’s basically every customer-facing job. I’m glad you didn’t get in trouble though. I have a few similar stories. One led to me losing my job. When I’d just left high school I worked at a local burger joint, and a woman came over and dumped a large Coke over my head because she told me she ordered diet and I’d given her regular. And for the record, I totally gave her diet. I specifically remembered pressing the button for diet.”

“Oh my God,” Emma said, her mouth dropping open. “What did you do?”

“I grabbed a Coke off the nearest tray and threw it right back onto her and told her that was regular Coke, since she obviously couldn’t tell the difference.”

Elsa let out a whoop of support, while Aunt Heather tried to bite back a smile.

“Did you get fired?” Emma asked.

I nodded. “Oh yeah. Like, immediately. And I mean, in hindsight, that was probably the right call. But I don’t regret doing it.”

“You shouldn’t,” Elsa agreed.

“Well, I suppose since we’re talking about horrible experiences with customers, now would be a great time to get you the keys to both your mother’s store and the apartment above, assuming you’re going to live there.”

“I am,” I said, nodding. “Thank you so much.”

“Oh please, no thank-you necessary,” Aunt Heather said, waving it away. “The place is yours by rights. I’ll be back in just a moment.” She returned about two minutes later with a ring of keys, which she placed into my hands. “This should be all of them. Welcome to Spellford Cove, Robin. I very much hope you enjoy your time here.”

Chapter 11

After dinner with my family I went back to the hotel, with Elsa promising to come by early the next morning before work to fix the carpet. I was going to check out and move into the apartment. On my way home I stopped by the local grocery store, which was just about to close, and grabbed a few different cans of cat food as well as a bag of Temptations. Aunt Heather had made miniature pumpkin pies for dessert, and I’d grabbed one for the road, hoping that Shakes would be okay with eating a little piece of the crust as his special human treat.

The following morning, Elsa came in, and I showed her the carpet stain.

“Well, at least it’s a bright enough red that I know it’s not blood,” she said cheerfully. “Do you care to share the story of exactly what happened?”

I told her all about the deformed Kool-Aid Man, and by the time I was finished, tears streamed down Elsa’s face.

“Incredible. Well, I’m glad you were able to revert him into a lamp before things got too weird.”

“Me too,” I replied. “Thanks for the help.”

“No problem. I have to get going to work. You have my number, right? Call me if you need anything. And for the love of all that is safe, please don’t cast any more spells without someone else being there.”

I laughed. “Don’t worry, I learned my lesson on that one.”

She left, and I packed up all of my things, looking at Shakes. “How are we going to sneak you out of here without anyone realizing I’ve had a cat up here for days?”

“Easy,” Shakes replied. “Open the window. I’ll get out, and I’ll meet you at the front of the building.”

“I can trust you to do that?”

“Of course you can. What do you think I am, some kind of regular pet?”

“Fair enough,” I said. “I’ll see you in a few minutes.” I opened the window and Shakes immediately jumped out. I sorted out all my bags and headed back to the lobby, checking out and then heading back into the street.

A moment later I spotted my familiar strutting toward me, and I smiled.

“See?” he said as he came up to me. “No problems.”

“Right. Okay, want to see our new home?”

“Of course. Does it come with a cat tree?”

“I didn’t see one yesterday,” I admitted. “I don’t know if my biological mother had a cat… er, familiar.”

“Well, that’s the one thing I have on my list of requirements for a home,” Shakes said, sniffing the air. “After all, Goethe said, ‘He is the happiest, be he king or peasant, who finds peace in his home.’ And I require a cat tree to find peace in mine.”

I laughed. “You sure know how to quote authors.”

“Well, the literary arts are one of my preferred topics,” Shakes replied. “After all, literature is one of the most important things in the world. The written word can cause wars and bring peace. It can educate and stimulate. It can wonder and amaze in ways no other medium is able to. I see my feline brethren who don’t seem to care at all about the words humans write, but to me, they’re important.”

“Fair enough. I didn’t know you can read. Is that normal for familiars?”

“Not at all. I had to be shown how to do it, as most cats don’t read. But once I had the ability, I spent all the time I could at the familiar training school reading everything I could.”

“Well, I don’t have a big book collection, but I can build one for you,” I replied. “Can you turn the pages?”

“Of course I can. It took a bit of practice at first, but cats are nothing if not flexible and versatile. And we’re also quick learners due to our superior intelligence.”

“Humble too.”

“Also that,” Shakes replied without a hint of irony.

I smiled as I reached the bakery. Pulling out the ring of keys Aunt Heather had given me the night before, I unlocked the front door—without magic, this time—and let Shakes inside.

“Oh, this place is nice,” Shakes said as he looked around.

“It is, isn’t it? Unfortunately, it’s not your home, as I’m pretty sure there are health and safety regulations against having pets in bakeries. Come on, let me show you our new apartment.”

I passed into the kitchen at the back and then went up the stairs, lugging my main suitcase behind me. Everything else I owned was still in the car, which I had left back in the hotel parking lot for now. I’d go back and get it later this afternoon.

We walked inside, and Shakes immediately made himself at home. “Yes, I like this a lot,” he said as he walked toward one of the heating vents under a window, curled up into a ball, and immediately fell asleep.

I shook my head with a laugh. Cats were a little bit ridiculous sometimes.

“I’m heading back downstairs for a bit,” I told him, and he let out a small mewl of acknowledgement.

Closing the door carefully behind me, I went back down the stairs and into the bakery kitchen. Looking around, I spotted a huge, leather-bound book on a shelf above one of the stainless steel tables. A part of me was a little apprehensive about taking it down. After all, now that I knew magic was real, who knew what kind of crazy stuff would be written in it?

Maybe it was one of those books where as soon as you opened it the entire world would be cursed.

Okay, that was probably ridiculous. If that was the case, it wouldn’t be sitting on the top shelf of a bakery kitchen in small-town Washington, would it? It would be under lock and key, probably in the chest of an old Victorian mansion that was practically falling over and was rumored to be full of ghosts.

I pulled the heavy tome from the shelf and put it down on one of the tables with a thud. The leather cover was embroidered with a name: Diane Eames. Pausing for just a moment, I decided I was absolutely not getting into my own head on this one and flipped open the page.

There was no opening of a portal into another dimension, no demon shooting out from the pages to haunt humanity. Instead, I found myself staring at a recipe for chocolate chip banana bread. It was written out by hand, on pages stained with grease over time, but the script was clear and legible.

I flipped the page to find a recipe for lemon cheesecake.

No, this wasn’t a book of magic at all. It was a book of recipes. I supposed this had to be the master book, with all of the recipes I’d need to make things here at the bakery.

I laughed at myself for being so stupid as to think there would be some sort of magically enchanted book here at the bakery and flipped through the pages, looking at the recipes my mother had painstakingly written down over the years.

There had to be hundreds of them in this book in total. Snickers cheesecake (yum, that was high up on the list of recipes to try!). Caramel apple pie. Pecan and walnut banana bread. Cherry clafoutis. I didn’t even know what that last one was, but it certainly sounded delicious.

“You should make the caramel apple pie when you re-open. It smells incredible,” a voice said from immediately behind me. I let out a yelp, and then instinct took over and I turned, punching a woman in the face as she let out a cry of surprise as well.

Only my fist went directly through her.

“Who are you?” I shouted, pressing myself against the stainless steel table.

“Wait, you can see me?” she replied. She looked to be about twenty-two and like she’d just come out of the woods. Her clothes—pink short-shorts and a bright-blue T-shirt—were tattered, twigs and a couple errant leaves stuck out from her permed blonde hair, and one of her arms jutted out at a strange angle. She had a vaguely ethereal aura to her; it was as though white light emanated from her form.

Just like my imaginary friend Peter.

“Of course I can see you. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Well, because I’m dead.”

Then, it clicked. “You’re a ghost.”

She nodded. “I am. How come you can see me?”

“I’m a witch.”

“Well duh. You’re in Diane Eames’s shop, and you look just like her. I assumed you were related, which means you’re a witch. But she was a witch too. And the same with Yoko, and Elsa, and Emma. But none of them can see me.”

“I don’t know why they can’t,” I said with a shrug. “I just found out I was a witch when I got here. I don’t know anything about magic, but I can see you. Who are you?”

“Vanessa Burrows,” she replied.

“When did you die?”

“Nineteen eighty-seven,” she replied with a sigh. “I was in the national park with my boyfriend. I didn’t even want to go. I hated hiking, and he knew it. But he said he had a special day planned for us, and as it turned out, he did.”

“Uh oh,” I said.

Vanessa nodded. “Uh oh is right. I thought he was going to propose. We’d been together for three years at that point. I was twenty-four. I was ready to settle down, get married, and have a couple of kids. I thought this was the start of that, so I dressed in my best workout clothes, and I went with him. We took one of the hardest trails there was and hiked for four hours. I was exhausted when we got to the top. We stopped at a lookout, on the edge of a cliff. There was a small barrier to stop people from falling off the ledge, but it was only knee-high. I stood next to it to enjoy the view, and Joe asked me to turn around so he could take my picture. As soon as I did, he came up next to me, gave me the creepiest smile I’d ever seen, and shoved me off the edge.”

I gasped. “Oh no. How awful.”

Vanessa nodded, the bitterness in her voice evident. “I remember as I fell off the edge of the cliff that I wanted nothing more than for him to suffer for what he’d done to me. Then, the next thing I remembered was waking up at the bottom of the cliff. Search and Rescue were bringing up a body by helicopter, and it took me a few minutes to realize it was my body.”

“So you’ve been a ghost ever since?” I asked.

She nodded. “Yeah. I’ve tried haunting Joe a few times, but it doesn’t work. I can’t touch anything, so I can’t knock things over in his home, or turn off the power, or stab him in the neck with a knife.”

My eyebrows rose. “So he didn’t go to jail?”

“No,” Vanessa said, her fists clenching at her sides. Even though she’d been murdered over thirty years ago, she was obviously still bitter. Then again, I couldn’t exactly blame her. I’d probably be bitter, too, especially if my killer never saw justice. “I followed him around and watched as the police interviewed him. He was the one who ran for help, supposedly. He told Search and Rescue that I’d gone over the fence to have a better look down the cliff, and that I’d slipped and fallen. It wasn’t true, of course. But the police here never bothered to look that hard into it.”

“I’m sorry,” I told her.

She nodded. “Do you know how frustrating it is, being a ghost? I was sitting behind Chief Leroy, who was the head of the police here at the time, screaming at him that I was murdered while he glanced at the sheet and said the coroner wasn’t sure if it was an accident or a homicide and decided that an accident meant less paperwork for him. I screamed as loudly as I could that I’d been killed, and it did nothing. Nothing.”

Tears streamed down Vanessa’s face now, and I instinctively reached over to touch her arm, but of course my hand went right through her. She shook her head.

“It’s fine. I know there’s nothing to be done now. And I’m glad Chief Leroy suffered when he got that cancer before he passed. That was karma, for letting my death go unavenged, and for leaving a killer out there.”

There was so much anger and venom in Vanessa’s voice, but I couldn’t exactly blame her. But then I thought of something.

“Does everyone who dies become a ghost?” I asked.

Vanessa shook her head. “No. Most pass on to the next world. I don’t know what that is. Those of us who are left behind are only those who have reason to stay.”

“Oh,” I said, slightly disappointed. “So the odds are that Charlie Johnson, who was killed at the diner the other day, won’t be a ghost?”

“No,” Vanessa said, shaking her head. “As far as I can tell, you have to have had some sort of big reason to stay before you died. That’s just from talking with other ghosts. It’s what we all have in common. For me, I think it was realizing that Joe had killed me and the sense of justice that I wanted in the seconds before my death.”

I nodded. “And Peter, the ghost I spoke to as a child, always mentioned how he never knew what happened to his wife. She disappeared one day, and I guess he never found her. He just wanders the world alone, holding his bottle of liquor. He said he froze to death in Duluth one night when he was too drunk to find his ship.”

“That sounds about right,” Vanessa said mournfully. “He never found out what happened to his family, so he’ll wander the streets forever, or until he gets an answer.”

“He’s been dead at least a hundred years, so I doubt he’s going to get that,” I said quietly. “So you’ve stayed in town?”

“Oh, yes. I like it here. It’s warm, because of the ovens, and it smells heavenly. I miss food so much. It’s the worst part of being a ghost, not being able to eat. I wish I’d cared less about my figure when I was alive. I figured I’d have my whole life to eat as many Snickers bars as I could get my hands on. If I’d known I was going to die at twenty-four, I’d have indulged quite a bit more. But then, if I’d known I was going to die at twenty-four there are a lot of things I’d have tried to do.”

Vanessa sighed, and my heart went out to her. I didn’t know what to say? What could you say to a ghost who had literally died in the eighties and missed out on almost her whole life?

“So you hang out here and try to haunt Joe?” I asked.

Vanessa nodded. “Most days, yes. Sometimes I follow him around. I spend my days telling him how I would murder him in every situation. So when he gets up in the morning and has a shower, I like to make the sound from Psycho at him. Then, when he’s getting dressed, I try to grab his tie—not that he wears one often—and strangle him with it. He goes to work, as a mechanic, and I imagine myself hitting him over the head with a wrench or undoing the jack so a car falls onto him and crushes him.”

“Sounds… healthy,” I replied. Vanessa sure had a vengeful streak in her, and a part of me was glad she no longer had the ability to do anything that could hurt people.

“I’ve been stewing for years. I’ve watched Joe go on in life. He got to live a normal life. He found another woman. She healed his fake wounds as he pretended to mourn my death. He got to get married and buy a home with his new spouse. He got to have children and watch them grow up and play. He got to do all the things I didn’t, because he took those opportunities from me. And I’ll do anything I can to make him pay.”

I had to admit, I could see why Vanessa was so mad.

“He works as a mechanic you say?”

“Yes. If you ever need your car serviced, don’t go to Karlson Brothers just outside of town. Joe works there.”

“Good to know.”

“Well, it’s nice to finally have someone to talk to.”

“I own this place now, so yeah, I’ll be around,” I said. “Although I won’t be able to speak to you when there are customers in the bakery.”

“I get that,” Vanessa said. “Don’t worry. I realize no one in the world knows ghosts are real, and that’s because we have no power. We just get to float around, being angry and stewing in our thoughts, while being completely incapable of actually doing anything about the cause of that anger.”

“I’m sorry,” I said to her, and it hit me just how powerless she must have felt. And was likely going to feel for, well, probably forever.

Being a ghost sounded like being in a prison forever, with your own mind being a torture device.

No wonder Peter had never seemed particularly happy.

Okay, I was fairly certain ghosts were the most depressing of all paranormal creatures.

And then it hit me: were there other paranormal types out there? I made a mental note to ask Elsa the next time I saw her.

Chapter 12

After chatting with Vanessa for a while, I headed out into the main part of the store. On top of the point-of-sale system was a post-it note with Yoko’s name and phone number on it. I dialed, and a moment later a woman’s voice answered.

“Hello?”

“Hi, is this Yoko?”

“Yes.”

“This is Robin Carter. I’m Diane Eames’s biological daughter.”

“Oh! Robin, I was hoping I would get to meet you.”

“I’m at the bakery right now. I’m taking it over, and I was hoping to re-open, maybe tomorrow?”

“That sounds great. I put all the perishables in the freezer when Diane passed, except the eggs, which I gave to the food bank. But I can stop and pick some up on the way in. When would you like me to come in?”

“Honestly, I don’t know how any of this store works. When do you think would be best?”

“Normally, I start baking for the following day in the middle of the afternoon. That way the baking can cool overnight and be ready by morning. So I could come in around one, and that will give me plenty of time to do some baking and show you the ropes.”

“Fantastic. Thank you so much. I’ll see you then.”

I breathed a sigh of relief as I hung up the phone. Yoko sounded efficient, friendly, and eager. Everything I was going to need from an employee as I tried to figure this whole “owning a business” thing out.

“You’re going to have to learn how to use that computer, aren’t you?” Vanessa asked as I fumbled around looking for a power switch. I found it, and the monitor burst to life.

“Yeah,” I replied.

“Those things are so cool. You know, we didn’t have any of this back in the eighties.”

“I know,” I said with a grin. “Technology has come a long way.”

“I wish I had cell phones back in high school. Do you know how easy it would have been to cheat? We had to wear miniskirts and write notes on our thighs.”

I laughed. “Well, I’m old enough to remember that strategy too. We had cell phones when I was in high school, but they weren’t good enough to be able to use to cheat. Although I do remember using my graphing calculator to write in mathematical formulas that I’d need for the test.”

“Oh yes, we did that too,” Vanessa said with a laugh. “You have no idea how nice it is to talk to someone. It’s been thirty years of just me and the odd other ghost that passes through here. There aren’t any others who live permanently in Spellford Cove.”

“How often do other ghosts come here?”

“Maybe once a year or so? They’re usually tourists. Last year there were two ghosts who came by. They died in the fifteen hundreds, in Spain, and decided they were going to travel the world. They’d spent fifteen years going around North America and had finally made it to Washington. They were planning on heading north through Canada until they reached Alaska and then heading back to Europe via Russia.”

“Wow,” I said, my eyes widening.

Vanessa nodded. “They said most of their ghost friends back in Spain had died during the inquisition and were bitter about its continuation, but when it ended a hundred and fifty years ago most of those ghosts moved on, so they found themselves much lonelier than they had been and decided to travel the world.”

“Huh,” I said, nodding. “Go figure.”

“There have been a few ghosts here and there, but most only stay for a little while. Sometimes a few days, sometimes a few weeks. A lot pass over as soon as their killers are arrested. I try not to get too attached. I never have anyone to keep me company for long.”

“Have you considered travelling?” I asked. “After all, maybe you’ll find yourself there.” And maybe stop fantasizing about killing Joe every single day. That could not have been good for her mental health. After all, mental health was important, even when you were dead.

“No, I plan on watching over Joe every day until he dies,” Vanessa said. “It’s coming. He’s getting old. His hair is going gray. I, on the other hand, am just as sexy as I always was. I assume, anyway. It’s not as if I can see my reflection anymore.”

I didn’t know if there was such thing as therapy for ghosts—probably not—but oh boy, if I’d ever met a good candidate, this was it. Vanessa needed professional help, and it was a good thing she had eternity to get it, because it wasn’t going to be a quick fix.

“Alright,” I said as I focused on the point-of-sale. I pressed random buttons as I tried to figure out how to get it to work, and luckily, it was fairly intuitive. I had worked various retail jobs almost my entire adult life, what with not having gone to college—my parents didn’t have the money to send me, and I didn’t want to load myself up with student loans. I’d planned on saving money by living with them, but after they died life became more about survival.

The silver lining was that within about five minutes of playing around with the system here I’d figured it out and could place an order pretty easily. I was pretty sure I had it down, and after a day or so of placing orders I knew I’d have memorized where the buttons for everything were and would be able to place orders at lightning speed.

After a while Vanessa floated off somewhere without saying goodbye, but that was fine. I was sure she’d be back. After all, I was the only person she knew who could actually see and communicate with her.

It was probably only a matter of time before she tried to convince me to kill Joe for her. That was going to be a hard no from me.

Just after one, a tall Japanese woman walked through the door. Her black hair was tied back into a slick ponytail, and she was dressed in a pair of slacks and a polo that still gave her a bit of a professional air while being obviously comfortable. Age-wise, she could have been anywhere from thirty to forty-five, and she gave off some real Lucy Liu vibes, though being Japanese instead of Chinese, ethnically. At her side was a bag filled with at least six cartons of eggs.

“Hi, I’m Yoko,” she said, immediately walking to me with her hand held out.

“Robin. It’s really nice to meet you,” I said with a smile as we shook hands.

“You as well. Your mother was a great person. I never realized she had a daughter.”

“Me neither,” I said with a small smile.

“Alright, well, you’re in charge here. How would you like to do things? Your mother and I used to share the duties in the kitchen and in the front of house—in the summer when we’re busy with tourists she always brings in an extra staff member or two, but most of the year it’s not necessary—but if you’d like to do things differently that’s fine with me.”

I shook my head. “No, that works. I know how to follow a recipe, and I found her book in the back.”

Yoko’s face broke out into a smile. “Oh, wonderful. Diane had such a gift. Which I’m sure you have as well, what with being a kitchen witch and all.”

“What does that mean, exactly, being a kitchen witch?” I asked, and Yoko tilted her head slightly. “Sorry, I’ve only just discovered that I’ve got magical powers. Forty-eight hours ago I thought I was just a regular person. I think I’ve got a lot to learn.”

“Oh! Well, welcome to your new life,” Yoko said warmly. “Magic is wonderful and makes life so much easier in so many ways. Of course, it also means having to hide an important part of yourself to almost everyone you know, which can be difficult. But overall, the positives greatly outweigh the negatives. Come on, let’s get started on some cooking, and I’ll show you just how to include magic in your recipes.”

I smiled and followed Yoko to the kitchen, where she immediately placed the eggs on the counter before grabbing the book and flipping it open.

“Generally, Diane would have us make around four or five different varieties of bread. I’ll show you how to make one per day, and I’ll do the rest myself. Over time, you’ll learn how to make them all yourself. And for treats, she usually has about a dozen going at any given time. We can split up the work today, and it’ll be faster.”

“That sounds great,” I said. “Should we start with the bread, since it’ll need the time to rise?”

“Yes,” Yoko replied. She motioned for me to follow her. On the far side of the room there were six of those huge industrial mixers set up. “These make life much easier. They also have a built-in scale, which makes measuring out ingredients extremely simple.”

“Oh, wow,” I said, looking over at the display screen on the side of the mixer. Sure enough, this was going to make it much easier.

“Now, let me show you how to get started with the bread.”

Chapter 13

Yoko showed me how to start on a simple, white loaf. We mixed the ingredients together, left the dough to rise for a while, and got started on the sweet treats. Which, if I was honest, I was more looking forward to anyway. You know, what with being able to taste test and all.

“Diane used sheet pans for almost all of her cakes, pies, and brownies. Sure, a square slice of cheesecake isn’t exactly normal, but it became kind of her thing,” Yoko explained to me. “There’s probably about a hundred of them around. They’re actually quite useful for baking large batches of things, so it was really clever of her to do.”

“Okay,” I said, opening the book. “What should I start on first?”

“Why don’t you make a cheesecake? She has recipes for about six or seven of them in here. There’s a recipe for a cranberry orange one that’s perfect for the season. And it doesn’t require any baking.”

“Perfect,” I said. I flipped the huge book open to the right page, and Yoko showed me where all the ingredients I’d need could be found. I piled them up and went over to one of the giant mixers.

“Now, you don’t know how to use magic in your cooking, do you?” Yoko asked.

I shook my head. “The thing about being a kitchen witch is that you’re using your mind to transfer love into the ingredients.”

“Oh, this isn’t going to be some stupid thing about how the secret ingredient is the care you put into the baking, is it?” I asked.

Yoko laughed. “No, of course not. That’s not real magic, although don’t discount it! Caring for the person you’re going to feed will make you focus harder as you’re making the food, and that can be magical in and of itself. No, you need to transfer your magical energy to the ingredients before you put them in the bowl. So, as you can see, the first thing you’re going to add to this mixture is the cream cheese and sugar, which you’re going to beat together.”

I picked up the large container of cream cheese. I set the scale in the mixer to zero and looked at Yoko. “Do I just put it in the mixer?”

She shook her head. “No. First, you’re going to imbue it with your magic. Hold the container in your hands and close your eyes. I want you to feel, really feel the cream cheese. Let your energy flow to it.”

I did as Yoko asked, feeling kind of silly. This was kind of like trying to meditate with a block of cheese. Still, as I had learned, magic was real, and I shouldn’t discount it just because it made me feel like an idiot.

I took the container of cream cheese in my hands, I closed my eyes, and I tried to feel its energy. Of course, there was no getting past the feeling that this was kind of stupid, but I did my best to shove it to the back of my mind. To my surprise, after about five or six seconds, I actually did begin to feel a bit of a buzz from the cream cheese container. I wished for all of my magic to flow to the cream cheese, and it was as if a wave from the ocean washed over me, passing through my body, then flowing out through my arms and into the container.

Somewhat taken aback, I opened my eyes.

“Did you feel it?” Yoko asked.

I nodded. “Good. Now you can add it to the mixer. And you’re going to do the same with the rest of your ingredients.”

I did as Yoko said, and I found to my amazement that the mixing of the ingredients was actually a lot easier than normal. “I’ve never seen cream cheese and sugar mix like this,” I said.

“That’s the beauty of being a kitchen witch,” Yoko explained. “Once you’ve given your magical energy to the ingredients, they’ll work for you and make every step of the baking process easier. You’ll find your eggs will separate more easily. Your mixtures will come together more easily. Your muffins will rise further. Kitchen witch skills result in better baking all around.”

“Well, I won’t say no to that,” I said with a smile as I set about getting the rest of the ingredients for the cheesecake.

Fifteen minutes later the smell of citrus wafted through the air, the aftermath of stripping an orange completely of its zest and adding it to the batter. I folded in the cranberries then poured the whole mixture into a sheet pan with a golden graham-cracker base pressed into the bottom. Sure enough, I’d never had such an easy time making sure the cheesecake base was even and firm. This kitchen witch magic was a welcome addition to my life, without question.

Satisfied with my work, Yoko went to take care of the bread while I started on a batch of caramel apple pies. The two of us fell into a happy rhythm, and we began chatting while we worked.

“So, your ancestry is Japanese?” I asked Yoko.

She nodded. “Yes, I’m third generation. My grandparents moved here around seventy years ago. I grew up in Spellford Cove, and I love it.”

“Is it hard being a witch?” I asked.

“Well, it certainly has its challenges,” Yoko replied. “I married a human, and I chose not to tell him about my powers until we were married. It’s up to each individual witch and wizard to decide when to tell a partner about their magical powers, but if they do so and the individual decides to tell others, then their memory of the witch or wizard is completely wiped by the council.”

“Wow,” I said, my eyes widening. “That’s very strict.”

“It is, but they do so out of a necessity of protection,” Yoko replied. “It’s imperative that the wider world as a whole not find out about our existence. But it makes personal relationships a little bit more complex, especially in places like here where there are so few paranormals.”

“You say paranormals,” I replied. “Are there more than just witches and wizards out there? I know there are ghosts; I’ve met two in my life.”

“You can see ghosts?” Yoko asked.

I nodded. “Yes.”

“Well, that’s a rare power indeed, even among witches. Yes, the world has a variety of paranormal creatures about. Beyond witches and wizards, there are vampires. There’s only one vampire family in town, that of Doctor Bergman. He works at the local clinic, and his wife works the reception office.”

“Really?” I asked, my eyebrows rising. “They’re vampires, and they work as doctors?”

Yoko smiled. “Yes, although as far as anyone knows, they’ve always acted professionally. They have an adult son who lives in Portland; he works in a laboratory there.”

I made a mental note not to ever trust Doctor Bergman. I didn’t care how professional he was. I didn’t want a vampire anywhere near my blood.

“There are also demons. They can only be seen by other paranormals, and they tend to live in dark spaces. Generally, when humans worry about a place being haunted, or complain of the supernatural, they’ve come into contact with a demon. They’re quite rare, but they occasionally pop out to feed.”

I shuddered. “Okay, I’m not sure I wanted to know this after all.”

“Finally, there are shifters. They’re people who can transform into a variety of animals. They tend to be incredible athletes, and if you watch the Olympics, a large portion of the participants are actually shifters. Katie Ledecky? Secretly a dolphin shifter.”

“Really?” I asked, my mouth dropping open.

Yoko nodded. “Yes. Shifters bring some of their animal skills into their human bodies, and as a result, they’re naturally a lot more skilled at certain sports than most non-shifters.”

I shook my head slowly. It was crazy to think that this entire time I’d been living my life completely unaware of paranormals living their lives among everyone else. And yet, that was the reality.

“I guess I’ve got a lot to learn.”

“Oh, you do,” Yoko said with a smile. “But you’ll find nothing in the world more rewarding.”

Chapter 14

After a few hours we had plenty of the items ready and baked for the following morning, as well as pans upon pans of dough ready to go right into the oven first thing, so that all the baking throughout the day would be fresh.

The excitement and change of the previous few days seemed to have caught up with me, and I ended up falling asleep on the couch just after dinner, sleeping right through to the next morning, when I found Shakes curled up in a ball at my feet, comfortably snoring away.

I got up and stretched; my neck muscles were sore and tight from sleeping on the couch rather than the comfortable bed, but I felt rested and ready to take on the day.

Of course, I hadn’t actually had a chance to get any real food, but that was okay. I knew I was only one floor above a bakery full of delicious goodies, and now that I owned the store, it wasn’t as if I was stealing or anything. It was just taking from myself. Maybe this whole owning a bakery thing was going to turn out to be pretty cool after all.

I dressed casually, in jeans and a cute T-shirt, figuring that they’d probably get dirty throughout the day, left some food out for Shakes, along with a note that said I’d come back up to see him at lunch—it was actually pretty handy, having a cat who could read—then headed downstairs.

I immediately turned on the ovens to get them ready to go. Ten minutes later they were preheated, and I put in loaf after loaf of bread that Yoko had left in the fridge overnight into the ovens. It was just after seven now; they’d be ready right on time for when we opened at eight.

I spent the next hour trying to organize the rest of the baked goods. I figured out how to turn on the display case, and by the time Yoko snuck in the door at ten to eight, I had most of the baked goods on display, had the tables and chairs set up nicely, and was admiring my handiwork as I tried to ignore the butterflies fluttering in my stomach.

After all, this was my business, now. I wasn’t working for someone else. Everything started and ended with me. On the bright side, I wasn’t going to get fired for throwing Coke on a customer who had done the same to me first, but the downside was I had to be more mature than that in the first place.

Still, it was kind of cool to know I had the power to kick people out if they were being awful. Even if I didn’t really intend to use it.

Heading over to the front door, I flipped the hand-drawn chalk sign that read Closed over to Open and stuck it in the window, removing the sheet of paper that announced that we were temporarily closed due to a death in the family.

“I think I’m going to try and run the first few transactions myself,” I said to Yoko, who nodded, but I couldn’t help but notice her eye twitch slightly. “You don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Well, maybe you don’t want to be customer-facing straight away,” she said slowly. “But it’s up to you, of course.”

Realization dawned upon me, and I gasped. “People are going to think I’m the killer!”

Yoko shrugged. “I didn’t want to say it, but I mean, word is going around. I think it’s ridiculous, personally. So does anyone else with sense. But you know, small towns. People don’t have a lot of things to do other than gossip.”

My heart sank. “So you think I should be shoved away at the back and hidden so people aren’t scared that I’m going to poison them too.”

“I’m just trying to think of your business,” Yoko said with a shrug.

I shook my head. “That’s too bad. I live here now, and this is my business, and if anyone is afraid I’m going to poison them, well that’s their problem and not mine. I’ll make up a sign saying ‘Cyanide Free’ and stick it in the cheesecake if that’ll help.”

Yoko laughed despite herself. “Somehow I don’t think that’s going to make things better. But you know what? It’s up to you.”

I nodded. I had never been the type of person to shy away from a challenge or let myself be bullied. In second grade, when Jonny Sherman pulled on my pigtails in the middle of class, I pulled his pants down in front of all his friends. He never spoke to me again after that, and I was all the better for it.

No, I wasn’t going to hide away because some people wrongly believed I was a killer. I was going to stand there proudly, taking on my role as the Queen of Tarts, and I was going to find who had really killed Charlie Johnson. As soon as the true killer was behind bars, everyone in town would be willing to come back to my bakery. I just knew it.

It only took about three or four minutes after I flipped the sign over for my first customer to come in. She was tall and blond and had obviously just come back from a run. She breathed slightly heavily as she entered, her cheeks flushed. This woman was gorgeous.

“Hi,” she said, greeting me. “You’ve got to be related to Diane, don’t you?”

“I’m her biological daughter, Robin,” I explained. “She gave me up for adoption when I was a baby, and I just found out about her when she passed.” I figured I was going to get asked that a lot today.

“Oh. Well, I’m sorry you didn’t get to know Diane. I’m just glad this place is staying open. A nice slice after a run is my main motivation to get out there in the mornings.” The woman laughed gently, and I immediately liked her. “Could I please get a slice of that blueberry lemon loaf to take away?”

“Sure thing,” I said, grabbing one of the small paper sandwich bags under the counter and a pair of tongs. “I’m guessing you’re a regular here, then?”

“Oh yeah. Every Monday, Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday. Those are my running days. Getting out of bed at six in the morning sucks, but I reward myself with something from here for breakfast.”

“Well, I look forward to seeing you again.”

“You will,” the woman said as she handed me a five-dollar bill. It took me a couple of seconds to find the right buttons on the register, but a moment later I was handing her back her change.

“Have a great day,” I said with a smile.

The woman held up the bag in thanks. “You too.”

As she left, relief lifted a weight off my shoulders. That was it. The first interaction I’d had with a customer, and it had been successful. I felt the same way every time I started a new job. I always started off terrified, worried that everything that could go wrong, would. Of course, it was ridiculous, but that was my personal small fear.

I also noticed that walking around Queen of Tarts felt different. My other jobs had always been just that—jobs, where I was paid the bare minimum someone was legally required to pay me. I had never felt any ownership, any pride in what I was doing, but now this was my business. I owned this shop, and my name was the one associated with it. I felt a greater pressure than I ever had before to do things right. I wanted to do things right.

Despite not having had a career and never having any well-paying jobs, I was ambitious. I wanted a good job. I wanted to be successful. I just hadn’t had an opportunity to do that yet. Well, this was my opportunity, and I was going to take it by the horns. No question.

Unfortunately, my self-confidence balloon deflated slightly a moment later when a couple walked to the front door of the shop, had their hand on the door, spotted me inside, and quickly rushed away in the other direction as fast as they could.

Great. Yoko had been right. Some people did think I was the killer, and they weren’t going to come here because of it. Well, that was their problem, not mine. The food in here was good, and it wasn’t laced with cyanide. If they couldn’t understand that, it was their loss. At least until I found out who the real killer was.

Luckily, a couple of minutes later another couple walked in, the woman looking more enthusiastic than the man. “Oh, thank goodness you’re open again,” the woman gushed. “You know, I never knew how much I missed the sourdough bread from here until poor Diane passed away and the shop was closed for a couple weeks. I think I’m addicted.”

I laughed while the woman’s husband rolled his eyes behind her. “Well, you can get your fix once again. I’m here and using the same recipes as Diane.”

“That’s great to hear,” the woman said. “I’ll take a loaf of sourdough, unsliced, and maybe a couple slices of that delicious-looking cheesecake. Hey, Harry? What do you think? That would be nice with dinner, wouldn’t it?”

“You say that as if I have any say whatsoever,” Harry replied. “Whatever you want is fine, dear. And I’ll have a small latte to go, please.”

“Of course,” I said with a smile, ringing up the order for the couple. There were a number of boxes underneath the counter, so I placed the cheesecake in one of those, thinking it was better to carry in than a paper bag. Then, I went to the coffee machine, slid a take-out cup in place, and pressed the button for a latte.

I handed Harry his coffee, and the woman her bread and the box of cheesecake.

“Here you go,” I said with a smile.

“Thank you so much, dear. I’m really glad to see this place open once more. I don’t know what this town would be without Queen of Tarts.”

Feeling a little bit uplifted once more, I said goodbye to the couple and then checked in on Yoko in the kitchen.

“How’s it going out there?” she asked.

“Good,” I replied. “Only one couple ran away as fast as they could once they spotted me through the window.”

Yoko gave me a sympathetic look. “Don’t worry. Give it a couple of weeks. People will forget about it soon enough.”

I nodded. “I know.” Because I was going to find the killer, that was why. I couldn’t live my life as a pariah. And as much as Yoko was being nice, if no one went to jail for Charlie’s murder, I was going to spend my whole life being “that woman everyone thinks killed Charlie Johnson.”

And if I was going to be known for something, I wanted it to be something much cooler or more interesting than that. “That woman who stopped a robbery with only her wits” or “That woman who saved an entire litter of puppies from a burning building.” Those were cool things to be known for. Murder was much less cool.

Around ten o’clock, as I was just starting to get a handle on things, a familiar face walked into Queen of Tarts. It was the nurse who had declared Charlie dead and her husband. Elsa had told me the woman’s husband, Tony Byers, was the man who had been demoted after pushing to let Charlie have a job at the grocery store where he was caught stealing.

Chapter 15

“Hi there,” I greeted them. “How are you today?”

“So you’re the one taking over from Diane,” the nurse said with a friendly smile. “I’m Monica. It’s nice to meet you. And this is my husband Tony.”

“Robin. It’s nice to meet you as well.”

“You were at the diner the other day, weren’t you?” Monica asked.

I nodded. “Yes. I was sitting next to Charlie when he died.”

“I’m sorry you had to see that. It was an awful scene all around, really.”

“It certainly was. I heard from people in town you knew him. I had only just arrived in town the night before.”

“Oh, everyone in town knew Charlie,” Monica said with a wry smile. “He had issues, that’s for sure. Tony here was nice enough to get him a job where he didn’t have to interact with anyone, and he wasn’t even able to hold that down.”

Tony nodded. “Charlie obviously had some unaddressed issues. He needed to see a professional for his problems. He never did, though.”

“It was nice of you to get him a job,” I said to Tony, who rolled his eyes slightly.

“Yeah, and a whole lot of good it did me. I thought him having a steady job might keep him out of trouble. Maybe he’d stop dealing drugs to kids. But no. It didn’t do any of that, and I ended up losing my job because of him. Still, he didn’t deserve to die.”

“I heard a teenager overdosed because of drugs he got from Charlie a few months back,” I said quietly.

Monica nodded. “Oh, yes. It was really awful. I was working when he came in. We did our best to revive him, but it was too late. I’ll never forget the look on his father’s face when he came in. The doctor told him his son didn’t make it, and it was just the most horrible expression. He collapsed on the floor, sobbing. His wife died when Daniel was a baby, you see. She had breast cancer. Andrew practically raised that boy on his own, until he married Kylie about five years ago. He was devastated.”

“Oh no,” I said, my heart going out to the man.

Monica nodded. “It was one of the worst things I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen a lot of bad things in that hospital. I’ll never forget the look on his face.”

“And Charlie was the one who sold Daniel the drugs?” I asked.

“It was never proven,” Tony chimed in. “But everyone knew it was him. Another kid Daniel’s age had taken drugs at the same time as Daniel, but he didn’t take as much of it, and naloxone saved his life. Because they had taken all of the drugs, however, the district attorney wasn’t able to press charges. They searched Charlie’s home, but he must have flushed them all.”

“That must have been hard on the family,” I said quietly.

“Oh, yes. Andrew still hasn’t gone back to work,” Monica said sadly. “Luckily, Kylie has a good job working for a local start-up and can easily support them both. The community has really come together for them as well. Every week people drop off casseroles and that sort of thing, so they never have to worry about cooking.”

“That’s good, at least.”

“Exactly. It’s important that Andrew be able to focus on healing.”

“Do you know who might have killed Charlie?” I asked Tony and Monica, not letting on that I certainly considered Tony, if not both of them, suspects.

“You ask me, it was Oliver,” Tony said immediately. “And if he did, I wouldn’t send the man to prison for a single day.”

“He’s the father of the student Charlie tried to molest, right?” I asked.

Tony nodded. “That’s right. Natalie Jones. If one of my daughter’s teachers tried something like that, well, I’m not sure what I’d do.”

I nodded. It was certainly interesting that Tony had answered immediately. Was he trying to divert suspicion from himself? Or was he innocent and a father who knew just how protective Oliver would have been of Natalie?

I wasn’t one hundred percent sure.

“If Oliver did do it, I hope he gets away with it,” Tony said. “I know I’d pin a medal on him.”

“You can’t condone crime,” Monica said, shaking her head. “Yes, what Charlie did was awful. And it’s a good thing he’s no longer employed as a teacher and will never get to be near another child. But when you start giving people a free pass for murder, where do you draw the line?”

“At pedophiles,” Tony replied.

“Hebephiles,” Monica said.

“Huh?” Tony asked, shaking his head.

“Pedophiles are people who are attracted to pre-pubescent children. Hebephiles are attracted to younger teenagers who have started puberty,” Monica explained.

Tony flashed me a grin. “This is what it’s like when your wife is way smarter than you,” he said, and I laughed.

“Oh, give yourself a bit of credit,” Monica said. “Anyway, we’d better order before someone else comes in.”

The conversation over, I grabbed the two of them the coffee they were after, along with a slice of cheesecake and a slice of pumpkin pie to go, and they were on their way, leaving me with a number of questions.

I wondered about Andrew Farraday. If he really was suffering as much as it appeared—and I could completely understand his grief—then I doubted he was the killer. I knew how I felt after Mom and Dad died. It was just this numbness for so long. It was like my chest was completely empty, and I had no desire to do anything. I would go to work, come home, and I would sit on the floor, pressed up against the wall, just staring into space for hours. I couldn’t bring myself to do anything. There was no way anyone else in that same frame of mind would be able to meticulously plan and carry out a murder. No way.

Then, my mind turned back to Tony Byers. Had he killed Charlie because he lost his job? Monica might have had access to cyanide at the hospital. Or at the very least, she would have been able to procure some somehow. She was obviously intelligent. Maybe Tony asked her to get some for her, or maybe Monica killed Charlie herself. After all, she didn’t exactly jump up to try and save him while he was dying. She might have been a bit surprised, but she was still a nurse. That was the sort of thing she should have done.

Then, there was Oliver Jones. Tony thought he was the most likely killer. And he certainly had motive in spades. I wondered where the man lived. However, working as a cook in a diner, I imagined it would have been harder for him to get access to cyanide. It wasn’t as if that was a regular kitchen ingredient.

Another customer walked through the door then, and my thoughts were interrupted as I went back to serving.

The morning flew by, and I had just told Yoko to take her break for lunch when I had one more customer enter.

The woman was easily in her seventies, if not even older. She had on white Converse sneakers and bright pink pants. Her oversized black sweater read ‘Don’t hate me cuz you ain’t me’ in white lettering, and she kept her huge black sunglasses on even indoors.

Her gray hair had two streaks of electric blue on either side, and onlookers stared. Not only was she dressed incredibly strangely—not just for a woman of her age—but she had that kind of presence that really carries a room. She might have been short in stature, but she had a certain gravitas that was strangely alluring.

The woman stopped and peered through the glass. “I see you’re going with all of Diane’s old tried and true recipes,” she said.

“Why mess with greatness?” I replied with a smile. It wasn’t the first time I’d been asked that this morning, and I was perfecting my response as I went.

“Well, if you ask me, Diane needed to add some more variety to her offerings. But no one ever asks me. What do I know? I’m just a crazy old coot. Let me have a look at you. Robin, is it?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said with a nod.

“Don’t ever call me ma’am again. That’s for old ladies,” the woman replied as she looked up at me, and I felt strangely uncomfortable.

“Alright,” I replied.

“Robin. That’s funny, you don’t look like a bird.” Okay, this woman was starting to get on my nerves.

“Believe it or not, in the English language, words can mean two things.”

I had half expected the woman to snap at me, but instead she laughed. “Oh, good. At least you have a personality. That’s better than some of my other grandchildren.”

“Your other grandchildren?” I asked, my eyebrows rising. Maybe it was more than her dress that was a little crazy.

“Of course, my other grandchildren. You’ve met Elsa and Emma by now. Although Heather won’t invite me over to meet you, since apparently I’m a lot to handle at once, and so I had to come in and see you for myself. I’m your grandmother, Jaqueline. But if you ever call me that, I’ll cut you. You call me Jackie.”

“Well, you’re the first grandmother I’ve had who’s threatened bodily harm,” I said. “I hope it’s nice to meet you.”

“Please. It’s not just a pleasure for you to meet me, it’s a freaking honor. I’m fantastic.”

“And humble,” I couldn’t help but add.

“Please. Humility is one of those fake things they tell women to have to keep us down. You never see men being told to be more humble, and you never see them hold back on their accomplishments. We should be the same.”

I laughed. “You know what? I like you.” And I did. Jackie was not at all what I expected from a grandmother—my “real” grandparents, the ones I’d grown up with, had always been the kindly, doting old people who gave me candy when Mom and Dad weren’t looking and who took me to the fair every summer.

Basically, the opposite of the woman in front of me. But I had to say, I wasn’t sad about it. She was certainly spunky.

“I like you too. You’re nothing like your mother.”

“I hope that’s a compliment.”

“It certainly is. I don’t know how I managed to raise a couple of women who liked to live by the rules, but I don’t get that impression from you. I look forward to seeing what you do with this place.”

“Hey, Jackie?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you have magical powers to, then?”

Jackie grinned. “Oh, yes. And frankly, I wish they’d let me be the one to tell you all about it. But no, Aunt Heather insisted that she do it. Apparently I’m too in-your-face.”

I laughed. “You? No way.”

“Exactly what I said. Well, why don’t I have a slice of that lovely orange and cranberry cheesecake? Diane hadn’t made that in years, and it was always one of my favorites. She has that whole big book out the back, and yet she’d only stick to the same fifteen recipes, rotated through. I’ll let you know if your cooking is as good as your mother’s.”

“I wouldn’t expect any less,” I said as I packed the cheesecake into the box. Grandma—er, Jackie—handed over some cash, and I paused for a second, then took it.

“Good girl,” she said, nodding approvingly. “When you’re starting your own business—and I don’t care that you took over for Diane, you’re just starting—you need to take money from everyone, even friends and family. Anyone who doesn’t support you and doesn’t support your business is a bum, and I recommend cutting them out of your life immediately.”

“Thanks for the tip,” I said.

Jackie held up the box. “Thanks for the cheesecake.”

And with that, the world’s strangest grandmother left Queen of Tarts and went on her way.

Chapter 16

The rest of the day was fairly uneventful, and by the time we closed up shop I was feeling pretty proud of myself. I thought I’d handled everything pretty well, with Yoko’s help.

“This is where Diane kept the safe,” Yoko told me at the end of the day, leading me to the back of the kitchen. “She usually kept all the extra cash here and then would go to the bank to deposit everything once a week.”

She moved a container of flour aside, displaying a standard safe with a keyboard for the code. “The combination is 0307.”

“My birthday,” I said quietly.

Yoko smiled kindly. “I didn’t know that. Diane never told me what it meant. She must have thought about you a lot.”

I nodded, feeling a lump building in my throat. It was strange to think that while I’d spent my entire life not really caring where I’d come from and who my biological family was, my biological mother had obviously thought about me every day.

I put the extra money from the day in the safe. Aunt Heather had said she’d come by and give me all of the financial documents for the business. In the meantime, she’d given me a thousand dollars to tide me over, which was incredibly generous of her. I wanted to get some information on Oliver Jones, and I figured another meal at the diner might just be the best way to do it.

After closing up with Yoko—she showed me everything she’d made that afternoon that was ready to just pop in the oven in the morning—I headed upstairs to find Shakes still sleeping, curled in a little ball, then headed into town.

Even though it was a bit early for dinner—just before four in the afternoon—the diner still bustled with life. Half the booths were taken by every demographic imaginable: high schoolers enjoying an after-school snack of milkshakes and French fries, retired couples spending an afternoon together, a group of mothers trying to stop their unruly toddlers from crawling all over the floor while they enjoyed a cocktail, among others.

Dora sped past, somehow holding at least five plates as she headed to one of the tables.

“Just take a seat wherever, dear,” she said to me with a wink, and I thanked her as I walked past the booths and right back to the counter. I wanted to be in prime position to chat to Dora and to have a look at Oliver, if he was working.

A moment later Dora returned, greeting me with a smile and another laminated menu. “Glad to see you back,” she told me.

“It turns out I’m spending more time in Spellford Cove than I’d planned,” I replied with a chuckle.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll love it here. I know the other day’s experience wasn’t ideal, but it’s not the norm. I’ve only ever once had a customer die on me. Old Father Joseph. He led the church until fifteen years ago, when he collapsed. His heart gave out, and he went face-first into the two pancakes he had left in his stack.”

“Oh,” I replied, not entirely sure how to react to that news.

“But what happened to Charlie,” Dora continued, shaking her head. “Poison. Nothing like that’s ever happened here before. That’s the sort of thing you hear about in cities. Not in a place like Spellford Cove.”

She shuddered slightly. “But I’m getting off topic, and I don’t want you to lose your appetite. I’ll be back in a few minutes to take your order.”

“Thanks,” I said, perusing the menu. My stomach grumbled, and I realized I was starving. I might have eaten a slice of peach pie that morning—after all, I had to sample the goods to make sure they were delicious enough to serve to customers, or so I reasoned—but for my lunch break I’d just gone upstairs and given Shakes a bit of attention, made sure he was okay, and then headed right back down to keep working. Probably first-day nerves.

That meant that as soon as I perused the menu my stomach began to grumble like crazy.

This felt like a burger and fries kind of day.

A man slipped onto the stool next to me, and my heart instinctively began racing. This was exactly how the conversation with Charlie had started, just minutes before he was killed.

I certainly didn’t want a repeat, and I hoped this man would leave me alone.

I dared a glance in his direction. He looked to be about my age, maybe a couple years older. Certainly no older than thirty-five. He had a couple days’ worth of stubble on his chin and black hair with a slight natural wave to it. His hazel eyes had a certain light to them, and he grinned when he saw Dora.

“How’s it going, Dor?” he asked. She didn’t even bother sliding him a menu.

“Oh, you know, same old, same old. What’s life like when you’re saving the world?”

“Much of the same. No one tells you saving the world involves spending so much time at a desk. Or that there are so many meetings.”

Dora laughed. “Well, I appreciate every single one of those meetings if it’s going to help save the planet for my grandkids.”

“I’m doing my best,” the man said with a smile. “Anyway, just the usual for me, please.”

“Coming right up,” Dora said, then she slid over to me. “How about you dear? Are you ready to order?”

“I’ll have the Cove Burger with a side of onion rings, please,” I said, handing the menu back to her.

“Sure thing. Good choice.”

Dora slipped off to place the orders while I tried to peer through the kitchen to see if I could recognize Oliver Jones. One of the men working, his brow covered in sweat held back by a black bandana, was the same man as I’d seen the other day, but I wasn’t sure if it was him.

So, I did what any millennial would do and opened up Facebook to do a search.

It took a bit of searching before I found the right guy; after all, Oliver Jones was a fairly common name. But as I filtered to people who lived in Spellford Cove and only Spellford Cove, it narrowed things down to one result. And the profile picture was definitely of the man working the grill in front of me.

I scrolled through his public profile. Most of what he shared were memes referencing how pedophiles should be murdered, in a variety of gruesome ways, at least for the past six months. The other things he shared were mainly pictures of him drinking, doing stupid things, and frankly acting more like a frat boy than the father of a teenager.

Was that the kind of guy who could get access to cyanide? It wasn’t as if it was the sort of thing you could pop down to the local pharmacy and buy a vial of. Cyanide was dangerous, and for it to have been so lethal as to kill Charlie within a few seconds, it had to have been a very potent batch.

This wasn’t someone dropping a few apple seeds into his meal and hoping he didn’t notice.

A few minutes later, Dora stopped behind the counter once more and grabbed herself a drink. “So, you’re staying in town?” she asked me.

I nodded. “Yeah. I’m taking over Queen of Tarts. Diane Eames was my birth mother.”

“Oh, I can see the resemblance, now you mention it,” Dora said, nodding. “Of course. I had no idea she had a daughter.”

“I didn’t realize she was my biological mother,” I said with a small smile. “Aunt Heather got in touch with me after she died. Diane left her a note telling her about my existence.”

“It’s so sad how she passed. Cancer takes the best of us,” Dora said with a sad shake of her head. “My father went that way. Lung cancer. He smoked like a chimney, of course, which didn’t help, but that doesn’t mean he deserved the end he got. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy. Me, I quit the day he died and haven’t touched a cigarette since.”

“Good for you,” I said.

“You see someone you love go that way, and it changes things,” Dora said. “I’m sorry about your mother, even if you didn’t know her. Diane was good people. She was nice.”

“Thanks,” I said, lowering my voice. “Listen, I was wondering if you could help me out. I’ve been hearing a lot of things about Oliver Jones, what with Charlie having been killed and all, and I’m wondering if any of it might be true.”

Dora seemed to be the type of woman who loved to gossip, and I banked on that being the case here. Sure enough, she gave me a conspiratorial smile and leaned in.

“Well, you heard about what Charlie did to his daughter, right?” she asked.

I nodded. “I did. Horrible stuff.”

“Of course. Well, the bit most people don’t know is that the day after he was fired, Charlie came in here with a black eye and a bloody nose. Said he tripped and fell on the sidewalk. Right. Because people definitely trip onto pavement and only hit their eye socket. Word went around, and we all know it was Oliver who did it, but of course Charlie never went to the police. He was trying to avoid them for obvious reasons.”

“Oh,” I said, my eyebrows rising.

“But did he kill Charlie? I don’t think so. Oliver’s not really the type. He wouldn’t be subtle about it. If Oliver had done it, he’d have strung the man up from one of the lights downtown and put the body on display. He’s not exactly a subtle guy.”

I nodded slowly as I looked past Dora and back to the kitchen. “Yes, that’s a good point.”

“No, you ask me, I think it was Tony Byers. Not only did he lose his job over Charlie, but he was sitting one booth over from Andrew and Kylie.”

“The Farradays?” I asked.

Dora nodded. “Yes. Andrew was sitting with his back right to Tony, so Tony could hear everything Andrew said. I know it, because when Andrew started telling me about how he had considered killing himself, Tony stiffened.”

“Oh no,” I said. “Andrew really said that?”

“Yeah. I’ve never seen Kylie look so heartbroken. I think she thought taking Andrew out for breakfast might make him feel a little bit better, but the poor man.”

“Do you know if he’s seeing someone? A psychologist?”

Dora nodded. “I spoke to Kylie about it after. She said Andrew had refused, but after he told me—me, just the waitress at the local diner, not even someone he’s close to—that he wanted to die, she was going to insist. And I’m glad she is. He needs professional help.”

“No kidding,” I replied.

“He spent the entire meal sitting in that spot. He didn’t even eat his food, just pushed it around his plate a little bit. He didn’t move once. The poor man. He’s obviously struggling. And so is Kylie.”

“Daniel was her stepson, right?” I asked.

Dora nodded. “Yes. She met and married Andrew about five years ago. She and Daniel got along fine, from what I’ve heard, but they weren’t especially close. She’s the one holding Andrew together right now. You should have seen the heartbreak on her face when she realized just how much Andrew was struggling. She’s been doing everything she can to try and make him feel better. You know, frankly, a part of me hopes whoever killed Charlie is never found. I don’t like knowing there’s a killer around, but you ask me, that particular homicide was a public service. He caused so much hurt and anger in this town, to good people who don’t deserve it, and I’m glad he’s no longer around. Although if it were up to me, I’d rather he moved away.”

“Really?” I asked, my eyebrows rising. “You’re not the least bit worried? After all, he died here, in this diner. In fact, I’m surprised it’s so busy. I would have thought some people would stay away after what happened.”

Dora shook her head. “It’s a tad less busy than normal, but nothing too out of the ordinary.”

“Oh,” I said. “I’ve had multiple people who were obviously going to come in to Queen of Tarts leave when they saw me.”

Dora gave me a sympathetic look as a bell rang from the kitchen. “I’ve got to run this food over to customers, but I’ll be back, and I want to hear all about it, dear.”

The first plate she placed in front of me, and then she went and grabbed the others and sashayed to the other side of the counter to find the tables they belonged to.

Chapter 17

“Did I hear you say you’re the new owner of Queen of Tarts?” the man next to me said. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”

I nodded, a little bit wary after my previous experience. “That’s right.”

“Well, for what it’s worth, I don’t think you killed Charlie,” the man said with a grin. “Although I have heard I might be in the minority in that respect. I’ll come by and get something tomorrow.”

I looked him up and down. The casual slacks and polo he wore couldn’t hide the fact that this guy obviously spent a good portion of his time at the gym. “You don’t look like the kind of guy who eats a lot of cake,” my mouth said before my brain clicked that it wasn’t a good idea.

A flush crawled up the back of my neck, but to my surprise, the guy just laughed.

“Ninety percent of the reason I work out is so I can eat more junk food.”

“Hey, me too,” I replied with a grin, which was kind of a lie. I very rarely actually worked out, but when I did, I definitely rewarded myself with something unhealthy.

“I’m Hunter,” he said, holding out a hand, which I shook.

“Robin.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m assuming you’re new in town?”

I nodded. “How about you? I heard from Dora that you work at saving the world?”

Hunter laughed good-naturedly. “I do my best, anyway. I run a start-up here that’s developing software designed to help identify the locations in photos and videos based on items in the background.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Wow, that’s not exactly what I expected. Why aren’t you working out of Silicon Valley or the Bay Area with all the other start-ups?”

“Can’t stand the lifestyle,” Hunter replied with a shrug. “Honestly, most of the people in tech are arrogant, full of themselves, think their companies are worth way more than they actually are, and will stab you in the back if they think it can get them another round of venture capital funding, and those are all their best features.”

I laughed. “So that’s not you, then.”

Hunter grinned. “I like to think not. I grew up in a small town, and I like small towns. I picked Spellford Cove since it’s right next to the national park, so there’s a ton of nature to explore. Life moves at a little bit of a slower pace, and since most of my company’s work is done online, about eighty percent of my staff work remotely. I do keep a small office here, though.”

“Wow,” I said, impressed. “That’s pretty cool. What made you decide to get into it?”

Hunter shrugged. “I’ve always wanted to help people. The software I’m developing is going to be used by the FBI and other agencies to help find victims of child pornography, among other things. It’s going to stop crime. Heck, the preliminary versions of the software already are. So after I graduated I started up Pickstills. It’s a play on words for ‘pixels.’”

“That’s amazing,” I said, impressed.

“How about you? Where did you live before moving here?”

“Minneapolis. Diane Eames adopted me out to my parents when I was a baby. They died a few years ago.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Hunter said. “That’s not easy.”

“No,” I said, the corner of my mouth twitching. Even though three years had passed, I still felt their loss daily. “Anyway, my aunt Heather wrote me to let me know I’d inherited Queen of Tarts, and while I have zero business experience and even less baking experience, I figured I’d give it a shot.”

“Good for you,” Hunter said, nodding approvingly. “It’s not easy, taking a chance like that. How’s it going so far?”

“Well, it’s only been one day, but I’m doing alright. I’m sure as soon as I get into accounting and that sort of thing it’s going to be a bit harder.”

“Look, why don’t I give you my card? If you need any help with that sort of thing, recommendations for accountants, suggestions for software to record things, or even if you just want to rant about how hard it is being a business owner—because trust me, it’s awesome, but you’ll have moments when you just want to scream at everything—hit me up. I’m happy to help.”

Hunter passed me a business card, and I took it gratefully. “Thanks.” I didn’t get the impression at all that this was him trying to subtly give me his phone number. He just seemed like a genuine guy, and I was grateful for it.

“Anyway, I’m interrupting, and your food’s getting cold,” he said, motioning to my burger and onion rings. My stomach chose that exact moment to do a great Chewbacca impression, and Hunter laughed. “Seems I’m not the only one who’s noticed.”

“Yeah, it’s been a long day,” I replied with a smile, turning to my plate.

The smell wafting up from it was mouthwatering, and I immediately dug into the burger, closing my eyes as I took the first satisfying bite. No wonder this place was practically packed, no matter the hour.

Surely anyone who cooked a burger this good couldn’t be a murderer.

I thought about the case over lunch. Frankly, the more I learned about Oliver Jones, the less likely I thought him to be the killer. For one thing, he would have had the perfect opportunity to kill Charlie when he simply broke his face a little bit. And since that had been immediately after Charlie’s dismissal as a teacher, I imagined the wound of knowing what Charlie had done being much more vivid and open, he would have been more likely to murder Charlie then.

Besides, going from what I’d seen on social media, Oliver just didn’t strike me as the kind of guy who would meticulously plan a murder. I wasn’t sure he had the mental capacity for it.

But boy could the man cook up a good batch of onion rings.

“Now, how are you doing over here?” Dora asked when she came back about three minutes later. I’d practically devoured the first half of my burger and was forcing myself to take on the onion rings a little bit more slowly.

“Great, thanks. This is delicious.”

“Now, I want you to know that anyone who thinks you killed Charlie is off their rocker. And don’t you worry, I’m sure they’ll get over it soon enough.”

“Thanks,” I said with a kind smile. “That’s nice of you to say.”

“I mean it too. You’re obviously a smart girl. You’ll be fine. And as I said, no one here liked Charlie anyway.”

I nodded. “No, no one I’ve spoken to has had a single nice thing to say about him.”

Dora went off to serve others, and I couldn’t help but look at her as a suspect, as well. After all, while she didn’t have any obvious reason to want Charlie dead—not that I knew of, anyway—she had the perfect opportunity to poison his food while he’d gone to the bathroom. She had passed by at least twice during that time, that I remembered. She could have easily slipped something into his coffee without anyone noticing.

And it wasn’t as if Dora seemed super broken up by his death. In fact, quite the opposite; she openly admitted that she wanted the killer to get away with what they’d done. Did that mean she was the killer?

I just wasn’t entirely sure.

I was just finishing up my meal when my phone binged, indicating I’d received a text. It was from Elsa.

Hey, want to learn some magic? Emma and I are both around to give you a lesson, if you’d like.

I instinctively smiled at the phone.

I’d love to, I sent back. Elsa sent me her address and told me to meet her there in an hour. It was just enough time for me to go back to the hotel and get my car from the parking lot, lugging the rest of my things up the stairs and into the new apartment.

Shakes began to stir as I got up. “How did the day go?”

“Good,” I replied. “I’m just bringing the rest of my things up.”

“What books have you got?” he asked as he stretched his legs in front of him, his little paws moving up and down slightly as his chest hit the ground, his back legs still high in the air.

“I’m afraid I don’t have a lot,” I said apologetically. “My old apartment in Minneapolis was so small I couldn’t really fit a whole lot of books in it, so when Mom and Dad died I sold most of them to the local used bookstore.”

“Well, you’ll have to fix that,” Shakes said. “Reading is the gateway to the soul. Reading can change your mind, and it can change the world.”

“That’s fair enough, but it’s a lot easier to read when you’re not spending every day working for minimum wage trying to make rent and have enough left over to buy food,” I pointed out. “There were times when any books I had would have been burned for warmth.”

“Yes, I suppose we can’t all live the life of leisure that cats do.”

“No kidding. You just spent the entire day sleeping.”

“That’s not true. I woke up to use the litterbox twice, and I also ate some of that food you left out for me. By the way, we’re going to have to have a conversation about the food you buy me. I feel as though you’re getting me store-brand food, when I’m obviously a name-brand kind of cat. Personally, I’d rather you just buy me a fish every day and let me eat that.”

“There isn’t a chance in the world of that happening,” I said with a laugh. “Although I can splurge on the good stuff for you, I guess. It turns out the bakery is actually pretty successful. I haven’t run the exact numbers yet, but I should be able to turn a profit.”

“Good,” Shakes replied. “I’m glad to hear it. And you can use those profits to buy books. I’ll read almost anything, really. I like to broaden my horizons, and that means reading all sorts of books.”

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll see if I can find some for you tomorrow. Anyway, I’m heading off to Elsa’s house. Do you want to come? I’m going to be using some magic.”

“Only if you promise not to cast any spells on me.”

“Deal.” I had no intention of using magic on anything more alive than a rock at the moment. Not until I had a much better handle on my newfound powers.

Chapter 18

I decided to walk to Elsa’s house. After all, Google Maps told me it was only about a ten- minute stroll away, and I figured I’d get to know my new town a little bit better if I went by on foot than if I took the car.

Besides, it was a ten-minute walk, and that felt like a bit of a waste.

Elsa lived in a cute little bungalow painted a pastel yellow with white trim. It stuck out beautifully against the trees that surrounded the property and had a real fairy-tale feel to it. I knocked on the door, and to my surprise, Emma answered.

“Robin,” she greeted me, her face breaking out into a wide smile. “It’s great to see you again. Come on in. Oh, and you brought your familiar.”

“I hope that’s okay,” I said with a smile.

“Of course.” Emma’s eyes then immediately widened, and she sneezed violently. “Let me just grab a Claritin real quick.”

“Oh no,” I said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were allergic.”

“It’s okay,” Emma said with a laugh as she motioned for me to follow her. “We always joke that I’m the only witch in the world who could be allergic to the two most common familiars. Because Elsa has her dog here as well, I basically need to take a Claritin every day. I just haven’t taken one yet today, and Elsa hasn’t come back from walking Snickerdoodle.”

“Do you and Elsa live together?” I asked.

Emma nodded. “Yes. It makes things easier, and besides, we get along just fine.”

“Cool.”

“If you decide it’s too boring to live above the bakery, or if you want to rent it out, you’re welcome to live here. We actually have four bedrooms, so we’ve set one up as an office and one as a guest bed, but you’re welcome to take the guest bedroom as your own.”

“Thanks,” I said warmly while Shakes looked around. He found the bookshelf and sat down in front of it, staring up at the tomes. “Hey, do you mind if I give Shakes a book? He really likes reading, apparently.”

“Go for it,” Emma said, motioning to the shelf. “That’s strange, though. I’ve never heard of a cat who likes reading.”

I headed over and scoured the shelf. “Do you like fantasy?” I asked Shakes.

“I don’t think I’ve read anything in the genre,” he replied. “I’m always willing to give it a shot, though.”

“Good,” I said, taking The Fellowship of the Ring off the shelf. That should keep him entertained for a while, at least. I put the book down on the ground, and to my surprise, Shakes immediately sat in front of it and with one paw carefully opened the cover and flipped to the first page.

“Just when you think you’ve seen everything,” Emma said with a smile as she raised her eyebrows before sneezing again. She popped a pill and motioned for me to sit on the couch.

“So how was your first day at the bakery?”

“Good,” I replied. “Yoko is wonderful.”

“She really is. Diane depended on her a lot. She’s got some incredible kitchen skills.”

“She showed me how to use my magic in baking,” I replied. “And I have to say, I tried a slice of pie this morning, and it was maybe the best thing I’ve ever eaten.”

“The secret to good baking really is magic,” Emma said with a laugh. “Did you know Alton Brown is actually a wizard?”

“Is he really?” I asked, and Emma nodded. “Well, that’s pretty cool.”

“He’s from our coven as well, since he’s a kitchen wizard. A lot of the best chefs are.”

“I’m never going to watch Food Network the same way again,” I said with a laugh as the front door opened and a barrel of fur came charging through the house.

“Oh, Elsa’s back,” Emma said with a chuckle. That was right; Elsa said her familiar was a dog. The fluffy terrier sprinted from one end of the house and back again, ears flapping with every step.

“Hey, watch it, some of us are trying to read here,” Shakes snapped at the dog as he flew past the living room rug where Shakes was reading.

“Snickers is always excited when he comes back from walking,” Emma explained. “You’ll get used to it. He’ll calm down a little bit when Elsa gets him his treat.”

Sure enough, Elsa entered the open-plan living room/kitchen area, and nodded when she saw me.

“Hey, how’s it going?” She opened one of the kitchen drawers, and Snickers immediately turned a hundred and eighty degrees and sprinted to Elsa, skidding to a stop at her feet and sitting down, staring up at her, his tongue hanging out of his mouth as he panted.

Snickers had to be some sort of Jack Russell cross. He had mostly brown fur tinged with a little bit of white, big black eyes, and an adorable face.

Elsa held up a treat then dropped it, and Snickers caught it in midair, happily munching away at it.

“Seriously, some animals just have no class,” Shakes muttered, glaring at the new arrival before going back to his book.

“You’re a guest here, I’ll remind you,” I said to my familiar, narrowing my eyes at him. I swear, if he could have rolled his eyes at me, he would have.

“It’s time for magic lessons,” Elsa said, clapping her hands together with glee. “I can’t wait. I thought I’d have to have kids first before I got to teach anyone how to use magic, and I’m nowhere near wanting kids.”

Emma laughed. “You’re also missing a key component in being able to have children: any sort of long-term relationship.”

“You’re not wrong,” Elsa said with a wry smile. “I swear, if I could find one guy who was half as good as his online profile said, I’d be set for life.”

“You need to stop looking for men on the internet,” Emma pointed out. “Go to a bar or something.”

“I don’t have time for that. Besides, I know all the guys that live here in town. I’ve sampled all the fish in our particular pond.”

I laughed while Emma made a face. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault none of the guys here are worth dating.”

“You have not dated every guy who lives in Spellford Cove,” Emma shot back.

“I met one today,” I said. “Do you know Hunter? He runs that start-up?”

“Hunter Price?” Elsa asked. “You met him?”

“Yeah. At the diner, he was sitting next to me.”

“See?” Emma said, sticking her tongue out at her twin. “Even Robin has been here like, three days, and she’s managed to find a more decent man than you have in almost thirty years of living here.”

“Hey, that’s not fair. Charlie Johnson flirted with her and died like three minutes later. It’s not like all her interactions with men have been successful.”

“You know, I think the whole dying thing only counts against me if I actually killed him,” I pointed out.

“Alright, that’s true,” Elsa said. “Anyway, what’s going on with you and Hunter?”

“Nothing,” I said with a light laugh. “We just ate our lunch next to each other. He introduced himself, I told him who I was, and that was it.”

“Well, that’s disappointing,” Emma said. “Here I was hoping one of us would finally have a normal love life.”

“It’s not like you’re exactly bringing anyone home,” Elsa pointed out.

Emma shrugged. “I’m not looking for a boyfriend. I’m perfectly content focusing on my career right now. In a few years, maybe that’ll interest me. Besides, watching your train wreck of a love life has kind of put me off the whole men thing.”

I laughed. “Can’t you use a love potion or something to make it easier?”

“You can’t change a person’s heart with magic,” Elsa replied. “I mean sure, you can turn someone into a zombie and basically force them to pretend to love you. But they won’t really love you. And that’s so icky on about a thousand levels, I bet you’d get called in front of the council for doing it.”

“Oh yeah, I guess that would be pretty terrible,” I said, thinking it through. “Well, forget I mentioned it.”

“No, it’s good you said it,” Emma said. “You’re going to be learning so much about magic, and it’s important that we teach you everything we know, but also that we answer all of the questions you might have. And I know there’s going to be a lot of them. The more we tell you, and the more questions you ask, the faster you’re going to learn.”

“And on that note, let’s get into this,” Elsa said. “It’s time for Robin to learn some magic.”

Chapter 19

“Okay, is there anything you really want to be able to do with magic, first of all?” Emma asked me.

I shrugged. “I guess I haven’t really thought about it. Not having to spend time in the morning doing makeup would be cool.”

Elsa nodded. “You’re right, that would be cool. It might be a little bit too advanced for a first lesson, though.”

“Especially since I tried to cast a spell on my own and turned a lamp into the world’s most pathetic Kool-Aid Man,” I said with a smile.

Elsa laughed. “I wasn’t going to point it out, but yeah. Here. Let me grab a fork from the kitchen. You’re going to practice turning it different colors.”

Elsa jumped up and bounded to the kitchen, coming back a moment later with a dinner fork, which she placed in front of me.

“Make it blue.”

I took a deep breath and focused. What had happened last time couldn’t happen again. I wanted this fork to be blue. I couldn’t disappoint my cousins. I closed my eyes, imagined the fork being a gorgeous shade of robin’s-egg blue, opened my eyes, and pointed to the fork. I was determined. It had to turn blue.

Sure enough, about a second later I gasped as the fork went from a shining stainless steel to the gorgeous pastel shade I was after.

“Good job,” Emma said, nodding approvingly. “Now, make it red.”

I repeated the process, this time turning the fork into a gorgeous shade of cherry. Elsa and Emma began calling out color after color, and each time I focused my energy on the fork and forced it to change color.

After we’d gone through about fifteen colors, I tried for purple, and found that nothing happened.

“It’s not working anymore,” I said, looking at my hand.

“That’s because you’ve used up all your magical energy,” Elsa said. “It’s good that you worked so hard. The more you get to this point, the faster you’re going to be able to cast more and better spells. You’ll have to rest a little bit to be able to use magic again.”

I was suddenly overtaken by a huge wave of exhaustion, and Emma got up and went to the kitchen, pouring me a glass of water and dropping a tablet into it. Immediately, the water began to fizz and took on a slight purple hue.

“This is electrolyte water,” she explained, coming over to me and handing me the glass. “It’ll help you recover faster. In a lot of ways, magic is like doing an endurance sport like running or bicycling.”

“Thanks,” I said gratefully, taking the glass from her and waiting for the tablet to completely dissolve. “So, I know Elsa works at the national park, but what about you? What do you do?”

“I teach kindergarten at the local school,” Emma replied. “That’s also part of why I don’t necessarily want to settle down just yet. I spend my entire day with twenty five-year-olds, and I’m not sure I could handle another one at home right now.”

I laughed. “Fair enough. They must be a handful.”

“They are, but in the best possible way,” Emma gushed. Her face lit up as she began talking about them. “Now is such a wonderful time too. The kids are starting to get to know me, and they’re opening up. They’re getting out of their shell and letting their true personalities show with both me and with the other students, and I love to see it. We’re going to start learning math tomorrow.”

“That’s really cool.”

“I do love it. I mean sure, it has its hard bits, but all jobs do.”

“Emma has the patience of a saint, that’s why she’s so good at it,” Elsa chimed in. “You should see her with those kids. Seriously, they can cry, fall, hit each other, have full-on tantrums, and Emma just smiles through it all.”

Emma shrugged. “I just know that their brains are developing. They’re learning motor control skills, they’re learning socialization, and they’re just starting to figure out what the world is like. Getting mad at them or upset because they’re not acting exactly the same as fully-formed adults won’t get anyone anywhere.”

“And there you have it,” Elsa said. “Emma, the world’s best teacher.”

“Sure sounds like it,” I said.

A tinge of red crawled up Emma’s neck. “Thanks. I really do love it. I enjoy working with the kids. It’s my dream job.”

“I enjoy kids in smaller doses,” Elsa said with a laugh. “Like when I do presentations on forest stuff. The animal ones are the best. Kids love animals.”

“So do adults.”

“Indeed. But adults are less noticeably excited about them.”

“Good point,” I said with a laugh. “I guess I’ve got a real career now too.”

“We’ll have to stop by at some point and get some food,” Emma said to Elsa. “Are you still going to work on weekends and stay closed Mondays and Tuesdays?”

I nodded. “I saw those were the closed days on the door. I figure if it worked for Diane, then it should work for me too.”

After all, my biological mother obviously knew what she was doing. I wasn’t going to fix what wasn’t broken.

Snickers chose that moment to come up to the three of us, wagging his tail. Elsa checked the clock on the fridge.

“You’re right, it is seven o’clock,” she said to him with a laugh. “I’ll get your dinner now.”

I hadn’t realized that it was so late. I supposed the magic had taken a lot longer than I’d expected.

“How long will it be before I can use magic again?” I asked.

“You should probably rest until tomorrow,” Elsa called out from the kitchen. “There’s no point in overexerting yourself. Let me bring over some wine, and we can enjoy ourselves for a little bit.”

A few minutes later Snickers was happily gulping down his dinner.

“Disgusting,” Shakes muttered from where he sat on the carpet, still reading his book. He was obviously not the biggest fan of the dog.

Elsa came back with a bottle of red wine and three glasses. “I hope you like Pinot Noir.”

“Boy do I,” I replied with a smile. Wine had been one of those little luxuries I could rarely afford in Minneapolis, and I was looking forward to a nice glass with my new cousins.

It was funny; I had never expected to have a new family, but I found Elsa and Emma incredibly easy to get along with.

“Oh, let me get some snacks too.” Elsa held her hands out toward the fridge, and a moment later it opened, and a plate full of vegetables, with a bowl of ranch dip in the middle, soared out from the kitchen and landed gracefully on the coffee table in front of me.

“Wow,” I said, my mouth dropping open as I gaped at the food. “You can do that with magic?”

“You can do just about anything with magic, if you’re good enough,” Elsa said. “That’s a pretty simple spell, as far as they go. I imagine within a month or so you’ll be doing the same thing.”

“Geez, this whole magic thing is going to make me much lazier,” I said with a chuckle, and Emma laughed.

“It’s very easy to get carried away. There are stories out there of witches and wizards who take to the couch and don’t get up if they can help it. Sometimes they’ll stay on it for weeks, only ever getting up to go to the bathroom.”

“That’s insane,” I said, shaking my head. “Still, I can see how magic makes life easier.”

I reached forward and grabbed a carrot stick, plonking it into the ranch dip. There was still a part of me that hesitated for a moment before putting it in my mouth—after all, it had just gotten here with magic, but when I ate it, nothing untoward happened at all.

“See? Normal,” Elsa said with a smile as she poured out the wine before chomping down on a celery stick.

“Sure is. Also, I don’t think I’ve told either one of you this, but it turns out there’s a ghost that more or less lives at Queen of Tarts.”

“A ghost?” Emma asked. “You can see ghosts?”

I nodded. “Yeah. Of course, when I was a kid I didn’t realize my imaginary friend was actually a very real ghost. But Elsa explained to me that ghosts are real, and that’s what I saw.”

“Wow, that’s a rare talent.”

“I had no idea there was one in Aunt Diane’s bakery. What’s he like?” Elsa asked.

“She,” I replied. “And she… is pretty weird, to be honest. She’s not at all over the fact that she was murdered, even though she died in the eighties.”

“I mean, I don’t think I would be, either,” Elsa said.

“Who is she?” Emma asked.

“Her name’s Vanessa. Her boyfriend took her hiking in the park, and she thought he was going to propose to her. Instead, he pushed her over the edge of the railing at one of the lookouts and she fell down the cliff.”

Elsa gasped. “The ghost is Vanessa Burrows?”

I nodded. “You know the story?”

“Of course we know the story,” Elsa replied. “Vanessa Burrows’s death was only the biggest news here for years and years. I mean, Emma and I weren’t born yet, but we grew up with it. Most of the people in town thought Joe, her boyfriend, actually killed her. There was a bit of evidence that pointed that way, but they were never able to get enough solid proof of it to nail him as the killer. So he really did it.”

“Yeah,” I replied, nodding. “Vanessa spends her time trying to haunt him now. She goes over there in the morning and tries to stab him while he’s making breakfast, that sort of thing. Of course, because she’s a ghost, it doesn’t work, but she has issues.”

“That’s crazy,” Emma said quietly. “I suppose there’s no such thing as ghost therapy.”

“I mean, if there is, can you please find out about it? Because I’m pretty sure she’s going to ask me to murder Joe for her at some point, and I obviously can’t say yes to that.”

“No kidding,” Elsa said. “I always thought he did it. After all, didn’t they find bruises on her legs that could have come from the railing?”

“Yeah,” Emma said. “But there were so many bruises on her body from the fall that they couldn’t conclude for sure that they came from the railing and not just some other similarly-shaped log that she might have hit on the way down. I watched a documentary on it a few years back. It’s really a horrifying story. Like Elsa, I believed Joe was the killer, and it’s interesting to find out we were right.”

“You certainly were. What happened to Joe after the investigation?”

“Well, a lot of this we got secondhand, since we weren’t born when he actually killed Vanessa, and it took a few years afterward before we were old enough to really understand,” Elsa said. “Basically, though, the whole town decided he was guilty. And I mean, he was. He was fired from his job, no one would rent him a place, and basically I’m pretty sure most people were hoping he would just eventually be run out of town and that he wouldn’t come back. But he insisted on staying. When his mom died a few years later he used the money to open a mechanic’s place on the outskirts of town. Most of the locals know not to use him, but he’s right off one of the I-5 exits, so he gets a whole bunch of tourists or people from nearby towns who don’t know his history. Enough to stay in business, anyway.”

“So you’re saying people thought he was a killer and they drove him out,” I said quietly.

“Well, they did their best, anyway. They failed. He’s still there.” Suddenly, Elsa’s eyes widened as she realized the implication of what she’d just said.

I swallowed hard. “So you’re saying the whole town thought this guy was a killer, and they did their best to drive him out.”

“At least they failed?” Elsa offered.

I shook my head. “That’s why I have to find out who really killed Charlie. If I don’t, and if the police can’t do it, then everyone’s going to think I’m the killer, and they’re going to do the same to me. If I don’t have customers at the bakery, then I can’t stay in business and I can’t stay here. I already saw a few people who were going to come in, spotted me working through the window, and changed their minds.”

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” Emma said, tilting her head with a sympathetic expression. “It’s not fair, especially when people don’t know what a nice person you actually are.”

“Thanks,” I said. “Although I’m not sure I’m the nicest person out there.”

“Close enough,” Emma said.

“Oh, I also met our grandmother,” I said, suddenly remembering I hadn’t told my cousins this, either.

“Did you?” Elsa asked. “Jackie? She’s a hoot. I love her.”

“She certainly is something,” I said with a laugh. “I think she likes me. I’m not one hundred percent sure, though. She’s kind of hard to figure out.”

“Definitely. She’ll like you though,” Emma said. “She’s not my biggest fan. She thinks I’m a wimp, like my mother. Which is true, in a way. But I don’t like confrontation. I’d rather avoid it if at all possible.”

“You’re strong in other ways, though,” Elsa pointed out. “Jackie thinks you’re weak because you don’t fit her exact definition of strength. But there’s nothing to say that hers is the right way to go, either.”

“That’s true,” Emma said, but I could see she was still a bit disappointed. “I still wish she liked me more.”

“I bet if you ordered her to like you she’d enjoy that,” I said.

Emma laughed. “She would. Unfortunately, that’s just not me at all. I’d never be able to say that to my grandmother, of all people. And besides, I’d like her to respect me for who I am, not to respect someone I’m pretending to be.”

I nodded in understanding.

“You ask me, you care too much about what other people think,” Elsa said. “Live for yourself and no one else. Jackie is our grandmother, sure, but you’re you. The only person you should have to answer to.”

“That’s also a good point,” Emma conceded. She let the matter drop, but I could see there was still a part of her that wasn’t quite the same. Emma wanted the love and approval of her grandmother, and I could completely understand that. Especially since Emma had grown up with her grandmother in her life.

Unfortunately, I didn’t think there was anything I could do about this particular problem.

We continued to chat for a while, and when I finally left, ready to go to bed, my heart was lifted in a way I hadn’t felt in years.

Chapter 20

The following morning I had everything in the oven and was waiting for Yoko to arrive. I had found a notebook. I was currently poring through the big leather book of recipes, making a list of everything that she had a recipe for. My plan was to make an index of all the recipes and turn them into an Excel sheet, and then I could come up with a new plan each week to make sure we both sold the favorites people expected and also kept a bit of variety.

Vanessa was hanging around today, watching me while I worked.

“That bread smells so good,” she said, floating near one of the ovens and peering in. “I do miss food, you know. I shouldn’t come here. It’s bad for me, because I can smell everything but I never get to taste. I just can’t help myself. I wish Queen of Tarts was open when I was a teenager. I spent all my time in the diner, instead.”

“Oh, at least the food there is good. I mean, it was when I was there the other day, anyway,” I said.

“It was good back then too. It’s where all of us used to hang out as kids. We’d pack a booth designed for four with eight people, order a basket of fries, and procrastinate for hours when we should have been doing homework.”

“That does sound nice.”

“The best days of my life. Of course, I should have had so many more days than that. Everyone else went on to have lives. Lucy Summerville became a lawyer. I saw her name in the paper. She works up in Seattle now. She went to Harvard Law School. Can you believe it? She used to climb onto the roof of the school and drink until she passed out in the summer.”

I laughed. “Well, people grow up.”

“Not everyone,” Vanessa said quietly.

My heart was gripped with guilt. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it that way.”

“I know you didn’t. But it sucks. I got to see everyone I knew live these amazing lives, and I can’t be a part of it. Do you know what it’s like being a ghost?”

I thought about the question for a moment. “I listened to a trivia podcast once. There was a quiz at the end, when one host asked the other a bunch of questions. I knew one of the answers that the host obviously didn’t, and I wanted to shout at her, ‘It’s Philadelphia! The answer is Philly!’ But of course, the show had been recorded a week earlier, and I was just listening to it with headphones, it’s not as if I could actually impact anything. I think that’s the closest I’ve ever been to feeling like a ghost.”

“Well, I don’t know what this podcast you’re talking about is, but that sounds pretty accurate. Now, imagine that happening to you over and over, twenty-four, seven, for years and years. I guess it’s been over thirty years now. I don’t even know. I stopped keeping track sometime in the midnineties.”

My heart went out to Vanessa. She certainly had her issues, and I wasn’t sure I actually liked her, but I also recognized that she was living an experience I couldn’t even fathom.

Suddenly, I realized something. “Hey, you weren’t in the diner a few days ago when Charlie was murdered, were you?”

“No,” Vanessa said, shaking her head. “It’s too bad I wasn’t too. That sounded like the most exciting thing that’s happened in years.”

“Right. Because I bet you go around town and you hear about everything that’s happening.”

“Hey, it’s not like I’m eavesdropping on conversations of purpose.”

“No, no, I’m not saying that at all,” I replied quickly. I was sure that Vanessa was totally doing that, though. I mean, what else did she have to do, as a ghost? “I’m just saying that because no one can see you, maybe you happened to be around and accidentally overheard something that was said.”

“Oh,” Vanessa said, the pained expression on her face disappearing. “Oh yeah, of course. I guess maybe I hear things here and there.”

“Do you know of anyone in town who may have gotten their hands on some cyanide? Maybe someone like Tony Byers?”

“Tony? He’s the man who works at the grocery store, isn’t he?”

“That’s the one,” I said, nodding.

“Oh, he got caught stealing from the company,” Vanessa said. “I’m not supposed to know that, of course. I like to hang out at the grocery store at night. It’s one of the only places in town that has people in it, then. Of course, sometimes I like to visit Joe. I just watch him sleep. I think about how easy it would be if I were still alive to grab the baseball bat from the garage, come back in, and bash his head in.”

“Okay, well, while that sounds completely normal, what were you saying about Tony?”

“Right. Well, he’s been stealing from the grocery store. Or at least, he was. The owner noticed the discrepancy in the accounts and realized someone was pocketing some cash. Tony almost got caught, too, but he managed to put it on Charlie, so Charlie got fired.”

My mouth dropped open. “You’re kidding. Charlie was never stealing from the grocery store?”

“No,” Vanessa said, shaking her head. “I mean, he wasn’t stealing cash. He was definitely stealing food. I saw him do it all the time. He’d load up a shelf with Mars bars, or M&Ms, and then he’d take a handful for himself. He wore special pants to work where he could slip the bars into the legs without being seen.”

“Oh,” I said. “So he was also stealing.”

“Sure. Tony stole a lot more, though. He managed to pin it on Charlie, and Charlie got fired. Tony still got demoted, but you ask me, he got away easy.”

“Interesting.” It certainly changed the way I saw things. Had Tony killed Charlie to keep him quiet? Had Monica killed Charlie because she thought he was responsible for her husband losing his job, when really her husband had been stealing from his work? Or did Monica know that Charlie was stealing, and she had killed Charlie so he couldn’t come forward with the true story? Any of those were possible options.

It didn’t really change my idea of who might have killed Charlie, but it certainly altered the potential motives.

Who knew, maybe having a ghost around could end up being kind of handy?

Yoko arrived then, smiling at me as she entered the kitchen. “Is that Vanessa you’re talking to?”

“It is. Vanessa, this is Yoko. She can’t see you, of course, but she’s a witch.”

“Oh, I know,” Vanessa said. “I like Yoko. She brings a Bluetooth speaker to listen to music when she’s back here sometimes, which is always entertaining. Some of the new music is really good. I was a fan of Duran Duran and David Bowie when I was alive, but I have to say music has come a long way.”

I turned to Yoko. “Vanessa really likes your taste in music.”

“Oh, thank you, Vanessa,” Yoko said, looking at the wall about six feet away from where Vanessa was actually standing. “I’ve got the speaker in my bag.”

“Great,” I said. “I’m going to get ready to open up for the day. Are you happy baking in the morning, and then we can switch in the afternoon?”

“Sure thing,” Yoko said. “Whatever you need.”

I smiled and headed out into the main part of the bakery. I had already set up the plates of delicious baking for the day, so all I had to do was unlock the door and flip the Closed sign to Open.

My first customer of the morning was a tall woman dressed in casual business attire, with black pants and a simple gray sweater.

Chapter 21

“Hi there,” I greeted her. “What can I get for you this morning?”

“A large coffee, to start,” she said, eyeing the pastries. “And I think I’ll get something from here too. My husband Andrew loves the pumpkin cheesecake from here. I think he’d appreciate it. Do you have any today?”

“Sorry,” I said, shaking my head. “I’m afraid I haven’t got any today. I can make it for tomorrow though, if you’d like.”

“That would be fantastic, actually. Would you really do that?”

“Sure,” I replied with a nod. “I have to make something, after all. If your husband would like that, then why not?”

“You’re Diane’s secret daughter, aren’t you?” the woman asked.

I nodded. “Robin, yeah.”

“I’m Kylie. It’s nice to meet you.”

My eyes widened. “Oh! You’re the Kylie who’s married to Andrew Farraday,” I said, not thinking.

“Yes,” Kylie said, her eyes looking down at the ground for a moment. “I’m sure you’ve heard, as has everyone else around town, what Andrew is going through.”

“It’s really awful,” I said. “And for you too.”

Kylie nodded. “Thank you. Daniel’s death was a shock to us both, but Andrew just hasn’t recovered from it. He and Daniel were so close, especially after Daniel’s mother passed. I don’t know what to do. It’s like Andrew’s entire spirit died with Daniel.”

She looked behind me, staring at nothing, tears welling up in her eyes. “But of course, I’m doing what I can. I can take care of Andrew, and keep going to work, and give him the time that he needs to recover.”

“That’s really good of you to do,” I said.

“Oh, I love Andrew so much. He’s a wonderful husband. I just hope that he’s going to recover from the shock of this sooner rather than later.”

“What do you think of Charlie’s death?” I asked.

Kylie frowned. “Honestly, I’m disappointed. I was hoping that at some point the police would find enough evidence to charge him in Daniel’s death. Now with Charlie gone, that will never happen. He will never see justice on this earth for what he did to my stepson, and Andrew will never get closure.”

“What did Andrew think about it?”

“He was shocked. We were there when it happened, you know. So were you, right? You were the one Charlie had that altercation with before he passed.”

I nodded. “He tried hitting on me then wouldn’t leave me alone when I was just trying to enjoy my meal.”

“Sounds about right,” Kylie said, rolling her eyes. “Some people think you were involved, but you ask me, it was someone local. Charlie burned so many bridges in this town, there’s no telling who would have wanted him dead. But there’s a long list of people before we get to the new arrival in town.”

“Thanks for the support,” I said with a small smile. “I appreciate it.”

“That’s the thing about small towns. Too often the people who live here tend to be wary of outsiders, without realizing that everyone in this town was an outsider once. But then, I’m a city girl at heart.”

“Me too. Minneapolis.”

“San Francisco,” Kylie said with a smile. “I moved up here for work a few years back. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m glad I made the change, and there are so many things that I love about this place, but it’s very much a small town, with a lot of the challenges that come with that.”

I nodded. “I know what you mean. It’s hard to live an anonymous life when everyone knows your business. I wasn’t entirely sure what I wanted to tell people about Diane being my biological mother, but it ended up being kind of out of my hands. And now everyone knows, so I’m embracing it.”

“Good for you,” Kylie said. “I will say this: people in small towns care. In the city it’s easy being anonymous because for the most part, people are worried about their own lives, and only theirs. Here, people might gossip a lot more, and they’re far more interested in the minutiae of your life, but there’s much more of a community here as well. I can’t even begin to express how grateful I am for the people of this town and how they were there for us when Daniel died. I haven’t had to cook a single meal in months. People come by regularly to mow my lawn, and it’s just done out of the kindness of their own hearts. You just don’t get that in the city.”

“No, you don’t,” I agreed. I knew when my parents died I had felt extremely alone and isolated, and with no real friends or support network to rely on, I had found it incredibly difficult in those first few months to even keep going at all.

“Well, anyway, I suppose I’d better get going or I’ll be late for work. Can I get two slices of the peach and blueberry pie? It’s not pumpkin cheesecake, but I’m sure Andrew will enjoy this too. I’ll drop his slice off back home quickly before heading to the office.”

“Sure thing,” I said, getting the coffee and slipping two slices of the pie into a box for Kylie while she paid using the credit card machine. I handed her the box, and she smiled at me.

“Thanks for the chat. Welcome to town.”

“Thanks. It’s nice to meet you. And good luck with, well, everything. Come by in a couple days when we re-open next, and I’ll make sure there’s some pumpkin cheesecake here.”

Kylie gave me a friendly nod and smile and headed back out into the morning. I shook my head, feeling bad for her. She obviously had a lot on her plate.

As Kylie left, a man walked in, immediately homing in on the muffins. Behind him was Hunter, the man from the diner.

“Do you have anything gluten-free?” he asked.

I smiled. “We sure do! The banana nut muffins today are gluten-free, and while they’re made in the same space as all of our other goods, Yoko does all the gluten-free stuff on an isolated table in the kitchen to minimize the odds of cross-contamination. We also have a gluten-free chocolate cake over here.”

Yoko had explained all of this to me yesterday. While some people who were gluten-free weren’t celiac and others only had mild symptoms and could handle trace amounts of gluten in their baked goods, others were so sensitive to the protein that they couldn’t handle so much as flour being in the air where the food was baked as particles could get into it.

I didn’t want anyone to get sick from eating my food, so I made sure to be as clear as possible about how our goods were made, and I added “Not made in a gluten-free facility’ to the bottom of the sign advertising our gluten-free goods.

“Well, that’s disappointing,” the man said.

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand what’s disappointing about it?” I asked with a friendly smile.

“You’ve obviously separated the gluten-free stuff and put it to one side,” he said. “Look. The rest of the muffins are all together, and the banana nut ones are at the far end of the shelf. And it’s the same with the chocolate cake. You’ve got the gluten-free stuff at the far end, and everything else is together away from it.”

I paused, blinked a couple of times, and re-played the conversation in my head to make sure I hadn’t misheard.

“Well, I’ve got the plates a few inches away from the other plates to minimize the risk of something with gluten accidentally touching the gluten-free items, yes. But apart from that, their location in the cabinet is just based on what items were ready first this morning. I go from left to right, and today the gluten-free items were the first that came out of the oven, so they’re the ones on the far left.”

“I don’t believe you,” the man said. “I think you purposely put the gluten-free products to the side so they wouldn’t be near the other goods. I think you want people who need to adhere to a gluten-free diet to feel like outsiders. That’s racism.”

Oh boy. I was really hoping to go at least a week before I had a crazy customer to deal with. After all, this was a small town. But, I supposed, people were people.

“Okay, first of all, I just explained to you why I did what I did. Secondly, you obviously have no idea what racism is. Thirdly, there’s another customer waiting, so if you’re just going to complain about how I organize the muffins can you please step aside and let him order?” It was the best feeling in the world to be able to tell this guy most of what I thought—I did keep my choicest opinions about him to myself—and know that there was no risk of getting fired for it.

I mean really? Calling me a racist because the two gluten-free items happened to be at the far end of the cabinet and not in the middle of the baked goods? That was just ridiculous.

“You can’t speak to me like this! I’m a customer.”

“And I’m a human being too. You can’t call me a racist just because you dislike the way my food is organized.”

“It’s discrimination, that’s what it is,” the man said, waving a finger in my face. “Those of us who suffer from celiac disease might not be a protected class under the ADA, but we should be. And this separation should be illegal.”

“I’m sure the NAACP will be all over it. You should give them a call.”

“I’ve called them plenty of times, and they won’t return my calls anymore.”

“Wow, I’m shocked to hear that,” I deadpanned.

“I will be writing about this on my blog, though,” the man said, heading toward the door.

“You do that,” I called back at him, and the man scowled at me as he left. I turned to Hunter and flashed him a grin. “So, how’s your day going?”

Hunter burst into peals of laughter. “Better after seeing that go down. Was he seriously mad about muffins?”

“Apparently the fact that I placed the gluten-free stuff at the end of the cabinet proves I’m a racist, and not just that I went from left to right while loading up the cabinet this morning, and the gluten-free things were part of the first batch of baking,” I explained.

“Right. That guy’s having a normal one.”

“I kind of wish I’d asked him about his blog,” I said. “I’m sure the post he writes will be entertaining, if nothing else.”

“Well, you handled it well,” Hunter said with a chuckle. “I was impressed you didn’t back down and instead called him out for being ridiculous.”

“I can’t say I’ve ever dealt with that particular complaint before,” I said with a laugh. “I had a few people looking for gluten-free food yesterday, and they all seemed grateful we offered it.”

“I’m going to go out on a limb and say that guy was the exception and not the norm.”

“No kidding. Although I’ve worked enough retail to know that some people are going to be crazy no matter what,” I said. “Thanks for coming by.”

“Of course. I figured I’d check out the place now that it’s under new ownership.” Hunter made his way to the cabinet displaying the baked goods. “Are you making any changes?”

I shook my head. “Not to start with. I figure if it isn’t broke, I probably shouldn’t try fixing it, or improving on it in the first week. I’ll get used to how this place used to run under Diane and see what I think can be improved. Then in a few months I’ll see how it’s been going and decide if I want to change anything major.”

“Good call,” Hunter said approvingly. “I always knew this place was here, but I didn’t come in much. No offense, but I prefer the coffee from down the street.”

“None taken, but our baked goods are better,” I replied.

Hunter laughed good-naturedly. “If that’s true, you’ve got a customer in me for life. Can I grab a slice of the cranberry orange cheesecake? That looks perfect for this time of year.”

“Sure thing,” I replied, grabbing the box and putting a slice in for him.

Hunter handed me some cash, and I slid the box across the counter to him then handed him his change.

“Thanks for coming by. Good luck saving the world today.”

“I do my best,” he said with a wink before heading out the door with a quick wave.

I pushed down the butterflies in my stomach. Could I not just have a normal conversation with a nice man for once?

I pushed all thoughts of Hunter aside as the next customer came through the door and I went back to work.

Chapter 22

After lunch, Yoko and I changed roles. I went into the back to make the dough and batter for what we’d cook in a couple of days when we re-opened, while she went out to the front to serve customers.

I flipped through the recipe book until I found the pumpkin cheesecake recipe. After everything Andrew had gone through, the very least I could do was make the cheesecake he had enjoyed so much when his son was still alive.

Sure enough, I found the recipe pretty easily, gathered up my ingredients, and got to work.

“You should put some music on too,” Vanessa told me, coming out of nowhere, and I jumped about a foot in the air.

“You scared me,” I replied, laughing slightly.

“Sorry. I’m not used to being around people who can actually see me.”

“Were you here all morning with Yoko?”

“Most of the time. Then she played ‘Goodbye Earl’ by the Dixie Chicks and I got inspired to go visit Joe at his shop.” Vanessa grinned. “There was no one there. He looked upset. I hope it fails miserably and he goes out of business. I went over to his car and imagined going under it and cutting the brake lines. He’d die on his way back home. But of course, it didn’t work. It never works.”

I mumbled something noncommittal under my breath. Seriously, was there such a thing as a ghost therapist? Or even a witch therapist who could see ghosts? Because holy did Vanessa ever have a few issues she had to work through.

“So I came back here after that. It’s nice to have someone to talk to, you know? I mean, I can talk to Yoko, but she can’t reply.”

“I know what you mean,” I said. “I’m glad you’ve finally got company. Are you able to travel anywhere, or do you have to stay in Spellford Cove?”

“Oh, I could travel. But ghosts can only move at a brisk walking pace. So it would take a while to get anywhere, and then I wouldn’t be able to check on Joe. I want to be there when he dies. I want to relish the moment, and I want him to suffer. I hope someone stabs him. But not in the heart. I want it to take a while.”

“Right,” I said. “Well, I’m going to work on this cheesecake. I’ve learned to use my magic to make the ingredients blend together better and to make a more delicious final product, and I have to practice.”

“Interesting,” Vanessa said. “I didn’t know magic was real when I was alive. It wasn’t until I spent time in the back here and saw Yoko and Diane actually using it that I realized they weren’t just talking nonsense. Lots of people think they’re witches. But for them to have actual magical powers, that was new.”

“It’s new to me too,” I said. “I didn’t grow up with magic. How long ago did you find out that Diane and Yoko had magical powers?”

Vanessa shrugged. “I don’t know. Time doesn’t really mean much to me anymore. Anyway, who’s your biological father? I know Diane is your mom, but who was she with?”

“This time it’s my turn to not have a clue,” I replied. “Apparently no one knows. Heck, if Aunt Heather is to be believed, no one even knew she was pregnant. Which I do not understand at all. How could she hide being pregnant once she got to five, six, seven months?”

“I remember when Diane went on that road trip,” Vanessa mused. “It would have been right around the time you were born. I hadn’t been dead very long, just a few years, I think. I was just starting to hang around Queen of Tarts. Diane spent the months leading up to the road trip constantly pointing at her stomach. I thought it was strange, of course. I didn’t know she was a witch, then. I didn’t spend much time around her, but in hindsight, I think she might have been using magic to hide her belly.”

“Wait, we can do that?” I said. “Because if magic can turn me into a size four more easily than diet and exercise, I am all for it.”

Vanessa shrugged. “I don’t know for sure. But Diane certainly never looked pregnant to me. I wonder who your dad is.”

“Samuel Carter,” I replied. “And he was a great man. He worked security for a bank so that he could sleep while I was at school and spend the afternoons with me once I got out, since his shift didn’t start until ten. He could make a mean bowl of spaghetti, and he loved animals.”

Vanessa looked at me strangely. “I thought you said you didn’t know who your dad was.”

“I don’t know who my biological father is. But my dad is Samuel Carter, even if he isn’t related to me.”

“Oh,” Vanessa said. “Well, if you find out, let me know, okay? I’m a sucker for gossip, and you’re old enough that I probably knew him.”

I shrugged. “I’m not sure there is any way to find out, and I don’t particularly care either way. If Aunt Heather didn’t know, and Jackie doesn’t know, then I’m not sure how I’d be able to find out, short of him walking through that door and announcing himself. And going by what Diane did when she found out she was pregnant, I’m going to go out on a limb and guess that she never told the father of her baby that she was pregnant, either.”

Vanessa frowned “I guess so. Still, if you find out, let me know. I’m going to go see if Joe is ready to head home for the day. I hope he got no customers. And I hope the brakes on his car fail.”

“Alright, see you,” I said. A part of me hoped that by ignoring Vanessa’s constant wishes for Joe’s death she would stop making them in front of me. I didn’t really want to tell her off for doing it, for a whole number of reasons, but boy did her constant straight-up desire for him to die make me uncomfortable.

Vanessa floated off, through the wall and to the front of the bakery, and I shook my head and went back to making the cheesecake.

Left with my own thoughts, and after the conversation with Vanessa, I thought about Diane. What had her motivation been for giving me up? She had hidden the pregnancy from everyone she knew, which meant she never intended to keep me. I began to wonder why. Had she decided she simply didn’t like children? Maybe she was worried that she couldn’t have a baby and keep Queen of Tarts running at the same time. Maybe she didn’t even know who the father was and didn’t want to be a single mother. Maybe she did know who the father was but for whatever reason they’d separated, and again, she didn’t want to be a single mother.

What had drawn her to Minneapolis? Was it just pure chance? To be completely honest, I was a little bit curious. I never thought I would be. I thought I would be happy in the knowledge that Samuel and Eveline Carter had loved me like their own and that I didn’t need any more than that.

But I had always been a curious kid. I was the one who asked Dad a million questions when we walked in the forest. I was the one who asked Mom about every single ingredient that went into dinner. And now that the questions about my past had started getting answers, I found I was a little bit curious about the questions I still didn’t have answers to.

I wondered if maybe Aunt Heather would be able to help with them.

* * *

I sent Aunt Heather a text asking if she’d be willing to meet for coffee after my shift. She replied back that she would love to, and we organized to meet up at The Steam Room after I had closed up for the day.

The hours flew by as I focused on the baking instructions and infusing my magic into the goods, and when Yoko poked her head in the back to announce that she’d turned the Open sign back to Closed, I felt a sense of accomplishment. I looked at all the batter sitting in the fridge overnight, just waiting to be put in the ovens in the morning when we re-opened so my customers would get the freshest possible goods.

“Good job,” I said to Yoko.

She nodded. “You too. Do you want me to stay and help close up?”

I shook my head. “That’s okay, thanks. I can put the rest of the goods in the fridge and do all the accounting. I’d better get used to it, anyway.”

“Great. I’ll see you in a few days, since we’ve got a couple days off.”

“Right, I lost track of time already. Sure thing. Thanks for everything, Yoko.”

She left, and I set about moving the leftover items we had back to the fridge. There was only one slice of the cranberry orange cheesecake left, and I put it in a box to take to Aunt Heather. After all, I thought maybe she would enjoy the version of her sister’s cheesecake made by her niece. Aunt Heather hadn’t come in the last couple of days, and I wondered if maybe the wound was still just too raw for her. After all, Diane and Heather had been sisters, and from what I’d heard, it sounded as if they’d been close.

I managed to fly through the cleaning of the cabinets—thinking to myself that this would go even faster once I trusted myself enough to use magic to do it—and counted up the cash for the day, recording everything in a little notebook. I made a mental note to spend tonight looking up accounting software to use in the future. After all, there was more to running a business than just baking and serving customers.

I checked my watch and found that I still had twenty minutes before I had to meet Aunt Heather, so I went upstairs to run a brush through my hair and change into clothes that didn’t make me look like I’d just lost a fight with a bowl of flour.

Shakes was sitting on the ground, reading his book. Last night as we left, Elsa had offered for Shakes to take The Fellowship of the Ring with him, so he could continue reading it at his leisure, and he ignored me as I walked through the door.

“Hey there,” I said as I saw him. “How’s your day been?”

“Good,” he replied, intently focused on the page.

“Do anything interesting?”

“I’ve been reading. This is really an excellent book.”

“Well, luckily for you, there are two more in the series.”

“I do love a good series. You know, that’s rather a new invention. There were very rarely any real series until recently. The closest I can think of is The Canterbury Tales, since that told the story of so many different people all on the same pilgrimage.”

I nodded. “Tolkien is considered by many to be the inventor of the fantasy genre. Most fantasy books are written in series.”

“I like it. Can I have the other books when I’m finished with this one?”

“Of course. I’m going to go out and meet Aunt Heather. Are you going to be okay on your own here for a bit?”

“What a ridiculous question,” Shakes replied, and I shook my head with a light chuckle. Cats were impossible.

I went to the bathroom, cleaned myself up a little, changed into some different clothes, and headed down to meet Aunt Heather.

Chapter 23

When I got to The Steam Room, Aunt Heather was already seated at one of the tables by the window. She had on one of those long, flowing skirts and a Bohemian top; between that and her flowing hair that reached halfway down to her waist, and the tea she gingerly drank, she looked exactly like the stereotypical old hippie living her best life.

She waved when she saw me, and I motioned to the counter. Aunt Heather nodded and smiled while I went over to place my order.

It was the same cashier as last time who served me, and as soon as she saw me her face broke into a smile.

“Hi! You’re Robin, right?”

“Yeah,” I replied. “Elsa’s cousin.”

“I remember. How are you enjoying Spellford Cove?”

“It’s really nice,” I said. “Most people have been friendly.”

The woman laughed. “Yeah, but you run the bakery. No doubt you’ve run into a few crazies.”

I thought back to the man I’d served that morning and nodded slowly. “Yes, I have. Actually, I had a customer this morning who falls under that category. I’m wondering if maybe you know him and he’s from around here. He didn’t like the way I had arranged the gluten-free items in my baking cabinet and yelled at me that I was racist against the celiac population.”

The woman laughed gently. “Oh, yeah. That’s Henry. You don’t need to pay any attention to him. He does that to everyone in town. He’ll probably come in again at some point and do the same thing. It’s how he entertains himself. He’s convinced there’s this huge conspiracy to discriminate against people who are gluten-free. Honestly, if you spend enough time in the diner you’ll probably see him ranting in there. They have almost no gluten-free options at all—apart from say, ordering a jumbo breakfast without the bread—and he hates it. Dora usually manages to get him out the door within a couple of minutes, but it’s always entertaining.”

I shook my head. “Well, at least it’s good to know it wasn’t just me he was after.”

“No, definitely not. He comes in here from time to time, too, complaining about the same thing. For goodness’ sake, we’re a coffee shop first. We have a few baked goods on offer, but we order them in. Nothing is made here. We have like, four things, and he’s complaining that only one of them is gluten-free.”

I laughed. “Yup, that’s got to be the guy. He said he has a blog.”

“Oh, yeah,” the woman said, rolling her eyes. “It’s worth a read if you have a lot of wine one day and want a bit of entertainment.” She gave me the web address and took my order, and I thanked her then sat down across from Aunt Heather, handing her the box of cheesecake.

“This is for you,” I told her. “It’s from the bakery. A slice of cheesecake I made with Diane’s recipe.”

A smile spread across Aunt Heather’s face, immediately making her appear ten years younger. “Well, isn’t this just lovely? Thank you so much, Robin. I really appreciate it.”

“No worries. I thought maybe it would be hard for you to come into the bakery,” I suggested.

Aunt Heather nodded. “You’re exactly right. I tried, yesterday. I wanted to see how you were doing, and I wanted to cheer you on. I really did. But Diane…” Her voice faltered, and she pressed her lips together, closing her eyes.

I reached across and placed a hand on Aunt Heather’s. “It’s okay. I get it. Really, I do. When my parents died, it took me two months before I was able to go into their apartment to clear out their stuff. I was really lucky that their landlord was sympathetic and didn’t charge me any rent for that time, because I just couldn’t do it before then.”

Aunt Heather sighed then smiled at me. “Thank you for understanding. I don’t want you to feel my grief. Diane was a wonderful person, but I also understand that she wasn’t in your life at all and that for you, it’s more like a stranger’s death than a relative’s.”

I nodded. “While that’s true, I’m starting to feel as if I knew Diane through people’s stories. It’s actually why I asked you to have coffee with me. I wanted to know more about her life when she had me.”

“Of course,” Aunt Heather said. “Ask away. Whatever I can answer, I’ll tell you, although I’m afraid I don’t really know much.”

“Is it possible she used magic to hide her pregnancy from everyone?” I asked.

Aunt Heather nodded. “I’m sure she did. It wouldn’t have been difficult at all for a witch of her talents. She looked herself that entire pregnancy.”

“And you really don’t have a clue who my biological father might have been? She wasn’t in a relationship or even just casually seeing anyone around then?”

Aunt Heather shook her head. “No. Or at least, if she was, she didn’t tell me. And that would have been out of the ordinary. We were quite close our entire lives. There were only two years separating us. I had just met John—he’s Elsa and Emma’s father—a few weeks before Diane went on her road trip, so I was a little bit occupied with my own life. Up until then, as far as I knew, she was single. I’ve been thinking about that time a lot, but my best guess is, unfortunately, that you were the product of a one-night stand. I don’t think we’ll ever know who your biological father is.”

“Could Diane see ghosts?” I asked.

“No,” Aunt Heather replied. “No one in the family can.”

“Could that be a hint as to who my father might be, then? Is it possible he was a wizard who had that ability?”

“It’s possible,” Aunt Heather said slowly. “Magical powers do have somewhat of a genetic element to them, of course. Just because we’re magical doesn’t mean we completely defy all the laws of science. But there is a lot we don’t understand all the same, and due to the secretive nature of our magical powers it can be difficult to study that sort of thing. We do know the ability to see ghosts might be genetic, but it might also be random. It’s not definitive one way or the other.”

I nodded. “Okay.”

Aunt Heather looked at me carefully. “You’re taking an interest, then, in Diane and where she came from?”

I nodded. “I didn’t really think I would. But as I spend time here, yeah. I think I am.”

“Well, I’ve kept all of her things. They’re in storage at my house at the moment, but if you ever decide you’re interested in her life, I have everything. You’re more than welcome to look through and keep anything you’d like.”

“Thanks,” I said to Aunt Heather. I appreciated how kind she was to me during a time that realistically had to be harder for her than it was for me.

“I haven’t gone through everything yet. It was too painful. But if I find anything that hints as to who your biological father might be, I’ll let you know, alright?”

“Sure. That sounds great.”

“Now, is there anything else you need? Are you settling in alright? Is Yoko good to deal with?”

I smiled. “Yes. Yoko is wonderful. And everything else is fine, thank you. I’m settling in pretty well. Shakes, my new familiar, is really happy to read some of Elsa and Emma’s books, and I’m starting to feel at home here.”

Of course, there was always the sword of Damocles hanging over me, the knowledge that half the town thought I was a killer. I had seen more customers refuse to come into the bakery today. But apart from that, the reality was I did enjoy this. Running a bakery was so much more enjoyable than working at a clothing store. The added responsibility meant more stress, but it also meant a bit more variety in the day, and I was looking forward to figuring out the accounting and finance side of things as well.

“Elsa and Emma are wonderful,” I said. “They’ve been so helpful.”

“I’m so glad to hear it. They’re both good girls, and I love them so much. They’re very different, despite being twins.”

“That they are,” I said with a laugh.

I spoke with Aunt Heather for a little while longer before eventually we had finished our drinks and left. I headed home, my heart feeling full.

I might not ever know who my biological father was, and I was fine with that. But Aunt Heather really made me feel like part of her family, and I was grateful to her for it, even if I wasn’t quite ready to be as much a part of hers.

Chapter 24

I was walking back down the street toward home when my phone binged in my pocket. I checked it to find a text from Elsa.

I’m coming over and we’re going to make a plan, she said. I’m bringing pizza.

Well, that was dinner sorted out. Frankly, I hadn’t actually even gone to the grocery store yet, and the only food I’d bought since arriving in Spellford Cove had been for Shakes. Since I now had two days off, at least that was on the schedule for tomorrow: make the fridge look like that of a respectable adult.

I still stopped off at the grocery store really quickly on the way home to grab some drinks and snacks to share with Elsa—it wouldn’t be fair for her to bring over pizza and for me to have nothing to offer—and we ended up meeting at the bakery entrance at the same time.

“Well, that was good timing,” I said with a smile.

“Sure was.”

I let Elsa in through the bakery, and we climbed up the stairs in the kitchen.

“There’s another entrance at the back of the building that lets you get to the apartment without going through the bakery,” Elsa told me.

“Oh?”

Elsa nodded. “It leads in to where that big armoire is in the main entrance. She kept it covered because she never used it, but that way, if you ever decide you want to move and rent out the apartment, you can do it without people having to go through the bakery to get upstairs.”

“Cool, good to know.”

The two of us headed upstairs, and the alluring smell of the pizza convinced Shakes to leave his book and strut toward the kitchen.

“Wow, he’s still reading that, huh?” Elsa asked, looking over at my familiar.

“I have a name, you know,” Shakes said, looking coldly over at my cousin.

“Hey, be nice, she gave you that book,” I said.

Shakes nodded. “That’s a good point.” He headed over to Elsa and began rubbing himself against her leg in thanks.

“Aw, hi there, Shakes,” she said, reaching down and scratching him behind the ears. He let out a mewl of appreciation. “You’re welcome for the book.”

“He is really enjoying it,” I said. It was strange, seeing a cat hold open a book with his paws and swipe at the pages to flip them, but he certainly had it mastered, and he seemed to really enjoy himself while reading.

I grabbed a couple of plates from the cupboard, as well as some glasses, and motioned for Elsa to help herself. She grabbed a couple of slices, poured herself a glass of the Coke that I’d brought back from the grocery store, and settled in on the couch.

“So,” she started once I’d done the same, both of us ignoring Shakes as he walked from one of us to the other, trying to convince us that he was starving and hadn’t eaten in days despite there being a full bowl of cat kibble in the kitchen. “I did a little bit of digging around town. Word on the street is that Monica and Tony aren’t doing very well, financially. Apparently the pay cut Tony took has been a serious strain on their finances. Word is they missed their last car payment.”

“That’s interesting,” I said slowly. “Because I found out from Vanessa that Charlie wasn’t actually stealing from the grocery store. Or at least, nothing worse than a couple of candy bars. Tony, on the other hand, was very much embezzling money, and he put the blame on Charlie when the owner found out.”

Elsa’s mouth dropped open. “Really? How much can you trust Vanessa?”

I shrugged. “She might have major issues to do with Joe having murdered her, but as far as I can tell she had no reason to lie about this. She said she spends a lot of her nights in the grocery store since that’s one of the few places in town where there are people still up at all hours.”

“I had no idea. But in that case, why are they so hard up for cash?”

I shrugged. “Maybe they’re not. Maybe it’s one of those things that you hear about in small towns, but it’s a rumor started by someone who doesn’t like them. Or maybe they’re only pretending that they’re struggling because they don’t want anyone to get suspicious.”

“That’s a good point,” Elsa said. “And maybe they decided that they had to get rid of the one person who could really get them caught.”

“That’s what I was thinking,” I said. “They figured that if they killed Charlie, then everyone would just think he stole the money and never think of it again. They can do whatever they want with it after that.”

“Does Vanessa know how much was stolen?”

“I’m not sure,” I replied. “I can ask her when I see her next. I don’t think it would be a lot, though. Do you?”

Elsa shook her head. “No, I wouldn’t imagine so. Ultimately, the grocery store here is still a small-town, independent shop that does alright but isn’t exactly a million-dollar-a-year business. Anything more than, I dunno, ten or twenty grand would have stood out way too much.”

“Okay,” I said. “Still a decent chunk of money, but nothing life changing.”

“Exactly. Although going to jail for stealing it would probably be pretty life changing for Tony.”

“True,” I conceded. “Anyway, I’m thinking they’re the most likely couple to have killed Charlie. It has to have been one of them. Oliver doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who would plan anything ahead of time, and I don’t know how he could have gotten his hands on some cyanide. Monica, working at the hospital, would have access to it.”

“Right,” Elsa said. “Especially since it had to be potent.”

“Exactly. That’s what made me think of Monica. It has to be someone who can access it easily or who has the knowledge of how the internet works to order it online, but frankly Oliver doesn’t strike me like the type either. And Andrew Farraday is obviously so grief-stricken I don’t think he’d be able to bring himself to kill Charlie even if he wanted to.”

“And that leaves Monica,” Elsa said, nodding. “Do you think she would have gotten rid of the evidence at home?”

I shrugged. “Who knows. If we could have a look we could prove it was her.”

“Let’s do it, then,” Elsa said.

“Wait, what?”

“We have magical powers. Do you know how easy it is to break into someone’s home and search it?”

“They’re going to be home, though,” I said in a half-whisper, looking furtively around as if a SWAT team was about to burst through the door just because of Elsa’s suggestion.

“No, they won’t,” Elsa said. “Tony works nights, remember? And Monica’s a nurse. There’s a good chance she’s working the night shift as well. And even if she isn’t, we’re witches, remember? I can always cast a spell to make sure she stays asleep the whole time we’re in their house.”

“You know what? I can’t say no to that. I need to prove I’m innocent, and I don’t know how else to do it.”

“Great,” Elsa said with a grin. “It’s been ages since I’ve gotten to have some fun like this.”

“If your idea of fun is committing felonies, you probably need to reevaluate your life choices,” I pointed out.

“Hey, what’s the point of being one of the very few people in the world with magical powers if you can’t use them to color outside the lines every once in a while?”

I shook my head and laughed at my cousin as she grinned at me. “You know, I have a tendency to get in trouble because my mouth says things before my brain thinks it’s a good idea. I get the impression you get in trouble because your legs do things before your brain can convince you it’s a good idea.”

“Very true,” Elsa said. “Between the two of us, we’re unstoppable.”

We finished off the pizza while focusing on our plan. Elsa called the hospital and asked to speak with Monica; we were told her shift didn’t start for another hour.

I immediately felt a little bit more relieved when I knew neither Monica nor Tony would be likely to be home when we broke into their place. Of course, there was always the chance that Tony would have the day off, but the odds were still fairly low.

“Can we use magic to force someone to confess to us?” I asked.

Elsa shook her head. “No. I mean, you could, but you would never know if they’re telling you the truth, or if they’re saying it because you wanted them to with your magic. And it’s impossible to convince someone to tell you the truth if they don’t want to.”

“That’s too bad. It could have been a very easy shortcut.” I laughed.

Elsa nodded. “No kidding. I also would have found out about my ex cheating on me with four other women a lot sooner.”

“Ugh, I’m sorry,” I said.

Elsa shook her head. “I’m not. Christopher was a piece of crap, and I’m all the better for having kicked his butt to the curb. Those ladies did me a favor, as far as I’m concerned.”

“I’m glad you’re able to look at the funny side of it.”

“Frankly, if I didn’t look at the history of my love life as if it were a comedy, I’d probably lie down and cry at how sad it all is,” Elsa said with a giggle.

The more time I spent with her, the more I really liked my cousin.

Chapter 25

We waited about twenty minutes after Monica’s shift was supposed to start before heading off, just to be on the safe side.

“Do you know where she lives?” I asked.

Elsa nodded. “Yeah, of course I do. Remember, we live in a small town. I know where everyone lives.”

“Fair enough.”

It only took us about five minutes to walk to the house in question. On a side street only a couple blocks from the beach, Monica and Tony lived in a cute little bungalow that looked fairly similar to the one Elsa and Emma lived in. It was cute, with a tidy lawn and set back a ways from the street. What I didn’t like was how exposed it was; there were neighbors on each side and across the street.

And maybe I was being paranoid, but I was fairly certain I’d just seen a blind in the next door neighbor’s house move.

“How are we going to get in without being spotted?” I asked Elsa.

“Easy,” she replied, taking my arm and leading me further down the street. There was a small park with a little playground for children and a couple of trees. “No one can see us in here.”

Elsa looked at me then held out her hands. “There.”

I looked down at myself and gasped. I had completely disappeared.

“Am I… am I still here?” I heard myself asking. I held my arms out in front of me, but where they should have been there was only a tree.

“You are,” Elsa said with a chuckle. “I turned you invisible, but don’t worry, it’s easily reversible. Heck, if it really came down to it, you could reverse the spell yourself.”

“This is so cool,” I said.

Elsa nodded. “Yeah. I got in trouble in tenth grade when Jasmin Coleman bullied me, so I made it so no one could see or hear her and she couldn’t touch anything. I basically turned her into a ghost. Of course, I did also make it so I could watch the meltdown. It lasted for about fifteen minutes, then when I reversed the spell everyone thought Jasmin was crazy when she said what had happened. Our English teacher thought she was on drugs and sent her down to the counsellor’s office.” Elsa snickered. “I got in sooooooo much trouble from Mom, who told me that if anyone had found out what had really happened I would be sent in front of the council of paranormals and punished. She grounded me for three weeks, but it was worth it.”

I laughed. “What happened to Jasmin?”

“Oh, she eventually got over it. Obviously she wasn’t on drugs, although apparently she got a stern talking-to from her parents, and they even took her on a tour of a rehab center, but she convinced them she wasn’t actually on drugs. She lives in Los Angeles, last I heard. Apparently she’s trying a career as a movie star, but seeing as I haven’t heard anything about her in ages, I don’t think it’s going well.”

“That’s some long-term karma working out for you.”

“Exactly. She was always a bully and a snob who thought she was too good for this town. It might be a little bit petty, but I’m glad she’s failing. Okay, scratch that, I know it’s petty.”

I laughed. “Fair enough.”

“Now come on, let’s go.”

Elsa pointed at herself, and a moment later she disappeared as well.

“You’re still here, right?” I asked, checking just in case.

“Of course I am.”

I reached out for Elsa’s hand, and she led me back to the house. “We’ll go around the back, since it’s less likely anyone’s going to notice the back door randomly open and close,” Elsa said to me quietly.

I nodded before realizing that there was no way Elsa could see me do it. “Cool,” I whispered as we crept along the side of the house. I could feel my heart beating in my chest. I’d done a few things in my life that had gotten me into a bit of trouble. Heck, I may have even broken a few laws here and there. But they mainly had to do with underage drinking and trespassing in the park in the middle of the night when it was closed.

Breaking and entering was a whole new level.

But I had to find proof that Monica was the killer. Hopefully she had kept some of that cyanide.

We reached the back door, and Elsa used her magic to unlock it. The two of us quickly slipped inside. Doing a quick sweep of the house, Elsa reversed the spells and made us both visible once more.

“I’m not going to lie, I’m much more comfortable actually being visible,” I said, looking at my hands and arms like they were a long-lost friend. “That was just weird.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Elsa said with a grin. “Come on, let’s go. I’ll take the living room, and you take the bedroom and bathroom.”

I nodded and took an immediate right into the master bedroom. It was obvious which side was Monica’s and which side was Tony’s; hers was neat and tidy, while he had clothes strewn all over the place. A dirty shirt hung off the mattress and down to the floor, a lone shoe—I had no idea where the other half of the pair was—sat in the middle of the floor, while a chair in the corner seemed to be piled high with more clothes than I owned.

Great. I suddenly wished Elsa had taken the bedrooms so I could go through the living room. I decided to start on Monica’s side of the room, not only because it was neater, but because frankly I thought she was the more likely culprit of the two of them. After all, she was the one who would have had access to the cyanide at the hospital. Tony wouldn’t have had any way to get it, unless he was particularly skilled at using the dark net, but I didn’t really get that impression from him.

Looks could be deceiving, I knew that, but Monica was by far the more likely culprit in my mind.

Unfortunately, I scoured everything I could find on her side of the bed, then looked through the nightstands, and even went through Tony’s things, and found no evidence of cyanide whatsoever. I looked underneath the bed and spotted nothing.

I sighed, sitting back on my haunches while I thought about anywhere else in the room I might have missed.

That was when I heard a voice next to me. “What on earth do you think you’re doing?”

Instinct took over. I screamed and punched out, my fist making contact with whoever was next to me. I heard a slight crunch and a yelp from the intruder.

That was when my eyes focused and I realized it was Emma.

“Emma! Oh no. I’m so sorry!”

My cousin clasped her hand across her face, tears welling in her eyes as she let out a moan.

“Elsa,” I shouted. “Come help. I just punched Emma in the face.”

My other cousin rushed in a moment later, looked at her sister, and shook her head.

“What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to talk you out of this stupid idea,” Emma muttered, her voice sounding muffled. Her nose must have been in a lot of pain. “You seriously broke into Monica and Tony’s home?”

“Yeah,” Elsa said, rushing to the bathroom to get some toilet paper for Emma’s bleeding nose while I rubbed her back. “We have to find proof they’re the killers.”

“This is illegal.”

“You did it too.”

“Only to talk you out of it.”

“That doesn’t make it less illegal.”

I watched the exchange between the sisters. “Okay, can we not do this here? Let’s take care of Emma’s nose, and you can argue later. How did you find us, anyway?”

“It wasn’t hard to figure out where you were,” Emma said. “Elsa spent the entire day asking me by text where I thought someone could get cyanide. Since it was obvious she thinks Monica killed Charlie, when I stopped by the bakery and neither one of you were there, I figured this is where you went. I asked Shakes, who nodded when I asked.”

I groaned. “Who knew my familiar was such a narc?”

“What are you doing? How did you seriously think breaking into someone’s home was a good idea?” Emma was surprisingly vocal for someone who’d just been punched in the face. “And why would you hit me?”

“You surprised me,” I replied. “I had no idea it was you. It was a reflex. As you say, we broke into a house. As you can imagine, I’m a little bit on edge.”

“You still didn’t have to break my nose.”

“I doubt it’s broken,” Elsa said. “Stop being overly dramatic. Besides, if it is, you’ll get to do a show-and-tell version of science class tomorrow.”

Emma glared at her sister. “You’re not helping.”

“Well, we’re here because we have to prove Monica killed Charlie. After all, you know what happened to Joe after it was never proven he killed Vanessa. He was made into a pariah.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s up to you, or us, to solve this crime,” Emma said, shaking her head. “You guys are ridiculous. Don’t you know if we get caught here we’re all going to jail for years?”

“Please,” Elsa said. “If someone comes in right now I’ll cast an invisibility spell on all of us. It’s fine.”

“I can’t believe you think breaking into someone’s home and looking for evidence they’re a killer is ‘fine.’”

“Do you have a better idea?” Elsa asked.

Emma threw up her hands. “Anything. Literally anything. Like, you know, leaving it to the police, whose job it is to find the killer? Trust me, I want Robin’s name cleared as much as anyone. I really do. But there are better ways of doing this. Ways that don’t end with you in jail.”

“Really?” Elsa asked, crossing her arms over her chest. “Name one.”

“Letting the police find the killer.”

“Do you really think they’re going to manage that? I mean come on. Chief Styles couldn’t find his butt with both hands.”

Emma opened her mouth to argue, but Elsa continued. “You know it’s true.”

Emma sighed. “Fine. You’re right, I do have to admit, he’s not the best at his job.”

Elsa gave her a triumphant look. “So, the only way we’re going to clear Robin’s name is by doing this ourselves. So come on. Now that you’re here, join in and help.”

“I only have the bathroom left to search,” I said. “There was nothing in the bedroom. Did you find anything?”

Elsa shook her head. “No, nothing in the living room either. Okay, you take the bathroom, Emma and I will take the kitchen, and we should be done in a couple minutes.”

“What part of anything I’ve said since I got here makes you think I want to be involved in this crime?” Emma pointed out.

“Technically, since you’re in here, you broke in as well,” Elsa replied. “So you’re already involved in the crime, like it or not. The real question lies in whether or not you want to help us now that you’re here.”

“Look on the bright side,” I said to Emma with a grin. “Jackie would almost certainly approve of you being here.”

“You are not allowed to tell her about this,” Emma hissed. “We can’t tell anyone, not even our grandmother.”

“Fine, fine,” Elsa said with a laugh. “Come on. The sooner we find that extra cyanide, the faster we can get out of here.”

Chapter 26

Unfortunately, despite having an extra set of eyes, we didn’t find any cyanide.

“It doesn’t mean she’s not the killer,” Elsa pointed out as we walked home in the light of the full moon. “It just means that she was probably smart enough to get rid of it before we got here.”

“True,” I said, nodding. “I mean, she’s a nurse. She’s obviously intelligent. And she would know how to best get rid of something like that.”

“Yes,” Emma agreed. “So it was dumb of you to go looking in the first place. Are you sure it was her?”

“Psychologically, she’s the only one who fits,” I said. “Trust me, I’ve watched a lot of TV shows about crime.”

Emma shook her head. “That doesn’t in any way make you an expert. Are you sure you’ve got the right person?”

“Yes,” I said.

Elsa nodded. “I agree with Robin. It has to be them. We just need to find the actual evidence. It’s out there.”

“It’s too bad there isn’t any security camera footage at the diner,” I said.

Elsa laughed. “Yeah, you’re not going to find a lot of that in Spellford Cove. The bank has some cameras, but that’s it.”

I let out a breath of air. “I guess that’s one thing where the big city still has the advantage.”

Emma chuckled. “I know I’d rather live in the town with so little crime no one considers it necessary. But in this particular situation it’s true that cameras would have been useful.”

I breathed in heavily. “What if there’s never any evidence? What if we can never prove it was Monica? After all, Joe was never brought to justice, and we know he’s a killer. But he got away with it. What if Monica does as well? I’m not going to spend my entire life knowing half the people in this town think I’m a killer. I’m just not.”

As I continued speaking, my voice increased in pitch, and I realized something: I didn’t want to leave here. I was happy in Spellford Cove. I had cousins who liked me. I had a business I enjoyed working in. I had something resembling a family again for the first time in years.

“We’re going to find proof,” Elsa said. “Don’t you worry about that.”

“Take a couple deep breaths,” Emma said, wrapping her arms around me.

I laughed. “Thanks for not being super mad about the fact that I punched you in the face.”

“It was an accident. I probably shouldn’t have snuck up on you like that. And just in case, I reserve the right to be mad at you when I look in the mirror if I look like Sylvester Stallone.”

“Fair enough.” I giggled at the thought. “I assure you though, you are much prettier than Rocky.”

“That’s good to know,” Emma said with a laugh.

* * *

Unfortunately, the reality was still the same: we hadn’t found any evidence inside Monica and Tony’s house that either one of them was the killer, and as I lay in bed that night staring at the ceiling, I couldn’t help but wonder why not.

Was Emma right, and we had the wrong suspects? No, that didn’t make sense. Monica and Tony were the only two people it could be. That meant there had to be proof out there somewhere. I just had to find it.

The next day was my day off, and as I’d spent the entire previous night with my cousins, I never did end up finding the right accounting software for the business. So when I finally woke up, I fed Shakes, left him alone with his book, and took my laptop down to The Steam Room, where I could bribe myself to work with one of those incredible hot chocolates.

It took a while for my computer to boot up—I’d had the same one since I was eighteen, being unable to afford to replace it—and while I waited I looked out the window to my right and people-watched. I had to admit, it was beautiful here in the fall. Main Street was lined with gorgeous maples and other deciduous trees whose leaves had turned into vibrant shades of reds, oranges, and yellows as the air got colder. The first few fallen leaves blew across the road. Across the street was the beach, long and beautiful, with the dark waves looking threatening as they pounded against the sand.

Passersby didn’t exactly dawdle in the colder fall air. I spotted the woman who came to the bakery after her runs; she carried a couple bags of groceries toward her car, while a lovey-dovey couple in their early forties walked hand in hand, completely oblivious to the weather as they chatted. A tall woman with electric-purple hair and dressed in a black trench coat walked down the street with purpose.

My computer loaded up then, and I opened an internet browser window while taking another sip of my drink. I began searching, looking at the various options available for small business bookkeeping, when suddenly someone slipped into the seat in front of me.

I looked up to find myself looking at the woman I’d seen walking down the street just a moment earlier. There was something strange about her. Maybe it was the fact that her eyes were the same shade of neon purple as her hair. Maybe it was the way she carried herself, with an intensity I wasn’t used to. But more than that, I just had a feeling. I didn’t like her at all.

“Sorry, I’m not looking for company,” I told her flatly. Seriously, who takes the chair across from someone in a half-empty coffee shop?

“Oh but trust me, you are. You’re Robin Carter.”

“I don’t see why my name is any of your business.” Yeah, I definitely had a case of the heebie-jeebies. How did this woman know my name?

“The entire paranormal world is going to know your name soon.”

“What are you talking about?” I didn’t like that she was talking about the paranormal world. Was this woman a witch? “Actually, scratch that. I don’t care what you’re talking about. Go away, thanks.”

The woman just casually leaned back and smiled. “You have no idea who I am, do you?”

I ignored the woman, moving my eyes back to the computer screen. Maybe if I didn’t pay any attention to her she’d get the message and leave.

Instead, she pressed down on my laptop screen, closing it.

“What is your problem?” I asked. “I’ve already told you, I don’t care who you are, and I don’t want anything to do with you. And this whole goth thing? That went out of style like fifteen years ago.”

“You don’t really realize who you are, do you?”

“I know who you are. Some crazy psycho who needs to get out of here before I call the cops.”

“You’re one of the most powerful witches in the world,” the woman told me.

I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I’m sure I am. Whatever.”

“You need to come with me. I can train you. I can make you into the most powerful witch the world has ever seen. Mountains will crumble at your say-so.”

I looked the woman dead in the eyes and realized she was completely serious.

“I’m not a powerful witch. I can barely cast spells. You’ve obviously got me mixed up with someone else. So please, go and find this person you want to train somewhere else.”

“I don’t have you mixed up with anyone. It’s you. You’re the chosen one, and you have to come with me.”

“What part of this conversation gives you the idea that’s what I’m going to do?” I asked, my eyes narrowing.

“If you don’t come with me willingly, I’m going to make you. Believe me, it’s for your own good.”

“Oh, I’d love to see you try,” I replied, a small smile creeping onto my face. Did this lady really think she was going to manage to make me go with her?

“Excuse me,” a voice said, and I turned to see Hunter standing next to us. “I’m here to have coffee with Robin, if you don’t mind.”

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to reschedule,” the woman said to Hunter politely. “Robin’s going to be coming with me.”

“I’m doing no such thing. Now get out of here. You’re ruining my date.”

The woman narrowed her eyes at me. She wiggled her fingers, and I could tell she wanted to use magic, but there was no way for her to do it here, in public.

I gave her a knowing smile. “Nuh-uh. Just leave. Don’t make a scene. We both know you can’t.”

The woman glared at me then stood up, inches away from Hunter.

“Enjoy your date,” she said before leaving.

My eyes didn’t move off her until she was out of sight, while Hunter sat down across from me.

Who was she?

Chapter 27

“I hope I didn’t intrude,” Hunter said as he sat down. “I saw you and came over to say hi then overheard you telling the woman to get lost. I got the feeling you didn’t want her around, so I figured I’d make up the story about the date to get her to scram.”

“Thanks for that,” I said with a grateful smile. “I appreciate it.”

“Who was she, if you don’t mind? I’ve never seen her before.”

“I have no idea,” I replied, shaking my head. “She just sat down and starting telling me weird things. She knew my name, and she wanted me to come with her.”

“That’s strange,” Hunter said, looking concerned. “Do you want to call the cops?”

“And tell them what, that someone tried to lure a twenty-eight-year-old into their van?”

Hunter smiled, but his eyes remained serious. “I know you’re kidding, but adults do get kidnapped, too, you know. If you feel unsafe, you should report it.”

“I’ll think about it,” I replied. I was in no universe going to report it. Besides, what was I going to say? That some woman on the street thought I was a powerful witch and wanted me to come train with her? Come on. There was no way I could do that without me being the one who was committed.

“Well, as long as you’re not worried then,” Hunter said. He looked around. “Mind if I hang out here?”

“Sure,” I said. “I’m just working, so I won’t bug you.”

“Same. That’s the entrepreneurial life. Once or twice a week I come to the coffee shop to get some work done just to change up the view a little bit.”

I chuckled. “I guess you can take the boy out of Silicon Valley…”

Hunter sighed. “I know. I don’t have the best work/life balance. But you know, what I’m doing is important. I want it to succeed, both because I can rake it in with government and private contracts, but also because it’s good for humanity.”

“That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t take time for yourself,” I pointed out.

“I’ll have my entire life to take time for myself if this pans out.”

I shook my head. These venture capital types were impossible. Hunter grinned at me. “You have no idea what running a business is actually like, do you?”

“I might not be the most experienced business owner, no,” I admitted. “But I know that the human body needs rest and that giving it the time to recover will ultimately give you more energy that you can put back into your work. I plan on being kind to myself, and longer-term, I’m going to be more successful that way.”

Hunter shook his head. “Not a chance. The real business owners, the ones who make it, they work twenty hours a day. That’s why all the good entrepreneurs you see are so young: they’re still able to function mainly on caffeine and sometimes stuff that’s a bit harder.”

“Is that you? Are you building your insane empire on a diet of The Steam Room coffee and cocaine?”

“Of course not. I mean, the coffee part is true. But I never did hard drugs, even when I was in college. But that said, I would never have built this company into what it is today if I’d taken days off. That’s the life of a successful entrepreneur. It’s living your life in a way most other people don’t want to. You’ll learn that soon enough.”

“You don’t need to patronize me,” I said, annoyed.

“I’m not being patronizing. I’m talking from experience.”

“Yeah, and you’re discounting any experience that might be different to yours. Just because that’s the way you became successful doesn’t mean it’s the one true path to success.”

Hunter opened his mouth to argue, and then grinned. “You know what? Touché. But it has worked for me.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s the best way for you to be successful in both business and life. What if you’d taken a bit more time for yourself and been more refreshed when you came to work every day? You might be even further along than you are now. There’s no way of knowing, but a culture of work, work, work is very toxic.”

“Maybe, but toxicity for a short period of time that leads to huge rewards is worth it,” Hunter said. “At least to me.”

I shook my head. “I don’t believe that’s true. I think you should try resting sometime. You might be amazed at what happens.”

“Once we’ve launched, maybe,” Hunter said. “Besides, my employees expect it. Most of them come from Silicon Valley and have been with me since the start. They’re some of the best programmers in the field. Frankly, the lifestyle we live here is pared down compared to California. They have weekends off most of the time. They’re not expected to work past six, and if they do, I actually give them overtime. I’ve been giving Kylie a ton of time off when she needs it because of what happened with Andrew. Believe it or not, I actually have pared it back compared to what a lot of companies do. But the reality of running a business is that it takes everything. It’s like having a child. A child that makes you money instead of costing you money.”

I shook my head. “Just because you’re in charge doesn’t mean you have to prove it by working as hard as humanly possible.”

“It’s not that you’re working as hard as possible, it’s that you’re doing what needs to get done. After all, look at you. It’s your day off, and yet you’re here with your laptop working. And it’s not because you find it fun but because it’s what needs to be done.”

Okay, he had a point there. “Fine. I am working on my day off, but I’m still not doing anything this afternoon or tomorrow that has to do with work.”

“And if that works for you, then that’s fine. But you’re going to find that as you run a business, you’re going to spend all your time with it if you want it to be successful.”

“We’ll see,” I said. “Giving myself time to rest and recover is ultimately going to make me a better businessperson.”

“Sure. In the meantime, I’m going to continue working twenty hours a day so that the software I build that the FBI uses to rescue kids and track down makers of child pornography is perfected even faster.”

“You don’t know that. Working harder doesn’t mean working smarter.”

Hunter smiled. “You’re just not going to accept that this is how I do things, are you?”

“Oh, I totally accept that this is how you do things. I refuse to accept that it is categorically the best way of doing things. There’s no way to know that, and I’m not so arrogant as to believe that my way is automatically the best.”

Hunter shook his head. “You are something, you know that?”

“Thank you.”

“I know you’re being sarcastic, but I genuinely meant that as a compliment.”

I was taken a bit aback. “Men never mean it as a compliment when they tell a woman they’re something or they’re a lot.”

“Well, this man does. You know what this world needs? More people who push against the established rules. Because ultimately, people telling someone ‘no, you need to experiment more’ is how we get further. And I think maybe, just maybe, I lost sight of that working in the field that I do.”

I leaned back, a smug smile on my face. “You’re welcome.”

Hunter laughed. “Now, if we’re improving ourselves, maybe humility is one area where you could do better.”

“Jackie, my grandmother, says humility is overrated.”

“She’s the old lady who walks around wearing Converse shoes and wearing hoodies with funny sayings on them, right?”

“That’s her.”

“She’s a hoot. I don’t know her, but I saw her in the grocery store once. She asked a guy for help getting an item off the top shelf, he wouldn’t do it, so she threw a can of corn at the back of his head.”

“You’re joking,” I said, laughing but also a little bit horrified.

“Not at all. The guy was fine, although he was pissed, and your grandmother told him maybe next time he’d treat his elders with a bit more respect.”

“I guess she figured no one would ever throw an old lady in jail for throwing corn.”

“Well, she was right. Anyway, I should let you get to work. What are you doing?”

“Trying to find bookkeeping software that’s going to work for me.”

“Cool. Let me know if you have any questions.”

“Will do.”

The two of us worked in comfortable silence for a while, each one of us typing away on our respective computers. I found a program that looked appropriate, downloaded a trial, and figured I’d give it a shot.

From time to time I looked across at Hunter. He was nice. He was friendly. He took it well when I challenged him on his frankly horrifying work habits. And it had been nice of him to come in and drive that crazy woman away.

I took a sip of my hot chocolate—the first one had long since been drunk, and I’d ordered a second one about five minutes earlier—and looked out the window, thinking about her.

Who was she? Why did she say I had strong magical powers? What did she want to train me for? Where would she have taken me? Was she going to leave me alone now, or would I have to look over my shoulder? I was going to have to ask Emma and Elsa if they knew anything about her.

I didn’t even catch her name. I was an idiot. I should have at least asked for that.

Then I thought back to the conversation with Hunter. Why did men always have to assume that the way they did things was always right? Why did they have to be convinced that their way was the best way, that their opinion was the right opinion, when looking at things differently could completely change the way they lived?

Then, it hit me.

That was exactly what I had been doing.

Chapter 28

I had been sitting here complaining about men in my own head when the reality was I’d done the same thing when it came to the case with Charlie. I had assumed that Monica had gotten the cyanide from the hospital because she was the only one of my suspects who would have had access to it.

I assumed they had done it to keep Charlie quiet after Tony got him fired for something he didn’t do.

What if that assumption had been wrong?

My entire list of suspects were people who Charlie had hurt, but I had missed one major person on that list.

“I have to go,” I said to Hunter quickly.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

I nodded, hoping I didn’t look like a crazy person. Everything had clicked, and I was pretty sure I knew who the killer was. Now I just had to get proof.

“Yeah, it’s fine,” I said with a smile. “No problem at all.”

“Cool.”

“Thanks again for helping me out with that weirdo earlier.”

“No worries,” he said with a laugh. “Thanks for the company. I’ll see you around.”

“You will.”

I went home and quickly dropped off the laptop.

“What’s going on?” Shakes asked. “You’re upset.”

I nodded, taking a deep breath to calm myself. “I think I know who the killer is. But I need to prove it.”

“Do you want company?”

I shook my head. “No, thanks. I don’t know how this is going to go, and I’d rather you not be in danger if it can be helped.”

“I’m alright with that,” Shakes said. “After all, the pen is mightier than the sword. I’m a lover, not a fighter.”

“So I can see,” I said with a smile. “Okay, I’ll be back later.”

“Stay safe, don’t get murdered.”

A cold feeling gripped me as I realized there was a chance it could happen. No, whatever. It was fine. I was going to be fine.

I took out my phone to check for directions. After all, it was Monday. Kylie Farraday would be at work, and that was where I intended to confront her.

* * *

I turned on a voice recording app on my phone before entering the building that housed Hunter’s company. It was a couple blocks behind the main street, in an old-style two-story brick building that oozed class on the outside and modernity and fun on the inside.

My heart beat in my chest as I went inside. I wasn’t especially worried about my safety. It was the middle of the day in an office setting. There would be people close enough to call for help if I needed it, and besides, if I was right, then Kylie was all about the premeditation. She wouldn’t be sitting at her desk expecting to commit a murder with zero notice.

No, what I was especially worried about was failing at getting a confession out of her. I desperately needed this to work, because if it didn’t, she’d not only know that I was onto her, but I would be completely out of ideas.

This was my one shot at clearing my name.

I had to do it right.

The ground floor of the building was an open-plan workspace, with about a dozen people working at widely spaced desks interspersed with all sorts of fun things: a man in his twenties was playing on a pinball machine in the corner, a TV on the back wall was hooked up to a PlayStation console, brightly-colored beanbag chairs were scattered about, and the entire right- hand side of the office was a kitchen loaded with goodies, including a tray of pastries.

“Hey,” a man about my age said, looking up from his computer and taking the giant headphones off his head. “What’s up?”

It wasn’t exactly the most professional greeting I’d ever dealt with, but whatever. I wasn’t his boss. “I’m looking for Kylie Farraday.”

“Oh, she’s upstairs, in her office,” he said, pointing to a door on the right.

“Thanks.”

I walked over and pushed the door open to find a set of stairs. The second floor was nothing like the first floor. Here, everything was separated into individual offices with the names of the workers on the doors. I walked down the hall, glancing at each nameplate, until I found Kylie’s. Great. I would have preferred it if she was in the more open space downstairs, but this was fine.

Again, I was sure she wasn’t going to kill me here. It would be pretty hard to explain the body.

I took a moment to compose myself, take a deep breath, and make sure the recording on my phone was working properly. When I was ready, I knocked on the door, rubbing my face anxiously one more time.

“Come in,” came Kylie’s voice from the other side of the glass.

I pressed down on the handle and entered her office. It was minimalist, white and modern. Kylie was sitting on one of those yoga balls, and a couple of dumbbells sat against the wall next to the bookshelf. She was obviously one of those people who liked to take a couple minutes during the day to work out. Exactly what I would expect from a Silicon Valley transplant. A single small bookshelf on the right-hand side held a number of tomes on the topic of programming, and her U-shaped desk on the left-hand side had four monitors on it. My eyes widened.

“Wow,” I said.

Kylie smiled. “Robin, right? What brings you here today?”

“I wanted to ask you about Charlie,” I said, while Kylie motioned for me to sit on the chair on the other side of the U branch that faced me. I did so, making sure to seat myself down on the edge just in case I had to make a speedy exit.

“Charlie?” Kylie asked, raising her eyebrows. “I mean, sure, but I’m not sure how I can help you. I didn’t know him at all.”

“The thing is,” I said, “I’m pretty sure Andrew killed him.”

There was silence for a moment. “Andrew didn’t kill him,” Kylie replied, her voice level. “I’m one hundred percent sure of that.”

“I can understand why he did it,” I said quickly. “After all, Charlie was responsible for the death of his only son. He must be completely stricken with grief in a way I can’t even begin to understand.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Kylie said, giving me a stare of steel. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have a lot of work to get done.”

“Oh, but I do know,” I said. “And that’s why I’m here. I’m sympathetic to what happened. I could have gone straight to the police and told them what I know. Like how Andrew was alone at your table when you went to the bathroom. And I know he worked as a pharmacist here in town. He would have easily been able to get his hands on some cyanide to poison Charlie.”

“You keep my husband out of this,” Kylie hissed, glaring at me. “He had nothing to do with that man’s death, and he’s gone through enough. He doesn’t need some new nobody in town to make his life even harder.”

I shrugged. “I’m sorry, but I’m just following the facts. As I said, I’m not unsympathetic. That’s why I came to you first, to tell you what I know. I completely get it. Everyone will understand. It’s natural that Andrew would want to kill Charlie. I’d be willing to bet Andrew doesn’t even spend time in prison for this.”

“You don’t get it,” Kylie snarled at me. “Andrew didn’t do this. I did.”

I dropped my mouth open, pretending to be shocked. “You?”

“Of course it was me. Andrew is wasting away into nothingness now that Daniel is dead. Charlie didn’t just kill one person that day, he killed two. Only with Andrew, he killed his soul and not his body. I love Andrew with all my heart, and seeing what he’s turned into because of that monster was more than I could deal with. I bought the cyanide. I know how the internet works. I ordered it, had it delivered to an anonymous post office in Seattle, drove up there, and picked it up. And when I saw Charlie’s plate of food, untouched, I slipped past and splashed the cyanide in his coffee. My only regret is that his death was so quick; I wish he had suffered more.”

“Oh,” I said quietly. The silence in the room between us was stifling. “Look, you have to tell someone.”

“Fine,” Kylie said. “You’re right. I will. I’ll go to the police, and I’ll tell them everything. You’re right that there are extenuating circumstances.”

“No one liked Charlie,” I pointed out. “They’ll all think you did the town a favor.”

“That is true.” Kylie nodded to herself, thinking it over. “Honestly, I’ve been thinking about turning myself in for a while. I didn’t think I’d feel this guilty. Not for killing a piece of scum like Charlie. But I guess my conscience is a bit more honest than I am.”

She sighed, and a weight lifted off my shoulders. It sounded like Kylie was happy to turn herself in, and even if she changed her mind, I had the recording of her admitting to the murder.

My name was going to be cleared.

“Great,” I said, standing. “I’m going to go now. Let me know if you need some support or something when you go in.”

“I will,” Kylie said, staring off into space, her thoughts obviously occupied.

I headed back to the office door and had just turned the handle when everything went black.

Chapter 29

When I came to, I opened my eyes and I found myself somewhere dark. I blinked a couple of times to make sure my brain was working fully, but no, I was somewhere dark. I sat up and immediately hit something with my head. I let out a yelp and leaned back.

Okay, this was not the time to panic. What could I feel?

First of all, the back of my head was pounding. I had a splitting headache? What from?

Everything came back to me. I was leaving Kylie’s office, and that was the last thing I remembered. She must have hit me with something. Right. She had those dumbbells next to her desk.

I let out a groan then went back to figuring out where I was. There was noise. I could hear the sound of gravel underneath me and an engine. I was in a car. More accurately, I was in a trunk.

There had to be a button or something to open the hatch from the inside. At least, I hoped there was. I forced myself to feel around for something, even though my head was killing me. Unfortunately, it was all just the regular interior carpeting normally found in a car.

Great.

And that was when it hit me. I was a witch. I could use magic. After all, Kylie couldn’t see me from inside the trunk. And even if I was brought in front of some sort of magical court, I was pretty sure they weren’t going to find me guilty of using magic in front of humans if it was to save my life.

Heck, even if it was, I’d rather be in magic jail for a bit than dead.

I took a deep breath and tried to remember everything Elsa had explained to me about casting spells. I positioned myself so that my hands were on the back of the car, I closed my eyes, and I imagined the hatch of the trunk coming undone.

It wasn’t difficult to wish for the spell to work. After all, right now, failure meant almost certain death.

A moment later I heard a click, and daylight streamed through the small hole from the trunk. Success! I grinned, allowing myself a tiny moment of victory before trying to figure out the next steps.

I had to make sure Kylie didn’t notice I’d opened the trunk, so I kept it mostly closed, with just about an inch of space showing, so I could peer through and hopefully figure out where I was.

We were on some kind of rural dirt road. A puff of dust followed in the wake of the car. Kylie was really zooming along; if I had to guess I’d say we were going seventy, maybe eighty. Which, given as we were on a narrow gravel road, was fairly sketchy.

I didn’t recognize this place at all, and I didn’t know if there would be any cell service around. I reached for my phone, then sighed when I realized it wasn’t in my pocket anymore. Kylie must have taken it from me when I was unconscious.

Okay, well, I wasn’t about to sit here and wait around to see exactly where Kylie planned on killing me and hiding my body. After all, I was under no illusions: that was totally her plan.

I had been an idiot. I had believed her when she said she felt bad and that she was going to turn herself in for Charlie’s murder. She had never intended to do that at all, she just wanted me to turn my back so she could pummel me over the head.

Well, hopefully I would have plenty of time in the future to think about how dumb of a choice that had been.

Right now, I had to stop this car. I pointed my hands toward where the two rear tires were. Imagining them both puncturing at the same time, I wished for that to happen more than anything, and a second later, a loud pop rang through my ears.

The car immediately swerved from one side of the road to the other, and I steadied myself with my arms, hoping against all hope that Kylie wasn’t going to completely lose control. It wasn’t as if a car’s five-star safety rating tested for kidnapping victims in the trunk.

Luckily, the car eventually came to a standstill, and I closed the door to the trunk as far and as quietly as I could without actually latching it shut again. I held my breath and waited, listening as Kylie slammed the driver’s door closed.

“Stupid piece of crap,” she shouted. Her footsteps stopped in front of the rear tire on the driver’s side, then she came toward the back of the car. This was my chance.

As soon as Kylie opened the trunk, I jumped out. I landed directly in her midsection and heard a whoosh as the wind was knocked out of her. The two of us fell to the ground and rolled in the gravel. Pain shot up my arm, but the adrenaline blocked it out after a second as I scrambled to my feet, Kylie doing the same. I lunged at her again, pulling at her hair as I yanked her back down to the ground.

“You stupid idiot,” Kylie grunted. “You’re going to die out here. Just die!”

“If I die, you’re coming with me,” I snarled back, panting.

We scuffled, neither one of us getting the upper hand on the other, until at one point I spotted a large rock on the side of the road.

Inspired by Hunter’s story about my grandmother, I scrambled toward it, grabbed the rock, and hurled it as hard as I could at Kylie’s head as she stood up.

It hit her right in the side of the temple, and while she wasn’t knocked unconscious, she was stunned for just long enough for me to run over to her and tackle her.

Kylie fell into the trunk of the car, and I slammed the lid down on her. She immediately began pounding and screaming at me to let her out, but there was no chance of that. And Kylie not having magical powers meant that unlike me, she wasn’t going to be able to get that trunk open.

Still, just in case there was a latch or something I hadn’t found, I didn’t waste any time. I rushed over to the front of the car and dug through Kylie’s purse, where I found my phone.

I was so relieved when I saw the single bar I started to cry. I dialed Elsa’s number, and my cousin picked up.

“Hey, Robin. What’s up?”

“Kylie Farraday kidnapped and tried to kill me, I’m in the middle of nowhere, and I need help.”

To her credit, Elsa immediately sprang into action. “Right. What are your coordinates?”

“I don’t know,” I said, looking around. “There’s just trees. Lots of trees. And a gravel road.”

“Yeah, that describes half the state. Open up Google Maps for me, use the GPS locator, and find the coordinates. Can you do that for me?”

“I can. Yeah, I can,” I said. “Hold on.”

It took me a minute as my hands were shaking, but I found the coordinates and read them off to Elsa.

“That’s where I am.”

“Are you safe? Where is Kylie?”

“Locked in her own trunk. The two back tires of the car are blown out. I don’t know if there’s a latch for her to get out.”

“Okay. I’m going to hang up now and get you help. Watch the trunk, and defend yourself if you need to. Find a big branch or something on the side of the road. Got it?”

“I got it,” I said, my voice croaky. A part of this didn’t really feel real. It was as if I was in a dream, watching someone else’s reality. But it was real, and Kylie was really pounding at me to let her out.

When a police car arrived ten minutes later, sirens wailing, I began to cry with relief. And that was the last thing I remembered before I passed out again.

Chapter 30

When I woke up again I was lying in a hospital bed, the rhythmic beeping of the heart rate monitor the first thing I heard as I hadn’t quite opened my eyes yet. When I did, I was greeted by Elsa’s smiling face, with Emma next to her.

“Wake up, sleepyhead.”

“You saved me,” I said, closing my eyes. “Why am I so tired?”

“They gave you a sedative,” Elsa replied. “It’s wearing off, but it’ll take a bit before you’re back to normal. Also, your arm is broken.”

I opened my eyes and looked down to see my arm in a cast.

“So it is. Well, that’s not going to make baking easy for a few weeks.”

“You can say that again.”

“Why doesn’t it hurt?”

“You’re in a hospital. They gave you painkillers.”

Right. Apparently my brain wasn’t firing on all cylinders yet.

“What happened to Kylie?”

“She’s been arrested,” Emma chimed in. “They found her in the trunk, screaming about you. But of course, Elsa told them what happened, and she was immediately arrested.”

“You’re going to have to speak to Chief Styles when you get out of here,” Elsa said. “But I think he’s going to be a lot nicer this time. After all, thanks to you he’s got a killer locked up.”

“My phone,” I said. “There should be a recording on there, unless she deleted it.”

“No need,” Elsa said. “I heard her telling the police herself that she had killed Charlie and that she was going to kill you too. She was pretty hysterical when they let her out of the trunk.”

“She put me in there first,” I replied.

Elsa laughed. “I’m so glad you’re okay, Robin,” Emma said. “When Elsa called and told me what happened I was just sick to my stomach. I can’t believe it.”

“Me neither,” I said. “I didn’t think she’d try to kill me, to be honest. I just wanted a confession.”

“Well, she’s locked up now, and she’s going to be for a long time. You don’t have anything to worry about anymore,” Elsa said.

That triggered the memory of the woman from the coffee shop. I described her to Emma and Elsa, but they both shook their heads.

“I’ve never seen anyone like that,” Emma said, concern written all over her face. “We should tell Mom. You said she told you you were one of the most powerful witches in the world?”

I nodded. “Yeah. I mean, she’s obviously just a crazy person. I managed to pop some tires today, and that was about it.”

“Your natural ability as a witch has nothing to do with what you’re doing now, since you’re still learning, but I tend to agree,” Emma said. “Why would you be a powerful witch? Where would she want to take you? It’s not like there’s some sort of actual Hogwarts where they train the strongest witches.”

“That would be cool though,” Elsa muttered.

I grinned. “It would. But yeah, I don’t know. I didn’t ask for details. I just wanted her to leave. I felt really uncomfortable for some reason.”

“Never discount your gut feelings,” Emma said. “They’re important. People try to logic their way out of them, but your gut feels that way for a reason.”

I nodded. “What should I do if she comes back?”

“Let Jackie know,” Elsa said with a small smile. “She’ll drive her out. But seriously? I’m not sure. I’ve never had to deal with anything like that.”

“I’ll call the cops,” I said. “She can’t stalk me. And hopefully she got the message that I want nothing to do with her.”

“Hopefully,” Emma said, but her face didn’t look the least bit hopeful.

I leaned back in my bed. “When can I get out of here?”

“The doctor told me a couple of hours after you wake up. They just want to make sure you’re okay after the sedative wore off. Apparently you were a little hysterical when they arrived.”

“Yeah, almost being murdered will do that to you,” I said with a smile.

“I’m glad you’re okay, Robin,” Emma said. She reached over and squeezed my hand.

I smiled at them. “You know my instinct was not to come here?” I said. “I had all the family I needed growing up. Mom and Dad were wonderful to me. I didn’t want to feel like I was replacing them with another family now that they were gone. And I didn’t want you guys to feel like Diane was my only mom. But I’m really glad I came. You two are the best cousins I could have ever hoped for.”

“We’re not replacing your family,” Emma replied. “We’re just growing it. As far as I’m concerned, your mom and dad are our aunt and uncle. And I’m really sad that we never got to meet them. They sound like wonderful parents.”

“They were,” I whispered, not daring to say the words any more loudly as my throat swelled up.

How on earth had I gotten this lucky?

* * *

When I got home a few hours later, Shakes was pacing. “Oh, I’m so glad you’re home. I thought you’d died, and I was hungry, and I couldn’t figure out how I was going to get into the food.”

“So your first thought when you figured I was dead was wondering where your next meal was coming from? You weren’t thinking about my own well-being at all?” I asked with a small chuckle.

“Well, if you were dead there’s nothing I could do about it, right? What happened to your arm? Oh no, that’s your good page-turning arm!”

“It’s also my good baking arm, unfortunately,” I said with a laugh. There was going to be an adjustment period for a few weeks at the bakery, that was for sure. “You’ll be pleased to know that while I almost died, I came out on top.”

“I am very pleased to hear that. While my hunger undoubtedly would have been satiated by someone else, I am glad you’re still the one opening the can of wet food.”

“Aw, thanks,” I said to Shakes with a smile as I headed to the cupboard.

Three minutes later—after some awkward wrangling of the can and saying a silent thank-you to whoever had invented pull-top cans—Shakes was happily munching away at his food while my stomach grumbled. I was about to figure out if the diner did delivery when I heard my name called from outside. I pulled the blinds aside and peered out the window to see Hunter standing at my door, holding a bag full of take-out food. He pointed at it, and I motioned for him to wait just a minute.

A couple of seconds later I let him in through the bakery and led him upstairs.

“I sort of figured I owe you some dinner, since my employee tried to kill you today. And I thought after what had happened the last thing you’d want tonight would be to cook, so I brought you over a burger and fries from the diner.”

He held up the bag, and I reached for it gratefully. “You are the best.”

Hunter laughed. “Honestly, I’m really not feeling that way after the call I got from Chief Styles. I had no idea I’d hired a killer. But then Kylie really did try to murder you, and she succeeded in killing Charlie.”

“Yeah,” I said, nodding and munching on a fry while I grabbed plates from the cupboard. I handed one to Hunter, who opened his own box and moved the burger and fries onto the plate. “She wanted revenge not for what he did to Daniel, but for the impact it had on Andrew. She really loved him.”

Hunter shook his head. “I never would have guessed. But then, I guess you can’t always know someone, hey?”

Shakes, having finished inhaling his food, walked over to Hunter and mewled at him.

Hunter laughed, reaching down and patting him on the head. “And who’s this little guy?”

“That’s Shakes. I found him in the middle of the road,” I said. Technically, he had found me, I supposed.

“Well, aren’t you the luckiest little guy?” Hunter asked, and Shakes let out another mewl. I assumed it was a sound of agreement.

“Come on over to the living room,” I said, leading Hunter over to the TV. “Thanks for dinner.”

“Hey, it’s the least I can do. Seriously, I feel awful not only that I didn’t realize Kylie was a killer, but that she almost got you too. I’m her boss. I saw her sixty hours a week. I should have picked up on something.”

I shook my head. “No, it’s not your fault. People hide who they truly are.”

Hunter sighed. “You’re not wrong there. I spend all my life trying to develop software that’s going to stop crimes, and instead I had a murderer working under me this whole time. I’m really glad you’re okay, Robin.”

“Me too,” I replied with a small smile. I had only lived in Spellford Cove for a short while, but I was sure of one thing: this had been the right decision.

* * *

The adventures continue in Double, Double, Tart and Trouble: Robin’s finally starting to feel at home in Spellford Cove, but everything comes crashing down around her once more when a local schoolteacher is poisoned, and the whole town thinks Robin’s cheesecake is at fault.

Finding herself defending her bakery—and her livelihood—once more, Robin sets about clearing her name yet again. But the deeper Robin gets into the investigation, the more secrets she discovers the teacher really had. And between a vindictive reporter who seems intent on ruining Robin’s reputation, and that strange woman making a re-appearance, Robin has quite a few irons in the fire.

Will she be able to put out the flames before she gets burned?

Click here to read Double, Double, Tart and Trouble now.

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About the Author

Samantha Silver lives in British Columbia, Canada, along with her husband and a little old doggie named Terra. She loves animals, skiing and of course, writing cozy mysteries.

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