a witchcraft mystery 08 - a toxic trousseau (22 page)

Our first customer was none other than Renee Baker, who arrived with a pink bakery box in her hands.

“I see you have two
more
handsome men in your realm.” She smiled and winked at Duke, who nodded, and Conrad, who blushed. “Lily, how in the
world
do you do it?”

I introduced Renee to the gang, and the gang to Renee.

“Dude,”
Conrad said, eyes widening as Renee opened the box, revealing the frosted delicacies within. “I’m not embarrassed to admit, I’m a big fan of the cupcake.”

“Try this one,” she said, handing him one with white
frosting and sprinkles. “I have a way of knowing who will like which cupcake.”

“Lily’s like that with clothes,” said Bronwyn. “She’s quite gifted.”

Renee looked around the store, then back at me. “Why, this place is lovely! And neat as a pin!”

“You should have seen it this morning,” muttered Maya.

“Yes, I fear the police did a number on us,” said Bronwyn. “I made poor Autumn—may the goddess show her the light—some scones a few days ago, so the officials were suspicious of my herbs and they tore this place apart. Can you imagine?”

“Well, that’s odd,” Renee said, perusing a rack of 1980s velour loungewear and polyester jogging suits. These sold well, amazingly enough, but they were nothing compared to the caliber of the clothes in Autumn’s store. “They’ve left Autumn’s place virtually untouched. Why do you suppose that would be?”

“I have no idea,” I said. “The other day you mentioned the police came into your store and talked to you about what might have happened to Autumn, right?”

“They did come in; of course they did. An officer and a lady.”

“I believe they’re both inspectors.”

“Right. The fellow liked my lemon chiffon, and the lady preferred chocolate, as many ladies do.” Another wink in Conrad’s direction. Luckily he was distracted by the cupcake he was eating. Conrad wasn’t typically what one might call “smooth with the ladies.”

“And you told them about the trousseau upstairs? About Autumn trying on the dresses?”

“I can’t recall whether I went into those particulars.
They just asked me about enemies, family, suspicious people hanging around. That sort of thing.”

“And were you able to give them any ideas?”

“Oh, no, not really. I didn’t go in the shop that often; all I could tell them was that Autumn didn’t have any family, and her husband passed away a couple of years ago.” Renee held up a fitted jacket that was clearly too small for her, so I steered her toward a display of 1960s outerwear that would better suit her figure. “You really do have fun things here. So different from Autumn’s inventory!”

“Dude, that was the best cupcake I’ve ever had in my life,” said Conrad, sitting on one of the velvet benches near the dressing rooms, a serene look on his face.

“Have another!”

“Dude, I couldn’t. Well . . . maybe one more.” He chose a lavender one this time.

“You know, the cupcake business is doing
so
well
. Everyone said when I started that I would never make it, but things are going great. I’m even thinking about seeing whether I could expand into the Vintage Visions space. Would you be interested in the merchandise?”

My hands, busy rearranging the carved talismans in the glass display case, stilled.

“Oh, Lily was just talking about expanding Aunt Cora’s Closet!” said Bronwyn. Then realization dawned: “Of course, luckily our neighbor is simply moving, not . . .”

“Dead,”
Maya supplied the word she was looking for.

“Are you . . . in charge of Autumn’s estate, Renee?” I asked.

“What? Oh. No, no, of course not. It just seemed serendipitous that the space should open up just like that, and I’ve been thinking I needed to expand . . .”

Maya and Bronwyn and I exchanged looks.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” said Renee, clearly picking up on the tension. “Too soon?”

“A little,” Maya said softly.

“Was she a friend of yours? I thought you barely knew her.”

“We didn’t, not really,” I said. “Still and all, it’s a tragedy, her passing away so quickly.”

“Of course it was. And so unexpected. She wasn’t very old! I’m just . . . Well, you know how real estate is around here. If you don’t jump on something right away, the opportunity passes. There have already been folks poking around, looking in the windows. . . .”

Speaking of peeking into windows . . .

“Do you happen to know Eleanor and Cody . . . I don’t know their last names,” I said. “They have a cute dog named Mr. Bojangles.”

“I don’t recall. . . .”

“They’re a young couple, twentysomethings. They were there the first morning I met you in your store—Cody has a big bushy beard?”

“What is
with
that style? I don’t care for it at all.”

“Agree with you there,” said Bronwyn. The two took a moment to swap their least favorite current styles, sagging pants and bushy beards and muttonchops topping the list.

“So do you like the skinny jeans that are replacing the sagging pants?” Maya asked.

“Not really. They’re usually paired with the strange facial hair! And ear plugs!” The two dissolved into laughter.

“I think this dress would suit you, Renee,” I said, holding up a loose gauzy dress with a tropical theme. Its
vibrations were confident but very sweet and mellow; there was something of an edge to Renee that made me want to help her relax. Her vibrations reminded me a little of Sandra Schmidt, our soon-to-be-gone retail neighbor.

“So,” I said, hoping to get the conversation back on track. “You don’t know him? The young man with the beard? I think he and his wife live in the neighborhood. He mentioned he frequents your shop.”

“Hate to tell you, but there are a lot of people coming in and out of the shop.
Everyone
loves cupcakes. Why are you asking about him?”

“No reason in particular. Maya and I met them at the dog park, and Cody mentioned he maintains the Web site for the Rodchester House of Spirits.”

“
Oooh
, the Rodchester House of Spirits!” cooed Bronwyn. “I just can’t wait!”

“Wait for what?” asked Renee.

“I’m having a sleepover there tomorrow night. Can you imagine?”

Renee looked troubled.

“Are you all right?” I asked.

“Yes, of course,” she said, shaking herself a little. “That place just gives me the creeps, somehow.”

“Me, too,” said Maya.

“You’ve been?”

“Hasn’t everybody?”

“I think it’s gorgeous,” said Bronwyn. “And remember—spirits aren’t here to bother us; they’re part of the mystical veils that surround us, cloaking us in their warmth and knowledge. Tell them, Lily.”

“What about demons?” Maya piped up. When I first met Maya she didn’t believe in my abilities with the craft,
much less ghosts and demons. Since then she’d seen a lot and had been on a pretty steep learning curve.

Renee blanched, and Bronwyn pursed her lips together.

“You think there might be
demons
in Rodchester House?” asked Renee.

“No, of course not,” I said. “In fact, we don’t know that there’s anything at all paranormal in Rodchester House.”

“I think there’s something there, but I don’t know what,” Renee said. “I consulted a mage a few months ago, and he said there was no such thing as demons.”

I sincerely hoped the “mage” she was referring to wasn’t the dubious Jamie. I was trying to think of a way to frame my question so it wouldn’t sound too pushy when Renee offered: “I went to see him to inquire about the next steps to take for the success of my business.”

“Do you know a man named Jamie?”

“He has a beard, like the other fellow?”

“No, he’s a lot older than Cody, probably in his thirties or forties. Not very tall . . .” It was on the tip of my tongue to say: “claims to resolve curses.” But again, though my friends backed me up in my magical endeavors, sometimes they were best left protected. “Sort of a Jersey tough-guy accent? He had some business with Autumn Jennings, and he mentioned you had given her his name.”

Renee was flipping through a set of psychedelic ’60s muumuus and appeared not to hear me.

“Renee?”

Finally she paused and turned toward me. The others
were chatting among themselves, absorbed in their respective tasks, not paying us any attention.

So no one else saw what I did: Renee went from smiling, Anglophile cupcake lady to something else entirely. Her normally warm, sparkling eyes narrowed; they were as cold as ice.

“He shouldn’t have told you that,” Renee said.

Then she smiled again and resumed her former attitude, holding a hot-pink-and-orange maxi dress in front of her.

“You there, young man,” she said to Conrad. “What do you think of this on me? Do you suppose I could pull it off?”

The phone rang. Still shaken by my interaction with Renee, I crossed over to the counter and answered absently: “Aunt Cora’s Closet, Lily speaking.”

It was Sam Spade. My “investigator.”

“Couldn’t find anything on the phone number you gave me; it’s a burner cell phone. Therefore, no name associated with it. Sorry. But I ran that plate for you and got a hit. Motorcycle’s registered to a fellow named Brad Goldman, works at the David Gallery off Union Square.”

“Is that an art gallery?”

“They’d probably say yes, but what it really is, is like a spa for guys.”

“A men’s salon?”

“I guess. I mean, what’s with that? Barbershop’s not good enough for people anymore?”

“I don’t know what this world’s coming to,” I said. Sam never got my jokes, but that didn’t prevent me from making them. In fact, if anything, it spurred me on for my own amusement.

“Anyway, I tracked Brad Goldman down there and he’s working ten to five today. Since I went there in person, that’ll cost extra.”

“That’s fine.” Sam was fairly new to the investigations business and still did everything as though he had a catalog of services by his side, with a list of costs. He wasn’t what you’d call a natural detective, and I kept expecting to hear that he’d returned to his former career as a financial analyst. But so far he was hanging in there, and he had contacts that came in useful from time to time.

I wrote down the name and address of the David Gallery.

By the time we hung up, Renee had decided on the muumuu and Maya was already wrapping it up for her and placing it in one of our recycled bags with
Aunt Cora’s Closet
emblazoned on the side.

“Thanks again for the cupcakes,” said Maya. “Lily can’t stop talking about them.”

“Oh, you’re welcome! It’s great advertising! Maybe I’ll be moving into this neighborhood next, one never knows! There could be Renee’s bakeries all
over
this city!”

Maya smiled broadly. “One can only hope.”

“Aren’t you a
dear
!” Renee said. “Bronwyn, Duke, Conrad, you have been such loves!”

Only then did I realize that Oscar hadn’t shown his snout the entire time Renee was in the store. Was he that put out by Loretta, or could there really be something problematic with the cupcake lady?

Unfortunately I didn’t have time to track Oscar down and confront him. Not long after Renee left, Sailor stopped by to take me to lunch.

I turned to Bronwyn and Maya. “Mind if I sneak out?”

“Oh, please, go and enjoy!” said Bronwyn. “We have more than enough help at the store at the moment.”

“Thanks.” It was sunny and nice out, but I grabbed a peacoat and scarf just in case.

“Hungry?” Sailor asked.

“Getting there,” I said, feeling guilty that I’d eaten a bagel and half a cupcake already today. “But on the way to lunch, we need to see a man about a motorcycle.”

He let out a little groan and held his hands out for the keys. “In that case, I’m driving.”

“Sometimes I think you just love me for my Mustang.”

“It is a great car.”

Chapter 17

David’s Gallery was full of trendy young men getting not only haircuts but also facials and other spa treatments.

“I don’t want to sound hopelessly behind the times,” I said in a quiet voice, “but I’ve never seen such a thing. Have you?”

“Beats the heck out of me,” Sailor said.

“On the other hand, you could probably use a facial,” I said. “Or perhaps a manicure . . . ?”

“You just do your investigating so we can get to lunch. I’m hungry.”

I asked the receptionist, a young tattooed man wearing blue eyeliner and a plaid lumberjack shirt that hugged his thin shoulders, for Brad Goldman.

“Brad!” he yelled over his shoulder, then turned back to his smartphone.

A young man trotted out from the back, then came to a stop and put his hands on his hips.

“You’re not my one o’clock,” he said. His own blond
hair had been buzzed very close to his skull, and I made out what looked like a tattoo of a horse on the side of his head. He had clear blue eyes and a rather chubby face that gave him a pleasant, boyish look.

“No, we’re not. We’re actually here to ask you about your motorcycle.”

His expression instantly became interested. “Did you find it? Where is it? And who are you?”

“I’m Lily Ivory, and this is Sailor. We don’t know where your bike is, but we’re looking for a woman we saw riding it. Her name’s Scarlet?”

His eyes widened and he stepped back.

“What about her?”

“We’re trying to track her down.”

“I dunno where she is. The truth is she begged me to borrow my bike, said she was late for her dog-walking gig. But she never came back. She bugged off with my bike.”

“The black Ducati?”

He nodded and swallowed so hard I could hear the gulp.

“And you haven’t heard from her?”

He shook his head. His lip trembled and his eyes filled with tears. “I really don’t understand. She took my
bike
, man. I mean . . . I thought we were in love, you know? Like, she was the one.”

“So Scarlet’s your girlfriend?” I asked.

“
Was
my girlfriend, I’m guessing.”

“Women are complicated,” Sailor said.

“Man, you’re totally right,” Brad said slowly. “I mean . . . why would she do this to me?”