Free Brownies and Broomsticks: A Magical Bakery Mystery by Bailey Cates

a pile of money from Mrs. Templeton,” Jaida said. “Depending on her will. Though I suppose she could have left her fortune to a charity or foundation or something.”
    “That seems unlikely.” Lucy’s tone was wry.
    “Sounds like ol’ Albert had a motive,” I said. “I don’t suppose he looks like Uncle Ben, does he?”
    Bianca shook her head. “Not so much. I can try to find out more about him.”
    “Good idea. What else do we know about her?”
    “Ben told me she liquidated most of her assets after her husband’s death rather than pay someone to manage them,” Lucy said.
    “I can dig around and find out more about that,” Jaida offered. “Much, if not all, of that information will be public record, and I know the system.”
    “Perfect,” I said, feeling better now that a hazy plan began to form.
    “Well, I can tell you one thing she still owned,” Mimsey chimed in. “That commercial property where Jack Jenkins has his store.”
    “Where do I know that name from?” I asked.
    “He’s the president of the DBA,” Lucy said. “But he couldn’t come to the brunch yesterday. He called Ben this morning, apologized and welcomed him to the association.”
    “Did he say why he couldn’t make it?”
    “He has a little store that specializes in Civil War–era memorabilia. Real touristy, though in truth he’s a bona fide expert. Takes part in the battle reenactments, all that stuff. He said he had to cover for a sick employee yesterday.”
    I tapped one finger on the tabletop, considering.
    Mimsey got up and withdrew something from the bottom shelf of the bookcase. Unfolding it revealed a large map of Savannah, which she spread out on one of the tables. She stood considering it for a few moments, then looked up at us. “Girls, I’m going to see if I can’t use one of those special talents I was telling Katie about to find someone who hated Mavis Templeton enough to kill her.”
    Cookie laughed, then caught herself. “Sorry, Mims. It just seems to me that a lot of people might fit that bill.”
    “Can’t hurt to try. I’ll run home and get my scrying crystal. Be back in about half an hour.” She hurried to the kitchen, and we heard the door to the alley open and close.
    “That’ll give me time to run by the county clerk’s office,” Jaida said, and she went out the front door to Broughton Street.
    “Scrying crystal?” I ventured.
    Cookie smiled. “Mimsey’s the best of us at divination,though it’s always a tricky business, full of hint and innuendo to interpret. I can’t do it at all.”
    Bianca began closing the blinds. “Lucy, do you have candles?”
    “Back in the office,” she said.
    “I’ll get them,” Cookie said.
    I was curious as the proverbial cat, but I reminded myself to be practical. “Where is Jack Jenkins’ store?” I asked Lucy.
    “Over on Bull Street. It’s called Johnny Reb’s.”
    Only a few blocks away. “I need some fresh air. Think I’ll run over there and check it out.” I fetched my tote bag and slung it over my shoulder.
    “Do you think he’ll be able to help?” Bianca asked.
    I shrugged. “No idea. But since Mrs. Templeton was his landlord, he might know her a little better than some people. Like whatever Mimsey’s cooking up”—I nodded my head toward the map—“it can’t hurt to try.”
    In the open doorway, I turned back. “Er … don’t start without me.”
    They exchanged glances; then Bianca said, “Don’t worry. We won’t.”
    Scrying crystal, indeed. If Lucy was “airy-fairy,” what did that make her friends? A bunch of nuts, that’s what.
    Except …
    As I strode under the ubiquitous Spanish moss that hung from the live oaks overhead, I couldn’t help but think about what Lucy had said about my parents. About how familiar and comfortable her words were even as I scoffed. It would explain so much about mychildhood and about the odd things that had happened to me my entire life if my parents truly did possess some kind