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

to roost.”
    “Actually, he’s my uncle by marriage. I grew up in Ohio.”
    Unfazed by this information, he went on. “So sorry I wasn’t able to come to the extravaganza you threw for the Downtown Business Association.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “It’s so very difficult to get really good help anymore. My latest employee called in ill at the last moment, so naturally I was required to tend to my business and miss the meeting despite my role as president.”
    I found myself rather taken with Jenkins. “Well, I don’t know that I’d call it an extravaganza, but we did feel it was a success. Until, of course, a woman was murdered out front.”
    His shoulders slumped, and his head swung slowly back and forth. “I could not believe it when I heard someone had done mortal violence to an elderly woman like that. Right downtown, too. Mavis Templeton might not have been the most popular citizen in Savannah, but no one deserves such a horrible end.”
    “It was pretty awful,” I replied. “You knew her, then?”
    “Oh, heavens, yes. We were both natives, you see, and despite our age difference it’s very difficult not to encounter every soul who was born in this area over a lifetime of living here.”
    “Plus, she was in the DBA,” I pointed out.
    “Yes, of course. And she is … was my landlady.”
    I had wondered how I could bring that up, and now I didn’t have to.
    “Here at the store, of course. This building. I’d no more live in one of her apartments than I’d stab myself in the leg with a dull knife.”
    I blinked. His voice had remained even and flowed with the same mellifluous tones I’d quickly grown accustomed to, even lulled by, but his choice of words seemed a bit over the top. Then I realized he’d handed me a new piece of information.
    “She rented apartments?”
    For the first time, he hesitated. “I don’t know that I should be talking about the dead like this.”
    Like what? But I kept my mouth shut and waited for him to fill the silence.
    Finally he spoke. “Mrs. Templeton didn’t rent out any of the apartments at the Peachtree Arms personally, you understand. She hired a manager to handle all the day-to-day for that”—he took a deep breath—“that place.”
    I forced a light laugh. “It doesn’t sound like a terribly nice address.”
    “It’s a cesspool of neglect.” Another pause, then, “It’s a shame no one forced her to maintain it properly.”
    “You couldn’t do anything as the president of the DBA?”
    Jenkins shrugged. “Our focus is the historic district. Mrs. Templeton’s apartment building is in Midtown. Still, I spoke to her about it on two different occasions.”
    “What did she say?”
    “My dear, she just out and out laughed at me.”
    I believed it.
    Jenkins’ eyes narrowed slightly, though his manner remained easygoing. “Ms. Lightfoot, you seem inordinately curious about Mrs. Templeton. Are you by any chance a student of the macabre?”
    “Gosh, I don’t think so. It’s just the, um, proximity of her sudden death—” Now he had me talking funny. I cleared my throat. “Sorry if I’ve been rude.”
    “Not at all!” He beamed at me. “Death, gruesome occurrences, voodoo—this city has it all, and we do love to talk about it.”
    My smile in return felt a little weak.
    “Now, allow me to show you what I mean.” Hecame out from behind the counter and went to one of the display cases. Opening it with a key he took from his pocket, he held a handful of yellowing papers out to me. “This is a murder pamphlet from 1860. It details a woman tavern owner who killed three husbands and seventeen of her patrons before she was caught and tried—and promptly put to death.”
    “Good grief,” I said. “Murder pamphlet? So it’s just a story?”
    “Oh, no, my dear. People have been fascinated by the grisly details of true crimes for centuries. These sensational little pieces professed to contain those details, in addition to