Free The Witch and the Dead by Heather Blake Page A

and a cup of coffee, Evan stuck his head out of the kitchen.
    â€œI thought I heard you out here.” He eyed my order and frowned. “Get your coffee and come back here with me.”
    â€œBossy,” I teased.
    â€œIt’s what I do best.” He ducked back into the kitchen.
    Smiling, I walked over to the coffee station. I filled my paper cup to the brim, set the lid, and grabbed a sleeve. As I took a sip, the warmth seeped deep into my bones. I spared a glance out the front windows and noticed leaves racing down the road as though trying to leave the village as soon as possible. As if they, too, sensed the bad juju and had implemented an emergency evacuation plan.
    Fighting the urge to join them, I headed for the kitchen. Behind a long stainless steel worktable, Evan sat on a stool with a mixing bowl on his lap and a wooden spoon in his gloved hand. Even though he had half a dozen stand mixers, he almost always preferred to mix his batters the old-fashioned way. The chocolate in the bowl was thick and creamy and calling my name. I didn’t know what it was, but I wanted to take the spoon from Evan’s hand and dig in.
    I held out my to-go box. “I’ll trade you.”
    Evan’s gaze narrowed. “No way. Do you know how many raw eggs are in here? You’ll get salmonella for sure.”
    It was not the first time he’d warned me of that particular risk. “I’ll take the chance.”
    â€œNo. Eat your cupcakes and tell me more about what happened at Ve’s today.”
    It had been worth a try. Darn him and his health consciousness.
    It was warm in the kitchen, so I shrugged out of my coat and sat on a stool on the opposite side of the counter. This small space was a lot like Evan. Neat and tidy and a little bit whimsical. He preferred colorful ceramic mixing bowls to stainless steel, old cooking utensils to new. He often said the vintage items had a magic of their very own. I believed him. “How much do you already know?”
    â€œStarla stopped by a little while ago and filled in most of the blanks. By the way, how about her and Vince?” He grimaced as though stricken by a sudden migraine.
    â€œI know. I feel for her. And him. Mostly her, though. It’s a tough situation.”
    â€œI thought he had changed,” Evan said, shaking his head.
    â€œMaybe he did. Just not enough.”
    He sighed and stirred the batter with more vigor. “If he hurts her, I’ll kill him.”
    The thought of Vince causing her any pain made my stomach churn. “I’ll help.”
    He gave me a firm nod and a quick smile. “Now that we have that settled, is that skeleton really Ve’s ex-husband?”
    â€œWe don’t know for sure yet, but it looks that way.” I moved a large tray of eggs down the counter, set down my pastry box, and took another fortifying sip of coffee. “Miles Babbage.”
    â€œBabbage,” Evan said, enunciating carefully. “Bab-bage.”
    â€œDo you recognize the name?”
    â€œNo,” he said. “I just like saying it. Babbage. Bab-bage. Cabbage. Babbage’s cabbages.” His voice soared high and dropped low as he kept repeating the name.
    I studied him carefully. “Have you been drinking on the job? Making rum balls or something?”
    He laughed. “No. It’s just an unusual name. I like it.”
    â€œStarla thought she’d heard it before. . . .” I bit into one of my cupcakes and waited for the rich chocolate to work its magic. It didn’t take long before my stiff muscles relaxed. The bad juju I’d felt only moments ago suddenly seemed as if it were a distant memory.
    â€œWell, I haven’t. I’d have remembered that one.
Bab . . . bage
,” he growled.
    I couldn’t help smiling. Because he seemed happy. He
was
happy. Which made me all kinds of happy for him. I’d been so worried about him this past spring.
    An