Brownies and Broomsticks: A Magical Bakery Mystery by Bailey Cates

Author:Bailey Cates
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9781101585306
Publisher: An Obsidian Mystery
Published: 2013-01-02T13:13:07.223000+00:00

Chapter 15

Ethan Ridge wasn’t the only one who’d had problems with dear Mavis. Now that Steve was looking into his nefarious past I wanted to find out what had happened to Redding Coopersmith’s friend before we got too busy at the bakery. I’d related Margie’s story to Lucy and Bianca, who came in soon after Steve left,

“I’d sure like to track down Frank Pullman before the grand opening tomorrow,” I said now. “We’ve heard Mrs. Templeton made a lot of threats, and we even witnessed some right here in the Honeybee, but it seems she actually destroyed Pullman’s life.”

Bianca slid into the chair across from me. “He lives a few miles away. We could go see him right now.” She recited an address.

“You know him?” I asked. A sense of urgency settled on my shoulders.

She shrugged. “Never heard of the gentleman before you told us about him.”

“Then how did … Is there an address location spell or something?”

Her lips quirked. “Yes. It’s called a telephone book. Very old school.”

Lucy laughed. I ducked my head, feeling my face redden. I had to stop thinking everything these ladies did involved witchcraft.

“I have some time right now. Can you leave?” Bianca asked.

I glanced at Lucy. “I think we should. What else is there to do to get ready for the opening? Other than the baking I’ll do in the morning.” The bakery was scheduled to open at seven o’clock the next morning. Because we wanted everything to be perfect, I’d be at the Honeybee bright and early at four a.m. I’d already prepped everything I could.

My aunt waved her hand. “We’re all set, hon. You go ahead with Bianca and see what Mr. Pullman has to say. I’ll take care of anything that comes up.”

Standing, I said, “We shouldn’t be long.”

Bianca offered to drive. When I saw the red Jaguar convertible I was sorry we had to go only a few miles.

In no time we pulled up behind a battered pickup parked at the curb in front of a white bungalow centered on a small lot. The porch sported an elaborate wooden railing, and the low cedar pickets surrounding the yard stood out in contrast to the neighbors’ wrought-iron fences. The gate was open, as was the front door. Several cardboard boxes emblazoned with the NEW START MOVING logo filled the back of the truck, along with a Naugahyde recliner and two large suitcases.

As we approached the gate, a tall bearded man wearing black-framed glasses carried another suitcase out of the house and shut the door behind him. He jingled the keys in his hand and regarded us from the shade of the porch. Exchanging glances, Bianca and I entered the yard and walked up the sidewalk.

“You from the bank?” Anger flared in his eyes as we came nearer.

“Um, no, sir,” I said.

“Don’t tell me those bastards put the house on the market already.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know anything about that. Are you Frank Pullman?”

The heat in his glare diminished a fraction. “Who wants to know?”

I climbed the stairs and stepped onto the porch.

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