Butter Witch by Tess Lake

Author:Tess Lake [Lake, Tess]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tess Lake

Chapter Fifteen

I was working through a whole lot of complicated emotions—ranging from just kiss Jack to cancel that date to what on earth were you thinking?—when Mom called.

As usual, she was already talking when I answered the phone. “. . . can’t put it over there. Tell them to take it around the back.”

“Hello?”

“Oh, Harlow, good, you finally answered. I need you to come to the bakery to collect some food to take home. Your cat is here too. I found him in the pizza oven again. Did you talk to him?”

I heard Adams in the background saying, No, I wasn’t.

“Can’t you guys bring it home? I’m sort of working here.”

“No, Freya and I are going straight to a business seminar after work and Ro has yoga. I need you to come to the Big Pie and pick up the food and your cat as soon as possible, please.”

“Okay, fine, I’ll come now.”

I checked the time and saw that it was already quite late. Between the therapy session with John, following Fusion Swan through the town, witnessing a drug deal, following him to Zero Bend’s house, coming back here, researching and writing an article, and then having Jack visit me, the day had vanished. I took one more look at my article and decided I’d wait a day or two. Maybe I could find out some more information. At least that’s what I told myself. The truth is that most of the time the Harlot Bay Reader consists of puff piece reporting on new shops opening, parks being revitalized, and houses being repainted. Apart from Holt Everand’s murder, this was probably the first time I’d really written anything of substance, and I was a little nervous about letting it out to meet the world.

I locked up and then drove over to the Big Pie Bakery. It’s only four streets away. Big Pie is a moderate-size cafe/bakery with chairs outside for sidewalk dining. When I was within two streets of it, I smelled the delicious food. Some days it was cinnamon sugar drifting over this town in a cloud, sweet and delicious. Other days you could smell crusty bread, fresh from the oven. Sometimes it was pizza.

At this time of day the cafe was mostly empty. There were a few tourists eating snacks or donuts and drinking coffee. In another hour the bakery would close. I pulled up around the rear and went in the back entrance to find my mother and two aunts having a very serious conversation about paint colors.

“Rustic orange gives a warm, comforting feel. We’re restoring the mansion, but we’re not going to be turning it into a palace. We don’t want people to be scared away,” Mom said.

“No, the blue is more inviting,” Freya said. She was kneading dough, and I’m not sure she’d realized that it had probably had enough kneading by now.

Ro turned toward me.

“I think we need to go with bright colors. Make ourselves stand out. Everyone else in town already uses the same style of paint.

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