A Southern Charms Cozy Potluck Box Set Page 49

  She looked at me with watery eyes. “I wanted to leave so I wouldn’t end up like Mom, dying for a family that barely wanted her to begin with. I begged Duke to let me go. He was the last of his family line, and he had the power to say the right words and release me from my bond.” Her bottom lip trembled.

  “I’m guessing he wouldn’t let you go. Especially when you were so useful to him.” I sat down on the wooden floor, hoping that Mason didn’t mind me taking the lead and not really caring if he did.

  She sniffed and wiped under her eyes. “I was always a good cook, like my mom. I think my dad’s side of the family had some kitchen witches in it because I took to cooking and baking from an early age. Duke saw an opportunity and forced me to work for the company he created. You’d never guess how many places a caterer can get into and be ignored. It was his free pass into many houses or to be around important people.”

  Mason coughed, and Shelby jumped, remembering the detective’s presence. “Is there a reason he needed to be around important people?”

  The frightened young woman kept her eyes trained on the floor in front of her. “Yes, sir. You see, Duke liked information. Any kind or variety from anybody. He would use what he collected to gain what he wanted. Sometimes, he wanted money and would blackmail people. Sometimes, he wanted access. There’s no record of any speeding tickets even though he never drove slow.”

  The pieces clicked together and I understood the importance of Duke’s words to her in the Hawthorne’s kitchen. It also alerted me to the magnitude of what I saw and how much worse the situation might be.

  I placed both my hands on top of hers. “Where’s the book, Shelby?”

  Her eyes widened. “You know about it?”

  “What book?” Mason asked.

  I spoke to the detective but kept my gaze steady on Shelby. “Duke could produce a black book out of nowhere, and I’m guessing he kept the secrets he collected inside of it.”

  Shelby’s hands quivered underneath mine. “Early this morning while it was still dark, something snatched me out of my sleep. It took me a few moments to gather my bearings and figure out that Duke’s moment of death had called to me and brought me to him. It about ripped me into pieces having to mourn his passing with an instinctive uncontrolled cry while my heart rejoiced that he was gone.”

  Mason wrote down details with hurried purpose. “After the mourning stopped, what did you do?”

  “I figured that the book must appear out of the ether. If he was dead, then the spell he used to keep it hidden wouldn’t work anymore. I waited and searched, but never found it.” The talented cook sobbed, and I let go of her hands to let her bury her face in them.

  I stood up and pulled Mason outside of the guard house. “Whoever has that book has the biggest motive. Whatever’s inside it, I’m betting it was worth killing over.”

  “How do you know she doesn’t have it and is lying?” Mason looked over his notes. “If she was trapped into serving the man, then she all but said that his death set her free. If anyone has a huge motive to take Duke’s life, it’s her. Especially if he was half as bad as he sounds.”

  My heart ached for the girl, but the detective had a point. “I know it’s not admissible as real evidence, but my gut doesn’t scream that she did it. More like she was one of his victims. Plus, there’s something that he said to her…” I returned to the small structure. “Shelby, I have to tell you that I was eavesdropping on you and Duke during the bridal shower.”

  “You were? So that’s how you knew about the book. I thought maybe something about you was in it.” Relief eased the tension in her face.

  Despite her fast becoming the main suspect, I couldn’t help but like her a tiny bit. “There was something that happened, and Duke told you that the consequences wouldn’t have the outcome you wanted.” I kept the specifics of her attempt to stab the chef to myself. “What did he mean by that?”

  Understanding replaced the fear in Shelby’s eyes. “Oh, that. He meant that if I wanted to kill him, I couldn’t. A banshee cannot bring harm to the family she is bonded to.”

  I pulled Mason out of the guard house again. “See. She couldn’t have done it.”

  The detective tapped my hand to get me to release him. “I’ll have to double check on the rules for banshees, but let’s say she’s right and she couldn’t be the one to kill him. That doesn’t mean she didn’t arrange for his death.”

  My hope in the tiny kernel of the girl’s magical nature deflated. “You’re right.”

  Mason tipped my bent head up. “Don’t look so defeated. While your gut instincts may not hold up with the law, I have high regards for them. I’m not saying I’m arresting her right now. We need to go through the car, search where she was staying, and check what evidence was found at the scene.”

  “I wouldn’t count on anything being logged right. Big Willie kinda fumbled the play from the start. Speaking of.” I tipped my head in the direction of the car heading our way. The sasquatch’s hairy arm hung out the window.

  Mason left my side to greet his boss, and Flint joined me at my elbow. “Think she’s the killer?” the gnome asked.

  Keeping my eyes on the sheriff gesticulating wildly at the detective, I leaned down to give my quiet answer. “I don’t know for sure yet, but no alarm bells are goin’ off with this one.” I jerked my thumb at the wooden structure by the gate. “I think she has more questions to answer and could give valuable insight to help us find who might have had it out for Duke. Problem is, I think that list might be very, very long.”

  I straightened up as Big Willie stomped his way over. “Charli Goodwin, didn’t I tell you to leave things to us wardens?”

  “Yes, sir, but I—”

  “No, that’s not how this goes. I tell you to stay out of it and you just do what I say.” He placed his hands on his hips. “Now, Charli, go home.”

  I was not a fan of anyone treating me like a child or telling me what not to do, especially a man. Looking to Mason for help, I pleaded with my eyes for him to stick up for me. After all, he’d asked me to come with him.

  “I can take her back to town,” he said without glancing my way.

  Disappointment welled in my chest. “I can walk,” I grumbled.

  “No, Zeke’ll take ya.” Big Willie tossed the young deputy the keys, not caring that his aim sucked and he missed his target by a hot mile. “Then he can check on his mama and start going through the stuff there since the girl and the dead man were staying there.”

  “I can go with him and help,” I volunteered, wanting to get my hands on the infamous black book sooner rather than later.

  “Bye, Charli. Now, where’s that girl?” The sheriff marched toward the guard house.

  Mason stalled the young deputy for a second. “Listen, I’ll do my best to convince him that having you help will be a good thing. I’ll finish here and then get started on that dinner.”

  “We’re still on for that?” I asked, unsure if now was the time to stop investigating.

  “You gotta eat plus…you said yes. And there are things to say. Don’t give Zeke too hard a time, and I’ll try to arrange for you to work on the case as much as possible.” Mason backed away to answer Big Willie’s barking call for him. “I’ll see you tonight.”

  “What time should I bring the food over?” I called out.

  He checked his watch and calculated. “Would seven be too late?”

  That would give me enough time to bake dessert. “Seven’s perfect.”

  The smile that spread on his face warmed my insides again. “See you at seven. And, Charli?”

  “What?”

  “Have a little faith in me.” He winked and walked away.

  When I walked over to Zeke waiting by the sheriff’s car, his last sentence echoed for me. Did I have faith in the man or trust him?

  “Zeke, we need to make one stop before you take me home. And if you do me this one favor, I’ll repay you in two baked goods of your choice.”


  Finding out that I wanted to stop off at Sweet Tooths was enough of a bribe. Zeke drove me back to Main Street and let me buy his two treats along with the plethora I planned to ingest to mull over my answer.

  It took one red velvet cupcake, two snickerdoodle cookies, a honeysuckle and lavender scone, and one moon pie for me to accept my answer. Yes. I absolutely trusted Mason.

  Chapter Eleven

  I showed up on Mason's doorstep five minutes early, carrying a picnic basket with a red-and-white checkered towel covering the top. Rubbing my glossy lips together one more time, I smoothed out my favorite dress with sunflowers on it.

  Mom loved sunflowers, and I needed a piece of her with me tonight to keep my nerves from getting the better of me. I might have been a little overdressed, but it felt good to have a reason to fuss. If I’d read his reactions right, there was a pretty good reason for me to be all gussied up.

  With a deep breath, I knocked and waited. In the short time it took for him to answer, doubt worked its way through the cracks. What if he didn't mean this as a date? What if he was just being nice? What if all he sees me as was a person with specific talents that could help him with his job?

  The door opened and ended my cycle of incessant questions. Mason held it wide in invitation. He wore a dark blue button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, showing off the strength of his forearms. I was afraid he’d decide to shave his face but admired his willingness to keep the stubble.

  He ran a hand across his whiskers. “I thought about it, but ran out of time working in the kitchen.”

  I stepped past him and into his home, impressed and not surprised by its neatness. “You’re a mind reader now?”

  “My job requires me to be observant, and your gaze lingered on my chin. I'm not sure anyone is strong enough to survive what's in there.” He tapped my head playfully.

  I sniffed the air. “I don't smell any smoke. I thought I might run into a cute fireman or two with you doin’ the cooking,” I teased, giving back as hard as I got.

  “Is that why you packed a dinner?” Mason collected the basket from my hand. “I thought you trusted me.” He peeked inside and smiled.

  I shrugged, suddenly embarrassed by my choice. “Only chess pie.”

  “Your favorite,” he commented.

  Frosted fairy wings, the detective had done his research on me. “I’d ask how you knew, but you’d tell me it was your job.”

  He walked through the living room. “No, I asked your grandmother once.”

  I stopped moving. “Why?”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “Because I wanted the recipe to try and make it for you.”

  The man wanted to bake for me. And not just anything—my favorite dessert. Something warm settled in my heart, and the air around us shifted. It didn't matter if tonight was an official date or not. I didn’t need special magic to know things would be different between us from here on out.

  I cleared my throat. “It's just a simple pie. Few ingredients but big on taste.”

  “Nothing wrong with simplicity. And I hope you don't mind that our dinner won't be complicated either.” He directed me to his dining room where he'd set a small table with two place settings, two wine glasses, and a single candle. Doubts about what to call this occasion banished with a flicker of the flame.

  “Pour us some wine, and I'll bring out the food,” he said, disappearing into his kitchen.

  We feasted on a mountain of spaghetti with the most delicious sauce I’d ever tasted. It beat Nana's hands down, which I would never tell her, and it was a far cry from the burnt mass of carbon that was supposed to be lasagne he’d attempted before. More unexplained changes in a short amount of time.

  “Did you get enough?” Mason asked, eyeing my plate.

  Still hungry from the late afternoon time spent mulling over what was or wasn’t happening between us, I must have eaten at least two full helpings. I covered my mouth in embarrassment with my napkin. “I’m so sorry. I don't normally wolf my food down like that.”

  Mason’s body stiffened at my bad choice of words, but he shook it off. “No, you have no idea how nice it is to eat with someone who's enjoying the food you've prepared for them. If you want, I'll send you home with the recipe so you can make it.”

  I finished the last drops of wine. “Or you can make that your signature dish you take to potlucks. People will love it and will always ask you to bring it. Besides, if you give me the recipe, then you might not invite me back for more.”

  “Oh, you will be getting more invitations from me.” His flirty tone returned and warmed my insides.

  I struggled to come up with a witty response, and an awkward silence grew between us. “Has there been any progress finding the book?” I asked.

  The light in his eyes dimmed. “If you don't mind, I'd rather not talk about the case tonight.”

  “Oh.” I dropped my gaze, fiddling with the napkin in my lap.

  Mason continued. “Sorry, I don't mean to cut you off. But I want tonight to be about something other than solving a murder. Would that be okay? There are things I want to share with you.”

  My head snapped back up. “Of course,” I gushed.

  Mason had been closed off from the first time we met. He let me into his world inch by inch, but had a habit of shutting me out when I got close, erecting walls and tearing them back down with maddening regularity. If he wanted to give me an opportunity to slip past his defenses and get to know him better, I couldn't say no.

  He pushed himself away from the table and blew out the candle. “I think we should have dessert outside.”

  I took his offered hand, letting him lead me to the patio in his backyard. With a strike of a match, he got the fire pit going and went inside to fetch the pie. When he joined me, the flames glowed and danced. I was grateful for the cool night breeze, although I would have sweat bullets to endure the ambience.

  He handed me a plate with a slice of my pie and a fork on it, but the folder he carried in his other hand caught my attention.

  “Not yet.” He placed it down on the table between us. Leaning back in his chair, he took a bite of the pie. “Mmm. So good.”

  Mason was right. The pleasure he took in the dessert I made for us warmed me from the inside out. I felt a little guilty that I hadn't expended more effort, making a pecan pie or a fruit one with elaborate latticework.

  He stopped chewing. “Charli, stop worrying about what kind of pie you brought me. It’s absolutely delicious, and I’m glad you wanted to share something that you love with me. Let that brain stop working overtime and relax or I'll eat your slice, too.”

  The night setting offered a symphony of comforting noises. Cicadas chirped and the fire spit and crackled, its embers floating like beacons into the night sky. The Spanish moss hanging from a tree on the edge of his yard rustled in the cool night breeze.

  When he finished with his dessert, he placed his plate down and picked up the folder. “I know you have questions for me, but there's some stuff I can't tell you no matter what. If you can accept that, I'll be as open as I can.”

  I almost regretted the calmness of the night being broken by my chance to interview the detective. But the desire to find out more tempted me. “If I ask something you can't answer, you'll tell me.”

  “Yes.”

  “And what if I ask you something you don't want to answer?” I pushed.

  Mason situated his seat to face me. “Tonight, there are no walls. Nothing stands between us. If you ask, I'll answer. But make sure you want to hear what I have to say.”

  I filed some of the more personal questions away, starting with an easier one. “Where were you?”

  “I can't tell you the specifics, but somewhere up north close to where I used to live.” He gripped the folder a little tighter.

  Not so easy a beginning. I watched for his response to my next inquiry. “Were you in danger?”

  He nodded. “Yes, a couple of times. But I can't tell you what kind, only
that I knew how to take care of myself and that I've returned.”

  “This is going well,” I joked. “It's going to take me forever to find questions you can answer, so what if we switched it up and you told me whatever’s safe?”

  The detective pondered my suggestion and agreed. He handed me the folder and nodded for me to open it. Inside, I found a bunch of pictures of different sizes taken from different eras. I studied the first few but didn't recognize the subject.

  “That's me,” admitted Mason.

  I picked up the smallest snapshot, a proof photo from a school picture packet. He couldn't have been more than seven or eight years old. His grin was missing a tooth, but his smile shined bright and happy.

  “That was me after the social worker found me and placed me with a proper witch family. I didn't have a hard life before that, but being around people who could show me how to harness my powers freed me to live like a normal kid who was no longer scared he might cause something bad to happen.” He frowned, remembering something.

  Mason had never spoken so freely about his past. My heart raced with the excitement of knowing him better.

  He continued. “Trying to contain magic can be dangerous, which is something you know very well. It's like voluntarily locking yourself away in a cell and throwing away the key. But a sweet woman found me and set me free.”

  I bit my lip, trying not to get too choked up. As a kid, I’d wished someone would come and take away my talents because they made me different. Now, I wanted to find out more so I could understand them. I shuffled through more childhood pictures, listening to his stories. “When did you know you wanted to become a warden?”

  A sadness shadowed his eyes. “Marian, the social worker, kept in touch with me all of my life. She was the closest thing to a mother I had. She watched me play sports and was there for me when I graduated from school. I got a full ride to college because of her. I knew that I wanted to help others in her honor so they could have better lives.”

  “She sounds like an amazing woman. Do you still talk with her?” I asked.

  He cleared his throat. “I didn't have to go up there when I did. I took an assignment with greater risk, but it let me be there for Marian when she passed away. These are the photos that she kept of me over the years. They’re the only ones I have to mark my history.”