Spells and Scones by Bailey Cates Page B

all that later this afternoon. After we close.” She didn’t refer to the spellbook club, but she’d already told me that everyone would be there by one o’clock.
    Iris’ face fell.
    One of our regulars came in for her weekly loaf of sourdough bread, and I went to help her.
    â€œHello, Mrs. Standish,” I greeted her. “One loaf or two?”
    Edna Standish had been one of the Honeybee’s very first customers and continued to support us on an almost-daily basis. A tall and broad-shouldered woman, she wore wide-legged woolen trousers in soft gray and a silken tunic covered with depictions of sailing ships. Her precise gray curls were covered with a pink scarf that wound twice around her neck and then tied at her throat.
    â€œKatie Lightfoot!” she said in her loud and nasal voice. “How are you this fine day?” She leaned forward and put her finger alongside her nose. “Though it certainly isn’ta fine day for Savannah’s most famous radio show host, is it?”
    I absolutely adored this woman, but she was the biggest gossip imaginable.
    â€œSo you heard,” I said.
    â€œOh, Lord, child.
Everyone’s
heard. It’s all over the papers this morning—though I did manage to hear about it before then.” She gave me a conspiratorial grin. “I do declare, my dear. There is so much excitement that happens in this little block of Broughton Street, and you always seem to be in the middle of it.”
    â€œMmm,” I said without enthusiasm.
    â€œWell, I must tell you, though of course I shouldn’t, that I am just the teensiest bit jealous.
Not
, of course, that I want anyone to die. Heavens no!
But
, since there are so many murders in this neighborhood, it does seem like at least once I would be nearby.”
    I blinked, not knowing how to respond to that.
    â€œAnyway, is there any news regarding who did the horrible deed?”
    â€œNot really,” I said. No need to feed the beast.
    â€œWell, I’m afraid I simply don’t know much about this Dr. Dobbs person, other than she was famous. From what I understand, she specialized in relationship therapy, and heaven knows Skipper Dean and I don’t need that!” She laughed loud enough that the couple sitting by the window stopped talking to stare at us.
    Smiling, I said, “Glad to hear you and Dean are doing so well.”
    â€œNot half as glad as I am!” She squinted and looked into the distance. “Say, I don’t suppose you know that doctor’s husband’s name, do you?”
    â€œNathan Dobbs,” I said.
    A smile broke across Mrs. Standish’s mannish face, and I found myself leaning forward in anticipation.
    â€œI knew I was familiar with that surname!” she exclaimed.
    A shiver ran like a mouse down my back, but I forced myself to wait for her to continue.
    â€œYou remember when I decided I wanted to be a big real estate mogul last year? When I bought the Peachtree Arms?” she asked.
    I nodded. The woman Uncle Ben had been accused of killing had owned the wretched apartment building, and Mrs. Standish had stepped in to save the structure and the tenants, and even managed to benefit the local no-kill animal shelter.
    â€œI tried to buy that commercial complex on the edge of Ardsley Park—on the corner of Bull and Victory Drive.” She peered at me to see if I knew the one.
    â€œI pass that place all the time on my way to Lucy and Ben’s town house,” I said.
    She stabbed the air with her finger. “Right. Perfect location, well away from the tourist hustle down here in the historic district, but close to lovely neighborhoods where residents would like to be able to shop closer to home. The upper floor was big enough for a nice-sized fitness center, too.”
    â€œWhat happened?” I asked.
    â€œI was soundly outbid, my dear. By Mr. Nathan Dobbs.” She shook her head and tsked. “Not that