Ghosts & Gateaux Read online

  Ghosts & Gateaux

  by

  Sara Bourgeois

  Chapter One

  “Jenny Mae, where are you?” I said into the phone.

  It was my third time trying to call her, and I finally decided to leave a voicemail. I hated leaving voicemails, she wasn’t going to listen to it anyway, but I was at my wits’ end.

  I quickly hung up and shot off a text message saying the same thing. She was late again, and I was nearing the end of my rope.

  If we hadn’t been friends for so many years, I probably would have fired her already. Or at the very least, I’d have given her a stern talking to…

  During any normal time, her new obsession with dragon racing would have been a mild inconvenience, but the bakery had a huge job coming up. We’d been hired by the Medium Association of Brookdale for the yearly Darlington Séance that was held at the Darlington Manor drawing room.

  Marcel Love, the leader of the association, had sent his right-hand man, Patrick, to hire the Blue Moon Bakery for the event. It was a prestigious job, one that we’d only been offered because of working Elizabeth Sullivan’s wedding, and I was struggling to get things ready on time. While Marcel was nearly impossible to work for, at least the job hadn’t gone to Garnet Guillory.

  “You should just fire her,” Gumbo said as he strutted into the room. “I think she deserves it at this point.” He plopped his ample calico butt down and began cleaning his ears with one paw.

  “I’m not going to fire her…” I said. “Yet. We’ve been friends for a long time, and this is just a minor inconvenience.”

  “No, it isn’t,” Gumbo retorted. “She’s going to ruin the Darlington Séance job and sink your entire business. All for what? Dragon racing?”

  “It’s only been a little while. She’s going to get it under control and stop staying out too late and arriving at work late because of it,” I said hopefully.

  “You’re lying to yourself,” Gumbo said. “And you’re enabling her.”

  “You make it sound like she’s a gambling addict,” I said.

  “I mean, she’s coming in late to work because she’s going to the track. What do you call it?”

  “I think she’s having some sort of financial problems she’s embarrassed to tell me about,” I said. “She’s probably trying to win money to get out from under them.”

  “Then… uh… perhaps she should come into her job before you forget what a sucker you are and fire her.”

  “I’m not a sucker,” I said, but he was probably right. I’d never tell him that. “She just thinks she’s got some sort of angle on the whole dragon-racing thing. Jenny thinks she’d figured it out.”

  “What they’ve done to those once majestic creatures is a travesty,” Gumbo said.

  “What, you want there to be giant, fire-breathing dragons flying around? You’d probably be a pretty tasty snack,” I said with a snort.

  “You’re not funny,” he said and took off out of the office.

  “I’m hilarious,” I called after him. “Stay out of the food!”

  I wasn’t going to fire Jenny Mae, but it was time to admit that I needed more help at the bakery. I probably should have hired someone even before she began flaking out on me.

  “At least we made it through Elizabeth’s wedding before she started this crud,” I said to my empty office. “Gumbo, I’m running down to the newspaper to put an ad in the classifieds. I’ll be right back.”

  “Have you ever heard of the internet?” he asked as he appeared in the doorway.

  “I have, but they don’t have an online payment system. I can submit the information for the ad, but I still have to go down there and pay. I’ll be right back. The longer I put this off, the worse it’s going to get.”

  “What about that Craig’s something or whatever site? Don’t they have a classified section?” he asked.

  “Yeah, if we want a serial killer or a necromancer to apply for the job,” I scoffed.

  “That could be fun,” Gumbo retorted.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  I hurried out the door with the piece of paper containing the ad copy in my hand. I could have submitted it online, but the woman who worked at the paper’s office was notoriously bad with technology. It would be easier for me to just do the whole thing the old-fashioned way.

  The Rook and Pen, our local newspaper, was just about the only thing open earlier than my bakery. As I hurried down the street, the lights from the newspaper office cut through the dark ahead of me. It wasn’t cold outside, but I pulled my cardigan closed around me as a sort of protective gesture.

  I’d expected there to be no one else at the paper putting in an ad since it was so early in the morning. I’d been wrong. Marcel Love, leader of the Medium Association, was at the desk ahead of me.

  He was going on to the woman behind the desk about how important his letter was to the integrity of Brookdale. The letter in question was a tell-all piece that he paid to have published in the classified section. His letters were controversial and unpopular, to say the least.

  Marcel acted like he was doing the town some sort of service, but all he was really doing was spreading rumors and lies. Those letters were filled with pure nastiness too. He ruined marriages and business with them. You’d think at that point, the townsfolk of Brookdale would just ignore his meddling and pot stirring, but they fell for it every time.

  He must have heard me walk up behind him, because he swiveled around with his letter in hand. Apparently, I hadn’t hidden the disgust on my face well enough. A sneer crossed over Marcel’s lips. The sides of his mouth pulled back, but not in a smile. He bared his teeth at me ever so slightly.

  “I hope that nasty look on your face isn’t for me, Fern Moonfall,” he sniped.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I did a fake yawn and stretch. “I’m just tired. It’s so early after all. Just waking up. How are you today, Marcel?” I asked as sweetly as I could manage. “I hope you’re well.”

  “And I hope you don’t screw up the catering for the Darlington Séance. I hope you know that if you do, I’ll make sure no one ever hires your bakery again. The only reason you even got the job was because of the Elizabeth Sullivan thing. I couldn’t not hire you because of all of the publicity around it, but I’m not sure you’ve got what it takes. In fact, I’m pretty sure you don’t.”

  Rage boiled inside of me like the ocean during a tropical storm. I had to literally bite my tongue to keep from attempting to put a hex on the jerk.

  One, because I needed the Darlington Séance job, and two, because I wasn’t very good at hexes. Actually, I wasn’t good at them at all. I probably would have given myself a zit or turned the lady behind the counter’s coffee bitter. I would have revived the “Jinx” nickname, and that was a sore spot in my history that needed to stay buried.

  I could not risk offending him so soon before the event. All I had to do was make it through the séance, and then I could make sure that I never took a job for Marcel Love again.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you. Could you say all that again? I think I’m having a touch of allergies. My ears are just all clogged up.” I smiled innocently.

  “Don’t play games with me, Ms. Moonfall. I’d fire you right now, but you’re untouchable after that cake you made for Elizabeth’s wedding,” he said and his sneer deepened into a horrific mask of contempt. “It won’t be like that forever.” He turned back to the lady behind the counter. “Are we done here? I have important things to do.”

  “Uh… it will be twenty-five dollars, Mr. Love. Cash, check, or charge?”

  “You raised the price again?” he practically shrieked.

  The woman, I believe her name was Cynthia, recoil
ed. You could tell she’d been hoping to avoid his wrath. I bet she’d even considered paying the twenty-five bucks herself just to have Marcel leave without yelling at her. No such luck, Cynthia.

  “I didn’t personally, sir. It’s just that we had to start charging, and by we, I mean the paper, not me, more because your letters are quite… prolific,” she said and winced again.

  “Don’t think this paper won’t be in my next expose!” he said and pulled out his wallet.

  Cynthia and I watched in horror as he yanked two tens and a five out of his wallet and slammed them down on the counter in front of her. She cautiously took the money like Marcel was a snake that might bite her.

  “Would you like a receipt?”

  Marcel shoved his wallet in his back pocket and glared at her. He then turned on his heels and began to march toward the door.

  “You can shove that receipt right up your…” But he was already out the door, and we couldn’t hear the last part.

  Not clearly anyway, but I had some idea of what he’d said.

  The air in the room instantly felt lighter. Cynthia, her name confirmed when I could see the name plate next to her on the desk, and I both breathed a sigh of relief.

  “That was… something else,” I said as I stepped up to the desk.

  “I hope you’re not too shook up. He’s like that with everybody, hon. We actually got lucky this time that he had somewhere else he thought was more important to be. I’ve seen Marcel do much worse” Cynthia said.

  “Well, then I guess I’m grateful we got lucky,” I said.

  “Me too,” she said and rolled her eyes. Cynthia cleared her throat and put a smile back on her face. “It’s over now, so how can I help you?”

  “I’d like to place a classified ad in the job section,” I said.

  “We can do that for sure.”

  Cynthia took my slip of paper with the ad copy on it and got the ad set up in minutes. I paid her the fee, and I was on my way.

  I hurried back to the bakery as my confrontation with Marcel had set me back enough that I was worried I’d be late. Fortunately, when I arrived back at the shop, Jenny Mae had finally come in. She had almost everything ready to go, and I jumped in to help finish up.

  “You would not believe what a jerk Trevor becomes when you win one too many games,” Jenny lamented.

  Trevor owned the racetrack where Jenny had been spending entirely too much time, but hopefully not too much money. I hated to think she might be digging herself an even bigger hole, but I was almost too afraid to ask.

  “Is he accusing you of cheating?” I asked.

  “Not in so many words, but I get the implication. The thing is, I’m not cheating. Not at all. I swear, Fern. Cross my heart. It’s just that I seem to have a natural knack with dragons and knowing which one will run the fastest. I hope he doesn’t try to ban witches from betting,” she said with a sigh.

  “Around here, that wouldn’t go over very well. We have to be a huge portion of his business,” I said.

  “I hope you’re right,” she said.

  “Let’s focus on getting the food ready for the séance tomorrow. You were late this morning, and now we’re a bit behind. This is too big of a job to mess up.”

  “You’re right. I’m sorry,” Jenny said.

  She didn’t elaborate further or make any promises to be on time from then on out. I was hoping she would. The matter was something I had to put a pin in until after the séance.

  We worked side by side getting the baked goods and appetizers done for Marcel until it was time to open. Once customers began to come in, Jenny went up front and handled them while I stayed in the back and cooked.

  I occasionally had to go up and help her when she got slammed, but for the most part, I got to stay in the back all day. There were probably more times that she could have used some help, but Jenny knew I was behind because of her. So, she let me work. I appreciated that.

  At the end of the day, Jenny assisted me with packing everything up in the containers to take to séance. We put the food in the walk-in cooler and called it a night.

  In the morning, I’d come by the bakery and load everything in the van to transport to Darlington Manor. I’d use the kitchen there to heat up anything that needed heating.

  Everything had to be ready to go because Jenny wouldn’t be accompanying me on the job. Jenny’s mother was very excited about going to the séance, so I’d given Jenny permission to take her. As long as everything was prepped properly, I could handle it on my own.

  As soon as I walked through my front door, it hit me how tired I was. Dinner was me shoveling a few spoonfuls of cold, leftover casserole into my mouth right in front of the fridge.

  I then wandered into my bedroom and collapsed. I didn’t often sleep in my clothes, but when I did, they were covered in flour and lard.

  Something woke me the next morning and it wasn’t my alarm. When I rolled over and looked at the clock on my nightstand, a panic the likes of which I’d never known shot through me.

  I sat bolt upright in bed. “How is it that time? Why didn’t my alarm go off?” I shrieked.

  Gumbo hissed and jumped to the end of the bed when I almost crushed him. “I turned it off. I was annoyed,” he said and casually jumped off the bed.

  “Gumbo, how could you!”

  It was my turn to jump out of bed. I frantically ran around collecting clean clothes from my dresser and closet. I had about three minutes to shower at best.

  I stumbled into the cold shower and made myself as clean as I could. There was no time to wash my hair, so I had to hope no one noticed there was some flour in it. I covered the worst of it the best I could by putting my hair up in a tidy twist. At least the flour in my hair kept me from looking like a greaseball. If nothing else, it was a decent dry shampoo.

  “You’re going to pay for this,” I said to Gumbo as I tripped down the stairs.

  I didn’t mean it, and he knew it. But it made me feel better to say it.

  “Don’t forget to fill my bowl before you go,” he said.

  I fed him. I was running late for a huge job that could make or break my business, but I made sure to feed the cat.

  At least nothing happened on the drive to the bakery to pick up the food. The ride over to Darlington Manor was equally uneventful.

  I carried my containers of food into the kitchen and went back out to the van for serving trays. While I was heating up appetizers in the oven, Patrick, Marcel's assistant, came into the kitchen.

  "What are you doing?" he asked as I was about to place another mini turtle brownie on one of my serving trays.

  "I'm putting the food on trays?"

  "Why would you be using those wretched serving trays? Ugh, where did you get those? The discount bin at the second-hand store?"

  "Wow,” I said. "These are my catering trays."

  "No offense," Patrick said with a tight smile. "It's just that... Marcel would not be pleased." He walked over to one of the larger cabinets and opened the door. "I had the staff at the manor place these here for your use. They're the finest silver serving trays. You should use them."

  "Okay. Thank you,” I said.

  I wanted to bite his head off for insulting me and my serving trays. They weren't "the finest silver serving trays", but they weren't cheap. I'd purchased the high-end designs from a professional catering company. I did not fish them out of the discount bin at a resale shop. But I had been late, and Patrick did speak for Marcel. It was too late for them to fire me, but it wasn't too late for them to ruin my reputation.

  "By the way, you were late. How stupid could you possibly be?" Patrick asked.

  The sharp tone had left his voice, though. There was a tinge of concern hidden under his annoyance. I took some comfort in the fact that he probably hadn't ratted me out to Marcel.

  Yet.

  "Everything is under control. I will have it all ready on time."

  "Thank you," Patrick said in a clipped tone.

&n
bsp; He left the kitchen then, and I went back to my preparations. But an hour later as I was putting the last mini baked brie on the tray, Patrick came back into the kitchen looking a little ashen.

  "What's wrong?" I asked.

  "The seance has been postponed until Marcel can get into the right headspace. Whatever that means." Patrick immediately bit his bottom lip when he realized that he'd let his annoyance with Marcel slip. I imagined the penalty for not being the perfectly loyal servant was severe.

  "So, he's not doing the seance tonight? Or he's going to be a half hour? What kind of postponed are we talking about?"

  "I don't know?" Patrick said with a sigh. "He's requested a glass of elderberry wine. You should take it up to him right away."

  "Me?"

  "Yes, you," Patrick said.

  I wasn't sure if it was because Patrick just couldn't deal with Marcel anymore, or if he'd requested me. Either way, I would take the wine. I just needed to get through the evening with my business's reputation intact.

  Patrick got the wine out and poured a glass. He put it on a silk napkin on top of one of the smaller silver serving trays. "Second floor. Third door in the right wing."

  "I'll be right back,” I said more to myself than to Patrick.

  I made my way out of the kitchen and down the hall. I moved through the grand dining room and then the formal parlor to the entryway. There were two curved staircases that led to the second floor in the formal entry. I took the closest one up and then padded down the hall to the third door.

  The door was ajar, but I knocked anyway. No one answered, so I knocked again.

  "Hello,” I said into the room when my second attempt got no reply. "Mr. Love, I've got your elderberry wine."

  Not wanting to get dressed down for being too long with the wine, I gently gave the door a nudge.

  "Marcel? I'm bringing your wine in, okay?" I said and pushed it open farther.

  I can tell you that I dropped that pretty silver tray and wine glass the moment I stepped into the room. The elderberry wine splashed across the floor, but the glass didn't crack.

  Not that it was important because Marcel Love lay there on the floor with a black knife sticking out of his back. I rushed across the room to help him, but Marcel was already dead. The knife in his back was enchanted too. I could feel the magic coming off it.