Chapter 16
The air in Regency Meadows Park smelled of cinnamon.
Trees scattered throughout the place painted the grass in orange and yellow leaves.
In the open center stood several covered stands.
One was our stand for Cupid’s Confections, currently manned by Jane and Lizzy, though mostly Lizzy at the moment as Charles lingered nearby, taking up Jane’s attention.
Pies and other results of Lydia’s stress baking adorned the table.
I had to admit my sister’s manic habit was well-timed, if nothing else.
I stood next to Lydia and Ms. Long. The older woman wore a cozy fall coat that went down to her ankles, and her hair was pulled back in the usual twist.
Lydia bit her lip as furiously. I laid a palm on her arm. “We’re doing the right thing.”
She nodded. I checked my phone. Where was Frank? We needed him for this next part. In fact, I’d volunteered him for it.
As if on cue, hands grasped my shoulders. I sensed their warmth, notwithstanding my coat. “I’m here. Where do you need me?” Frank asked.
Even though I’d texted him the entire story and our plan, this was the first time I’d seen him since I’d told him. A lightness landed on my chest when I noted the gentleness in his gaze despite everything.
“Over there.” I pointed. “Mrs. Long’s is the next-to-last pie. Make sure she gets the one with the blue mark on the plate.”
“Got it.” But he didn’t move away as he searched my eyes. “And how are you?”
Somehow I’d made it this far without breaking down, but the concerned furrow in Frank’s brow was the moment all of it became real, and it almost snapped me like a twig.
“Not now,” I gritted. I needed to remain focused, not wind myself into an emotional mess.
He seemed to understand. “Okay, let’s get this done.” He put on his most charming smile and moved over to the tables with the other volunteers.
Mayor Pembroke stepped up in her orange and black sweater and her scarf covered in miniature pumpkins.
Plastic bat wings stretched from her back.
“May I have your attention, please? Thank you for coming to our annual bake-off competition. The esteemed Lady Catherine de Bourgh will do the honors of officially beginning our festivities and announcing the winner at the end.” She gestured toward the older lady in her no-nonsense blue pantsuit.
Lady Catherine lifted her chin proudly. She placed a hand on the young woman beside her, signaling her to remain still, then marched forward to stand next to the mayor.
Lady Catherine didn’t even crack a smile as she faced the crowd. “Let the annual bake-off tasting competition begin!”
A cheer rose from the onlookers. Not far from where Lady Catherine had been standing, Pastor Collins held his wiggling nephew by the shoulders. Brexton stood close by, and when our eyes met, he gave a small wave. I lifted my hand in return.
We watched as the various confections were delivered, one by one, to the judges. Lydia’s nervous fidgeting intensified the closer they got to her pie.
“Maybe we shouldn’t,” she muttered.
“We agreed this needs to be done,” I said.
My eyes fixed on the piece of pie we’d convinced Mrs. Long to substitute only for Mom. It had been a little too easy to convince Mrs. Long to make the switch. After all, Mom could hardly nag her friend about a pie that originated from her own shop.
Frank’s hands closed around the piece, and he met my gaze. I gave him a slight nod, and he took it over to my mom.
All three of us held our breaths while we watched Mom take a bite of the baked good, chew it and swallow. Her eyes grew round and shot over to where we stood with Mrs. Long, her face growing red.
“She looks angry,” Lydia said.
“What did you expect?” I whispered under my breath.
A small, satisfied smile came to Mrs. Long’s face.
Mom held it together until the end of the contest, though she kept glancing over at us, her hands shredding the paper napkin next to her plate into little pieces.
By the time the event concluded, someone had set up a microphone in the middle of the square to announce the winner.
Lady Catherine approached the microphone, her stern gaze suggesting she felt superior to the crowd but couldn’t resist the chance to hold a prestigious role, even at a local bake-off.
She opened the envelope grasped in her lace-gloved hands. “The winner of the 37th Austen Heights bake-off is…” She squinted at the paper, then turned to the mayor knocking against the mic, causing feedback to screech across the square. “This can’t be right. There must be a mistake.”
Mrs. Pembroke hurried over and checked the name. “No, that’s correct,” she whispered, but the audio system picked her up. She motioned for Catherine to return to the mic. Lady Catherine appeared offended, and she shoved the paper over to the mayor and stalked away.
Whispers shot through the crowd, and I stared in confusion. What in the world was going on?
With a flushed face, the mayor hurried to the microphone. “The winner of the 37th Austen Heights bake-off is George Wickham.”
People clapped with enthusiasm. Wickham emerged from the onlookers, looking sheepish as he hastened over and accepted the trophy from the mayor.
Mom rose shakily from her seat and I hurried over to her.
“Oh, Mary, do you see how my nerves are on edge?” she said to me. “Somehow someone got a hold of one of our recipes. I avoided a scene as they were not victorious, but we need to find out—”
“Nobody stole our recipe, Mom. Lydia and I baked that piece of pie.”
She froze, then stared at me in confusion. “I don’t understand. Why would you do that?”
“What do you know about the death of Isabella Ravenswood?”
Her eyes widened, and she grasped my arm in a vice-like grip, drawing us away from people and between two stands. “Oh, Mary dear, why are you bringing this up now? Please have compassion on my poor nerves,” she whispered.
“I’d assume they’d be quite frazzled of late.”
“Yes, yes, this contest has set them on edge. Not to mention your father being ill and having to do everything myself.”
“And the upcoming wedding between Jane and Charles?”
A smile split her lips. “Well, nothing is official yet.”
“And murder probably isn’t that good for them, either.”
Mom didn’t move. She watched me, her eyes growing wide. “What are you talking about?”
“You know what I mean. The potions that Kitty has been messing up, you’ve been using that to your advantage. After all, you always say there’s a fine line between obsession and possession.”
“I have no idea what you are saying—”
I took a step toward her, my hands balled into fists.
“You switched out the wolfsbane potion that Isabella gave Lydia the day she came by to drop it off with a bottle of possession potion.” I fought to keep my voice steady.
“They’re both clear potions, so it wasn’t too difficult.
Then, when your poor victim drank the potion, instead of ending the transformation, he turned into a werewolf and fulfilled your every command. Like taking out poor Isabella.”
Mom laughed, though it was much too forced. “Oh, that’s silly, Mary. You and your imagination. Constantly running wild from all those books you read.”
“Lydia knows, too. She’s been trying to cover for you, but the guilt has been eating at her.”
Mom’s facade crumpled. “What was I supposed to do?” she cried. “I didn’t mean to. It was an accident. A horrible, terrible accident. That poor girl.” She sobbed.
I stepped back, shocked at her reaction. “Tell me what happened.”
“That young woman, Isabella, came in here talking to Lydia, describing her plan to reclaim Charles Bingley. Even bought a love potion from us to do it. Then that day of the full moon she came in, and I overheard her asking Lydia to deliver the wolfsbane potion to Frank. Someone had to do something to save our fortunes.”
“So you killed her.”
“She wasn’t supposed to die.” She took a handkerchief from her pocket and blew her nose. “I-I just wanted Frank to turn her. Then I’d have a secret to blackmail her with. I could get her to drop her claim on Charles. I-I didn’t know his bite would kill her.”
“Isabella had a genetic condition where any outside magic was fatal to her.”
Mom placed her hand over her eyes. “I didn’t know.
” She scrunched the handkerchief and looked at me imploringly.
“Oh, please forgive me, Mary. B-but you must realize I—I did this for you. I did it for all of us. Without this marriage, we’ll be destitute within the year.
We’ll have to sell the shop and our home, and what about your father and his medical bills?
Who will pay for those? Your father would die if he didn’t have his treatments.
I did this out of love. For you, for me, for everyone. ”
“And yet, instead of coming forward, you tried to cover it up.”
“Turning myself in could start a war between the creatures of magic and the fae. Is that what you want? This town torn apart? And witches—we’re just beginning to be accepted. Would you destroy that to see your own mother behind bars?”
I hesitated. “I don’t know,” I said. “But no matter what I decide, you can’t escape the consequences of your actions.”
Mom hiccupped a little. “What do you mean?” She paused, looking pale, glancing at the table where she’d eaten the piece of pie Lydia and I had made.
I’d never taken Dissolution Elixir before, but I wondered if she could feel her witch magic slipping away, her access to it obstructed by the potion we’d baked into the pie. “What have you done?”
“We blocked your powers, and they will remain that way until Lydia or I restore them.”
“You can’t do this to me. I am your mother. Haven’t you always wanted to be part of the fae? To be one of them as much as I have? This is our chance, Mary, for them to embrace us and leave our witchiness behind.”