Brownies and Broomsticks: A Magical Bakery Mystery by Bailey Cates Page A

frigid air wafting into the humid atmosphere, but I don’t know how we could have gotten the sofa outside otherwise. Maybe Lucy had a nice vanishing trick, but Declan and I had to do it the old-fashioned way.
    I never did learn the woman’s name.
    “We’re still in Midtown, aren’t we?” I asked as we drove away.
    “Almost to Southside.”
    Reaching into my bag, I pulled out a piece of paper with the address Jaida had provided for the Peachtree Arms and recited it to Declan.
    “Is that Mrs. Templeton’s apartment building?”
    “It is. Are we anywhere close? Would it be a bother to swing by and take a look?”
    He took a quick right. “No bother at all. It’s not far.”
    In fact it was less than five blocks away. Declan pulled into the cracked asphalt parking lot of a monkey-poop-brown building. I counted eight doors on each of five floors, leading to ratty concrete pads on the ground floor and rickety-looking balconies higher up. The siding was peeling away in places, and at the far end an iron railing dangled from a fifth-floor balcony, directly over the walkway below.
    “That looks dangerous,” I said, pointing out the truck window.
    Declan looked grim. “No kidding.” He opened the console between us, extracted a notebook and scribbled something in it.
    “Are you going to report it?”
    “You bet I am. Want to go inside?”
    I most certainly did not. Jack Jenkins’ assessment of this place as a cesspool of neglect had been mild in comparison to the reality. The place frankly creeped me out, even though I was safe and sound on the outside. My imagination flinched at the possibilities of what it might be like inside.
    “Sure, let’s take a look,” I said, donning false bravado like a trench coat against the elements.
    Declan looked his skepticism at me but didn’t protest. Instead he got out and came around to my door, handing me down to the ground from the running board like I was a petticoated lady just arrived on a stagecoach.
    Know what? I kind of liked it. Andrew had been a getcher-own-door kind of guy.
    Good riddance.
    As we neared the building, a big SUV screeched around the corner. I yanked on Declan’s arm, pulling us both to the side of the building and out of the path of the speeding Suburban.
    The driver didn’t even notice us, or if he did he didn’t deign to look at us. But I recognized the shiny head, shapeless lips and bitter parentheses carved around his mouth.
    “Albert Hill,” I breathed. Shaken, I leaned against the brick facade. “Twice in one day. It’s a good thing we didn’t run into him inside.”
    “Why?”
    “Ben didn’t tell you? That’s Mrs. Templeton’s nephew. He’s threatening to sue Ben, the bakery, Lucy, me, the DBA and maybe God himself.”
    “Pffft. That’s ridiculous,” he said.
    I could only hope he was right.
    We walked around the corner and found a door leading into a central hallway in the middle of the end wall. I held both hands up to the glass pane that made up the top half, on either side of my face to try to cut the glare from the sun. But even then the glass was too dirty to see through.
    Taking a deep breath, I yanked on the handle and the door swung open with a creak worthy of a horror movie. Declan caught the door and held it, entering right behind me. We squinted in the darkness until our eyes adjusted.
    The eight-by-five arrangement seemed to be reflected on both sides of the building. So unless there was a secret penthouse, this ramshackle edifice contained eighty miserable dwellings.
    No wonder Mimsey had identified it as a nexus of hatred toward Mrs. Templeton. I would have guessed that after one glance.
    Never mind that Mimsey had never seen the place.
    Pushing the thought away, I blinked in the low-wattage light and peered down the hallway. Mustard-colored carpet crawled the length of it, stained in the middle and pulling away from the edges in places. I met Declan’s eyes, their bright color dimmed in the perpetual twilight of