Charms and Chocolate Chips: A Magical Bakery Mystery Read Free Page B

good—and satisfyingly tame. Declan might not be that happy with my hours, but I was spending my time doing things I felt strongly about. Not that I didn’t feel strongly about Declan . . . but that was different.
    Headlights flashed on in front of the small house on Abercorn Street that Autumn and Wren had converted into the Georgia Wild office. I turned on my blinker and waited as a boxy Jeep veered into the street and accelerated quickly away. Thanking the parking gods, I happily slipped the Bug into the empty spot. A narrow covered porch wrapped around the front of the building, and through the winter gloaming I could see the tasteful sign centered on the overhang: GEORGIA WILD—SPACE AND A PLACE FOR ALL.
    I got out and went around to the other side of the car to retrieve Mungo and the pastries from the Honeybee. The blinds on the office windows were already closed. Warm yellow light glowed behind them, a comfortable beacon in the chilly evening. Autumn was probably working late again. That woman worked even more than I did.
    Running lightly up the steps, I reached for the doorknob. Unlatched, the door swung open at my touch. My nostrils flared as the odor of burnt coffee boiled through the opening. It seemed to carry another scent—or another feeling—with it. I could have sworn I smelled . . .
dread
. Mungo tensed beneath my other hand, and a telltale shiver crawled across my shoulders.
    Sipping shallow breaths, I stepped into the former living room where I did the majority of my work. The door latch snicked shut behind me as my gaze swept over the worn Berber carpet, the Goodwill furniture, the overlapping maps and charts tacked directly to the wallboard. The place was clean if not tidy, functional if not beautiful. Two desks faced each other, each with a halogen lamp trained on piles of papers and brochures and manila file folders. Nothing unusual there. Both desk chairs were empty, as was the solitary guest chair by the front window. The yellow light that had looked so friendly from outside came from the tall floor lamp in the corner next to it. Plants tumbled healthy leaves over the edges of the indoor window boxes.
    I tossed the bag of baked goods onto a desk and hurried to the coffee station on the far side of the room, sparing a glance at the darkened hallway that led to Autumn’s private office at the back of the house. The thick, dark sludge at the bottom of the coffeepot confirmed long, unattended hours on the hot warmer. Why hadn’t anyone noticed the stink?
    “Autumn?” I called. “Wren?”
    The mournful sound that erupted from the back of the building brought every follicle on my scalp to attention. Mungo whined from inside the tote still hanging from my shoulder. I patted him on the head almost without thinking as I backed slowly toward the exit.
    Yip!
    His bark startled me so much I almost dropped the tote. At least my gasp made me realize that I had stopped breathing altogether. I deliberately inhaled, mind racing, intuition breaking down in the face of fear—but of what I didn’t know. Maybe the fear
was
my intuition talking.
    Bright light dawned at the end of the hallway for a brief moment, then vanished. A crash sounded as something moved toward me from the office. I whirled to the door, fumbling at the handle so I could get the heck out of there.
    “Katie!”
    I paused, turning back. “Wren?” Mungo’s head popped up out of the tote.
    She staggered into the main office, one shoulder bouncing off a wall as if she’d had a few too many daiquiris. A framed topographical map of northern Georgia crashed to the floor, spraying broken glass.
    “Good heavens! What’s wrong?” I hurried to her side, grabbed her arm, and eased her into one of the desk chairs.
    “Autumn,” she panted, looking wildly around the room.
    I knelt on the floor in front of her, careful of the glass shards. Mungo jumped out of the tote and ran toward the short hallway. From the corner of my eye I saw him skid