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he or she wouldn’thave had to come in from the alley anyway, which made their absence from the bookstore at the time Dr. Dana died completely moot.
    I shook my head, feeling confused.
    Margie pressed her lips together and blinked slowly. “I guess you’re right about the alley door.” She didn’t sound convinced, though.
    However, I wasn’t trying to convince her. I was only playing devil’s advocate, right? For all I knew Angie Kissel had indeed murdered Dr. Dana.
    But the former witch’s voice echoed in my mind.
I didn’t kill anyone.
    I pulled into my driveway. It ran between my little carriage house and the Coopersmiths’ far larger home. Margie got out at the same time that her front door opened, and Redding’s substantial figure filled the frame. I let Mungo scramble down to the asphalt and grabbed my tote bag from the backseat. Margie’s husband came down the steps, backlit from inside. He had Baby Bart on one hip and a glass of Margie’s favorite pink wine in his other hand.
    Now,
that
was a good husband.
    I gave Margie a big hug. “Detective Quinn will figure it all out.”
    She stepped back. “Or you will. After all, if that Kissel woman didn’t kill Dr. Dana, then I certainly don’t want her to go to jail.” Her expression hardened. “I still think she did it, though. And whatever happens now? Well, that’s not going to bring back Dr. Dana, now, is it?”
    I shook my head sadly.
    Redding ambled across their lawn and handed his wife the wine. She took a gulp before tipping her face up for a kiss.
    â€œThanks, hon.”
    â€œLordy, sweet pea. What’d you get yourself into?” he asked.
    Bart blinked up at his mother with wet eyes, then down at Mungo. His face brightened. “Puppy!”
    â€œOh, golly. It was awful,” Margie said. Then her mom instincts kicked in, and everything else fell away. “Why’s the little one up?” She handed me the wine and the books and reached for her son. Redding handed him over, and I handed the wine and books to him. He did a double take when he saw the titles.
    â€œWhat’s this nonsense?” he asked. “I thought she was a talk show host.”
    Margie’s face crumpled at the mention of Dr. Dana. “She was. On the radio.” Then she gathered herself and looked back at Bart. “Wha’s a matter, baby?”
    â€œMamamamamama,” he intoned in a sleepy voice and laid his head on her shoulder.
    â€œJust fussy,” Redding said. “Doesn’t seem to be sick or anything. Misses you, I expect.”
    â€œOh, go on with you. He’s probably getting a tooth.” She started to walk away, then stopped and called over her shoulder. “Thanks for the ride home, Katie.”
    â€œYeah, we appreciate it,” Redding echoed, and then I heard him ask his wife if she was really all right.
    I didn’t hear her response, but being with her family seemed to be the best medicine for Margie.
    â€œCome on, little guy,” I said toMungo.

Chapter 6
    Mungo trotted across the grass to the tiny porch of the carriage house. I’d found it while helping Lucy and Ben get ready to open the Honeybee and had jumped at the chance to live in such a cute place. It had once been part of a large estate, all the rest of which was long gone and the land subdivided for residential homes. My lot was the same size as those on either side, but because my house was so small that meant both my front and back yards were expansive.
    Good thing, too, because a significant part of hedgewitchery takes place in the garden as well as the kitchen.
    Trailing my fingers along the wrought-iron railing of the porch, I inhaled the night smells of sweet Daphne and the mustiness of fallen leaves beginning to rot. At a little after nine, the temperature had dipped a few degrees below sixty. The air was soft with cool humidity. The magnolia by the corner of the