Read Online That Old Black Magic by Mary Jane Clark - Free Book Online Page A

Neither could stand the thought that anyone might feel sorry for them, though both had had their share of disappointment and heartbreak. Nettie loved them both.
    She couldn’t say the same for their husbands, though. Christophe Duchamps had been a selfish man, determined to do what he wanted regardless of his wife’s feelings or his family’s economic peril. Marvin Updegrove was the same way. While Marvin went from one get-rich-quick scheme to another, it fell on Rhonda to keep a roof over their heads. And when Marvin wasn’t out scamming, he was sitting at the bar drinking away Rhonda’s hard-earned money.
    That was another reason Nettie liked to hide out at Miss Ellinore’s. She didn’t want to be around Marvin. When he did come home, she hated listening to all the schemes, empty promises, and lies.
    Still, to make Rhonda happy, Nettie was going there for a visit. She was also going to do some shopping. She needed more candles for Sunday morning, when she and Cecil would get together and praise le Bon Dieu.

Chapter 21
    B ertrand stood behind the worktable decorating a small cake layer. He held an icing bag in one hand and a flower nail in the other. There were three more cakes waiting to be frosted on the counter.
    â€œWant some help with those?” asked Piper. “I love making roses, and I’ve still got some time before I have to leave for the audition.”
    â€œBe my guest,” said Bertrand, putting down the flower nail and the bag. “It would be wonderful if you make the roses for me. They are so time-consuming. I like to put at least eight on each cake.”
    After washing her hands and donning an apron, Piper picked up the pointed stainless-steel rod with a small, round platform about the size of a half-dollar affixed to the end. With a dab of icing, she secured a square of parchment to the platform. Holding the flower nail in her left hand, she applied firm and steady pressure to the plump bag she held with her right. Piper focused on the stream of stiff, pink buttercream icing that oozed from the opening of the piping tip. After fashioning a cone on top of the parchment, she picked up another bag with a different tip. She piped a wide strip as she turned the flower nail, covering the top of the cone. Slowly spinning the nail, she made longer, overlapping petals, over and over. When she reached the bottom, Piper had created a luscious pink rose.
    â€œYou are very good,” said Bertrand, admiring her work and coming up behind her to put his hands on her shoulders. “And very quick.”
    â€œThanks,” said Piper, feeling uncomfortable at his touch but trying not to squirm. “My mother taught me how when I was little. I can practically do them with my eyes closed now. At our bakery in New Jersey, we sometimes decorate things in the front window. You wouldn’t believe how many people stop to watch when we make the roses. It’s great, because it usually entices them to come into the shop and buy something, too.”
    â€œTrès bien,” said Bertrand, brightening. “We don’t have room in our window, but would you like to make roses at that little table in the corner out front? Our customers would probably enjoy the demonstration.”
    â€œWhy not?” said Piper, feeling relieved at the opportunity to get away. “It could be fun.”
    She gathered her materials, and within a few minutes, she was set up in the bakery showroom. She repeated the rose-making process again and again, gently sliding the parchment squares with the finished flowers onto a large baking sheet. A small crowd quickly gathered to watch.
    â€œWhat’s the name of that thing you’re making the roses with?” asked a woman. “It looks like a giant thumbtack.”
    Piper smiled, continuing to concentrate on making the icing petals. “It’s called a flower nail.”
    â€œYou could probably kill somebody with that