Bianca D’Arcy. Dot Murphy. The names stirred a memory in the corners of my mind and I realized with a start that these were the two ladies Agatha had been hurling abuse at during her memorial service the day before. Bianca and Dot, the silver socialites of Salem, according to Tracy, the friendly vet. I released Bianca’s hand and straightened my cardigan, the same one I’d been wearing the day before. “Hi, I’m Price Jones. Thanks for the welcome; I really didn’t expect anyone to visit. Thank you.”
I reached for the apple pie, but Bianca nudged Dot, causing her to move onto the staircase before I could take it. Bianca smiled sweetly and gestured for Dot to continue walking. “Dot, go ahead and bring it upstairs. Put the coffee on, too, we won’t have Price making the refreshments on her first morning as a Salem resident.” My eyebrows peaked as I watched the two old ladies make their way toward the apartment as if it were their home instead of mine. Bianca glanced at me over her shoulder. “Close the door, dear. This old building is draughty enough to freeze my bones.”
Mouth slack, I eased the door shut and followed the ladies up the stairs and into the apartment. By the time I reached the kitchen, the smell of coffee brewing filled the air. The ginger cat padded softly across the linoleum floor and stared up at Dot with bright eyes as she bustled around the room, pulling out fine bone china from the presses and cutting the apple pie. The tabby cat pounced onto the windowsill and eyed the steaming dish, licking his lips, but the black cat remained unmoving in the doorway, his blue eyes narrowed and his back arched. I felt my own spine stiffen in solidarity with the surly feline; this was far more neighborly intervention than I liked before I’d made my morning smoothie. Dot smiled at me and waved toward the table, Agatha’s table—my table—as if it were her own. “Sit down, sweetheart. Coffee is nearly ready.”
Like an obedient child, I slid into one of the hard-backed chairs and rested my hands on the table. Bianca made her way around the living area slowly, her gray eyes examining every inch of the apartment like twin laser beams. I shifted awkwardly as she paused beside the half-empty tub of oatmeal in the sink with a curl of distaste on her narrow lips. “I dropped my breakfast this morning,” I said, by way of explanation for the concealed mess. “The cats startled me.”
“Those damn cats,” Bianca said. She rested her hip against the dresser and reached for the coffee Dot offered her—black, no sugar. “Disgusting creatures, I’ve no idea what Agatha saw in them. I told her a thousand times she needed to have them put down before they mauled her in her sleep. How could anyone trust cats that size? They’re bad enough when they’re tiny, but those three?” She jerked her head toward the living area where the cats had retreated, obviously as unimpressed with Bianca as she was with them, and spat, “They’re practically feral.”
Dot giggled nervously as she poured me a cup of coffee. I didn’t have the heart to tell her I only drank decaffeinated, but I held my hand out before she could fill the cup with fresh cream from the tub she had pulled from her large, straw purse. “No cream, thank you,” I insisted. “I’m vegan.”
“Vegan?” Dot echoed as she pushed the cup of black coffee in my direction. She glanced at Bianca. “Isn’t that wonderful, Bianca? This young lady is vegan.” Dot plonked herself into the chair at the far end of the table and spooned enough sugar to make a dentist cry into her coffee, topping it off with as much whipped cream as the cup could hold. “You must be so healthy, dear, all those vegetables and fruits. I wish I could eat a little more healthily, but I have such a sweet tooth.” She gestured to the wedge of pie and cream on her plate with a rueful smile. “Occupational hazard.”
“I understand, it smells delicious,” I said. “If I could find good vegan pastries, I’d never stop eating them, either.”
Dot’s face fell as she stared at the pie. She lowered her fork onto the table. “Oh, my goodness. You can’t eat the pie, there’s butter in the crust. I’m so sorry.” She pressed a plump hand to her cheek. “What kind of ninny brings a welcome gift that a person can’t eat?”
“Don’t be silly, it was a lovely gesture, you couldn’t have known I was vegan,” I reassured Dot.
“I should have brought something else as well. I should have checked first.” Dot turned to Bianca with a frown. “I told you we should have sent a calling card first, but you wouldn’t even leave it for a day. You had to get in here and poke your—”
“Dot.” Bianca’s voice had a warning edge as she interrupted her friend, and I dropped my gaze to stare into my cup. “You can bring Priscilla some vegan bread tomorrow, okay? Don’t lose your head over pie.”
I glanced at the taller woman in surprise. “You know my name?”
Dot’s cheeks colored and she shoveled a heaped forkful of pie and cream into her mouth, chewing rapidly. Bianca didn’t bat an eyelid. “It’s a small neighborhood, dear; you’ll find everyone on the street knows your name.” She stepped away from the dresser and perched herself elegantly on the edge of a chair. “We’re all quite curious about Agatha’s mysterious beneficiary.”
“You knew Agatha?” I asked, trying to avoid Bianca’s probing stare. The black cat edged closer to the table and I wondered whether the ghost would make an appearance or whether she was sulking about the old ladies’ presence. She hadn’t seemed particularly fond of them at her funeral service.
“Yes. Agatha, Dot, and I go way back…” Dot cut another generous slice of pie for herself as Bianca began to speak, smothering it with cream and sprinkling extra sugar over the top. “We met the summer after high school. Dot’s pop worked at Thomas Kay’s woolen mill and he got us work there. Agatha had just moved to Salem to live with her aunt and she started on the line the same day as we did.”
“She was smart,” Dot said, her fork hovering halfway to her lips. The ghost of a smile passed over her pretty, plump face. “Not book smart like Bianca, but funny and clever. Even Josh Riggins was afraid to say anything in front of her in case she’d make a fool out of him.” She glanced at Bianca. “He never called me butterball again after that first day when Agatha knocked him into the creek.”
Bianca chuckled and the cats lifted their heads in surprise at the rich, warm swell of laughter. “Josh Riggins,” she murmured. “I’d forgotten all about that little booger. She got him good.”
“So you were friends since then? That’s so nice, I don’t really see any of my old friends anymore,” I said. “Agatha was very lucky to have both of you in her life. You must have been a regular trio.” My lips curved as I imagined the three old women sitting together, bickering and laughing.
Like a clam, Dot’s lips sealed around her fork and she stared at the table. Bianca folded her arms and stiffened in the chair. “We had some good times, but life changed for all of us after that summer. We all left Salem to follow our paths and it’s not all that long ago that we all ended up back in Salem again.”
“And you reconnected then?” I prompted.
Dot reached for a third helping of pie, but Bianca blocked her hand and shot her a silent reprimand. The plump lady relinquished her hold on the pie and glanced at me with flushed cheeks. “Doll making,” she said. I raised my brow. “We started a little doll making club, just the three of us. We used to meet at the café after hours. I didn’t own the shop when we first started the club, I just worked in the kitchen, but Mr. Percy decided to sell up shop unexpectedly and I bought it from him then. It was Agatha who helped me come up with the name, you know? Bewitching Bites. Everybody loved it.”