8
Roberto accepted the glass Madre held out to him and polished it with a tea towel. One more concession to her grandiose plan. Didn’t they already have enough money?
He belonged with his friends in the cafés and shops of Miraflores or surfing at Punta Negra. At home, in Peru, he could surf every day, and nobody treated him like a waiter. He was used to a car and driver, posh nightclubs, and hanging with prep school friends. Loon Lake didn’t have one Michelin-starred restaurant. Caramba! A man of his talents wasn’t meant to serve at the pastry counter like one of Madre’s minions.
The Condor Bakery. You would think they could choose something more original, but that was Madre and Papi. They were not subtle. They fooled nobody with their humble act, sending the regular employees home. His mother had asked the Ashtons to tea, then fussed around as if Donna was the Queen of Spain. It was embarrassing.
With a jingle of bells over the door, Donna Ashton strode in, followed by Marta and her brothers, Marvin and Stephen Jr. “Nice paint job.” Donna nodded at a mural of condors flying over the Andes. “Much better than the dusty Scottish tea towels that used to clutter up the place.”
Papi smiled. “Come in. Sit.” He pulled out a café chair that still had a plaid cushion left over from the previous owners. Cheap as porridge, his parents had snapped up the Scottish Bakery when the former owners retired to Glasgow.
Flexing bulging muscles, Junior set two tables together. Roberto went to help. With a wrist flick, he applied a handloomed tablecloth decorated with stripes and geometric llamas. Once the Ashton family sat, Madre lifted her index finger at Roberto. “Tea!”
He didn’t object. Madre knew best if you knew what was good for you. Like a good little waiter, he went behind the pastry counter to boil the kettle. His parents had kept the Scottish teapot collection to placate elderly Loon Lakers used to drinking afternoon tea. Madre switched out clotted cream and scones for empanadas and alfajores cookies filled with dulce de leche. The old dears whined about the changes but still turned up regularly.
“No tea for me. I need a milkshake.” Marta smirked.
“Sorry. How about iced tea?” Roberto asked. It was a bakery, not a burger joint.
“Whatever.”
Let her try to annoy him. Madre’s pastries, a special family recipe, would give him revenge. The Ashtons were to eat the pastries Madre put aside. Roberto smiled as he filled the kettle. Donna Ashton and her brothers could scheme all they liked, but they’d never outwit Madre.
He would never admit it to his surf buddies back in Lima, but Roberto enjoyed the ritual of heating the teapot and the scent of boiling water hitting fresh tea leaves. It was soothing—when he wasn’t forced to serve Marta. She was pretending not to recognize him. Little witch.
Was she still freaked out by the way Waldock had taken over his body in October? Binging on pancakes with Lynette, driving over a bumpy field, lying beneath the Three-Century Ash to let the Entity absorb them, body and mind. He remembered snippets with big gaps in his memory. Nightmares had haunted him for weeks, but she should be over it. In fact, she didn’t spare Roberto a second glance, despite his devastating good looks. Weirder still, she sat across the table from her oldest brother, her face animated, drinking in every word.
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Roberto didn’t understand it.
Big brother Marvin wore a striped white dress shirt accessorized by a chewed pencil over one ear. What a nerd. Stephen Jr. had a boring brush cut, but his red Quicksilver shirt bulged with muscles as he strode to the pastry case. Stephen was tall enough to look down at Roberto as he blurted, “Can I get a hot dog?”
“These have meat.” Roberto loaded up a platter with Madre’s charmed empanadas.
In his surfer shirt, Stephen Jr. looked like Roberto’s social equal—but a hot dog? How cheap. And that disappointed little boy look when he didn’t get one? His family might wield power in Loon Lake, but Junior was a loser.
At the table, Donna and Marvin put their heads together, chatting with Madre. Before long, their eyes went glassy, and their mouths gaped. Too bad Marta had refused the special pastries. Typical girl. Probably worried about her weight. But even without spells, she would give in to Madre. People always did.
He slid the platter of baked goods directly in front of Marta, and the enticing aromas jabbed at Roberto’s stomach. Madre’s recipes never lost their appeal, with or without magic.
Donna’s proud coiffe encircled her face like a black mane. Crumbs clung to the corner of her mouth, and she almost purred, “It’s nice to see newcomers settling in.”
“We have your beautiful little city to thank,” said Papi. “There’s something in the air.”
“You’re not kidding,” said Junior. “The previous owners left this bakery after a ghost moved into the back room.”
“Junior!” Marta exclaimed.
“Show respect.” Marvin waved his pencil at him.
“There’s more here than ghosts.” Madre spread her hands on the table and tipped her head up, eyes closed, as she inhaled deeply. “I could sense the power of this place all the way from Peru.”
“Is that right?” Donna beamed.
“And since last October, it’s gotten stronger.” Marvin chewed his pencil.
“Which is why we invited you. It’s good to know our neighbors, and since the unfortunate demise of Jack Waldock ”
A cloud crossed Donna’s face, but she kept her smile fixed on Madre who continued. “We were wondering how we can help.”
Marta twisted in her chair, probably dying to unleash her sarcasm, until Marvin narrowed his eyes at her.
With a nail file, Donna smoothed her red talons. “What do you propose?”