A. Mayes - A Slice of Magic

A division of HarperCollins Publishers

www.harpercollins.co.uk

Harper Impulse

an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by Harper Impulse 2019

Copyright © A. G. Mayes 2019

Cover illustrations © Shutterstock.com

Cover design © HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 2019

A. G. Mayes asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008319137

Ebook Edition © January 2019 ISBN: 9780008319120

Version: 2019-01-31

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page A Slice of Magic The Magic Pie Shop Book 1 A. G. Mayes A division of HarperCollins Publishers www.harpercollins.co.uk

Copyright Harper Impulse an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF www.harpercollins.co.uk First published in Great Britain by Harper Impulse 2019 Copyright © A. G. Mayes 2019 Cover illustrations © Shutterstock.com Cover design © HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 2019 A. G. Mayes asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work. A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library. This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins. Source ISBN: 9780008319137 Ebook Edition © January 2019 ISBN: 9780008319120 Version: 2019-01-31

Dedication To Rosemary for making the magic pie. To my family, who taught me to see the magic in the world. And to my husband who jumped into the seat next to me on the emotional roller coaster of writing this book, threw his hands up in the air and said, “You can do this!”

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Epilogue

Keep Reading …

Acknowledgements

About the Auhor

About HarperImpulse

About the Publisher

To Rosemary

for making the magic pie.

To my family, who taught me to see

the magic in the world.

And to my husband who jumped into the seat

next to me on the emotional roller coaster

of writing this book, threw his hands up in the air and said,

“You can do this!”

Day 1 — Wednesday, November 2nd

This whole crazy thing started with a voicemail.

Last night I was face down on the sofa in my basement studio apartment. I let the phone fall away from my ear as I listened to yet another long-winded voicemail from my mother complaining about her difficult clients. I let out a sigh of relief into the pillow as her message ended. When the next message began I sat up straight on the sofa as I heard a voice I hadn’t heard in a very long time.

‘Susanna, I know I left suddenly, but I need you.’ Aunt Erma sounded anxious. Tears welled up in my eyes. ‘Things are going on here. I can’t really explain it all right now, but I need your help at my pie shop. It’s asking a lot after everything.’ She paused to take a deep shaky breath. ‘I’ll email you the details in case you decide to come.’ Another pause. ‘Please come.’

I sat frozen for a minute and then put down the phone. Just like when she left so long ago, I had many unanswered questions. I tried to call the number she had called from, but the phone just rang and rang.

I checked my email and found directions to a small town a couple of hours north. I hadn’t known she lived so close. The email ended with her repeated plea of, ‘Please come.’

I couldn’t sleep that night. My mind was uncovering the memories of Aunt Erma that I’d kept buried for so long. Her face was a little fuzzy, but her laugh came back crystal clear. I remembered the way she made a whole room sparkle when she walked in.

My mother had gotten rid of all the photographs of Aunt Erma after she left. I’d salvaged one before they all disappeared. I still had it in a box in the back of my closet. I kept it hidden so my mother wouldn’t see it when she came over. I hadn’t looked at it in years because it brought up too many questions and too much pain.

I climbed out of bed around three in the morning to find it. My tiny apartment had a surprisingly large closet. More than once I’d considered converting it into a workshop. But the lack of windows and my occasional bout of claustrophobia kept me from following through. I pulled boxes out of the back corner of the closet until I found the one labeled “Random Crap.”

I lifted the lid and dug through the things I just couldn’t let go of. There were the cassette tapes I used to listen to while dancing around the living room, a Christmas tree ornament shaped like a pie, and several of my favorite t-shirts that were stained or torn. Then I found it. The smooth purple frame with the picture of my parents, Aunt Erma, and I crowded around my fifth birthday cake. I felt breathless under the weight of the memory. We all looked so happy. I stared into her sparkling eyes.

If anyone could get me to make an impulsive decision, it was Aunt Erma.

The next day began as one of those crisp November mornings where the sun feels warm and the breeze feels cold. A perfect day for a new adventure.

I threw my suitcase in the trunk of my car next to the ever-present tool bag that had belonged to my father. The red canvas was faded, and it had his initials embroidered on the front pocket. I ran my finger along the stitching then cringed a little when I thought about my call to Hal, my boss at Hal’s Handyman Services. I had been relieved when I got his voicemail. I left a rambling message about needing a week off for a family emergency even as I wondered if a week would be enough time.

According to my GPS, the drive would take two hours and twelve minutes. I slid across the front seat into the driver’s seat of my little red car and prayed it would be able to make the journey. A week after I bought my car from a friend of a friend, the driver’s side door stopped opening from the outside. A few days after that, the muffler started falling off – it was long gone now – and the car started shaking every time I hit the brakes. I promised myself that would be the last time I bought anything just because it was red.