Brownies and Broomsticks

This book is irritating. Very irritating.

I hate the MC. She believes to be better than everyone, know everything, and OF COURSE she does, because she's marysue.
She's 28 and she gets upset when a man old enough to be her father “patronizes” her. Because she is telling him how to do his job. Which he has been doing longer than you have existed, and you know NOTHING about it. But, OF COURSE she is right, because she's marysue.
She is being a real a-hole to her aunt (she supposedly loves) and her friends, because “magic is humbug and everyone knows it”, but does she apologize when she finds out that they were right and she was wrong? Does she admit it? No. Of course not. She's marysue and everyone loves her and understands her! Of course it's OK to be a total ass!

“despite its recent popularity, depression wasn't my thing.”.

“That red hair is enough to light up the room all by itself.”
“Um,” I said. My fingers ran through my short locks. I'd always thought of them as auburn, not red.

“a short, round woman dressed head to toe in pink. Literally.”

“You've seen the way she dresses?”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.”

“I took a bite of brioche to steady myself.
Protection spell. What New Age mumbo jumbo was Lucy about to unleash on me?”

“The brioche did a slow flip-flop in my stomach. I spoke each word with care. “Aunt Lucy, that's ridiculous.””

“My laugh, when it came, was just a tad strained. What she was saying was crazy, absolutely nutso to a degree that went beyond any of her usual tarot-chakra-feng-shui-psychic nonsense.”

“A sick feeling crept into my solar plexus. I stood. “I do so hope you ladies won't take offense at what I'm about to say, but I feel I must.”

“Go ahead,” Jaida said.

“Ben needs concrete help.”

No one said anything. Lucy stopped pacing.

“We need a solid, real-world game plan.” I looked around at them. “You realize, of course, that finding out who really killed Mrs. Templeton is the only way we can help Ben. I don't suppose any of you has a working crystal ball. Though even that wouldn't hold up very well in court.” I smiled brightly at my lame joke.”

“Scrying crystal, indeed. If Lucy was “airy-fairy,” what did that make her friends? A bunch of nuts, that's what.”

“I don't think you should be inside the circle yet.”

Circle? “But you said I'm a witch.”

“You don't fully believe it yet.”

My lips pressed together.”

“I sighed, wondering who'd get to clean up the mess. My guess? Me.”

“But I know Peter Quinn pretty well from when I was on the crime beat. He's one of the good ones.”

I cocked my head. “How well?”

“Do I know him? Just professionally. We don't hang out or anything.”

“Could you ask him what's going on with his investigation?”

One side of his mouth quirked up. “I doubt that he'd fill me in on the details. I still work for the paper, you know.”

“I don't need details. I just want to know if they're planning on charging Ben. Maybe there's someone else in the department that you could ask?”

“Hmm. I'll let you know if I think of anyone.”

Right. So much for that.

He changed the subject. “So when are you going to let me show you a few old phantoms of Savannah?”

I remembered his earlier offer, but was still a bit peeved about his reluctance to tap his police contacts to help Ben. “

“Ben must have heard me from the other room, because he came around the corner with concern etched into his face. “You're going back there?”

““We've been over this, Ben. Someone has to. From what Detective Quinn was asking you this morning it sounds like the police are only concentrating on the area around the Honeybee. We can't be sure they're looking into the pile of enemies Mavis Templeton seems to have had. And we can't let the system railroad you into a murder charge.” “

You don't know what the police does, and it's none of your business either. You are a baker. Bake.

My uncle shook his finger at me just like Mrs. Templeton had when we first met. “We have a good police force in this town. Let them do their jobs.”

I felt my eyes go wide. “Maybe so. But if you think I don't intend to do what I can to find who really killed that woman, you're very wrong. I love you, darn it.”

“I wish Ben realized I'm only trying to help.”

” “We want to know about Mavis Templeton.”
“You and everyone else. Sit.”
Gingerly, I sat. “We're not the first?” Cookie perched on the arm of the sofa.
He snorted. “Hardly. Cops been here twice so far.”

“Or maybe it was simply the confidence that resulted from knowing who—and what—I was.”

“Detective Quinn doesn't think I should be involving myself in the investigation.”

“He's not exactly wrong about that.”

“Oh, please. Not you, too!” Irritation flared. How was I supposed to find Mavis Templeton's killer like this? “I'm getting darn sick of people trying to protect me when I'm only trying to help Uncle Ben. And by people, I mean men. “