She studied the dusty garage floor, but too many people had been out here, including Beau at one point. There were plenty of footprints, but most were too blurred to be of value. What was she thinking, anyway? She hadn’t the faintest clue how to recognize one footprint over another. She pulled out her phone and called Beau.
He promised to get out to the house as soon as possible, but it had been a morning busy with calls. There had been a rash of auto break-ins in shopping center parking lots, someone’s idea of a cheap way to do their Christmas shopping. And he had to deal with the usual share of holiday drunk drivers and traffic incidents. At her inquiry whether Tiffany was still in custody, he said that she’d been released at eight o’clock this morning and given a bus ticket to Albuquerque.
That ruled out the main suspect other than Will Montague himself, Sam thought. No way Tiffany could have loaded up the Escalade and gotten away in under an hour. And if Montague had been the one to take his own vehicle and the art that was legally in his care, well, then there’d really not been a crime.
“So, should I stick around until you can get here?” she asked.
“No point in it. Lock up and I’ll stop by the bakery for the key. But I have no idea when that will be.” He sounded tired, and he was only two hours into his shift.
Sam retraced her steps through the house, checking every window and door along the way. In the front hall, something shiny caught her eye. A metal button. She picked it up. It seemed familiar somehow, but she couldn’t figure out how. She did know that Will Montague wasn’t wearing anything with shiny metal buttons on it when he ran out the back door yesterday. She stuck the button in her pocket and finished locking up.
The showroom of Sweet’s Sweets bustled with customers two-deep at the counter. Kelly and Jen boxed orders and rang up sales about as fast as they could. In the back, Becky held up a tray of holly sprigs and berries she’d made for the half-done wedding cake.
Sam hung her coat, washed her hands and picked up a large bag of buttercream frosting. Perfect strands of white flowed from the tip as she centered all her concentration on making them even. She piped strings, lace, and flounces on the traditional cake and was ready to place the greenery around the tiers when Beau walked in.
“Beautiful,” he said, staring at the cake. “Maybe someday . . .” He let the thought drift away.
“How long have I been at this?” she asked, turning her neck to work out the kinks.
He raised his wrist and glanced at his digital watch. “I don’t know. But it’s nearly eleven-thirty now.”
She stepped back from the cake to assess her work. The intense concentration had paid off—her rows were neat and straight.
“How’s the mob out front?”
Becky spoke up. “Less mob-like. But the pies are gone and we’re down to less than half the cookies.”
“That’s not bad. We’ll close as close to twelve as we can, whenever there’s a break in the traffic. I saved three pies back, for the homeless shelter. We can box up the cookies and whatever muffins and things are left.”
Beau shuffled a little.
“Oh, right. I need to give you the key.” Sam wiped her hands and went to the coat rack. She showed him the metal button she’d found and described where it was lying.
“I have a little something to show you, too.” He glanced around. “Must have left it in the cruiser. Walk me out.”
She followed to the spot where he’d parked in front of Riki’s dog grooming shop. He reached in and brought out a newspaper.
Front page, the headline read: Shooting Likely Self Defense
Sam scanned the first few lines. “Sheriff’s Department investigation and the statement of an eyewitness . . . will probably lead to a ruling of self-defense after a home invasion, say department spokesperson . . .” She looked up at Beau. “Thanks for not giving my name.”
He shrugged. “Standard protocol.”
“So, is this the final, official version?”
“Not quite. Mainly, I wanted to feed the story out there big and bold in hopes of getting Montague to realize he’s not likely to face charges.”
“Not likely?”
“That’s all I can say at this time, Sam. He’s going to have to answer questions. And they won’t be easy ones.”
She nodded. It was the best Will could hope for right now. With luck, maybe Beau could keep references to him vague as well. Local businessman, or something like that.
“Well, I better get out there and write up a report about the missing art. That could end up being the bigger story, once the owners find out their stuff is gone.”
“If you can make it by here this afternoon . . . once we clean up and deliver some goodies to the homeless shelter we’re having a little party here. Cake and cider, coffee, things like that.”
“Is it okay if I don’t absolutely promise? There’s just no way to know how the rest of the day will go.” He reached out and tucked a forefinger under her chin, raising her face. “But I will definitely try.” He kissed her lightly.
Kelly helped Sam with the wedding cake delivery—luckily, a smooth one. The bride would love it, her mother assured them.
When they got back to the bakery, Jen was in the process of helping two ladies who’d tapped at the door after the Closed sign went up. For the homeless, she’d already boxed half a cheesecake, most of the cookies, and a boxful of festively decorated cupcakes. Kelly helped her load them into the van, along with two bags of books Ivan had sent over, while Sam and the rest of the crew pitched in to clean up the kitchen. Bobul dried the bowls that Becky washed, and Sam put things away while running a mental inventory through her head, finally giving up and starting a written list of new ingredients she would need to order the following week.
“Who’s up for the ride to the shelter?” Sam asked once the kitchen was clean to her liking.
All the girls chimed in, and Sam remembered that Riki from next door had wanted to come along. They piled into the van with boxes and bags on their laps. Jen and Kelly wore the velveteen Santa hats they’d sported all week in the bakery. The lady who ran the shelter had tears in her eyes as she accepted the cheerful pastries and everyone’s good wishes. By the time they got back to the bakery everyone was definitely in the holiday spirit, and Kelly couldn’t wait to start the cider.
Ivan drifted over from his shop, bringing along the last two customers of his Christmas Eve day. Several other regular customers wandered in and out and Sam allowed herself to completely relax. Jen loved playing hostess and it felt good to let her take over, seeing that everyone had a slice of the square cake decorated as a present, in the shop’s logo colors.
At one point Sam realized someone was missing and she walked into the kitchen looking for Bobul. Although not exactly a warm and fuzzy kind of guy, the chocolatier had made a huge difference to her holiday business. She’d planned a little extra cash bonus for him. But the kitchen was empty, with a hollow non-workday feel to it. Bobul’s bulky brown coat and the cloth bag he always carried—the vessel for whatever mystical ingredients he brought with him—were all gone. Even the chocolate molds, which he usually left near the worktable in readiness for the next day’s work, they were missing too.
She glanced at her desk and spotted a small brown object. The chocolate confection was a small box, an even closer replica to the real one than the one he’d given her his first day of work. She picked it up and held it on the flat palm of her hand. The quilted high points were dusted with a golden sheen, and in the grooves were small sugar dots of red, green and blue.
He knew who owned the magic box. He’d known all along.
It hit her that he wasn’t coming back.
Chapter 32
Voices from the front room caught Sam’s attention and she set the chocolate box back on her desk. One of the voices was Beau’s. She walked into the sales room to find that several more people had come by. Zoë and Darryl were there—she in a shimmering broomstick skirt and a homemade sweate
r the color of a Caribbean turquoise sea, and Darryl with his white beard and hair neatly trimmed. Even though he wore jeans with his red western shirt, a couple of children stared at him with the question in their eyes—Santa?
Rupert was here, chatting with Ivan the bookstore owner who didn’t have a clue that he was speaking with the real Victoria DeVane, bestselling romance novelist. It was a well-kept secret within the book world and Sam knew she was one of the prolific writer’s few confidants.
But the person her eyes sought out—Beau—managed to stay low-key, even though he still wore his uniform. Sheriff Cardwell, she thought, you are by far the best looking man in the room. Okay, in the town.
He looked up just then and his smile widened. It sounded old-fashioned, Sam knew, but her heart really did flutter a little when they connected like that. He excused himself to the man he’d been talking to and edged through the gathering toward Sam.
“Hi darlin’,” he said. “You are a welcome sight.”
He was too, truth be told, even though both of them were still in their work clothes. His hair was a little mussed, as if he’d just pulled off his Stetson before he came indoors. She hadn’t actually looked at herself in a mirror all day and had the sudden urge to smooth her own hair down, just in case.
“What do you mean, a welcome sight? Rough afternoon?”
“It’s been a very full day, for sure.” He ran his nails down the side of his face, as if checking to see how much his beard had grown since morning. “I haven’t told you the latest.”
Sam cocked her head, waiting.
“We got an anonymous tip about that missing art. Phone number was a pay phone in San Diego.”
Hmm?
“The caller gave us the address of a self-storage place near Questa. Said to check unit 73. I explained the value of the missing paintings to the judge, got a quick warrant, and went out there with two deputies. I think it’s all there.”
Sam felt her jaw drop. San Diego meant Robert Montague. “But who put the art—? How did Rob know—?” The gold button. An image of Rob putting on his camel jacket flashed in her mind.
Beau shrugged. “I do know that with the missing pieces in hand and those consignment records that we took from Montague’s place earlier, we have a good chance of getting all the stuff back to the rightful owners.”
“What about the missing vehicle? Any sign of that?”
“Nothing. We’ve got a ‘be on the lookout’ for it, but who knows what that might turn up.”
“I just don’t get it,” Sam said. “Will Montague had a good business here. Why would he do this? Give up everything and hit the road?”
“I don’t know, darlin’. The man may have a lot more problems than we know about. Maybe he’ll eventually see a newspaper or learn that he’s in the clear on the murder charge and he’ll come back.”
She noticed a tiny smudge of chocolate on her palm, from the miniature box Bobul had left for her. When she raised her hand to lick it off, the answer came to her. Will Montague must have contacted his brother and told him to take the art. They’d met up at the storage unit and stashed everything.
“Maybe Montague will get over his fear of Larry Lissano and his men, or whatever besides Bunny sent him into hiding?”
“I have to check the statutes,” Beau said. “There’s got to be a period of time, thirty days or sixty days maybe, where I can hold the art in hopes that he comes back and claims it. But after that I’ll have to contact the owners and return it to them. We can’t tie up their property forever.”
Sam puzzled over the mysterious Montague, still not figuring out his motives. Beau touched her arm.
“Anyway,” he said, “it’s not your problem any more. Relax and enjoy your guests.”
“You’re right. We don’t always understand what makes people do weird things.” Or collect weird things. She pushed the vision of the cluttered hidden room aside and smiled at Beau.
“You never exactly told me what you wanted for Christmas,” she said. “So you’re getting a surprise.”
He sent her the slightly lopsided smile that always melted her heart. “I may just have a little surprise for you too. You and Kelly are still coming out to the house in the morning?”
One of the customers stepped up and started talking, but Sam gave Beau the nod about their Christmas plans. He whispered that he needed to get going. Sam turned her attention to the lady, who was raving about the chocolates she’d bought a week earlier.
“I don’t know how you made those, but they changed my life! I’ve had more energy this week than I’ve had in years and my—”
The words faded as Sam thought of Bobul and the changes he’d brought to her shop. She decided to stop by the cabin in the canyon later and try to talk him into coming back.
“—just wanted to let you know that I hope you keep carrying those candies.” The woman gave Sam’s arm a little squeeze and walked away.
Darkness was settling by the time their little gathering wound down. Sam cleared cups and neatened the showroom before turning out the lights. Kelly had a party to attend with friends, so Sam walked alone out to her van.
Thick snowflakes had begun to fall, leaving a half-inch of white on everything. Sam turned on her wipers and decided to take the long way home. She cruised the near-empty streets leading to the plaza and pulled into the quiet square. Electric luminarias crowned the tops of the buildings, most of which were softly lit with holiday trim, all of it blurred by the snow in the air. The old-fashioned street lamps cast pools of golden light on deserted benches. It was Currier and Ives with a New Mexico twist. She parked beside the La Fonda Hotel for a few minutes, letting the peaceful scene soothe her soul.
“Thanks, I needed that,” she said aloud as she pulled away from the curb.
Highway 64, winding through Taos Canyon was equally quiet. The snow was still slushy and her tires had no trouble finding traction. She followed the curves until she came to the spot where Bobul had directed her to turn when she brought him home that night. Her headlights hit the rustic logs.
The cabin was dark. She sat in the van with the engine off, listening for any sound, her window open to any whiff of woodsmoke. Nothing. She got out and walked up to the front porch.
The steps were broken, one missing entirely. It hadn’t been this way a week ago. When she looked up she saw that the front door was missing entirely, the window beside it broken out. Her headlights sent a sliver of illumination through the openings. There was no comfortable recliner, no bed, no firewood.
“Bobul?” she called out. “Are you here?” The man who had shown up like a gift from the universe, at the exact moment she needed him, was gone. A heavy feeling settled in her heart.
She called out one more time, knowing it was futile. Her voice merely echoed back at her. No one had lived in this place in years.
Chapter 33
Sam half expected to wake up in the morning to learn that it was only December first and that the past three weeks had never happened. The sight of Bobul’s uninhabited dwelling made her previous visit there feel like some strange figment of her imagination. Yet she knew it wasn’t. The chocolate box he’d left sat on her kitchen table, right where she’d placed it when she got home last night.
Kelly’s bedroom door was closed and since they weren’t due at Beau’s house until ten, Sam walked around the house in her socks, letting her daughter catch up on her sleep. She brewed coffee and drank a cup of it, black and strong.
By the time Sam had showered and decided on which blouse would be right for the occasion, she began to hear Kelly stirring. They shared a wide slice of coffee cake that Sam had brought home as day-old two days ago. It had held up surprisingly well, but Sam knew she would be ready for the waffle brunch Beau had promised, followed by a full Christmas dinner sometime in the late afternoon.
“At least the roads aren’t bad,” Kelly said as they donned their coats. “It stopped snowing around nine last night, I think.”
T
he drive to Beau’s ranch property north of town was beautiful. The sun had risen in an absolutely clear sky, giving the deep blue that most parts of the country couldn’t even fathom in winter. It sparkled off the fresh snow as if a billion diamonds had been flung to the ground. Sam steered her truck through the tall log pillars that marked the entry to Beau’s property, the twenty acres with pasture, horses and barn. The large log home looked solidly nested among the low snowdrifts.
Beau greeted them at the door, wiping his hands on a dishtowel. “Ready for the finest waffles and bacon you’ve ever tasted?” he said with a grin. He stepped aside so Kelly could enter first, then he stepped forward and slipped his arm around Sam’s waist.
“Merry Christmas, darlin’.” He gave her a long kiss.
From inside the house came a shriek.
Sam looked up to see Kelly racing across the room to where Iris’s wheelchair sat in a square of sunlight from the bank of south-facing windows. Kelly threw her arms around Iris.
“I’ve missed you so much!”
Sam almost swore she called Beau’s mother grandma. She walked in and gave Iris a hug, too. “It’s so good to see you back at home,” she said.
The old woman’s eyes sparkled with moisture. “It’s good to be home, too. Even if it’s just for a day.”
Her speech was still a little blurry, but better than the last time Sam had seen her.
She noticed for the first time that Beau had cut a fresh tree from the property and set it up in a corner. Blue spruce, over eight feet tall. Small red lights were woven through the branches and ornaments that looked like they came from the 1940s added bright touches of color.
“Mama’s favorites,” he said, noticing the way Sam was examining them.
“That’s nice.”
“So, everybody—waffles first or presents first?” he asked.
The smell of bacon from the kitchen had already caught Sam’s attention. Everyone voted for breakfast first.
As they ate, Sam noticed that there were a few nicely wrapped gifts under the tree and she began to fret. There had been absolutely no spare time for shopping, and her main plan to give Beau and Iris season tickets to the theater in Santa Fe had been squashed when she got the news of Iris’s stroke. She’d ended up finding a feather-soft bed jacket for Iris, something she should be able to use even after her recovery, since she was wheelchair bound anyway.
Sweet Holidays: The Third Samantha Sweet Mystery (The Samantha Sweet Mysteries) Page 20
