“All’s okay?” Beau asked when he came in ten minutes later. “The historical lady friendly enough?”
She filled him in, including the parts about the box in Ireland being made by the same carver, the age of the boxes, and the interest of The Vongraf Foundation. Omitted the parts about the battle of good and evil and the fact that the box they had left behind in Ireland could very well be one of the latter. Those were the sorts of things Beau saw more as movie elements than reality, and for all Sam knew, that was exactly what they were.
His phone rang as Sam was heading toward the kitchen with a loose plan to figure out what to make for lunch. When his voice went still and then he said uh-oh, she turned. He clicked off the call and headed for the front door.
“Your friend—Isobel—she was involved in an accident. Just now, between here and town.”
“I’m coming with you.” Sam grabbed her pack and trailed about two inches behind him.
His cruiser’s wheels spun a little on gravel when he put it in gear. Lights on and siren wailing—they came to the accident scene less than five minutes later.
Isobel’s grey rental sat nose down in a ditch beside the road, the driver’s side door bashed. Sam felt her breath catch. Another Sheriff’s Department cruiser was already on scene and a deputy Sam didn’t know greeted Beau. She flung herself out of his vehicle and raced to the wrecked car.
The historian hung awkwardly by her seatbelt, blood running down the side of her face and a nasty gash on her left arm.
“Isobel! Isobel!” Sam shouted through the passenger side window, which had broken into a million tiny pieces.
“I’m okay,” Isobel said, fumbling one-handed at the release button for the seat belt. “I just need to get this—”
“Don’t! You’re at such a weird angle—you’ll fall. EMTs will be here in a minute.”
“It was Marcus Fitch,” Isobel said. “He came out of nowhere, behind me. He pulled alongside and I thought he would crash head-on with this other car . . . but he steered right into me. Pushed me off the road.”
Her face suddenly went very white and her eyes rolled back as she slumped limply against the safety restraint.
Sam looked for Beau, who was talking to a man, apparently a witness, driving an older SUV. She started to run toward him but nearby sirens told her the ambulance had arrived. She hung back while emergency personnel crawled into the car, maneuvered Isobel out of it, and strapped her to a gurney. She was conscious again by that time and Sam stepped to her side.
“He went through my car,” Isobel said breathing heavily. “Looking for the box . . . demanding it . . . took my file . . . and the old photo—from my purse—” Paramedics had laid the purse on her belly and she patted it. “Watch out. Please be careful.”
One of the paramedics asked Sam to step out of the way and she watched helplessly as they loaded the woman into the ambulance.
“Her injuries seem pretty minor,” he told Sam. “She’ll be in the ER for a little while but they’ll probably let her go home later today.”
Not to Virginia, Sam thought.
Beau had finished questioning the witness and he walked over to Sam just as the ambulance pulled away. “The guy got a plate number,” he said.
“I can do better than that. I got a name.”
She went into the short version of how Isobel knew Marcus Fitch, that he worked for the OSM, saying only that there was an intense rivalry between their employers over some artifacts.
“I should go to the hospital to see how she’s doing and to give her a ride back to her hotel when they let her out. She’s all alone here.”
She thought of the wooden box all the way home and throughout her drive to the hospital. How much harm was the thing worth? She would be better off to get rid of it, but she had tried that in the past and every plan backfired. Bobul’s words came back to her, the things he had told her more than a year ago when he first showed up at her shop to make chocolates for the Christmas season. The boxes had a long history and they held immense power.
Good power and evil power. Sam had been entrusted with one of them, but it was not her job to right all the world’s wrongs or to step into the midst of a battle between two competing organizations.
She rounded a curve in the road and pulled into the nearest parking spot to the emergency entrance. Inside the ER, she followed the sound of voices until she found Isobel St. Clair sitting on the edge of a bed, two butterfly plasters across the cut on her temple and a stretch of gauze encircling her arm.
“She’ll have some facial bruising,” said the nurse, “but all in all, she cleaned up pretty well.”
She turned back to the patient and gave some instructions regarding the bottle of pain meds she was handing over, as well as some basic wound-care information.
“That was a little bit close,” Isobel said as Sam helped her into the bakery van. “I really didn’t think Marcus Fitch and the OSM were quite that desperate.”
Sam got into her own seat and started the engine. “Well, you used the word ‘evil’ before. This looks pretty mild for true evil.”
“I suppose you’re right. At this point, all he wanted from me was to know what I knew. Guess he thought that since he couldn’t butter me up with niceties and lunches, back in DC, that he would put a little scare into me. Don’t worry, Sam, I did not and will not ever let them know that I’ve seen one of the boxes or where it is.”
Sam thought again of the term ‘evil.’ Marcus wasn’t going to stop at questioning. Eventually, this would lead to greater injuries, perhaps even torture, to get the information.
“He got my file,” Isobel said. “For now, that should keep him happy.”
“But all your work—lost.”
“Everything I brought on the trip was a copy. The Foundation has excellent security on the premises and we’re very careful about what actually gets out the door. I will be back behind those closely guarded doors by this time tomorrow,” she said as Sam pulled up in front of Isobel’s hotel room.
Sam didn’t feel nearly as confident as Isobel sounded, but she was happy to drop her off with the assurance that she would immediately request a move to a different room for the night.
“He may figure out that I visited you, might have been watching while we talked yesterday. But nothing in that file leads to you. I was in town to see Sarah Williams, as he was, and that’s the only connection he has to you. Stick with your story that you and Sarah had nothing in common but the chocolate festival.”
Sam drove away, feeling a little queasy inside. At one point she had wondered if Marcus, posing as Marc Williams, might have killed Sarah. That probably wasn’t the case—he had nothing to gain by Sarah’s death without first getting his hands on the box. But the frightening thought that she had not voiced to Isobel was, had Marcus come a lot closer than any of them realized? Was he the man Rico had chased away from their home as the fire was moving in? If he’d not been caught, would he have broken in and ransacked their place in the same way he’d gone through Sarah’s?
She quelled that thought. The box was well hidden. The dogs would not be away from the house next time and would defend the place with all their might. And, since causing Isobel’s accident, surely the man knew enough to get away and stay away from Taos.
Chapter 23
Sam fell onto the sofa the moment she got home. When Beau walked in she peered out from under the arm she’d slung across her eyes to block the light.
“Busy week, huh?” he said, kneeling beside her to plant a kiss on the tip of her nose.
“Two mysteries solved in as many days,” she said. “I learned what I wanted to know about Bertha’s wooden box, you caught a murderer.”
“I hope so.” He sat near her feet. “I fully believe that Kaycee actually stabbed Carinda Carter, but I’m still not convinced that Kaycee and Harvey won’t muddle each other’s stories to the point where neither of them goes to prison.”
“It was really luck of the draw that
Carinda inherited the Julia Joffrey money in the first place, wasn’t it? I mean, old Julia could have randomly chosen any of her many half-nieces or nephews. Maybe all she really wanted to accomplish was to throw the entire clan into a battle.”
“Proof positive that winning isn’t always a good thing, or a guarantee of happiness. I think you said that to me recently.”
He smiled and stroked her leg. “Oh, I meant to tell you . . . I did what I could to get information on that OSM organization you asked about? Came up with zilch. It’s as if they don’t even exist.”
Isobel had told Sam the group was pretty low-key, perhaps even a secret branch of the government. Maybe it was true.
“I can keep checking,” he said. “I’ve got a couple of buddies in the FBI.”
“Nah, that’s okay.” What good would the information do? It wasn’t as if Sam planned to take them on, to track down Marcus Fitch—for what?—to pin a traffic accident on him? Let that battle remain Isobel’s quest. She would keep the box locked away until she could decide what to do—keep it, figure out a way to destroy it, or—better—pass it along to its next rightful owner.
Meanwhile, the chocolate festival was finished and Sweet’s Sweets would return to the normal, crazy pace of the wedding season. The Joffrey fortune would most likely end up being redistributed to dozens of beneficiaries and, with luck, at least some of them would put the money to use for some greater good. Life, for Sam and Beau, would settle—she hoped—into a state of contented bliss, unmarred by the high dramatics that Isobel St. Clair and her foundation found so intriguing.
She sat up and reached out to her husband, running an index finger along his jawline.
“Did I ever happen to mention how happy I am that you’re my partner in this life?”
His deep blue eyes sparkled. “You might have, once or twice.”
Author Notes
This story was great fun because, after all, what could be better than creating an entire festival that’s all about chocolate! As much as I would love to take full credit for coming up with all the fabulous cakes and desserts portrayed here, I must admit to taking inspiration from many sources. The five finalist cakes in the competition, in particular, were based on photos I spotted in the lively baking community on Pinterest. Readers can go to my Pinterest board titled Cakes That Have Inspired Me and see just what I was looking at as I described each of them.
As always, my undying gratitude goes to those who have helped make my books and both of my series a reality: Dan Shelton, my partner in all adventures who is always there for me, working to keep the place running efficiently while I am locked away at my keyboard. My fantastic editing team—Susan Slater, Shirley Shaw, and proofreader Kim Clark—each of you has suggested things that help me see something new in my writing.
Stephanie and Ashley—loved our brainstorming sessions—we will do great things together.
And especially to you, my readers—I cherish our connection through these stories.
Thank you, everyone!
Sweet Somethings
Published by Secret Staircase Books, an imprint of
Columbine Publishing Group
PO Box 416, Angel Fire, NM 87710
Copyright © 2014 Connie Shelton
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system without permission in writing from the publisher.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Although the author and publisher have made every effort to ensure the accuracy and completeness of information contained in this book we assume no responsibility for errors, inaccuracies, omissions, or any inconsistency herein. Any slights of people, places or organizations are unintentional.
Book layout and design by Secret Staircase Books
Cover illustration © Marishaz
First trade paperback edition: July, 2014
First e-book edition: July, 2014
Books by Connie Shelton
The Charlie Parker Mystery Series
Deadly Gamble
Vacations Can Be Murder
Partnerships Can Be Murder
Small Towns Can Be Murder
Memories Can Be Murder
Honeymoons Can Be Murder
Reunions Can Be Murder
Competition Can Be Murder
Balloons Can Be Murder
Obsessions Can Be Murder
Gossip Can Be Murder
Stardom Can Be Murder
Phantoms Can Be Murder
Buried Secrets Can Be Murder
Holidays Can Be Murder - a Christmas novella
The Samantha Sweet Series
Sweet Masterpiece
Sweet’s Sweets
Sweet Holidays
Sweet Hearts
Bitter Sweet
Sweets Galore
Sweets Begorra
Sweet Payback
Sweet Somethings
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http://connieshelton.com
Sweet Somethings (Samantha Sweet Mysteries) Page 20
