“I don’t think it is. Sam’s a pretty casual woman. She doesn’t go for fancy dress-up occasions or anything.”
“May I take these out?” Gonzales asked.
At Beau’s nod, he walked to the coffee table in front of the sofa and dumped out the contents of the box.
“I’m no expert on antiques … I mean, I can tell this is probably very old. It’s a little beat up in places, you know. I get the feeling it’s been through a lot of hands over the years, but I sure don’t see anything about it that would make it worth a lot of money. Can’t figure out why it might be worth killing for.”
Agent Draper was also shaking her head. “I don’t either.” She took the box and held it, rubbing the pad of her thumb over the stones. “These don’t look like rubies or sapphires, they’re not especially well cut … I don’t know. I can’t figure it out. I suppose we could have an antiques expert take a look.”
“Maybe later,” Beau said, reaching for it. “I know Sam really looks out for this thing. There’s some sentimental value because of the old woman who gave it to her. I really feel I’d have to ask her before letting it out of our hands.”
“Understood.” Gonzales moved toward the back of the room, where wide French doors faced open pasture. The barn stood to the far left and the two horses grazed contentedly in the field. “Where’s that stand of trees where we were a while ago?”
“Look to your far right,” he called out as he finished locking the box back inside the safe. “You may have to go out on the porch to really see the whole area, but it lines up visually with the spot where our cars are parked right now.”
“Okay, I see that.” Rick Gonzales joined them at the front door.
Both agents were quiet as they stood on the front porch, Gonzales looking toward the trees, calculating bullet trajectory. Draper turned toward Beau.
“That shoeprint you took,” she said. “I can’t help thinking it’s the same as a pair of shoes I own. I’d like to get a photo of that mold and compare them.”
“You think it might be a woman’s shoe? That our sniper could be a woman?”
“Don’t sound so surprised, Sheriff. Many champion shooters are women.”
Beau smiled. “I didn’t mean that at all. I’ve had female colleagues who out performed me big-time on the gun range. I’m just … hmm … looking at this in a whole new way now.”
“Well, we can’t jump to conclusions yet,” she said. “First, I’ll need to compare the treads on both. I could be mistaken. If they are the same, at least I’ll know which manufacturer made them, and I can pursue finding out if they made a men’s shoe with the same pattern.”
Beau nodded. Maybe Draper had something there. What if the sniper really was a woman?
Chapter 25
The ride to the Cruceros Privados offices the next day was quieter. Aside from reminding her that their plane would be ready at one o’clock, Stan Bookman stayed busy with his phone. Apparently, he always operated a step or two ahead of real time. He seemed to be confirming meetings for tomorrow and the next day. The silence was fine with Sam.
Her evening in, reading the contract for the third time in the quiet and privacy of her room, had proved a godsend for her mood. She went into the second morning’s meetings more fully prepared to make and yield to suggestions that were within her limits as a chocolatier.
Today’s itinerary included a tour of the warehouse offices where the small cruise line stocked provisions for each departing ship. Everything from towels and robes to meats and veggies came through there before being loaded aboard. Every ten days a ship headed east, crossing the Atlantic, touring the British Isles and sailing north to Scandinavia. Another left port the morning after, southbound to the Panama Canal and South America. The line ran a total of five ships, and they were always on the move.
The offices were completely computerized and linked to each ship. Here in New York they knew when passengers purchased their robes to take home and therefore how many new robes would be needed for that ship on the next tour. Used ones were laundered aboard ship and returned to service. The same system told them how many pounds of potatoes, how many dozens of eggs, and—soon—how many pieces of chocolate from Sweet’s would be needed for each day of each cruise. This is where Sam’s shipments would come, once they were packed and on their way from New Mexico.
The warehouse itself was a massive space filled with pallets of goods, refrigerated rooms of food, and noisy forklifts to shuttle it all around. Every wrapped pallet was barcoded, and every driver and foreman carried a tablet computer that could scan and tell him where each particular pallet was to end up. There seemed little room for mistakes, and Sam had to admit she was impressed.
“This is the reason for our insistence that each of your cartons show our coded labels prominently,” said the young woman who had been assigned to guide them, shouting to be heard over the din of warehouse noises. “If a label falls off, the pallet is shuffled outside where it may sit twenty-four hours or more until someone breaks the seal, unwraps it, and inventories the contents. Perishables are especially vulnerable.”
She said it with a smile but the warning was clear. Sam remembered a contract clause about proper labeling and penalties to be incurred. She would have to keep a very sharp eye on her crew as they learned this new system. Scary, but she could manage it.
* * *
The flight into Albuquerque served to calm Sam’s mind. Once more, Stan was engrossed in setting up his own future travel and Sam, with the stress of the New York meetings behind her, settled into a seat away from his and leaned back for a nap. Part of her was thrilled to be aboard a private jet rather than fighting the crowds within the terminal; the other part knew she had a hell of a lot of work ahead. The nap was her best defense.
She was happy she’d left her car in Albuquerque. The two-and-a-half-hour drive home would be hers alone, as Bookman was merely dropping her off before heading to San Francisco. She thought of Kelly and Scott, on another of Bookman’s flights from the UK. They would clear customs in Denver and then make the short hop to Taos. As grumpy as Sam had felt with Stan at times, she could not fault his generosity when it came to travel.
Beau was home when she drove in. He took her suitcase and gave her a kiss that reinforced exactly why she was so happy to be home.
“I got some steaks out of the freezer,” he said, “and I am cooking for you tonight.”
She had probably never loved him more.
“So, how was the trip?” He was washing a couple of potatoes at the sink.
“Long. Exciting business-wise, but tiring. I’m just glad to be home. How about if I unpack and have a quick shower, and then I’ll join you for a beer or something?”
The shower relaxed her weary muscles, but Sam didn’t want to spend her first evening home with Beau as a puddle on the couch by eight o’clock. She thought of the box.
Downstairs, wearing her favorite pair of soft pants and a T-shirt, she went to the safe and unlocked it. The box sat there, dark and lonely, and she pulled it out. One of the things her seatmate, Amanda, had said during their flight was to embrace the things that give you comfort. “So little in the world gives us comfort these days,” she’d said.
While Sam had initially resisted the idea—after all, her life was nearly perfect with a wonderful husband, loving daughter and son-in-law, and two businesses she loved—she had to admit that a bit of self-care might be in order after the week she’d had. She picked up the box and cradled it against her body. The familiar warmth began to come from it.
Beau walked in with the lighter for the grill. “I hope I didn’t mess up your jewelry too much,” he said.
Sam looked at him, questioning.
“I took everything out—for the FBI. But I put—”
“What? What was the FBI looking at it for?” She hugged the box closer.
“Turns out, nothing.”
“Beau—nothing?”
He paused and started over. “You re
member I told you I was calling the FBI in on the shooting investigation?”
She nodded.
“Two agents from Albuquerque came up, came out here to see the scene. We were just going over possible motives, and well, you had said the box might be—”
“—a reason for Marcus Fitch to come out here.” It was true; she had told him about Fitch and the box.
“They just wanted to take a look. Didn’t seem to think much of it.” He continued toward the back deck where she watched him lift the lid on the gas grill, turn the valve, and touch the flame to it.
She felt a wave of possessiveness at the thought of strangers, government agents at that, having touched and looked at the box. She held it out and looked at it. The wood had taken on that familiar golden glow and the stones were beginning to light up reassuringly. Obviously, it had not reacted that way for Beau and the agents or else they would have taken a much closer interest. Looking inside, she didn’t see any important differences.
Realizing she was likely overreacting, she returned the box to the safe, rubbing her hands over it one last time. She might need to talk to Beau about sharing information, but for now she was content that the box had lifted her tired spirits.
Beau returned and pulled her into an embrace. “Sorry if I worried you. It did seem like relevant information, but really, darlin’ they were not interested in the box. It’s Marcus Fitch they’re going after.” He rubbed her back and she felt herself relax into him.
If the law could find Marcus Fitch and get enough evidence to put him away, it would definitely be a huge worry off her mind.
“Let’s get something to drink and put those steaks on the grill,” she said.
Chapter 26
The announcement came over the plane’s speakers, the standard stuff about stowing loose items, putting up tray tables, yada yada …
Marcus came out of a doze. Once again he’d been contemplating where the third of the carved wooden boxes could be. Wrapped in its purple sheath, inside a leather shoulder bag, the box he’d gotten from Maury rested against his foot beneath the seat in front of him. He knew with virtual certainty Samantha Sweet had one. But the third … having all three was key to possessing the ultimate in power.
Back in Shannon, he’d quizzed Maury at different times during the day, but it was evident his cousin knew nothing and wanted to know nothing. As a cardinal within the inner Vatican circle, he clearly felt uncomfortable at his role in taking this box from the archives. He’d mumbled some ancient Church doctrine about witches and dark magic—babble that seemed right out of the Middle Ages. Marcus gave up.
He’d already done a lot of research in advance, looking for the third box, the one they called Manichee. He’d come up with absolutely nothing beyond a rumor that the box had been examined by The Vongraf Foundation nearly fifty years ago. Supposedly, it had been in possession of a man called Terrance O’Shaughnessy in Galway, but no one could—or would—verify this. He’d made calls, followed online sources.
The box had apparently vanished when Mr. O’Shaughnessy died. Vanished from the possession of Samantha Sweet if the story was correct. That rankled. And made him all the more determined to get to Ms. Sweet and question her—to interrogate her within an inch of her life, if that’s what it took.
The plane’s wheels bumped the runway and the flight attendant welcomed them to New York’s JFK airport, where the local time was eleven p.m. In typical fashion, it took forever for two hundred people to gather their belongings and get off the plane. Again, he had pre-cleared customs, declaring the wooden box as a cheap tourist trinket worth twenty dollars.
He walked into the immigration hall confidently, presented his passport, and looked for the exit signs.
“Welcome to America, Mr. Fitch,” said the immigration officer. “I’ll need you to step this way with me, please.”
Marcus’s thoughts went to the box. “Why? What’s up?”
“Just step this way.” The man had left his booth and two others in plain suits had come up behind Marcus. They ushered him toward a blank door that would have otherwise gone unnoticed.
“What’s this about?” A hundred thoughts flew through his head.
“FBI, sir. We have a few questions,” said one of the suited men.
A hand took a no-nonsense grip on his upper arm and the second man relieved him of his bags.
Chapter 27
Beau had no sooner walked into his office the next morning than the intercom rang. “Sheriff, it’s that FBI agent,” said Dixie. “The lady one.”
A smile crossed his face and his eyes rolled upward. “Thanks, Dixie.”
“Morning, Sheriff,” Agent Draper said. “Well, I’ve got some good news and some bad news.”
“Get the bad part over with.”
“The shoe tread. It’s an Asics running shoe, a model they made last year. Couldn’t narrow it down to whether the shoe was a man’s or a woman’s—they used that tread pattern for both. And, I’m sorry to say, that brand is sold nearly everywhere. The tread pattern is from last year’s most popular cross-trainer, so there are literally hundreds of thousands of them out there.”
“Okay, thanks. I can’t see wasting time by trying to track down where it was purchased.”
“Wouldn’t even be possible. If we had the actual shoe … there might be a way to find a batch number or something—I’m not sure, really. But with only one print to go on … Sorry, that didn’t turn out to be much help.”
It wasn’t as if a definitive answer would have led them to a suspect anyway, Beau thought.
“The good news is that we got a call from New York. Your Marcus Fitch landed at JFK late last night. Immigration had him on a watch list and he’s being interrogated right now. If you want to talk to the agents in charge, here’s a number.”
He thanked her profusely and dialed the 212 area code.
“Special Agent Rossetti? It’s Sheriff Beau Cardwell in Taos, New Mexico. Patricia Draper gave me your number.”
“Yeah, she said you’d probably call.”
“You have Marcus Fitch in custody?”
“We got the call from Immigration ’cause he’s on the watch list. So far, we’ve questioned him about his movements, done a search of his belongings. My partner’s in there with him now. I can see them through the window.”
“Did Draper tell you he’s wanted here for questioning about a murder?”
“She did. I wasn’t clear on whether you think he’s a suspect or just a POI?”
“He’s definitely a person of interest. It seems he had an alibi for the actual time of the shooting. He went to Rome and checked into his hotel there on the fifteenth.”
“I’ve got his passport here. Hang on a second,” Rossetti said.
Beau heard the swishy sound of pages turning.
“Okay, yeah. He flew into Rome on the fifteenth, left there and passed through immigration in Shannon, Ireland, on the eighteenth. Must have liked the Emerald Isle—he stayed until yesterday.”
“And he flew directly from Shannon to New York? Does he say what was the purpose of his trip?”
“Kind of vague on that. Said he has family in Italy. Claims his business has something to do with antiques, so that’s what he was in Ireland for. He does have a couple of old-looking little gadgets with him—a box, like maybe for cigarettes, and another wooden trinket, a shillelagh or something. Nothing that looks valuable at all, and his customs declaration didn’t exceed the eight-hundred dollar duty-free limit.”
Beau took another tack. “I didn’t find any criminal record for him. You guys discover anything like that?”
“Clean as a whistle,” Rossetti said. “He claims he works for some organization called OSM that scientifically studies artifacts. Says that’s the reason for the items he had with him. I’ve got somebody looking up the outfit, but they’re pretty low-key.”
“Let me know if you do find anything on the group.”
“Fitch says this OSM has an office here
in the city and that’s where he’ll be all week.”
“Ask him if he’s been to New Mexico and watch for his reaction. I’m guessing he’ll deny it, and I need to know if your experts get the impression he’s lying. We know he was here a couple years ago, but we suspect he’s been back much more recently. Try to get specifics about what towns he visited and what his purpose was here, too. I’d like to know how that turns out.”
“Will do. I’m going in the room now. You’ll hear back from me soon,” Rossetti said.
Beau thanked him and hung up, frustrated he couldn’t be there to ask the questions himself. He wished Sam was available as a deputy right now, too. She always came up with insights to help with his cases. He missed the good old days.
Chapter 28
Sam set the bucket of chicken on Kelly’s dining table, calling out to let her daughter know she’d arrived.
“Hey, Mom.” Kelly walked in from the bedroom.
“Beau should be along any minute. Sorry your welcome home dinner isn’t something fancier.” Sam gathered Kelly into a big hug. “Missed you guys.”
Scott appeared, setting a large shopping bag on the kitchen counter. “The trip was amazing but it’s really good to be home,” he said. “Jet lag is getting to us a bit, though. We fell asleep last night at seven and were both awake at two a.m. A meal at home is smarter than having us doze off in a restaurant somewhere. Thanks for bringing everything, Sam.”
“You have to tell us all about it. Meanwhile, shall I grab some plates and silverware?” She turned to the familiar cupboards, catching sight of Beau’s cruiser pulling into the driveway.
Sam had turned her house over to Kelly when she and Beau got married, and she’d noticed changes in the furnishings, which was fine. She’d expected her daughter to make the little house her own. Now that Scott’s possessions had been added, it was decidedly more crowded here. She wondered whether they would declutter and keep the small home or find a larger place of their own.
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