“Let me give it some thought,” she offered. “Maybe something will come to me.”
“I plan to review Elena’s journal again. There might be a name or location that I overlooked before.” He turned the key in the ignition. “Meanwhile, I guess I’m off to escort a rookie lab technician around.”
Sam watched him drive away, feeling his frustration at being under budget and out of the loop with information his boss clearly didn’t want uncovered. She pondered that idea as she got into her van and pulled away from the crowded parking lot. What if Orlando Padilla knew a whole lot more about this whole thing?
The idea took hold and when Sam spotted a Padilla For Sheriff mini-bus turning at the plaza, she followed. Sure enough, a little rally seemed to be forming up, with banners strung between the trees and people waving placards. They got excited as the bus rolled to a stop; the candidate must be aboard. Knowing she’d never get a parking spot anywhere near the busy plaza, she cruised past it and parked in front of her shop.
Sticking her head in the door she called out to Jen. “Can you spare me for a few more minutes?”
Her assistant looked startled. “Uh, sure. It’s pretty quiet right now.”
Sam speed-walked back to the site of the rally, which was now gathering momentum and becoming quite the noisy little fiesta. Standing on top of an impromptu platform that was actually a plywood box, Orlando Padilla in his felt Stetson was grinning hugely and waving at the crowd, announcing his thanks over a portable PA system of some kind.
Two reporters shouted questions and held microphones out toward the sheriff. Sam had to admit that the man could put on a show. His entire demeanor was different than when she’d met him on other occasions, times when he was actually performing his job instead of being dramatic for a crowd.
He handed off the microphone to a helper and stepped down from his little stage. Shaking hands and smiling, he worked the crowd until it began to disperse. Just before he could open the door to his bus, Sam stepped forward.
“Sheriff Padilla, could I have a moment?”
He turned with a smile, which went a little south when he recognized her. She forced herself to smile at him, not letting her true feelings show.
“Could we talk privately? Just for a minute.”
He started to make an excuse but she’d placed her hand around his elbow making it awkward for him to brush her off. They walked a few steps, looking to anyone who might observe, like two old friends taking a stroll.
“Elena Tafoya was a friend of mine,” she said.
Padilla stiffened, coming to a halt in mid-stride.
“I want her murder solved and I think you are deliberately leaving your deputies out of the loop.”
His public smile had become a grimace. “Ms. Sweet, you’re out of line.”
“Am I? I think you have information that could help solve two murders that your department hasn’t been able to close. You haven’t talked much about them during your campaign, but this election day isn’t over yet.”
“Is that a threat? Because I assure you—”
“Threat, Sheriff? Of course not. It’s a request for information.”
His eyes narrowed. “What kind of information do you want?”
“Um, let’s start with truthful information. Like the name of the woman Carlos Tafoya had the affair with. This would be some years back, but I believe you and he were very chummy, even back then. Somehow, I get the feeling that you helped him sneak around, provided him with alibis, that kind of thing . . .”
She could practically see the wheels in his head turning.
“Say that I did—what of it?”
“How would it affect you? Probably not at all. I just need the name of his lover, please. Where she lived, how to get in touch with her now.”
His eyes narrowed, trying to figure out whether the conversation could backfire on him. Apparently he decided that he was safe; the information wouldn’t get very far before the polls closed this evening.
“She lived in Tres Piedras twenty years ago, moved to Albuquerque after the relationship ended.”
“And her name . . .”
“Jean. Jean Calendar.”
It took Sam a few seconds to process the fact that it was the same last name as the young man she’d just spoken to at the Arroyo Grande Lodge. Kevin Calendar was Carlos Tafoya’s son.
Chapter 24
Orlando Padilla had turned away and was walking across the shady square in the center of the plaza, headed back to his campaign bus, by the time Sam gathered her wits. She spun around, another question on her lips, but his retreat sent a spear of ice down her spine.
“Sheriff! Wait!”
He slowly turned, disdain on his face. “You said one question, Ms. Sweet. I believe I answered it.”
“But—”
He’d already continued walking resolutely toward the waiting bus. Sam watched as a young man with ingratiating manners held the door for the sheriff. Padilla stepped up into the mini-bus and it started moving the minute he’d taken his seat. She saw his eyes following her as the bus drove out.
“Whatever you said to him certainly got his attention,” said a voice behind Sam.
She started. When she turned, she saw a dark page haircut and billowing dark green wool coat. The young woman was standing at the curb, about twenty feet away, her hand on the handle of a blue sedan.
Sam stepped toward her. “I’ve seen you around. Who are you?”
The woman reached into a pocket of the coat and pulled out a business card. “Sandy Greene. Santa Fe Times.”
Sam’s eyes squinted as she stared at the card. “Why has a Santa Fe newspaper sent a reporter here to Taos?”
“Shouldn’t that be pretty obvious? It’s an election year. We cover all the races in the northern part of the state.” She smiled prettily. “Well, I’m off to get a few more pictures.” She patted the side of a camera case that hung from a shoulder strap.
Sandy Greene got into her car and Sam watched her drive away.
Itching to fill Beau in on her new findings, Sam dialed his cell as she walked slowly back to the bakery. She fumed when it went to voice mail but realized that his day was undoubtedly running on task overload. She left a message: “Gotta talk to you. Call me when you get a minute.”
Sweet’s Sweets was bustling with after-lunch customers wanting cake or pie to satisfy their need for sugar and boost them into their afternoon work world. Sam joined Jen behind the counter, boxing up chocolate nut drop cookies, macadamia nut wafers, amaretto cheesecake, and the new pumpkin spice cake with the ganache icing which they’d had trouble keeping in stock ever since they introduced it.
By five o’clock Sam felt dead on her feet and Jen remembered that she’d never eaten any lunch.
“You go,” Sam told her. “Get something to eat and rest up. I’ll get the kitchen in order and head out of here shortly, myself.”
She locked the front door behind her assistant and turned on the night lights. Daylight was fading quickly by the time Sam walked out and got in her van. A voicemail symbol showed on the front of her cell, obviously something that had come in while she was buzzing around the bakery at such a pace that she’d never noticed it. Beau. She dialed him back.
“Hey,” he said. “I just got my rookie back on the road to Albuquerque. Your message sounded kind of urgent. Everything okay?”
“Yeah, fine. I got so busy at the shop today that I almost forgot I’d called you.” She filled him in on the fact that she’d learned the name of Carlos Tafoya’s lover from all those years ago, and the name of his illegitimate son. “Kevin Calendar is working for the campaign. I’ve seen him around several times and I’m not sure why I never noticed the resemblance to his father.”
“But then, why would you?” he said. “Why would anyone? I’m guessing the son never lived around here until recently.”
“That’s what I’m interested in knowing, too. When did he show up on the scene in Taos? And is his mother also
here? Maybe Elena’s fears were justified. Maybe part of the reason Carlos had begun to treat her so badly was because his old lover was back.”
“It certainly bears asking him some more questions, I’d say. Not to mention that I’d like to get Kevin’s DNA and see what he has to say about it showing up on the bootlace that killed Elena, assuming it’s a match.”
“Questioning Carlos is going to get nearly impossible, don’t you think? I had the radio on in the kitchen awhile ago and the exit polls are making it sound like he’s pretty sure to go to Santa Fe. Once he’s sworn in as governor he’ll find ways to make himself legally bulletproof, won’t he?”
“Seems to be that way with these guys, doesn’t it?”
“I have an idea how you could get to him right away. I happen to have a personal invitation from the candidate himself to attend his victory party tonight. He’s at the Arroyo Grande Lodge.”
“I’ll pick you up in fifteen minutes,” Beau said, clicking off the call before Sam had a chance to utter another word.
She drove like a bat, skidding the van to a stop in her driveway and dashing into the house, hitting her closet with a vengeance to find something to wear to a party. She settled on black slacks—a dressier pair than her normal work pants—and a sequined top. As she sat at her dresser, rummaging through her jewelry box for a fancier pair of earrings, she took a few seconds to let the wooden box send a nudge of additional energy her way. By the time Beau arrived, still in uniform, she’d run a brush through her hair and managed to slap on a little blusher.
“Hey, you sure look delectable,” he said, giving her a smile that made her wish they were just staying in, alone and undisturbed by murders and such.
“Probably too much, huh. I just thought they might not let me in the door in a batter-stained baker’s jacket.”
“I like it.” He pulled her close for a kiss. “Well, let’s go interview a killer.”
The Arroyo Grande Lodge’s parking lot was filling quickly. The polls would be closed in another thirty minutes and the excitement was evident in people’s posture as Sam watched them rushing toward the lobby entrance.
Beau, in his cruiser, ignored the whole protocol of parking and pulled up to the curb out front. While the crowd flowed down a central corridor toward the ballroom, Beau and Sam approached the front desk. He flashed his badge and said that he needed Carlos Tafoya’s room number.
The young clerk, clearly briefed to never give out a guest’s information, much less that of the future governor, looked bewildered at the sight of the badge.
“Please get your supervisor,” Beau requested, with just the right amount of charm.
A little back and forth, and the manager passed a small slip of paper across the desk. They took the elevator, even though there were only three floors in the hotel. Beau tapped gently at the door of Suite A and it was opened almost immediately by none other than Kevin Calendar. The young man looked at Sam, trying to place her. Beau stepped forward, not giving him the opportunity to deny them entry.
The suite, probably the hotel’s largest, featured a spacious living room decorated in traditional Mexican furniture and brightly patterned Indian rugs. A large flat-screen TV set was tuned to a news channel, where the anchors were making small talk until actual precincts could begin sending their results. Doors, presumably leading to bedrooms, stood closed on either side of the living area.
Carlos Tafoya sat on a leather sofa beside a thin woman with chin-length yellow hair. She stared at Beau’s uniform, clearly concerned about why the law might be showing up. Tafoya jumped to his feet and started toward Beau.
“Is there anyone else in the suite?” Beau asked, his right hand hovering near his handgun.
“No!” said Carlos.
Beau peeked quickly into each of the bedrooms and then lowered his hand.
When Kevin circled to stand behind the sofa where the other two had been seated, Sam immediately noticed his resemblance to both parents. With his mother’s fair coloring and his father’s dark eyes and full lips, there was no denying the origin of his genetics.
“This is really cozy, but sort of bad form, don’t you think?” said Sam. “Your wife died less than a week ago.”
Jean Calendar flinched, her gaze flicking warily toward Carlos. Kevin glanced toward the door but Sam and Beau stood between him and the escape route.
“What do you want?” Carlos demanded.
“I need to ask your son a few questions,” Beau said. “And I’ll need a sample of his DNA.” He pulled one of those little self-contained swab kits from his pocket.
Carlos looked over at Kevin. “He should have a lawyer.” Sam noticed that Tafoya didn’t bother to deny the statement about Kevin being his son.
“He’s not a minor, so he gets to make that decision himself. You’re not under arrest,” Beau said to Kevin. “I can do this quickly, right here, or we can take it downtown.” He met the politician’s gaze with a level stare.
Kevin shifted from one foot to the other. “What’s this about?” He tried to ask it with a show of bravado but everyone noticed that his voice was pretty shaky.
“We’ve found familial DNA markers on a piece of evidence. We’re simply taking samples to eliminate non-suspects.” The way he phrased it seemed to make Carlos relax a bit. He gave his son a nod and Kevin opened his mouth so Beau could swab it. He clipped the container shut and put it in his pocket.
“Would you rather answer my questions privately?” he asked Kevin, giving a nod toward one of the closed doors.
“He can speak in front of us,” Carlos said. Jean had not uttered a sound so far, Sam noticed. Kevin nodded agreement.
Convenient, she thought, that Kevin wouldn’t be able to say anything that his influential father wouldn’t know about.
“Okay then,” Beau said. “Shall we sit down?” He ushered Kevin toward the other end of the large room, to a dining table of heavy, carved pine. Pulling out one of the four chairs he didn’t give the dark-suited young man much choice but to sit down. Carlos began pacing the floor, glancing now and then at the TV set which was muted now. Jean had begun to chew at her nails, Sam noticed as she parked herself in a side chair near a large armoire-bar setup.
“Now, Kevin, I need to ask you where you were a week ago Saturday, the night Elena Tafoya died.”
Kevin stared at the grain on the wooden table. “Uh, I think I was out with friends.”
“I’ll need their names.” Beau pulled out a small notebook and pen, poised to write.
“Uh, I really don’t remember who all was there.”
“Just a name or two?” Silence. “Okay, then, where did you go? A bar, restaurant?”
“A restaurant. I don’t remember which one.” As Sam watched, a dark blue haze formed around Kevin’s face.
“You know for sure that you went out that night, but you don’t remember anyone you were with or where you went?” Beau laid the notebook on the table and tapped his pen against it.
“No! I don’t!” Kevin’s voice rose in agitation. The blue haze became murky, then began to turn red. “I don’t have to explain anything to you! And I don’t give a shit what you think!”
His eyes were wild now, as he stared at the faces around the room.
His mother bit furiously at her thumbnail, tears forming in her eyes. She glanced up at Carlos—quick, nervous little pointed looks—but he didn’t notice.
The politician’s attention darted between the numbers rolling along at the bottom of the television screen and the situation with Kevin.
“I am not a bad person!” Kevin screamed. He jumped up, sending his chair flying.
Beau was on his feet, almost in a blur, facing down his suspect with a firm stance. But Kevin was quick, too. He bolted toward his father.
“You promised! You said we would be a family. You and me and Mom, and we were going to move to Santa Fe—together. But you had her! Nothing was going to work right as long as she was around.”
“Kevin, I—�
�� Carlos stepped forward, reaching toward his son.
Kevin shook him off, continuing his rant. “You told me you were filing for divorce. You said you had some kind of evidence on your wife and that she would let you go without a fight. But when I got there that night, she was there, all cozy and comfy in her robe. She wasn’t moving out—she wasn’t leaving you! You liar!”
“You went to their house that night?” Beau asked. His stance was alert as he watched Kevin shaking his fists at Carlos.
Spittle formed on his lips as he shouted. “I went to get some papers for the campaign. She wasn’t even supposed to be there. She’d been at that bakery thing, that party. Then I thought she would go to somewhere . . . wherever she was supposed to be living because you were divorcing her. But she was there!” His skin had turned the same muddy red as the aura Sam had seen when his mood began to turn.
“Kevin, what did you do?” Beau’s voice was icy calm.
The young man turned on him, staring with crazed eyes. “She said she would get the campaign papers, and then she went into the study. I saw some hiking boots near the front door . . .”
Sam saw the whole ugly picture unfolding. The bootlace around Elena’s neck as she bent over a desk, her body being dragged into the bedroom, her lovely cashmere scarf around her neck and then draped over a heavy beam at the ceiling.
Kevin suddenly turned his attention on Sam. “How do you know that?” he hissed.
Had she spoken aloud? She glanced at Beau and saw that he seemed just as bewildered by the comment as she.
Movement caught her attention and she turned just in time to see Kevin lunge at her.
Chapter 25
Sweet's Sweets: The Second Samantha Sweet Mystery (The Samantha Sweet Mysteries) Page 19
