“So your particular job is fairly stress-free?” Beau asked.
She snorted. “Hardly. Both partners are constantly uptight about money, so I have to keep my posting up to date and be able to print out a P&L on a moment’s notice. Awhile back I couldn’t seem to get into the computer banking records, but luckily Mrs. Robinet took over.”
To Kent Taylor’s inquiry about whether she’d had words with Zack, she merely chuckled.
“I don’t let men with tempers get to me. And, believe me, I do not take my job home with me. Life’s too short for that kind of stress.”
“Maybe outside the office?” Kent Taylor asked, ignoring her life’s-too-short comment. “Anyone other than staff who might have hated your boss?”
Helen chewed at her lower lip for a moment. “A week or so ago … there was one instance. Zack had gone to the dealership to have his car worked on and he wasn’t happy with the bill. He stomped in here and told me to lodge a complaint with the credit card company and not to pay the bill when it came because he was ‘pissed as hell’—his words—over the quality of the work.”
“Which dealership was it?”
She named the place and Taylor wrote it in his notes. The men thanked her for her time and went on to speak with Amber at the reception desk. As the two programmers had said, it appeared Amber had managed somehow to never have a beef with Zack. She was quite effusive in her praise of how well he ran the company and Beau caught the subtle movement as her fingers played with a decent-sized diamond pendant at her throat. Another of those ‘benefits’?
Back in the cruiser, Kent Taylor mentioned the necklace then brought up the subject of the fight between Zack and the car dealer.
“Sounds like it got pretty heated,” he said.
“Could have, true. But for six-hundred dollars in car repairs, how likely is it that a guy from Taos would drive all the way to Albuquerque and go to elaborate means to set up a drug-overdose scene in a hotel room? Wouldn’t it be more likely that he’d send a couple of his strongmen to catch Zack Robinet in an alley somewhere here in town?”
Chapter 8
Sam kneaded purple food color paste into a huge ball of fondant, enjoying the quiet of the kitchen after hours. Everyone else had left and Beau had called to say that if they had no other plans he really ought to take the detective out for a meal before Kent Taylor got back on the road for the drive to Albuquerque. She told him to go right ahead.
Dividing the sugary dough, Sam left the bigger portion medium lavender and began working more of the color paste to create a violet for the smaller tier. Two small portions of fondant would later become hot pink for the accent pieces and an extremely deep purple for the swags and leaves.
The trick with these lopsided cake designs was to create sturdy bracing beneath the bottom tier so that two heavy layers of cake and fondant could appear to be sitting effortlessly at angles. She had already placed a plastic wedge on the cake board to begin the process. Correct placement of a couple of dowels would assure that the upper tier would seem to be balanced precariously in place. The whole thing would be sturdy but deceptively tippy looking.
A light staccato tap sounded at the back door and Zoë’s wavy salt-and-pepper hair framed her smiling face.
“You’re working—I know—and I don’t want to interrupt. Just brought you this.” She held up a large insulated mug with a lid. “The Assam. I brewed a pot and it was so good. Since I had another quick errand I decided to pop by.”
Zoë stepped inside and set the mug on Sam’s desk, eyeing the lopsided cake.
“It’s okay—it’s supposed to look this way,” Sam said, setting the ball of fondant aside.
She picked up the tea mug and ventured a sip of the steaming brew. “Oh, that’s good. Thanks!”
Another sound. “Hey, Mom,” Kelly said, breezing in through the open back door and spotting the worktable. She carried a small makeup bag and a garment on a hanger covered in plastic. “Ooh—cute!”
She greeted Zoë with a peck on the cheek.
Sam set her mug down and turned back to the worktable, flattening the large lavender ball of fondant with her hands then placing it into the rolling machine.
“Mind if I change clothes here?” Kelly asked. “By the end of the day at Puppy Chic my shirt smells like soapy dog.” She headed for the bathroom.
“Sure.”
Zoë watched as Sam caught the sheet of rolled fondant, adjusted the machine to a thinner setting and ran it through again. Roll, repeat. Finally the sheet was just right to cover the twelve-inch cake layers. She wound the entire thing around a long rolling pin and maneuvered it into place, draping it over the cake and the little booster wedge at once.
“I don’t know how you do that,” Kelly said, catching the last few seconds of the operation. She winked at Zoë.
“Just practice,” Sam said, eyeing the positioning of the dough for any possible gaps before she began smoothing the wrinkles and trimming excess, marginally aware that Kelly had ducked back into the bathroom.
“I’m on my way,” Zoë said, her hand on the edge of the door. “Enjoy the tea. And let me know when we can work out time for a real lunch or something.”
Hands occupied, Sam blew her friend an air kiss.
By the time her daughter emerged ten minutes later, Sam had trimmed the bottom tier’s fondant to fit and was running the other ball of fondant through the machine for the second tier. A flash of red caught her attention. Kelly was wearing a low-cut dress with super-short flared skirt that shimmered in the overhead lights.
“Whoa, you’re looking more than slightly fabulous,” Sam said.
“Thanks. We’re going to Romano’s. Thought I’d spiff up a little.”
This was more than a little. Kelly’s normal attire was a pair of skinny jeans and fitted T-shirt. Dressing up consisted of trading the T-shirt for something with glitter or putting on a fuzzy vest over it all.
“I’m guessing that ‘we’ isn’t you and the girls. This guy must be special.” Hint, hint.
“Same guy.”
“Two nights in a row … and you’re still not going to tell me who it is, are you?”
“Gotta go!” She pecked a kiss on Sam’s cheek and headed toward the door.
“Don’t you have a coat? You’re going to freeze in that dress.” Oh my god, I sound just like my mother.
Kelly flashed a smile and walked out. Why on earth was she being so secretive about this guy? Oh well. Sam flipped the fondant sheet back into the roller. The fondant on the second tier didn’t fit right and Sam ended up tearing a hole in it with her finger. Then it stuck to the first tier before she was ready, botching the first one as well. More than slightly irritated with the last-minute cake order, and herself, she resisted throwing the whole piece across the room and took a deep breath.
Focus on this cake and try to get home at a reasonable hour.
She sipped Zoë’s tea and stared at the ruined fondant coating. Figure it out, she reminded herself. Carefully peeling it from the smaller tier, she kneaded it once more and put it back through the roller. Meanwhile, the small ripped place on the lower tier could be patched with a little water and a careful touch. A big rose could cover the spot anyway. As any decorator knew, there were a hundred ways to fix life’s little boo-boos.
The clock showed well past ten by the time Sam switched off the lights to head home. With cake layers baked, filled and stacked, the fondant coating placed over them and the structure of dowels and wedges holding the entire foot-and-a-half confection in place, she was well on her way to completing the rush order. Tomorrow morning she would come in early to add bows and bedazzles and place the roses Becky had made. They would make the noon deadline, even though she felt as if she’d been through the roller machine herself right now.
She drove through the quiet streets, thinking only of a hot shower and snuggling in beside Beau for the five or six hours of sleep she would be lucky to get.
“Hey darlin’,” he greeted
when she came through the front door. “Can I get you something to eat?”
Sam realized she hadn’t eaten anything in many hours, but although the sentiment was wonderful she only wanted sleep. She shook her head and he followed her up the stairs, switching off lights along the way.
“Dixie said to tell you she had no luck with that number you gave us. It’s not a telephone number anywhere in the US.”
Somehow, Sam wasn’t surprised. She was too tired to care right now anyway. By the time she emerged from the shower he’d turned back the covers and was settled on his side of the bed with a book on how dogs’ brains work. How did he come up with topics like that?
Sam’s eyes closed immediately and she was even able to ignore the ringing telephone, up until Beau answered it and she overheard: “Jane? You mean the Jane Doe who came to Sam’s shop yesterday?”
Sam edged one eye open and looked through her lashes at him. He was listening to the phone but watching her, obviously trying to decide whether she’d fallen asleep yet. She mumbled so he would know she’d heard.
“Okay,” he said to the phone. “Hold on a moment.” He held the phone to his shoulder and turned to Sam. “It’s Melissa Masters. She says Jane didn’t show up at the shelter this evening. Did she say anything to you about changing her plans?”
Sam was fully awake now and sitting up. “No. Actually, she left the bakery around five and specifically said she was walking back there to stay the night.”
Beau relayed the information to Melissa. “I know. It worries me too. Okay. Well, let me know if she turns up. I’ll put out a BOLO for our night shift deputies.”
He hung up from the call and immediately dialed his night dispatcher to repeat the information about where Jane had last been seen and where she was going. When he hung up, he swung his legs off the bed and Sam seriously wondered if he planned to get up and go out.
“Jane’s a free woman, isn’t she?” Sam asked. “I mean, she wasn’t under any obligation to go back to the shelter, was she?”
“No, not legally. It’s just that since she told you she was going there and then she never showed, well, it would be as if Jen said she was going home and never got there, right?”
True, when he put it that way. “Beau, what if she recovered her memory and suddenly knew where she lived and just went there? Could that be possible?”
“I suppose anything could be possible. But, knowing we were trying to find her family, and since she’s hung around your shop the better part of two days, doesn’t it seem logical that someone would call to let one of us know the good news?”
She had to concede the point. Then she thought of what Becky had said earlier. “What if she recovered her memory earlier in the day and for some reason didn’t want to tell anyone? We don’t know if she’s on the run from something or someone … maybe even the law in some other state …”
“Not everyone does the responsible thing, unfortunately. Even if there’s a simple explanation for this.”
He yawned and settled back under the comforter. Sam snuggled against him, her mind far too active, but a peek at the clock showed she only had about four hours to sleep now, even if she managed to turn off the big question-machine in her head. With the light out, at last she drifted into an uneasy rest.
Four-thirty came way too early, reminding Sam of those early days in the pastry shop before she hired extra help. She should have charged that belligerent Mrs. Salazar triple the regular price for her stupid specialty cake.
By the time she’d driven the pre-dawn route to the shop and made herself a cup of coffee she’d calmed down. In some ways, even though she wasn’t naturally an early riser, it was good to get a head start on the day. She took the decorator frosting out of the fridge so it could warm to room temperature while she drank her coffee, then got the half-finished cake out to work on.
Julio showed up a short while later and went quietly to work on the morning pastries, their standard selection of muffins, croissants, scones and coffee cakes. He had the routine down pat and moved smoothly through the kitchen, with no sign whatsoever that he might have been out late. Sam thought of Kelly’s stunning red dress, her flirtatious manner last night, and the tattooed biker. Get a grip, she told herself. You have to admit he’s a nice guy, a responsible worker and honest.
She put those thoughts out of her head and filled a pastry bag with hot-pink decorator icing. Getting into her own decorating rhythm was normally the best antidote for all things troubling but she found her mind zipping with thoughts of Jane Doe, now twice missing, plus Kelly, plus the nagging thought that there was some forgotten important thing she was supposed to be doing.
She piped white swags and elegant fleur-de-lis of tiny dots onto the smaller tier and formed pleated fondant draping for the large one. From the fridge she retrieved the large roses Becky had made yesterday and set them around the base.
By the time Becky arrived, Sam had the super-rush order about ninety percent done.
“It’s really looking great,” Becky said. “I wasn’t sure how we would ever finish on time but you, Sam, are a miracle worker.”
Sam smiled, proud of the job and not admitting that she’d sneaked a few moments alone with the box this morning. As she’d handled it, the wood surface began to glow and the artifact warmed to her touch. An unknown power, centuries old, flowed through Sam’s hands and arms, lending energy to her tasks. She had missed regular contact with the box, which felt like an old friend now. And, hey, you never knew when a dozen interruptions would come along during any average workday.
She stepped back from the cake, eyeing it critically. Considering the tight timeframe and sleep-deprived hours she had spent on it, she had to admit it had turned out well. A few more little touches, some leaves to accentuate the roses …
Jen stepped into the kitchen. All morning the phone had been ringing but the kitchen staff normally ignored it, letting her handle the calls. Sam glanced at the clock and discovered three hours had ticked by.
“Mrs. Salazar just called,” Jen said. “She wanted to remind you the cake has to be there in thirty minutes.”
Sam stopped in her tracks. “What?”
“I know. I don’t remember her saying she wanted it delivered either.”
“She didn’t. Did you tell her it was her responsibility to come and pick it up?”
Jen rolled her eyes. “I kind of hinted at that but I know how we aren’t supposed to piss off the customers …”
“You’re right. You can’t win an argument with a customer.” Sam set down her pastry bag. “I’ll take it.”
“Here’s her address.” Jen held out a slip of paper.
Sam picked up the order sheet and reviewed the details to be sure she hadn’t left off anything vital. As much as she really didn’t want to go out of her way for this disagreeable woman, she might turn it into a positive thing by meeting up somewhere with Beau for lunch afterward. She carried the cake to her delivery van and secured it inside a box with high sides, then dialed Beau.
“Sure—lunch sounds good. How about if we meet at Paco Taco?”
Thirty minutes later she had handed off the purple and pink cake. Today, Mrs. Salazar wore her gracious persona and effusively thanked Sam for her effort on the cake. You just can’t figure out some people, Sam decided as she parked at the outdoor taco place and scanned for an empty table on the patio. Beau pulled in beside her van and got out of his cruiser, talking to the microphone at his shoulder.
“Was that about our Jane Doe?” Sam asked, catching a few words as they took seats in the shade.
“Yeah. I had just radioed dispatch to see if anyone reported any luck with our BOLO. Sorry, no sign of her yet and she hasn’t showed back up at the shelter.”
“Sorry to hear that. I wonder if we should be worried.”
He was studying the menu painted on the side of the hut-sized building. “I doubt it, darlin’. We know she’s not in the hospital or involved in an accident. Other than that, nearly a
nything could have happened. Most likely she ran into someone who knew her and they got to talking and her memory came back and she’s safely home by now. Taos isn’t that big a town. Somebody has to know this lady.”
“You’re right. It would have been nice though if she’d called one of us.”
“You’ll learn that thank-yous are pretty rare in law enforcement. Everybody wants you there on a moment’s notice but they rarely show gratitude when you are. I’m getting the beef taco dinner—how about you?”
He walked up to the order window and came back with tall paper cups of soda.
“Meanwhile,” he said, “I need to go visit Zack Robinet’s parents again, find out when the funeral will be. Kent Taylor is back in Albuquerque to interview the son at Holbrook Academy. I’m hoping to catch time to talk to the kid myself when he comes up here for the services.”
“That’s got to be pretty hard, a kid learning that his dad was murdered.”
“Yeah, rough. There’s no easy way to handle those interviews.”
She caught the ‘but’ in his tone and gave him a look.
“In this case we heard there were some pretty hellacious arguments between father and son. Their clashes were one of the reasons young Bentlee got sent away to boarding school.”
“Is he a suspect?” Sam asked after the waitress delivered their tacos in plastic baskets and walked away.
“We’ve considered it. Zack had battles with several people but the son is one of the few with opportunity, being in Albuquerque. The employees were all here in Taos at the time and the partner wasn’t due to head for the airport until the next day.” He polished off one taco and started on his second, while Sam dipped her crispy taquito into a small plastic cup of salsa. “There was an altercation at the Chevy place a few days earlier, big argument over the cost of a repair bill. I need to check that out too.”
“Really? I bought my truck there years ago. I’ve always found their service people really pleasant to deal with.”
Sweets Forgotten (Samantha Sweet Mysteries Book 10) Page 7
