Sweets Forgotten (Samantha Sweet Mysteries Book 10)

by Connie Shelton

  “But nothing that tells you who you are?”

  “Once in awhile it feels very close, but then the memory just slips away.”

  Sam slid a glance toward her guest, wishing again that she could discern whether this was the truth. Out on Paseo, a truck in front of her hit the brakes and Sam had to do the same. Better to concentrate on her driving and worry about quizzing Jane a bit further tomorrow as they worked together. She wheeled into the parking lot of the Wayside Inn and registered Jane into room 104. With her shopping bags for luggage, Jane settled into the room and Sam left to phone Beau.

  “Good timing,” he said. “I just wrapped up a traffic stop and Dixie says that Rico is back on duty tonight. I’m ready for dinner if you are. I’ll pick you up at your shop.”

  Sam headed that direction, parked in the alley, and he arrived about a minute later.

  “I was thinking about a burger,” he said, “but since it’s nearly five I wonder if we could make a stop first? I want to talk to the folks at that dealership where Zack Robinet had the blowup over his repair bill, and I’d like to catch them before closing time.”

  “No problem. I have to admit that I haven’t really thought much about food. I got Jane registered at the Wayside, but I tell you, the woman puzzles me. She told me she slept in a parked car last night, rather than going back to the shelter. Something about how the women there really ‘got her down.’ And yet I talk to her about baking and chocolate and it’s as if she hasn’t a care in the world.”

  “I suppose it’s possible for those two subjects to be entirely different, in her mind.”

  “Yeah, but did I mention to you Becky thinks she faking the amnesia?”

  “No, I don’t think you did. Some specific reason for that conclusion?”

  Sam shook her head. “I really don’t know what to think, myself.”

  “It might be a good idea to keep an eye on the situation,” he said. He radioed dispatch and Dixie put him through to Rico.

  “I know I told you to do traffic patrol this evening but I’ve got something a little easier for your first day back,” he told the deputy. “Park where you can see room 104 at the Wayside Inn. Watch and report anyone coming or going. The guest is a woman who supposedly doesn’t even remember her own name. I’d like to hear about it if you observe anything that seems hinky about her story.”

  Chapter 10

  Friststone Auto sported rows of cars which all appeared to be orange, red or bronze in the late sun blazing through the clouds in the west. Overhead halogen beams tried to overcome this but it didn’t seem to matter. No customers roamed the lot and the gaggle of salesmen sat around in their shirtsleeves inside the brightly lit showroom. A couple of them shifted noticeably when they spotted Beau’s official vehicle.

  “Guy in the blue tie—DWI last week. The one with the striped shirt beats his wife but she won’t file a complaint, so all we can do is warn him on a regular basis.”

  Both of the men in question seemed to have urgent tasks elsewhere in the building when Beau and Sam walked in.

  “Hey, Ms. Sweet, good to see you here again. About ready for a new truck?” Larry Friststone was the eldest son of the Friststone family and apparently the one who caught the late Friday night shift in the sales department.

  “I’m good for now on vehicles,” she told him. “Actually, I’m just here with my husband this time.”

  Larry held a meaty hand out to Beau. “Sheriff, congratulations on your marriage to a great gal.”

  Sam smiled at the compliment. Beau, meanwhile, had suggested Friststone take them somewhere they could talk privately so the trio were headed to a glassed-in office.

  “Do you know your customer, Zack Robinet?” he asked, once the door closed behind them.

  Friststone nodded vigorously. “Sure do. I heard he died. Wow, kind of sudden wasn’t it?”

  “He was murdered, it turns out. We’re conducting some inquiries and we understand Mr. Robinet got into a fairly serious altercation with someone here at the dealership just a few days before his death.”

  Friststone’s eyes widened but he didn’t deny the incident.

  “It was over a bill in the service department, I believe.”

  “Yes, yes, I’d heard about it. Wasn’t involved, myself. Our service manager, Donny Vargas, handled it.”

  Sam thought she remembered someone saying the service manager was actually the one Zack had the fight with, but she kept her mouth shut now.

  “I’ll need to speak with him,” Beau said.

  “Certainly. I’ll have him paged.” Friststone picked up a telephone.

  Vargas entered the owner’s office a few minutes later. He walked with the strut of a small man who is accustomed to standing up for himself against guys who tried to belittle either his job or his short stature. His shaved head had a five o’clock shadow outlining a forehead-clinging hairline, and his uniform smelled of grease and tires. He shot a defiant look at Beau but answered respectfully when his boss told him to answer the sheriff’s questions. Friststone excused himself, leaving the other three alone.

  “I hear you and Zack Robinet kind of got into it earlier in the week,” Beau said, lounging casually with one hip against the office’s massive desk.

  Donny Vargas’s eyes flashed. “He started it, man. We done the work, everything he wanted, and then he shit a brick over the cost. Hey, we bill according to the published rates on our wall. Nothin’ extra. I swear it.”

  “When was the last time you saw him?”

  “Next morning, after we worked on his car. He raised a stink over the bill when he picked up the vehicle but he paid it anyway. We can’t release a car until the invoice is paid. So he did. Then he comes back the next morning ready to tie into me. Guess he fumed over it all night or somethin’.”

  “Did he actually touch you?”

  “Nah. He’s one of those all-mouth guys. He comes at me, all screaming and acting like he’ll punch me? But I show him my fist and then he’s all backing away. Growls like some old tomcat. Stupid pussy, that’s what he is.”

  “Was. He’s dead.”

  Vargas paused only a fraction. “Doesn’t surprise me, man. He had that kind of mouth on him, always spoutin’ off.”

  “So he treated you badly more than once?”

  “Me an’ everbody else. Look, I got no love for the jerk. But I’m not the only one feels that way. He’s got enemies all over this town.”

  “Names?”

  “I don’t know, man. Ask anybody who ever dealt with him.”

  “What happened after the confrontation that morning? When did you see him again?”

  “Never! He backs out of my office, shaking his fist and screaming. But he never came back.”

  “And you didn’t conveniently meet up with him later, sometime after work, maybe another day?”

  Vargas poo-pooed the idea but Sam noticed he wouldn’t meet Beau’s eye.

  Beau called Larry Friststone back to the office and asked that he have Vargas write and sign a statement. What he really wanted, Sam discovered, was to keep the service manager occupied while she and Beau walked through the building to the service department.

  “Let’s just see if the mechanics remember the story the same way, without their manager hovering around.”

  The crew, at this time on a Friday night, consisted of a senior man who might be a young-looking fifty, plus two young guys who’d probably been out of high school just long enough to take the required training for their jobs.

  The older man stepped up to the service desk, asked if he could help them and introduced himself as Scott Montaño.

  “Just a few questions,” Beau said. “If everyone can come over here I can ask all of you at once.”

  The others set down their tools and walked over to the service desk, one of them lagging behind and sending nervous glances toward Beau.

  “We’re looking into the argument which took place here earlier in the week, with a customer named Zack Robinet. W
hat can any of you tell me about it?”

  The young guys shook their heads. “I heard voices is all,” said the tall, skinny one whose most notable feature was that his orange freckles managed to stand out behind the layer of garage grease which coated his face. “I was back there in bay six, an oil change.”

  “Rudy? What about you?” Scott asked when it became apparent the shyer boy wasn’t going to speak up.

  Rudy shook his head again. “The same. I was in the back. Just heard someone yelling.”

  “Mr. Montaño? Did you catch any of it—what it was about, how it ended?”

  Scott glanced toward the door leading into the showroom, making sure Donny Vargas wasn’t coming back. “It was about the charges for Mr. Robinet’s car. He was furious over something, but I’m not sure what. He wasn’t overcharged. A calm explanation of the charges might have settled him down but it had been a long day and Mr. Vargas wasn’t in the best mood. He dished it right back. I felt bad. It wasn’t professional of him.”

  “He said Robinet came back the next morning.”

  “That’s true. He caught Mr. Vargas at a bad time then. He’s not a man you want to say good morning to until you judge his mood. Things got a little loud then, too, I’m afraid. The customer had marched right into Mr. Vargas’s office.” He pointed toward a glass-fronted cubicle a few feet away. “That’s one thing you don’t ever want to do, cross that doorway unless you’re invited.”

  “Sounds like Mr. Vargas has a pretty good temper, huh?” Sam said.

  All three men found other things in the room to look at, primarily their shoes or their fingernails.

  “That’s okay. I think I’m getting the picture,” Beau said. “One more thing: Did anyone see Mr. Vargas confront Mr. Robinet any time afterward? Maybe later in the day, maybe someplace away from the dealership?”

  “Not me,” said the skinny, freckled kid.

  “Nope.”

  “Afraid not,” added Scott Montaño.

  Sam took a side door out to the parking lot, while Beau made a show of going back to Larry Friststone’s office to pick up whatever passed for Donny Vargas’s written statement. He would most likely have to bring the man down to the station to formally go through the same procedure. Too bad one of the other mechanics hadn’t witnessed something a little more definitive. Beau had the distinct feeling that one or more of them was stonewalling.

  He told Sam as much during the drive to The Scoreboard, the sports bar where he’d heard the atmosphere wasn’t the greatest but the burgers were. His source—one of the deputies—was right on the first count.

  The noise of five big-screens tuned to football hit full force right inside the door. How a person could follow any one of the games was a mystery, since they all seemed to be running at equal volume. Sam would have left immediately, opting for a quiet spot somewhere, but the tantalizing smells of grilled beef, bacon, onions, chile and cheese filled the air along with what could only be termed eau de French fry.

  The Scoreboard’s reputation had spread; only one small table remained open.

  “Happy hour ends in thirty minutes,” said the perky girl in tight shorts who plopped tiny napkins on their table. She practically winked at Beau as she said it. “I’d sneak you an extra half-price beer but Ray’s real strict about it.”

  She tilted her head toward the bar where a thick-chested man with muscles that screamed steroids threatened to rip the stretchy band around the sleeve of his polo shirt.

  “That’s okay, I’m on duty anyway,” Beau said.

  He ordered a Coke and Sam requested the same as she looked over the menu which claimed to serve “101 Delicious Burger Combos.” She settled on the Ol’ Hickory, something with grilled onions and spicy barbeque sauce. Beau’s choice went to the traditional, a mountain of lettuce, tomato, onions and pickles atop a thick burger with cheese.

  The waitress turned in their order and brought their drinks before joining a noisy group in the corner who seemed focused on some college game. The fans consisted of a half dozen businessmen who had shed their ties and jackets but bore the mark of white shirts and Cole Haans. With them were three young women who looked way too made-up and too young to be wives. Not to mention that each of the women was paying equal attention to more than one man.

  “Do we actually have hookers here in Taos?” Sam whispered to Beau.

  He laughed. “Darlin’ there are hookers everywhere. If you mean that group, yes. Chief has arrested at least two of those ladies. As long as they don’t stray outside the town limits to find business, they’re under police jurisdiction and at least I don’t have to deal with them. These tend to stick to a middle class clientele and I haven’t heard of them getting caught up in anything violent, so I leave them alone. The real skanks hang around outside the Pony after ten p.m. and get themselves tangled up with equally skanky men.”

  None of the three here seemed at all concerned about a uniformed lawman in their midst, although the laughter from the men had dimmed a little since Sam had looked their direction. She turned her attention back to Beau.

  “So, what did you think about the interviews at the dealership just now? Would the service manager have followed Zack Robinet and harmed him?”

  “Harm, I can see. The kind of murderer who got Zack, not so much. Setting it up so it appeared he’d been involved in rough sex play but injecting him with heroin instead … that takes some fairly sophisticated planning.”

  Sam’s eyes automatically went to the hookers in the corner, but she chided herself for making assumptions about the type of person who would have gone with Zack to his hotel in Albuquerque. Not someone from here, surely.

  Their burgers arrived just then, brought over by the weightlifter-bartender since their server seemed busy at another table. He introduced himself as Ray Belatoni, the owner, as he delivered condiments and assured them they could call upon him or Tina if they needed anything. His words were genuine but his manner seemed perfunctory to Sam, as if he said the same tired phrases to everyone who came in and was secretly wishing the night was over and he could count the till. She turned to the enticing hunk of grilled deliciousness in front of her.

  “So, who are your best suspects at this point?” she finally asked Beau, dipping an onion ring into the puddle of ketchup on her plate.

  “I think Kent Taylor would pin it on the wife. Have to admit, they’re known for loud fights, she disappears the same day Zack left town and hasn’t been seen since.”

  “Even if she was traveling wouldn’t she have heard about his death on the news or something?”

  “We’ve asked the media not to release his name since she’s his closest kin and we haven’t been able to reach her. So, no, there’s no news story that gives his or her names. On the other hand, not a lot of Taos men die in Albuquerque, so I suppose she could easily put it together if she heard or read the basics of the story.”

  “Surely there’s a trail of her movements, right? I mean, that’s what happens on TV—you can track her credit cards, bank accounts and such, can’t you?”

  He smiled a little indulgently. “We can and we have, but there’s been no activity. Taylor thinks she’s probably gone off with another man, which would explain it. He’s paying for everything.”

  “But airline tickets? She has to show identification.”

  “They travel by car ... maybe by train.”

  The latter seemed a little far-fetched to Sam. Train travel was not at all the common way to go in New Mexico. But a car—that was surely feasible.

  Movement near the door caught her attention. “Beau, look,” she said.

  Donny Vargas walked in and went straight to the bar. Ray Belatoni greeted him like best of friends and set a shot of golden liquid in front of him, along with a salt shaker and small dish of lime wedges. The auto mechanic slugged back the tequila and Belatoni filled it again.

  “Interesting.”

  Unfortunately, the noise level in the bar prevented them from hearing any of the ch
ummy conversation.

  Chapter 11

  Jane showed up for work promptly at eight. As per Sam’s instructions she said she had taken the about-town trolley that ran up and down the main drag and through the Plaza.

  “There was an interesting cooking show on television last night,” she told Sam as they washed their hands. “A travelogue of sorts featuring unusual flavors of chocolate from around the world.”

  Sam’s interest perked up. “Something we can use to fill Mr. Bookman’s order?”

  “Well, some of them. A few were truly weird, like marinating tobacco leaves in rum and infusing the chocolate with the resulting liqueur.”

  “Uh, no.”

  “Or, pig’s blood? Absinthe?”

  “We better skip to the usable ideas,” Sam said.

  “Japan had one with plum liqueur. It sounded fabulous. And there was a really unusual one from Spain—hazelnut praline, sea salt, and Pop Rocks candy coated in cocoa butter. They say the Pop Rocks explode in your mouth like fireworks.”

  “Hm, I remember those candies from when Kelly was a kid. She loved them. I didn’t realize they were still available.”

  “I guess they are. We could always check the candy counter at the convenience store on the corner.”

  Sam added the candy and sea salt to her list of things to buy locally, and Jane started mixing the cocoa powder with cocoa butter in a heavy double boiler.

  “This large pot is better than the one you used the other day,” Jane said, watching the mixture as it began to melt, stirring carefully.

  “You’re right. How was your room last night?” Sam asked as Jane inserted the candy thermometer into the dark, fragrant mixture.

  “Clean enough, I suppose.” Jane looked up. “Fine, really—it was fine.”

  The woman must have been accustomed to fancier digs but since Sam was paying the bill she hadn’t felt obligated to come up with a nicer hotel.