Sweets Forgotten (Samantha Sweet Mysteries Book 10)

by Connie Shelton

  On the coffee table sat the two dozen yellow roses Beau had brought home yesterday. Their anniversary. There was no choice now. The dinner plan would have to be scrapped. She called his cell as she climbed the stairs and made her way to the master bath. Bless him, he didn’t question the decision, just wished her luck.

  The lumpy wooden box waited, quiet and dark, in its place. She picked it up and sent up a little prayer that it not fail her now. By the time she locked the front door and got back into her van, the odd little artifact had already begun to glow and to warm her hands.

  Back in the alley behind Sweet’s Sweets, Sam puzzled over the appearance of a car she didn’t recognize. Of course. Jo was driving a rental now. Next problem, how to convince Jo to leave? Although the help would be nice, there was no way an outsider could witness the power of the box.

  She killed the van’s engine, put the magic box into her backpack and sat there a minute, deciding what to do.

  Jo looked up when she walked in. “Were you able to get the box?” she asked.

  It took Sam a second to realize she meant the cardboard box for the chocolates. She held it up.

  “Excellent! I’ve already ground the beans and set out all the ingredients. I’m ready to start cooking.”

  Sam eyed the array of items on the worktable—cream, butter, flavoring. Aside from the secret powders and her own touch, everything was ready.

  “Hold off for a minute, Jo. We need to talk.”

  Jo’s smile faded. “Oh, Sam, I’m so sorry for what happened. I should have been watching more carefully. I could have saved the pieces we had already made.”

  Sam waved off the apology. “It’s fine. It’s not that. Accidents happen.”

  She took another deep breath, debating as she had all the way here about what she would say.

  “Jo, I’m going to do the chocolates myself.”

  “I understand your disappointment in me, really I do, Sam. But two of us can work twice as fast. And I really don’t mind staying. There’s nothing for me at home—”

  “I don’t mean to be insensitive, but I have to ask you to leave. I cannot explain how, but I will get the order done by myself. Please don’t question me. And please don’t say anything to anyone else about this because I promise I will deny whatever you tell them.”

  Jo studied her face for a long moment. “Okay then. I’m on my way.”

  Sam waited for the sound of the little sedan to fade away and checked the locks on the doors before pulling out the magic box. When its energy had thoroughly coursed through her body she set to work. It was something she had wondered in the past: when she worked under the influence of whatever powers this box transmitted to her, did she actually move about the room at the speed of light, or did it just feel that way?

  Chapter 22

  Sam braced herself against the stainless worktable and stared at the finished box of chocolates. They were as close to perfect as she could imagine, a collection of cats and kittens in dark, white and milk chocolate. Her personal favorite was the little calico on which she’d used essence of orange to create the rust-colored patches. Mr. Bookman’s desire to present his wife with a gift of her two favorite things—chocolate and cats—had come to fruition. And Sam’s blast of energy was completely gone. She set the lid on the candy box and walked to the sales room to brew the day’s first pot of coffee. Julio would arrive soon to start the morning pastries, and Jen and Becky would come shortly after.

  Gray predawn light filtered through the front windows. The parking lot was empty and no sounds came from the street. Sam pressed the button on the coffee maker and stared at the small view of Taos’s adobe structures she could see from this limited vantage point. The coffee machine hissed and she felt an ache creep up her arms and into her shoulders. She would need to sleep off the binge, but at this moment the pains felt good. Accomplishment and prolonged creativity did that to her. The bittersweet part, the tradeoff, was that she and Beau had spent the evening of their first anniversary apart.

  Disappointment crowded against exhaustion and physical ache. Why had she let business take priority over their time together?

  Almost as if he’d read her thoughts, Beau’s cruiser rolled to an almost silent stop at the front door. She unlocked it and beckoned him inside.

  “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

  He pulled her to his chest and rubbed her back.

  “Nothing turned out right—the special cake I meant to bake for us, a nice dinner together, and our relaxing night at home …”

  “It’s okay. It’s not as if my work hasn’t interrupted our lives sometimes too.” He held her at arm’s length with a steady gaze. “The day started to get away from us early on. And I told you it would be fine to postpone the special dinner to another night. It’s all good, darlin’.”

  The rumble of a Harley disrupted a kiss that could have lingered a long time. Sam heard the back door open and Julio’s familiar movements as he began handling metal baking pans, starting his day’s work.

  Sam tilted her head in the direction of the kitchen and whispered to Beau. “At some point I want to talk to you about something. Now—coffee?”

  He gave a puzzled look but accepted the cup she poured for him. Seated at one of the bistro tables with the warm mugs, Sam let herself relax and simply enjoy the fact that she was married to this wonderful guy. The cozy feeling lasted nearly five whole minutes before his shoulder mike squawked with an incoming radio call.

  “Gotta go,” he said, after answering with a bunch of coded cop-speak.

  “I’ve got to get some sleep,” she said. “If I get back here in time to make preparations, shall we plan on our special dinner tonight?”

  “First things first. Get your rest and then we’ll talk about it. I don’t want you wearing yourself out.” He was out the door as soon as he said it.

  She took the used cups to the kitchen, happy to see Julio already pouring muffin batter into pans. Jo was next to arrive, wearing an anxious expression. She paused when she saw the box of chocolates on the table. A quizzical look toward Sam.

  “Just remember what I said last night.” Their own version of a don’t-ask-don’t-tell pact.

  Jo nodded and Sam lifted the lid.

  “Oh my gosh, they are fantastic!” Jo actually gasped. “How did—?” She clamped her mouth shut.

  “Now for the taste test,” Sam said, although she’d personally sampled a bit of each new flavor as she devised it.

  She uncovered a plate filled with the inevitable goof-ups that were part of any decorative endeavor, the imperfectly formed pieces and those where her hand zigged when it should have zagged with the pastry bag. Jo took a sample of the cinnamon-nutmeg-molasses cream enrobed in dark chocolate and her eyelids closed in bliss as she rolled the flavors on her tongue.

  “Will Mr. Bookman and his wife be impressed?”

  Jo had already picked up a milk chocolate with raspberry and lemongrass. Another eye roll and she nodded vigorously. “They have to be.”

  Becky came in and tried a couple. “Oh, definitely. You guys have nailed this one.”

  Neither Sam nor Jo contradicted the impression they had both worked on the order.

  “Okay, time to declare it done and let the customer know.”

  Sam cut a length of ribbon that coordinated with the box’s cat design and tied it into a fluffy mass that topped the gift perfectly. She set the box on the shelf behind Jen’s work area where it would be safe from harm. On the phone, Mr. Bookman seemed thrilled that the order was done a day early.

  “You look tired, Sam,” said Becky when she walked back into the kitchen.

  “I’ll admit it. I’m going home for a few hours’ sleep—soon.” She turned to Jo. “There was extra tempered chocolate after the Bookman order was finished, so I molded some basic squares and buttons. If you can decorate them today, we’ll set them out with our other stock.”

  “Absolutely. Anything else?”

  Until the ho
lidays, they wouldn’t need large quantities of chocolate and she really couldn’t justify keeping Jo employed right now. Still, she had to admit the woman had a lot of talent. The unusual flavors and special molding techniques were things Sam wouldn’t have known without working alongside her new helper.

  “You probably could use some extra rest, too. How are things going? Personally, I mean.”

  “Well enough, I suppose. It’s an adjustment. Staying with my friend is making it easier. I’d be going crazy alone in that big house. I started going through those papers I took home yesterday, but they just aren’t making sense. I guess I have to get my head back into accounting and numbers and all that.”

  “Well, good luck with them. Okay, folks, I’m leaving for home and sleep. Unless the building’s on fire, don’t call me.”

  Since that had actually happened once, she amended the phrase. “Don’t let the building catch fire.” Then she was out the door.

  Kelly was just getting out of her car when Sam hit the pavement.

  “Hey, Mom. How’s things? Did you and Beau have a great celebration for your anniversary?”

  “Not exactly.” Sam glossed over the way the day had gotten out of control and the fact she had worked all night.

  “Mom? I have a question.” Kelly shifted her purse to the other arm, gazed out past the building in a classic stalling technique.

  Sam raised her eyebrows.

  “How did you know Beau was the one? Your Mr. Right?”

  Oh, wow. That was not the question Sam expected.

  “Is this about your new guy, the one we haven’t met yet?”

  Again, Kelly shifted a little in her spot before nodding.

  “Honey, you haven’t known him very long.”

  “You only knew Beau a few months before he proposed. How did you know saying yes was the right thing?”

  How indeed? “I suppose it was just a feeling. Some undefinable thing … I’m not sure how to describe it.”

  Kelly smiled that cute, dimpled way which had melted Sam’s heart from the time she was a toddler.

  “Okay, Mom. Thanks.” She stepped forward and gave Sam’s hand a squeeze, then turned and disappeared through the back door at Puppy Chic.

  Sam drove home in a daze, her mom-meter ringing like crazy. Could Kelly really be this serious about someone they’d never met? Or was it someone they knew well already? The more she thought about it, the more certain she felt. She patted the dogs on the head and trudged upstairs, swallowing a PM pill, peeling off her clothes and sliding under the comforter in her underwear. Her eyes closed but her mind would not shut down.

  Kelly and Julio as a couple. Sam imagined the proposal, the wedding, the grandchildren to come. Whatever picture formed in her mind, the tattoos got in the way. What is wrong with me that I can’t see past the surface? All this time, she should have gotten to know Julio better, to cultivate a bit of a friendship with him, rather than simply relying on his proven expertise as a baker. She liked the man, but well enough to welcome as a son-in-law? And how would he and Kelly mesh as a married couple—his quiet, almost taciturn disposition along with Kelly who exuded bubbles and giggles most of the time.

  Sleep came, riddled with dreams. She rolled over. An hour had ticked by on the clock. Closed eyes again. Rolled over again. Fifteen more minutes.

  Okay, this is ridiculous.

  She sat up and called Beau. His cell went to voicemail immediately and she realized it wasn’t fair to interrupt his work day because she couldn’t rest. She would interrupt Zoë instead.

  “Hey, what’s up?” Zoë’s breath was rushed, as if she’d run in from the back yard.

  “Trying to sleep. Can’t.”

  “Pull another all-nighter? Sam, I thought we’d talked about that.”

  “I know. And now I took a sleeping pill so I shouldn’t drive. Otherwise, I would just go back to the shop and bake the cake I should have done yesterday.”

  “Oh, right. Your anniversary.”

  “It didn’t happen. Beau’s job, my job, no time.”

  “It’s really bugging you. Want me to come over? I could rock you to sleep or something.”

  Sam chuckled over that image, slender little Zoë with her as the oversized baby.

  “I’m coming by. Just a cup of tea and talking it out will help. And you can make me leave at any time by closing your eyes and getting yourself some real sleep. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

  The emotional bond between them tugged at Sam. How long had they been best friends? At least twenty years. She smiled. Meanwhile, she thought of a way to take one other concern off her mind. She dialed the bakery and asked to speak to Julio.

  When his soft, slightly accented voice came on the line she paused. Mentioning Kelly would be out of line. It was up to her daughter to bring up that subject. Instead, she did the first thing that occurred to her, asked him to bake the layers for her anniversary cake. Beau’s favorite cake for the lower tier and her own for the smaller top.

  “No problem, Sam. Anything else?” he asked.

  “No, Julio. That’s fine.”

  “Sam? Are you okay? You sound really tired. We’re a little worried about you.”

  We? He and Kelly?

  “Jen says to get some sleep. Now. I mean, that’s how she said it.”

  Of course he meant the bakery staff.

  “Thanks, Julio. I will.”

  Outside, a car crunched through the gravel in the driveway and Sam peered out the upstairs window. Zoë here already. She put on a robe and went downstairs.

  “I brought my favorite herbal tea,” Zoë said. “It’s got valerian root, chamomile and some other stuff. I’ll put the kettle on and you go snuggle into your favorite corner of the sofa with this lavender-scented afghan. I swear, it’s the best recipe for restful sleep I’ve ever used.”

  Sam took the knitted blanket and did as instructed. When Zoë delivered a gently steaming mug of the tea and settled into the overstuffed chair near the foot of the couch, Sam spilled the whole thing—all her concerns over Kelly and Julio and her own guilt over having put her first anniversary on hold because of an urgent bakery order.

  “Was Beau upset over it?”

  “Not at all. He’s been so understanding … and those roses …”

  “Then, you know what? I say don’t stress over it. You guys are fine. Kelly’s fine. So what if the boyfriend turns out to be Julio—you love the guy. She’ll tell you what’s going on when she’s ready, and I know that girl. You cannot push her, and no man is going to push her.”

  Sam had to nod agreement over that statement.

  “You’ve made your customer happy. You’ve got a great husband and a fantastic marriage. He’ll wrap up his case, you’ll get your work schedule on an even keel, and the two of you can take a weekend away. I’d offer a room at our place but I know you. You and Beau will both sneak out to check your respective work places. Go somewhere fun, sweetie. Maybe San Antonio or southern California. Take a quick flight and just hole up in a hotel somewhere.”

  Sam smiled as the effects of the warm tea lulled her.

  “I’m setting your cup down now,” Zoë said. “Put this pillow under your head and just close your eyes for a few minutes.”

  It felt good, hearing her best friend’s solid, commonsense talk.

  When Sam stirred, Zoë was gone. She pulled the cover over her shoulders and rolled to her side. She woke to find a lamp on in the room but it was dark outside. Her phone was on the coffee table and she saw that it was after seven o’clock. She’d missed a call from Beau.

  Chapter 23

  Beau bided his time in his office while Rico put Donny Vargas into the station’s one detention cell. The grease on the boot print found at the Robinet home came back positive for motor oil mixed with dirt, a pretty certain sign it had come from a garage floor. Vargas could sit there awhile and sweat over what the lawmen knew or didn’t know.

  Meanwhile, Krystal Cordova was doing the same in an inte
rrogation room. Beau had picked her up personally, before she’d had the chance to make up and fluff up for an evening of hanging around the men at The Scoreboard. Without the makeup and hair she looked younger and more innocent. Healthier, too. In a way, that made it more difficult for him to come down hard with his questions but he had to get to the bottom of this. The case was getting older and colder by the day.

  He finished the sandwich someone had brought him hours ago for lunch, fortified himself with a cup of fresh coffee, and headed toward Krystal’s room. She looked up, no more timid than the fiery little thing she’d been at four o’clock.

  “What am I doing here, Sheriff?” she demanded. “Don’t I get a lawyer?”

  “Up to you. You haven’t been charged with anything, so if you call one it’s on your dime. I hear they’re kind of pricey.”

  “So, what do you want?”

  “Well, Krystal, I want to know just how far your plan went when you and Ray tried to blackmail Josephine Robinet.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Now that is a lie. You admitted a couple days ago that you and Ray thought you could make more money than what Jo paid you to seduce her husband.”

  “I provided more services. I had the guy ready to take me away to the Virgin Islands. That’s worth more money.”

  “Whose bright idea was it to kill Zack Robinet?”

  The abrupt switch in topic startled her. She went back to the default answer: “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You don’t know that Zack was murdered? Come on. Or you don’t know who thought of it?”

  “I, uh—”

  “You think about that for a minute. Meanwhile, Donny Vargas broke into the Robinet home yesterday. What was he there for?” In fact, the intruder had worn gloves, so they only had the greasy footprint to go by. But it was worth the bluff to see what she knew. “I’m thinking some important little piece of evidence ties all three of you into this so deep you’ll never get out. Donny was probably voted, or talked, into going there to look for it.”