Sweets Galore: The Sixth Samantha Sweet Mystery (The Samantha Sweet Mysteries)

by Shelton, Connie

  “I think I heard a vehicle,” Beau said, walking to the bedroom door to peer out the front windows. He looked back at Sam. “Ready for this?”

  She bundled up the old sheets and dashed to the laundry room beyond the kitchen.

  “Woo-hoo, anyone home?” came Nina Rae’s voice.

  Sam took a breath, put on a smile and walked out to greet their first houseguests.

  “Now I don’t want ya’ll to worry about supper tonight,” Nina Rae said, holding up a supermarket bag. “We’ve got it all covered. Roasted chicken, sweet corn, and I bought the ingredients to make my famous coleslaw.”

  Sam’s smile went plastic. The famous coleslaw was something of a family joke, as no one other than her mother actually liked it. She would have to warn Beau to take a small serving or be sure one of the dogs was sitting nearby.

  Nina Rae bustled into the kitchen and began taking items from her shopping bag. Sam looked at the clock. Her dad would be ready for happy hour. Although Sam was itching to get on with the investigation she put the desire on hold long enough to get through drinks, dinner and an evening of chit-chat.

  Beau’s phone rang twice during the second of the Seinfeld reruns. Nina Rae cackled at the inside jokes while Howard dozed in one of the recliners. Beau excused himself each time and took the calls in the kitchen. When the second one came Sam sneaked in there too.

  Beau thanked the caller and turned to Sam.

  “Tustin Deor is in town, registered at the La Fonda.”

  “So, apparently this whole You’re The Star thing is for real,” Sam said. “I halfway believed that Jake was just blowing smoke, trying to get money from me for who knows what reason.”

  “I’ll do some more background on Deor when I can get to my computer at the office. A basic search online just lists his publicist’s version of his bio—movie credits and such—which I suspect may be just a little inflated. Once I have more facts about him, I’ll stop by and question him a little, find out how things were between him and Jake.”

  “Tustin and Evie could leave town any day, couldn’t they?”

  “Apparently there’s a press conference tomorrow afternoon. I don’t know what he’s announcing but it must be related to the show.”

  So, basically, Sam thought, we might have twenty-four hours in which to gather information about the people Jake was hanging around with, before they scatter and leave the state.

  “Hey, you two,” Nina Rae said. “I was wondering where ya’ll got off to. How about we get up a little domino game? It’d keep your daddy awake until the ten o’clock news.”

  Sam couldn’t remember the last time she’d watched the late news. With a schedule that included getting up at four-thirty, six mornings a week, bedtime in her home came pretty early. She’d forgotten how her parents’ routine never varied. She stifled a yawn and gamely agreed to find the dominoes.

  She flubbed most of her plays and fell way behind, but winning meant more to her mother, so Sam let it happen. Across the table, Beau kept making eye contact and she knew there was something he wanted to tell her. When the opening strains of the network news theme came on, they left the elder Sweets to it and said goodnight.

  “I wanted to tell you about that other phone call I got tonight,” Beau said as they were brushing their teeth at the double sinks in the master bath. “The police have found Jake Calendar’s brother and he’s coming to town to pick up Jake’s belongings. Tomorrow.”

  “Will you get a chance to talk to him?”

  “I hope so. It would be nice to know what else was going on in Jake’s life. There are millions of people out there beyond Taos, and I can’t help but think his death might not have anything to do with this little town at all.”

  Sam dried her face, hoping that was true. She didn’t like to think that Jake’s appearance here was the reason he died. On the other hand, why would someone from California track him here and then take such pains to make it look like Sam had killed him? Maybe she should start looking more closely at who her own enemies might be.

  * * *

  Sam’s rocky night in that cell caught up with her quickly and she was asleep almost instantly after pulling the big comforter over herself. When she woke it was dark and the clock numerals read 3:41. Random questions came at her. Who might be angry enough with her to frame her for Jake’s murder? Or was she simply being paranoid—maybe the cupcake was the handiest method for the killer, nothing at all personal against her? Like a broken record, the thoughts kept replaying in her head and by four-thirty she knew there would be no more sleep. She kissed Beau’s bare arm lightly and rolled out of bed.

  The bakery, as always, became her refuge. By the time Julio arrived she already had scones in the oven.

  “Hey, boss,” he said. “No time off?”

  “I tried. Things are just too jumbled up right now.”

  He nodded knowingly. Normally a man of few words, he’d worked for her a couple of months already and still Sam knew relatively little about him. It was nice, after the long weekend with her family, to be around someone who rarely spoke. He set to work with the breakfast pastries while Sam organized her desk and checked email.

  Not many messages; everyone believed her to be away on her honeymoon right now. She sighed at the reminder of how far off track their plans had gone. She should be in Ireland now, finding out about the inheritance from her mysterious uncle, she thought as she clicked on junk messages to delete them. She stopped in mid-click. What if—? No, it couldn’t be—

  She went back to the emails, but her mind kept jumping track. What if this sudden inheritance had something to do with Jake’s death? Or, more specifically, with Sam being made to look like the guilty party. Who would know about it? Who would actually do something about it?

  It was not quite seven, but on the east coast it would be two hours later and she felt sure Clinton Hardgate would be in his office. She dialed his number and walked to the empty sales room for privacy.

  “Ready to reschedule that trip?” he asked after a quick greeting.

  “Not quite.” She had never told him the real reason for the delay. “I have a question, though.”

  She wasn’t terribly surprised that he didn’t know of anyone else in New Mexico who might know about her inheritance unless she had told them.

  “Our firm would never divulge such private information,” he said. “What’s this about?”

  “Probably just my over-active imagination,” she said. “I ran into some trouble recently that got me thinking somebody might benefit if I were out of the way.”

  “Sam, do you think your life is in danger?” She got the feeling that he was picturing some Wild West scenario, where bad guys came riding into town and challenged her to a shootout.

  “No, not really. But do let me know if you come across anyone outside my family who might have a connection.”

  For a fraction of second she toyed with the idea that it could actually be someone within her family, someone who believed they might get the inheritance if Sam were put away for life. But that didn’t make a lot of sense either. For one thing, no one had known about it until the very day Jake died. And those who knew about the inheritance didn’t know about Jake. And why harm a stranger when it was far easier to do away with Sam herself? And why do that when they could simply let her accept the money and then nag her to death for a portion of it? That scenario seemed far more likely.

  She filed away that entire line of thinking and started toward the walk-in fridge. Her wedding cake was stashed it there, but Sam was beginning to think it ought to be in the freezer where it would keep longer. There didn’t seem to be any quick solution to the mystery of Jake’s death coming their way anytime soon. She had brought the cake to the worktable and found heavy plastic wrap to secure it when the front door bells jangled and she heard a male voice speaking to Jen. A few seconds later the intercom buzzed.

  “Sam? Someone to see you.”

  She spotted a red BMW parked at the curb. At t
he sales counter stood a young man who looked vaguely familiar. Tight black jeans on a skinny frame, black silk shirt, short wool jacket—black, of course—and some kind of designer watch that looked like plastic but probably cost a few thousand dollars. His green eyes were narrow under heavy brows and his sable brown hair was gelled into an odd little point at the top. Another guy, dressed similarly but without the same air of cool had a cell phone to his ear, was speaking in the tones of some power-conversation. Outside, a burly man in black stood near the BMW.

  “You’re Samantha Sweet?” asked the first man.

  She nodded and thought she caught a flicker of disappointment.

  “Um, I’m Tustin Deor.” He held out a hand.

  He looked about eighteen, although Sam felt sure he had to be in his thirties if Jake’s version of his accomplishments were even half true. He regarded Sam down the length of his perfectly straight nose, reconciling what he saw with what Jake must have told him. Obviously he’d been expecting someone who oozed money without having to work for it—maybe some kind of society lady associated with the arts and willing to back their production if the star-power were strong enough.

  Sam gave him as genuine a smile as she could muster. “Jake’s friend.”

  “Colleague,” Tustin said. “In a way. Jake wanted in on my latest project. I thought I’d see what he could bring to the table.”

  He leaned a hip against her sales counter, seemingly relaxed, but his gaze traveled around the room constantly.

  He recapped the pitch, which was pretty much what Jake had told her several days ago. She let him talk.

  “Last time I spoke with Jake,” he said, “he thought you were pretty interested. Said you knew him from way back. I’m sure you knew that Jake was a pretty decent musician himself. We’re gonna miss him. He said you loved music.”

  “Really?” She vaguely remembered him getting together with another guy at the pipeline camp, both of them strumming guitars and belting out Creedence Clearwater songs. If Jake ever did become a good musician it was well after those days when he couldn’t stay on key for Proud Mary.

  “Look, we’re holding a press conference this afternoon on the plaza. Two o’clock, couple big announcements. Come by. I think you’ll be impressed with what we’ve got going for us. You might change your mind about investing.” He flashed a smile that probably worked wonders with rising young stars like Evie Madsen, then walked out and got into the Beemer. Not exactly broken up over the loss of his business colleague, if Jake had truly been important to the show at all.

  “Whew—cute!” Jen said, giving herself tiny pats on the chest.

  “Seriously?” Man, I am getting old, Sam thought as she went back to the kitchen to tend to her cake. She constructed a large box to hold the cake and then wound lengths of plastic wrap around it, musing over the situation.

  None of this made sense. If this Deor guy was such hot stuff in Hollywood why were he and Jake scouting around Taos, especially around her, for money? Surely the kind of folks who backed half the other crappy reality stuff on television would follow Deor anywhere. Either Jake had painted Tustin a completely wrong picture of Sam’s situation or Deor wasn’t nearly the hotshot Jake had made him out to be. The old charmer at work again. Who else had he tried to swindle in recent times?

  Across the table, Becky was working on a cake with a photography theme, which reminded Sam of the news conference Deor planned to hold this afternoon. She would remind Beau about it and suggest that they go and listen in.

  She pulled her phone from her pocket but before she could dial him, it rang in her hand. Her mother’s number showed on the readout. Sam knew what would happen; bored with hanging around the ranch, the parents would cook up some activity for Sam to do with them. She understood that—they’d come to town to see her. But now that she had to clear her name or face a trial, it seemed there were more important ways to spend her time. If she and Beau ever hoped to be married and get on with life, they needed to devote their time to the effort of finding Jake’s killer. Sam let Nina Rae’s call go to voicemail and she dialed Rupert.

  “Help, please,” she whimpered.

  “For you, love, anything. How’s it going?”

  She gave him a quick rundown of the situation since the wedding had fizzled. “I need someone to entertain my parents for the day.”

  “No problem. How would they like lunch and shopping in Santa Fe?”

  “It sounds like exactly Mother’s cup of tea. Just tone down the clothing if you can for my dad?”

  “What—he’s not into purple?”

  Sam couldn’t begin to explain how not into purple her father, the retired accountant, would be. “Maybe stick to the grays and blacks today, if possible, Rupe. Otherwise, whatever you can think of that would keep them busy all day . . . I would so appreciate it.”

  “Shall I pick them up at your place?”

  “Let me verify that and I’ll get right back to you.”

  She listened to her mother’s message—exactly as she had guessed, they wanted to make lunch plans. When she called saying that a friend really wanted to show them around Santa Fe since she and Beau were tied up all day, Nina Rae readily accepted the invitation. Sam told them Rupert would be there in a half hour, called him back and said anything in the world he wanted would be his in return for the favor. He jokingly said he would pass on her firstborn, thank you, but a heavenly dessert for one of his monthly soirees would be an excellent trade-off. She hoped he felt that way after a whole day with her mother.

  Chapter 14

  Her next call went to Beau, telling him about Tustin Deor’s visit to the bakery and suggesting that they might want to catch the press conference this afternoon.

  “Good idea. I’ve got more news. Jake’s brother, Tom, will be in town this afternoon to get Jake’s possessions.”

  “Can we talk to him?”

  “I got a phone number. Thought if you made the call, explained—only as much as you want to—about knowing Jake from the past . . . maybe he would agree to see you. I can be there if you want.”

  “You could help me think of questions to ask him. It might be our only chance to find out what’s been going on in Jake’s life in recent years. Maybe Tom would know whether he had enemies out there somewhere.”

  She gathered her thoughts and called Tom Calendar. He was on the bus, just outside town, and explained that he planned to drive Jake’s pickup truck home.

  “I knew Jake a lot of years ago,” she said.

  “Yeah, I recognized your name. He talked about you a lot when he got back from Alaska.”

  “Really?” She felt oddly gratified for that scrap of information. “He’d stopped in at my shop last week. I’d really like to talk with you. Could I pick you up at the bus station?”

  “That’d be great. Afraid I don’t know the town at all.”

  He told her what time to arrive. Taos didn’t really have a bus station, as such, just a lobby attached to a local business where people could wait for the next Greyhound. She ran a couple of quick errands and made sure she was there five minutes early. She called Beau and told him what she had planned.

  Tom Calendar looked enough like Jake to make Sam’s breath catch. Same hair, grayer—Jake might have been coloring his; the eyes had more green, less blue; his size and shape were nearly identical, dressed in jeans and a blue all-weather jacket. She got out of her truck as he stood beside the bus, looking around expectantly.

  “Hi, Sam,” he said, hefting the strap of a small duffle to his shoulder.

  His voice was similar to Jake’s, too, but without the quality that made you feel like you were being sold on something. She liked his genuine smile and waved him toward her truck.

  “Are you staying overnight?” she asked.

  “Yeah, a room at the Econolodge. Didn’t have any idea how long it would take me to . . . do what I have to.”

  She nodded. “Before you talk with the police, I need to tell you some things. Can I buy you
lunch?”

  He didn’t have much choice since they were in her vehicle, but he didn’t seem to mind. They pulled into the crowded lot at the Taoseño. An empty table wedged against the far wall looked like it would afford the privacy they wanted, although the room was so full of noisy diners there was little chance of their conversation being overheard. They asked for water and spent a few minutes looking over the menu.

  “So, what was this you wanted to tell me?” he asked. Direct and to the point. She liked that.

  “The police know that Jake and I were involved at one time, and they seem to think I might have killed him.”

  “I assume you didn’t, being that you’re sitting here with me. That you even want to sit here with me.”

  “That’s right.” She looked up and saw Beau walking toward them.

  She gave Tom a two-sentence rundown on why she and Beau were investigating on their own. The two men shook hands and Beau took the empty seat next to Sam’s.

  “I wanted you to know,” Sam said, “that no matter what might happen after this, including a trial if they take it that far, I didn’t harm Jake. It had been a lot of years, and I didn’t particularly have feelings for him when he showed up, but I would never wish him harm. He was my daughter’s father.”

  A variety of reactions flickered across Tom’s face but all he said was, “Okay.”

  “So.” Sam let out a pent-up breath. “We need to find out who really did kill him, and why.”

  Beau set his menu aside. “Oftentimes things follow a person around. We wondered if there was anything back in California, a person or situation, Jake might have been involved with, something that gave somebody a reason to come after him?”