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

by Shelton, Connie

  Beau reached across the desk and took her hands. “We’re doing what we can. More than Sanchez’s department has done.”

  Sam squeezed his hands, then stood up. “I think I’ll drop by the La Fonda and see if I can find Evie. Surely Tustin can’t be in the room all the time.”

  At the hotel’s front desk Sam wasn’t surprised to find that they wouldn’t give out Tustin Deor’s room number. They did, however, agree to ring the room and ask if Ms. Madsen would accept the call. The clerk turned his back as the phone rang multiple times.

  “Sorry, ma’am. No answer.”

  Sam debated leaving a message but didn’t. She thanked the clerk and meandered toward the restaurant. As she passed the open doorway to the bar a flash of pink caught her eye. The light over the bar caught rosy liquid in crystal as the bartender set a glass down, and seated there accepting the drink was Evie. Once in awhile fortune does shine down, Sam thought. Evie was alone.

  Sam edged up beside her and took the adjoining seat.

  “Hi, Evie, how are you?”

  Evie looked a little disconcerted but covered it by taking a long sip from her Cosmopolitan. She fixed her mouth in a sullen moue and regarded Sam through half-closed lids.

  “Tustin’s not with you?”

  “He’ll be down in a minute.”

  “I was surprised to see the two of you together. I mean, you seemed pretty infatuated with Jake just a few days ago.”

  “So?”

  “I could understand what Jake saw in you—young and pretty and all. But I never quite got what you saw in him.”

  Evie sipped from the drink without responding.

  “Did it bother you that Jake came to town to see me?”

  Evie’s eyes traveled from Sam’s hair, which hadn’t been combed since this morning, slowly downward to her day-glo green cross-trainers. A smug grin formed on the young woman’s face.

  “No, Sam, it didn’t bother me at all.”

  Unless the girl was a far better actress than her credentials suggested, there went Sam’s theory that Evie’s motive for striking out might have been jealousy. Still, it didn’t explain why Evie suddenly showed up with a man so much older, when her normal taste went to the young and hip.

  “What was Jake here for, really?” Sam leaned against the back of her barstool. The long day without answers was wearing her down.

  Evie took another sip of the Cosmo. “Just what he told you, raising money to finance the show.”

  Sam searched her face for signs of deception but Evie had put on her clueless, Paris Hilton smile as she drained the rest of the drink. She started to get up but Sam placed a hand on her arm.

  “When I didn’t give Jake the money, was there trouble between him and Tustin? Or between you and Jake?”

  Evie gave her a long stare, shook off the hand and walked out of the bar. Sam watched her head for the stairs. What was she so hostile about? Clearly, as she’d indicated, there was no reason to be jealous of Sam.

  “Hot and cold, I’ll tell you,” said a male voice. The bartender. He held up a glass, asking with his eyes whether she wanted a drink.

  She shook her head. “What do you mean, hot and cold?”

  He tilted his head toward the doorway where Evie had just disappeared. “That one. Hot. You know what I mean . . . But co-old.” He stretched out the word. “They’ve been here a few days. I’ve seen her pour herself all over a guy, you know, melting him. Then she’s like she was just now. Won’t give you the time of day.”

  “I suppose she gets a lot of unwanted attention, with looks like that.”

  He tipped his head. Maybe.

  “She came in my shop a few days ago with a different guy, older man. Now she’s with this young producer.”

  “Yeah, I noticed that too. The guy and her, they came in a few times on my shift.”

  “Did they have words? Some kind of argument?”

  “The old guy or the young one?”

  “Either.”

  He wiped at the bar, thinking. “Not really an argument. But something changed. She was all over the old guy the first day they checked in. The last time I saw them they were barely speaking. I guess that was Friday afternoon. She did that cold-shoulder thing and walked out, just like now.”

  “Do you remember anything else about that day?”

  “He had a little bag with him, purple, paper sack.”

  Sam’s breath caught.

  “While I was making their drinks he opened the bag and made some kind of comment to the lady. Right after that is when Miss Cosmo got all huffy.”

  So maybe Evie had believed that Sam sent the cupcake as a gift for Jake. If she’d said that to the police, it could be the real basis for their case against Sam.

  “Did you see where he got the bag? Did someone deliver it?”

  The bartender shrugged. “I can’t say. He had it with him when I first noticed it.”

  Jen had already told Sam that Jake hadn’t bought anything at the bakery that day. She’d sold a dozen or more of the chocolate cupcakes but not to him.

  “You could ask at the front desk,” the bartender said. “The guy did act like it was something he’d received as a gift. Maybe somebody left it there for him.”

  “So the woman left first. Did you see where the man went? Did he leave the hotel or did he go up to their room?”

  “I didn’t see. Things got busy about that time and I never really noticed when he left.”

  She thanked him and pulled out some money, which he pushed back across the bar.

  “I hope you get this resolved, Ms. Sweet.”

  Had he known who she was all along? She dug out a business card and asked him to give a call if he thought of anything else related to Jake Calendar or Evie Madsen.

  Sam walked straight to the front desk, where she had to wait behind two other people who were checking in. When her turn came the young man in the white shirt and black tie turned a polite smile her way.

  “Checking in?”

  “No, actually I had a question about a gift that might have been delivered here Friday afternoon. A small, purple paper sack. Were you here at the time?”

  He looked at the ceiling, thinking. “Yeah . . . I remember it. I gave it to the guest, name Challenger or something like that.”

  “Calendar. That’s right. Can you tell me who delivered the gift in the first place?”

  He shook his head slowly. “It was already here when I came on duty. Sitting back there on that counter. Celina, who works the desk until three, told me to be sure to stop Mr. Calendar if I saw him and give him the bag.”

  Sam got the coworker’s name but he wouldn’t give out her number. She thanked him and stepped out to the sidewalk, dialing Beau’s cell.

  “I need to reach a Celina Romero who works as a desk clerk at the La Fonda.”

  He didn’t question, just tapped into one of his databases. “There are three Celina Romeros in the DMV records. One is aged seventy-eight, so that’s probably not the one.” He gave addresses of the other two. “Do not ever tell anyone how you got that information unless you want to see me lose my job.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ve got a pretty good idea which one it is and I just have one or two questions for her.”

  When her friend at the hotel desk talked about his coworker, Sam had the impression she was younger so she headed for the home of the Celina who was only twenty-five. The flat-roofed house was in an older neighborhood and when a woman in her fifties answered the door Sam realized that Celina lived with her parents.

  “She went to the market for me,” the elder Mrs. Romero said. “She should be home soon.”

  “If it’s okay, I’ll wait for her. I can sit out here in my truck.”

  “No, no, come on inside. I know you,” Mrs. Romero said. “You’re the bakery lady. I see your van driving around town sometimes, and my grandchildren love to come by for cookies after school.”

  She ushered Sam into a cube of a living room, filled with seventi
es furniture and a little shrine of the Virgin Mary against one wall. The smell of pinto beans reminded Sam that her parents would be arriving soon and she had absolutely no idea what she was feeding them for dinner. Hopefully, Rupert had gotten them a big lunch.

  “I need to check my tortillas,” Mrs. Romero said, leaving through a doorway where Sam could see a table with three place settings.

  Sam glanced anxiously at the digital clock numerals on a DVD player beneath the television set. Rupert could be pulling into town any minute. She gave Beau a quick call and asked if he would be home to let them in.

  Celina Romero came through the door just then, startled to see a stranger sitting on the avocado green sofa. Sam stood up, introduced herself and quickly posed her question.

  “I remember the purple bag. There was a note with his name on it clipped to the front.” And although she described Evie Madsen to a T, Celina couldn’t remember if Evie brought the bag or if she simply remembered Evie because she’d been staying with Jake.

  Sam left with one important fact stuck in her head. The police hadn’t mentioned a note.

  Chapter 16

  Speeding along the back roads of town, talking on her cell phone wasn’t a great idea. Sam knew this. But the revelation of the existence of a note with the poisoned cupcake was crucial. The handwriting on the note could prove that Sam didn’t send it. She reached Mark Nelson just as he was leaving his office.

  “Among the evidence the police showed to you, was there a note with Jake Calendar’s name on it? A note that would have been attached to that bakery bag.” She quickly explained what she’d just learned from the hotel staff.

  “I didn’t see one,” he said. “It sure doesn’t show up in the photograph of the evidence bag that contains the purple sack. And it’s not listed as a separate item on the evidence list.”

  “They can’t withhold that from us, can they?”

  “No, they have to disclose it. I’ll get on this first thing in the morning.”

  She must have let out a little whine.

  “Sam, I would do it now but I’m already late for a Rotary meeting where I’m the keynote speaker. Another night won’t hurt and I promise I won’t forget.”

  One look at the note, one sample of her own handwriting, and the prosecutors would have a very hard time making their case, but she quelled her impatience. What choice did she have? She headed toward home and when she pulled in at the big gate saw Rupert’s Land Rover parked in her usual spot, with Beau’s Explorer nearby.

  The smell of chicken and biscuits greeted her when she walked in. Beau, I love you, I love you.

  “Thought cooking tonight would be a strain,” he said when she hugged him.

  Her father was stretched back in the recliner, his nightly bourbon at hand, and Rupert was sniffing around the big deli box of fried chicken. It wasn’t terribly difficult to persuade him to stay.

  “Where have you been all day, Samantha Jane? You missed a beautiful day in Santa Fe.” Nina Rae held up an exquisitely woven shawl she must have purchased.

  Sam gave her mother a look. Trying to clear myself of a murder charge seemed a little more important than shopping . . . But she put on her smile and announced brightly that dinner was on the table.

  Rupert and Howard filled plates with chicken, coleslaw, three-bean salad and green salad. Beau saw to it that everyone’s drink glasses were filled, while Sam poured herself a half-glass of wine and sat beside the fireplace for a minute to unwind. When the others had settled around the table she joined them, picking the crispy coating off her chicken breast and dribbling only a few drops of dressing over her little pile of lettuce and tomato. That dress would still fit, no matter how long this investigation went on.

  The thought that it might take weeks to clear her name left Sam feeling deflated. She looked around the table—picturing her parents staying on forever, having to call on friends like Rupert to run interference, she and Beau simply wanting to start married life and get away on their trip, all while it felt like they weren’t gaining much in the way of evidence to free her—she felt her energy drain away.

  “Not hungry?” Beau whispered beside her. “I could get you something else.”

  She squeezed his hand under the table. “No, I’ll be fine.”

  The evening dragged by, with Rupert making a quick exit when they started another domino game suggested by Nina Rae. Finally, Sam left the elder Sweets to their late television news program and went upstairs for a shower and her favorite snuggly nightgown. Beau was waiting in bed when she came out of the bathroom.

  “Are you sure you’re doing okay?” he asked as she slid under the covers.

  “Sorry, it’s just a mood. I’m impatient to be done with this whole police thing that has messed up all our plans.”

  “Want to brainstorm a little?” He put an arm around her shoulders. “Did you ever contact that Celina Romero whose address I looked up for you?”

  Her mood lightened a little. She sat upright, facing him.

  “Actually, yes. I don’t know how this will play out but she said there was a note clipped to the bakery bag that held the cupcake. After I spoke to Celina I talked to Mark Nelson and asked him to review the evidence the police showed him. If that note is in there, it will be someone else’s handwriting. That fact alone could clear me.”

  “It would go a long way,” he said.

  “But what if the note isn’t there? I’m worried that it could have been lost anywhere along the way. Jake might have tossed it in the trash.”

  “Police would have taken the contents of the room’s waste baskets.”

  But there were other places, Sam thought. The bar, the lobby, some ashtray in the hall. She pulled herself away from that train of thought. No point envisioning how easily the note could have vanished.

  “What if the police are withholding that evidence, not including it with the information they gave Mark?”

  “Eventually, it would have to come out. It would take a very crooked cop with a personal vendetta to risk tampering like that.”

  She met his gaze. The chief himself didn’t like Beau. But was that reason enough to sabotage an investigation in order to harm Sam? Surely not.

  “I’ll ask my contact over at the PD to poke around and see what he can find. If that note was logged into evidence you have a right to see it.”

  “I’ll give a handwriting sample. It’ll be easy to prove I didn’t write it.”

  “Don’t volunteer too much too soon. Let’s see what they have first.”

  It was probably exactly what Mark Nelson would say, too.

  “What if Evie is involved in this? According to the bartender they were together just before going up to their room, and from the police timeline we know that he died within an hour after that.”

  “What’s her motive? To do this over an old girlfriend he hadn’t seen in thirty years, who was about to marry another man? Seems pretty extreme.”

  “Think how young Evie is. Kids these days take extreme measures. Look at a guy who’ll pick up a gun and take out a bunch of strangers just because he’s had a rough time of it at school.”

  “True. And it’s true that poisoning is typically more of a woman’s method for killing. Less confrontational.” He leaned back against the headboard. “Maybe we need to look at women with closer connections to Jake.”

  “Jake mentioned being married. Maybe Tom Calendar can give us more information, like names. We could check out the ex-wives.” She reached for her phone. “It’s an hour earlier in California—let me see if I can reach him.”

  Tom’s phone went to an answering machine and Sam left both her own and Beau’s numbers.

  “I don’t know . . .” she said after setting the phone aside. “Women might be poisoners but it seems a little farfetched that an ex-wife would go to these lengths.”

  And maybe that was another reason the police had homed in on Sam. She found her thoughts taking a circular route as she snuggled next to Beau and he t
urned out the lamp. When he began trailing little kisses along her neck and earlobe the problems sort of disappeared quickly.

  By daylight Sam was wide awake again, myriad thoughts coming at her like arrows at a target. She eased out of bed to let Beau sleep a little longer, showered, dressed in jeans and a favorite shirt. On her side of the bathroom vanity the wooden box looked up at her, perhaps a bit ignored in recent days.

  “You can help me,” she said, instantly chiding herself for talking to a hunk of wood.

  She picked it up and held it close. The familiar warm glow spread from her hands to her arms and soon energized her whole body. She set it down and opened the lid to choose a pair of beaded earrings.

  “That thing looks different,” Beau said in a fuzzy voice, walking in wearing pajama bottoms and a sleepy face.

  Sam glanced at the box. The quilt-patterned carving indeed retained some of the golden glow it always got when she held it. Although Beau knew of her experiences with the box’s power, he’d never actually witnessed it in action. She decided this wasn’t the time for a demo.

  “I dusted it yesterday,” she said.

  “You look so beautiful this morning, darlin’.” He wound his arms around her waist and nuzzled her hair. “Want to come back to bed?”

  Another effect of the box’s magic—Sam’s allure seemed to increase when she’d held it. How tempting to simply crawl back under the covers, pretend they were already on their honeymoon, ignore both her parents and the entire overriding problem with the police. He saw the flicker of emotions cross her face.

  “I know,” he said. “More important things to do today.”

  “Never more important—just necessary. Like solving this whole stupid mess so we really can enjoy ourselves.”

  He gave her a squeeze and turned on the shower. She blew him a kiss and left the room before the sight of him peeling off those pajamas could make her change her mind.

  Her parents’ bedroom door was closed, no strip of light showing at the bottom, so Sam tiptoed to the kitchen where she started coffee. Gathering her pack and jacket she let herself out and got into her truck. It wasn’t yet eight o’clock but she took a chance and dialed Mark Nelson’s office. The recorded message informed her that office hours were nine to five. Still, he might be there, working before the receptionist came in. She decided to take the chance and drop by.