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

by Shelton, Connie

  “. . . did you?” Nina Rae’s rambling narrative had apparently turned into a question.

  “Sorry, Mother, I—”

  “I know, honey.” She reached over to pat Sam’s knee. “You’ve got so much on your mind. Me asking about the flowers for your wedding was insensitive. I’m sorry.”

  Sam blinked away the sense of unreality. Wedding flowers and murder charges; a white gown and a jail cell; a string of suspects but no real leads . . . How had her life become so completely twisted around in only a week’s time?

  “Is it anything you want to tell me about?”

  How could she get into the complexities of the situation without facing a lot of questions about Jake and the past? She shook her head. “Nothing all that important. Let’s just enjoy our lunch.”

  The clouds seemed to have thickened, cooling the air. They quickly finished their salads and Nina Rae pulled cash from her purse.

  “My treat,” she said, reminding Sam of her mother’s generous nature. “I just love the looks of that little shop across the lane there. Can we take a peek on the way back to the truck?”

  “Sure. They’ve got some cute things; Kelly loves that place,” Sam said as they walked away from the sidewalk café.

  Before they reached the boutique, which sold purses, scarves and about a million little paper items like stationery and diaries, Sam’s phone rang.

  “Go ahead, Mother. I’ll be right in.” She noticed on the readout that it was Beau.

  “Hey there. I’m at a lull in the action here, waiting for a tow truck that’s probably at least fifteen minutes away. I thought I’d tell you that I got the police report on that altercation at Murphy’s Pub. It came in on the fax as I was walking out awhile ago.”

  “What’s it say? Who started it?”

  “No one seemed to know. According to three witnesses, Jake and Hulk Moscowitz had words and the next thing anyone knew a table was overturned and there was broken glass all over the place. The bartender called the cops before it could get worse.”

  “Well, Jake didn’t have any marks on him the next day. Maybe he got the better of the Hulk?”

  “It’s possible. No one was taken away for medical care, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t limp out with some minor injuries—either to his body or his ego.”

  “I get the idea with this Hulk guy that an ego injury would hurt worse.”

  He chuckled. “Probably so.”

  “But would he wait until the next day and go to the trouble of poisoning a cupcake, just to get even? He sounds more like a flash-temper sort of guy.”

  “Yeah, I agree. I see him more likely to wait in a dark alley than to plan something in advance. Doesn’t look like the police ever called him back in for more questions and no one filed charges.”

  “So we move Hulk whatshisname to the bottom of our list?”

  “Most likely. Are you still with your mother?”

  “I’m at the shopping arcade off Bent Street. Mother’s in one of the shops.” She moved a little farther from the door. “I’m just about ready to say screw the white dress and flowers and ceremony, let’s just get the judge to marry us right away.”

  “Really? You know my opinion. I’d do it right now.”

  “Couple problems. I need to be sure my dad isn’t really getting sick. I suspect it’s like usual—he lays low for a day or so just to have a little quiet time. But what if? So, once we’re sure about that, yeah. I’m ready. Well, except for the honeymoon. I can’t leave until I get my passport back. So, no ‘Ireland, here we come’ just yet.”

  “Hang in there. We’ll get this resolved.”

  “Call me again when you get back into town. Mother should be ready to go back to the house pretty soon.”

  A spur of the moment marriage in the judge’s chambers would work for Sam and Beau, but she knew her mother would be severely disappointed to see the gown and cake and flowers and dinner go to waste. This wasn’t over yet.

  Chapter 20

  Sam walked into the shop where her mother had disappeared, wondering what could possibly be taking so long. She found a middle-aged clerk standing near the north wall, arms out at her sides, scarves of four different colors draped over them.

  “I just can’t make up my mind, Samantha. What do you think?”

  “I think any of them would look great on you, Mother.”

  “They’re not for me—well, maybe just one. I’m getting one for you, one for Kelly, and one for Rayleen. Which colors go right for each of you?”

  Sam had never been much good with scarves but there was no sense declining the gift. She chose the one she thought Zoë would most like. The blue-green weave would look nice with Kelly’s eyes and she pointed it out, but she didn’t have a clue about her sister. Nina Rae quickly narrowed it down and finalized her purchase.

  “Now I suppose we’d best be getting back to your daddy. He’ll be wanting his favorite lunch for when he’s sick—I guess you call that ‘comfort food’—a grilled cheese sandwich and tomato soup. I bought everything back there at the grocery so I’ll get home and make it for him.”

  They arrived at the house to find Howard on the sofa with a sports channel on television, watching something that appeared to be a rerun of an old Super Bowl. A bowl of peanuts and glass of Coke sat on the coffee table, and he had the volume up so loud that he didn’t immediately realize they had walked in.

  “Hi, Daddy, we’re home,” Sam called out, in time for him to settle back into the cushions before Nina Rae could catch him pumping his fist at the screen.

  “I’m making your favorite lunch, Howard. Don’t go spoiling it with that junk food.”

  Sam crossed to the sofa and placed the back of her hand against his forehead. “You seem to be feeling better.”

  He wiggled his eyebrows at her. “Did you ladies have a nice morning out?”

  Sam imagined that he purposely made his voice a little weak. Nina Rae went on about how much trouble they’d had finding all the right cold medications, reminding Sam that getting the parents back home to Texas needed to be a priority if she wanted to keep her sanity.

  “I hope we don’t have to get you to a doctor out here,” Nina Rae said. “I’m not sure our insurance would cover it.”

  “We’re not in a foreign country, Mama. And I’m not all that sick.”

  Insurance. Sam’s mind zipped off in another direction while her parents kept up their habitual wrangling. Doralee Calendar had mentioned Jake’s insurance. Was she still the beneficiary? Could that be the real reason she’d come to Taos to wheedle Jake out of going through with the divorce? And, since she hadn’t been able to talk him out of stopping the divorce, maybe she’d decided there was more than one way to get that insurance money.

  Sam went upstairs where she puttered for a few minutes, making the bed and tidying the master bath, trying to decide what she might do toward solving her predicament. She held the wooden box close to her chest, hoping some answers would miraculously appear. Outside, Nellie and Ranger let out their happy-barks and a glance out the window told her that Beau was coming up the driveway. She dashed down the stairs.

  “Hey,” he said, pulling off his Stetson with a sweep. “You girls are back from town. It was on my way back so I thought I’d stop in to see how you’re feeling, Howard.”

  Sam thought her father looked as if he’d give anything to reverse the clock forty years and go to work for Beau’s department. The two men chatted for a few minutes; Beau told a funny story about one of his traffic arrests before he stood up to leave again.

  “I’ve thought of something else we should check out,” she said, walking with Beau out to the front porch. Her dad had finished his cheese sandwich and settled back on the couch, while her mother returned to wiping counter tops in the kitchen. She told him about Doralee and the insurance.

  “I can certainly do some checking on that,” he said. “At the very least we can probably find out if their divorce was completely finalized and whether Doral
ee was still named as his beneficiary.”

  “Can I come along? I feel completely useless here, dusting the furniture and pacing the floor.”

  “I’ll put you to work making phone calls,” he warned.

  “I’d love it.”

  “Better bring your vehicle, in case I get called out and can’t get back until late.”

  Twenty minutes later Sam settled opposite Beau at his desk. He’d already been pecking away at his computer keys, once in awhile stopping to jot down a name or phone number.

  “I had a thought,” she said. “Earlier, when I saw Doralee at the police station, she had a bunch of documents with her. It didn’t click with me then, but I remember seeing the logo for General Assurance Life. I’ll bet that’s the policy.”

  “They aren’t going to give you any information. An unrelated party.”

  She bit at her lip. “I could say that Jake is my daughter’s father and ask if she’s one of the beneficiaries on the policy. She won’t be, but maybe they’ll tell me who is.”

  He looked skeptical. “You can’t answer any of the security questions they’re bound to ask.”

  “Okay, how about this? I’ll call Tom Calendar and have him do it. He’ll know enough of Jake’s personal data that he can get through the questions. Legally, if the Doralee divorce was final, Tom probably is next of kin.”

  “Hey, it’s worth a try.”

  She talked to Tom for a few minutes while Beau continued to pull data from the computer.

  “He says he’ll be glad to find out,” she said.

  “Come look at this.” Beau turned his computer screen toward her. “Recognize this guy?”

  She stared at the hard face. The blond man who’d approached Jake on the plaza while Sam was talking to him.

  “Anthony Kozark,” Beau said.

  Sam recalled the few words she’d overheard. “I tell you, he sounded ominous when he made that remark about Jake getting a bad taco. In context, I could sure take that as a reference to poison.”

  Beau tapped at his notepad with a pencil. “I can’t rule it out. But that seems pretty risky. It doesn’t take a lot of cyanide to be fatal. And once the victim is dead, well, Kozark certainly wouldn’t get his money then.”

  “Unless he thought Jake had already gotten the money from me . . . Jake might have told him that. Once they knew Jake was dead they could easily be the guys who ripped my house apart looking for it.”

  Beau picked up the phone and Sam listened to his end of the conversation. An old contact of his in Las Vegas, whom Sam had met a few months back, said he would stake out Tony Kozark’s known haunts and pick him up for questioning. Toward the end of the conversation Beau uttered an “ugh” and made a face.

  “What was that last bit about?” Sam asked as soon as he set the phone down.

  “Kozark’s nickname in Vegas—The Nail. Wanna know why?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Because he’s been known to use a nail gun to teach lessons to those who don’t pay up. It’s his signature tactic.”

  “Nail gun? My god!”

  “Yeah. Ruskovik says last year they found some guy with his, um, private parts nailed to a wood floor. Says it’s usually just fingers or wrists. But none of the victims will talk, much less testify in court, so the police have never been able to officially pin any of the attacks on him.”

  Sam felt a little queasy. “Oh wow. I almost feel like Jake was lucky.”

  “He might have agreed with you on that. Anyway, I’m liking this Kozark less and less. Poison doesn’t seem like his style.”

  Sam nodded, trying to blur out the vision of the nail gun. Her phone rang.

  “Hi, Sam. Tom Calendar here. I have some information for you. General Assurance looked up Jake’s policy. The insurance is for three hundred thousand and Doralee is listed as sole beneficiary.”

  “Even if the divorce was final?”

  “He hadn’t changed it—so yeah, I guess so.”

  Sam thanked him and clicked off the call. She passed the information along to Beau.

  “So it looks like the person who ends up better off with Jake dead really is Doralee,” he said, tapping the pencil again. “I think I’d like to have a little chat with her. She’s at the Taos Inn?”

  Sam nodded.

  “Let’s go.” He strapped on the heavy belt that made his uniform complete—sidearm in holster, spare magazine, nightstick and cuffs. The sight of it made Sam not mind her extra ten pounds quite so much.

  The department cruiser covered the few blocks easily, other cars seeming to melt off to the sides of the road as Beau came up on them. He pulled into the hotel’s parking lot and rolled up to the front door.

  Amazing how much more cooperative desk clerks became when the county sheriff made the request, Sam thought. The fortyish woman eyed Beau appreciatively and nearly fell over herself to get the information he wanted.

  “Ms. Calendar was in room one-nineteen,” she said after a few taps at her keyboard. “But she checked out.”

  “When? I just saw her this morning.” Sam blurted it out without thinking.

  The clerk looked to Beau and realized he expected an answer to the question.

  “Just before noon.”

  Sam looked up at Beau and he nodded toward the big double entry doors. They walked out.

  “So Doralee is getting away,” Sam said. “She’ll go back to California, walk into that insurance office, and collect.”

  “She might be rightly entitled, Sam. But if not at least we can slow her down.”

  He flipped on the lights and siren, getting them back to his office in half the time. He whipped into his assigned parking slot and keyed the code for the back door. At his desk he picked up the file he’d locked into a drawer and flipped it open. In a moment he’d punched in the number for General Assurance Life.

  “Without a court order, I’m not sure this will stick,” he whispered to Sam while he waited on Hold. “But it might keep Doralee from cashing a check before we can put together the rest of the evidence.”

  No kidding. Put a shred of doubt into an insurance company’s files and you were bound to see delays.

  His attention snapped to the telephone. “Yes, this is Sheriff Beau Cardwell in Taos County, New Mexico . . .”

  Chapter 21

  “I need to get to the bakery and see how things are going,” Sam said after Beau had finished the call.

  She aimed an air kiss his direction and went out to her truck, zipping her jacket against the cooling afternoon air. The wind had picked up and the clouds were definitely darkening. She felt a sense of relief that they’d figured out a way to stop Doralee from cashing in on Jake’s death, but random thoughts still nagged at her.

  Why didn’t Doralee go right back to California after killing Jake? Why wait around town and try to claim his few personal possessions if she had a $300,000 payout coming? But still, she was their most viable suspect.

  Sam made the turn onto Camino de la Placita and slowed for traffic at the next four-way stop. A grey fuzz appeared near the hood of her truck.

  Two figures.

  She blinked and they were gone. Two phantom-like figures had appeared to her in Jake’s hotel room. She distinctly remembered them. What did they mean?

  She squeezed her eyes shut to get the vision back but a horn beeped behind her. She moved ahead until her turn came and she went through the intersection. A block later she was at Sweet’s Sweets, pulling into her customary spot in the alley behind the shop.

  “Hey there,” Becky said when Sam walked in. “Didn’t expect to see you today.”

  Sam took a moment to ask how each of them was doing and to check the stack of order forms. Two new wedding cakes and five birthday parties. Jen had done a good job of noting details and providing sketches; she would surely be able to handle whatever came through the door while Sam and Beau were away. If they ever got away.

  Out front in the sales room, the display cases were appropriately
depleted. By late afternoon Sam liked to see a couple dozen cookies and no more than two or three big desserts— assorted pies or cakes; the after-school kids and a few busy moms who needed a quick dessert would finish those off. A big part of their success depended on everything being made fresh every day and Sam and her crew prided themselves on estimating their needs for each day of the week. She wiped up a few spills from the beverage bar while Jen sold chocolate chip cookies to three girls in Catholic school uniforms.

  “Shall I tally up the drawer or do you want to?” Jen asked. She hit a key on the register to show Sam the sales for the day.

  “Looks good. You guys don’t seem to need me around here.” She chuckled and gave Jen a pat on the shoulder. “I better get back to the house and see what my parents are up to. You can go ahead and write up the deposit and get it to the bank tomorrow, if you don’t mind.”

  Jen nodded, turning to the sound of the little bells at the front door. Sam registered a middle aged woman whose eyes seemed intent on the one remaining apple tart. She turned back to the kitchen just as her phone vibrated in her pocket.

  “Got a second?” Beau asked. “I heard back from Ruskovik in Las Vegas. It doesn’t look like Kozark could be our guy. He was back in Vegas the day Jake died.”

  “But I saw him—”

  “Southwest Airlines had him leaving Albuquerque on a noon flight that put him into Vegas before two p.m.”

  “And Jake died in the late afternoon.” She ran through scenarios—Kozark delivering the cupcake and then leaving town, having one of his goons do it—but nothing really fit. Neither the style nor the timeframe.

  “Anyway, he’s out as a suspect.”

  “Which really leaves Doralee as the most likely.”

  “I’m almost looking forward to meeting with Pete Sanchez. The guy is a pretentious jerk and this time I can blow about a hundred holes in his case.”

  The memory of the two smoky figures went through Sam’s head again. One had seemed slight, like Doralee. So, who was the other one? “Something about Doralee bothers me. I just can’t quite put my finger on it yet.”