Spooky Sweet

by Connie Shelton

  “Sorry, Beau,” Claudine said, “but you know how it is when we get busy in here. Until fifteen minutes ago, I hadn’t slowed down since seven o’clock this morning.”

  The cook, Maria, was even less help. She’d arrived at five-thirty, prepped for breakfast and had barely taken a breath since the front door was unlocked. She seemed glad for the chance to sit down for a couple of minutes, wiping sweat from her forehead with one of the paper napkins from the dispenser on the table.

  Rupert, meanwhile, paid his check and left, giving Beau a little talk to you later nod. Through the front windows, Beau saw him get into his Land Rover but he didn’t leave the parking lot.

  Beau was about to carry the bag out to his cruiser and lock it inside, thinking he would use the opportunity to get Rupert’s impressions of the morning’s events, but the other waitress, Sandy Bartles, walked in just then. He wanted to speak with her before the lunch crowd began to distract her.

  Sandy was another parent whose son had been on that same Little League team so they started the conversation on that basis, Beau telling her how much he’d enjoyed the coaching experience back in the days when he was still a deputy and, for the most part, worked regular hours. Now married and holding office he’d had to give up some of his simpler pastimes.

  “Yeah, I’d say the kid in black was probably no more than fourteen, fifteen,” she said when he got around to asking. “Voice hadn’t changed yet. Real soft-spoken, wouldn’t hardly make eye contact. We were slammed, so I didn’t exactly reach out either, you know. Took the order—I think it was the burrito—delivered plates to all my tables, refilled coffees. You know. Rupert came in about then and we got talking a little. He’s used me as a character in one of his books, you know.” She preened a little.

  Beau said he didn’t know that. He asked about the black bag, whether Sandy had actually seen the kid carry it in.

  “I really couldn’t swear to it,” she said. “I couldn’t say he didn’t, either, you know. There seemed something familiar … but with the hat and the black coat … I just don’t know.”

  Beau made notes, although there wasn’t much in the way of facts to write down. A glance outside told him Rupert was still waiting in his vehicle, which was odd. Beau’s impression of the writer was he felt his time was valuable. People waited for him, not the other way around. He thanked Sandy for her help, once again left his card in case she wanted to add anything. He picked up the black bag and purposely ignored Bubba as he walked out. The man had already said his piece and it didn’t seem anything useful to Beau.

  He locked the bag in the back of his department SUV and walked over to Rupert’s Land Rover.

  “Quite a puzzle,” he said, sliding into the passenger seat. “Good thing you called it in or old Bubba would have made himself a few thousand dollars richer, it seems.”

  “Sam always tells me how observant I am, always looking for interesting characters to stick into a storyline. This time it paid off.”

  “So you noticed the kid in black right away?”

  Rupert opened a small compartment on the console of his vehicle, took out a packet of gum and offered Beau a stick before taking one for himself. Beau declined but Rupert unwrapped his and used the extra time to put together his thoughts.

  “He was there when I arrived, so no, I didn’t see him carry the bag in—if he’s the one who left it there. And that’s if he was a he. All I saw was a thin, waif-like being. Could have been male or female. The black coat was huge on the kid, almost dragged the boot tops, certainly didn’t reveal anything about figure or build.”

  Beau jotted notes and let the writer keep talking.

  Rupert discarded the gum wrapper into his ashtray. “His hair was blond and had that dry, straw-like texture which could mean it had been bleached too frequently or over-processed with heat and products.”

  “Everyone else said the kid was wearing a knit cap.”

  “That’s right. But these shaggy ends of blond stuck out around the edges. The contrast was, I guess, what caught my eye. Black clothes, black cap, stark white-blond hair. Something artistic about it.”

  “What about facial features?”

  “I got the briefest of glimpses, only when he got up to leave, I’m afraid. He was sitting with his back to me for the most part. Didn’t make eye contact when he stood up to go. No facial hair—I can tell you that for sure. Kind of a delicate jawline. I have an impression of dark eyes, but as I said he really didn’t look directly at me.”

  “Did he get up and leave quickly? I mean, would that explain why he forgot the bag?”

  Rupert’s eyes squinted momentarily as he tried to recall. “Yes, somewhat quickly. He didn’t go up to the register to pay—I did notice that—just headed directly for the door. There was a wadded up five-dollar bill on the table and maybe a couple of ones … money he left for Sandy to pick up.”

  “And once he went out the door, did you see which direction he went? Did he get into a car? Pause to look around? Any sign he’d remembered the bag and debated coming back for it?”

  At each question, Rupert simply shook his head. “Not that I noticed. Once out the front door, I assume he headed east—there are no windows on that end of the building.”

  “Okay, thanks, man. That’s been a help,” Beau said, opening the door beside him. “You know the drill … if you think of anything else to add, just let me or Sam know.”

  He walked toward his cruiser and watched Rupert start his own vehicle and drive away. From the front window of the café, Bubba Boudreaux stared out. When the man realized Beau had seen him, he stepped back into the shadows.

  Beau rechecked the locked doors on his SUV and walked over to the east end of the restaurant building. Rupert was right—there were no windows here, just a solid wall that had once been painted with some kind of mural. It might have been a scene of the Taos Pueblo and nearby mountains, but it was faded now to an unrecognizable blur.

  Footprints were non-existent on the gravel driveway and parking area, but Beau looked anyway. Along the building’s foundation wild daisies grew in the summer months, although their stalks had gone crispy brown now. Wind had deposited scraps of trash and two faded-out plastic Walmart shopping bags among the plant debris. Bubba could certainly spend a little less time schmoozing at his corner table and a bit more time maintaining the property. Beau supposed it didn’t matter; Charlotte’s Place had all the business it could handle anyway.

  He scanned the area but saw no sign of the waif-creature Rupert and the others had described. With a rustic furniture shop on one side, a beauty salon on the other, and a gas station at the corner there were plenty of places between and behind the freestanding buildings for an agile young person to quickly vanish. Odds were, even if the kid had hung around in hopes of going back for the duffle bag, once the sheriff’s cruiser showed up he’d hightailed it and put as much distance as possible between them.

  So, what was the story here? Beau pondered the question as he drove back to his office. First thing would be to figure out where all that cash had come from.

  Chapter 3

  Sam edged her way between the end of her worktable and the wall, holding a large cardboard carton filled with the satin-boxed chocolates as high above the fray as she could manage. Becky shifted aside to let her pass.

  “I really wasn’t joking when I wished for an extra thousand square feet in this kitchen,” she said, puffing a little with the exertion, wishing she could magically lose twenty pounds.

  Becky looked as if she wanted to voice an opinion but substituted a weary smile instead. Sam sympathized. They could all complain about the crowded conditions but it wasn’t changing anything.

  “Getting these three cartons out the door will help,” Sam said. “I’m taking them to the airport now, putting them safely in the hands of Book It Travel and one of their jets, then I’ll deliver the Chaves wedding cake. I’m going to figure out a solution for this—I promise—as soon as I have more than four consecuti
ve minutes without my hands full or six people needing my attention all at once.”

  The phone rang, two lines lighting up, to punctuate her statement.

  “Tell Jen to take messages. If I stop to take calls now I’ll miss that plane.” She hipped the back door open and wrestled the carton to the back of her delivery van.

  Strapping the three large cartons against one side of the van and bracing the wedding cake so nothing could slide around and create a disaster, Sam got in and started up. As she pulled out of the alley, she spotted the deli from which Beau’s lunchtime gift had come. Had she actually eaten her sandwich? She couldn’t remember. No time to think about it now. She joined the line of cars slowly creeping their way through the four-way stop at the corner and kept her eye on the dashboard clock.

  The Taos airport sits out on a high, flat plain crowded with sagebrush. Over the years, several small airlines had attempted scheduled flights but the cost was high and passengers few so most only lasted a short time. Presently, only private aircraft came and went with any regularity, Mr. Bookman’s among the most notable.

  Although he maintained Book It Travel’s corporate offices in Houston, Stan Bookman had told Sam his reason for living in Taos was because he could. He’d grown up in the area and loved it. With high-desert sage on the west, the Sangre de Cristo Mountains on the east, world-class skiing practically out his back door in the winter, cool summers that were hard to find most other places—well, she couldn’t disagree with his reasoning at all.

  In the age of jet travel and internet bookings, there was no reason for him to stay in some big city if he didn’t want to. His fleet of private jets catered to the sorts of people who flew to Paris for lunch or London for a show, with no more drama than most people gave to driving to their local dining and entertainment locales.

  She pulled alongside the curb at the small terminal building, caught the eye of Herman, the fixed base operator’s front-counter man, and he waved her through the side gate onto the tarmac. Deliveries from her colorfully decorated bakery van were becoming commonplace out here. A small Learjet sat on the apron and Sam could see coolers of food being loaded aboard. She pulled alongside and Book It Travel’s locally based crew chief met her at the foot of the retractable stairs. He called a couple of mechanics over and they graciously took the large boxes from the back of her van.

  “These are for the Houston office,” she said, consulting the order form in her folder. “I assume I have the correct flight?”

  “You got it, Sam. Your timing was perfect—we take off in ten minutes.”

  As he said it, she saw a power couple in designer casual wear emerge from the terminal. They’d obviously made a shopping stop at the Overland Sheepskin Company’s large retail store on the north end of town. Both wore the latest in lambskin jackets, the lady sporting a pair of turquoise-trimmed boots that must have cost well over a thousand dollars. The man carried a spacious leather garment bag, which he handed off to the crew chief with hardly a glance. For a flash of a moment Sam wondered what it would be like, shopping and traveling on that scale, being the person who walked out the door and onto her plane without the hassles of parking, check-in or miles-long security lines. She couldn’t imagine what kind of money it took to do this.

  Well, perhaps if Bookman’s contract continued beyond the initial one-year term and if the money continued to roll in, maybe she and Beau would plan some kind of classy jaunt, if only to see the lifestyle up close once. On the other hand, ostentation wasn’t her style and she’d more likely figure out some charitable cause for the extra money.

  She closed the van’s rear doors, hopped in and drove back toward the highway. The wedding cake was due at one of the hotels up at Taos Ski Valley and she headed that direction, chafing a little at the extra time these two out-of-the-way deliveries were taking from the massive stack of orders back at the shop.

  The road to Taos Ski Valley felt longer than ever but in reality it took Sam all of thirty minutes to reach the Bern Haus Hotel and get the four-tier cake set up in the ballroom designated for the wedding reception. With no delicate cargo aboard now, she let her foot get a little heavy on the gas during the return trip. She’d just passed the turnoff for home (sigh …) and slowed to match the traffic where the road narrowed and roadside businesses began to appear when her phone chimed.

  She saw Zoë Chartrain’s name on the readout. She’d had precious little time for her best friend in recent weeks. She tapped the speaker button so she could keep both hands on the wheel. The traffic light ahead turned yellow and she slowed.

  “I know you’re busy,” Zoë said, her words rushing out. “I’m not going to take up your time, wanted to just literally say hi, and I’ll let you go.”

  “It’s okay. I’m at a stoplight at the moment and there’s a funeral procession crawling through the intersection.”

  “How’ve you been? Work must be crazy, huh?”

  “It is. There’s no denying it. We’re crammed together in the shop … I know I need more space … and I’ve found no time at all to think about what to do.”

  “Darryl’s kind of at a lull in the construction business,” Zoë said. “If you’d like to talk to him about it …?”

  Sam mentally kicked herself. The idea of asking her best friend’s husband to quote the cost of renovations should have occurred to her the moment they moved that second worktable into the kitchen.

  “It’s a great idea, Zoë. I’m not sure when—”

  “Are you still eating, these days?” Zoë asked it with a laugh in her voice.

  “Sitting at a table? Barely.”

  “So, how about you and Beau come over for dinner tomorrow night? We are blessedly free of guests this week and it would be my pleasure to cook for you guys. You’d have all evening to fill us in and chat about the expansion.”

  It was rare when Zoë and Darryl’s bed and breakfast was empty, more rare when the four of them got together as couples. Screw the workload at the shop, Sam decided. Tomorrow, she would force herself to leave the minute the front door was locked.

  “Six-thirty?” Zoë was asking.

  “Let’s do it!” Traffic began to crawl forward and they ended the call.

  Half of Sam worried she wouldn’t finish the next batch of chocolates if she didn’t put in some evenings this week; the other little voice inside reminded her that she needed a personal life. Plus, she would be accomplishing something for the business at the same time.

  At Civic Plaza Drive, with traffic backed up as far as the eye could see, she made a hasty decision, turned right, and passed the sheriff’s department. Feeling a little guilty that she’d had no time for him earlier in the day, she decided telling Beau about dinner with the Chartrains was a good enough reason to pop in at his office. When a parking spot on the street opened up, it seemed the quick stop was meant to be.

  Chapter 4

  Beau stared at the banded stacks of money on his desk. Sequential numbers, new bills. This cash had not come from some drug launderer’s stockpile or the mattress hoard of an old dude. He’d spoken to an Agent Mike Frazer at the Treasury, read off some of the numbers and was waiting for a callback. Meanwhile, it would be a good idea to make calls to other law enforcement in the surrounding counties to see what info he might glean from them.

  Movement outside the window facing the squad room caught his attention. A second later his doorknob jiggled and someone tapped. Sam’s face appeared at the window. He crossed the room and opened the locked door for her.

  “Wow—did the county give you a raise?” she said with an impish grin on her face.

  “I wish.” He offered her one of the guest chairs as he went back to his own seat. “Remember when Rupert called this morning—said something about found money?”

  Her eyes widened and she remained standing. “Guess it was more than a lost wallet.”

  “No kidding. I’m trying to track it down now.”

  “Well, I can’t stay. Just wanted to let you know
that we’re invited to Zoë and Darryl’s tomorrow night for dinner. I’m making myself a vow to leave my shop on time and not let anything interfere.”

  “Sounds good.” His eyes went to the money pile again.

  “Try not to let a new case tie up all your time,” she pleaded. “Six-thirty, tomorrow night.”

  “I’ll plan on it.” He sent a reassuring smile her way. Surely, once he knew where the money came from it would mainly be a matter of turning it back over to the rightful owner. The least he could do was make time for dinner with his wife and their friends.

  Sam circled his desk and gave him a kiss. “Gotta run. I’ll call you later and we’ll decide what we’re doing tonight.”

  He stood and saw her to the back door, never quite taking his eyes off the loot on his desk. They kissed again, briefly, and she headed out. His phone was ringing when he got back to the desk.

  “Sheriff Cardwell?” said a male voice with the right degree of authority to be federal.

  “Speaking.”

  “Mike Frazer with Treasury. We spoke earlier when you called about serial numbers on a set of bank notes. I’ve got some information for you.”

  Beau reached for his notepad.

  “All the notes in question were transferred from the Federal Reserve Bank in Dallas to the First Bank of Springer two days ago. That’s who you should talk with, to find out where the money went next.”

  “Thanks,” Beau said absently, making notes.

  Frazer ended the call. Beau wasn’t familiar with the bank the agent mentioned. The town of Springer was in Colfax County. But he did know the sheriff there—had, in fact, been about to call the man when Sam dropped by. He jotted himself a note so he wouldn’t forget the dinner she’d scheduled, then flipped through his contacts to find Tim Beason’s number.