Spooky Sweet

by Connie Shelton

  Beau gave him an encouraging smile.

  “So, anyway, we slow way down and I see some orange cones. I wasn’t unhappy for the little break in the motion, you know. We come to a stop and I can hear Tansy start to say something. Then bam! And it takes me a minute but then I say to Rudy … I go, ‘That was a gunshot.’ And his eyes are like dinner plates and he rushes to the back door.”

  Beau watched for any sign of a lie. Saw none.

  “And I’m yelling at him, like, ‘No, man, you can’t open that door,’ and he’s just, like, doing it anyway. A guy in a black ski mask and all-black clothes was standing right there at the door and he whacks Rudy across the wrist. Rudy’s gun goes flying and the guy in black is staring at me with these hard, scary eyes.”

  “What color? The eyes.”

  “Um, I don’t know … not real light, like blue … maybe light brown or green? I tell you, it was all I could do not to piss my pants, man. He’s got this rifle aimed at my face. He orders me to put down my weapon. I had no thought of being a hero, I’ll tell you. I just did it. When he told me to toss the bags out the door, I did that too.”

  Pedro’s hands were shaking as he gestured, acting out the movements of the previous day, and his mouth trembled once he stopped talking.

  Beau gave him a moment to process everything. “Was it just the one robber?”

  “No. Once the bags were out the door, this guy would reach down with his left hand and toss a bag to another guy. He never took that right hand off the rifle, though. Never aimed it away from us, either.”

  “The other guy, the one receiving the bags—what did he do with them?”

  Pedro glanced toward the ceiling, remembering. “I never left the truck and the open door was kind of in the way. I heard movements, like footsteps scrambling around on the dirt at the roadside. But the men weren’t talking to each other. I guess they just used hand signals or something. Rudy might of seen them better. When he jumped out of the truck and the guy in black hit him, he fell on the ground. I could see him kind of holding onto his hurt arm but he didn’t dare get up with that gun practically in his face.”

  Beau nodded and let him keep talking.

  “The bags disappeared, like one-two-three, the footsteps ran a little ways and then a vehicle drove off. Real fast.”

  “Did you see the vehicle?” Beau heard the hope in his own voice.

  “Nah, man. Time I ran to the side of the truck it had already gone around a bend in the road. Tansy was moaning, still belted in her seat and there was a lot of blood splattered on the windshield and some dripping down the outside of her side window. I reached for my radio and just started shouting for help.”

  “From the sound of the getaway vehicle, do you have any idea what type it was? Small, large, diesel …?”

  Pedro thought for a moment before responding. “Mid-size or large, maybe a pickup truck or SUV? I’m only guessing, man. I didn’t actually see it.”

  “That’s okay. Maybe Rudy did. What you’ve told me is very helpful.”

  He gave Pedro a few more minutes in case he thought of anything to add, but the guard was pretty much wrung out. Beau suggested he use his additional days off to rest and to be sure he took advantage of the counseling the company offered. Out in the reception area, he could hear Tim Beason showing the other guard to the door, reminding him to call if he thought of anything else. Beau waited until Rudy drove away before releasing Pedro. Not that keeping them apart these few extra minutes would make any difference at all. If the two planned to cook up a story together, they’d already done it by now.

  Chapter 9

  Sam piped black cats on four dozen sugar cookies and added them to the tray of jack-o-lanterns and ghosts to go out front in the display case. School would be out in twenty minutes and the local kids loved to run by the bakery and get a cookie to munch on the way home. At the other end of the worktable Becky was setting the topper on a wedding cake.

  For the moment, the workload felt routine and under control but another large batch of chocolates was on schedule for the first of next week, a fact which was never far from Sam’s mind. Last night’s dinner and discussion with Darryl about the cost of a new facility weighed heavily. His sketches had helped her to think big, to visualize the future, to see Sweet’s Sweets as more than a small neighborhood pastry shop. With the need for space so urgent right now, it was tempting to leap in and risk several hundred thousand to expand her business.

  Nearly a half-million dollars. The size of a loan like that scared the bejeezus out of her.

  “What do you think?” Becky asked.

  Sam was about to admit her money worries until she saw Becky was pointing at the cake she’d just finished. It was for a couple whose joy in life was horticulture and Sam had turned her assistant loose with the design. Becky had created delicate orchids from sugar paste and painted them with tiny dots, mimicking some photographs she’d collected. The three tiers of purple flowers against a sunny yellow background were spectacular.

  “It’s fantastic,” Sam said. “They will love it.”

  “I’ll get it into the walk-in. It doesn’t get delivered until tomorrow.”

  Sam’s phone rang as she slid the cookie tray into the display case in the sales room. The bistro tables were filled with the afternoon crowd who loved Sam’s signature blend coffee to go with a slice of amaretto cheesecake. She smiled toward the customers and walked back to the kitchen to take the call from Beau.

  “How’s it going?” she asked.

  “I’m on the way back now.” He talked above engine noise in the background with his phone on speaker. “Interviews in Springer went fine, then Sheriff Beason and I compared notes over lunch. Both guards had pretty much the same story. One of them got a better look at the robbers than the other, but the men all wore masks. I don’t know … this one won’t be a slam dunk. The armored car company is going to publicly offer a reward for information and return of the missing money. That might pull some leads our way.” He cleared his throat. “How about you? Still upset over the conversation with Darryl last night?”

  “Well, I won’t say I was really upset. At least not with him.”

  “You sure were restless all night for someone not upset.”

  “Okay, so I’m a little discouraged about it. I’d love to take the business to that level, but I don’t have even a fraction of the cash it would take and you know how I feel about borrowing.”

  “Especially on that scale—I can’t disagree with you darlin’. Oops, hang on. Another call’s coming in.”

  The background sounds went blank for nearly a full minute and Sam began to wonder if she’d lost the call.

  “Okay, I’m back,” Beau said. “That was Rico. We may have just caught a break in the case. Somebody found the stolen bank bags at a picnic area, one of those places in the canyon. He’s interviewed the picnickers and wants me to come by the office before I go home for the day.”

  They ended the call with Sam wishing him luck that the new evidence would be exactly the lead the department needed. She’d hardly returned the phone to her pocket when it rang again.

  “Hey there,” Zoë said when Sam answered. “I hope you’re doing all right today. You guys left kind of quickly last night. Everything okay?”

  “Oh, yeah. Really just had a lot to wrap my head around. And I’m afraid I still don’t quite know what to tell Darryl. I loved the plans but—”

  “He’s had some other ideas for you. Got a second to talk to him?”

  Before Sam could respond, Zoë had handed the phone over.

  “Sam, hey. I hope I didn’t upset you last night? I want you to be honest about the plans. Were they not what you had in mind? Because I don’t want you to worry about hurting my feelings or anything like that. We’ve been friends way too long for that.”

  It had been a concern, dealing with a friend and ending up with hard feelings over the project.

  “Just wanted you to understand that the sketches I did were
aimed at a “dream world” scenario. Another possibility is that we look around for an existing space you can either buy real cheap or lease for a year.”

  Cheap real estate in Taos simply did not exist—Sam already knew that. But a lease could be a good idea. She’d have a place to go right away and still have the option of quitting or staying once she had a better feel for how the business might continue with Stan Bookman.

  “I was able to help you renovate your existing space,” Darryl reminded. “I’d be happy to do the same with a new one.”

  “I like it,” Sam said, feeling a wave of relief. “Let’s go on that basis. I don’t know when I’ll find the time, but maybe if I put all my friends on the search we’ll come up with the absolutely perfect spot.”

  “Okay, then. Look around, find a location you like, and give me a call when you’re ready.” She could hear the smile in his voice as he said goodbye.

  Yeah, just cruise around town looking for empty space to accommodate a chocolate factory. Where was this spare time going to come from? Sam tamped down her impatience. It certainly wasn’t Darryl’s fault her hours were crammed to the max.

  She picked up a tray of brownies and began to spread chocolate buttercream frosting on them. She plopped a small Mexican-style sugar skull on each of the brownies and carried the tray to the sales room.

  Jen moved items around, making space for the new brownies on the top shelf. One customer remained at a table, a woman Sam recognized although she couldn’t place the connection.

  “So, I hear Darryl might be working on a new spot for the chocolate operations,” Jen said as she wiped crumbs from the countertop.

  “Yeah, we’ve discussed a few options. Our latest idea is to find an existing location and he’ll outfit it the way I want. We don’t need a store front, but it’s got to be large enough for production, office space and shipping. I’m hoping we don’t run into hassles with the zoning laws—you know, running a food production facility can get tricky.”

  “It would be great if it had some kind of special ambiance, though,” Jen offered. “I don’t know what, exactly, but you work best, Sam, when you’re in a creative environment.”

  It was true. Sam loved Sweet’s Sweets’ location in the old adobe building just off the historic Taos Plaza. Even though she was in the kitchen most of the day, the place with its view toward the older buildings in town, its purple awnings and wide display windows—all of it added to the atmosphere which made the bakery so special.

  “I might be able to help.” The customer spoke up so quickly Sam almost jumped.

  She’d forgotten they were speaking in front of an outsider. The woman with the dark, smooth pageboy wiped her fingers on her napkin as she stood. She crossed the room in three strides.

  “Victoria Benson,” she said, extending her hand. “Benson Realty. If it’s not our listing, no problem.” That last bit sounded like part of an advertising jingle.

  Sam shook Victoria’s hand. “The thing is, I’m not quite sure—”

  “Actually, it sounds like you have a very good idea what you want. Spacious, commercial, a bit classic. Sorry, I couldn’t help but overhear.” Victoria didn’t look at all apologetic. “And I meant what I said about listings. We work with all the other local agencies as well as the major national firms and MLS. Whether it’s a purchase or a lease we’ll find you something.”

  Sam felt her mouth flap open. She closed it and stared at Victoria.

  “Well, yes, it would need to be a lease. At least at first. We might talk about purchasing later on.”

  “Okeydokey. I’ll do some research on this and get back very soon.” Victoria reached for one of Sam’s business cards near the register. In a seamless move she stuck it in her pocket and came out with her own, which she handed to Sam.

  With a quick little wave, Victoria turned toward the door. “Don’t you worry about a thing.”

  Sam and Jen exchanged a wide-eyed look. What was it about the universe providing exactly what you needed at the right moment? Was this providence or the fact that Sam had handled the carved box this morning?

  Chapter 10

  Sara Cook sat at the kitchen counter, her history book open in front of her. Who cared who-all signed the Declaration of Independence? Sheesh. Of everyone on earth, this could only be important to Mr. Iverson. She’d rather be taking a test tomorrow on something that would actually help her out in life—like how to make her mom never have cancer.

  Matt was making a peanut butter sandwich. One. For himself.

  “Hey, how about one of those for me, too?”

  He looked at her as if she was speaking French (another useless school subject, in Sara’s opinion).

  “Sandwich? For your sister?”

  “Please …” he taunted.

  “Okay, please …”

  He reached for the bread and she noticed he’d not bothered to put the twisty thing back on the wrapper. No wonder bread around here was always dried out by the time she got any. He slapped two slices down on the counter and dipped the knife he’d already licked back into the peanut butter jar. She cringed but it wasn’t worth the argument.

  He’d covered about half the slice when his phone rang. Matt jammed the knife back into the jar and pulled the phone from his pocket. He scowled at the readout and said, “Yeah.”

  Sara heard a male voice at the other end. Most likely Wolfe, Matt’s best buddy and the only one who ever phoned her jerky brother. Matt noticed she was watching. He abandoned the sandwich project and stalked away to his bedroom, giving the door a shove. Sara noticed it didn’t latch closed. When Matt’s voice dropped she simply slid off her stool and tiptoed over there for a listen.

  What could be so secretive between him and Wolfe Hanson? They’d known each other since she was six, and Sara had probably heard every secret conversation the boys ever conducted. Wolfe might as well be their other brother.

  “What do you mean—missing?” Matt said, forgetting for a minute to keep his voice low.

  More chatter from Wolfe’s end of the call.

  “Yeah, well, Kurt’s not my boss.” Then quieter. “Really? What’d he say?”

  Quiet for a full two minutes. Sara began to think they’d hung up when Matt spoke again.

  “Your uncle’s house is empty? I never knew that.” He seemed intrigued. “Nobody, huh? Yeah, tell Kurt about it. Maybe he’ll chill out a little.”

  Hmm. Sara wondered what that was all about. And who was this Kurt guy?

  She heard Matt’s bedsprings squeak. A peek through the opening showed he was standing now, pacing the far side of the room by his bureau. He took something from the top drawer, turned around and heaved himself back onto the bed.

  She was going to mention the squeaky bed one of these days. Matt thought he was so damn sophisticated, bringing girls here sometimes when Mom was at her chemo appointments. His door would be closed tight but the bed squeaked like crazy. Sara hadn’t actually done that yet, but she sure knew what it was about. Dweeb. What did he think?

  She realized everything had gone quiet. Did he know she’d been listening. Her socks padded across the hall carpet and she practically leaped the last few feet to the kitchen, where she picked up the gooey knife and finished making her own sandwich. She spotted the folded newspaper she’d tucked near the breadbox yesterday and pulled it out.

  Again, she wondered about the woman driver who had been injured in the robbery. And the cash. What if—? Nah. But if she’d kept a few of those hundred-dollar bills she’d found, she wouldn’t be eating peanut butter right now.

  “What are you doing!” Matt snatched the newspaper away.

  She stared up at him. “Eating my sandwich, jerk-face. Trying to finish my homework.”

  “Like hell. You were listening to me and Wolfe talking. I saw how you sneaked my door open.”

  “Did not! You didn’t close it good.” Oops, shouldn’t have admitted I even noticed it.

  Mom’s voice came from the other bedroom. “Mat
thew? Sara? Are you both home now?”

  “You just mind your own business,” he hissed. He grabbed his sandwich, resting it on the folded newspaper, and headed for his room.

  Sara got up and went to her mother. “Yeah, Mom. We’re both home. Can I bring you some more of that soup I made you for lunch?” Campbell’s chicken noodle—not exactly homemade.

  “That’s okay, honey. I’m not real hungry right now.” She reached a very thin hand up and took Sara’s. “Just wanted to be sure both my kids are safe and sound for the night. I think I’ll just go back to sleep now.”

  Sara gently closed the door so her mother could rest. Tomorrow was another chemo day. Matt would drive Mom there and Sara would walk to the clinic after school and stay until he came back to pick them up. For now, she’d better finish studying for her useless history exam.

  When she passed Matt’s door she debated trying to talk to him, to find out what had agitated him so much just now with Wolfe’s call. But the door was closed tightly this time. She thought she could hear Matt’s voice again, but this time he’d turned on his TV to cover his conversation.

  What the hell was going on with him?

  Chapter 11

  Beau walked into the squad room and found Rico filling out evidence logs. Piles of cloth, each bagged in official red-banded plastic, sat on the deputy’s desk.

  “Hey, boss,” Rico said, looking up.

  “These are the bank bags?”

  “Yeah. Five of ’em.”

  Beau picked up one. It was exactly as described by Phil Carlisle at the armored car company. Heavy canvas stamped with the name and logo of the First Bank of Springer, hefty steel grommets around the top with a coated metal cable and padlock. He turned the bag in his hands. Although the fabric appeared to be reinforced, the robbers had managed to cut a long slit—no doubt the way they had removed the money.

  “They’re all cut the same way,” Rico said.