They passed through the dining room, which was nearly the size of the entire work area at Sweet’s Sweets, into the kitchen. Pipes stuck out of the walls beneath a good-sized east-facing window. Otherwise, the room was empty.
“As you can see the kitchen has been gutted. The estate executors apparently commissioned the work because everything was hopelessly outdated and they knew a potential buyer would change everything anyway.”
Which meant they wanted to sell the property, something she almost certainly knew she couldn’t afford. Why was Victoria wasting her time with this place?
“A small vestibule leads to the back door, actually a side door where I showed you the portico earlier. There’s a butler’s pantry and a housekeeper’s room back here,” Victoria was saying, oblivious. They passed a bathroom with quaint fixtures. “The plumbing and electrical were updated in the 1980s—not ultra modern, but certainly serviceable.”
She walked on, heading up the stairs. “There are three bedrooms and two bathrooms upstairs. Goodness, you could even move in and live here! The ambiance of this place is just amazing.”
Sam pushed through the rooms. A thick layer of dust coated the banisters and the hardwood floors. Although she could envision the home’s former elegance, she wasn’t quite picturing the old place as a chocolate-making facility. By the time they reached the front porch again, the light was fading and so was Sam.
“I’d have to think long and hard about it,” she said to Victoria.
“Of course, you’ll want to act quickly. Rental space in Taos is somewhat at a premium these days, since there isn’t a lot of new construction. Both of these locations would be within the budget you mentioned. In fact, with this particular one, you would get more than double the square footage for essentially the same cost.”
Sam could tell Kelly was squirming with unspoken thoughts.
“As I said, I’ll need to think about both.”
Victoria’s smile was perfunctory this time. She locked the door and made certain to leave another of her business cards with Sam.
Chapter 13
Kelly couldn’t sit still long enough to get out the driveway.
“Mom, it’s fantastic! Did you see the size of those rooms? Plenty of work space and storage downstairs, offices upstairs with beautiful views. I’ll bet the original owner intentionally faced that master bedroom toward Taos Mountain.”
She turned toward the house when they reached the road and snapped a picture with her camera. A full moon was rising behind the turret.
“Look, Mom! Look at that.”
Sam pulled the van to the side of the road and stopped. If she squinted so the scene blurred a little, she could look past the fading paint and overgrown yard and see that the house had excellent lines.
“I can see it as the logo for the candy line. Sweet’s Chocolates.” Kelly swept her hands in an arc. “We could do labels for the boxes, make brochures …”
Sam put the van in gear again. “You’re getting way ahead of yourself. What if that’s not the name we choose? What if I decide on the other place?”
Kelly made a face. “What kind of logo is that tan, square boxy thing going to make? Uck.”
Her daughter had a point.
“But it’s closer to the shop. I’m going to be running back and forth a lot.”
“This one is much closer to home.” Kelly pointed to the intersection they were approaching. “If you turn left here and follow that lane, it comes out right near the ranch.”
It would be closer to the airport, too, Sam realized.
She made the turn. “I needed something from home anyway, so let’s just test that theory.”
Surprisingly, in four minutes they’d come to the highway. Sam recognized the spot as being slightly north of the turnoff for home. Five minutes to her front door, max. And a left turn would get her to the airport in less than ten minutes. Okay, the ramshackle old house did have a couple points in its favor.
For the moment, she had to revert thoughts back to her workload. Before this whole real estate tour today, she’d planned on working late to make significant headway on Mr. Bookman’s next chocolate order. She aimed the van toward home, telling Kelly she needed to run in quickly.
She parked, greeted the dogs and went inside. Upstairs, she held the ugly old carved box long enough for the dark wood to become warm and golden colored. When her hands warmed to its touch, she dumped the contents onto the vanity top and stuck the box into her backpack purse. It could be a long night and she might need a second burst of its energy. A quick scoopful of chow for each of the pups and the women were on their way again.
“I phoned ahead with our pizza order,” Kelly said.
“Do you mind if we eat at the shop and start working right away?”
Kelly smiled and Sam could tell her mind was back at the old house. She could probably get a lot of work out of her daughter just by keeping that conversation going.
“Another thing I noticed,” Kelly said as she got back into the van, pizza box in hand. “There’s only one other house anywhere nearby out there. No one else around who might be bothered by you working late or the delivery trucks coming and going.”
“Playing devil’s advocate here, the other one is in a commercial district where no one would ever be bothered by my presence.”
“Yeah … but, Mom.”
Sam laughed as they got out at the back door of Sweet’s Sweets. “Your voice just now? So much like the times you used to bug me for coins for the gumball machine at the grocery.”
Kelly set the pizza box on the worktable and drew herself up straight.
“Okay, being totally adult about this. Let’s look at the practical considerations. The Victorian gives you a whole lot more space.”
“Yeah, but it needs a lot of cleanup. The other one would probably only take Darryl’s crew a week or so to make ready.”
“Cleanup is our middle name,” Kelly said. “You used to break into abandoned houses all the time. You made those places spotless.”
True, but I hardly have time for that now.
“Besides,” Kelly continued. “You won’t know what all is involved until you get Darryl out there to take a look. Take him by both places and get estimates for the work.”
Sam had pulled a couple of stools up to the worktable and the scent of pepperoni wafted up from the open pizza box. “Now that is a very sensible suggestion.”
Kelly pulled a slice from the box and plucked the strands of gooey cheese that trailed along after it.
“I’ve missed this—you and me and a pizza,” she said after her first few bites. “I love Beau and so glad you have him now. I’m happy to have Scott in my life. But girl-time is different. Thanks for taking me along to see your potential properties.”
Sam felt her eyes moisten. The times she could share with her daughter were definitely changing. A small bit of her wanted to ask about Scott and the seriousness of the relationship, whether there would be grandchildren anytime soon; another small bit of her didn’t want anything to change. She covered the emotion by wiping her mouth briskly with a napkin.
They polished off the pizza way too quickly and Kelly asked what she could do next to help with the bakery workload.
“It’s been a long day already,” Sam said after shuffling through the order forms on her desk. “There’s a reasonable amount of work for tomorrow. Becky, Julio and I can handle it.”
“If you’re sure,” Kelly said, giving her mother a kiss on the cheek. “And be sure to let me know what you decide about the Victorian.”
Sam smiled as she watched Kelly go out and get into her little red car in the alley. She noticed Kelly hadn’t said ‘let me know your choice.’ For her, it was all about that big old house. She waved goodbye and walked back into the kitchen.
Why am I having such a hard time with this decision? When she’d come across this retail location for the bakery it had been an instant right-moment. She knew this would be her dream bakery and h
ad no qualms about putting weeks into getting the place ready. Neither of today’s choices had the same effect on her.
She pulled blocks of Venezuelan and Chilean dark chocolate and went to the stove, getting out her favorite heavy double boiler and adjusting the flame to slowly melt the mixture. As she stirred she debated the choices. Maybe there was a better location out there for her—she simply hadn’t found it yet. Offhand, she couldn’t think where it would be.
When the dark chocolate had reached a perfect 120 degrees, she sprinkled in the requisite pinches of the special powders, gave a stir and pulled the pan from the stove. With a quick turn she poured the chocolate onto the large marble slab she loved for tempering. It had to cool to 89 degrees before she could pour it into the molds, so she resolved to neaten the chaos on her desk while she waited. She needed to make cream centers for the next batch, so she began by digging for the recipes for dulce de leche and Mexican vanilla crème. The recipe cards had made their way to the bottom of the mess and Sam felt her frustration at the crowded conditions irking her once again. The move couldn’t wait while she dallied with the decision.
Someone had left a copy of today’s newspaper atop the rest of the mess and she started to toss it in the trash. The headline about the armored car robbery caught her attention and she wondered how Beau’s day had gone. She hadn’t spoken with him in hours. The back page of the paper slipped out and she saw it contained the classified ads. Well, it wouldn’t hurt to look through the property rentals—just in case.
She checked the chocolate temperature one more time—still too hot—and sat in her chair with the ads. It didn’t take long to see that there were very few listings in the commercial or retail categories. She set the page down with a sigh. Looked like she’d better make a decision quickly, before even those two options vanished.
She turned back to the chocolate, working it quickly and pouring it into molds. This week required, naturally, a Halloween theme so she molded cats, pumpkins, broomstick-riding witches, and ghosts. Adding the small details—including green eyes for the cats and iridescent glitter on the jack-o-lanterns—made the project fun.
Another batch of dark chocolate came next, this one for dipping the cream centers into. The dulce de leche and another with orange zest turned out beautifully. She admired the small works of art as she set each piece aside to cool. For a moment, the realization hit that she would soon be training others to make these very special pieces. She wondered how Sweet’s Sweets could maintain the quality and consistency with a variety of chocolatiers working on them.
Her thoughts wandered to Bobul, the man whose large shape and big hands belied the delicacy of the chocolates he produced. Could she remember his teaching techniques well enough to pass them along to others? She would have to. There was no choice now; Sam couldn’t keep up with Bookman’s orders completely on her own, not unless she wanted to give up a home life with Beau and work under the influence of magic all night, every night. It was simply not an option.
Her hands flew, shaping the centers, dipping, tweaking tiny decorations to form the specialties her client wanted. When she looked up, she had completely covered the two worktables with intricate chocolates. The clock said three a.m.
This was the other, major problem. When she worked all night and produced such a huge quantity of finished product, her crew could not help but question how she’d accomplished it. In the past she’d been able to come up with semi-rational excuses but those would never work long-term, not on this scale. As the effects of the box’s influence began to wear off, Sam realized she was nearing her breaking point.
Chapter 14
Beau awoke before his alarm sounded, rolled over and felt Sam in the bed beside him. He knew she hadn’t been there at 3:00 when he’d made his middle-of-night bathroom visit. From the hastily scribbled note she’d left—and the fact that the wooden box was missing—he knew where she was. He wouldn’t disrupt her work, although it bothered him to see her pushing so hard.
He shut off the alarm so it wouldn’t ring. Moving as quietly as possible, he gathered his clothes and tiptoed to the shower. He knew Sam loved her business and working late really was a labor of love for her. Still, he hoped she wasn’t overdoing it and wearing herself out.
He turned on the hot water and let the blast pummel him. Sam had told him about the powers of the old box, and she’d demonstrated it by helping on a couple of his cases and when she’d healed injuries a few times. How she put the box’s energy to work for her in the bakery, he had no clue. He’d convinced himself he didn’t want to know. His fact-based, law enforcement approach to puzzles wouldn’t quite let him embrace this woo-woo stuff as the solution to a problem. To put the whole thing out of his mind, he scrubbed shampoo into his hair and stood under the hot spray to rinse it out.
He had pressing issues of his own today. This armored car robbery was reaching a critical point. Today would be the third day and they still had no viable suspects. If he could only come up with a couple of them, men whose photos he could take to the hospital the moment Tansy Montoya was able to talk with him, perhaps she could identify someone—give Beau and his colleagues something from which to work and build a case.
Assuming Tansy woke up. Hospital staff had given him no real encouragement. Her life still hung on the brink, even though her vital signs had improved slightly. He thought again of Sam and the wooden box as he toweled off and dressed in his uniform. Could his wife possibly be of help if he could get her into the ICU for a short visit? It was worth a try. He would ask Sam later in the day. For now, she needed her rest.
He left the house, quietly tended to the horses and dogs, and hoped his motor wouldn’t wake Sam as he left to begin his work day. He liked the early morning hour at his office. The night shift guys would be returning, filing reports. As long as there’d been no major incidents in the wee hours, it was generally a low-action time of day. Beau could have his first cup of coffee at his desk, go through reports and decide what assignments to hand out to the day shift deputies.
He parked in his assigned slot and pressed the keypad at the back door to let himself into the squad room. All quiet at the moment. He poked his head into the dispatcher’s cubicle up front and asked if the coffee was fresh. Dixie smiled and assured him it was and handed him the log of overnight phone calls.
He put off looking at the list until he’d filled his mug and unlocked his office door, sending a little plea out to the gods of good luck that some sort of leads might have come in. By this time, it would be reasonable to think one of the three men involved in the robbery might have talked, bragged about pulling it off. And what about the waif-like one who’d left the black bag of cash in the café?
Young as the person was, he still might have been the getaway driver. Parking himself in his chair, Beau reviewed his interview notes with the diner employees and Rupert Penrick, the descriptions of the young person and his actions. Even in light of what Beau had later learned from Tim Beason and the employees at A-1, there wasn’t enough to go on.
He scrolled through the dispatcher’s call log, hoping some conscientious person had read yesterday’s newspaper article and reported something useful. Hell, the story had been picked up by the Albuquerque TV stations too, and even that hadn’t brought any valid tips.
His stomach rumbled. Strong coffee and no breakfast. If he swung by Charlotte’s Place for a meal, he might ferret out some additional information from Bubba or his employees. At the very least he would begin the day with a hearty meal, which might put him in a better frame of mind to go to the media and plead for cooperation from the citizenry.
Beau walked through the squad room once more. Two deputies were filling out reports about their night, but both shook their heads when he inquired about leads on the robbery. He informed Dixie he would be out of the office for awhile. She already knew what kind of news he wanted and would call with anything of value.
The sun pushed toward the top of Wheeler Peak, brightening the sky bu
t not quite casting shadows in town yet, as he climbed into his cruiser and drove out to the little café. The parking lot was crammed, mainly with pickup trucks. Contractors, plumbers, electricians and their crews all liked to stoke up with a big breakfast as the day began. In another hour, the customers would lean more toward office and retail workers and, after that, the retirees who had time to linger over extra cups of coffee and gossip or talk philosophy.
Charlotte’s Place buzzed inside with conversation when Beau opened the door. He walked through, seeing no empty tables, listening to catch any scrap of conversation about his case. Hope sprang eternal, he knew. He ended up taking the only available stool at the counter and Sandy came right over, her blonde hair in some kind of fuzzy swirl on top of her head today.
“Hey, Sheriff.” She set coffee down without needing to ask. “Know what you want?”
“Other than a lead in that robbery case, I guess a couple of eggs and some bacon would do it.”
She opened her mouth, as if she’d thought of something, but another customer caught her attention and she hurried off with a promise to get his order into the kitchen right away.
Probably should have come later if I wanted the wait staff to chat.
Bubba Boudreaux walked in the front door, scoping out the room first then pausing to touch a shoulder here, say hello there. He headed straight toward Beau’s spot and, as luck would have it, the man next to him had just dropped some money on the counter and gotten up to leave. Bubba took the empty seat before the man had cleared the aisle.
“Howdy, Sheriff, you be just the man I wanted to see,” said Bubba, holding his insulated mug out to R.G., the first of his employees to come within range.
“How’s that, Bubba? Got new information for me, I hope?” Beau watched the other man’s face as he stirred a tiny plastic cup of creamer into his coffee.
“I’s actually hopin’ you had some for me. There’s gotta be a reward for findin’ that money.” Bubba leaned toward Beau confidentially.
Spooky Sweet Page 7
