Spooky Sweet

by Connie Shelton

  “Well, what most businesses do is have all employees sign a non-compete agreement. They can’t go to work for anyone else or start their own business using your proprietary information. I’ll bet our attorney could draw up something for you,” he said.

  She took the phone number he pulled from his phone, wondering if she would have to admit to the attorney she used magical ingredients. Surely, attorney-client privilege would apply somehow.

  She made the two calls right away. Darryl’s attorney was a friendly woman who assured Sam her office did this sort of thing all the time. If it worked for Sam, they could meet tomorrow afternoon. With an appointment set, she called Rosalie Gutierrez, the woman who taught chocolate-making classes.

  “Oh, yes, of course I remember you, Sam, from the chocolate festival last summer. You did a marvelous job of organizing it. Will there be another next year?”

  Rosalie seemed to have forgotten that a murder had happened, or she was fishing around and hoping for a prime booth if the event was repeated. Sam kept her answer vague. She certainly had no time or intention of being the one to bring together a repeat event.

  “What I’m calling about today,” she said, steering the conversation back where she wanted it, “is I understand you teach classes and wonder whether you’ve had students whose abilities were outstanding and who might be looking for work.”

  “You’re hiring? Your business must be doing well.”

  More fishing?

  “I’m making some changes and need one or two young chocolatiers.” Careful, Sam. Next thing you know, Rosalie will be offering her own services.

  She wanted competent workers, not someone used to calling the shots, someone who would be tempted to push for changes. Mr. Bookman liked everything just the way it was. Plus, Rosalie had struck her as sharp-eyed and a hustler. It could be a disaster if she figured what the secret ingredients really were. Better downplay this.

  “Students would be fine,” Sam said. “The job isn’t much of a challenge, really.”

  “Well, Benjie Lucero comes to mind. He learned quickly and expressed an interest in a career. As I recall, he wanted to apply to Ecole Chocolat. I have a feeling that particular one would be beyond his means. I think he’s working somewhere here in town.”

  Rosalie gave Sam a phone number and said she hoped they would stay in touch. It won’t help, Sam thought as she hung up. I’m not organizing another festival.

  She immediately dialed Benjie’s number. A clatter of background noise came through when he answered, and it took Sam three tries to get him to understand who she was. After about a minute of this, he must have stepped outside because things quieted.

  “Sorry,” he said. “Work. It’s a rat race here.”

  Sam went through it again—how she got his number and what she wanted.

  “Is it a quiet and creative place?” he asked.

  She stared around the big kitchen, occupied only by herself and a table covered in chocolates.

  “Definitely. Of course, I’ll be hiring a few more people and I’m not saying the pace won’t pick up a bit.”

  “I get a break mid-afternoon. Could I come talk to you?”

  She gave directions and he said he’d be there by three. Before starting her next batch, she placed a quick call to Sweet’s Sweets to be sure everything was moving along all right. Jen laughed and told her she hadn’t been this protective when she went all the way to Ireland for her honeymoon.

  “Okay, you’re probably right. I didn’t have the chance to check up on you guys then. I’ll dial it back. Meanwhile, ask around and let me know if any of you know of someone looking for work. You know what’s required. I want to interview right away.” She made a similar call to Kelly, then decided to put it out of her mind and let it all take its course.

  Working quickly, she transferred the finished chocolates from the kitchen to the old dining room, what she’d begun thinking of as the boxing room, where cartons of her satin-covered decorative boxes waited to be filled. She thought again of Eliza Nalespar, the oddball writer, and wondered if Ivan had made progress toward finding a copy of the book Scott had mentioned.

  Either way, there was no time to think about it, much less to actually read the book. She placed a light muslin cover over the candy and went back to the kitchen to begin another batch—truffles this time. By end of day she needed to finish the mini-boxes, at minimum, because tomorrow there would be twelve dozen larger ones to fill. She thought of Benjie Lucero and hoped, with a deep longing, he could start immediately.

  She was in the boxing room, filling the cute mini-boxes with assortments of molded chocolates and creams when a car pulled up in the circular drive. A young man got out, dressed in neat black pants and T-shirt with a red jacket. His dark hair stood in spikes above his round face. He stared upward at the old house, his mouth practically gaping. This had to be Benjie.

  He started up the steps and she met him at the front door.

  “This place is awesome!” he said, following her into the boxing room.

  “I hope you don’t mind if I work while we talk.” She pointed him toward one of the new stools she’d brought this morning. “At the moment I’m trying to do it all myself and I tell you, I had no idea what the pace would be.”

  “I can help, if you’d like. Where do I wash up?”

  She was pleased to see neatly trimmed, clean nails and noticed he washed thoroughly at the kitchen sink before returning to put on a pair of disposable plastic gloves. She demonstrated how the boxes were to be filled and he picked it up right away.

  “Fast pace I don’t mind,” he said when she described the volume of chocolate they were making now. “It’s the nonstop clatter of pans and the chef shouting orders at the rest of us that’s wearing me down. At the restaurant I’m supposed to come up with fantastic desserts, but working in a tiny space with people tripping all over me is just killing my creativity. The other day someone slopped salad dressing over my fruit tart. I’d spent an hour on it—ruined! I haven’t even gotten the chance to try any of the fancy chocolates we learned in class.”

  Sam knew already she wanted to hire this guy. He answered questions about chocolate-making techniques and filled boxes without a single mistake, somehow keeping an eye on the time since he told her he had to get back in time to make his pastries for the dinner crowd.

  “I really need to give my boss at least a week’s notice,” he said when she asked how soon he could start. “I know, no one else worries about that, but my parents were in business and I know what a hassle it is when someone just walks out.”

  The work had breezed along so well in just the twenty minutes he’d been here, Sam felt a wave of disappointment. But she would never talk an employee out of acting ethically. They agreed he would start the following Monday. Exhaustion hovered over her as he drove away. She would manage, somehow, to keep doing it all until Benjie came on board.

  Chapter 27

  Sam shook herself into action, walked back to the kitchen and pulled out the lunch she’d brought from home. A salad, wheat crackers and a bottle of green juice should knock out the tiredness and get her back to work with a little more energy. She found a spot where sunshine came through the kitchen window and parked herself there while she ate.

  The food helped, along with the little pep talk she gave herself. Yes, she was tired but she was doing something about it. In a week’s time she would have another chocolate maker in the kitchen to work alongside her, and Becky had already called to tell Sam her niece could start tomorrow part time to help with boxing and packing.

  Meanwhile, there would be some late nights to get this week’s order finished. Simple as that.

  “I can do this,” she said to the empty house as she turned back to Bookman’s order.

  The sun was low in the west when she paused long enough to figure out where she stood with the order. Only about half the required mini-boxes were done, boxed and ready for shipment. It would take at least four more hours to make
enough chocolate for the rest of them. The plane would leave before noon tomorrow, so there was no way she could put off the work until morning. She called Beau to let him know she wouldn’t be home for dinner.

  “I’ll bring food out,” he offered. “At least we can eat together.”

  The idea of a meal she didn’t have to cook proved to be irresistible. A little before six he arrived with a roasted chicken, potato salad and rolls. They ate at the boxing table, since the one in the kitchen was more than half covered with freshly molded candy that needed to cool.

  He looked around the rooms appreciatively. “It’s come a long way, darlin’, in just over a week. I’m amazed.”

  She told him about the new helper and chocolatier. “Within a couple more weeks, I hope we’re really up and running. Mr. Bookman’s clients seem happy and he’s hinting at more business to come.”

  “You’ll do it. I’m so proud of you, Sam.” He planted a kiss on her forehead. “Plus, I’m excited to have a wife who’ll make a huge fortune and let me retire from county work.”

  The sparkle in his eye told her he was joking. He gathered the paper plates and put the leftover chicken in the refrigerator before he left.

  “I’ll wait up,” he promised when she walked him out to his cruiser.

  “No need to if you have an early day tomorrow. But I’m hoping to be finished here within another two hours or so.” She didn’t mention she would need the help of the wooden box to meet that schedule.

  Back in the kitchen she pulled the box from her bag. The carved surface felt slightly warm. Odd. It always felt cool to the touch until she’d handled it for a few minutes. Maybe the kitchen was warmer than she realized. She held the old artifact between her hands and watched as the wood began to attain a golden glow, warming her palms and sending energy through her arms and shoulders.

  She started to set the box on the countertop and it emitted a noise, a shrill whistle like wind through a crack around a window. She nearly dropped it.

  What on earth? She returned it to her backpack, her heart racing.

  In all the time she had possessed this box it had never made a sound. What the hell was going on? The whistling stopped. She opened the pack and picked up the box. Again, the shrill whistle. It was as if it were somehow afraid of the kitchen.

  She zipped the pack closed. No more noise.

  This is ridiculous. An object cannot show fear. She looked for rational explanations. The wind must have picked up, coming through a window that hadn’t been tightly closed. That must be the reason. She checked both kitchen windows but they were secure. The back door—she had come and gone several times out to her van. She probably hadn’t shut it well enough. But it was closed and she couldn’t feel the slightest hint of air around the edges.

  Okay, this is super weird.

  She walked through the entire house, checking every door and window. Everything was locked, and she felt no breath of air leaking through. Outside, the trees showed no sign of a breeze. Back in the kitchen, she looked at her work in progress.

  I’m tired. I should quit for the night.

  There’s too much work to be done. Plus, now you’re energized from handling the box.

  She measured cocoa and butter, heated the large copper pot once more. Within a half-hour she’d decided she must have had some sort of waking dream, created a silly experience out of her head. She tempered the chocolate and poured it into a new set of molds she’d found through her supplier. These fit the autumn theme nicely—pumpkins and sheaves of wheat. She set the molds into her tiered cooling racks and covered it with muslin to keep dust out.

  Working at an energized pace, she added decorative touches to the autumn leaf pieces in the boxing room. As usually happened in this state, time completely escaped her and she realized it was well after eleven. The finished candies sat in neat rows, ready to be placed in boxes in the morning. Sam felt as if she could work for hours more but remembered Beau was expecting her at home. Plus, she needed to save something for her new packing and shipping assistant to do tomorrow.

  She picked up her pack, reaching inside for her keys. The box lay there, a faint glow still clinging to the wood surface. Warm. Her fingers closed around it.

  I’m being a silly ninny. I know this.

  She released the box, zipped her pack, turned out the lights and rushed out to her van.

  Driving past the old cemetery on her way out to the ranch, she saw pinpricks of light on the ground, dozens of them. Of course—the Day of the Dead. Families had visited the graves of those who passed on before, leaving food and candles for comfort.

  At home, she entered quietly and saw only a couple of small lamps burning. Beau had already gone to bed. She left her pack and coat downstairs and went up. When she crawled in beside him he draped a drowsy arm over her and she snuggled into his warmth.

  Within minutes her eyes grew heavy and she slept, but her dreams were punctuated with odd sounds and images involving the magic box. She rolled over and the red numerals on the clock told her she’d slept less than two hours.

  Chapter 28

  A teenager wearing purple tights, a pink T-shirt down to her hips, and a short puffy jacket sat on the top porch step at the chocolate production house when Sam arrived the next morning. The girl’s dark hair was held up in a clip, with a number of wild strands wisping around her face. She stood and dusted her bottom when Sam got out of the van.

  “Hi, I’m Lisa. Aunt Becky told me to come.” A bicycle leaned against the railing.

  “Lisa, hi. Sorry I wasn’t here already. I had no idea you’d get here so early.” It was just past seven o’clock and the sun hadn’t quite peeked over the top of the mountain yet.

  “Yeah, well. I have to be at my other job by noon, and Aunt Becky said you like to start pretty early.” She shrugged. “I figured you’d want to get as much done as possible.”

  “Absolutely. This is perfect.” Sam led the way to the side door. “We’d better get inside where it’s warm. What’s your other job? Becky didn’t say.”

  “Oh, I work for a seed company. We’re harvesting organic grasses and pollens right now. For next spring. That’s why it’s part time. We’re nearly finished with this year’s crop so I’ll be completely free in another couple weeks.”

  Sam couldn’t quite wrap her head around what that job would entail. She needed coffee.

  “So, anyways, I work out there from noon to five every day but Sundays, so that’s why Aunt Becky thought I could maybe help you here in the mornings. If it goes good, I could be full-time after Thanksgiving. I mean, if you like my work and all.”

  Sam nodded, concentrating on measuring coffee into the basket and starting the machine. Her sleepless night left her a little fuddled this morning and she didn’t want to begin a task that involved measuring ingredients or making decisions. Silly thing, dreams about noises in the night. She needed to adjust to the new surroundings and get her mind sharply focused on her work again.

  “Hang your coat there near the back door and wash your hands at the kitchen sink.”

  “Oh, yeah, I guess cleanliness is super important here,” Lisa said. They washed up together.

  “Let’s go in here,” Sam told her new assistant, indicating the boxing room.

  The racks of finished chocolates sat in beautiful rows—darks, milks, whites, creams. The early-day light sparkled off the iridescent highlights Sam had dusted over them.

  “Oh! These are gorgeous.” Lisa stared. “I mean, I knew your shop made very cool cakes and all. But, wow!”

  Sam smiled. “You’ll have plenty of chances to sample but only the ones I approve, okay? We always end up with a few boo-boos, but the perfect ones must go to the customer.”

  “Got it.”

  Sam held out a box of disposable gloves.

  “Clean, clean, clean at all times,” Lisa said. “Got it.”

  Sam showed her where the various-sized gift boxes were, how to line them up on the table and which chocolates f
itted the spaces inside. “Top them with the lids and set the finished ones down at the other end of the table. We’ll tie bows on when we have no trace of chocolate on our fingers. The finished boxes go into these cartons for shipping.”

  “Organized. I like it.” Lisa began setting out more boxes.

  “Inspect each piece of candy before putting it into a box,” Sam told her. “I give them a look before they leave the kitchen but it’s good to have a second pair of eyes watching as well.”

  She showed Lisa what to watch for—bubbles which left holes, missing coatings or leaks in the cream fillings—and these went into a discard bowl. Lisa immediately began checking and setting candies in place. They worked alongside each other until Sam felt confident the girl could do the task alone. It wasn’t rocket science, but attention to detail was important.

  “I’ll be in the kitchen now,” Sam said. “Anything you have a question about, either set it aside or come get me.”

  “Okay.” Lisa didn’t take her eyes from the table. Already, her hands were moving quickly as she examined and placed the pieces.

  Sam had nearly forgotten the coffee so she helped herself to a mug before pulling out the ingredients for her next batch. The kitchen felt bright and welcoming this morning and, once again, she wondered at her over-active imagination last night. Surely the box had not actually reacted to the house. Crazy idea.

  She reviewed Bookman’s order and realized she would probably have another late night ahead of her if she hoped to make the deadline and get everything to the airport tomorrow. At least this week, Lisa’s help would lessen the load. She debated taking the box from her pack to gain energy from it, but with a new employee on site it wouldn’t be smart. When Lisa left at noon, Sam would be free to do whatever she wanted.

  She went ahead with the cooking and tempering before she checked on her helper.

  “I’ve done all those,” Lisa said, pointing to an impressive stack of satin boxes at the end of the table. “I’m running out of space to put them.”