Spooky Sweet

by Connie Shelton

  Sam demonstrated how she liked the bows tied. Lisa removed her plastic gloves and copied her moves, having to start over a couple of times but eventually getting the technique.

  “So, I imagine harvesting grass seed is pretty seasonal,” Sam said as she turned over the bow-tying to the girl. “What other types of work have you done to fill in?”

  “A little of everything. My dad, Aunt Becky’s brother, wants me to think about either college or beauty school. Neither of those interests me much, so I figure if I can stay employed with something else, he can’t say much.”

  “Well, college would lead to something that pays better.”

  “Yeah, that’s what they all say. I graduated high school two years ahead of my class because I got bored with school and just wanted to get it over with, you know? I can’t see signing up for more study.”

  Sam remembered how she’d been at that age, expected to marry the local football jock in Texas, instead escaping to Alaska to end up working as a cook in a pipeline camp. It wasn’t always about getting the most prestigious job or impressive salary. Sometimes, you had go try a few things and discover where your heart took you.

  “I figure I could go to beauty school any time, that or something like it.” She tied another perfect bow. “Aunt Becky loves working at your shop, decorating cakes, and I think that sounds pretty cool.”

  “I never had formal training,” Sam said, “just went with my imagination and found some good recipes.” And one valuable teacher.

  “There are some great pastry schools out there. At your age, that’s what I’d have done. I understand there are huge opportunities out there for kids with degrees in the culinary arts. It’s a thought, anyhow.”

  Lisa gave an enigmatic smile. “Something to consider. Sure sounds like it beats working retail at the Christmas season. You wouldn’t believe the grouchy customers you deal with, not to mention the hours and how it kills your feet by the end of shift. Part-timers always get the crappy hours and the pay is the worst.”

  As Lisa tied bows on the small boxes, Sam picked them up and stacked them in cartons. By noon, all the product Sam had made the previous night was packed and ready to go.

  “I’ll have some employment paperwork for you tomorrow,” Sam said, handing Lisa her coat from the rack. “Assuming you liked the work well enough to come back?”

  “It’s a cool place,” Lisa said. “I do like it.”

  Sam watched her ride away on her bicycle, wondering if she’d still be as enthusiastic when there was snow on the ground and the temperature hit the teens. Oh well. She’d learned not to second-guess her employees’ motives. So far, it looked as if Lisa Gurule might work out just fine.

  Chapter 29

  Beau sat at his desk, tapping a pencil against the surface while he read his final report to the district attorney on the fatal crash. The toxicology reports, witness testimony—it all seemed in good order for the judicial side of the law to take over.

  “You trying out for a band?” Rico joked, nodding toward the pencil. “Don’t know about the big-time, but I think you’d qualify for my brother’s group.”

  Beau dropped the pencil.

  “Sorry, boss. Didn’t mean to criticize.”

  “Nah, it’s not that. It’s just now we’ve wrapped up this one, I have to get back to the robbery and have to admit I haven’t got a damn clue.”

  “How’s the lady in the hospital?”

  “No change as of yesterday. I need to stop by there again today.” Beau thought again of asking Sam to go along with him.

  He had no idea if the box really had some kind of power—preferred not to think about it, actually. He’d seen his wife do a few amazing things, and she’d admitted to him she thought the box had something to do with it, but it didn’t mean she could always perform miracles. If she actually ever did. Plus, she was so busy these days, getting that old house fixed up and new employees trained. He hated to distract her too often.

  “Boss?”

  “Sorry, Rico. Deep in thought.”

  “It’s just that Bubba Boudreaux keeps calling. Wants to know when he gets the lost money that was found in his restaurant.”

  Tell him, never. Beau sighed. “I’d better call him myself.”

  The phone at the café rang once before Bubba himself picked it up.

  “Thought I made it pretty clear already,” Beau said. “The cash is not a lost item. It’s part of an active felony case. It’s staying right here in our evidence safe until the whole thing is wrapped up.”

  “Ah know, Ah know … but at some point y’all will release it. What’s that? Thirty days or so?”

  “Bubba, we know its owner. Can I spell it out any more clearly?” He slowed his words way down. “It’s not your money.”

  An expletive sprang out softly at the other end.

  “Sorry, Bubba. It’s the law. And don’t keep calling, putting pressure on my people.”

  Beau hung up, privately astounded at the nerve of the guy who went on a rant when his hostess comp’d someone a cup of coffee. He looked down and saw he was tapping his pencil again.

  Gotta get out of here for awhile.

  He instructed Rico to photocopy the entire accident file and have the copy delivered to the D.A’s office. He put on his sheepskin jacket and got into his cruiser, ignoring the radio chatter about traffic calls, aiming toward the hospital. Maybe his luck would change today.

  Tansy Montoya lay motionless as ever in her bed. Beth Baughn was on duty and informed him nothing had changed.

  “Her boss came by to see her,” Beth said.

  “Phil Carlisle?”

  “Yeah, I think that was his name. I didn’t let him go in. One look through the window at a distance was enough for him anyway. Poor man nearly broke into tears.”

  Carlisle’s concern fit with Beau’s impression of the man. Still, Tansy was the only witness to the crime and they had to keep her safe at all cost.

  “You did the right thing,” he said.

  He watched the machine pump air into Tansy’s lungs and saw bright lines wiggle across the screens on the monitors. As far as he could tell, nothing had changed, despite the doctors saying she had improved a little. He turned from the bedside and walked back to the nurse’s station.

  “What’s her home situation?” Beau asked. “Her mother still taking care of the kids?”

  “I think so. The mother tried sitting by Tansy’s bedside the first couple days, but it exhausted her. No sleep, and worrying constantly about the children. She still calls two or three times a day, even though I’ve assured her we’ll let her know the moment anything changes.”

  From the corner of his eye, Beau saw movement. A teenager in baggy black pants and hoodie crossed the hall, moving out of sight. Male or female—it was hard to tell with such a brief glimpse. He or she had a packet of some sort in hand, most likely a snack from the vending machines in the visitor’s lounge.

  Beth was looking at him as if she’d asked a question and was waiting for an answer.

  “Did you recognize that kid?” he asked.

  “Sorry, Sheriff, I didn’t even notice.”

  Black clothing, hoodie, white-blond hair. He thought immediately of the waif from the café and Rupert’s suggestion it could have been a girl. He hurried away without another word, made a quick right turn where the next hallway intersected. No sign of the girl anywhere. Same thing at the next hall. He sprinted toward the elevators. None was in use, according to the buttons.

  An orderly passed him.

  “Stairs—where are they?”

  The guy pointed to a sign on a metal door with the little emblem for stairs. Beau felt dumb but pushed the door open and rushed onto the landing. He peered over the railing, three floors down, saw no movement, heard no sounds. Unless the black-clad figure had bolted at full speed, he had to be here on the fourth floor still. He stood in front of the elevators again, head swiveling to check every direction. Other than a few hospital employees going
about routine duties he didn’t see anyone.

  He walked toward the nurse’s station, looking into each patient room along the way. People in beds, a few visitors—most looked up when his body filled the doorway, went back to their conversations as soon as he smiled and touched the brim of his Stetson. Two nurses sat behind the desk, chatting together about some doctor neither apparently liked very much. His inquiry about a teenager in black drew blank stares.

  Yeah, it’s not like teenagers in black are a rarity around here, he thought.

  At his request, one of the nurses paged security and a young Hispanic man joined him in the search.

  “I can have the other guards search the other floors,” he told Beau after they’d looked into every room on the floor.

  Beau began to doubt his previous certainty. The odds of finding the kid if he or she truly wanted to hide were slim-to-none, Beau realized. And if he wasn’t trying to hide from the law, most likely he was completely innocent and knew nothing about the black bag of money.

  He thanked the young guard for his help as he pressed the elevator button. He would sit outside in his car awhile. A hospital visitor probably wouldn’t stay more than a half-hour.

  Five minutes into his wait he got a radio call for a 10-15, a family argument that was getting out of hand. Between sitting outside for what could turn out to be a long time or saving some poor woman from the man who was trying to beat her to death, the answer was simple. He turned the key and hit his lights and siren.

  Chapter 30

  Sara had forgotten her favorite black pants and hoodie were the clothes she was wearing the day she found the money—until she spotted the sheriff in the hospital corridor. Panic!

  She raced down the hall until she came to an empty patient room, ducked inside and went into the bathroom. Her heart pounded and her face in the mirror showed wide eyes in a stark white face. How did he know I was there? I can’t let him recognize me.

  She pulled off the hoodie, rolled it up in a ball and stuffed it under her bright pink sweater. At a glance, she might appear pregnant. There wasn’t much she could do about her hair. The short, blonde wisps absolutely marked her. She rummaged madly in her tiny purse—eight dollars in cash, her house key, a pen, small hairbrush, lip gloss and mascara. She debated smearing the latter through her light locks, but there was no way it would fully cover and most likely would just draw more attention. Especially from her mother—she needed to get back to the chemo building right away.

  Peering carefully into the hall she saw no activity, so she speed-walked to the intersection where the elevators were. A door showed the way to the stairs. She kept her eyes down and tried to adopt a pregnant-lady walk as she passed some guy pushing a large bin on wheels. The stairs seemed the best option. As quietly as possible she pushed open the heavy door and closed it without a sound. She’d gone two flights down when she heard a door open above her. She pressed herself against the wall and held her breath.

  Whoever it was stood there a minute but didn’t come down. When the door closed again, Sara ran the rest of the way to the ground floor, pulling her hoodie out and hugging it to her body as she stepped out into the cold November day. There was frost on the chamisa bushes in shady areas, and she shivered as she made her way to the adjoining building.

  Why, oh why had she decided to explore around the hospital? She could have purchased that packet of Twix from several other vending machines without going to the fourth floor.

  It’s because you needed to see for yourself.

  The receptionist at the front desk smiled at Sara as she passed. She kept moving.

  You went there because you know Matt had something to do with that poor woman lying there in the ICU. You had to find out if she’d died.

  She paused outside the room where her mother was receiving her chemo infusion, took a deep breath and blew it out. She had to forget the way the sheriff had looked at her. Her mother could read every expression on her face, no matter how sick she was. Mom was already suspicious about her behavior recently. Tears began to well. How long could she keep this secret?

  A nurse noticed her. “Oh, honey. It’s hard, I know. But your mom’s treatment is going really well. We always hold on to hope.”

  Obviously, people crying in a cancer treatment ward was nothing unusual. Sara nodded and accepted the tissue the nurse held out to her.

  “Can I get you a Coke or something?” The nurse wouldn’t stop looking at her.

  “I’ll be okay. I’d better—” She gestured vaguely toward the room.

  The nurse squeezed her shoulder and let her go inside.

  Mom reclined against the back of her chair, her eyes closed. Sara hoped she was napping—it would give her a few more minutes to compose herself. But Mom’s eyelids fluttered and she smiled.

  “Hey, there. I wondered where you went.”

  “Got a little snack.” Which I dropped somewhere, running from the law. “You doing okay?”

  “Just peachy.” Mom smiled and toyed with the edge of the light blanket they’d draped over her lap. “I’m glad it’s a school holiday so you could come with me today.”

  Another lie.

  “Honey, you want to talk about what’s been upsetting you?”

  Damn. So intuitive.

  “I don’t want to bother you with anything, Mom. You have to concentrate on getting better.”

  I need someone to talk to. Crissy, why aren’t you here for me?

  This time the tears wouldn’t stay back. Her vision blurred and she knew they would spill.

  “Sara, this place is too much—”

  “It’s not that, Mom. I—I have a friend who’s got this problem—”

  Mom reached out for her hand and held it.

  “What kind of problem is she worried about?”

  “Well, if you knew someone who’d done something wrong … like, a crime or something … and if you really think that person’s in over their head and you want to help … but it would probably get them arrested? I mean, if that was the case … what would you do?”

  “What kind of a crime is it?”

  “Well, like, having something that was stolen.” Don’t talk about the lady who was shot.

  Mom rubbed the back of Sara’s hand in the way she used to whenever her daughter had a spat with friends or lost a favorite toy.

  “Well, sweetie, I’d sit down with my friend and try to be very, very supportive. I’d suggest she return the item and admit what she did. I’m sure everything will turn out all right.”

  She thinks I’m talking about shoplifting a nail polish or something.

  “Even if it’s kind of a big, valuable thing?”

  “No matter what it is, your friend will be better off to get it off her chest. Really.” Even though everything else about Mom was faded and thin, her eyes still held the same love and compassion as always. “She could come and tell me about it if she wants to.”

  Matt going to prison, me being sent into foster care. This is too big a problem to dump on someone who’s dying. Sara’s tears poured over and trailed down her face.

  Chapter 31

  Sam let herself enjoy the clear blue sky and last of the autumn leaves on the giant cottonwoods which lined this section of Paseo del Pueblo Sur. She’d just come from the attorney’s office where Bessie George assured her what she needed in the way of a non-compete agreement for her employees was a very simple document. She also convinced Sam it would be smart to turn her business into a limited liability company. Bessie would begin the process and draft a non-compete document specific to the needs of Sweet’s Enterprises, LLC and have it ready for Sam’s signature by tomorrow.

  From the attorney’s office it was a quick hop to the department store where she found some light curtains for the downstairs windows in the Victorian. If they’d been for her own home she would have opted for something classier—this was mainly to keep prying eyes from knowing Sam was frequently there alone at night. Simple curtain rods completed the purchase.
As she handed over her credit card, she chided herself. There was so little traffic on the road, and the one neighbor very seldom came and went. Still, she would feel less as if she were in a fishbowl now.

  Next stop on her list was her old neighborhood. Sweet’s Sweets had survived two whole days without Sam’s presence. She needed to know how they’d managed. But first she popped in at Mysterious Happenings, the bookshop next door, to see if Ivan had located a copy of Eliza Nalespar’s popular book.

  “Oui, Miss Sam, I am finding it for you and is shipping now.” Ivan shooed one of the bookstore cats off his computer keyboard. “Is coming in few days.”

  Sam thanked him. She was curious to see what insights she might gain about the previous owner of the Victorian, but it wasn’t as if she had any time to read these days anyway. If a spare moment came along she could always go online and see what she might find. Or invite Kelly and Scott over for dinner—it was her turn to host, after all.

  The kitchen at the bakery seemed a bit chaotic, although Becky assured her they were handling everything all right. Near the bake oven, Julio was shaking his head.

  “Okay,” Becky admitted. “We do need you. One baker and one decorator isn’t quite cutting it.”

  Sam peeled off her outdoor coat, washed her hands and picked up a pastry bag. “What’s most urgent?”

  “Three birthday cakes need to be done by three o’clock. They’re all pretty standard, but I’ve been trying to get this wedding cake finished so you could take it with you and deliver it this afternoon.”

  Sam glanced at the order forms. One cake done in pink roses on white buttercream. With flower nail in hand she whipped it out quickly enough. The second birthday cake needed a yellow and orange theme. She piped autumn leaves and created a couple of showy tiger lilies.

  “Keep these lilies in the fridge until right before delivery time, then stick them in place,” she said to Becky as she turned to the third cake.