Sara thought of her mother’s advice. She wanted to tell her brother it would be better if he admitted what happened. Apologize. But this was no stolen lipstick from the drugstore. This was a big-time crime with big-time consequences.
“Where’s the rest of the money, Matt? Couldn’t you just sneak it out and leave it at the police station or something? They’d find it and—”
The bedroom doorknob rattled and her mother came out in nightgown and robe, her face hazy with sickness and sleep.
“Hey, you two. Look at us, all home together. How about if I make us a nice dinner for a change?”
With all the strength of a kitten? Sara took Mom’s arm and led her to the sofa, draped a comforter across her lap.
“It’s okay, Mom, I’ve got it handled.” She sent Matt a silent plea as she reached into the freezer compartment for a packaged lasagna.
Chapter 34
Sam and Lisa packed boxes at a furious pace. The team approach worked well—Sam could see how the addition of one more packer, if she could find someone of Lisa’s caliber, would free up her own time significantly. Isobel St. Clair’s words stayed in Sam’s head. The whole thing—rival organizations wanting to get hold of the box, evil men who believed they could use its power for their own purposes—it all made Sam’s head hurt.
What am I supposed to do with this information? I’m a baker, not some super-hero crime fighter.
Still, the choice would not be hers. If the people from OSM wanted to come after her for the box, they would. She could only heed Isobel’s warning and watch out for herself. In the meantime, she was feeling a little panicky about how quickly her special ingredients were waning, now that chocolate production was in full force.
“Sam?” Lisa’s voice cut into her thoughts.
She looked up to see her helper standing across the table from her, doing nothing.
“I asked if there’s more candy in the kitchen?” Lisa spread her hands.
“Um, actually no. This is it.”
“Then are we done?”
Sure enough, the candy racks were empty and the satin boxes were neatly stacked in the shipping cartons. The clock showed 11:14.
“Wow. Let’s get these into the van. Seems you get to leave a little early today.” And I can spend a little extra time at the bakery.
They each grabbed a carton and carried it to the back door. A cold gust channeled inside the moment Sam opened it.
“Ooh, looks like the weather’s taking a turn.” She wondered if the plane taking the candy order to Book It Travel’s Houston office would be able to fly through the thickening cloud layer.
The women stacked the cartons, went inside for more and finished loading them as sleety flakes began flying through the air. Sam phoned ahead and Herman, the airport counter man assured her the pilots were performing their pre-flight check and planned to take off as scheduled at noon.
“We’re on our way,” Sam said. She turned to Lisa. “It’s pretty frigid out here for a bike trip. If you’ll ride with me out to the airport, I’ll take you home afterward.”
Lisa didn’t raise an argument. They loaded her bicycle into the van and headed out.
By the time they pulled onto the tarmac next to the private jet, the sleet was sticking to the sagebrush surrounding the airport. Although it melted as it hit the paved runway, it could be a matter of time before that, too, would turn white.
“Glad you’re here,” the pilot shouted over the rising wind. “We need to get out real soon.”
The co-pilot joined them and the four of them passed boxes hand-to-hand into the cabin. The pilots boarded and retracted the stairs, waving to Sam and Lisa as Sam closed the back door of the van. Nothing like a truly last-minute delivery, she thought.
“That was fun,” Lisa said, as Sam drove through the chain-link gate and Herman closed it behind them. “Can you imagine traveling on your own jet all the time? How cool is that?”
Pretty cool, Sam had to admit. Although she seldom traveled farther than Albuquerque anymore, not since the bakery and now the chocolate factory consumed her time. The beautiful thing about doing work she loved was it didn’t bother her to stay home—well, maybe the occasional pang when she wondered about other lifestyles.
“Okay, you’ll have to give directions to your house,” she said to Lisa when they reached Highway 64.
Before Lisa could answer, Sam’s phone rang. She idled at the stop sign and checked it. Ivan from the bookstore.
“Good afternoon, Miss Sam. Ivan calling to say book is here. Your special order.”
“Already? Very good. I’m heading toward the bakery in a few minutes.”
She hung up and followed Lisa’s directions, discovering the route to the parents’ house was nearly the same way she always took to get to the Victorian. Two streets before the turnoff to her own place, Sam took Handman Road and pulled up in front of a cute, one-story bungalow of tan stucco and bright blue trim.
Her phone rang again as she opened the van door.
“Ms. Sweet? It’s Benjie Lucero? I wanted to let you know I can start work tomorrow, if you’re ready for me.”
She assured him the answer was yes. The next big order wouldn’t be due for a week, but with a new employee she never knew how quickly the work would go. Better to train him slowly when there was a lot less pressure.
Lisa had pulled her bike out and stood beside the van, out of the wind, until Sam finished the call.
“Will you need me tomorrow too?” she asked. “I mean, I heard you say you’ll be training this other guy.”
“Sure,” Sam said. “We won’t have any chocolates to pack but there are loads of other miscellaneous things to do around there.” She looked up at the sky. “If this weather gets much worse, will you be okay getting there?”
“Oh, yeah. My mom offers me a ride every day. So far, I’ve preferred my bike, but I’m no hero on snowy roads.”
Early November, it was doubtful there would be much accumulation, but Sam felt better knowing Lisa wouldn’t take chances. She drove away, heading for Sweet’s Sweets. Behind the shops, a skim of white covered vehicles and blacktop alike. Only one set of tracks marred the surface. Sam parked behind the bakery but walked to the bookshop’s back entrance and tapped at the door.
Alex Byrd, Ivan’s young assistant, answered with a quizzical look on her face. “Oh, hi, Sam. You’d better get inside, out of the cold.” She held the door open and Sam stepped into their storeroom.
“It’s not too bad yet, but funny how this first taste of winter always takes me by surprise each year.”
Alex laughed. “Me too. Wasn’t it just last week I went with some friends for a picnic in the park?”
“Maybe more like a month ago,” Sam said. “Don’t tell me you’re already having that speeding-time syndrome we old folks normally get.”
Ivan came into the storeroom at the sound of their voices. “Ah, Miss Sam. Book for you is at front desk. Come.”
“Popular title, in the day,” Ivan said as he reached below the counter and brought out a scuffed blue cloth-bound book. “Lucky many printings, not hard to find copies now. Not so expensive, also.”
Sam handed him a ten-dollar bill and got a little change back. She turned the book over in her hands. The cover boards showed through in places where the cloth had worn away. Darkened crescents at the edges showed where many hands had held this volume, avidly devouring the story if Scott’s assessment of its popularity was correct. The pages had become tanned over time, with traces of foxing on the title page.
The Box by Eliza Nalespar. G. P. Putnam’s Sons, 1938, she read. Gently turning pages, she came to the opening line of the story: It was an ugly thing, made of dark wood so old Michael truly believed it could have come from some magical realm. Set into the carved pattern were dull stones …
“Miss Sam? Everything is okay with book?” Ivan’s voice startled her and she nearly dropped it.
“Y-y-yes. Sorry, I—” She blinked and closed the book
. “Looks like it’s going to be every bit as captivating as I was told.”
She stuffed the book inside her jacket and walked out, wondering what sort of new unforeseen troubles this book might reveal.
Chapter 35
The book felt like an unscratched itch under her baker’s jacket as Sam walked into Sweet’s Sweets and looked around.
“Hey, didn’t expect you to come walking through the front door,” Jen said. “But since I know you’ll ask, we’re having a great day.”
Sam could tell by the empty spots in the display cases that sales had been strong. Jen ran a subtotal on the register and beamed as she showed Sam exactly how good. She took a moment to greet the two customers who occupied tables, offering coffee refills.
In the kitchen, Becky was humming “Let It Snow” while she placed sugar tulips on top of a flowerpot-shaped cake. “Yeah, it’s a little out of season to my way of thinking, but Mrs. Cisneros loves her tulips.”
Julio had just taken six pies from the oven—apple, raisin and rhubarb—and the heavenly cinnamon scent made Sam want to slice into the apple right away. Under her jacket, the book twitched—she swore it did—reminding her how much she wanted to settle down and read it.
“Everything going all right back here? Jen’s had a strong day out front.” Sam, feeling the warmth from the ovens, removed her coat and set the book in a clear spot on the worktable.
“Custom orders are a little slower than last week,” Becky said. “I always hate to admit it, but it’s nice when each holiday is over and the next one hasn’t quite hit us yet.”
“Don’t tell anyone, but I know exactly what you mean,” Sam said, paging through the order forms in their IN basket. “But thank goodness for those busy times—they’re what feed us all.”
Becky gave a little amen and carried the finished tulip cake to the fridge. “What’s next on my agenda?” she asked, glancing over Sam’s shoulder at the orders. “Guess I’d better get these two done.”
“Need help?”
“I don’t think so. One’s a two-tier for a birthday, but it’s not large. The other’s a baby shower sheet cake they want precut for quick serving. So, it’s mainly piping shell borders to cover the cuts. I pre-made some cream mints into pink and blue booties for each slice. People always seem to like those.”
“Well, if I’m not needed …”
Julio walked by on his way to the Hobart mixer with a bag of flour. All at once he stopped, bumping into Sam. “What’s that?” he asked, eyeing the book.
“A … book.” First time she’d seen him take an interest in anything from Ivan’s shop. “A novel someone recommended to me. It was written by the old woman who used to own the house we’re renting for our chocolate production.”
He edged away, heading for the mixer again, but Sam noticed he turned once more and looked at the book.
She gave Becky a what-the-heck look and little shrug. “Anyway, as I was saying, if I’m not needed here this afternoon I think I’ll just— Well, I’ve got a bunch of other things to do. Call me if anything comes up.”
She jammed the book into her pack and put her coat back on. Okay, she thought as she started the van and drove toward home, I will not start apologizing to my employees if I want to take an afternoon off—I work plenty of nights and weekends. And it’s none of their business if the only thing I plan to do is kick back and read a book. Why, then, did I hesitate just now?
She put those thoughts aside when she reached the ranch. The dogs greeted her enthusiastically on the front porch and she let them go inside with her. A fire in the big stone fireplace, a large mug of tea, and she was ready to snuggle into the comfy sofa with an afghan over her lap. She opened the book and reread the opening lines, surrendering to the pull of the story.
She’d nearly reached the halfway point when a sound on the front porch startled Ranger and Nellie into action. Sam realized it was growing dark outside and by the way both dogs were wagging, the sound must have been caused by Beau’s arrival.
“Hey there,” he said, shaking moisture off his hat. “This is a rare sight, you at home before bedtime.”
From anyone else, it might have been a wisecrack, but Beau crossed the room and kissed her. “I’m glad you got some time off,” he said. “Do I smell green chile stew?”
His appreciative smile made her glad she’d taken a few minutes to throw the ingredients into a pot on one of her tea-mug refill breaks.
“What’s the book?” he asked, warming his hands at the fire.
“Scott and Kelly recommended it, one of the bigger hits by the woman writer who used to live in the Victorian.”
“Any good?”
“It must be. I’ve barely moved all afternoon.”
How to explain to Beau? The description of the box in the story was a spot-on match with the one Sam owned, but its actions didn’t compare at all. No electric tingle for the person handling it, no golden glow to the wood, no brightening of the colored stones. The characters in the book were a teenage boy and his friends (no wonder the story had found an audience with youngsters, even decades later) who went on adventures, checking out tombs in Egypt, Himalayan crevasses and crystal caves in South America. There were myriad bad guys—well, bad creatures—who were predictably vanquished in flares of fire and billows of smoke when our hero called upon the box’s magical powers.
Sam’s initial apprehension gave way to rational thought. The author very well might have seen the box here in Taos at some point. After all, she and Bertha Martinez were of the same generation, although almost certainly not from the same social circles. Bertha had been a curandera and might have visited someone in the Nalespar family, allowing Eliza opportunities to see the box. Clearly, the writer’s imagination had invented the rest of it, the action sequences and the fictional box’s incredible strength.
“A fun adventure story,” she said, “that’s all.” She set the book aside and pulled herself out of her little cozy nest.
While Beau went upstairs to change out of his uniform and Sam put together a salad and tortillas to go with the stew, she decided she would find time to look up more about Eliza Nalespar’s life. Perhaps there would be a written record somewhere that showed she knew Bertha Martinez. Although the real box and fictional one were entirely separate, it might be fun to find something that took her inside the writer’s mind as she created her story.
Chapter 36
Benjie Lucero showed up exactly on time the next morning, wearing a spotless baker’s jacket, his short hair pushed up off his forehead in a little peak. For the first time in more than a week, Sam had a full night’s restful sleep and she felt ready to put her two new employees to work. She showed Benjie around the kitchen and he quickly gathered the ingredients for their first batch of eighty-percent cacao darks.
Lisa bicycled up and immediately became fascinated with Benjie’s movements in the kitchen. Sam couldn’t tell whether the girl was admiring the process of chocolate-making or if this was an attraction to the young chocolatier. It would be a situation to watch.
“Lisa,” Sam said after allowing her young assistant to gawk at the chocolate melting in the top section of the copper pot for awhile, “since we don’t have anything ready for packaging this morning, I’m going to let you organize the boxing and shipping materials. Grab your coat.”
She led the way to the carriage house and unlocked the side door.
“Right now, everything’s just stacked here,” she said, indicating the pile of materials in the middle of the floor. “With colder weather coming on, I’m thinking we’ll want more of it indoors where it’s handier to get to it.”
“Maybe we could use that other big room? The one you call the parlor?” Lisa circled the high stack of cartons. “I bet we could get most of this stuff in there.”
“I don’t mind that, but I’d like it organized better than this. When we moved everything it was a matter of just putting it somewhere.”
“So, maybe I should sort it out—ca
ndy boxes, shipping cartons, tape, markers, labels …”
“That would be great. I’d better get back to Benjie and the stove. Start carrying this stuff inside and we’ll decide how to organize it in the parlor. Well, I guess I should start calling it the shipping room.”
Lisa gave a little salute and picked up the first box—one Sam had used as a catch-all for mailing labels and rolls of tape.
Back in the kitchen the chocolate had reached a perfect one-hundred-twenty degrees and Benjie had already removed it from the burner.
“I like to temper by working the mixture on a marble slab,” Sam said.
“The traditional feel of it. I like it.” Benjie started to lift the pot.
“There’s one other thing first,” Sam said. She stepped closer and lowered her voice. As if people might overhear. “I use a secret ingredient. It’s part of the reason I had you sign that legal paper this morning. Our chocolates are different, very special, and no one—I mean no one—can know how we do it.”
His eyes sparkled with intrigue. “Nice.”
She pulled the tin canister from the shelf above the stove and opened it. Inside, lay the three pouches. She picked up the red one, noticing again how depleted it felt.
“A tiny pinch is all.” She demonstrated. “One very small pinch from each pouch.”
“What are they?”
“That’s the secret I can’t tell you.” Because I really don’t know either.
She sprinkled the pinch of near-translucent powder over the pot of hot chocolate, put the red pouch away and picked up the green one.
“You do this one,” she told him.
He reached into the pouch.
“Let me see,” she said. Satisfied with the amount he took, she told him to sprinkle it.
“And now the blue one?” he asked.
She nodded and watched. He started to raise his empty fingers to his tongue for a taste “No! Don’t taste.” She reached for his arm and lied blatantly. “I, um, I did that once. It wasn’t pleasant. You know, like biting into a cube of bouillon—it’s not at all the same as the diluted version.”
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