Spooky Sweet

by Connie Shelton

  He gave her a puzzled look. The comparison was lame, she knew, but she had no idea what the effect of the pure powder would be.

  “What’s in them?”

  Oh, god, was he going to get into questions about food purity and FDA approval? She hoped the dismay didn’t show on her face as she turned to put the canister back on the shelf. When she turned back toward him, she winked. “Trade secret.”

  Lisa shuffled through the butler’s pantry on her second trip with a large carton of shipping boxes. Sam hoped the girl hadn’t heard Benjie’s questions.

  “So! Let’s get busy tempering this batch,” Sam said to him, and I’ll show you the molds we’re using. “We make new designs for each season and holiday, and I’m eager to see what ideas you might have.”

  Benjie’s focus changed as he smoothed the dark, glossy chocolate with a wide spatula and checked the temperature. Together, they finished three dark cacao batches and started some milk chocolates with caramel-nut centers. While Benjie chopped pecans, Sam went to check on Lisa’s progress.

  “This looks great,” Sam said, eyeing the neat stacks her assistant had made in the shipping room.

  “I’ve put the satin boxes nearest the door, so I can pop over and get more as I fill them up,” Lisa said.

  “Good thinking.”

  “The big shipping boxes are stacked along this wall. Labels here. Markers handy right there.” Lisa walked Sam around the room to each section. “There’s still more out in the garage, but I didn’t want to make this room too full. Is that okay? Well, plus, it’s after eleven and I should get going.”

  Sam couldn’t believe how the morning hours had flown. Having minions was turning out to be kind of fun.

  Lisa filled out her time card and bundled into her coat before biking away. Sam checked on Benjie’s progress; he’d made the caramel-nut mixture, poured it into a square pan and set the pan into the fridge to harden.

  “I’m going to make sure Lisa locked the garage,” Sam said. “Here’s the recipe for my deep chocolate creams and the confectioner’s sugar is over there. You can start measuring. I’ll be right back.”

  The wind had turned chilly, blowing yesterday’s clouds away, and it funneled between the two structures with an intensity that made Sam wish she’d taken a moment to put on her heavier coat. She speed-walked the path to the side door Lisa had used. Her fingers fumbled with the key for a moment as she secured the new deadbolt lock.

  Hugging herself for warmth, she headed back to the house. Movement in the shadows near the van caught her eye. Under the portico by the side door stood a gigantic man.

  Adrenaline flashed through her. She stopped twenty feet away. Then she recognized him.

  “Bobul?”

  He stepped into the light. It was the eccentric Romanian who had showed up in a similar manner her first Christmas in business, offering his services and launching her on the path to her current success with the entire candy line. She felt the urge to rush forward and hug him but remembered Bobul wasn’t exactly the hugging sort.

  “Miss Sam. Is good to see.” He looked the same as always in his coarse brown coat and hat, a large cloth messenger bag strapped across his chest.

  “Bobul! I’m happy to see you too. How did you know I would be out here?” She spread her arms. “Did you go to the bakery first?”

  He shook his head. “Miss Sam need me.”

  Had he read her mind in recent days? Or did he somehow intuitively know her supply of the special powders had run low?

  A fresh gust of wind nearly took her breath away. “Come inside and get warm. I want you to see the new kitchen.”

  He walked toward the side door as if he knew his way around. Sam followed, reminding herself it was Bobul’s way. He wasn’t intrusive, exactly, but had no problem walking into a new situation and acting as if he belonged.

  Benjie visibly started when Bobul entered the kitchen ahead of Sam. The big guy had that effect on people.

  “Benjie, this is Bobul. He’s an old friend and an expert chocolatier.”

  Bobul gave a short grunt of acknowledgement, the same reaction he’d had when he met the staff at Sweet’s Sweets. Benjie took a step back with a respectful nod.

  Sam told Benjie he could go back to his chocolate creams while she showed their visitor around the facility. In each room, Bobul stared at the space, taking it all in, even to the ceilings and floors, giving a grunt here and there. She wondered if he’d understood most of what she said as she rambled on about the rooms and the amount of chocolate they were now producing.

  “I owe so much to you,” Sam said. “Your help and techniques set me on the path to this whole new endeavor.”

  “Yes. Is good.”

  “Well. Are you here to stay awhile? I can pay a good salary if you can work with us, teach us some new techniques.” Sell me more of those wonderful ingredients.

  It felt faintly illicit to come right out and ask, as if she was working some sort of drug deal. She hoped he would pick up the hint. They’d made their way through the downstairs rooms and were now in the former maid’s room which served as the pantry. Bobul eyed the shelves of sugar, cocoa and flavorings, nodded, headed for the kitchen. He shed the voluminous brown coat and hung it on one of the hooks by the back door, washed up at the sink and went straight to the worktable.

  Benjie must have assumed this was another regular employee. He moved aside and continued shaping cream centers, preparing them for dipping in the milk chocolate he’d tempered in Sam’s absence.

  “Is like this,” Bobul said after watching Benjie at work for a minute. “Is so—”

  His large hands had surprisingly agile fingers as he picked up a cream center. With a deft twist, he swirled it into the milk chocolate, gave it a turn and produced a perfect rosebud-shaped dollop on top. He set that one on the rack and did another.

  Benjie and Sam watched, mesmerized, as he turned out swirls and starbursts and buds with just the quick flick of his wrist and delicate moves of his fingers.

  “Wow.” Benjie was frank in his admiration. “Can you teach me that?”

  “Bobul show,” said the master. “You will learn.”

  The vague sense of inadequacy Sam had felt for weeks simply vanished as she watched the amazing chocolatier at work. Whatever she could learn from this man, whatever she paid for his services, it would all come back to her a thousand-fold, she knew.

  Chapter 37

  Sara lay awake in the dark, listening to the soft sounds of her mother’s breathing. When Mom’s illness was first diagnosed, Sara lived in fear that one of those breaths would be the last and somehow by listening—keeping watch, so to speak—she could prevent that, could manage to keep her mother breathing forever. It wouldn’t happen that way, she now knew. She also couldn’t stay awake forever. Her sleeplessness for the past few nights came from the thoughts which also haunted her days at school: what to do about Matt and whatever he’d got himself into.

  Talking to her brother had not helped. If he’d taken her suggestion of turning the money over to the law there would have been a big thing about it on the news. She’d been quietly keeping tabs. The robbery wasn’t even being talked about anymore. Which might be a good thing. Maybe the law would forget about it pretty soon and Matt would be out of danger.

  Even as the thought came into her mind she knew it was stupid. That woman was still in the hospital. If she died the whole thing would blow up again.

  Sara rolled over, pulling the covers up tighter around her shoulders. Okay, so, what if she could find the money, somehow sneak it away from the guys and take it to the sheriff? She could say she’d overheard a conversation (true enough) and it had led her to the cash (not true at all). There would be loads of questions but if she was quick and sneaky she could somehow just leave it there and get out without having to answer them.

  Logic told her there were about a million things wrong with that plan, but it was all she had.

  She rolled over again and saw from
her mother’s clock that another hour had passed. Mom moaned in her sleep and sat up in bed. Sara held very still as Mom went down the hall to the bathroom and came back, settling in and eventually snoring softly.

  Okay, what about this—do a little detective work? Find out from Matt where the money’s hidden. Call the sheriff’s department with an anonymous tip. Why not? She’d seen stuff like this on TV. You had to call from a public phone and you had to hang up really fast.

  Basically, it was exactly what Mom had advised—tell someone about the problem and the adults would take over and fix it. Right? The tough part would be getting Matt to tell her where the money was; it would take a little spying.

  She smiled at the thought and felt her eyelids grow heavy.

  Mom slept late the next morning and Sara cornered Matt in the kitchen as he was pouring Cheerios into a bowl. She tried the I-love-you-so-much approach, telling him how worried she was, coming right out with the question.

  “Are you nuts?” he whispered. “I tell you that and I’m toast.”

  “But we could turn it in—”

  “Forget it!”

  “If I kind of happened to learn where it is, you wouldn’t have to be involved.”

  “Sara, shut it. There’s some weird shit going on and you’d better stay away. I mean it. Far away.”

  “Oh, yeah, like how far away can I stay? We live right here in town. You have your friends over here all the time. It’s not like I’m invisible.”

  “Well, make yourself invisible. Seriously.” He left his cereal bowl, grabbed his jacket and walked out.

  Sara poured milk on his cereal, thinking hard while she ate it. Oh yeah? Well, you aren’t getting rid of me that easily, Matthew Ryan Cook.

  * * *

  Opportunity presented itself that very evening. Sara had just finished washing the dinner dishes when Matt’s phone rang. He went into his room but she pretended to need the bathroom and followed him down the hall. She shut the bathroom door with a loud click but stayed outside his door with her ear to the crack.

  “… our shares? My car’s almost out of gas, but I’ll get my mom’s vehicle and meet you there in twenty,” Matt said.

  Sara didn’t wait to hear the rest.

  “Mom, I told Amy I’d do homework with her tonight over at their apartment. Go ahead to bed if I’m not back when you get sleepy,” she said, grabbing her coat and dashing outside.

  Mom’s faded, old Ford Explorer sat in its usual spot and Sara remembered she hadn’t locked the back hatch when they came home from grocery shopping earlier. She lifted it partway, climbed inside and closed it. The rollup shade designed to hide the contents was a little tricky to manage when you were lying on your back, but she got it latched in place just before Matt came out and got into the driver’s seat.

  When Mom wasn’t in the seat beside him, her brother drove like some kind of racer, Sara discovered. She spread her arms and legs to avoid being rolled around like a loose can of soup. She’d thought of trying to keep track of the turns in the road, like they did on TV sometimes, but it was impossible. Within five minutes she had no clue where they were. The road got bumpy and after awhile it felt like he turned at a driveway. The car came to a stop and Matt opened his door.

  The interior light came on and Sara prayed he wouldn’t remember the shade over the cargo area had not been closed earlier.

  “Yo,” said a voice she recognized as Wolfe’s. “He’s already here. Walked on over. We should go too.”

  “What about the old lady? She’s been there almost every night.”

  “Not now. Kurt checked.”

  Matt’s door slammed. Sara dared to unhook the cargo cover and let it slide back. When she got up on her knees she saw they’d parked in the driveway at a one-story house next to a big, open field. Matt and Wolfe were walking away using a flashlight to pick their way through the high weeds.

  This had to be it—the place they were meeting and most likely where they’d hidden the money. Why else would Matt have said something about their shares? If she didn’t follow them now, she’d never know where they went. She rolled over into the backseat and opened the door, cringing when the light came on. Yikes! She dropped to a crouch on the ground and closed it quickly.

  Chapter 38

  Beau rubbed his eyes and looked at his watch. He needed to get home. A full day of watching nonstop videotape made him feel brain dead. The day had started on such a positive note with a call from the local branch of First Federal Bank. But the hope for a quick resolution to his case now faltered. He locked his office and got into his cruiser.

  Home looked good. Lights on in the kitchen window, Sam’s van parked in her usual spot.

  “How about this,” she marveled. “We’re both home and it’s not even bedtime yet.”

  He kissed her and even though his smile felt weary, Sam was warm against him and the scent of dinner—chicken and veggies—perked him up. His wife appeared more rested than she’d been in days and she told him of the additional employee’s competence with the work she’d assigned him so far.

  “You, on the other hand, look a little bit whupped,” she said as she set their plates on the table.

  “Got my hopes up today, only to spend more than seven hours watching convenience store video footage.” He cut into the tender chicken, something Sam whipped up in the crockpot, his favorite dish. “The bright spot is some of the stolen money showed up and the bank traced it to the store’s cash deposit from yesterday’s sales.”

  “Beau, that’s great. It’s a solid lead, right?”

  “Yes and no. Problem is, it was only one $20 bill and there’s no way to know which customer spent it. Three different clerks worked the shifts, so we had each of them come in and try to help with details about who spent what money. That proved to be totally useless. One of the female clerks said she remembered a guy using a twenty to buy a pack of gum—a good sign of someone trying to pass counterfeit or stolen bills. But when we went through the tapes she couldn’t remember which one it was. The camera gets the clerk and the customer but isn’t too hot on showing what product they’re buying.”

  “She didn’t remember anything about the person’s clothing, hair … something to help you pick him out?”

  “Darlin’, I swear, these clerks go through their days in a state of oblivion. None of the three could specifically tell me anything about any person they waited on during their entire shift.” He stabbed a chunk of potato. “Oh, back up. One of the men remembered a customer who threw a fit at the gas pump. Apparently got mad about his credit card being rejected and tossed the fuel hose on the ground. The main reason the clerk remembered the incident was because the manager made him go out to pick up the nozzle and make sure no gas had spilled.”

  Sam shook her head in sympathy. “What about the manager? Would he, or she, have remembered the passer of the twenty?”

  “Unfortunately not. The late shift had no manager on duty. The early-shift guy came in and stared at the videos along with the rest of us but claims not to know anything about what went on at the register. Basically, it was wasted effort.”

  “So, what next?”

  “We bagged the bill and took fingerprints from everyone known to have touched it. That gives us one small avenue to follow.” He picked up the dinner plates and carried them to the kitchen while Sam put away the leftovers. “Tomorrow, I’m taking the tapes to the guards who were robbed. Maybe they’ll recognize something familiar … body shape, movement, some sort of tic. I tell you, I’ll grab any straw I can get hold of right now.”

  Chapter 39

  Sara trailed behind her brother, wishing the full moon had lasted a few more nights. Clouds kept dimming the light from the waning moon. Something about the area felt familiar but she couldn’t figure out why. In daylight she might know where she was but all she could do for now was to follow the boys.

  Matt and Wolfe walked on through the high weeds, the beam from their flashlight bobbing over the ground. Sara�
�s progress was slower, negotiating uneven turf and stubbing her toes on rocks a couple of times. She couldn’t watch the boys and the ground at the same time.

  After about five minutes she realized they’d stopped. A male voice called out to them. She crept closer, crouching in the weeds, wishing that stupid cloud would move along and give her some light.

  “What kind of problem?” Wolfe asked, apparently in response to something the other man had said.

  “A new lock. The damn door has a goddamn new deadbolt lock on it.”

  “What about a window?”

  “No windows in the whole building.”

  “What about the garage doors?” This time it was Matt’s voice. “They looked pretty old.”

  Sara’s eyes were adjusting better to the dark and she made out the figures of three men: Matt, Wolfe and that other guy who’d been to their apartment—Kurt. They were standing beside a square building with a steeply pitched roof and some kind of little steeple-thing on top.

  “We could try that.” Kurt turned on his heel and stomped toward one end of the building.

  Wolfe trotted along behind him. Matt lingered a moment at the side door, grabbed the doorknob and jiggled it. Nothing happened. Why would it?

  The ragged edge of the cloud slid along, revealing a sharp gibbous moon, and Sara’s surroundings suddenly lit up. She turned to look around, gasping at the sight of a big, dark hulk of a house on her left. She knew this place. When they were kids, they’d played in the orchards at Wolfe and Crissy’s uncle’s house. That was where Matt parked the car.

  Now, they stood next to the big Victorian house which had sat abandoned and overgrown for as long as Sara could remember. She and Crissy knew the old house must be haunted—it had to be, it was so spooky. In broad daylight they’d walked around the outside a bit but never dared to try breaking in. They’d made up stories about an old witch who lived there (Crissy’s aunt said the woman wrote books, but they were convinced she was a witch anyway), and they’d always edged carefully around the place, lest some residual magic spells remain that could grab them and pull them into the basement where unspeakable things would happen.