What if I created a reef inside the shell? This leg of the passenger’s journey goes to the Great Barrier Reef—they open their shell and inside are all the colorful corals and fishes they will see when they arrive.
Her heart rate quickened. This was the right track.
Back in the kitchen she found modeling chocolate and began tinting batches of it in yellow, orange, red, black—and, of course, shades of aqua and blue for the water. She would need the shell on hand in order to make the water’s surface from the blue candy, but she began forming the chocolate into the shapes of tropical fish. Tiny details emerged—scales of transparent glitter, a dark eye, a fluted fin. Each little fish was a perfect piece of candy, to be mounted on the oceanic background with a toothpick, so the guest could pick them up one at a time and nibble away.
Her eye caught sight of the picture of the metal Aladdin’s lamp she had ordered. It would be the gift for the Moroccan leg of the trip. What could be more perfect than to open the lamp and find an Arabic-themed feast? While her fingers continued to make fishes, her mind began to envision a table set with bowls of fruit, plates of sweets, lush cushions surrounding it, an elaborately carved screen as a backdrop.
She set the last of the tropical fish aside and immediately started on the Moroccan scene. Time dropped away and she lost herself in the magic of artistic creation.
Chapter 44
Sam straightened, stretching to ease the muscle cramps in her lower back and shoulders. The orange glow of sunrise outside the kitchen window caught her attention. Oh god … I didn’t really mean to work this long. She stepped to the window and pulled the curtain aside. The energetic high from her contact with the wooden box was wearing off and she felt the inevitable crash starting to settle upon her.
No—not this morning! There was too much to do yet before Stan Bookman came in … ugh, seven hours.
The chocolate pieces were made, but none of the presentation boxes was assembled. To anyone but Sam, the worktable looked like a tornado zone. She quickly cleared dirty bowls and decorating tools, placing them in the sink to soak in hot water. For each of the tour destinations, she set the candy alongside the box or container where it belonged. The marzipan fruits for the Arabian banquet were set well enough for final highlights to be added, the colorful fish for the clamshell just needed their ocean background before they could be set in place. Everything was nearly done, but so far from ready … she would need to put in at least another two hours before they were ready to show to the client. Another wave of exhaustion hit her.
She glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall. If she got right home and set alarms, she should be able to grab three or four hours sleep, have a quick shower, and still be back here in time to finalize the presentation pieces.
A groan escaped her. Working up to the moment the client walked through the door was not her usual style. She’d been raised with the ethic that you finished your work first, then you could rest or play.
“Can’t do it this time,” she said to the room at large. “Gotta get some sleep.”
She draped a thin sheet over the precious pieces she had toiled with, then grabbed her coat and pack and headed toward home.
Beau was in the kitchen, fresh from a shower, pouring his first cup of coffee.
“I saw your note, darlin’. I bet you’re pooped.”
Her smile felt weak as she allowed herself to be pulled into his embrace, melting against him with her eyes closed.
“Hey, no falling asleep on your feet,” he said. “You’d better go upstairs.”
“I am. I will,” she mumbled. “What’s on the agenda for your day?”
“I’d bring you up to date, but you’d be asleep five minutes into it. As for this morning, I’m hoping we’ll finally get a lead on Ramona Lukinger. I can’t believe she’s completely vanished. I even extended my lookout order to the rest of the state, in case she headed for Albuquerque or elsewhere. It’s as if the woman can make herself invisible.”
“Poor sweetheart. I wish I could—” A ping from her pocket interrupted the thought.
She pulled out her phone and saw a text message: Confirming appointment. Jake from ABC Plumbing at your location 8:00
Crap! Less than an hour from now. She showed the message to Beau.
“Would you like me to go?” he asked.
“No, it’s okay. You’ve got a full morning too, and a murder investigation is a little more important than a broken pipe, no matter what Delbert Crow says.”
She’d been ignoring her former supervisor’s messages for the past few days. Almost as much as she wanted to get the Bookman chocolate order, she really wanted this whole renewed contact with Crow to go away.
Beau rinsed his cup at the sink. “If you’re sure.”
“Yeah, I need to do it.”
He kissed her at the door as she was shrugging back into her heavy coat. Together, they walked out to their vehicles.
Okay, I can do this, Sam thought. Go out to the place on Wicket Lane and let the plumber in, get back home for two hours sleep … yada, yada, continue as planned. She started her truck and followed Beau’s cruiser down the driveway toward the road. At the intersection, she caught herself nodding off. When her head popped up with a jerk, she realized she shouldn’t be driving, not even a few miles.
The box sat on the seat beside her and she reached for it. Trusty friend, it warmed to her touch and she felt soft waves of energy travel up her arms and ease the ache in her tired shoulders. In a couple of minutes, she felt better. She put the truck back in gear and turned south.
She punched the radio dial, bypassing the news and the over-hyped talk radio bunch, until she came to a station playing dance music with a strong beat. Her fingers drummed on the steering wheel.
“Can’t keep goin’ like this, can’t do it, can’t do it,” she sang, making up words to fit the rhythm of the music.
For a fraction of a second, thoughts of the increased workload of the chocolate factory, especially Bookman’s increasingly elaborate plans, pushed into her head. Being privy to Beau’s work was interesting and she loved it that he trusted her input. The call from Sadie Holmes, taking on this new break-in house at her request—that had been the final straw, the one she couldn’t handle. The realization that something had to go swamped her like a tsunami. Something had to go.
“Okay, Sam.” She gave herself an actual slap to the cheek. “Something will go. The moment this plumber is done today, I’ll never take another call from Delbert Crow, never in my life.”
The load lifted a little.
“And for each of Mr. Bookman’s new projects, I’ll charge him a fortune and hire enough help to handle it.”
The sky seemed to brighten.
“As for Beau …” She knew she couldn’t say no to him, but then he’d never asked much of her, either. Mostly, she volunteered because she found his work so interesting.
She had passed the plaza, realizing as she turned east onto Kit Carson Road that there were still icy patches where trees and buildings kept the roadways in shade. She slowed, watching for the turn to the house. She was about to make the turn when a red car approached from the right.
Red Mercedes, blonde driver with curly hair. It was Missy—no, Ramona Lukinger!
Ramona looked up and met Sam’s eye. When she sped up, apparently trying to zip through the intersection, her Mercedes hit an icy place and began to swerve. Sam didn’t give it a second thought—she steered her truck in Ramona’s direction.
The vehicles hit with a crunch, Sam’s front bumper pushing the Mercedes farther into its spin. With the momentum Ramona had given it, her car smacked the curb hard, jittered a few feet, and nailed a fire hydrant.
Ramona’s eyes went wide, her mouth a big O, until she realized Sam had her phone up to her ear. Ramona tried her door handle, but the truck was solidly up against her door and it didn’t open more than a couple of inches. Scrambling across the console in a very unladylike move, she trie
d the same thing with the passenger side door, only to discover it wouldn’t open either. The fire hydrant had managed to be in the right place at the right time.
Sam gave the panicked woman an oh-too-bad kind of look at the same moment Beau picked up his phone.
“I’ve captured your suspect,” she said. Adrenaline had completely erased her earlier slumpy mood.
Chapter 45
Beau couldn’t help but chuckle as he assisted the squirming, handcuffed Ramona from the back seat of his cruiser and escorted her straight to the interrogation room. Sam had been so cute standing there beside her truck, hands on hips, giving Ramona the evil eye when he arrived. She’d wanted so badly to stay and help with the arrest and interrogation, but the plumbing truck arrived and she had no choice but to follow him. Luckily, damage to her truck was minimal, a dent below the right headlight was all.
He stashed Ramona in Interrogation Room 1, locking her in to stew while he spread the word to Rico and Travis. He asked Travis to call Helen Flagler, the elderly woman who’d been robbed by Ramona while Percy tried to talk religion. If Helen would come in, an ID by a victim would help to get her money back.
By the time he got back to her, fifteen minutes later, Ramona had quieted down. The blonde curls were looking a little frazzled. Apparently, one of her dark brown contact lenses had fallen out because she stared at him with the incongruous combination of one blue eye and one brown one.
“Mrs. Lukinger, we meet again,” he said.
She turned her eyes away from him.
“We’ve received a number of complaints that seem to involve you and your husband. Couple of neighborhoods, in particular, where some older folks were scammed on home repairs and such.”
“I know nothing about that. My husband’s dead, for God’s sake, and you people have hassled me beyond my limits. Poor Percy was so overwrought he couldn’t sleep. How can you be so mean? Seriously, you’d better watch out—I’m about to file harassment charges against this department.”
Beau ignored the short harangue.
“While we’re organizing a lineup, I’d like to show you something else.” He pulled out several photos, some of the still shots they’d been able to take from the casino video.
The first shot showed Percy and Ramona at adjacent slot machines, but the two were not looking at each other. At the upper right corner, a older man was entering the picture. Beau laid the print on the table, facing Ramona, and pushed it across to her.
“So?” she said.
“Who’s the man walking toward you?”
“How should I know?”
“You honestly believe that’s the only picture we have?” He set out the next sequence. The white-haired man approaching Ramona, her head turned toward him.
Her face remained impassive as she looked at the pictures.
The next one showed the man standing very close to her. In the next, he had his arm around her shoulders.
“You don’t seem offended,” Beau said. “I mean, if you truly don’t know this man.”
She breathed very slowly, considering. “Oh, yeah. I remember that night. He was this nice old guy who bought me a drink.”
“Somehow, this feels a little more familiar,” Beau said. “Do all women let a guy touch them after they’ve delivered just one drink?”
She gave a get-real stare from beneath her lashes and didn’t say anything. None of the other photos rattled her in the least. He gathered them up and wondered whether Helen Flagler had arrived to take a look at the lineup yet.
He left Ramona alone in the interrogation room again and walked to the observation room to see whether she let her guard down. If she breathed a sigh of relief or if her hands shook or if she paced, he never saw it. This was one chilly customer.
Wait until she got sent back to San Diego.
Chapter 46
Sam pulled into the driveway beside the plumber’s truck. Next door, the blue minivan indicated another visit by Mr. Zuckerman’s daughter. Both yards still had a fair amount of snow in front, the shady side. The plumber’s arrival thirty minutes late had a good news/bad news element. She’d been able to detain Ramona long enough for Beau to arrive, but now she was in a time crunch to finish the chocolates before Bookman showed up.
She greeted the plumber, opened the front door, and showed him the place where she’d suspected the leak came from, under the kitchen sink.
“Well, you know water,” he joked. “It’ll run anywhere. You can’t believe what I’ve seen since that big freeze. Pipes broken inside walls, water gushing down from the second floor to the first … huge messes. Some guy in a first-floor condo had water pouring out of his microwave from a broken pipe in the unit upstairs.”
Thanks for the lesson on floods. “Look, I’ve got an urgent appointment, so I really can’t stay. Just do your thing. Here’s my number. When you’re finished I’ll come back by to pay you and lock up the house.”
She pointed out the valve for the water main. “If you can’t turn it back on, you’ll need to call the water department.”
“No problem. I can do it.”
Outside, she heard voices from the house next door, an argument. Male voice adamant, repeating the word ‘no’ several times. Female voice raised in anger, although Sam couldn’t make out the words. It sounded like another Zuckerman spat. She wondered if the wife was around. According to Mr. Zuckerman, he had all the care he needed right here at home. Maybe Dolores only pushed the issue when she got her father alone.
A glance at her dashboard clock brought her up short. Her two-hour window in which to work on the presentation boxes for Bookman had rapidly dwindled. Her tires lost traction for a moment as she gave the truck a little too much gas.
Okay, take it carefully, Sam.
She itched to stop by the station and see how it was going for Beau with his capture of Ramona Lukinger, but the presentation for Stan Bookman was becoming critical, and the delays had already cost precious time. She headed for the chocolate factory.
Benjie was working at one of the big tables, skillfully forming a tiny swirl atop each truffle on a tray filled with them. His assistants were tempering chocolate and mixing fillings. From the packing room, Sam heard giggles from Lisa and one of the other girls. Her display containers and the associated pieces sat where she had left them.
“What time does Mr. Bookman arrive?” Benjie asked, giving an appreciative perusal as Sam unveiled her work.
“Couple hours. I didn’t finish as many pieces as I’d hoped to, but I think these will give the idea of what the product will be.”
“You can always fill in with some of these truffles, and I just finished a tray of molded cappuccino squares decorated with coffee bean shavings.”
“Ooh, those sound nice. He didn’t say every piece in the box had to be unique to his tour.” Sam pulled a few pieces from the tray Benjie indicated.
She started with the most out-of-the-ordinary parts of her presentation, the giant shell with the Great Barrier Reef pieces. Her idea of molded chocolate tinted blue for the ocean didn’t seem as appealing today, so she started something new.
Stirring up a batch of hard candy, which would crystalize when it cooled, she set the gas burner and let the mixture cook on the stove while she created a liner of foiled paper which would protect the shell box as well as provide a reflective background for the translucent blue candy. This would be her ocean.
When the candy mixture reached the hard-crack stage of cooking, she tinted it aqua blue, and quickly drizzled it into the shell’s liner. Immediately, it set. Tossing in a handful of ice cubes, she poured more candy. As the ice melted, the small voids left behind would give the illusion of waves and movement. While the blue candy set, she made sure each of the chocolate fishes was ready to be placed on its reef. It would come together with little effort now.
She moved on to the Aladdin’s lamp, setting up her little scene of an Arabian feast, then to the treasure chest, w
hich she filled to overflowing with an array of all types of molded and shaped chocolates, giving each a dusting of iridescent gold powder.
From the countertop beside the stove, her phone began to buzz. “Can someone check that for me?” she asked. “I’ve got gold dust all over my hands.”
Benjie wiped his hands on a towel and walked over to take a look. “It’s Mr. Bookman.”
“Answer it, please. I’ll be right there.” She didn’t take her eyes off the delicate tropical flowers she was piping on the lid of the treasure chest.
Benjie greeted the client and explained Sam’s busyness. “Yes, sir. Hold on—she’s right here.”
His eyes were wide when he handed the phone over to Sam.
“Hey, Sam,” Bookman said. “Just wanted to let you know we’re on the way over to your place. We had great weather and our plane arrived a little ahead of schedule.”
Sam sucked in her breath. A little? She’d hoped to have another hour or more.
“I’ll be there in five or ten minutes.” He hung up.
She stared with dismay at the state of her worktable. Pushing the unfinished items to one side, she placed Aladdin’s lamp at the clear end of the table.
“I wish I could rub this thing right now and have a genie show up,” she said.
Benjie carried his rack of truffles to her table. “Tell me what to do.”
“See that Incan wood box? Fill in the areas I’ve missed—add truffles and those molded pieces you told me about. Same with the lamp …” She raised the hinged lid on it. “Same with the basket made of grasses … Yes, that one over there.”
The Hindu shrine and Taj Mahal would just have to be explained. She didn’t even have the prototypes yet, but with the sketches the artists had provided, she could get the ideas across. The paperboard box with the watercolor of the Lost City of Petra on top was incomplete. It was probably best not to show it yet; in concept, it wasn’t as impressive as it would be when finished.
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