Sweet Hearts
The Fourth Samantha Sweet Mystery
Copyright 2012, Connie Shelton
“Shelton continues to combine suspenseful storytelling with sensitive portrayals of complex family relationships.” —Booklist
“...a wonderful, easy flow that draws in the reader.”
—Amazon 5-Star review
“As for me, I enjoy mysteries infused with a little touch of magic and a dream that anything is possible.” —Amazon 5-Star review
“Connie Shelton gets better with every book she writes.”
--Midwest Book Review
Chapter 1
Cold sunlight glittered on the frosted stalks of dead carnations and gladioli that rested against Iris Cardwell’s headstone. Samantha Sweet took a deep breath against the tears that wanted to clog her throat. She reached for Beau’s gloved hand. He gave a squeeze.
“It’s been a month but I still haven’t quite accepted it,” she said. Sam’s experiences with the healing touch she’d acquired from a local bruja worked wonders in some cases but none of her efforts, it seemed, had been quite good enough this time.
“She had good doctors and they tried. That second stroke was just too much.” He blinked hard and Sam, noticing, stared at the ground.
Beau pulled her hand upward and kissed her fingers through her purple woolen mitten.
“I should bring some bags out here and clear away the flowers,” he said.
“They look sad.”
“Mama had a good, long life. She held on for a long time after Dad . . .”
She sniffed and nodded, letting the silence settle into a comfortable one.
Beau blew out a white cloud of warm breath. “Well, darlin’, it’s Monday morning and I gotta be at my desk pretty soon.”
He placed a gentle hand at her back and guided her toward his department cruiser parked at the edge of the small cemetery.
Me, too, Sam thought. Although it was barely daylight, she was already late to open the bakery but she’d been unable to refuse Beau’s wish to stop by his mother’s gravesite after he’d spent a night of restless dreams. Her own thoughts were filled with plans for their upcoming wedding.
*
At Sweet’s Sweets, Sam’s assistants were busy and the kitchen felt toasty warm and redolent with the spicy smell of apple-cinnamon scones and her nutmeg-laced crumb cake. Sam picked up the design sketches for her wedding cake. The three tiers would be iced in pale ivory buttercream with just a hint of rose, a champagne tone that she would match exactly to her dress. Mauve roses, stargazer lilies, and clusters of sugar daisies would form a thick bouquet on top, then trail down the tiers between swags of traditional bunting and delicate piping.
“It’s going to be fantastic, Mom.” Her daughter Kelly stared over Sam’s shoulder.
“A year ago, I would have never imagined marrying Beau Cardwell.” He, the county sheriff who could be posing for sexy men’s cologne ads, and she the pudgy baker who’d met him while on her other job, breaking into a house.
“But you are. And Valentine’s Day is the perfect time.”
Sam looked back at the sketches. “This is way too much cake for such a small gathering. And I was thinking of doing a groom’s cake for Beau, as well. Maybe a law enforcement theme, or, I don’t know, perhaps something whimsical with his ranch animals on it.”
Kelly smiled, no doubt imagining the two dogs cavorting over the top of a chocolate cake, Beau’s favorite. “Well, you’ve got only a week to decide.”
One week. Her stomach fluttered.
Sam scanned the kitchen, trying to fix her mind around the crazy amount of work this Valentine week. Her stainless steel worktable was covered with heart-shaped cakes on turntables, awaiting decorations. She’d become so adept at piping out freeform hearts that she could do them in her sleep. Her assistant, Becky Harper, stood at the far end with a fat pastry bag in hand, looping rose petals onto a waxed paper square on top of a flower nail nearly as quickly as Sam could do it herself. A tray of the finished flowers—red, white and pink—sat on the table, and as Becky filled each one she carried it to the large walk-in fridge so the flowers could properly set up. Sam would need them for replacement cakes and cupcakes, which had been practically flying out of the display cases all week.
“We went to the cemetery this morning,” she said in a low voice.
Kelly bit at her lip. “I really miss her, Mom.” She had worked for Beau as caregiver to his aging mother until a stroke in December put Iris into the hospital then in a nursing home. Kelly quickly found employment at Puppy Chic, the dog grooming shop next to the bakery, and the hours were reasonable enough that she often went by the home during the holidays and stayed with Iris through the evenings, reading books to a group of the elderly inhabitants. Until that second stroke.
Sam slid her arm around Kelly’s shoulders and planted a kiss on the top of her brown curls.
“I better get going,” Kelly said. “Riki’s got a full house this morning.” She gave her mother a quick hug before heading toward the back door.
Meanwhile, Sam had her hands full with wedding plans. The thought of her parents and sister coming from Cottonville, Texas here to Taos, spending time with Beau whom they’d only met once, less than a month ago, and all the little details of the wedding in the parlor at her best friend’s bed and breakfast—it was all beginning to make Sam’s head hurt.
She set the sketches back on her desk and picked up a pastry bag full of hot pink icing. With a number 32 decorating tip, she began piping a shell border on one of the heart cakes. The squeeze-relax rhythm of the work put Sam into the place she liked best, the world of creating beautiful objects from butter and sugar. Minutes passed and her mind settled. She switched tips and added string work to a couple of the cakes, then retrieved a tray of roses from the fridge and began setting them in place. A few leaves, her neat lettering proclaiming Happy Valentine’s Day, and she soon had six cakes ready for the displays out front.
She balanced one cake on each hand and headed for the sales area where a customer was picking up a box of cupcakes she’d just purchased.
“Here, Jen, can you grab one of these?”
Her assistant turned from the register and reached for the cake, sliding the glass door of the case open with her free hand.
“I’d swear that they get prettier all the time,” Jen said.
It was a little hard to come up with brand-new ideas when the standard Valentine colors of pink and red, and the standard gifts of roses and chocolates remained favorites with the customers. But she had to admit that she’d been pretty successful at adding little twists; the bright fondant coatings, classic brocade textures and sparkling gold and silver accents had gone over so well with her custom designed cakes that she’d thrown in a few of those details for the stock cakes as well.
“There are more in the back,” Sam told Jen. “Give me a hand?”
The only two customers were taking their time about deciding, so Jen excused herself and followed Sam to the kitchen. The minute they walked back into the sales room with the new creations, both patrons spotted what they wanted. One woman took an oval cake covered in red fondant with quilting and gold beads, topped with white frosting carnations and an impressive fondant bow. The other exclaimed over one of the heart-shaped cakes with traditional red roses and ribbons of icing which trailed over the sides. Jen rang up their sales and sent them out with her customary, “Have a magical day!”
Sam stood at the beverage bar, where she poured herself a mug of their signature blend coffee and closed her eyes as she took the first sip.
“Good thing we got the two extra bakers, huh,” Jen said, stepping from behind the counter to organize and wipe down the bistro tables that looked like they
’d seen several visitors already this morning.
“No kidding. I don’t know what I’d be doing right now.” Sam sipped at the coffee and willed some extra energy into her limbs. “What I should be doing is working on my chocolate techniques. I don’t know . . . I’m just not getting the results Bobul did.”
“Well, he was really experienced. You can’t expect to be that good right away.”
“I’d just like to be a hundredth as good. Skilled enough to produce something I could put out for the customers without embarrassment.”
When the mysterious European chocolatier had showed up before Christmas, his delectable creations wowed the customers, sending Sam’s holiday sales skyward. Then, just as silently as he’d arrived, he’d left on Christmas Eve. Sam had stopped by his rented cabin, but the place was abandoned. Eerily abandoned. She had no idea where he’d gone, but felt sure he wasn’t still in Taos. She would have heard about it if his chocolates were being sold anywhere else—it was a small town.
Meanwhile, Sam had spent every Saturday of the past month driving to Santa Fe for classes on chocolate-making techniques. Although she’d managed to turn out a passable Belgian chocolate for dipping strawberries, and she could now mold and unmold shaped pieces without breaking half of them, nothing she’d created so far came even close to the flavor, texture and whatever magical thing that Gustav Bobul had done to turn her clients into raving chocoholics.
A customer walked in, grabbing Jen’s attention, and Sam carried her own mug to the kitchen. At her desk, she reached for the bin where she stacked the order forms for all their custom work. She verified that all the pages were in sequence by delivery date, discovering what she already knew—the early part of the week had practically nothing due, but the weekend and Valentine’s Day, they’d be slammed.
Twelve proposal cakes and four weddings in addition to her own—what on earth had she been thinking, agreeing to February fourteenth as her wedding day? Beau didn’t care; he’d told her that a lunch-hour ceremony in the judge’s office would be fine with him. Typically male, he was only thinking of the fact that they would soon be living together, sharing their lives.
Sam wanted that, too. But she also wanted their wedding day to be special. It was her first time at this, his second. His first marriage lasted five years and ended with his model-gorgeous wife deciding that life in this little town would never suit her and figuring out that she would never convert Beau to a city guy. Sam’s past included a hot time with the charmer who fathered Kelly, an escape from commitment there, and thirty years of sporadic dating while she raised a kid on her own. No man had ever struck a chord with her the way Beau did; there’d been absolutely no one she could envision committing to for a lifetime. Until now.
She touched the antique garnet ring on her left hand, remembering how Iris had pressed it into Beau’s palm Christmas night, insisting that he should give it to Sam to formalize their engagement. The ensuing six weeks had become a flurry of plans and decisions saddened by the sudden absence of Iris. Now—in memory of that sweet older woman—Sam wanted to make their wedding a special day, with her beautiful creamy lace dress, her friends and family near, and the cake of her dreams.
She’d made hundreds of lovely cakes for lovely brides but there was that one fantastic creation, still in her head, that she’d never made for anyone else. It wouldn’t be the biggest cake of her career—far from it—but it would be hers. She glanced again at her sketches.
“Ms Sweet?” It was Sandy, one of her temporary bakers. “I just wanted to check this with you? These four layers are to be carrot cake, right?”
The woman phrased every sentence as a question, from I’d like a job here? to I guess I’ll go home now? The first few days of this had annoyed Sam to no end but she finally made up her mind that she couldn’t let it get to her. Sandy would only be here this month, and she really did know her way around a commercial bakery.
“That’s correct,” Sam said. “Hey, thanks. I was just glancing through the orders and it looks like you’ve checked off quite a few of them.”
Although the ideal situation was to bake, decorate and deliver a cake within two days, they simply didn’t have the staff or oven space to handle the volume this week. So Sam had decided that they would bake a lot of the layers and put them in the freezer for a few days before decorating. This morning when she’d arrived she noticed that Sandy and Cathy were taking that decision to heart.
Still, most of Sam’s work would necessarily fall right at the end. Friday through Monday were going to get absolutely crazy. And Tuesday was her wedding day. Of course, there was one way . . . but it involved calling upon her source of mystical power—dare she call it magic?—something she’d resolved to cut from her life. Something she still hadn’t fully revealed to Beau.
“Sam?” Jen poked her head past the curtain that separated the kitchen from the sales area. “A lady who wants a custom cake.” She tilted her head toward the front of the shop.
“Be right there.” Sam sighed and wondered how she was going to live through the coming week.
Chapter 2
A woman sat at one of the bistro tables, hands folded in front of her. She was about Sam’s age, with salt-and-pepper hair in a short, layered style. When she looked up, the lids over her dark brown eyes seemed tired. Deep lines of long-term sadness etched the corners of her mouth. A smile flickered and she introduced herself as Marla Fresques.
“Did Jennifer offer you some coffee?”
“Yes, she did. I don’t care for any, thanks.” The thin fingers went back into their clasped position.
“What can we make for you?”
Marla’s mouth opened and then closed again, as if she had one answer in mind but thought better of it. She took a deep breath.
“I know this is short notice,” she said. “But I wonder if I can get a cake by tomorrow afternoon.”
As if this week weren’t busy enough already. Sam worked her mouth into a smile. “It would depend on what you have in mind.” Please do not let it be another wedding.
“It’s for a small gathering in my home.”
“A birthday? A shower?” With hope, Sam envisioned a quick, standard cake.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t more specific.” Marla stared at her hands for a few seconds. “It’s a remembrance. For my son.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Sam filed away her cute birthday cake ideas.
“Tito, my son . . . He disappeared ten years ago. I believe he is still alive, somewhere. We get together and pray for his safe return, every year on his birthday. It’s tomorrow.” Marla fixed her with a steady stare. “I know that someday he will come back.”
Sam had no idea what to say to that.
“What type of cake did you have in mind?”
Marla’s shoulders relaxed. “The white cross is a sign of hope. Red is Tito’s favorite color. I want the cake to contain those things . . . but I am not sure in what way.”
Sam directed her pen at the order sheet she’d brought out with her. Sketching quickly, she suggested that the cake itself could be in the shape of a cross. It was simple to create but always carried a lot of impact—she tended to get lots of orders for them around Easter.
“Then we can put red flowers in a garland, draping it like so.” She sketched some shapes to indicate what she had in mind. “What’s your favorite flower?”
Marla gazed upward for a second. “I love daisies. Tito always liked roses.”
“Perfect.” Sam filled in the rest of the details on her form. “We can have it ready for pickup around three, if that’s good? Or, I can deliver it.”
Sam almost bit her lip as soon as the words were out. Where did she think the extra time would come from?
But the look of sheer gratitude on Marla Fresques’s face was so touching, Sam knew she would make the time. Whatever this poor woman’s story was, the expression in those chocolate eyes was haunting.
She watched the customer get into an older sedan, one that sho
wed the dings and scuffs of many years’ use. It was probably the car she’d been driving at the time her son disappeared, and the woman held onto it like a lucky talisman. If she kept the same house and the same car, then the young man would come back. How unwavering, a mother’s hope for that kind of reunion. Sam shook off the haunting feelings as Marla pulled away from the curb.
The order called for red velvet cake, and Sam found that the freezer contained a half-sheet of it that wasn’t committed to anyone else. According to the tag it was baked yesterday, so it would still be nice and fresh. She pulled it out and made space on the stainless table. Working quickly with a serrated knife, she cut the sheet into pieces and placed them together to form a cross. A coating of white buttercream sealed the raw edges and she placed it into the fridge to set. In the morning, it would be a quick matter to add flowers and borders.
“Becky, hold back five of those large red roses for me,” Sam called out to her assistant. “And when you get a chance, could you do about a dozen white daisies, yellow centers?”
“Sure thing. I could use a break from making roses anyway.” Becky’s skills with the pastry bag had steadily increased since the shop opened and Sam knew she could trust the young woman for good results.
At her desk, she turned to the stack of orders, calculating quantities, and entering an online order for supplies from her wholesaler in Albuquerque. A couple of the proposal cakes required special elements. One was to be in the shape of a ring box with a giant molded-sugar diamond in it. Apparently the groom wasn’t too intimidated by the idea that his bride would see this thousand-carat thing right before he presented her with something undoubtedly less sizable.
She rummaged through the bin of plastic molds until she found the one for the 3-D monster diamond solitaire. Another cake, for a bridal shower, needed a glass slipper for the fairytale-romance theme, and she had a mold for that as well. The technique for cooking perfectly crystal-clear liquid sugar was tricky, and Sam knew that if she could get it right in one try, she might as well make both items at the same time.
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