Sweet Hearts

by Connie Shelton

  Locking up and driving home she pondered this newest development. If she were to handle the box often—say, every day for a week—and transfer the energy to Marla, would it be possible to completely cure her friend’s cancer?

  But how far would she take this newfound ability? She had a quick snapshot of herself sitting under some little canopy, extending her hands to the masses who would inevitably find out about her and bombard her with pleas for help. If she had the power, it would be the right thing to do.

  Then, too, what would be the repercussions? There had to be side effects to channeling all this energy through her own body. Would she weaken herself irreparably? And how could she ever hope to cure everyone of every affliction—it was an impossible task. And what of her own life—would she willingly give up her business, her relationships, and all hope of privacy in the quest to help others? By the time she pulled into her driveway she felt weary from thinking about it.

  She gazed disinterestedly into the refrigerator but nothing appealed to her. Instead, she shed her work clothes and took a long, hot shower and put on her cozy robe. The wooden box sat on her dresser and she placed her earrings inside.

  Back in her kitchen, Sam dialed Beau’s cell phone on the off chance that he might have been thinking of coming by for dinner. They hadn’t touched base all afternoon and she couldn’t remember what his plans had been for the evening. But it only rang once and went immediately to voice mail, which probably meant he was swamped at the office and had switched it off. She sighed and opened a can of soup, heated it and carried her bowl and some saltines to the living room.

  A ringing phone brought her out of a doze. She stared, a little disoriented, at the empty soup bowl on the coffee table before she realized the sound came from the kitchen table where she’d dropped her cell phone when she came home.

  “Ms Sweet, this is Jonathan Ernhart again.”

  She squinted her eyes tightly shut, placing him. Beau’s FBI contact.

  “Yes, of course.”

  “I’m afraid I may have some bad news.” He paused but she didn’t fill the gap. “We’ve tentatively matched a John Doe in Washington DC with Tito Fresques.”

  Chapter 22

  Sam felt as if an ice-blue fog enveloped her head. Her vision and hearing blurred for a few seconds. “A John Doe? He’s dead?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I’m afraid so. I mean, the John Doe is definitely deceased. We’re not absolutely certain that it’s Tito Fresques, not yet.”

  “I don’t think I understand.”

  “The partly decomposed body was found in a park in a DC suburb about two years ago. DNA samples were taken, photographs, all the standard crime-scene work. He was not identified at the time and was eventually buried. When I used Bellworth’s file prints of Tito Fresques to run a nationwide missing-persons search, an eighty-percent match came back with this unknown man’s prints.

  “These fingerprints alone aren’t enough to positively say that it’s him. As I said, the body wasn’t in great shape. To do an ID, I should try to get something with Fresques’s DNA, and I’m wondering if his mother might contribute a sample for matching. I thought I would drive up in the morning and visit her, but you said she’s in the hospital?”

  Sam could envision Marla’s recovery taking a sudden and sharp downhill turn.

  “I might be able to offer something better,” she said, the idea popping into her head instantly. “I was at Mrs. Fresques’s home a few days ago and found a couple of items that belonged to her son. They’ve been stored in a cardboard box for years.” She described the sock and the comb. “Do you think they might still have anything useful on them?”

  He hesitated. “I don’t know.”

  “It’s just that Mrs. Fresques’s health is very precarious. If she felt that there was some hope for finding Tito alive . . .” Sam swallowed hard at the thought of telling Marla about this. “It would be best not to break this to her until you are absolutely certain.”

  “I understand.” He seemed to be pondering.

  “I could go out to her house, ask her for the items.” She didn’t want to say that she could be more tactful than a lawman could, but it was what she was thinking.

  “I’d like to pick them up myself,” he said, “rather than hoping the mail could get them here safely. Faster too.”

  Sam looked at the clock on her oven and saw that it was not quite eight o’clock.

  “Let me talk to her first,” she suggested. “Call me when you get to town tomorrow and I can fill you in on her state of mind.”

  Surprisingly, he agreed.

  Before he had the chance to call back and talk her out of it, she dashed to her bedroom and slipped out of the robe, putting on warm sweats and a fleece top. The wooden box sat on her dresser; she picked it up and held it close.

  “Come on,” she pleaded. “I can use a second dose of strength right now. For Marla.” She held on until the hot glow became almost too much, then set the box down.

  While her truck warmed up she called Marla’s house. Diane answered.

  “She’s a little tired right now,” the neighbor said, “but I know she’d love to see you. I’m sure it would be fine, as long as you don’t plan to stay too late.”

  Sam covered the distance in half her usual time, hoping she wouldn’t have to explain her way out of a speeding ticket from one of Beau’s deputies. Although she didn’t need for Marla to be awake for what Sam had in mind, it would simplify things with the neighbor if it appeared to be just a simple visit.

  Somewhere between her earlier self-talk about whether she wanted to devote herself to healing and Ernhart’s call a resolve had formed. Sam knew that she had to at least try to help her friend—both in the search for her son and with her health problems.

  She entered the Fresques home to find Marla walking out of the kitchen, drying her hands with a small towel.

  “Hey, there,” Sam said. “Well, I have to say I’m amazed. You look a thousand percent better than the last time I saw you.”

  Marla carried the towel into the kitchen. “I feel . . . I don’t know how to explain it. At the hospital I suddenly got so much energy.” She laughed out loud. “I really thought I could walk out into that hallway and dance.”

  Across the room, Diane sent Sam a fleeting, cautionary look.

  “Well, don’t overdo things, Marla. You need to take this slowly.” She edged Marla toward a recliner in the living room. “Can I get you anything?”

  Diane piped up. “I was just heating water for hot chocolate. Let me get some for all of us.”

  With the neighbor out of the room, Sam knelt beside Marla’s chair. “I don’t know if you remember my last visit to the hospital . . . you were pretty much out of it. But I held onto your hands and it seemed to help warm them. Would you mind if I tried that again?”

  Marla lifted her hands and stared at them.

  “Here. I’ll do the left one first.” Sam held the cool hand between her two palms and let the energy flow to her friend.

  “It does get warmer. That’s really nice.”

  Sam spent another minute in that position, then walked to the other side of the recliner and took Marla’s right hand. Again, the warmth.

  “The doctor didn’t want me to leave the hospital, but I’m glad I came home. I feel so much better here.”

  “I know,” Sam said. Her mouth opened, but she thought better of mentioning her conversation with Doctor Caulder. How could she dampen Marla’s hope?

  She took a breath. “Marla, there’s something else. I’m working with some people, trying to find Tito.”

  Marla’s face brightened. She looked ten years younger.

  Sam held up her hand. “They haven’t found him yet. I didn’t mean to give you that impression. But there might be . . . something, a lead. I told this man I would try to find something that belonged to Tito, something personal.”

  This could get tricky.

  “Did either you or Jolie keep any of his personal posse
ssions?”

  Marla’s brows knitted.

  “Look, don’t stress over it. Is Jolie home? Could I ask her?”

  “She’s getting ready for bed.” Marla waved toward the hall that led to the bedrooms.

  “Here comes Diane with your hot chocolate. I’ll be right back.” Sam smiled at Diane and headed toward Jolie’s bedroom. She knew what she wanted but it was a little awkward admitting that she’d already looked through the girl’s closet.

  Jolie sat on her bed, wearing a white flannel nightgown with tiny blue flowers on it.

  “My grandma’s not going to stay home for always, is she?” She gave Sam an intent stare.

  “We don’t know, honey. There’s a lot we don’t know about this kind of thing.”

  “I didn’t really know my dad, only what Grandma’s told me about him. My mom had brown hair, like mine, but I can’t remember her voice or things we did together. I’m afraid I’ll forget Grandma too.”

  “You’re older now, sweetie. You won’t forget her.”

  Jolie nodded. “I don’t think so.” She stared upward, blinking, toward her open closet door.

  It didn’t take Sam more than a few seconds to create a transition. She followed the girl’s gaze. “What’s that box? Things your mom and dad left for you?”

  Jolie nodded. “Nothing really important. Just stuff.”

  “Can you show me? I’ll get the box down for you.” She watched the girl’s expression soften as she handled the items in the box. When she brought out Tito’s sock, she glanced up at Sam.

  “Jolie . . . I need to ask a big favor. There are some tests . . . In order to find your daddy, they might be able to get evidence from his things. Like this sock and the comb.”

  “You mean DNA. I watch TV a lot.”

  Sam smiled and nodded. Never underestimate a kid.

  “If they want to get DNA evidence, it’s because he’s dead, isn’t it?” Jolie’s gaze was intent and steady. Sam wasn’t getting off the hook with this.

  “They don’t know. But there is a possibility.”

  “Don’t tell my grandma that, okay?” She slipped the sock and comb into a small paper sack and handed it to Sam.

  Sam held it together long enough to bid Marla goodbye and walk out to her truck, but by the time she’d driven to the end of Marla’s road she had to stop. Her eyes prickled and then the tears overflowed—for the brave little girl who knew her father was long gone, and for the grandmother who couldn’t face the fact.

  Chapter 23

  Sleep came on hard. The minute Sam hit the mattress, fatigue from the intense day drained her of the energy to be restless. She woke up to her normal four-thirty alarm, lying in the exact position in which she fallen asleep. With a stretch that sent adrenaline to her toes, she sat up. It had become so routine to dress in her bakery work clothes and zombie her way through the morning routine that she left the house in record time.

  Fortified with coffee and getting her assistants started with the day’s regular tasks, Sam pulled out the baked layers and décor pieces for her own projects.

  Top priority were the two wedding cakes, which she would need to deliver by mid-afternoon. The smaller one featured a homespun theme using fondant to create quilting, brocade and draped fabric effects on three simple tiers of yellow sponge cake. She began by coating them in white fondant, then making a peep-window effect on the middle one by draping fondant in swags around a red-quilted section that showcased miniature white roses. Simple, eye-catching, stunning with the contrast of colors. The large topper consisted of a red heart created of fondant with ruffled edges and sugar-coated smaller hearts on its surface. She set it aside to be added at the point of delivery, and admired her work. A couple hours to set up in the fridge and it would be ready to go.

  “Is that your phone ringing?” Becky asked as Sam returned from the walk-in. She nodded her head toward the desk, where a low buzz throbbed against some order forms.

  Sam grabbed it up.

  “Ms Sweet? Jonathan Ernhart. I’m on the outskirts of Taos. You said to call?”

  “Yes, Mr. Ernhart.” Sam stepped out into the shady alley behind the shop. “I’ve got a couple of items for you if you want to come by my shop.”

  “What about Marla Fresques?”

  “She’s out of the hospital, probably only temporarily. She doesn’t know you are trying to identify a body.”

  He started to say something but Sam cut in to give directions to the shop. He showed up fifteen minutes later and she met him in the sales room, the paper bag Jolie had given her in hand.

  Ernhart looked like a suit-and-tie version of Beau—tall and slender, mid-forties—although he had quite a bit more gray in his short, razor cut hair. He shook her hand and gifted her with a businesslike smile when she handed him the small sack.

  “I’ll try to get a rush on this,” he said as they walked together out to his government-issue sedan. “I’ll call you or Beau when I know something.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate that. Marla’s health is really precarious right now. I’ve avoided telling her this latest. If it’s not Tito, I’d prefer that we didn’t upset her for no reason.”

  His eyes told her that outcome wasn’t very likely.

  She watched him climb into the gray sedan and pull into traffic.

  “Hey, Mom.” Kelly held the end of a blue leash with a Schnauzer at the other end. He tugged her toward a dirt area at the end of the building and the shrubs other dogs had undoubtedly used a few hundred times.

  Sam walked alongside.

  “Happy Valentine’s Day.” Kelly stopped in mid-stride. “Sorry. I wasn’t thinking. Maybe it’s not.”

  “No, it’s okay. I’m super busy. No chance for regrets at the moment.” She picked at red fondant that had stuck along her cuticles. “Beau and I thought we’d do a quiet dinner together tonight. I’m actually relieved that we put off the wedding. What about you and Ryan? Plans?”

  “We’re double dating with Riki and Tanner, dinner at Casa Giuseppe. It seemed safer to make it a group thing—no chance anyone would get carried away with the romance of the moment and do anything dumb like propose.” The Schnauzer tugged at the lead. “Sorry, that didn’t really come out right either. Proposing isn’t dumb.”

  “But it would be with someone you’ve known for two weeks.”

  “Oh yeah. Cannot even see that happening.” Kelly’s aquamarine eyes twinkled. “C’mon Snickle,” she called to the dog. “Riki’s working on his twin brother, Fritz, right now. Where do people get their pet names?”

  Sam laughed along with her. “Well, don’t work too hard.”

  When Kelly turned in at Puppy Chic, Sam walked back toward the bakery. The sun was out again and the warmth on her back felt good. Her sales room was filled with customers, so she stood near the wall that divided her place from the bookshop and dialed Marla’s number.

  “Sam! I’m so glad you called.” At Sam’s inquiry, Marla said she was feeling even better than yesterday. “Diane brought groceries and I’m making a big pot of my famous green chile stew. Would you like to come for dinner tonight?”

  Sam explained about the plans with Beau, leaving out the part about how this would have been their wedding day. She ended the call without mentioning Jonathan Ernhart or the DNA tests. No point in ruining Marla’s upbeat mood.

  The second wedding cake order waited in the kitchen. Eight-, twelve-and sixteen-inch square tiers, separated by white Doric columns, the whole thing like a regal pyramid in royal purple and white scrollwork. Studying the sketches she’d shown to the client, she came across the ones for her own cake. Her mood took a dip, but there was no point in that. Their own joining in matrimony would come—just not today.

  She bit at her upper lip and set to the task, rolling and fitting basic white fondant to the layers, stacking them, making sure the columns were strong and solid. Light purple bands trimmed the lower edges, with deep purple draping and medallions. When the crew suggested ordering sandwiches Sam
was amazed to see that it was after one o’clock already.

  “I better pass,” she said. “Gotta work while this stuff is soft, and then plan my deliveries. Becky, I’ll probably need you to go with me to handle this big one.”

  “No problemo. I got a neighbor to watch the kids after school. You sure you don’t want a sandwich, for later?”

  “Nah, I’ll snack on something. Need to save space for dinner tonight.”

  Which reminded her that she hadn’t talked with Beau all day. But she didn’t have time to make a call now. She worked with the delicate pleats in the fondant drape, concentrating on one at a time. By the time the final medallion was in place, it was after three o’clock and Sam realized she was pushing the deadline for her deliveries.

  She and Becky carried the two cakes out to the van and secured them. The first stop, for the large, columned cake was for two hundred guests at one of the more elegant hotels, down near the Rio Fernando. Sam had delivered a cake for a big political campaign there last fall so she knew the general layout of the place. With help from the kitchen staff, they set the cake on the elaborate dessert table in the midst of a room decorated entirely in purple and white.

  “Wow,” Becky said as they left. “Can you imagine that huge room filled with people who’ve had a bit too much champagne?”

  “Glad I’m not paying for that extravaganza,” Sam said. She pulled out her cell phone and noticed that she’d missed a call from Beau.

  “Things are a little nuts here today but I’ll pick you up at seven,” he said in his recorded message. “I think you’ll like the place where I made the reservations.”