“Marla, there are some things that the authorities have found out.”
How much to tell? Sam couldn’t decide what was best. Did a mother need to know that her son had done undercover work for drug enforcement? That he’d been murdered? That now his body would need to be exhumed and brought home? As she thought about it, Sam sat beside Marla and tried to work her healing touch once more, but the magic effects weren’t working. The bad news and her own health problems were pulling Marla down, as surely as a rip tide pulls a person farther from the shore.
Sam took Marla’s hands again and began the healing touch, running her hands up to the elbows and back, hoping to impart energy to the stricken woman. Then she began to speak. Only the basics, she decided. Tito had died two years ago, near Washington DC. It would probably be possible to bring his body back, give him a burial at home. There was no point in going into detail, no point in further upsetting her friend.
When the phone rang it was almost a relief. Sam patted Marla’s arm and went into the kitchen to answer. It was Diane Milton, and it took only the briefest explanation before the neighbor insisted on coming right over. Sam put in a quick call to the number she found on a refrigerator magnet from St. Mark’s and gave the short version of the story to Father Joe.
By the time she returned to the living room, Diane was coming through the front door. The neighbor crossed the room immediately to Marla and began reassurances that she would pick up Jolie from school. Sam remembered the twelve-year-old’s wise look, her matter-of-fact approach to the DNA test, and knew Jolie would probably be able to accept the death much more stoically than her grandmother had.
Within minutes, other neighbors showed up—Joy, Deborah, and Jorge. They surrounded Marla, offering the kind of love that comes best from relatives and long-time friends. Sam realized that her own time could be better spent finding out more about Tito’s last days and making sure law enforcement would search for his killer. She gave Marla’s hand a last light touch and left.
Outside, the weather mirrored the mood in the Fresques home—dismal.
*
Without a better plan, Sam headed toward Sweet’s Sweets. A government SUV sat out front and when she entered through the back door, Becky informed her that someone wanted to see her.
An agent of some kind, she knew from his clothing and posture when she saw him standing near the beverage bar. Probably in his forties. Blue suit, white shirt, striped tie, dishwater-blond hair, and gray eyes that scanned a room in continual sweeps. He turned toward her as soon as she entered the sales room.
Sam froze. She’d met this man.
“Ms Sweet? Rick Wells.” He extended his hand and she saw the dawning of recognition in his expression. He covered quickly. “Jonathan Ernhart may have told you that I’d be calling?”
Now Sam remembered what had been nagging at her. The familiar sounding name . . . Ernhart’s mention of an Agent Wells with the DEA.
“Can we talk somewhere?” His gray eyes darted toward the sales counter where Jen was helping two ladies.
The kitchen was no more private. “Let’s walk,” she suggested.
Outside, the clouds were growing thicker by the minute and a brisk breeze shook the bare-limbed branches overhead. Wells made small talk until they crossed the street and entered the slight shelter of the plaza.
“So. Your auditing position with Bellworth is past history and you misled me the other day? Or you’re not an auditor at all.”
“I’m DEA, have been since college. I worked with Tito Fresques, as his contact in Albuquerque during the time he worked at Bellworth. Other agents have similar positions to his and my auditor job is a cover, to provide a means for us to make contact. Jonathan told me that you’ve become close to Tito’s mother and that you were assisting the local authorities in the search for him. Before it was confirmed that his body was located.”
“That’s right. But I don’t know what I could tell you.” Clearly, the government agencies had more information than she did.
“I wonder if Mrs. Fresques ever mentioned the name Javier Espinosa?”
Sam thought hard. “In what context? Was he a friend of Tito’s?”
“More of a business contact. Espinosa works for one of the top kingpins in drug trafficking from Mexico. Tito traveled there quite a bit and had infiltrated the Diablo Rojo gang in Juarez.”
“Espinosa doesn’t seem like the kind of guy he would tell his mother about, does he?” Sam asked.
“Probably not. But we have reason to believe that his wife knew the name, and some of his co-workers at Bellworth were aware of it.”
Sam stayed quiet, wondering why Tito would have mentioned the name of this drug runner. If he was any good at his DEA job that should have remained a secret.
“At this point, I think Mrs. Fresques is more concerned that her son’s body be brought back here to Taos for a proper burial,” Sam said. “I’d like to be able to tell her where he’s been all these years, why he wasn’t able to contact his family. She would appreciate that.”
“We at DEA have a lot of missing gaps in that story, ourselves.”
Sam looked at him but he didn’t seem inclined to say more. They had arrived at the shady side of the plaza and the breeze whipped alongside the buildings. Sam zipped her heavy coat closed against it but Wells, in his business suit, had no such protection. He began walking faster and Sam had a hard time keeping up with his long stride. When they reached the sidewalk in front of Sweet’s Sweets, the agent turned toward his vehicle.
“Now that Tito’s body has been positively identified,” Sam said, “I guess the investigation will focus on finding his killer.”
Wells seemed momentarily wary.
“Jonathan Ernhart told me he’d been murdered.”
“I didn’t realize he’d released that information.”
“I haven’t told Tito’s mother,” Sam said. “She’s in very fragile health. She hasn’t asked how he died, and it would probably be best to avoid telling her. At least not in detail.”
“Certainly.” He pulled the driver’s door open.
She walked back into the bakery as he pulled away, her mind going in a dozen directions, puzzled at what exactly the DEA agent had hoped to learn by talking to her. Surely he didn’t drive all the way up here from Albuquerque for chitchat. He was probably planning to stop by and see Marla. Was her warning not to upset the sick woman going to carry any weight with him?
She fished in the pocket of her slacks for her cell phone. A call to Marla’s house got Diane Milton on the phone. She quickly explained that a former co-worker of Tito’s might show up and it only took a small hint that his visit might upset Marla to put Diane in full mama-lion protective mode.
“I’ll just tell him that she’s resting and can’t have company.”
“That’s probably best,” Sam told her.
Feeling reassured that Marla wouldn’t be unduly upset by the agent’s visit, Sam shed her coat and surveyed her desk. With the crazy pace of the past few days, she’d let paperwork and receipts stack up. Now she spent some time organizing and filing, paying some bills, and planning for the coming week.
Jen had placed two new orders on the desk, birthday cakes. Sam set them aside until she could clear her head well enough to come up with original ideas for them. Her assistant had also left a sticky-note asking whether the handmade chocolates would become a regular feature.
Sam walked over to the shelf where she’d stashed the canister with Bobul’s little spice packets, lifted it down and took it to her desk. The small bags appeared to be every bit as full as when he’d handed them to her, despite the fact that she’d taken from them regularly. More of the magic?
She quickly tucked the packets back into the metal container and set it aside. She would have to think about whether to make the delectable chocolates part of the everyday fare or to save them for holiday seasons. And, she would definitely have to work on revising her formulas, to curb their power.
&nb
sp; She plucked the sticky note from her computer screen and headed toward the sales room.
“Jen, I think we’ll hold—”
The bells on the front door tinkled and in stepped Felicia Black.
Chapter 26
Sam stopped in her tracks. It wouldn’t be businesslike to say “What the hell are you doing here?” but she certainly felt like it.
“Samantha!” The brazen redhead lengthened her name so that it took about five minutes to utter. “I’m so sorry that you couldn’t make it to the party.”
“Really.” Is that why you invited my fiancé but not me? Is that why you lied to him, why you told people you were here in town to get him back? Is it why you sent him candy that you knew would cause him to be attracted to you?
In the interest of not coming across as a completely insane maniac in front of her employee and the three other customers in the shop, Sam ground her teeth together. The nerve of this, this slut!
Felicia’s gaze scanned the sales counter. “No more of those chocolates? Too bad. They were yummy. I had two boxes of them for the party guests and I’ll tell you, I think a few new romances began that night.”
Like you hoped would happen with Beau?
She breezed over to the beverage bar, the silver fox coat flapping open to reveal a tight red dress that barely skimmed her thighs. Sam watched her pour a mug of coffee and doctor it heavily with low-fat creamer and fake sugar.
Jen met Sam’s eyes, with a question. Sam edged behind the counter and whispered in her assistant’s ear: “No chocolates for her, whatsoever. And charge her double for that coffee.” Her wicked grin let Jen know that Sam wasn’t kidding.
She’d turned toward the kitchen when Felicia raised her voice again. “Sam, dear. I’d love for you and I to have lunch sometime. We really should be friends.”
Sam smiled. When hell freezes over. “Oh? I’d have thought you would be on your way by now. Doesn’t New York need you or something?”
Felicia completely missed the sarcasm. “They do. But I’ve told my agent that I plan to take a few more weeks off. Next shoot is in Rio, but they’re holding it until I’m ready.”
Shooting seemed like the perfect way to deal with Felicia. Unfortunately, the other woman thought Sam’s genuine smile was for another reason.
“So, then, lunch tomorrow?”
“I’m afraid I can’t. Beau and I have other plans.” Sam swept the curtain aside and stomped into the kitchen. Her heart was beating way too fast and her mind raced with all the should-have-saids that came to her after the fact.
She busied herself with the simple tasks of pre-mixing dry ingredients for tomorrow’s breakfast pastries; the fact that she could grind away with a pastry blender as she cut shortening into flour and imagine performing the same action on Felicia’s face was immensely satisfying.
When her phone rang a few minutes later and she saw the caller was Beau, she took it immediately.
“Just had a call from Felicia,” he said. “She invited me to lunch and said you were coming.”
“Sheesh, I can’t believe that woman. She stopped by here awhile ago, flaunted her next modeling job and invited me to lunch too.”
“You’re not really going, are you?”
“Definitely not!” She stopped in mid-stride. “Not unless you are.”
His laugh came through, loudly. “Not unless this weather gets even worse and you-know-where turns into an iceberg.”
“That was exactly my thought.” Sam brushed flour from the front of her jacket. “So, how are we going to get rid of her? Can’t the sheriff run her out of town or something?”
“I think that only happened in the Western movies, darlin’. And I think the bad guy actually had to commit a crime.”
“Hmm. Well, I may just have to work on that. I should be able to frame her for something.”
“I have to officially pretend I never heard that.”
“Maybe like any other old pest, we ignore it and it will just go away?” Even as she said it, Sam knew that simply ignoring Felicia was easier said than done.
She turned back to her bakery duties, deciding on a soccer-field theme for one of the birthday cakes; Jen had made a note that the girl was a sports player in school. The other cake was for a woman who loved gardening and she pictured shaping the cake like a flowerpot and filling it with a variety of spring blossoms, something to take her mind—and the customer’s—off the current cold-weather front. She made a few sketches and looked around. Becky had left for the day and Cathy was in the midst of washing up the pans and bowls from the morning’s projects so Sam got Sandy started baking the layers.
“Once you put them into the oven, just set the timer. I can take them out if you want to go on home,” Sam told her.
It was a nearly six when Sandy said goodbye and shortly after, Jen brought the receipts from the register.
“Don’t stay half the night,” her assistant warned. “You’ve put in too many late nights and early mornings these last couple of months.”
“I know. But I love the shop.”
“Yes, but you’ll wear yourself out.” Jen looked at Sam a little intently. “Are you sure you’re okay? I mean, with postponing the wedding and all?”
Sam nodded but wondered. Was she? Wasn’t the sudden appearance of Felicia Black bothering her more than it should? A twinge of guilty conscience for spending more time at the bakery than with her fiancé?
Jen was running through a short list, reassuring Sam that she’d cleaned the display cases and tables and that the coffee bar was set up for the morning, and Sam tried to bring her attention back to the work at hand.
“As soon as that oven timer goes off, I’m going to set those cakes to cool and I’ll be out of here.” She paused. “What about you, Jen? You have plans with Michael tonight?”
Her assistant shrugged. “Not til the weekend. I’m not sure about that either. We’ll see.” She pulled on her coat and said she would leave the night lights burning when she left.
Sam heard voices out front and Kelly walked in as Jen walked out.
“I’m going home now,” Kelly said. “Thought I’d see if you want me to pick up something for dinner.”
“Dinner at home? It’s been awhile.”
Kelly smiled a little wistfully. “Yeah. It’ll be nice though. So . . . I could grab a pork tenderloin and make a salad?”
Sam couldn’t remember the last home-cooked meal she’d made; Kelly’s suggestion sounded wonderful. She pulled some cash out of her wallet and sent her daughter on her way.
A glance at the oven timer told her the cakes had ten minutes to go. She leaned back in her chair. So much had changed in the last week. If all had gone according to plan, she and Beau would be married now and away on their honeymoon. Her crew would undoubtedly be running the bakery just fine. She’d hired Sandy and Cathy as extra help through the end of the month, and although she didn’t really need them now it would be only fair to pay them for the agreed time.
Marla’s condition had gotten worse, then better, and now possibly worse again. Her son had been located but it wasn’t the happy homecoming Marla wanted. And what about Jolie? What would become of the girl? Sam realized that, along with solving the mystery of who killed Tito, it would be nice if she could help Marla locate someone who would adopt his daughter in the event Marla never got well. She envisioned the jolt, to both the child and the new parents, of bringing an almost-teen into a new home. It would not be an easy adjustment for anyone.
Could Sam possibly cure Marla’s cancer by applying the healing touch from the wooden box? The results seemed so temporary. Her mood fell as she thought about it, but the beeping of the oven timer interrupted her thoughts.
With the cakes safely stowed in the fridge, Sam buttoned her coat and picked up her backpack. Out in the alley, the darkness seemed unusually deep and she noticed that the streetlight at the end was out.
As she fumbled through her pack for her keys a tiny sound near the van made the h
air on her neck rise. She looked up and glimpsed motion, a shape. Her hand closed around the ring of keys, spreading them between her fingers.
A man moved swiftly toward her and Sam caught an impression of a bald head and a pattern—tattoos.
His voice came out low and dangerous. “Leave panther alone.”
“What?” she squeaked.
But he kept moving and vanished into the shadows.
Chapter 27
Her heart raced as Sam debated for a fraction of a second. Try to chase him down—or run? The fight-or-flight choice zipped straight to the escape option. She punched the remote door opener on her van and scurried inside, locking the door behind her before she had a chance to think twice. She sat there in the dark for a full minute, watching.
No sign of movement in the alley. The man had disappeared.
For a second, she thought of calling Beau and reporting it but what would she say? Someone said something scary to me in the dark. He didn’t touch me and he ran away but I couldn’t tell you which way he went? Beau would feel obligated to file a report, which might be fine if there weren’t hundreds of young men in this town with shaved heads and tattoos. She had absolutely nothing else by which to identify him. And Beau’s department was way too busy with real cases—it wouldn’t be right to add this little non-crime to their workload.
After a couple of minutes she let out her pent-up breath and started the van.
The kitchen was filled with the scent of warm meat and homeyness, reminiscent of her childhood days when her mother made real, actual Sunday dinners. Kelly stood at the stove, stirring gravy in a small saucepan.
“It’s packaged, but it sounded good anyway,” Kelly said, noticing Sam’s glance toward the range. “And the tenderloin will be ready in five.”
Sam dropped her pack near the back door and hung her coat on a hook.
“Mom? You okay? You look a little shaky.”
“No, it’s nothing. Just a crazy driver.” There was no point in scaring her daughter. Later, when she felt a little more stable, she would caution Kelly not to park in the alley if she were leaving work after dark.
Sweet Hearts Page 17
