Beau’s new deputy, Waters, nearly bumped into her. “Oh, you startled me!”
“Sorry.” He stared at the carpet.
“Did you need something?” Sam asked.
“No, just looking for the sheriff.” He shuffled toward the closed door to Beau’s office.
Sam watched him walk away. Strange guy.
Chapter 29
Sam tossed away the lunch containers and saw that Beau’s door was still closed. Waters had vanished into some other part of the building. She pecked at Beau’s window with her fingernail and gave him a tiny wave. No point in waiting around his office; she still had a complex cake to finish this afternoon.
Back at the bakery, she tinted fondant to the exact color of terra cotta, rolled it and fitted it to the sides of the cake layers, eyeing the flower pot shape critically. When she finally had it to her liking, she sprinkled crushed chocolate cookies over the top to represent dirt, then looked over the assortment of flowers Becky had worked on all morning.
Brilliant yellow daffodils, red tulips, pink and white stargazer lilies, pansies with bright purple and gold faces . . . she began arranging them as if they were fresh flowers.
“Did you make some extra greenery?” she asked Becky. “I think this needs a little something more.”
Her assistant pulled a tray from the fridge. “I thought about that. How about these? I did some broad leaves and a few that are more delicate.”
“Oh, those ferns are nice.” Sam picked them up by their wooden-pick stems and placed them among the colorful blossoms.
“Sam?” Jen stuck her head through the opening in the curtain. “It’s almost three and I think I saw the customer for that flower—oh, wow . . . that is gorgeous!”
“Think she’ll like it?”
“She’s going to be blown away.”
Sam placed a few loose petals on the board at the base of the flowerpot. “Okay, let’s take it out there. Grab one of those deep boxes.”
The cake didn’t quite fit into the box and Sam cautioned the customer not to try closing the lid on it. “It will ride fine in your car if you don’t take any sudden turns.”
“Ms Sweet, it’s absolutely a dream,” the lady gushed. “Mother is going to love it!”
Sam carried the cake out to the woman’s car and assured that it was firmly resting on the back seat. When she turned back to the shop she spotted another car pulling into one of her parking slots.
Felicia Black got out of her silver Lexus and gave her bright hair a toss.
“Sam, dear, so great to catch you here.”
Uh-huh. And just what is so great about it? Sam crossed her arms.
“I just had a marvelous idea,” Felicia said, oblivious to the frosty reception. “Some friends and I tried a new restaurant the other night—Cuarto del Oro—and I’d love to take you and Beau there for dinner this weekend. Tomorrow night?”
“Felicia, that’s not—”
“Oh, Beau’s available. I already asked him. He said he’d love to.”
Yeah, right. The new Gold Room was very high-toned according to rumor. Sam didn’t believe for one second that Beau would agree to go there. “I’ll check that with him, Felicia. Let me get back to you.”
Obviously, the woman wasn’t going to take a simple ‘no’ for an answer. It would be better if she and Beau put together a firm refusal and delivered it together. Sam turned back to the bakery, saying she had work to do, but Felicia didn’t go away. She followed Sam through the door.
“I need to get back to work—”
But Felicia had turned her charms on Jen, exclaiming over something in the display case. Sam escaped to the kitchen and flopped down onto her desk chair. How could she get rid of this pest, once and for all? She tapped her toe, her mind going in a hundred directions. When she heard the front door bells tinkle, she peered out through the curtain. The Lexus was backing out.
She dialed Beau’s cell. “Did Felicia just invite you to dinner at some new restaurant?”
“Well, yeah, both of us. She breezed in awhile ago and acted like it would be such a fun evening, the three of us having a fancy meal. Her treat, of course.”
“Same here. She said you’d already agreed to it.”
“Not me.” She could envision him backing away as he said it.
“Good thing we’re checking with each other on these wild claims of hers. I guess she somehow thinks we never talk.” She picked up a paper clip and bent it with her fingertips. “I’ve heard of the place. White table cloths, a guitarist strolling around playing requests, way too many knives and forks and glasses.”
“You don’t actually want to go, do you?”
“Absolutely not.” She suppressed the temptation to blame him for the ongoing contact. The fault lie completely with Felicia. “I’ll handle it. And if she tries to tell you I accepted, do not believe her.”
He chuckled as they ended the call. But Sam wasn’t in quite such a cheery mood. Her gaze traveled around the kitchen, as she tried to think of a way to put a stop to this nonsense. She spotted the canister with Bobul’s special spices on the top shelf above the stove. Two could play at this game. She quickly called the restaurant and left some instructions, then dialed the number Felicia had given her and left a message to meet at Cuarto del Oro at eight o’clock the following evening.
An hour later she’d mixed up a small batch of truffle filling and as she dipped the small orbs in deep, dark chocolate she finalized her plan. While the coating set, she located a classy paperboard box covered in luminous red foil. The perfect size for the six special chocolates. On a thick cream velum card she printed the words ASK THE GUITARIST TO PLAY “LOVE ME TENDER.” I’LL BE LISTENING FOR IT. She found a length of gold ribbon.
One by one, the employees left for the evening. Sam took out her smallest decorating tips and piped tiny designs on the truffles—one with two hearts overlapping, a miniature nosegay on another—whatever romantic designs popped into her head at the moment. She placed the six beautiful pieces into the box, set the red foil lid on top, tied an elegant bow with the gold ribbon, and inserted the small envelope under it.
She closed up the bakery and drove to Cuarto del Oro.
“Yes, madam,” a pointy-nosed maitre ’d said, with a downward glance at her baker’s jacket.
She stepped in close. “One of your regular patrons is planning a special surprise for tomorrow evening. The reservation is under the name Felicia Black. When the lady arrives, please seat her at a table for two and be sure this box is at her place. Tell her the gentleman will be only a few minutes late but he insists that she open the card and the box immediately.”
The man gave her a long look.
“At Sweet’s Sweets we make pastries and wedding cakes for some of the most influential people in this town. I can send a lot of business your way if I get positive reports from this particular couple.”
His manner changed quickly and he placed the small red box under the podium. “I shall keep this safe, madam, and deliver it as instructed.”
Sam walked out to her van and sat there for a minute, thinking that another visit to Marla might be a good idea. She could run home first and try for some more of the healing power from the wooden box. A smaller dose, she promised herself. It wouldn’t be good to repeat yesterday’s complete energy drain. She quickly phoned Beau and cautioned him not to speak to Felicia if she were to call.
“I’ve got a plan in place that I hope will send her off in a new direction,” Sam said, ignoring his questions.
Luckily, he got a radio call from dispatch and had to sign off quickly.
She arrived at Marla’s house about an hour later, after stopping for a chicken sandwich and grabbing the wooden box. It occurred to her that the power might work better if Marla held the box herself.
Camille answered the door and showed Sam to Marla’s bedroom.
“Hey, Marla,” Sam said.
It was the first time she’d seen the woman take to her bed, othe
r than the time she’d been sent to the hospital, and once again her condition seemed to have deteriorated. Sam glanced around and saw that Camille had left them alone.
“I have something I’d like to try,” Sam said, pulling the box from under her coat. “It’s . . . well, I’m not sure exactly. But it seems to give me energy. I thought it might do the same for you.”
She placed the box on Marla’s abdomen and her friend reached out to touch it.
“It’s funny, isn’t it?” Marla said. “Kind of ugly, but kind of pretty too?”
Sam smiled. “Try rubbing your hands over the surface of it.”
Marla complied but Sam saw no reaction—either from the box or the woman. After two or three minutes, Marla shrugged.
“Is it supposed to do something?”
“I guess it won’t. I’d hoped it would make your hands warm, make you feel energetic.”
“How would it do that?”
Sam shrugged and picked up the box. “Never mind. It was just a thought.”
Immediately when she held the box close to her own body, Sam felt the warmth start to flow. When Bertha Martinez had given her the box she’d said Sam was meant to have it. It must be true. She sat on the edge of the bed and held the box for a little while, then clasped Marla’s hand.
“Your hands feel warm,” Marla said, closing her eyes. “That’s nice.”
But there was only a small rush of energy, and no obvious signs of healing. She watched Marla drift into a light sleep. When Sam stood up Marla awoke.
“Marla, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about. It’s Jolie.”
Marla’s eyes grew bright at the mention of her granddaughter but her smile was filled with sadness.
“This is hard, I know . . . Marla have you made out a will? Without one, you know the State will decide who gets to raise Jolie. It will probably be a complete stranger.”
A tear slipped from the corner of Marla’s eye and landed on the pale blue pillowcase. “I didn’t talk to Diane’s lawyer that day. I really thought Tito would come back.”
“Are there no other relatives? Someone Jolie would feel comfortable with?”
Marla shook her head. “I have cousins in California. But Jolie has never met them. They would be strangers to her.”
“Have you talked with your friends? Maybe a neighbor would be willing—”
“I can’t ask that of them. Most of them are older, not able to take on a child. The only neighbor with children is Diane. I know she would keep Jolie for awhile. But they don’t have the space for another child, or the money.”
Sam thought hard, but couldn’t come up with an alternative. “Let me do some checking. Maybe Beau will have some ideas.”
She pulled the blanket over Marla’s shoulders and asked whether she wanted the bedside lamp on. As she switched it off and left the room with the box tucked into her coat once more, she saw Jolie standing in the doorway.
“I’m not going to live in California. I won’t like it there,” the girl insisted.
Sam pulled the bedroom door shut and nodded toward the living room. “It wouldn’t be easy, but you might need to be open to new ideas. California has beaches and palm trees—”
Jolie stared hard at Sam. “Don’t you think I already know what it’s like to have my life turned upside down?” Her voice was quiet, not belligerent. The calm tone hit Sam harder than a tantrum would have.
“Oh, sweetie, you’re so brave,” Sam said. She reached out to put her arm around Jolie’s shoulders but the girl turned toward her bedroom. Sam followed. “I promised your grandmother that I would try to find an answer to this. Will you give us that chance?”
The dark eyes welled. The girl nodded. Then she walked into her room and closed the door.
Camille came out of the kitchen, drying her hands on a towel, and Sam blinked back her own emotions.
“I need to go home,” the neighbor said. “They’ve been doing all right alone here at night, but the time will come soon . . .”
“I know.”
“Tito’s funeral is scheduled for tomorrow afternoon. I think Marla is hanging on for that. She knows they probably wouldn’t let her out of the hospital for it, and she’s determined to go.”
“I’m so sorry,” Sam said, regretting that the box’s powers had not worked.
“We all are,” said Camille. “I wish . . . but the doctor isn’t . . .” She pressed her lips together and shook her head.
Sam squeezed her hand and told her she would be at the funeral tomorrow. She walked out into the dark front yard and let out a sigh that became a shudder, which turned into a sob.
She started her van and drove slowly down the dirt road toward the highway. She’d passed through Arroyo Seco and made the turn onto 522 by the time the emotion abated. The highway was dark in all directions but within a mile after she’d turned onto it, a large vehicle came up behind her, blinding her with bright lights in her mirrors. She slowed to allow it to pass, but it stayed. The lights came closer, until she felt sure the truck was within inches of her bumper.
She sped up. It sped up.
Chapter 30
She slowed again. The large vehicle tailed her relentlessly.
“What the hell are you doing?” she shouted. Some stupid drunk. She didn’t dare take her hands off the wheel to dial 911 or call Beau. She sped up again, doing over sixty, then realized that there was a curve in the road ahead. She slowed for it and felt the nudge of the guy’s bumper against hers. She gripped the wheel, praying not to go into a skid, her eyes riveted on the northbound traffic facing her.
Then all at once he backed off slightly, whipped into oncoming traffic, corrected, and zoomed off into the distance. Sam caught only the briefest glimpse of the boxy dark shape as she straightened her wheel and got her van back under control.
At the first wide spot she pulled over, the trembling in her arms traveling throughout her body. Her hands raked through her hair and she let out a shaky sigh. On the passenger seat the wooden box throbbed with a soft glow. She reached for it.
“What is it?” she whispered.
The glow sent a calming energy through her limbs so she kept holding it. Traffic streamed past. “What just happened there?”
What am I doing, talking to a box? Do I expect it to answer?
She stared ahead at the highway and the flow of traffic. That vehicle had been nowhere in sight when she pulled onto the pavement back there. And then suddenly it was right on her tail. Had he been waiting? Purposely targeting her?
She debated calling Beau for an escort home, but that seemed silly. It was a drunk driver—had to be. She set the box back on the passenger seat and put the van in gear. Watching for a good, wide berth she pulled back onto the road and caught herself watching for dark SUVs the rest of the way home.
Kelly’s car was in the drive and lights at the windows reassured her. She scanned the yard and then chided herself for being so jumpy. Inside, the television played canned laughter from a sitcom.
“Some guy called for you earlier, Mom,” Kelly said over her shoulder when Sam walked in. “He said he had some kind of information . . . I don’t know.”
Sam spotted the note on the kitchen table. Jonathan Ernhart. No number.
“He didn’t say to call him back,” Kelly explained when Sam showed her the note.
Sam left the note and went to her closet to choose something appropriate for Tito’s funeral tomorrow. Flipping through the hangers she came across the dress she’d worn for Iris’s service. In January, it had been far too cold for a dress and it wasn’t a whole lot warmer yet. She pulled down a pair of black slacks and matching jacket. At the graveside, she would have to add a winter coat and she wished she owned a dressier one.
She hung the garments on the closet doorknob and felt the familiar fatigue of the end of a long day. She washed her face and brushed her teeth in a stupor and crawled under the heavy comforter, falling asleep in moments.
A black grill with head
lights came out of the dark, reeling down upon her, sending Sam diving for the side of the road. She looked around, confusion reigning as one side of the road seemed to be out in the country, the other side part of a six-lane freeway. Vehicles came at her and she tried to run but her legs wouldn’t work. The muscles were frozen. She pressed herself against a concrete barrier and squeezed her eyes shut, waiting to die.
She awoke spread-eagled on her bed, her hands gripping at the sheet beneath her. Her eyes were tightly closed, her breathing coming hard and fast.
When her eyes popped open she realized it had been a nightmare.
Country road or high-paced expressway. The message became clear. Tonight, it was the same SUV that had nearly run her off the freeway in Albuquerque a week ago. She closed her eyes and worked to bring back the picture. Scraps of detail emerged. A white license plate that started with the letters PDX. A male driver, muscled arms. Strings of blue designs on the arms. Tattoos. But that didn’t make sense. The SUVs both had darkened windows and she’d not seen the drivers. Tattoos belonged to the scary man in the alley and the guy in the red car who’d almost hit her several days ago. But the more she tried to concentrate on details, the more she lost clarity and the picture faded.
Sam sat up in bed and hugged the warm covers to her. She’d gone to Albuquerque to ask questions of the supposed other woman in Tito’s life, Lisa Tombo. No one unconnected with Tito should have known Sam was in town. At the time of the freeway incident she’d chalked it up to a crazy driver. Again, tonight, she’d chalked up the near-miss to someone drunk or nuts. How likely was that? Very.
How likely that both vehicles had similar plate numbers? Miniscule.
Names went through her head: Lisa Tombo, Javier Espinosa, Harry Cole, Bill Champion. Not to mention the two government men, both of whom seemed overly secretive.
Had Lisa Tombo or one of Tito’s other co-workers called someone, told them Sam was asking questions? Why would they do that? To warn Sam away from the case?
She rubbed at her temples and got out of bed, putting on her robe and heading for the kitchen. The clock said it was barely past midnight but she knew sleep was a long way off now. She heated milk and made hot chocolate.
Sweet Hearts Page 19
