Beau took the items and set them on her kitchen table while he shrugged into his coat.
“Beau, there was something else out there. I don’t quite know how to explain it. It was just plain weird.”
“Can I ask you to come out there with me tomorrow? Maybe you can show it to me. I’ve also been thinking that I better bring a lab tech and just check the place carefully for evidence. With what you’ve told me, I’m thinking we better investigate this a little further.”
They made tentative plans to meet up sometime around mid-morning, after Sam got the bakery open and made sure things were going well there. He gave her a lingering kiss and she felt again the wish that life could be less complicated.
Chapter 12
A pair of eyes stared at her from the depths of a hood. Black, fathomless, against the sickly green fabric. She wanted to turn and run but her muscles were frozen, rigid. A skeletal hand reached toward her throat.
Sam woke up, panting. Her arms and legs felt cold and stiff. She lay unmoving, not quite sure that it was only a dream. Gradually, her brain sent signals to her inflexible limbs, willing them to move. She stretched and sat up in bed, rubbing at her eyes. The clock told her that it was almost time to start her day. She clicked the alarm button off and sat on the edge of the bed, the dark images still too vivid.
Switching on the lamp dispelled most of the apparition. Too much visual input yesterday, she told herself. She forced her thoughts toward the morning and her duties at the bakery.
Gustav Bobul was standing at the alley door when Sam pulled up in her van. Huddled into his huge coat, he resembled a buffalo hunkered against the weather.
“You don’t have to get here so early,” she said. “I’m sure you’re warmer at home. Just plan to come after six.”
His puzzled expression made her wonder if she’d overcomplicated the way she phrased the idea. Or maybe he didn’t really have a warmer home. Because of their unorthodox employment arrangement, he’d avoided giving her an address. She decided to leave it alone for now.
Before the ovens were preheated, Becky showed up and Sam handed over the calculations she’d made for creating large batches of Zoë’s grandmother’s recipes.
“As soon as the standard breakfast pastries are out, I’d like to get started with the cutouts,” Sam suggested. “The dough may need refrigeration. I’m not sure how soft it’s going to be. Once you can roll it, use these.” She pointed out the special Star of David, oil lamp, and dreidl-shaped cookie cutters she’d bought. “I found a few pictures of the way they are traditionally decorated, with Hebrew letters on them. Think you can copy those?”
“Sure, no problem,” Becky said after studying the pictures for a minute.
“And, we’ll want macaroons.”
Bobul piped up. “Bobul create a dark chocolate for to dip.”
Sam nodded thoughtfully. “Sure, that would be great. Some of the macaroons can be plain, some with chocolate.”
The recipe Sam was most eager to try was the rugelach and she started gathering flour, butter, cream cheese and the other ingredients. This one definitely needed to be chilled before rolling out and forming the crescent shaped cones that would be filled with cinnamon, sugar and raisins. She’d also decided to get creative and make a variety of jam fillings for a second batch. Before long, she was lost in the work.
When Jen and Kelly arrived at seven to open the store, the three in the kitchen looked up in surprise.
Bobul had already come up with some intricately formed wisps of garland for a two-foot-tall, all-chocolate Christmas tree he’d molded on Saturday. Sitting to one side were tiny candles and doves of white chocolate. Sam caught herself sneaking sidelong glances, amazed at the details the chocolatier kept adding.
Becky’s first pans of muffins and coffee cakes came out of the ovens just as Jen asked for them. Cream puffs were already waiting on the cooling racks. The smell of coffee wafted back from the store, and Sam heard the tinkle of the bell at the front door.
“Customers—” Kelly stage-whispered through the doorway.
Jen walked out with two trays of muffins held high, and the day was off to its start.
Sometime between placing the rugelach dough into the fridge and making decorations for a sheet cake for the Chamber of Commerce’s monthly dinner, Sam realized that Beau had walked in.
He glanced curiously at the hulking chocolatier in the corner but Sam distracted him. “I’ll be ready to go in about ten minutes,” she said. “Have Kelly get you some coffee and a scone or something.”
He patted at his belly. “I’ll pass on the breakfast. Had some eggs already. But the coffee sure does smell good.”
He returned from the sales room with a mug in hand and stood beside Sam’s work table, watching her. “That’s amazing, darlin’, how you take that big floppy bag and out comes a flower.”
She piped four poinsettias onto her waxed-paper topped flower nail, slid each one onto a baking sheet, and carried them to the fridge to firm up. The theme for the cake was Taos at Christmas, so it would be shaped like the plaza, with adobe buildings ringing the four sides of the square, each accurately depicting the actual businesses. In the center, she’d created a large Christmas tree by trimming round cake layers into a cone. The basic form was done, “dirty iced” with a preliminary coat of frosting, and cooling. In the morning she and Becky would add details, including the poinsettias which would decorate the four corners of the base, and then she would deliver it in the afternoon.
Climbing into Beau’s department cruiser, Sam found herself working to mentally shift gears from baking to potential crime scene. This was the point where she really needed to share some things with Beau that she’d not told him last night.
She pulled the photo of the wooden box from her backpack. “Recognize this?”
His eyebrows drew together. “I’ve seen it. Where?”
“My house. I showed it to you awhile back. Remember Bertha Martinez? She gave the box to me right before she died.”
“Oh yeah.” He started the engine and backed out of his parking space.
“The photo was in Montague’s house.”
“That’s odd.” Beau eased into traffic. “Do you think they knew each other?”
“No idea. Her name wasn’t in his address book. I checked.”
At the next light he made a right turn, heading down the main road through town.
“There’s something else I’ll show you when we get to his house. A collection of sorts. I’m not sure what else to call it. But it’s a lot of weird stuff. I think maybe . . . I don’t know . . . maybe he was after the box.”
“To add to the collection?”
She shrugged. “You’ll have to see this stuff to believe it.”
Another vehicle sat in front of the Montague house when they drove up. The crime scene technician whom Sam had met before, Lisa, stepped out as Beau brought his white SUV to a stop.
“Okay, Sam, show us around,” he said.
The icy patches from four days ago were now confined to the shady places in the yard, the bases of trees, the edges of the yard beside walls, crusty and littered with dirt and plant debris which had blown in. Sam led the way, showing Beau and Lisa the locked front door, then taking them around to the back where her key worked in the door to the central room.
“The place is gloomy and cold,” she said as she signed the log-in sheet that the USDA required at each of her properties, “but I can show you the things I’ve noticed that seem out of place.”
She took them to the master bedroom first, pointing out where she’d found the shattered glass vase near the bed, the strewn covers, and the condition of the adjoining bathroom. They took a peek at the shards she had placed in the wastebasket.
“It isn’t much, Sam,” Beau said. “Montague himself may have just been in a hurry to leave. Dropped the vase and didn’t bother to clean up.”
“I know. I thought that at first, too. It’s not that there’s a great big clue
here, it’s more like a dozen little ones. Remember, there was also a big supply of food in the refrigerator, and a partially eaten meal left on the kitchen counter. It didn’t feel like a place where the owner has left on vacation.”
Lisa began to spray Luminol around the area where the glass shards had lain. Immediately, a large patch on the Persian rug glowed bluish.
“Blood,” the tech said. “Quite a bit.”
Beau knelt down and studied it. “Not enough that someone bled out. But it’s definitely more than a nosebleed or your normal household cut.”
“Look at this,” Lisa said. She pointed into the trash. “The glass shards don’t have any blood on them.”
“Better bag up the glass and the rug,” Beau said.
Lisa did so, then continued to work her way around the side of the bed.
“Bedding has some.” She pointed out that the deep burgundy spread had both smears and droplets.
Amazing what isn’t visible to the eye, especially in poor light, Sam thought. She wandered toward the closet and opened the door. The walk-in space was filled with clothing.
“Do you have a flashlight, Beau?”
He brought one over and aimed it into the dark space. “Two big suitcases, both look like they’re sitting where they belong. No empty hangers, no gaps.”
“It really doesn’t look like he packed for a trip, does it?”
“We can’t rule it out. He could own more bags, more clothes than what we’re seeing here.”
“But—”
“I’m not saying something hasn’t happened here. The blood and the unfinished meal aren’t normal findings. It’s worth asking around, checking with neighbors and friends.”
Lisa had come upon more blood drops near the French doors and Beau told her to get samples of that, as well.
Somewhat relieved, Sam took him around and pointed out the artwork that Rupert had identified as being fairly valuable. They ended up at the front door, where Beau instructed Lisa to dust for prints.
“The desk would be another place you might find prints,” Sam said, reminding him that she’d found items out of place there too.
Lisa performed the duties, taking prints from the places Sam pointed out, along with a few where it was likely that no one but Montague might have left any. “To help us separate his from an intruder’s,” Beau said. “Considering that a man of his standing probably isn’t in the system with a criminal record.”
They would also discover Sam’s. She’d been printed a few months ago, for the same reason, to eliminate her prints from others at a crime scene house.
Beau dismissed Lisa, suggesting that she get back to the office and process as much as she could. The blood swabs would need to go to the state crime lab in Santa Fe.
After the lab tech had left, Beau turned to Sam. “Okay, now I need to see that part you really don’t want to talk about.”
Chapter 13
Sam sighed and took him back to the library. At Montague’s desk, she opened the center drawer and began feeling around inside.
“I don’t know exactly how I triggered—” The low sound of the whirring gears interrupted. She tilted her head toward the moveable section of bookcase, which was swinging slowly outward.
Beau watched silently. When the dark opening was fully revealed, he let out a breath. “Well, look at that. A real secret room.”
“Wait ’til you see.” Sam reached for the flashlight he still carried and aimed it into the cavern.
Everything looked the same as the day before—the antique wooden display cases with their contents of bizarre medical implements, the tiny child-sized bones, the lamp with the skull base, and the eerily heart-stopping sight of the dark figure in hate-garb.
“What the hell is that?” Beau said, recoiling from the sight.
“I don’t know. I had the same reaction.” She still did, Sam realized as she bumped the edge of the doorway behind her.
She handed the flashlight to Beau and turned away from the hidden room and those hollow eyes. Last night’s dream rushed back at her.
Beau stepped into the void and she could see the beam of light as it circled the space. When he stepped out, his expression was tight.
“That is just too weird for words,” he said.
“Well, at least it’s too weird for me. I guess people get into collections of all types of things.” She thought of one of her more recent properties, where a young woman had hoarded everything from newspapers to baby clothes.
“You said this had something to do with that wooden box?” Beau switched off the flashlight.
“I don’t know,” Sam said. “I found that photo of the box in the desk, during my first inspection of the house. I’m sure it’s my box because the picture was taken in the back bedroom at Bertha Martinez’s house. Remember it? The one with the red walls and all the witchy symbols?”
He nodded and stared again at the photo, which Sam had pulled out of her coat pocket. After about a minute he silently handed it back to her. “Watch yourself,” he said. “I don’t know why, exactly, but I have a gut feeling about this.”
She tucked the picture back into her pocket.
“I think I’ll spend a little time talking to Montague’s neighbors. You probably don’t want to hang around for that. Maybe I can buy you lunch and then get you back to work?”
As she closed the desk drawer, after they’d pushed the bookcase back in place, Sam remembered that one of the main reasons she’d wanted to come back to the house was to get the name of Montague’s insurance company. She flipped through files until she came to a copy of the billing. She pulled the page out and folded it.
They rechecked all the doors and walked out into the chill sunshine of the December day. The sky was brilliant blue, so bright that it hurt to look.
“What about getting the power turned on in the house?” Sam asked as they pulled up at Beau’s favorite burger place. “I’ll call the insurance agent, if you’d like.”
He nodded, but his real concentration became diverted by placing his order for a burger loaded with cheese and green chile.
* * *
Back at Sweet’s Sweets, Sam found things in a state of semi-chaos. The school nurse had called and Becky had dashed out to take her youngest home with a sore throat. Four sheets of macaroons were in the oven and Kelly was doing her best to guess at whether they were done. Sam took a peek and told her to give them exactly two more minutes, then pull them out and get them onto cooling racks.
In the sales area, Jen had her hands full with demands for cheesecake—they were running low on Sam’s special amaretto and things were getting a little ugly out there. Sam ran referee and convinced one customer that the pecan praline was every bit as good, averting a purse-swinging battle between two women who were normally quiet little churchgoers. She’d no sooner gotten them settled at tables with their desserts and coffee than a harried man roared to a stop in his Corvette and dashed inside, his eyes roaming the displays frantically.
Wife’s birthday, forgot a cake. Sam could spot ’em a mile away.
She walked over to him before he got the chance to unleash on Jen for the lack of decorated cakes in the displays.
“I’ve got something very exclusive that I haven’t brought out yet,” she said. “My chief decorator is just finishing it up. If you’ll have a complimentary cup of coffee and give me ten minutes?”
The word ‘exclusive’ stopped him in his tracks. Sam pointed him toward the coffee setup.
Becky had baked layers this morning and Sam hustled to the fridge and surveyed the choices. Chocolate or vanilla. A man this nervous has a wife who’s going to bite his head off, and the reason she would do that is because she’s smack in the middle of PMS. Definitely chocolate to fix that.
Sam grabbed up two of the chocolate layers and a pot of fudge filling. Splitting the layers she filled them to create a four-layer torte, frosted the sides and top with ganache, and pressed slivered almonds to the sides. A shell border o
f chocolate buttercream, some shavings of white chocolate . . . she held up the finished piece. It was lovely, if she did say so herself.
The man looked up from the display case, where he was choosing a dozen cookies, and his face lit up.
“You saved my bacon,” he said under his breath, as he pulled cash from a clip.
“Happy to do it,” Sam told him.
Jen placed the torte into one of their purple boxes and tied a gold ribbon around it. “There,” she said brightly. “All nice and pretty.”
Sam and Jen exchanged a glance as the man headed for his car. “I don’t know whether to hope he tells everyone that he got such great service here, or not. We might find ourselves solving ten of these crises a day.”
“We can handle it,” Jen said.
Sam was in the middle of taking a quick mental inventory of the displays when a middle-aged woman with short blond hair came in.
“I need another of those little boxes,” she said, glancing around at the displays, not seeing what she wanted.
Sam pointed out the boxed chocolate assortments.
“No, not like those,” the woman said. She ran her fingers through her inch-long blond layers. “This was about like so . . .” she said, indicating the size of a playing card. “The whole box was made of chocolate and it had tiny gold jewelry inside.”
“We’ve never had—” Jen started to say.
Sam piped up. “I know the piece you mean. It was made as a sample, one of a kind, and we don’t have any more.” She steered the lady toward a quiet corner.
“But—” The woman seemed near tears. “I—I—”
What was going on here?
Sam grabbed a cup from the coffee bar and filled it with water. “Did something happen with that chocolate box?” she asked in a low voice.
The lady took a long sip and looked around the room, as if more copies of the box might have appeared. Luckily, Jen had gotten busy with another customer.
“I took the box home the other day. It was so cute that I didn’t really want to eat it, but something just came over me and I had to take a taste. Then I had another taste. My daughter was there and she ate about half of it. Before I knew it, the whole thing was gone.”
Sweet Holidays: The Third Samantha Sweet Mystery (The Samantha Sweet Mysteries) Page 8