Sweet Holidays: The Third Samantha Sweet Mystery (The Samantha Sweet Mysteries)

by Connie Shelton

  “I’ll leave these here to firm up a bit, then I can put the whole thing together when I get back from the hospital,” she told Kelly. “Can you hold down the fort if I stay away long enough to visit Iris and grab some lunch?”

  Kelly gave one of those smiles that daughters give moms who underestimate them.

  “Okay, I know you can. See you soon,” Sam said, picking up Iris’s cookie gift and heading out the back door.

  There was something about walking into a hospital room that always gave Sam a twinge. Maybe it was because her mother did it so much; visiting the sick was such a part of west Texas culture and church life, a part that Sam never got comfortable with. Maybe it was just the sound of floors so clean they squeaked when you walked on them, the smell of disinfectants and medicines, the sight of people lying in beds exposed to view by all who passed down the hall. Aside from giving birth to Kelly thirty-four years ago, Sam had never been a patient so maybe it was the lack of exposure and conditioning that sent that gurgle into her stomach. Maybe she just needed some lunch.

  Beau was standing at his mother’s bedside when Sam entered the room. The sight of him in uniform never failed to catch her attention, and it seemed the same for Iris’s roommate, a woman of about ninety whose bug-eyed stare was clearly making Beau uncomfortable.

  “Hi, Iris,” Sam said, ignoring the infatuated roommate and approaching Beau’s side. “Well, I have to say that you look really good.”

  Better than she’d expected. Iris smiled a little lopsidedly but she reached both arms toward Sam for a hug. When she spoke it was only with a faint slur.

  “I feel pretty good, too, honey. Pretty good.”

  “The nurse tells us that Mama is moving to the rehab place in the morning. That’s a lot better than we expected at this point.”

  The roommate looked a little saddened by this news, probably because she wouldn’t be able to ogle Beau any more.

  “Well, Iris, that’s great news.” Sam set the cookie tray on Iris’s lap. “They might want you to wait until you’ve had your lunch before you get into these, but I won’t tell.”

  The spark was still in the elderly woman’s eye as she tugged at the ribbon and loosened the cellophane enough to help herself to an almond crescent coated in powdered sugar. As his mother munched on her cookie, Beau offered one to the roommate. She took her time in deciding but he was finally able to pull away and set the gift safely on Iris’s nightstand.

  They talked for another fifteen minutes before the lunch trays showed up, then Beau helped Iris with her meal. She still wasn’t quite good enough with the utensils to get the food to her mouth every time, but Sam supposed that was what rehab was all about.

  Iris’s eyes began to droop within minutes after removal of the lunch tray, so they tucked the blanket around her shoulders and left her to her afternoon nap.

  “I’m happy to see her doing so well,” Sam said, as she and Beau walked toward the parking lot.

  “I’m relieved,” he said. “Things could have gone a whole lot worse. Makes you realize how short life can be. And how bad hospital food can be. Let’s go somewhere decent for lunch.”

  “Before that, since we’re pretty close to Talpa, would you mind if we ran that box of files back out to the Montague place? I’d like to be rid of that responsibility.”

  He agreed and they made the short drive in Sam’s truck. They were halfway up the flagstone walk when they heard a vehicle on the road. A dark blue SUV parked and Robert Montague got out.

  Chapter 24

  “I’m glad you stopped by,” Beau said, shaking hands with the military-straight Montague. “Remember that we talked about your brother’s bank records?”

  They walked around the house and entered through the French doors at the back. Sam placed the heavy box of files on the kitchen counter while she attended to the sign-in sheet. She felt a nervous energy from Robert as Beau spoke to him.

  “I ran a search on William’s bank records and I’m afraid there’s been no activity in the past three months. I guess that’s good news and bad news. At least no one has hijacked his accounts and cleaned them out.”

  Rob Montague walked through the living room and into the kitchen, his gaze taking in the art and furnishings. “Yes . . . I supposed that’s good news. But Will would be making withdrawals to live on. If he were alive.”

  “We’re doing all we can to find out. My men were at the property over the weekend, searching with a canine team. They found nothing, well, no evidence of a death.”

  “That’s only slightly reassuring.”

  “I know. We just have very few leads to go on. His phone records essentially went blank after September.”

  “It doesn’t sound good then, does it?” Rob’s tone was matter-of-fact.

  Beau leaned against the granite bar, facing Rob who stood near the refrigerator. “You indicated that you didn’t want your brother’s property to go into foreclosure. We’ve discovered that there is enough in his various accounts to cover about half the amount owed in back mortgage payments.” He turned to Sam.

  “I spoke with my contracting officer at the USDA,” she said. “He furnished the figures. He can arrange to release the lien on the property if you will sign some paperwork for him. He also said to remind you that the payments would need to be kept current or the same thing will happen again.”

  Rob stared at the floor, chewing at the side of his cheek.

  Sam handed him a business card for Delbert Crow. “I’ll just put these files back in the desk and I can get the banking information for you.”

  He started to say something but when she turned toward him, he remained silent.

  She went into Montague’s study and replaced all the files except the one with the bank statements. Something about this whole thing still felt strange but she really couldn’t define it. She glanced toward the bookcases—that wasn’t it. These particular vibes were coming from Robert Montague, not from this house.

  When she touched the center drawer of the desk a vision of her wooden box came to her. She hadn’t touched it in a few days. What if she had? Would she be getting even stronger impressions from Rob Montague?

  She tried to shed the feeling but it wouldn’t go away. Sometimes she would see auras, get waves of emotional signals from other people after handling the box. Maybe she should start doing that again, start using its influence to help Beau with this case.

  She picked up the banking file and a checkbook that she’d found in one of the drawers and walked back to the kitchen. The men were gone but she could hear their voices from the direction of the master bedroom.

  Rob stood over the spot where they’d found the blood. Sam stopped dead in the doorway. A humming sound drummed at her ears and her vision went wavy. Then it stopped. Just like that.

  She gripped the doorjamb for support and closed her eyes.

  “Sam? Are you all right, darlin’?”

  When she opened her eyes Beau stood near her. Even Rob looked a little concerned.

  “Yeah . . . I’m fine. I guess I just had a little dizzy spell.”

  “I better get you some lunch.” Beau took her elbow and led her toward the back door.

  “I can lock up here,” Robert Montague said, reaching out for the key.

  Sam felt her energy return. “Sorry, I can’t give you these until my supervisor releases me from the job.” She shrugged. “Government policy.”

  A muscle worked in his jaw but he didn’t say anything. He followed them outside and both men waited while Sam locked the door. Montague’s nervous energy seemed stronger than ever as they walked out to the vehicles. Sam fiddled with her keys and backpack, stalling so Rob would drive away before she did.

  “What is with these people?” she demanded as she cranked the pickup to life. “Everybody wants the keys to this place, no matter what I tell them about the rules.”

  “You don’t trust that Rob is who he says he is?” Beau regarded her from the corner of his eye. “Sam, are you
getting another of those . . . whatever you call ‘em . . . visions?”

  She blew out a breath. “I don’t know. It’s nothing definite. Maybe it’s just me.”

  “I noticed he got quiet when we were talking about him keeping up the payments on the house. Maybe it’s more than he can afford?”

  Turning left onto 585, she concentrated on traffic for a minute. “It’s not just him, Beau. It’s Tiffany. It’s everyone who comes out of the woodwork as a former friend of William Montague. They all want something.”

  “The million dollars worth of art that’s in that house, maybe?”

  When he said it like that, it was kind of a duh revelation. Of course anyone would want to lay claim to the art. But now there was verifiable proof that the art didn’t belong to Montague, and therefore not to any of his family. They’d never win that argument in court.

  Unless they didn’t intend to go to court. Possession was nine-tenths of the law—or something like that.

  Then it hit her. Maybe it wasn’t the art at all. Maybe it was the contents of the secret room.

  When Rob’s eyes had scanned the entire house, just now, maybe he wasn’t looking at what he could easily see. Maybe he was looking for the odd assortment of collectibles, those macabre bones and tools and that godawful green robe. And since they weren’t readily apparent, perhaps he even knew that there would be a hidden switch, a way into the place where the cache lay concealed.

  She voiced those thoughts to Beau.

  “Really? You think that weird junk is worth a lot?” Clearly, he wouldn’t have given two dollars for the whole lot.

  “Well . . . I don’t know.” She felt a little helpless in the face of his logic. How did one explain a sensation of the supernatural to a regular, sensible, no-nonsense man who dealt everyday in facts and evidence? It was pretty hopeless.

  She changed the subject and they decided to grab fast food for lunch, since both of them had been away from business longer than they’d planned. By the time they’d scarfed some fried chicken and she’d taken Beau back to the hospital lot to retrieve his cruiser, she was feeling behind the gun again with bakery orders.

  A running list of party cakes and wedding cakes and specialty items kept her mind going non-stop as she drove toward her little shop a block off the plaza. When she walked in the back door, Bobul gave her a hard look.

  “Miss Sam running from dark force,” he said.

  She laughed. “I’m running, all right.”

  She washed her hands and started again on the caroling party cake, which was due to be picked up at four o’clock. As she placed the chocolate figurines and piped green royal icing on sugar cones to make pine trees, she noticed that Bobul kept sneaking sidelong glances at her. But she didn’t have time to think much about it.

  When the customer came for the caroler cake, Sam carried it out front herself, proud to show how well it had turned out. Everyone in the shop exclaimed over the scene, with its snowbanks, lampposts, and the half-dozen carolers in traditional Victorian clothing. Two more customers placed orders on the spot. Sam smiled and secretly wondered if she was going to live through this first season.

  * * *

  Kelly put an arm around Sam’s shoulders as Jen switched off the daytime lights, leaving only a lamp and the strings of holiday lights at the windows for ambiance. Everyone felt beat, and they still had six days to go.

  “Next year, I’ll get a few more part-time helpers,” Sam said. “Kel, I don’t know what I’d be doing right now without you.”

  This time the daughter-smile was genuinely pleased.

  “Do you mind if I skip out on dinner at home tonight, Mom? I actually have a movie date.”

  “Oooh, a date,” Sam teased. “I’ll bet you’re asleep in your seat before the second scene.”

  “It’s action-adventure. A real guy-thing. So, yeah, I probably will be.”

  The two younger women left and Sam gave the counter and tables a final wipe-down before going back to see what kind of shape the kitchen was in. Bobul’s molds were clean and sitting neatly on the worktable, ready to accept more batches of chocolate tomorrow. She eyed the supply of gift boxes, which was running low, but decided against ordering more. They would probably run out by Christmas Eve, but that was okay. The demand for the chocolates gratified her and she looked forward to seeing what new confections Bobul would create once the winter holidays were over.

  The chocolatier stood at the sink, swishing a chocolate coated bowl in sudsy water. It appeared to be almost the last of the dirty dishes. When he became aware of Sam’s presence, he gave her the same look he’d been sending her way all afternoon.

  “Bobul, what is it? Do I have some gory red frosting mark on my face?”

  She bit back her impatience and realized that he probably didn’t understand the sarcasm anyway. “Sorry. It’s just—is there something you want to say to me?”

  He dried his hands on a towel as he turned to face her. “Miss Sam in danger.”

  That wasn’t at all what she expected.

  “Danger? What kind of danger, Bobul?” His earlier remark about her running from a dark force came back and a chill went up her arms.

  “The man. Man you cannot find. He want the box. Facinor. He try very hard to get Facinor because evil woman want it.”

  The damn box again. Sam felt like she was reaching her wits end with this stuff.

  “Evil woman is having connection to bruja. She want to be new Lorena.”

  “You told me about Lorena, Bobul, but you said she died many years ago.”

  He stepped forward and placed his hands on the worktable, tracing a pattern with a fingertip, as if he were drawing a lesson picture for a rather slow child.

  “Old Lorena dead. New Lorena will come. New Lorena use Facinor for evil plans.”

  What evil plans? she wanted to demand. “Bobul, how does this put me in danger? I don’t know any Lorena. Or any bruja at all, for that matter.”

  He gave her a piercing look and she had the sense that he knew something about her possession of the wooden box and the fact that Bertha Martinez had given it to her. But she’d never told him. Maybe it was the photo of the box that concerned him. She unzipped her pack and pulled out the picture.

  “Is it this, Bobul? Is this picture what’s making you so worried?”

  He stared, not taking his gaze from it.

  “Okay. Fine. Look, we can easily get rid of this,” she said. She walked over to the stove and lit a burner.

  Her voice rose, shaking. “We don’t have to let the picture of the box—Facinor, if you will—we don’t have to let it scare us.” She dipped a corner of the photo into the flame and let it catch. As the fire raced across the thick paper, she carried it to the sink and just before it would have touched her fingers, she dropped it into the dishwater.

  “There. See? Gone.” She raised her empty hands to show him.

  “Bobul not stupid, Miss Sam. Burning picture not to getting rid of box. Burning old Lorena not be rid of box. You do not understanding.”

  She sighed. “I guess I don’t. It’s okay. Why don’t you go on home.”

  He kept his eyes on her as he edged toward the coat hooks and reached for his massive rough brown one. He shoved his arms into the sleeves and buttoned the front. “Please, Miss Sam be careful. There is a woman. She will harm Miss.” He gave an almost regretful stare and then turned and walked out the back door.

  Chapter 25

  What did he mean by that? Sam wondered, rubbing the chill away from her arms. She strode over to the door and flung it open, ready to confront Bobul for more details, but he was gone.

  She locked the metal door and stood with her back to it. Okay, Sam. Let’s think rationally and see if we can figure this out. But at the moment she couldn’t think at all.

  She scrubbed the two remaining mixing bowls in the sink, drained the water, took tomorrow’s orders out of the file and laid them on the worktable where she would see them immediately in the morni
ng. Quick movements, deliberate actions—they were her defense against insanity at the moment.

  I will not think about this. There is no evil woman. There is no evil in that stupid wooden box. There is not any power— But she had to stop. The box did have power. Sam could no more explain it than she could describe quantum physics, but she couldn’t deny the box’s power. She’d experienced it too many times.

  Okay, she thought, pulling on her jacket, if someone else wants the stupid box let them have it. I’ll just get rid of it. The damn thing has caused me nothing but grief anyway. She snatched up her pack and headed out the door.

  Her hands felt shaky on the wheel and she had to force herself to breathe evenly and drive carefully. Puddled water made icy patches on the roads, now that it was dark. But as she got closer to home, determination took over. She whipped into her driveway and hit the brakes at the last second. She left the truck running and dashed into the house, switching on lights as she raced to her bedroom.

  The box lay under the scarf, just as she’d left it. She grabbed it up without looking closely at it, opened the lid and dumped her few pieces of jewelry onto the bed. She carried it back to the truck and gunned the accelerator the whole length of the driveway.

  The landfill was clear across town but Sam was determined to rid herself once and for all of the curse of the box. She headed that direction, her new confidence in the mission providing the right amount of caution in her driving. But when she got there, the gates were closed. The posted hours stated that they opened at eight in the morning. And there was a warning in red that there was absolutely no dumping outside the fence.

  To hell with that. She stepped back, balanced the box in the palm of her hand, and wound up for the throw. With all her strength she flung the wooden box over the fence. She jumped back into her truck, hit the gas and got the heck out of there.

  Okay. Done. My life will settle down quite nicely now. But before she reached home tears began to prickle at her eyes. Apart from all the silly nonsense Bobul had rattled, the box had been a gift from Bertha Martinez. And it had introduced Sam to something deep inside herself. Something she’d never desired, never even considered, but she had in fact helped people with the powers from the box.