“Oh, don’t be a ninny,” she said as she got out of the truck and stomped into her kitchen. “You never wanted those powers and it’s better that you get back to your real life.”
She shed her coat, took a shower, and found a frozen low-cal dinner that she microwaved and ate, sitting alone at her table. She scooped the jewelry off the bed and left it in a glittery little pile on the dresser top, then crawled between the sheets and closed her eyes, ready for a solid night’s sleep.
At some point she heard small sounds—Kelly coming in from her movie date—but her next conscious act was to shut off her alarm when it rang at four-thirty.
In her usual early-morning blur, Sam got into her bakers jacket and black pants, washed her face and brushed her teeth. Her short, gray-threaded hair stuck out wildly and even dampening and blow drying didn’t make a lot of difference. She scowled at the dark circles under her eyes and put on an extra swipe of lipstick to make up for it.
Coffee. She just needed her morning coffee at the bakery.
Her winter coat wasn’t on its normal hook near the door so she wandered back into the bedroom. The middle of her dresser caught her eye. The pile of jewelry she’d placed there last night was gone. And smack in the middle of the dresser top sat the wooden box.
The carved surface and dull yellowish varnish were unmistakable. The cabochon stones of red, green and blue, mounted in the cross-hatches of the quilted design, were dark and unhappy. Sam’s heart thudded heavily and rapidly.
No, no, no-no-no . . . She backed away from the dresser.
“Kelly! Kelly!” Sam ran toward her daughter’s room and twisted the doorknob. “Did you set that box on my dresser?”
Kelly sat up in bed, looking like a mole who’d been yanked suddenly out of hibernation. She blinked at the light from the hall. “What?”
“My jewelry box. Did you find it somewhere and put it on my dresser?” Sam worked to keep her voice from sounding as panicky as it felt.
“No, Mom. I don’t know what you mean.”
Sam backed away. “It’s okay. Ignore me.” She rubbed at her temples. “Kel, what time did you get home last night?”
“Um, maybe around eleven?”
“And everything looked okay? The door was locked and all?”
“Yeah . . . Mom, you’re kind of scaring me.”
Sam forced a normal expression onto her face. “It’s okay. I guess I just misplaced something . . .”
She closed Kelly’s door and walked toward her room. The box still sat there.
Sam walked over and touched it. Nothing happened. She lifted the lid and saw her jewelry inside, not neatly laid out as she would normally leave it, but heaped in a pile of chains and earrings, as if someone had scooped it off the edge of the dresser and into the box. But when? Had she slept so soundly that someone could have come into her room?
No. She was a mom. She was not that heavy a sleeper.
She glanced at the clock and realized that she needed to be on her way. She would need every spare moment of this day at Sweet’s Sweets.
Her mind reeled as she drove the few blocks to the pastry shop. Yes, life had gotten a bit frantic these days, but not so crazy that she would make up something like this. Maybe she’d only dreamed the part about going to the dump and discarding the box. Not unless she were going insane. The container from her frozen dinner was still in the trash—she’d eaten that after getting rid of the wooden box. And she hadn’t imagined the crisp tire tracks where she’d pulled in after work and then left for the dump last night. She wanted to laugh insanely, and cry, and check herself into the loony bin.
She parked behind the bakery and sat in the truck for at least ten minutes, letting the cold seep into her bones and wake her up.
Somehow, Sam, you’ve got to pull yourself through this.
Chapter 26
The unbelievable events of the night faded, once Sam began studying the bake shop’s orders for the day. She had a wedding cake and two large party cakes to make and deliver, in addition to the usual fare for the customers who walked in the door.
While Sam was inside the walk-in, finding the big box of roses Becky had made for the bride’s cake—peach and ivory to go over a creamy fondant—Bobul arrived and went right to his work. It startled Sam to see him there—he tended to move about like a ghost. He gave her a cryptic look and neither of them brought up the conversation from the previous evening.
The wedding cake was glamorous but deceptively simple. Vanilla cake draped in ivory fondant, smoothed and trimmed, then completely covered in the roses. Those, being made from sugar paste, had been done days ago and now all Sam had to do was fit them in a solid mass over the entire three tiers. She had it finished and stashed outside in the delivery van by eight o’clock.
When Becky called a few minutes later, saying that her mother-in-law was in town all week and would love to watch the boys, did Sam need help at the bakery, she almost wept with relief. Yes, absolutely. She didn’t realize how much she’d missed her right-hand assistant the past few days.
By ten, the breakfast crowd had waned and as Sam worked on the party cakes, Becky and Kelly turned out dozens of cookies, pies and cupcakes. Kelly was getting better all the time at making the batters without mixing them up—no more chocolate into the carrot cakes. And Becky swore she was glad to be piping Santa faces rather than dealing with kids who were bored three days into their winter vacation.
Sam let Bobul and the girls work in their own little worlds while she concentrated on the sheet cakes. One was for a construction business’s open-house, so she duplicated the company logo in fondant, then made walls of a house out of gingerbread and set them up with molded chocolate two-by-fours so it looked like it was under construction. Crushed cookies formed the raw earth around the project and she even found enough of the moldable candy to make a miniature cement mixer, from which poured a gray sidewalk of icing.
The second cake didn’t get quite so much attention, unfortunately, because the phone rang just as she was getting it started.
Delbert Crow needed her to get out to the Montague place at one o’clock to meet with Robert, who had covered the back payments and was now entitled to have the keys to his brother’s house. He said he’d emailed some forms for her to print out and have Robert sign.
Sam sighed and looked around the busy kitchen. She could deliver the wedding cake any time, and probably the sooner the better. The construction cake was going to an office on the south end of town, so it would be on her way to the Montague place. She called Becky over and showed her the plans for the other sheet cake.
“If you’ll fill and ice it,” Sam said, “and get the poinsettias made, I’ll do the piping when I get back.”
Becky gave her a little thumbs-up. It was good to have her back, and smiling.
With the two cakes safely delivered by noon, Sam debated whether to go back to the bakery or just head out to Montague’s. There and back through traffic would eat up forty minutes of the hour, so there didn’t seem much point in heading back to the center of town. Plus, it would probably be smart of her to re-check the house one more time, in case there were things she needed to review with Robert Montague before she officially quit her caretaking duties there.
Sunday’s early snowfall hadn’t quite melted off in the shady places and she noticed a somewhat fresh set of tire tracks that swerved in close to Montague’s perimeter wall, seemed to stop there, then pulled away to the east. A car sat at the end of those tracks, about a hundred yards beyond the property line. Someone heading for the neighbor’s place got the wrong address on the first try.
Sam parked in her usual spot near the mailbox and walked through the gateway. Around back, she let herself into the living room and headed for the study. A half-second before she stepped into the room, she heard a sound. Paper rustling. Then a low female voice. She flattened herself against the wall, listening. Muted sounds of a drawer opening.
She should run. She should call Beau. She
knew that.
But whoever it was might get away before he could get here. She had to find out who was sneaking around in William Montague’s study. She risked a peek around the doorsill.
Tiffany Wright and Bunny Fitzhugh were at the desk, a cascade of files and papers littering the top.
“I don’t see any code here, or a safe deposit key or anything,” Tiffany said.
“Well, then there’s a name. He had a picture of the box so he must have found the owner. He—” Bunny glanced up at the door and spotted Sam.
“What on earth are you doing?” Sam demanded, not giving the wealthy woman a chance to put her on the defensive. She stepped into the doorway, hands on hips.
“I might ask you the same thing,” Bunny said. But her voice had a slight waver to it.
“I’m here as legal caretaker for the property, and I’m meeting the rightful owner in—” She meant to say that Robert Montague would be along any minute, but Tiffany slammed the center drawer of the desk and both women charged at Sam.
She probably outweighed the two of them and could easily block their exit, but her attention was drawn to the wall behind them. The bookcase was slowly swinging outward. Sam stepped aside to let the would-be thieves dash out of the room, then she moved over and closed the door.
Down the hall, Tiffany and Bunny were making a mad dash for the front hall. A shriek got her attention and she headed that direction. When Sam turned the corner in the hall, the women were jammed up against the military presence of Robert Montague.
He was staring at Bunny with a hard glare.
“They were going through Will’s desk,” Sam said.
“Did they take anything?”
“I don’t think so. I caught them going through files.”
Bunny raised her chin proudly. “Will and I were very close. I believe that he had something that belongs to me.”
“Ahem, I don’t think so,” Sam interjected. “The conversation I overheard was more about something you wanted him to acquire for you. A piece of art, maybe?”
“Get out of here,” Robert said to Bunny. “This is my property now and I don’t want to see you here, ever again.”
He stepped out of the way so the women had access to the front door.
Sam caught Bunny’s expression as she edged past him. Her chiseled features were drawn into an expression of pure malevolence. She continued giving him the evil eye until she and Tiffany had crossed the hall and gone out onto the front porch.
Robert walked over to the windows and watched until they had left. “One of them had a key,” he said. “The door was unlocked when I got here.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t notice it,” Sam said. “I could have called the sheriff.”
“It’s probably better that you caught them in the act and scared them off.”
Robert’s edginess from their previous meetings seemed to be gone. He pulled out a PDA. “Making a note to get the locks changed,” he said.
As Sam walked back down the hall, her thoughts drifted elsewhere. She’d always believed that Tiffany, miffed at not getting Sam to let her in the house, had hammered at the lockbox and damaged the front door. But what if she and Bunny had been in cahoots all along? Bunny must have had a key, and she’d come once before, going through the desk, looking for the photo or the box itself. While Tiffany’s interest was in the art, Bunny wanted the power of the box. One or both of them, whoever was here that day, must have heard Sam arrive and ducked around the side of the house to get away. She shuddered at the close call.
“If you ask me,” Rob said, “I don’t think Bunny is actually dangerous. I think that it’s her ex, Larry Lissano, who killed my brother.”
Sam glanced over her shoulder at him and didn’t voice her own thoughts.
“There was really that much animosity between Lissano and Will?”
“Bunny might like to pretend that the affair was nothing, that it was over a long time ago, but Lissano was furious. And he’s the kind of man who doesn’t let go of things. When Will told me about some threats he received, I did a little checking into the guy. That import company of his—nothing but a front for dealing arms and drugs. Feds have been after him for a long time but they can’t seem to find enough to take it to trial.”
“Seriously? You think Lissano would risk committing murder, knowing the authorities are watching him that closely?”
“Lissano deals with some of the roughest characters on the planet. Arms deals to rogue nations, paying off dictators to help huge drug deals get past the DEA. He might not have pulled the trigger, or whatever happened, but he sure as hell was behind it.”
Sam straightened her shoulders. Maybe this was why she’d gotten strange vibes around Rob. He knew a lot about his brother’s enemies, information he hadn’t shared with Beau. The sooner she could be done with this place and all the wackos associated with it, the better.
“Shall we go over the paperwork?” She steered him toward the kitchen, wondering whether to break the news about the hidden room or just let him stumble in there and let that ugly green robe scare the pants off him, like it had done to her.
She pulled out the forms Delbert Crow had sent and began to read over the paragraphs that would transfer responsibility for the care and expenses on the property to him, the surviving brother. She’d just flipped to the second page where his signature was required, when Rob looked up. His face blanched and he suddenly looked unsteady on his feet.
“Oh. My. God.” He stared with wide eyes at a figure who stepped out of the woods and was heading across the lawn. “Will.”
Chapter 27
Sam’s attention became riveted. The man was not as tall as his brother, nor as straight in stature. In fact, he almost shuffled across the brown winter lawn. His clothing fit sloppily and his hair was quite a lot longer than he wore it in the old pictures. Several days’ worth of beard darkened his jawline.
“That’s your brother?” she started to ask. But Rob Montague was on his way out the door.
He ran toward the other man, who stopped, looked up and then started to crumple. Rob grabbed him by the shoulders and helped steady him. Together, they stumbled toward the house. Sam pulled a tumbler from a cabinet and drew a glass of cold tap water for him.
Rob was talking almost non-stop as the men came back inside, but Will seemed drained of even the basic energy to speak. He sank onto one of the leather couches and Sam handed him the water. He drank greedily and cleared his throat, staring at her with a puzzled expression.
She introduced herself with a brief explanation of why she was in his home, before she carried the empty glass back to the kitchen.
“—can’t stay here alone,” Rob was saying when Sam came back.
“I’ll do what I need to,” Will insisted. “Just go.”
Rob looked like he meant to argue, but a glare from older brother shut him down. “I’ll be at the La Fonda, and I plan to stay in town until I know you’re all right.”
“I’m all right. Go back to California.” Will stood up and started for the kitchen. “I’m hungry.”
Sam spoke up. “Sorry, Mr. Montague, but the food in the fridge was all spoiled. I threw everything out.”
He’d reached the cupboards and began rummaging through them, coming up with a can of baked beans and a waxed-paper tube of saltine crackers. “This’ll do me.”
Sam glanced at the photos on the mantle again. The smiling Will Montague in a tuxedo holding a flute of champagne was a far cry from the emaciated man in filthy clothing who stood at the kitchen counter, spooning cold beans from a can.
Rob had watched the desperation on his brother’s face but gave up trying to make suggestions. He sent Sam a penetrating look, mimed “let me know” and left.
“There’s some paperwork,” Sam said. “Your brother got the past due bills caught up and was about to sign these so I could release the house to him. I guess you’ll want to do that now.”
Will glanced at the pages, his mouth bulging
with food. He swallowed and refilled the water glass. “I don’t know how long I can stay,” he said, his voice quiet with fatigue. “Someone tried to kill me. Maybe you already know that.”
“Actually, we thought they had killed you,” Sam said. “The sheriff is investigating. I should call him so he can get your statement.”
“No!” Will moved toward her. “If people think I’m dead, maybe that’s good.”
“Why? Don’t you want your friends to know you’re okay? Don’t you want to resume your art business?”
He looked as if he’d already considered this. “Friends and business will just have to wait. I can’t afford to be seen. Not yet.”
“Tell me what happened.”
He stuffed another spoonful of the beans into his mouth, still sizing her up, gauging whether he could trust her.
“I accidentally found your secret room,” she said. “And a photograph of a strange wooden box.”
Montague choked. He spat the beans into the sink and struggled for a few seconds.
“You might as well tell me. I know something about that box. Why did you have a picture of it?”
“A client. I was commissioned to find it for her.”
“Does it have anything to do with the, uh, unorthodox collection in the hidden room?”
“Ah, well, that room,” he said after he’d taken a long drink of water. “I discovered it when I bought the house. Some of the old, outdated medical instruments and books were in it. I began to read them and that got me started, looking for other oddities. Over the years I collected a lot of the old dental tools and such.”
Including bones? Okay. Weird hobby.
“That dark green robe—is that something to do with medicine as well?” The very thought made her stomach clench up.
“It was here too. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve reached for it, thinking I would throw it out. But something always stopped me, some kind of force seems to surround the thing. I finally found a collector who wanted it. I was about to be rid of the bizarre thing once and for all.”
Sweet Holidays: The Third Samantha Sweet Mystery (The Samantha Sweet Mysteries) Page 17