Into the Sweet Hereafter

by Kaye George

  Into the Sweet Hereafter

  Books by Kaye George

  Vintage Sweets Mysteries

  Revenge is Sweet

  Deadly Sweet Tooth

  Into the Sweet Hereafter

  Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

  Table of Contents

  Books by Kaye George

  Dedication

  Prologue

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  Recipe

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Into the Sweet Hereafter

  Kaye George

  LYRICAL PRESS

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  www.kensingtonbooks.com

  To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  LYRICAL PRESS BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2021 by Kaye George

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  All Kensington titles, imprints, and distributed lines are available at special quantity discounts for bulk purchases for sales promotion, premiums, fund-raising, educational, or institutional use.

  Special book excerpts or customized printings can also be created to fit specific needs. For details, write or phone the office of the Kensington Sales Manager: Kensington Publishing Corp., 119 West 40th Street, New York, NY 10018. Attn. Sales Department. Phone: 1-800-221-2647.

  Lyrical Press and Lyrical Press logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  First Electronic Edition: March 2021

  ISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0542-7 (ebook)

  ISBN-10: 1-5161-0542-7 (ebook)

  First Print Edition: March 2021

  ISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0545-8

  ISBN-10: 1-5161-0545-1

  Printed in the United States of America

  Dedication

  I want to dedicate this book to all of my family and friends who kept in touch during the pandemic, when I was writing this. I think we all helped to save each other’s sanity. I loved having this project to take me away from the real world.

  Prologue

  Mid-May

  Outside, the sun pressed toward the horizon. The tourists on Mandalay Hill, unfazed by the 100-degree heat, watched the sun set over the sparkling Irrawaddy River below.

  Inside the factory, the heat was even more intense. It didn’t seem to bother the two men, but their argument had raised the temperature even higher for everyone else within earshot. They both spoke Burmese, as many in Mandalay did. In English, their conversation would have gone something like this.

  “You’re trying to do it too cheap, Uncle Win.”

  “Stop. Stand still.” Uncle Win’s voice was deep, rumbling.

  Thet Thura, who had been pacing the new cement floor of the plant, halted in front of the older man. “This is important. The first business of this kind in Myanmar, Uncle. I don’t want it to fail.”

  “Do you think I want it to fail?” The older man, Min Win, known to many as U Win, looked up at his taller young relative. “It will not fail. Why do you think it would? The plastic has to decompose. It has to fall apart after you use it. That’s the whole point. Making it cheaper makes it better. It will break down sooner.”

  Thet bowed his head, acknowledging the words of his elder. He stood waiting for U Win to depart for the day. When he was gone, Thet summoned his cousins, who had been waiting nearby. The two cousins ran to him, each toting a large burlap bag, and they got to work on their covert mission. U Win knew all about the scheme—he had masterminded everything in the beginning—but he didn’t want to appear to be involved.

  The last batch of plastic for the day was being produced, but Thet halted the clanking machines so he and his cousins could add an extra step to the process. The burlap bag held one of the most precious substances in Myanmar, the country that used to be called Burma, and still was by many. The men reached into the bag and pulled out handfuls of beautiful, smooth, Burma jadeite, the best jade in the world. One of the cousins had to hold up an emerald-colored, almost translucent stone to admire it before he proceeded. The Chinese called this the Stone of Heaven.

  The young men were surrounded by large, drab, gray machines that had been noisy all day and now lay silent, like crouching lizards, ready to spring into action again. The smells of oiled motors, new plastic, and the sweat of the departed workers hung in the air. The jade was the brightest spot in the factory.

  The jade mines in Myanmar were controlled by cruel overlords. Locals worked hard to dig out the valuable rock, eking out a meager existence. They were searched when they left every day, to prevent them from smuggling out the jade. Thet was an enterprising young man, though. He had hatched a plan to bribe one of the guards and smuggle the jade to the United States, where it could be sold on the black market to enrich the guard, himself, and Thet’s extended family. The first bribe had to be done from his own pocket, but he had completed two cycles now. The third shipment, which should go out tomorrow, would start to show him a profit.

  The three men worked quickly, inserting the stones into plastic replicas of American candies, then sealing the seams, making sure they marked the boxes the fake candies were put into.

  They were joined by two more cousins. One of them had always been slow. Thet had to oversee his work at first, but he seemed to know what to do now. Thet would prefer not to employ that cousin, but knew he had to work with him. That’s what families did.

  A few hours later, the entire batch of plastic was finished and loaded onto a truck to be eventually transported to an aquarium shop in Dallas, which served as Thet’s front for the backroom smuggling operation. The plan was for the shipment to fly over the Pacific, as usual, a shipment of innocent-looking, new, eco-friendly compostable plastic. It would be trucked from the airplane to a warehouse in west Texas, then brought to Dallas.

  It wasn’t until the next morning that Thet consulted his notes and realized, with a sickening jolt, his cousin had inserted the jade into the wrong batch of plastic. This batch wasn’t bound for his aquarium shop in Dallas, but, after going to the warehouse outside a small Texas town called Fredericksburg, it would be trucked to an address very close by, a place called Bella’s Baskets. The shipment without the jade was going to his shop in Dallas. This was very, very wrong. He had to make sure the jade-filled plastic didn’t get to Bella’s Baskets.

  Thet Thura got to Texas as quickly as he could. He flew to San Antonio, then things got a bit more complicated. He usually f
lew to Dallas and didn’t know this part of Texas. He asked a few people how best to get to his destination and decided to get a private plane to the tiny airport outside the small town that served the county. From there, he rented a car and drove to the warehouse that he hoped still held the precious cargo his stupid cousin had mislabeled. He knew his uncle, U Win, would blame Thet for the error, since he was in charge of the smuggling. U Win pretended to everyone that he didn’t know what his nephews were doing, though he was behind the scheme. He had Thet carry out the operation so it looked like he was in charge.

  When Thet got to the warehouse, he didn’t want to make inquiries that people would remember. But he had to find out where his shipment was. He had thought of an approach on his long flight over the Pacific. He needed to call his associate in Dallas as soon as he landed. The associate, Arlen Snead, said he could meet him in the town of Fredericksburg, but Thet would have to intercept the load before Arlen arrived.

  Thet parked his rental car at the edge of the large lot and walked toward the prefab metal building. One truck was in the process of backing up to the loading dock. He strolled to the driver’s side and waited for the man to alight from the cab.

  “Can you help me?” he asked. His accent was slight, from having done business in Dallas for several years and also from having a good ear for languages.

  The trucker stopped and said, “Howdy. What do you need?” He had dark skin and black, curly hair. He wore a cotton company shirt with the Planet Earth logo and the name “Mateo” on the pocket.

  “I need to hire a truck driver for a single job,” Thet said. “A small one. Do you know of anyone who would want to pick up an extra job?”

  “Where to? Who’s it for?”

  “I can’t say too much.” Thet looked down at his shoes. “It would be unofficial. Off the books. Cash-based.” He knew, from working with Arlen, that these code words would tell the man it wasn’t quite legal. He didn’t want to hire an honest truck driver. He needed one who was hungry and would jump at any job. And keep his mouth shut.

  The man tilted his head back and looked hard at Thet Thura, squinting to indicate he knew what they were talking about. “I might know someone,” he said. “What would it pay?”

  “We can decide that after I tell the person what is involved.”

  “I’m your person. Let’s talk.”

  1

  Thursday in early June, midafternoon

  Tally Holt opened her eyes to the startlingly close orbs of her big Maine coon cat, Nigel. He stared earnestly, communicating his desire for breakfast. How did he do that? she wondered. How did she know what he was thinking? By his sheer willpower, she assumed. He had enough of that. She smiled and rubbed the top of his velvet head, starting his purring motor. She loved the volume he put out.

  “Move, silly, so I can get the sheet off me.” She shoved him gently so she could peel back the one sheet and sit up. It was too warm to use covers, really, but she always felt better when she was covered with something.

  Nigel padded after her into the kitchen of her small Fredericksburg house, chirping, Tally was sure, to indicate the degree of urgency that existed. He needed to eat, he was letting her know, and he needed to eat now. Sunlight poured in through the windows, filtered by the old live oaks in the front yard. Later, when the relentless Texas Hill Country sun rose higher, the trees would shade the whole house. After she scooped the cat food into his dish and refilled his water bowl, she cleaned the litter while he crunched his noisy way through the bowl of kibble.

  Cats are so easy, she thought. That had taken less than five minutes and he was set until tonight.

  She hadn’t grown up with any pets, but knew, from observation, that dogs required a lot more maintenance. It had been a long time since the day she got mad at her brother, Cole, for dumping Nigel on her. He had broken up with one of his many girlfriends and the jilted woman hadn’t taken Nigel with her.

  Tally had to admit, she liked to come home to a warm, living being at night after she closed up her shop. Before that happened today, though, she had to get dressed and actually open up that shop.

  Soon she was blowing an ignored kiss to Nigel and heading out the front door.

  * * * *

  Tally and her best friend Yolanda Bella beamed as they stood on the warm sidewalk outside Bella’s Baskets in Fredericksburg, Texas, where the tourist season was moving into high gear. They were delighted with the window display Yolanda had just finished putting together.

  Tally turned to her favorite employee. “Lily, the new plastic candies look exactly like the real thing. They’re wonderful.”

  The plastic replicas of the vintage sweets that Tally sold next door at Tally’s Olde Tyme Sweets were nestled in an assortment of gift baskets, some handmade locally, some bought and reconditioned by Yolanda herself. Lily Vale, Tally’s young employee, had come up with the idea to use replicas in Yolanda’s displays last year. The ones they’d been using had become faded, dull, and old-looking from being exposed to the fierce Texas sun coming through the window, so Lily had set out to find another place to buy the replicas. She had searched sources all over the world before finally deciding on this one. The fake candies were made in Southeast Asia from custom molds modeled after sketches Lily had submitted. They were not only much cheaper, but they were environmentally friendly, according to the ads.

  “I’m glad they got here so soon,” Lily said. “You know, this is kind of a celebration of your one-year mark.” Her brown eyes sparkled, showing just how happy she was for her boss.

  “It’s that long already? A year?” Tally hadn’t realized that. It was a year ago, mid-June, when she had opened her shop with high hopes, which, for the most part, had panned out. Her shop and Yolanda’s were both thriving, after some early struggles. She swelled with pride, looking over the colorful display that married her vintage candy products and Yolanda’s beautiful gift baskets.

  The colorful baskets held items to go with the themes people usually wanted: birthday (candles, party hats, small gifts wrapped in birthday paper), anniversary (photo albums, silk roses, tin stars in a ten-year basket and silver stars in a twenty-five-year one), and the celebration of moving into a new house (small houses from a toy store, bags of grass seed for the new lawns, Monopoly dollar bills).

  Strewn among the baskets were boughs from dogwood trees bursting with white silk blossoms, and a few pink silk crape myrtles, since it was spring in Texas Hill Country.

  Chattering people strolled past, perusing the displays of the touristy shops of Fredericksburg and enjoying a soft, warm day before summer descended upon the town in earnest. Of course, that meant it was in the high eighties, not yet the nineties—temperatures that would not be merely considered “warm” in other parts of the country. Even the full summer heat would not deter the tourists and local shoppers, however. The small German-founded town was a popular shopping, dining, and wine-tasting destination for much of the year.

  Tally’s landlady, Mrs. Gerg, in her worn, ill-fitting shoes, shuffled up to the group—Tally, Yolanda, and the other two—Raul Fuentes, Yolanda’s trusted assistant in the basket shop, and Lily Vale, Tally’s dependable employee in the vintage sweet shop.

  “My, doesn’t that look nice.” Mrs. Gerg stuck her head forward to peer at the display. Tally could see her pink scalp through the short, curly hairdo the older woman wore. Tally was only a few inches over five feet, but Mrs. Gerg was even shorter.

  “Aren’t you afraid the chocolate will melt on those Whoopie Pies?” Mrs. Gerg asked. “They look so much more like the real thing, better than those plastic ones you were using.” She gave Tally a worried look. “It’s warm, and the sun is hitting the window full-on right now.” She was right about that. The afternoon sun’s rays were shining directly onto the baskets, the better for everyone to see them.

  Tally smiled and waved a hand toward Lily. “Don’t worry—they
aren’t real—they’re biodegradable plastic replicas. We can thank Lily for them. This was all her idea and she found a very reasonable place to get them.”

  “Compostable, really,” Lily added.

  Mrs. Gerg took another look at the goodies, which were glistening through the glass. “So they are. Very good, Lily. How clever of you. They look like the real thing.”

  Lily beamed. Tally noticed the way Raul was looking at the young woman. His brown eyes were big and adoring. Lovestruck. Was this new? Tally had never noticed the attraction between the two of them before. Lily returned a similar moonstruck gaze to the dark, handsome young man. It might be new, but it was mutual. Tally decided they looked good together. Lily, with her lithe dancer’s build, was half a head taller than the slim, compact Raul, which didn’t seem to bother either one of them a bit.

  Some of the passersby also paused to admire the wares, creating a bit of a blockage in the flow of foot traffic. One man, hobbling past on a pair of crutches, stopped, too, staring at the window intently. He looked unhappy—or maybe angry—about something, his brow furrowed, his lips pursed.

  Tally followed his gaze and took a harder look at the replicas. Some of them looked lopsided. Were they melting? The spring sun that shone on Fredericksburg could be as hot as a full summer sun in a lot of other places.

  Yes, something was wrong. But the pieces were only slightly misshapen. Should they take them out of the window before they got worse? Maybe they would last through the week, and then Tally and Yolanda would decide what to do. Put them somewhere else? Get a refund for faulty replicas?

  The man on crutches noticed Tally paying attention to him and quickly turned to stump a few steps away on one good foot and his crutches.

  Yolanda sneezed three times in a row, whipping a tissue out of her pocket. Tally knew she kept them ever-present in the spring for her pollen allergies.

  “How’s the crime watch going for y’all, Mrs. Gerg?” Yolanda asked, tucking her tissue back into her pocket. Mrs. Gerg was a member of the newly founded neighborhood group calling themselves Crime Fritzers, after a popular nickname for Fredericksburg, Fritztown.