8 Sweet Payback

by Connie Shelton

  An hour later the worktable was filled with shapely wicker-look frosted cakes and Sam had pulled out the chocolates and petit fours to fill them in assembly-line fashion. Jen appeared at the curtain which divided the sales area from the kitchen, exclaiming over the basket cakes.

  “Will there be room on the back counter for these when I get them done?” Sam asked. “I’m running out of space here.”

  “I’ll make it happen,” Jen assured her. “Do I have time to start the coffee first?”

  Sam smiled up at her assistant. “Sure. In fact, when it’s ready I would love it if my mug were to show up, filled.”

  “You got it.” Jen disappeared and Sam could hear her humming as she readied the sales room for the first customers of the day.

  Cakes came and went, her coffee turned cold. At one point Sam stepped out front to check how things were going and saw that all the bistro tables were occupied and customers stood two-deep at the counter. She watched Jen for a moment but the young woman seemed to have everything under control; not a hair of her dark chignon strayed out of place.

  Sam looked over the beverage bar—all the coffees and teas were there in adequate supply, so she refilled her mug and disappeared back into the kitchen. The next thing she knew someone said it was five p.m. and she had to stretch her aching shoulders to believe the day had ticked away so quickly. She walked out into a glowing afternoon that really did feel like spring. Tossing her coat onto the passenger seat of her delivery van, she started toward home.

  When she pulled into the long driveway she saw that Beau was out at the corral fence, holding buckets of oats for the two horses. The dogs raced toward Sam and she ruffled Nellie’s fur and rubbed at Ranger’s ears for a moment before walking over to join her husband.

  “You got home early,” she said.

  “Poor darlin’, you didn’t.” He set the buckets down and pulled her close. When he held her at arm’s length a minute later, she caught him studying her face. “You’ve got a little—” he said, rubbing his thumb along her jawline.

  She laughed. The day she came home without a smear of sugar or chocolate or some brightly colored frosting, now that would surprise her.

  “One more day of this craziness . . . then we’re closed on Sunday . . . and then I’m taking a couple days to catch up on things here at home.” She hoisted the backpack she always carried as a purse up to her shoulder. “Although I’ll feel guilty that the rest of the crew isn’t getting extra time off.”

  “Give ’em a bonus and that’ll help make up for it.” He glanced toward the barn. “I took some chicken out of the freezer. Let me finish up out here and I’ll help you with dinner.”

  Sam walked to the house, dumped her coat and pack, and headed upstairs to change out of her sugary clothes. In the kitchen she found two chicken breasts on the counter, put them into a teriyaki marinade, then pulled ingredients for a salad from the fridge. When she went to the dining table to lay out the place settings she saw a thick brown file, the kind the sheriff’s department used for each case. On the cover was a white label with the name Angela Cayne typed in capital letters.

  Beau walked in just as she’d peered inside, unable to resist snooping.

  “That story from yesterday’s newspaper,” he said. “This is the murder file. There’s more on it in today’s paper—I brought home a copy but haven’t read it yet.”

  “I thought the case was solved.” She set out the knives and forks, dodging Nellie who had followed Beau in.

  “Two men went to prison and now they’re out. We got a call from the Corrections Department to be alert for trouble in Sembramos. It’s where the crime happened. Thought I’d review the case and see if I can brush up on the circumstances.”

  Sam recognized the name of the little town in the northern part of the county, but she’d never actually gone up there. It was a community of farmers, as she recalled, many known for the quality of their organic produce although a lot of them grew more utilitarian crops, such as alfalfa and Timothy hay. She asked Beau to light the grill on the back deck while she went back to put the finishing touches on the salad.

  “So, why would the release of these two men from prison cause trouble?” she asked when they sat down to their meal. “They did their time, right?”

  “Part of their original sentences, and now that’s been overturned.” He speared a chunk of lettuce and it hung at the tip of his fork while he spoke. “It’s a small town, everybody knows everybody. Victim’s friends, suspects’ friends . . . According to Withers, my only deputy who was there at the time, tempers ran pretty high during the trial.”

  Sam could certainly see how that could happen. “So, half the people were happy with the guilty verdict, half weren’t. And now that the men are out, those roles are reversed. Won’t people have to accept that? Move on?”

  “In a perfect world, darlin’, everyone would take responsibility for their actions and everyone else would be logical about it. But this is far from a perfect world.”

  She had to agree with that.

  “Anyway, I’m not saying there will be trouble. If I’m extremely lucky, both Jessie Starkey and Lee Rodarte will move far, far away from here and their freedom will cause nothing more than a blip on the radar screen of my week.”

  They finished the grilled chicken by turning the topic to what might be for dessert, and Sam surprised Beau with his favorite. Despite the fact that he seemed willing to eat anything she brought home from the shop, there were times when she knew he really wanted nothing more than plain old vanilla ice cream. She dished it up and they carried their bowls to the sofa. Sam spotted the new paper Beau had brought home; she picked it up and read it aloud.

  Today’s reporter provided more background. The article about Starkey’s and Rodarte’s release from the state penitentiary in Santa Fe gave a quick recap of the circumstances of Angela Cayne’s death and the subsequent confession that had put the men away. Angela’s photo stared from the page, a beautiful strawberry blonde of nineteen with large, liquid eyes and a dimpled smile that would have charmed everyone she met. On the night of her death she’d been home while her parents went to a church function. She was missing when they came home and signs of a struggle inside the house led to the conclusion that she’d not left willingly. Two days later her body was found at the outskirts of Sembramos, beaten and strangled. Jessie Starkey had been picked up and, after a long interrogation by the Taos County Sheriff’s Department, confessed and implicated his friend Lee Rodarte. The two men were put on trial together, and although Rodarte denied any involvement, Starkey’s confession was enough to earn life sentences for both of them. A series of legal appeals overturned the shaky confession and brought in enough new facts that the verdict was overturned. Starkey and Rodarte walked out of the pen this week, free men.

  Beau processed the information without comment then switched on the television to a program on how diesel engines were made, but Sam found her attention wandering to the death of Angela Cayne. How traumatic it must have been for her parents, coming home to find signs of a struggle and their daughter gone. How would she have handled it if something like that happened to Kelly? She couldn’t imagine. No wonder emotions had run high during the subsequent events.

  Sam reread the article, but it seemed like old history and she couldn’t seem to concentrate. When she yawned for the third time Beau gave her hand a squeeze.

  “It’s been a long week, darlin’. Why don’t you just go to bed? I’ll be along as soon as this is over.”

  He was right. Waking six days a week before dawn didn’t leave a lot of energy by evening. She seldom made it through an entire episode of even her favorite shows. She waited for the next commercial and then kissed him.

  “See you upstairs,” she murmured.

  But she didn’t. Despite the image of Angela Cayne’s sweet face, and the reminder that Saturday at the bakery would be crazy, her body was just plain tired and she fell into an uneasy sleep before he ever came into th
e room.

  When her alarm went off in the darkness of the early morning, Sam slapped it and dragged herself out of bed, thankful that this was her final workday of the week. She emerged from the shower to find Beau standing at the mirror, looking nearly as bleary as she felt.

  “Why are you up?” she asked as she toweled off and reached for the fresh clothes she’d left on the vanity. “You could have slept another hour, at least.”

  “Phone rang. I put Rico on patrol last night and he spotted Jessie Starkey heading for Sembramos.”

  “Trouble?”

  “Not yet.”

  “And Rico couldn’t have waited until eight o’clock to tell you this?”

  Beau shrugged and squirted toothpaste onto his brush. “I better drive up that direction and keep an eye on things. Warn Starkey not to start anything.”

  Wrapped in her towel, she combed out her short, graying hair. He caught her eyeing him as he dropped his robe to step into the shower.

  “You can join me if you’d like,” he said with a teasing gleam in his eye.

  “Tempting. But we’re both running late already.” Disappointment showed on her face. “Tomorrow’s a day off for both of us. Let’s make it a romantic Sunday.”

  He gave her a kiss that almost changed her mind. Then he stepped into the steamy shower.

  She ran through a list of things she could do to make the weekend more fun. Morning sex followed by eggs Benedict or strawberry waffles . . . maybe a walk in the woods or a picnic in a secluded spot . . . She would have to give it some thought. Right now, all she could concentrate on was the waiting stack of order sheets, the dozen or more pastries that would be picked up today. Where would she find the energy for all of it?

  Her glance fell to the wooden jewelry box on the vanity. She reached out, tempted. No. She couldn’t rely on its strange powers at every whim. She pulled her hand back and took a deep breath, turning her back on the odd artifact and walking into the bedroom to dress.

  Determined to tackle the long day ahead, she picked up her baker’s jacket from the bedroom chair and slipped it on. Grabbing her pack and keys, she went out into the chilly morning and drove toward Sweet’s Sweets.

  Long rays of golden sunlight were hitting the sidewalk in front of her shop by the time Sam stepped out of the kitchen to place four finished Easter Basket cakes on the back counter, the order forms attached to the boxes for easy identification. Eight o’clock and she’d accomplished a lot, even without supernatural help. A picture of the box flashed through her head. Julio was alert and sharp and he knew how long certain tasks took. She’d been able to bluff her way through several times when she’d used the wooden box’s power to achieve Herculean amounts of work, but one day he would stop her and ask questions. Questions she wasn’t ready to answer.

  She still didn’t know what was behind the power that the box conveyed, or why she had fallen heir to it. Bertha Martinez, the old woman who’d insisted that Sam was meant to own the box, hadn’t lived long enough to tell her anything. And there was the startling fact that Sam’s uncle had owned the twin to this box—but then he, too, had died before telling her about its history. The questions continued to nag as she went back into the kitchen and started putting cute little chick faces on cupcakes.

  Perhaps she could locate some of Bertha’s old friends here in Taos, see if any of them could tell her anything about the box and its origins. Later. For now, there were Easter egg cookies and more of those delectable petit fours to make. She turned her attention back to the work.

  Beau called, midafternoon, to ask how things were going.

  “I spent half the morning up in Sembramos,” he said, after Sam had stepped out the back door because the clatter of pans in the kitchen, competing with the laughter and voices from the sales room, made conversation impossible. The outside air had warmed by twenty degrees.

  “Problems?” she asked, turning her face to the sun.

  “Not that I could see. I went to the Starkey house and talked to Jessie. Kept it friendly, let him know that I don’t approach law enforcement in the same way that Orlando Padilla did, and that he could call on me if needed.”

  “And how did that go?”

  “Jessie’s older and wiser than when he went on trial. Prison toughened him but I think it also matured him. He doesn’t say a lot, just seems glad to be out. Jessie’s father, Joe, sat there in an old T-shirt, taking slow sips from a beer, staring at the TV set with this scowl on his face. Helen, Jessie’s mother, now that’s where I got an earful. She’s still very resentful of how the system treated her son.”

  “Aren’t all mothers like that?”

  “Well, sure. I expected it. I guess all my talk about how I’m different from Padilla was more for her benefit than Jessie’s anyway. It’s an awkward position for me. I can’t admit that the department made mistakes, but I certainly can’t condone the work that was done on the case or the tactics Orlando used to get that confession out of Jessie. It’s touchy. I’ll just have to play it cool and hope that the Starkey family will, too.”

  A cloud obscured the sun, driving a chilly breeze down the alley; Sam hoped the spring weather wasn’t about to take a turn. She wished Beau luck and told him that she would do her best to close up shop precisely at six and be home twenty minutes or so after that.

  Back inside, the kitchen had quieted somewhat. The steady stream of new pastries went to the sales room all morning and early afternoon; by this time of day they simply needed to sell it all. Whatever didn’t sell, Becky had offered to drop off at the battered women’s shelter on her way home. Sam had held back a couple of boxes of cupcakes for that purpose anyway, something to brighten the lives of the frightened women and children who resided there.

  Now, the bakeware was mostly washed. Julio was mixing dry ingredients for Monday’s standard breakfast items, and the helper was drying pans and putting them away. Becky had taken the initiative to see what orders were due on Monday and Tuesday, and she was making sugar flowers for two birthday cakes. Sam gave herself a leisurely moment to take it in and make sure they hadn’t overlooked some vital detail before she headed toward the noisy sales room.

  Jen’s normally unflustered face had a sheen of perspiration as she rushed back and forth to box up items the customers pointed out. When Sam stepped up to help, she gave a grateful smile. Together, they took care of those who’d made their decisions and rang up sales for the last of the large basket cakes. Sam checked with two ladies who were having cheesecake at one of the bistro tables to see if they needed refills on their coffee. It was five minutes to six when the last person walked out the door.

  They’d judged their quantities pretty well. Only a couple dozen cookies remained in the case, five petit fours, and one of their stock layer cakes decorated in pastel flowers. Jen turned over the Closed sign and dimmed the lights while Becky came out to box up the leftover goodies and head out with them. Sam didn’t even bother to count the register receipts—she could tell it had been a profitable day—she just jammed it all into a bank bag to take home with her.

  She drove home, pulled her van to the side of the house, and walked in to find Beau pacing the living room floor with his cell phone at his ear.

  “Do not tell them that,” he said in a very firm voice. “Just say that we expect everyone to stay level-headed and that we will be keeping an eye on things. They’d better behave or arrests will be made. Then get two patrol cars up there to cruise the streets.”

  He clicked off the call and seemed startled when he saw Sam.

  “Damn,” he said. “It’s always something. Lee Rodarte showed up in Sembramos this evening.”

  Chapter 3

  “Is everything under control?” Sam asked. Beau’s face seemed flushed and she could tell he was agitated.

  He blew out a breath. “Yeah. For now. It’s just—” He paced the length of the room one more time. “Why did Rodarte think it was a great idea to go back to that town? Why did either of them?”


  “Family ties?”

  “Yeah, but now that both of them are in town we’re getting calls. ‘Jessie had words with a guy in the bar.’ ‘Rodarte walked past my house.’ ‘I don’t like them being here,’ ” he mimicked. Beau ran his hands down the sides of his face. “I feel like the recess monitor at the elementary school, dealing with a lot of petty stuff. Jessie Starkey’s family doesn’t want Rodarte in town; Rodarte’s friends are furious with Jessie for framing their buddy. It’s like a bunch of five-year-olds squawking things like ‘he looked at me.’ ”

  “It goes a little deeper than that,” she said.

  “I know. I don’t mean to be insensitive about their emotions. I just don’t know what they expect that we can do about it.”

  “And there’s no way to keep them apart.” Sam had dropped her bank bag on an end table and headed now toward the kitchen. Beau followed.

  “Exactly. We’re talking a town of two hundred people. It’s a one-gas station kind of place. The citizens mingle all the time.” One of several little towns from which people drove to Taos for their major shopping, to get health care or attend high school.

  Sam pulled a container of Beau’s homemade chile from the fridge, poured it into a pan and turned on a burner.

  He kept talking while he picked spoons out of the drawer. “Town government in Sembramos consists of a mayor and three-member council. Their law enforcement is me and my department. At least half of them are farmers—have been for generations—pretty gentle souls. They grow their corn and peppers and tomatoes and stuff and they drive down to Taos every weekend in the summer and fall to the farmer’s market and chat amongst themselves while they make an outing of it. Half the families have intermarried over the decades, so everyone knows everyone and are related to most of the others. After the trial it was all we could do to prevent a war in the streets. Now, I’m afraid we may be facing the same thing all over again.”