Sweet Masterpiece - The First Sweet’s Sweets Bakery Mystery

by Connie Shelton

  Chapter 4

  Sam left Zoe’s place with a brief sugar high but it quickly faded when she got home. Too much excitement. She briefly considered sitting in on the mystery book discussion at Mysterious Happenings that evening but it seemed like an effort. The peace and quiet of her own home, enjoyed in solitude, were much more appealing.

  As she got out of the truck she spotted Bertha Martinez’s little wooden box on the back seat. Why had the woman insisted that Sam, a total stranger, was meant to have it? Maybe she was just a lonely old woman with no friends or family. The box might have been her only prized possession. Maybe she just wanted to hand it over to someone, rather than letting it get shucked off to the thrift shop. Her final words, though, hovered in Sam’s head.

  She set the box on her kitchen table and dumped her pack and keys beside it. A chunk of cheddar, an apple and a few plain saltines were going to suffice for dinner. The box pulled her attention as she nibbled at them.

  In the late-afternoon light of her kitchen, Sam noticed details that had escaped her in the flurried moments at Bertha Martinez’s house as she grabbed the box from the dresser, rushed to place it in the safety of the truck, and then dashed back inside to try to summon help for the dying woman.

  The piece was made of wood, carved with deep criss-crossed grooves, like something thickly quilted. At each X where the lines crossed, a small cabochon stone was mounted, held in place by tiny metal prongs. Sam flipped on overhead track lights to get a better look. The stones appeared to be malachite, lapis and coral. The greens, blues and reds winked with unexpected brightness under the lights. A metal hasp with a simple twist mechanism held the lid closed.

  It might have been an attractive piece but for the fact that it was crudely done. The cuts were uneven and the puffed areas not uniform in size or depth. Not childish, exactly, but not the work of a craftsman either. The finish was garish, the stain too yellow, the recesses too dark. Maybe she could take some polish to it.

  She pushed her plate aside and sat down again with the box before her. It was heavy for its size, maybe eight inches by six and no more than four inches deep. She twisted the clasp and tried to raise the lid but it seemed stuck.

  The knife she’d used to slice the cheese worked. Something old and sticky crackled and the lid creaked upward, hinged at the back.

  A wisp of smoke rose out of it—a thin curl of red, green and blue. It dissipated so quickly that within three seconds Sam swore she must have imagined it.

  But she didn’t. The box suddenly felt warm to the touch and she set it down with a clatter.

  It sat there on the woven placemat on the table. Staring at her.

  She reached out a tentative finger and touched it. Cool again. Not a scrap of warmth there.

  Was this what Bertha Martinez meant? Maybe it was made of some particular wood that warmed to a human touch.

  Sam grasped the edges of the lid and rocked it closed and open again, twice more, feeling the old hinges loosen. The surface still felt cool to the touch. Pulling the box a little closer, she peered inside. Empty. The wood inside was plain, stained the same sour yellow as the outside, not finely sanded or varnished. She ran her index finger around the inner edges, feeling for any little clue—something carved, anything. The moment her finger completed the circuit of the fourth side, a jolt—nearly electrical—zapped up her arm, clear to the shoulder.

  She fell out of her chair, hit with a wave of dizziness that nearly blinded her.

  Chapter 5