Chapter 24
Twelve hours, Sam calculated. That was about how long the power of the box seemed to stay with her. She fell into bed, completely exhausted.
The alarm woke her Saturday morning. She’d remembered to set it, thank goodness, or she’d never get everything done today. She rushed to the kitchen and retrieved the cooled cake from the service porch. By the time Kelly appeared at seven, the ivory frosting was in place and Sam had scratched lines along the sides of it to represent the pages of the book.
She wished Kelly a good day on the new job and insisted she at least take along a granola bar or something to give her the energy to start the day.
Sam caught herself yawning as she dusted the edges of the pages with edible gold powder. Maybe it would help if she went in and held the magic box for awhile. She stopped herself. What if the thing were somehow addictive? What if she got so used to the energy it gave off that she couldn’t get through the day without it? The thought scared her. She brewed some coffee instead and downed a cup before proceeding with the cake.
By eight-thirty, she’d finished the wording and flowers and was putting the large sheet into the spare refrigerator to cool thoroughly and set up nicely before delivering it.
Still feeling like she was moving in slow motion, she scrambled a couple of eggs for herself and made a sandwich with them on whole wheat toast. She would not depend on the wooden box for energy.
Beau called just as she was finishing her sandwich.
“Hey there.” He had a sultry tone in his voice and she guessed that he wasn’t calling from home or office. They exchanged a few suggestive ideas that might have actually gone somewhere (she was home alone for a change), but he said he was up to his eyebrows in paperwork today and she was, almost literally, up to hers in frosting.
“Just wanted to let you know that we got the tox reports back on the tissue that the M.I. took from Cantone’s body. Your plant—the deathcamas—matches.”
“Oh gosh.” Sam got a sinking feeling. No matter how much her gut told her that Cantone had been murdered, she’d really hoped that he was merely an old man who got sick and didn’t recover. The idea that his own nephew killed him and buried him was repugnant.
“We still don’t have that proof,” Beau reminded her when she voiced her thoughts. “But I’m going to try to work with Santa Fe County to get Bart Killington brought up here for questioning. I’ll let you know how it goes.”
She cleaned the decorating tools and put everything away, thinking about Beau and wondering what questions he would ask Bart. The guy was so smooth, she couldn’t imagine him just buckling down to confess. But you never knew.
A quick call to Ivan, who said he was ready to take delivery on the cake, and she was out the door. His helpers at the bookstore were thrilled when she carried the cake in and set it on a table they’d prepared for it.
“Sam, you are the best!” Ivan said, bowing as he handed her a check. “Cake is better than I ever expect. The customers are to love it!”
Before leaving, she confirmed with him that the Chocoholics would be meeting again on Tuesday. He suggested another book-shaped cake for them, smaller, and done all in chocolate. She assured him she could do it.
On the front sidewalk there was a flurry of activity as Sam walked out. Two men were in a heated argument next to the bookstore, in front of a gourmet shop where Sam occasionally bought flavorings. She’d nearly passed them when a phrase caught her attention.
“I’ll have the Sheriff’s people out here with an eviction notice,” the shorter of the two men yelled.
“Well, go ahead,” said the other, turning on his heel. He nearly bumped into Sam, muttering under his breath, “Good luck in finding me.”
She sent a tentative smile his way but he’d already walked back into the shop and slammed the door.
Sheriff’s office, huh. Poor Beau, he must get every crummy job out there. She thought of him trying to solve murder cases while stepping in to deliver eviction notices and who knew what else.
She got to her truck and decided to give Rupert a call. “How would you like to skip out on writing for awhile and take a mountain drive with me?” she asked.
He agreed so speedily that she could only guess that Victoria DeVane’s characters were giving him fits.
She picked him up ten minutes later and they drove east on Kit Carson Road. The winding drive put her in a bucolic mood and she gave herself over to enjoying the brilliant yellow black-eyed Susans and purple asters that lined the pavement. Elm trees cast dappled shadows over the occasional adobe cottages and log cabins that appeared along the winding Rio Fernando.
Rupert was in a chatty mood and he kept Sam entertained with stories about the celebrities who’d attended an art academy fund raiser the night before. She laughed at the right places, embarrassed to admit that she didn’t recognize half the names and wouldn’t have known any of the faces. She probably hadn’t looked at an issue of People in five years, and her days of avidly following who was who had waned soon after the Beatles broke up. But Rupert was in his element in that environment.
They crested Palo Flechado Pass at more than 9200 feet and started down the opposite side of the mountain, the ski runs of Angel Fire visible in the distance. Ten miles through a wide green valley took them past Eagle Nest Lake, which sparkled in the midday light, and into the little town of Eagle Nest. Sam always marveled at how different this terrain was than her side of the mountain, only a few miles away. They cruised the main street with its quaint western-styled shops and restaurants, and then found the turnoff the man had described. In a plain little residential neighborhood sat a white van parked beside a house with wood siding, which was painted tan and green.
“This looks like the place,” she said, pulling in behind the van. Her eyes sparkled. The vehicle looked like exactly what she wanted.
“Honey, you better tone down the enthusiasm. The guy’s going to double the price.”
“Ah, but he already quoted it in his ad,” she pointed out.
Rupert shrugged and got out of the truck.
An older man came out of the house, hitching up his jeans and making tucking motions at a red plaid shirt that was already tightly tucked in.
“Howdy. Bill Hutchins.” His voice immediately reminded Sam of her father. She greeted him in the same tone. They went back and forth with a little where-are-you-from chat and learned that they’d grown up less than fifty miles apart. He’d bought the small van because his wife loved antiquing and wanted to open a shop. They’d planned to make buying trips all over the area but then she’d broken her hip last winter and it soon became clear that the business would never get off the ground. He’d decided to sell the van since it was a painful reminder to his wife that her dream wasn’t going to happen.
“I want to take her on a cruise,” he said. “Them ships got ever’thing now. She’ll like that, gettin treated like a queen.”
Sam circled the van while he talked. It truly was perfect for her needs. There were back seats but they folded down to create a large cargo area. A remote opener gave hands-free access to the back, a huge help when she was loaded down with a big cake. It even had a trailer hitch already mounted, which would allow her to hook up her utility trailer and continue with her caretaking job. And it still smelled new.
“I like it a lot. I just have to work out the money part,” she told Hutchins, waving toward the big red Silverado. “I brought cash for a deposit but then I have to sell my truck.”
He gave a little frown. “It’s just that I got her listed online, you know?”
Sam caught a glimpse of Rupert, signaling her from the front of the van. She excused herself and walked over to him.
“Sam, how much are you short?”
“I need ten thousand, and it really has to come from selling the truck.”
“Why? You might need the truck sometimes too. Let me give you the money. You can use two vehicles.”
“Absolutely not! You can’t
do that.”
“Honey, Victoria makes more money than I can spend. I’ve got money with me . . .”
She looked again at the van and at Bill Hutchins. “I can’t really ask him to hold it for me, can I?”
“No. And it’s perfect for you.” Rupert’s enthusiasm tugged like a tidal wave. “I’m seeing your Sweet’s Sweet logo, done in that technique that covers the whole vehicle.”
“Oh, no. Something small and tasteful,” she insisted. Here she was, planning a paint scheme already?
Rupert nudged her. “Tell him you want it.”
Sam wavered. Technically, she could take the money from her savings but she would lose interest on it and she’d promised herself that money would go toward equipping her bakery kitchen. Her truck was in good shape and it should sell quickly. “Only if we call it a loan. I’ll pay you the minute I sell the truck.”
“Fine.” He looked like he really didn’t care how long it took.
They consummated the deal and Hutchins signed over the title. Sam nearly choked when Rupert pulled out a wad of hundreds but she didn’t say anything in front of the other man. Hutchins pocketed the cash, shook hands and went back in his house.
“I saw a cute burger place on the main drag,” Sam told Rupert as they were about to get into the two vehicles. “Let me buy you lunch.”
Rupert was never one to pass up a hearty meal, she’d noticed, and he grinned at the suggestion. He climbed into the Silverado and she took the wheel of her new van. They parked in front of the ’50s-themed burger place a few minutes later.
“So, Rupe, don’t tell me that you always carry that kind of cash on you.”
He shrugged. “Actually, never. I just went prepared to the art fundraiser last night and then I didn’t buy anything.”
“Thank you.” She stood on tiptoe and gave him a long hug. “You’re a wonderful friend.”
Sam found herself in a mellow mood driving back over the mountain, after devouring thick, juicy burgers and freshly cut fries. They parked both vehicles at her house and she gave Rupert a lift home in her new van, hugging him again before he got out.
Beau had left a message on her machine at home and she called him back. He let her go on for a minute or so about the great vehicle find before she remembered to ask him what he’d called about.
“I spent the morning in Santa Fe, questioning Bart Killington.”
“Really? And?” She held her breath in hopes that the case had been neatly wrapped up.
“And not much,” he said. “He swears he knows nothing about any poisonous plant, that he never harmed his uncle.”
“Bull! I just don’t believe it.”
“I don’t know, Sam. I’ve questioned a lot of people over the years. This guy’s whole demeanor just seemed truthful.”
“You’re kidding! He admits he was living in the house with Cantone. Residue of the plant is all over his bedroom. The kitchen fairly reeked of the stuff. That had to be the place where he ground up the plant and added it to the old man’s food or drink or whatever.”
“Sam, he was even willing to give fingerprints so we could check for a match.”
“Really?” She felt a flicker of uncertainty. “And?”
“The prints of plant residue that we lifted don’t match Bart Killington.”
Chapter 25
Sweet Masterpiece - The First Sweet’s Sweets Bakery Mystery Page 28