Chapter 11
Sam woke with a jolt. In the nightmare she was standing on the front porch and could see someone in the woods on the other side of the meadow. A glint of sunlight on steel. She shouted to Tony and Isobel but her voice was silent and they couldn’t hear her words. She dove for Isobel, but the bullet got Tony anyway.
Adrenaline pumped through her, her breath coming out in gasps. Beside her, Beau slept peacefully on his right side. His words came back: “I can’t come up with a reason for Tony to be the target …” Tony wasn’t the target. Sam swung her legs over the edge of the bed.
Could she have been the target? She possessed the box they wanted. But her death wouldn’t necessarily give up the box. Shooting Tony, right in front of her, had been a warning.
She walked softly to the bathroom, pulled her robe from the hook on the back of the door, and padded down the stairs. Moonlight came through the French doors at the back of the house, lighting the great room well enough for her to see her way to the kitchen. She turned on a burner under the kettle and stared out the window while it heated. The driveway was quiet. Beau’s cruiser sat in his usual spot—she loved the fact that he liked to park it where anyone driving up to the house would see that a lawman lived here. It made her feel safer.
His protective actions made her feel all the more guilty because she was hiding her thoughts from him, her virtual certainty that the killer had been after her. She should tell him.
The kettle whistled. She quickly turned off the burner and reached into the nearby canister for a packet of hot chocolate mix, stirring it into the hot water she’d poured into her favorite mug.
She envisioned how the conversation would go. “Beau, the man who killed Tony was actually after me.”
“I’m putting twenty-hour guards on the house and I don’t want you going outside—the guy could get you as you’re driving down the street, he could come into the bakery, he could catch you getting out of your delivery van at someone’s birthday party.”
“It wouldn’t happen that way.”
“It could.”
Of course, anything could happen, she thought as she carried her hot beverage to the living room. The world could come to an end tomorrow, if you believed the doomsayers. She could die of exhaustion from trying to keep up with her business.
The unbidden thought stopped her in her tracks. Aside from worries over the wooden box and the people it had brought into her life, wasn’t her greater worry that she would simply stop coping? The pace of her life had been crazy for several years now. Kelly chided her for thinking she could do it all. Beau tried to protect her. Even Zoë, her best friend, had made concerned comments about how tired she looked.
She slipped into her favorite corner of the sofa and raised the mug to her lips. The comforting warmth soothed her and she breathed deeply to clear her mind of the tumultuous thoughts. I don’t need to do it all, she reminded herself. I have employees and suppliers and contractors. It’s a matter of managing the team and scaling up the process to cover the additional workload. And if there’s one thing I do know how to manage, it’s getting an amazing amount of work done. My company has grown before, I can do it again.
With the help of magic.
There was no way to know if the special power from the box would be available to her anymore. It hadn’t been of much help the past few weeks, and now there was a concerted effort to take it completely away … She tamped down that train of thought as she drained the last of her cocoa.
Breathe, Sam, just breathe. She made her way back to bed and snuggled against Beau.
* * *
Sweet’s Sweets was bustling when she arrived at seven in the morning. Becky was putting final touches on a tiered cake for a bridal shower, a three-tiered creation designed by Jen, the front-counter girl who’d developed quite an eye for pastry design. Julio, her baker extraordinaire, pulled a tray of banana muffins from the large bake oven as Sam walked in and greeted them.
“How’s the mother of the bride?” Becky asked, without taking her eyes off the delicate piping on the cake. “I’ll bet the extra day off helped restore your sanity. The wedding ceremony was so beautiful.”
“The newlyweds are loving their hotel in England, according to Kelly’s call.”
“England? When did the plans change?” Becky paused in mid-scroll with the icing.
It was a reminder that the rest of the world, even their closest friends, knew nothing of the changes in plans or the traumatic events yesterday. Sam pulled herself into the current moment in the bakery world she loved and told them how the surprise trip had come about.
She kept a watchful eye toward Julio as she talked—at one point she’d wondered if he had romantic feelings toward Kelly, but she’d met Scott at nearly the same time. Julio nodded and smiled and kept on with his work. He had attended the wedding, and he’d seemed genuinely happy for the couple. Odds were, Sam had over-reacted to what was simple friendship.
She walked through the kitchen, automatically checking supplies and glancing through the order sheets to see what was coming up for the week. Out in the customer area the beverage bar was neat and tidy; Jen was helping a couple of elderly ladies decide among muffins, strudel, or cheesecake. The window displays were in good shape, although Sam thought it would be a good idea to switch out a couple of the cake designs. Sales always perked up when something new inspired her customers’ imaginations.
Back in the kitchen, she mentioned the display idea to Becky but made sure to give it ‘when there’s a chance’ priority. Until Sam could spend time here and do more of the decorating herself, she knew Becky was swamped. She’d be back soon, she hoped. When it came right down to finding the pure joy of the business, Sam most loved designing and decorating cakes.
Meanwhile, there were other details she discovered when she checked her email and saw an e-ticket to New York. Stan Bookman had set up their meeting with the cruise line execs a week from today, which opened a whole new set of to-do items for Sam, not the least of which was to figure out what a small-town baker from New Mexico ought to wear to a corporate meeting in the city. Preparations must be made.
She sat at her desk and downloaded the spreadsheet she’d started yesterday. It was time to work the numbers and figure out how much chocolate she could reasonably produce for this contract. By converting all the Victorian’s downstairs rooms to production and hiring twenty more people, they might come up with something close. But that left the packing and shipping departments homeless. Moving them upstairs wasn’t practical—too many heavy cartons to be toted up and down. She felt a headache coming on.
“Sam—Sam, take a break,” Becky said, somewhere at the edges of Sam’s consciousness. “You just moaned.”
Sam veered her attention away from the computer screen. “I did?”
“Can I do something to help?” But Becky’s worktable was covered in cake layers for the three birthday cakes she had going simultaneously, and she held a full pastry bag in each hand.
Sam smiled. “I think it’s the other way around. I should be helping you. What can I do to get away from this computer for an hour or two?”
Becky made a face. “I actually have the birthday cakes fairly well under control, even though it doesn’t look like it now. But that tiered cake I finished this morning … it’s due at the party venue by noon. Could you, maybe …”
“Absolutely. Getting outside is exactly the prescription for my headache.” She went to the walk-in fridge and transferred the cake to a box on a wheeled cart. “The van is out back, right?”
Julio took a minute to help her get the confection into the van and settled in a secure spot. With the delivery address in hand, Sam concentrated on what the next twenty minutes would bring. The bridal shower was being held at someone’s home, and she found the address just off Cruz Alta Road. A long, paved driveway led to the low adobe, a sprawling place which, with the surrounding perfectly tended grounds and mown fields, must have set the owner back a couple m
illion at least.
The mother of the bride met her at the door, and Sam recognized her as one of the town’s leading philanthropists, wife of a lawyer whose main clientele consisted of the movie star crowd in Santa Fe. That explained the luxurious digs.
“I can manage the cake,” Sam said, “if you’ll show me where it goes and make sure there’s a cleared spot for it.”
Mom led her to a great room with all-glass walls revealing a view of Taos Mountain. She pointed out a serving table where plates and silver forks lay in haphazard confusion with garlands of flowers and a pair of Nambe candlesticks.
“Mind if I move some of this aside? I’m guessing you’ll want the cake in the center?”
Two young women bustled in, both wearing short kimonos and rollers in their hair. “Jess needs you, Mrs. B,” said one of them.
The mother bustled away and Sam quickly stacked the plates and napkins, set the silver forks nearby, and shoved all the flowers aside for someone else to deal with. Ten minutes later the cake was in place and she was on the road again, shaking her head. With this much fuss and elaborateness to the bridal shower, she wondered what the wedding itself would be like.
She ought to check with Jen and see if the customer had discussed the cake yet. She envisioned one of those fairy-castle confections that would need to be baked and decorated in a dozen sections, then assembled on-site at the reception. Which was fine—she always loved the elaborate cakes—as long as the family didn’t turn into a bridezilla and her vampire-mom. She’d dealt with a few of those. She shoved aside those thoughts, filing that scenario for later.
The ride back to the bakery gave her time to get some distance and perspective on Book It Travel and the cruise line deal.
“Don’t freak out, Sam,” she said to the empty space in the van. Yet. I’ll just set limits on what’s possible. Yeah, right. Until I meet with them next week, I have no idea what their attitude will be.
Still, a group of businessmen and women surely couldn’t be any tougher than a richer-than-God family who wanted the perfect wedding for their daughter, no matter what the cost. “Limits. That’s my watchword.” The only problem was, how to know what her limits were.
She’d just pulled into the alley behind the bakery when her phone chimed the little tune for a video call. Kelly.
“Hey, Mom!” Her radiant daughter was clearly relaxed and happy.
Sam settled into her seat and watched as Kelly used the connection to show a quick tour of their hotel room, complete with huge windows and canopy bed. Scott was sitting on one of the pair of armchairs near the fireplace, reading a book, waving when the camera went by.
“This town is just the cutest!” Kelly raved. “Everything is so old, and Scott already had to buy another carry-on bag to bring all the books and materials he’s picked up about the history. People have lived here since forever. He’s gone completely over the edge in research mode. I’m in love with the shops. The clothes are cute and really different from what I can get at home, so yeah, I’ve bought a few things too.”
Her bubbly descriptions went on, covering the wonderful food they’d had everywhere they ate and how friendly the British people were. “They think our accents are cute! I laughed ’cause I think theirs are the best. Too funny, right?”
Sam laughed along with her.
“So, how are things back home? Beau and you doing okay? Are Ranger and Nellie happy? Does Riki miss me at the shop yet?”
“How many glasses of wine did you say you had with dinner tonight?” Sam asked, rather than going into any of yesterday’s gruesome details.
She could hear Scott chuckling in the background.
“So, tonight’s our last one here at the Angel, and I’m going to be so sad to go. Scott even got the concierge to take him into the Charles Dickens room. Now he wants to come right back and stay in that room while he writes a book. Tomorrow our driver will pick us up and all our stuff, and we’ll move into Stan Bookman’s house. We saw it already—very classy, although small. It’s the perfect cozy size for us. Isn’t he just the nicest man, Mr. Bookman, to give us this opportunity? I have to think of an appropriate thank-you gift for him.”
Sam had to admit she had no ideas about that. Her recent annoyance with Bookman over the complicated contract would have to be put aside. He really had given the kids a great gift. But Sam sensed the true price was yet to be revealed.
Chapter 12
Beau had slept well, awakened early, and used those gray-dawn hours to clear his mind for the new day. He performed a few ranch chores—tended the horses, mucked out stalls, and noted a couple of small barn repairs he would ask his part-time hired hand to take care of next week. The routine tasks helped him look at the bigger picture on his new case.
The thing about this one that ate away at him was the fact that it had happened here on his own land and Sam could have so easily been hurt or killed. He’d never forgive himself if anything happened to her. It gave him a personal stake in catching this killer and making sure the danger never returned to his personal world.
Back in the house, he showered and dressed quietly. He knew Sam had been up at least once in the night, and he’d left her to her own thoughts. She had her plate full now; with Kelly’s wedding, this new contract that had something to do with her chocolate-making business, and the normal busy state of her bakery it had been a demanding couple of months. Add the horrific event yesterday, and it was no wonder she couldn’t sleep.
She was just waking up as he got ready to walk out the door, so they said a very quick goodbye and promised to touch base later in the day. He needed to be at work before the night shift guys left; he’d left word that he wanted a debriefing with all deputies present. He knew Sam would offer to help with the case in an instant, if she had the time, but that was more than he could ask of her.
Rico and Evan both pulled into the small staff parking area right behind Beau, and the three walked into the squad room together. One of the night guys had made fresh coffee, so after everyone had helped himself to a cup, Beau gathered them for the briefing.
“Anything new during the night?” he asked.
“Streets were quiet, boss,” said the newest man, Todd Weathersby.
“Sandoval—what about faxes, messages, texts? Anything new come in?”
The other deputy shook his head. Not that Beau had anticipated the forensics division in Santa Fe, nor the OMI’s office in Albuquerque, would incur overtime by staying late for him, but one could hope.
“We’ve got one name to go on now,” Beau told them. “My source doubts this would be the shooter, but we need to check him out. Right now, he’s just a person of interest, someone we know to have a marginal connection to the victim. Name’s Marcus Fitch. He works in Washington, DC, but we’re not sure if that’s also where he lives.”
He turned to his right. “Evan, I’d like you to get on that, see what you can learn about him. Rico, on the off chance that Fitch actually did come here, see if you can find any evidence of his being on a flight to New Mexico. Albuquerque, most likely, but check the other airports, even out to Denver, Phoenix … He would have had to rent a car to get to Taos, and maybe he thought it would be less noticeable if he couldn’t be traced to the nearest airport.”
The night deputies were fidgeting and he dismissed them. It was nearly eight o’clock when the intercom on his desk buzzed.
“Yeah, Dixie?”
“Bill Smithfield, from Ballistics in Santa Fe, Beau. Line one.”
“Hey Bill, give me some good news.”
A chuckle at the other end. “I knew you’d appreciate an early morning call,” said the expert he’d met at a law enforcement conference a couple years ago. “I hope it’s good news. We like to see you guys wrap up your cases quick and easy.”
Papers rustled for a second, then Beau heard computer keys clicking.
“The bullet from your victim was relatively clean, with clear lands and grooves. It’s a 6.5 Creedmoor with polymer tip, an
d the only weapons I know of that make that pattern are either a Tikka T3 or a Bergara B-14, both high-power rifles with an impressive range.”
“The shot came from more than two hundred yards away,” Beau said.
“Easy. The Tikka, in particular has been known to be accurate at a thousand yards. Well, of course, that’s in the hands of the right shooter. Anybody can mess up a shot like that. There’s probably only a few dozen marksmen who could make it.”
“The two-hundred-yard shot or the thousand?”
“Oh, the two hundred isn’t all that challenging. But to hit a person—that’s a moving target with a small kill zone. I, uh, saw the pictures. The victim was shot in the very center of his forehead.”
“Right.”
“In that case, I’d bet your shooter has military training and a place he can go for regular practice. I’d be checking on military snipers.”
Or retired ones. Beau couldn’t imagine there was a government or military force behind this particular death but then again, he reminded himself, anything was possible. He needed to keep an open mind.
“One other question, Bill. Is it feasible for either of those weapons you mentioned to be carried aboard a commercial flight?”
“In a locked case, checked with the airline, with proper documentation for both the gun and the passenger—sure. Hunters travel with their weapons all the time. So do government employees, but that’s usually on a need-to-carry basis.”
“For a guy who doesn’t want his identity known …”
“If you’re thinking along the lines of a professional sniper, someone whose business with the weapon is illegal. He could easily get hold of one of the new ‘invisible’ rifles. Made of plastic parts, disassembles into almost nothing. He’d hide parts in one or more pieces of luggage and walk right through.”
Sweet Magic Page 6