Freddy sputtered and snuffled into his tissues.
“But the one that’s more serious,” Sam continued, “is the breaking and entering with intent to do bodily injury—that charge,” Sam said with a definite snarl, “is going to send you straight to jail.”
“I can explain.” Freddy wiped his brow with another tissue he swiped out of the box on his desk.
Bebe pushed against Sam’s ribs. When he didn’t lessen his hold, she pinched him. Hard.
He let her swivel around to face Freddy, but didn’t let her out of his embrace. If she leaped at Freddy, he wanted to be able to catch her midflight.
“How can you explain what you’ve done?” Bebe demanded, straining against Sam’s arms. She subsided when he tightened his hold and rested his chin against her head.
“Shhhhh,” he whispered. “Let him talk. We need to hear this.”
Freddy had lurched back behind his desk. As though it served as some kind of protection, he sank into his chair and hung on to the edge with his one good hand.
“Why did you sabotage Waterston’s?” Bebe asked, sounding genuinely puzzled. “What did you have to gain? What could possibly be worth betraying your own godparents?”
“Money. I needed the money,” Freddy whined.
“What money? How is causing me to lose Waterston’s going to make you rich?”
“You wouldn’t need the recipe book if you went bankrupt. They were going to pay me enough to cover the loans and have money to expand.”
“Who is ‘they’?” Sam asked, giving Bebe a little squeeze. She held her tongue.
“It doesn’t matter now. I won’t get any money.”
“But if you don’t tell me what I want to know, Freddy,” Sam explained, “I will foreclose on the three outstanding loans I now hold on Finnerman’s. You won’t have the money, and you won’t have the business. It’s your choice.”
Freddy paled, his eyes wide with shock. “You can’t do that,” he sputtered.
“I can and I will, never doubt it.”
Bebe twisted to look up into Sam’s face. “How did you find out about the loans?”
“I told you Felix was a wizard. I would have explained everything, but you didn’t give me time.”
“Don’t give me that.” Bebe socked him on the chest. “You had no intention of telling me anything until after you’d handled it—admit it,” she said, punctuating her demand with another jab to his chest.
“I was hoping to defuse the situation before I explained it was your childhood playmate who was trying to ruin you.”
“That’s no excuse—”
He looked into eyes drowning in pain and saw the hurt he’d helped cause. “I know I screwed up, and we’ll have to deal with those issues—but not now. Now we have to find out what Freddy knows about this setup and who’s behind it, okay? We need to concentrate on saving Waterston’s. Deal?”
“Deal.” With a sigh, Bebe rested her cheek on Sam’s chest.
“Do I get a deal?” Freddy was back to wiping his face. The pile of tissues wadded up on his desk was growing at an alarming rate.
“The deal for you, Finnerman, is that if one more thing goes missing, or one hair on Bebe’s head is out of place, I will foreclose on the loans and you will go to jail for a very long time—”
“Does that include the bomb?” Freddy worried the wad of tissues in his hand. “It shouldn’t include the bomb because I didn’t know that was going to be part of the deal, or I would have asked it to be part of the agreement—”
“What bomb?” Bebe and Sam shouted in sync.
Sam released Bebe. Together they reached across and pulled Freddy up out of his chair by his shirtfront and halfway over the desk.
“What bomb?” Sam shook Freddy hard enough to make his teeth clack and snap together.
“The one in the Waterston factory,” he said in a choked gasp. “It’s supposed to go off at noon.”
“A bomb?” Bebe shouted. “You set a bomb to go off in our factory? Are you crazy? My friends are in that building.”
Before Sam realized what she was about to do, Bebe doubled her fist and hit Freddy square in the jaw with all the anger, fear, and frustration he knew she’d suffered in the last three months.
It was quite a punch.
Freddy’s head cracked back, and he dropped into his chair like the deflated doughboy Bebe had christened him.
“I don’t care what kind of deal you’ve made with anyone,” Bebe spit out. “If even one person gets hurt because of you, they won’t find the body, do you understand me?” She raced to the door, grabbed the handle, swung the door wide, and rushed down the stairs.
The door swung back and smacked the wall like a cannon shot. Sam stared at the door, then turned back. He leaned across the desk, making his intent clear to even a dimwit like Finnerman.
“She’s right about one thing. If anyone gets hurt, especially Bebe, there won’t be a body to find.” Sam leaned closer. “Trust me, asshole, I can make that happen.”
The fat man’s two chins quivered, sweat rolled down his face, and tears welled. “It wasn’t my idea. They made me.”
“Who made you?”
“I don’t know. All the instructions were sent by email. I never actually talked to anyone. They sent the money and told me what to do. They threatened me. It wasn’t my fault.”
“We’ll finish this discussion later.” Sam straightened and jabbed a finger at Freddy for emphasis. “Meanwhile, you better download all those emails onto a flash drive and I’ll be back to pick it up. If that bomb blows, all deals are off and you spend your life in prison—and that’s the best that will happen. You got it?”
Not waiting for a sniveled reply, Sam bolted out the door, took the stairs in two leaps, and dodged through the factory to the exit. Looking in the direction of the Waterston factory, he glimpsed a running figure, red hair flying in the wind.
Deciding he could make better time, he slid into the Jag and sent the beast roaring after her.
…
After calling 911, Sam slid the Jag to a halt in the yellow loading zone two doors down from Waterston’s. He’d seen Bebe slam through the shop’s front entrance right as he’d pulled up.
When he reached the front door, Waterston employees were already flooding through the swinging doors from the packing and kitchen areas. He could hear Bebe yelling “Get out! There’s a bomb!” and Angie’s voice following with “Move! Move!”
Neither voice was coming closer.
He muscled his way into the shop and stopped the flow of employees long enough to get past the swinging doors into the kitchen area. Still no sight of Bebe or Angie, but he followed their voices.
“Out! Out!” Bebe yelled.
“I’m not leaving you here with a bomb! Are you nuts?”
“Angie Cross, I am your boss. I order you to evacuate the building immediately.”
“I’ll be happy to follow that order—right behind you. Besides, have you seen Mr. Mullins?”
“Didn’t he come past you?”
“I didn’t see him. He was supposed to clean the storage room after we got that last shipment of crates and the straw stuffing got scattered everywhere.”
“Okay, go check out front and I’ll check the store room.”
“No,” Sam roared.
He had them both in sight and almost within reach.
“Both of you stop. Now.”
Bebe stopped, turned, and glared at him.
Angie stopped, her mouth open, and stared at him in surprise.
Neither moved. It was nearly twelve. He had seconds to get them out of the building if Freddy could be believed. Which he didn’t.
“Angie, go out to the front and count heads,” he ordered in a voice that could bring an entire boardroom to heel. “Then call Bebe’s cell and let us know who’s accounted for out there.”
Angie looked at him, then at Bebe. She shrugged at Bebe and darted back through the doors into the kitchen.
; “Bebe—”
“Don’t you talk to me, Sam Sugarman.”
“I’m not talking to you. I’m ordering you to get out of this building. Now. Do you hear me? NOW!”
“You can’t order me—”
She was within reach. Sam rushed her. Tossed her up onto his shoulder and sprinted for the back exit.
She could kill him later—but at least she’d be alive to do it.
A group of Waterston employees had gathered at the back entrance. They moved with him as he pushed farther away from the door, Bebe still draped over his shoulder.
“Angie called the fire department,” Lola announced.
Sam set Bebe on her feet but kept an arm around her shoulder. He didn’t trust her not to bolt back into the building.
“Has anyone seen Mr. Mullins?” Bebe elbowed Sam hard in his ribs, glaring up at him when he didn’t release her.
People looked at one another, shaking their heads in the negative. She reached in her pocket for her cell phone and punched a button. “Ange, did you find him?”
Sam assumed the answer was also a negative, because Bebe shoved the cell back in her pocket and whipped around, heading for the door.
“Bebe, wait!” He caught the back of her jacket as she hit the door. She spun around and swung at him, but by then he had her in a bear hug and avoided serious injury—for the moment.
“Let me find him. I’d go crazy if anything happened to you.” She stopped struggling, but was still breathing fast. “Please, sweetheart. Stay here. Make sure everyone else is accounted for.” He tilted her head up with a finger under her chin. “Tell the bomb squad not to shoot us by mistake—” He kissed her hard and then made a dash into the factory.
“Sam!” Bebe yelled. “The storage room is to the far left behind the racks.”
“Got it.”
“Sam!”
“Yeah?”
“Be careful.”
She cares. She might want to kill him, but deep down she cared. He could work with that.
He found the racks and made his way around and behind them. He opened the double doors to the storage room and found Mr. Mullins. Stooped over, sweeping, the silver-haired man had his back to the door.
“Mr. Mullins?”
No answer. Mr. Mullins didn’t turn around.
“Mr. Mullins?” Sam gently put a hand on the old gentleman’s shoulder so as not to startle him.
“What?” Mr. Mullins turned. “Wait. Let me turn up my aid.” He fiddled with a device in his ear. “There now. What did you say, young man?”
“We have to get out of here. There’s a bomb.”
“A bomb? Are you sure?”
“Pretty sure, sir.”
“Bebe’s going to be real upset about that, you know?”
“Yes, sir. I know.” He took the older gentleman by the arm. “She’ll be even more annoyed if I let anything happen to you. So let’s get out of here. I’m in enough trouble.”
He heard the blast, like an enormous balloon popped with a hatpin. He pushed Mullins back into the storage room.
The noxious odor hit him in the face like a wicked wet fog.
Then he heard Bebe scream.
“Sam! Sam! Dammit, Sam. Answer me!”
“We’re okay. Stay out of here,” he shouted back. “There’s some kind of gas—”
“Where are you?”
“We’re coming—stay there—don’t come in here.” He had a death grip on his charge and was feeling his way around the racks through the yellow stinky fog when Bebe plowed into him and clutched his shirtfront with both fists.
“Are you all right?” She was patting him as though checking for missing parts. It could get interesting, and she could distract a saint.
“We’ll be better when we aren’t breathing this crap,” he said, grabbing Bebe’s hand. “Put your jacket over your face. Don’t inhale this stuff.”
Men in head-to-toe yellow firefighter gear came marching though the rear door.
“You folks okay? Can you make it out the door on your own?” said a muffled voice from inside the bomb squad leader’s helmet.
“We’re good,” Sam said. He had an arm wrapped around Bebe, the other supporting Mr. Mullins, and they were almost to the exit.
“The EMTs are out there. Make sure you all get checked out.”
Pushing past the firemen coming in, Sam escorted them outside into the fresh air, where they were met by Angie and Bebe’s entire crew. Everyone pressed close, like ducklings needing to be reassured.
“What is that smell?” Angie asked, making a face.
“I don’t know,” Bebe said, still pressed to Sam’s chest. “When the bomb went off that yellow fog filled the whole building. I don’t know what it is. Did the firemen say anything?”
“No one’s said anything yet,” Angie replied.
Sam still had his arm wrapped securely around Bebe, and the group surrounded them in a huddle, everyone focused on her.
Bebe looked up at Sam. All eyes moved to him.
“Yeah, good idea, boss,” Angie said. “Sam, you go see what happened.”
Sam gazed down at Bebe.
“Yeah?”
“Yes. I’ll stay here.”
“And let the EMTs check you out?”
“She’ll do it,” Greta said. “You go find out what happened. We’ll watch out for her.”
“Sure?” he asked again, looking into Bebe’s worried eyes.
“Yes.” She gave him a tremulous smile. “Go.”
He leaned down and brushed his lips across hers, then went to find out if he needed to kill Freddy—or get him out of the country before Bebe did it herself.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“A stink bomb? You’re kidding, right?” Sam asked the fireman in charge of the crew and the investigation.
The two men stood in the middle of the box-packing area. Sam held a handkerchief to his nose. The noxious yellow fog was settling over everything like dust in a sandstorm when the wind suddenly dies.
“Near as we can figure,” Fire Captain Reynolds said, removing his headgear. “A lot of stink, but no structural damage.”
“Yet,” Sam muttered under his breath.
The captain made a grimace. “Just this sulfur rotten-egg smell that’s going to soak into everything.” He pointed to the candies waiting to be boxed. “Any foodstuffs not in sealed containers are inedible now. Waterston needs to make an insurance claim for the losses.”
“How do we get rid of the smell? Is there a solution for taking out this god-awful odor?” Sam’s eyes were tearing, and he was taking shallow breaths.
“Oh, yeah. Same as getting rid of skunk spray.” Captain Reynolds laughed. “Combination Dawn dish liquid, hydrogen peroxide, and cider vinegar. Works like a champ.”
“Isn’t there a service that can take care of this?”
“Sure, but you don’t want to clean until the insurance guys have cleared the claim and my investigators have finished processing the scene.”
“What’s the time frame on that?” Sam asked, trying not to think about Bebe’s reaction to yet another assault on Valentine’s Day.
“My guys will have things sorted out by tomorrow.”
“Thanks, Captain. I’ll let Miss Waterston know.” Sam looked around at the devastation. “I’ll see to it the insurance adjusters are here shortly.”
“No doubt in my mind.”
…
Bebe stared out the back window of Sam’s sedan like a kid being taken away from home, never to return.
“Everyone is accounted for.” He spoke to break the silence as they drove toward his condo. “But the fire captain says you can’t go back into the building for two days, to be absolutely safe.”
Bebe clutched the blanket tighter around her shoulders and scrunched down into the bucket seat, her feet tucked under her.
“Angie notified the insurance people. They’ll be there this afternoon.”
Her head rested on her knees, and she sighed.
“The cleanup service will begin day after tomorrow. And in three days Waterston’s Chocolates will be up and running.”
Bebe lifted her head and met his gaze. “And then what? We still don’t know who’s really behind this whole scheme. How long can I keep my parents from finding out what’s happening? This would kill them. But worse than that is what am I going to do if they try again?”
“What we are going to do is find out who they are and stop them once and for all.” Sam reached over and took her hand in his. “We don’t know if Freddy was telling the truth about the unknown emailer, but Felix is checking out the flash drive he handed over—and Freddy knows the consequences if he’s lying. Finnerman will pay damages and he’ll pay for the cleanup crew. I have security people tailing him in case he meets the emailer or makes a run for it. There’s nothing more we can do right now.”
“I know. Thank you.”
She sounded so forlorn. Sam was tempted to go back to Finnerman’s and hold Freddy while Bebe beat the stuffing out of the bastard.
Instead he said, “You stink.”
“I know.” A giggle sputtered out, and she smiled. “You stink worse.”
“Do not.”
“Do, too.”
Sam pulled into the security entrance of his condo and rolled the window down as the guard stepped from the guard kiosk.
“Afternoo—wow, Mr. Sugarman. Run into a skunk?”
“Told you.” Bebe giggled again.
“Stink bomb, long story,” Sam told the guard. “Is Henry around? I think this car needs a lot of TLC.”
“No problem, sir. If you pull it over there, we’ll take care of it.”
Sam parked in a visitor’s space, got out, and gave the keys to the attendant. He came around the car, opened the door, and took hold of the hand Bebe held out to him.
Whatever storms were to come, a truce between them had been called.
Begging, groveling, and mea culpas may be in his future, but for now there was forgiveness in her eyes, and he could work with that.
Luckily no one tried to get on the elevator with them.
…
The rear entrance to Sam’s condo opened into the laundry room. In stark white, the long, narrow space boasted the newest appliances, not a speck of dust or a rag showing.
Bride by Chocolate (Death by Chocolate) Page 21