Uh-oh, this can’t be good, she thought as she reached for it. Any call before six a.m. had to be bad news.
“Samantha Sweet,” she said.
“Is this, um, the bakery—Sweet’s Sweets?” a female voice asked. Assured that it was, she continued. “Elena Tafoya gave me your number. I’m in a bit of a bind, I’m afraid. I’m holding a little political fundraiser for our Senate candidate and need a dinner catered for thirty. It’s this coming Sunday night.”
Thanks a lot, Elena. Sam backed up against a storage shelf, hoping she hadn’t actually said the words aloud. “We’re just a pastry shop,” was what she said, “not at all set up for dinner catering.”
“I know, I’m sorry I didn’t explain myself better. Elena thought you might know someone who caters. She said you have a friend who does breakfasts?”
Zoë? Sheesh. Asking her to make dinner for thirty people was a pretty far stretch from breakfast burritos for a dozen at the B&B. Plus, they were closed for the off season right now, not planning to start up again until skiers began to arrive in December.
“I’m afraid I can’t—”
“Please hear me out. This is very important. The candidate gave us very little notice and the other place, uh, well, the dinner party will be held in my home. I can even provide staff to serve. I only need the food and desserts delivered sometime on Sunday.”
Only. Why was it that people who wanted a huge favor usually thought of it as only one little thing?
“I’ll pay double your usual rate.” The voice was getting desperate.
Sam took a deep breath. “Let me check on it. Now, tell me a little more about what you had in mind for the food and for the desserts.” Why am I even talking to her? The week was crazy enough without this.
She hung up the phone and looked at the clock. Zoë would normally be awake by now, getting her contractor husband off to his job. During the summer months she was easily up, with coffee brewing and something in the oven for her early-riser guests. Sam decided to take a chance.
“Sam? Everything okay?” Zoë sounded concerned, as she might well be under normal circumstances.
Sam gave her the gist of the desperate woman’s phone call. “I got the feeling that some caterer backed out on her at the last minute. I don’t know. Anyway, I talked her into a decorated cake for dessert. I should be able to feed thirty with a half-sheet. But I didn’t have a clue what you could do for dinner, if you even want to do this.”
“Well, things are slow now and I could use the extra money, with the B&B closed. How about Mexican food? Something different from the rubber chicken circuit that these politicians usually get, something I can make up in advance and deliver pretty easily?”
“I’ll let you work that out with her. And make sure you let her know that I told you about the double-your-normal-price offer. Now that she’s got us hooked, don’t let her back out.”
Zoë laughed. “Will do. I’ll keep you posted.”
Sam mixed up the batter for the half-sheet and was just pouring it into the pans when Becky came in.
“Hey there,” she said. “Hard at it already?”
“You wouldn’t believe. Can you get this into the oven and set the timer? Then maybe I can teach you how to make roses?”
While the cake baked, Sam whipped up some buttercream frosting and tinted it in the candidate’s colors. She pulled out decorating tips and wide-topped flower nails and had Becky follow along as she demonstrated how to form a small center cone, then add the petals in rows, building until the full-blown rose was finished. Becky botched a few but they got progressively better until she had a few keepers.
“Stay with it. If you mess one up, just scrape the icing back into the bowl. Put the good ones on this baking sheet and we’ll refrigerate them so they set up firm.”
While Becky continued making flowers, Sam piped out dozens of miniature versions of her butter cookies, which they would hand out as samples during the day Saturday. With the gala opening spanning the entire day, she had to think of things to make it special. Her signature blend coffee would be free all day, plus the sample-sized cookies and mini cupcakes. By happy hour they would switch to wine, with cheese and herb nibbles. And the gala cake shaped like the store would come out in the evening, to be served with a selection of coffees, teas, chai, and a hot mulled cider.
Her ads were due to start on the radio today and run every hour for two days. That, plus the editor of the newspaper had promised to send someone out to take photos and do a little write-up for the business section. If all that didn’t bring the people in, she didn’t know what would.
Beau called at some point but when Jen poked her head into the kitchen to tell Sam, her boss was putting some very delicate touches on the gala cake. Jen told Beau that Sam would have to call back, then tucked a message slip near the extension phone before dashing back to the front as the door chimes sounded.
By that evening, the two younger women had hung fairy lights and set fresh flowers on all the tables, making sure there were plenty of coffee cups ready and that the display cases were full.
“Get a little extra rest,” Sam told them before they left. “Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”
“But worth it,” Jen said. “Look how beautiful everything looks.”
Sam had to agree. The shop had become everything she wanted it to be. She carried that thought with her, all the way home and up to the moment she crashed into bed. She’d completely forgotten to return Beau’s call.
At five o’clock on Saturday they switched out the daytime overhead lights and Jen plugged in the strands of tiny white lights they had strung around the walls of the store. It gave the whole place a feeling of intimacy, with a party flair. The gala cake, the reproduction of the shop itself, sat near the front windows—clearly the showpiece of the party.
While Sam greeted her guests, Becky poured wine and Jen offered platters of miniature cheese biscuits, flaky herb twists and elegant hors d’oeuvres fashioned from their signature items.
The first to arrive were Ivan from Mysterious Happenings and Riki from Puppy Chic.
“Is tres magnifique!” Ivan exclaimed, taking the first glass of wine. “Your shop, she is the topping of neighborhood.”
Sam thought something must have been lost in translation, but understood the sentiment. She gave him a hug.
“Samantha, it’s just brilliant!” Riki stood near the gala cake, pointing and exclaiming over the details. “I must have you do one for my shop sometime.”
Before Sam could thank her for the compliment, she saw Beau’s Explorer outside. Kelly was climbing out of the backseat and the two of them brought out Iris’s chair and helped her into it.
“I’m so glad you made it!” Sam said, bending to give Beau’s mother a kiss on the cheek.
“Wouldn’t miss it for anything,” the white-haired lady said, wheeling herself toward the gala cake. “The shop looks positively magical!”
Beau slipped an arm around Sam’s waist and kissed her ear. “Kelly explained about how busy you’ve been. The call wasn’t that important anyway.”
“Oh, Beau, last night! I totally forgot!”
“Don’t you worry. Have a good time tonight and we’ll talk tomorrow.”
She started to give him a kiss but the door opened again, bringing a chill breeze and more guests. Elena looked elegant as ever in a turquoise silk blouse and skirt with a multicolored woven scarf—surely cashmere—draped over one shoulder. Sam recognized the man beside her as the former mayor, now running for governor.
“Sam, have you met my husband?”
Carlos Tafoya did the politician’s handshake. Automatic smile, strong eye contact, his left hand cupping her elbow. Sam felt herself pulling back a fraction of a second before he let go. A dark feeling touched her, then was gone in a flash. Well, who wouldn’t get a touch of the creeps from a politician?
Two of the Tafoya entourage introduced themselves: Martin Delgado, the campaign manager, and Kevin Calen
dar, a young campaign volunteer. Sam noted the dark suits and red ties that were de rigueur in the politico dress code.
“Carlos can’t stay long,” Elena was saying. “He has a speech in Albuquerque and a stop in Santa Fe. I just wanted him to see what a great job you’ve done with the shop.” She turned to her husband, whose gaze had zipped around the room just short of the speed of light. “Isn’t it a lovely place, darling?”
“Nice,” he murmured.
“A real asset to the town, don’t you think? Did I tell you that Sam makes absolutely everything from scratch. No mixes, nothing pre-made?”
He took a cheese twist from the platter Jen offered, but Sam noticed that he was paying more attention to Jen’s behind as she moved on. “Uh, oh yes. You’ve done a great job with your place, Ms. Sweet.” He munched the flaky pastry down in one bite, then moved around the room to shake hands and introduce himself to the dozen or more people who’d arrived since he came in. He quickly tired of that and after circling the room once, stepped over to Sam and thanked her for the invitation, wished her well with the business.
“I’ll see you later,” he said to Elena. Clearly his other event was a wives-not-included type.
Elena dropped her scarf across a chair and accepted a glass of wine from Becky. When Beau stopped by to tell Sam that he ought to be taking his mother home, she noticed that Elena excused herself to get another glass of wine.
The Cardwells said their goodbyes after awhile. Kelly offered to stay and help with the party if Sam would give her a ride out to Beau’s place to retrieve her car later.
“That’s okay, hon. We’re doing fine here, and Beau can probably use your help with Iris. I’ll see you at home later.”
Orlando Padilla and his wife walked in about a minute after Beau drove away. Sam remembered being introduced to Margaret Padilla at another event recently. The sheriff’s wife was attractive in a matronly way. Although Padilla was in his early fifties, and she assumed Margaret was as well, the wife dressed and acted older. Maybe just the traditional Spanish influence, Sam thought, smiling and shaking hands with both of them.
“Help yourselves to whatever you’d like. Coffee is set up on the back table, and there’s tea or wine. We’ll be cutting the cake about seven.”
Padilla gave Sam that same politician’s smile. “We can’t stay too long. This time of year . . . well, you know next Tuesday is a pretty important day.”
Sam nodded and wished him well. At that moment the reporter from the newspaper showed up and Sam went to greet her. The college-aged girl asked a few questions about the business and snapped several pictures of the displays and, finally, the gala cake.
“Can we get a shot of you cutting the cake and serving it to someone?”
Sam stepped to the cake table and posed making the first cut. As she placed the slice on a plate, Orlando Padilla stepped forward to receive it and smile for the camera. His grandstanding would have been especially funny, Sam thought, if Carlos Tafoya had stayed around. The two men would have probably started an elbow battle in order to get in the newspaper’s photo. Padilla and his wife left a couple of minutes later.
Sam served several more slices of the cake. By now the room was full; probably at least fifty people were here. She looked around the room but didn’t see Elena. Her beautiful scarf was still draped over the chair, though.
Sam turned the cake service over to Becky while she walked to the back to check the supply of coffee and teas. The hot mulled cider seemed to be going well.
Just then Elena came out of the back room. “Visited your little-girl’s room. I hope you don’t mind?”
“Of course not. Everything okay?”
Elena’s smile seemed tight. “Just peachy.”
Something wasn’t right and Sam put a hand on Elena’s arm. “It’s crazy here right now but if you want to hang around awhile . . . maybe we could talk?”
Elena nodded. “I really don’t want to go home alone right now.”
“Stay then. How about some coffee and cake?”
Elena held up her wine glass. “I think I’ll just top this off. I’ll be fine. Get back to your guests.”
By seven, the crowd had thinned considerably and when the last of the guests left at seven-thirty, Sam suggested that Jen and Becky go home too. “It’s been a long day. I’ll put a few things away, and then we can do a real clean-up tomorrow.” Elena was the only one left.
“Whew! What a day,” Sam said, settling into the chair across from Elena with a cup of hot chai. “I’m so glad we had a good turnout for the party.”
“It was lovely, Sam, really, such a beautiful evening.” Tears glistened in Elena’s eyes.
Too much wine for you, girl. Sam eyed the other woman’s half-empty glass. “Let me get you some tea. That cinnamon-orange one was really nice. Or cake. Did you get any of the cake?”
Elena’s blond hair hung limply to her shoulders. “It’s okay, Sam. I’m not really in the mood for cake.”
“You do look pretty tired. I imagine the pace of the campaign is catching up. Bet you’ll be glad when it’s over, huh.”
Elena picked up her glass and drained it in one gulp, then stood up and started unsteadily for the beverage table. Sam started to follow but sat down again. None of her suggestions had taken hold so far. At this point all she could do was insist on driving Elena home. She touched her friend’s handbag, which was lying on the table. While Elena poured herself more wine, Sam lifted the clasp and slid her keys out, closing the bag and pocketing the keys before the other woman noticed.
“Oh, Sam, it’s been . . . so . . . I can’t explain it. You can’t imagine.”
Sam made some there-there noises, assurances that it would be over soon and life could settle into a new normality.
Elena set her glass on the table with a rattle. She paced to the front door and back, then sat down heavily, as if all the bones in her body had just withered.
“Sam, this will never be over. I have a terrible secret that will never go away.”
Sam had a sudden vision of blood. The hairs on her neck rose.
“What, Elena? Who died?”
“I didn’t say—” Her face had gone ghostly pale.
Sam stared at her, trying to piece together her own forceful vision and Elena’s reaction. As she watched, her friend’s face crumpled into agony.
“I’ve killed a man, Sam.”
Chapter 15
Sam gave a halfhearted heh-heh chuckle. Then she caught Elena’s expression. “You’re serious?” Her blood rushed through her veins. Her hands, cupped around the mug of hot chai, felt icy. “Elena? What are you saying?”
Tears flowed down Elena’s face and her nose was running. Sam unconsciously grabbed for a paper napkin and handed it to her.
“I did it. I didn’t mean to, but I killed him.”
“Slow down. Who do you think you killed.?” Sam could not wrap her mind around the idea of her elegant friend killing anyone, not even accidentally.
Elena balled up the paper napkin, kneading it with fingers that could not stay still. “Carlos has become so cold, so distant to me. His career is everything. I just felt so . . . ugly. Like he doesn’t want me anymore.”
Sam struggled to comprehend what Elena was saying.
“I started seeing another man. I don’t know why.” A sob ripped out of her. “It was stupid. Carlos became suspicious. I had to be so careful, but I couldn’t stop seeing this man.”
“You killed your lover?”
“No, it was a stranger. I’d been with my lover. I was walking to where I’d parked my car. The footsteps . . . someone was following me. I got so scared. I thought . . . well, it was dark and not the best part of town. I could only think of protecting myself and I had this little knife in my purse and I just thought that maybe if he saw it he would back away. I slashed at him but I didn’t know it would—” She choked and dissolved in tears. “The man was grabbing at his neck, holding the collar of his coat up to it . . . I think h
e tried to yell. I don’t know.”
Bram Fenton. No wonder the investigator’s notes were encrypted. Among his clients had been the former mayor.
Then Sam remembered the trench coat. The picture confused her—where was Elena’s car parked? Where did the knife incident take place? “Did he follow you out to the gorge bridge?” Sam asked.
Elena’s sob turned into a hiccup and she stared at Sam. “No . . . why would you think that?”
“Never mind. What did you do next?”
Elena took a breath, blew her nose on the napkin. “I panicked. All I could think of was getting away . . . I ran.”
Tears continued to run down Elena’s cheeks and she looked drained.
“Elena, you need to tell the authorities about this. I’m sure they’ll see that it was self-defense. An accident that the cut was fatal.”
Her red-rimmed eyes went wide. “No! Sam, that’s not an option. I—Carlos—the election is everything to him. He would—”
She reached for her purse and scarf. “I have to get going.”
“Elena, calm down. We’ll give it some thought. Meanwhile, you’re not driving. You’ve had a lot to drink and you are way too upset.” Sam pulled Elena’s keys from her pocket. “I’ll drive you home and give these back to you when we get there. You can come back for your car tomorrow.”
Elena looked like she wanted to argue the point but she submitted. She gave Sam her address.
During the drive, Elena sat slumped in the passenger seat. The ordeal of telling her awful secret had clearly drained every ounce of her energy. Sam concentrated on the drive, on getting Elena into her house. Her mind couldn’t yet wrap itself around the deed and the implications for her friend.
“Please don’t tell Deputy Cardwell,” Elena whispered to Sam. “It won’t solve anything.”
“Get some sleep,” Sam said. “We’ll decide what to do, later.”
Fine advice Sam thought as she fought for sleep, hours later. Elena, a killer? The woman’s distraught face appeared to Sam at every turn. She would roll over in bed, there would be Elena. She puzzled over the logistics. Elena, walking toward her car parked on a side street in town. It must have been fairly near one of the hotels. Nowhere near the isolated gorge bridge, miles outside town on the west side. The only question with an answer was the part about how Fenton’s trench coat had become saturated with his blood. But how had that coat ended up in Cheryl Adams’s closet? Did Cheryl and Elena know each other? The elegant mayor’s wife, acquaintance of the young trailer park mother? If Cheryl Adams had offered to hide the bloody evidence, she’d certainly pulled a good bluff on Beau when they interviewed her.
Sweet's Sweets: The Second Samantha Sweet Mystery ssm-2 Page 11