She tapped her toe, debating.
At least someone could use the clothing. She grabbed an armload from the rail in the master closet, carrying the bulky burden carefully through the maze and out to her van. Several more trips and she’d filled the vehicle with clothes, nearly emptying the closets and taking most of the shopping bags from the dining room. It didn’t make a dent in the overall clutter but she felt better that the thrift shop would put it all to good use.
The autumn sun was low in the sky by the time she finished and with many of the windows blocked by junk, the rooms were becoming dim. She taped a sign-in sheet to an upper kitchen cupboard, afraid it would be completely lost if she laid it on any of the flat surfaces. She hadn’t come across a key to the front door and had no tools with her to drill the lock so she left it as she’d found it, closed but unlocked. She could only hope and pray that someone would come along in the meantime and rob the place of everything in sight. Doubtful she would get that lucky.
Out in her van Sam remembered that she needed to have the utilities turned on at her new shop. It would be too late to speak with the business offices this evening when she got home so she sat in her van and made the necessary calls for gas, water, electricity and telephone.
Two kids roared up on their bicycles, stopping beside her window, eyeing the stranger in the neighborhood. Sam gave them a quick smile while she talked on the phone, and they zipped away again when they discovered no other kids to play with.
It was nearly five o’clock when she pulled up at the back door of her favorite thrift shop, feeling a little guilty at leaving them such a huge donation at the last minute of the day. But Rose, the senior volunteer, took everything with good grace. The two of them unloaded the van, stacking the bags and loose items on a large worktable in the receiving area.
“Sorry to bombard you with all this,” Sam said after showing Rose which bags of clothing needed to be laundered.
“Hey, we can use it all,” Rose said. “With winter coming on, there are lots of people who need warm clothes. And most of this looks to be in great condition.”
“It really does. I noticed that, too. Some of these baby clothes were never worn.”
“I’ll go through it all tomorrow.” She gave Sam a hug and told her to go home. “You look tired.”
Sam caught herself yawning as she sat at the traffic light at Kit Carson Road. Long day. And not nearly finished. She had a torte to bake for a ladies luncheon tomorrow and she really ought to get better organized for both of her cleanup projects.
Kelly’s red Mustang sat in the driveway at the back of Sam’s property. Her daughter was home earlier than usual. When she’d showed up here in Taos nearly two months ago, jobless and homeless, Sam had given her a month to find work and get her own place. The job came quickly enough. Kelly became caregiver to the elderly mother of Sam’s new man, Deputy Sheriff Beau Cardwell. But finding herself another place to live was still up in the air, and Sam wasn’t sure how she felt about that. Kelly’s company was nice—they’d always gotten along well—and she often pitched in with the kitchen chores. It was just really awkward having Beau over with her grown daughter in the house. A lot of aspects of the new relationship were still working themselves out.
Sam parked beside Kelly’s car and groaned as she got out of the van. Rose was right—she was tired.
“Hey, Mom,” Kelly greeted. “I defrosted some steaks. I hope that’s okay?”
“Sounds yummy. Thanks.” She hung her backpack and keys in their usual spot just inside the kitchen door. “You’re home early. Everything okay with Iris?”
“She had a doctor appointment this afternoon and Beau wanted to take her. She’s getting more frail all the time.”
“I hope everything’s all right.” If it became necessary for Beau to put Iris in a nursing home Kelly would immediately be out of work again. But that was a selfish thought, Sam scolded herself. Iris was spunky and vivacious for a woman in her eighties and Sam knew that it was hard on Beau watching his mother become more helpless all the time.
“Shall I pour us some wine?” Kelly asked.
“Sounds great, but I want a shower first. I’m grubby.”
“Oh, right, the new shop! I want to hear all about it.”
“What you could do that would be a huge help would be to mix up this apple-cinnamon batter and get it into the oven.” Sam flipped through her recipe file and handed Kelly a card. “I’ll be out of the shower in ten minutes.”
In her bedroom, Sam began to peel off her clothes. She raised the lid of her wooden jewelry box to stash away her earrings and watch. When she touched the old box the wood warmed to her touch. She sat on the edge of the bed for a minute, holding it, watching as the lumpy wood surface took on a glowing patina and the small red, blue and green cabochon stones that were mounted in the carved grooves began to shine with light.
She’d told no one but Beau about the box—the fact that a dying woman who was known locally as a witch had given it to her, or the fact that every time Sam handled it she seemed affected in strange ways. Common sense told her not to believe in that stuff. She refused to even consider that Bertha Martinez might have passed along her weird and witchy legacy. But still . . .. Feeling a surge in her energy level, Sam set the box back on the dresser, donned her robe and went into the bathroom to run the shower as hot as she could stand it.
An hour later, Sam put the finishing touches on her special cinnamon-apple torte while Kelly cleared away the remains of their steak dinner and loaded the dishwasher. Sam carried the torte out to the spare refrigerator on her service porch, where several other deliveries awaited. Chocolate lava cupcakes for the Chocoholics Anonymous group at the bookstore, a pumpkin cheesecake with ginger crust for a customer’s business dinner, and four dozen decorated Halloween cookies. Sam checked everything, glad that the little rush in business had happened before she’d been assigned the new hoarder’s delight or realized how much cleanup was required at her new shop location.
As long as her revitalized energy held, Sam decided she would type up an email report to Delbert Crow, advising him of the condition of the property on Hickory Lane, letting him know that she’d ordered the extra expense of a roll off, and that she planned to hire some extra help for this one. Technically, she didn’t need his permission but it was better to avoid his typical “What the hell is this expense” later, when she submitted her bill.
The email sent, she phoned her best friend Zoë, who owned a B&B near the plaza, with her white-bearded teddy-bear husband, Darryl. Darryl always had a supply of young, muscular types on his crews and she hoped he could spare a few of them for a day or two if construction was slow.
“Sure, Sam. Just let me know when you need them,” he said when Zoë put him on the line.
“Wednesday morning? The roll-off folks said they’d deliver the dumpster Tuesday but you never know what time they’ll actually show up.”
“Perfect. Give me the address. I think I can spare three guys by then.”
Sam breathed a sigh of relief as she hung up. She would give the hired muscle a list of what to do at the southside property and then she could concentrate on her shop.
While she was feeling energetic, she gathered cleaning supplies and tools and loaded them into her big Silverado pickup truck. It was the better vehicle to use when hauling big loads, keeping her little van clean for bakery deliveries.
She dialed Beau to ask how Iris was doing.
“Pretty well. Doc says she’s about as expected for someone her age. It’s just that her bones aren’t strong and since she’s been in the chair these last few months . . . well, they aren’t going to get any stronger. She’ll . . . well, she’s doing okay.”
His optimism sounded forced. She told him about the signing of the lease on the shop this morning and that she would be taking the van in for its custom paint job tomorrow.
“Sounds like you’ll have your hands full for weeks. Any chance I’ll get to see you?”
> “Want to offer me a ride in your cruiser? After I make a few bakery deliveries in the morning I’ll have to leave the van at the sign shop and I could sure use a ride back home to get my truck.” She had a feeling he wanted more time alone than fifteen minutes driving in traffic. But this week was already becoming impossible. Not a good time for a new romance to take hold.
“I can manage it,” he said. With Sheriff Orlando Padilla hot on the campaign trail for re-election in just a couple of weeks, Beau’s boss was rarely in the office to check on the deputies these days. Beau was usually the senior man on duty.
“If you get some emergency call, that’s fine. If it’s a problem I can ask Rupert or Zoë.”
“Don’t you worry. Call me when you get to the sign shop.”
Sam hung up and glanced at the clock. After ten. Kelly must have gone to bed already. She usually left to care for Iris well before sunrise these days. Sam checked the doors and turned out lights. Falling into bed, she wrestled the blankets, wondering if she really was up to the task of juggling all her jobs while she got her business going. She forced her eyes closed.
“The box holds many secrets.”
Sam raised up in bed, peering into the darkness. A glowing form stood beside her bed, a wizened face staring at her. “Use the powers of the box to help you, Samantha.” The mouth didn’t move but the words were clear. She stared at her surroundings. The walls were red, with strange white symbols painted on them. Then her bed was gone. She stood on a cold wood floor, surrounded by small white mounds that formed a pentagram. “Your strength will not fail you and many good things will come to you.” The glowing figure vanished.
Sam startled awake. She listened but heard only utter silence in the darkness. Her skin tingled with goose bumps and her hands felt like ice. She pulled a heavy comforter over her and gradually drifted back into an uneasy sleep.
Chapter 3
Bright sunlight flooded the room and Sam came awake in a flash. She glanced around her bedroom. It was only a dream.
The wooden box sat on her dresser, slightly off-kilter from its usual spot. The carved, quilted pattern was its usual dull self. She wondered why she’d even kept the thing after the dying woman insisted she take it. Humoring her was one thing . . . holding on to the crudely carved box was another. Why hadn’t she just dropped it off at the thrift shop with all the other junk?
Because maybe Bertha Martinez was right. Maybe the box did hold special powers. When Sam handled it the wood began to glow and actually become attractive. And herself? People had commented that she looked younger, fresher, at times. Times when she’d handled that box. But what about the odd visions? Did she really—
Stop it! Sam ordered herself.
Flinging the covers aside, she got out of bed and stuffed the box into a dresser drawer and closed it, out of sight. No more of this.
She brushed her teeth and dressed, then headed for the kitchen where Kelly had left a carafe of coffee for her. Sam poured a mug and downed the searing brew, black. The nighttime cobwebs began to clear.
Silly. It was just a dream. And it was just a stupid box.
She grabbed the key for her van and opened the side door remotely. Planning her delivery route, she loaded the pumpkin cheesecake, the cookies and other finished pastries into the vehicle and headed out, scheduling the chocolate cupcake delivery at the bookstore for last.
Once she had her retail location open, most customers would probably opt to stop by and pick up their orders and Sam could concentrate on baking rather than delivering. Soon, she thought as she left the chocolate dessert with Ivan and headed for the paint shop.
Beau showed up as she was finalizing details, startling the artwork man who clearly was not accustomed to an armed law enforcement officer showing up in his place of business.
“He’s just my ride home,” Sam assured the guy, although that statement didn’t seem to come out right either.
Beau touched the brim of his Stetson and took a glance at the sketches the artist had prepared based on Kelly’s initial design.
“Looks good,” he said.
“I’m excited about it,” Sam told him as they walked out to his cruiser. “They’re using that technique which covers the whole vehicle with art. My plain little white van is going to look like a traveling bakery case, and it’ll have my purple logo very prominent on the sides and back.”
Beau complimented Sam on her business strategy, then he sneaked a little kiss on the back of her neck before opening the passenger door for her.
“Think we might get together tonight?” he asked, with a sultry tone.
She waited for him to walk around to the driver’s door and get in. “This week isn’t going to be good for me. There’s just so much—”
He looked away and concentrated on pulling out into traffic.
Sam chided herself. The sexual part of their relationship had been sporadic over the past month. It was always good between them, but their crazy schedules—his elderly mother, her concentration on the new business—everything seemed to be conspiring against their having much time alone. And now she’d probably hurt his feelings.
“I understand.” His voice was tight.
He’d always wanted the relationship to move along faster than she did. And although she’d initially wondered what a movie-star-handsome deputy saw in a graying, slightly chunky baker, the fact that they clicked couldn’t be denied. On the other hand, she’d been on her own her whole adult life. It would take a lot of convincing for her to allow a man completely into her life. She picked at a ragged cuticle while he watched the traffic.
“We’re nearly at the Plaza,” she said. “Want to swing by and see the shop? It isn’t much, right now. You’ll have to do a lot of visualization.”
His jaw was still tight. “Maybe later. I better just drop you off at home.”
Uh-oh. Worse than she’d thought.
Two minutes later, he pulled into her long driveway and brought the white-and-brown SUV to a halt. She leaned across the console full of computer and radio equipment and kissed his cheek.
“I’m not writing us off, Beau. It’s just that this bakery has been my dream for years. Do you understand what that means to me?”
He turned to face her. “I do.” He flashed her the smile that had initially gotten her attention, nearly two months ago. “I really do, Sam. Do you understand how much you mean to me?”
Yikes. Please don’t let this be the commitment speech, she thought.
She squeezed his hand and smiled back at him. Keep it light. “Let’s plan on a dinner out, just the two of us, later in the week.”
Sam hopped out of the cruiser, patted the roof of it and headed toward her pickup truck. As Beau backed expertly down her long driveway, she found her mind returning to business. With a quick call she verified that the roll-off was being delivered to Hickory Lane this morning. Next, she dialed Darryl’s number.
“We’re at the final stage of roofing-in on the current job,” he shouted, trying to combat the blasts of nail guns in the background. “Should be done around noon. Want me to send the guys over there for the afternoon?”
“Perfect.” She gave directions and told Darryl she would meet the crew to get them started. Truthfully, she thought she could probably just instruct them to clear the place completely, but who knew how a construction crew would interpret that. She might come back to find that the house no longer had windows or doors. “Call me when you’re ready to let them go.”
Truthfully, her heart was nowhere near Hickory Lane.
Ten minutes later Sam unlocked the back door of her new place. Although she saw the shelves full of old dusty merchandise and the piles of brochures the previous tenant had left behind, her mind’s eye adjusted it, showing her how it would look when she was finished.
The wire racks would hold clean stacks of mixing bowls and her collection of specially shaped cake pans. A stainless steel work table would occupy the middle of the room, and Sam sighed contentedly
at the vision of working here with ample room to roll out pastry and fondant, to have several cakes on turntables at once, awaiting her decorative touches. She’d ordered a new computer to be dedicated to design work and a printer that could replicate photos or graphics in edible ink on edible paper. She would have so much fun with this!
Energy surged through her as she propped the back door open and began hefting the first armloads of trash into the back of her truck. She’d carried two loads when she felt her cell phone vibrating inside her pocket.
“Sam? This is Rose at the thrift shop? Did I interrupt anything?”
Well, yeah. About two million things. “No, it’s fine. What can I do for you?” She wiped the sleeve of her shirt across her sweaty forehead, imagining that her short hair was probably now standing on end.
“Do you remember a dark green trench coat that you brought in yesterday? With all the other clothing?”
One item of hundreds? “Not specifically.”
“Um, I’m not sure what to do with this,” Rose said.
Sam rolled her hand in the air, as if that would speed the woman along with her question.
“It’s got a dark stain, like blood.”
“Well, would it just wash out if you used some pre-soak or something?”
“Uh . . . it’s more than that. I mean covered.”
“It should probably just be thrown away, then.”
“Sam, obviously you didn’t see this when you gathered up the clothes. This is a lot. It’s soaked.”
She gulped. “Rose, I think you better turn it over to the authorities.”
“I just didn’t know who to call.”
Sam debated for a second. “Here’s a direct number for Deputy Beau Cardwell. He’d be the best one to talk to.”
Sweet's Sweets: The Second Samantha Sweet Mystery (The Samantha Sweet Mysteries) Page 2