He shrugged. “Could turn out to be nothing. Could just be that Zack Robinet isn’t the sweet angel his parents painted him to be.”
Beau must have been hungry—he’d nearly finished three tacos before he spoke again. “So, what’s the rest of your day look like? Want to come with me to talk to the Robinets?”
Sam tried to remember what was ahead of her at the bakery. Aside from the Salazar order, now safely out of her hands, she thought Becky and Julio had things under control.
“I’ll call the shop to be sure but yeah, I think I can break away for a little while.”
With the all-clear, she left her baker’s jacket in her van and got into Beau’s cruiser with him. The ride to Greenlee Manor took precisely eight minutes and they found the elder Robinets in their apartment. The door stood open to the hall and a half-dozen other gray-haired people milled about. When they saw the sheriff’s uniform the little crowd shuffled to the corners of the small living room.
“If you all don’t mind,” said Beau. “I need to speak with the family alone. If anyone has something that might assist my investigation, I would like to speak with you later. Give my deputy here your names and addresses.”
Sam had almost forgotten that Beau had deputized her at one point during an earlier case. But it took only a moment to fall into the routine of working with him, taking a notebook and pen and standing near the door as the guests left. All of them lived here in the same complex so it was merely a matter of taking names and apartment numbers of the two who felt they had something to contribute.
With their door closed, George and Nancy Robinet now settled on the couch. Nancy’s eyes were puffy and red, George stoic with heavy lines dragging his mouth downward. Beau had seen this often when he delivered news of a death in a family. The first reaction could be anything from stunned silence to almost nonchalance because the news never sank in right away. But after a day or two the reality began to hit them. The visiting neighbors, the covered casserole dishes and homemade cakes with foil over the pans … it all became overwhelming. With this family, the wife became the talkative one.
“I still can’t believe it, Sheriff. The feeling is unreal.”
“I know. I know it’s hard. I’ll keep my questions quick so you can get back to your friends.” He let Nancy take his right hand and he patted her arm with the left. “We haven’t been able to locate Josephine. Have either of you heard anything from her?”
George shook his head. Nancy just leaked a few more tears and dabbed at them with a wadded, soggy tissue.
“And their son,” Beau said. “He’s been contacted. When is he coming home for the funeral?”
Nancy spoke up. “The service will be Monday afternoon. George was going to drive down to Albuquerque and pick him up tomorrow. Bentlee has a car here at home but he’s not allowed to take it to school. It’s a rule for freshmen.” She looked at her husband. “But I don’t really want George driving. He’s too upset.”
“We can make some arrangement, I’m sure,” Beau told them, making a note to call Kent Taylor’s office.
The lack of a car would have made it a little more difficult for Bentlee Robinet to get to his father’s hotel—if he was, indeed, still on their suspect list. Sam said as much as she and Beau left after speaking with the two neighbors—who seemed more enthralled about talking with the handsome sheriff in hushed tones than actually providing any useful information—and were on their way to where she’d left her van.
“Never underestimate a teenager’s ability to mobilize help,” he said. “Anyway, I’m guessing his spending more than two hours riding with a detective might prove very enlightening.”
Chapter 9
Sam’s dashboard clock told her she’d already been away from Sweet’s Sweets too long so she headed that direction. The parking lot out front was full of cars, a cheering sight. She pulled to her normal spot in the alley and walked through the back door. There in the kitchen stood Jane.
“You’re back.” Sam blurted it out before realizing how it sounded. “I mean, we were worried last night when Melissa called to say you never made it to the shelter. Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” Jane put on a smile.
“Where did you spend the night? Did you begin to remember anything?”
Jane wore the same borrowed jeans and T-shirt from the day before, but at least they looked clean. She didn’t appear to have slept out in the open.
“Sam!” Jen stage-whispered from the doorway. “I need you on a consultation. The shop is packed and this man needs some specialty chocolates.”
“I’ll be right back,” Sam told Jane. “Don’t leave until I’m finished up front.”
Jen had not understated the situation; four customers waited at the counter for assistance and all three bistro tables had people seated at them. Jen nodded toward the one with a lone man who sat with his hands around a mug of coffee. Fifty-ish, with steel-gray hair and thick wire-rimmed glasses, he smiled confidently when Sam approached.
“Hi, I understand you’re the owner. I’m Stan Bookman. Your girl told me you were the expert in chocolate.” He let go of his mug long enough to shake hands.
Sam took one of the chairs at the table. “We do make a pretty great line of chocolates.”
“I’ve heard of them.”
Much of the state of New Mexico had heard of them by now, after two holiday seasons in which Sweet’s Sweets had barely been able to keep up with the demand. A memory flashed through Sam’s mind, the oddball Romanian chocolatier who had showed up that first year and left her with the secrets to the fantastic, practically addictive, taste of really good chocolate. If only Sam had Bobul’s finesse in molding and forming intricate shapes with it.
“What I’m after,” said Mr. Bookman, “is an out-of-this-world surprise for my wife’s birthday. I want to give her the most exquisite box of chocolates that has ever been created.”
“I’m sure we can come up with a wonderful selection for you,” Sam said, understanding why he hadn’t just picked up a box from the display.
“Not to criticize, but nothing off the shelf will do for her. I’m sure your standard chocolates are very good. But I’m going to present these to her aboard a chartered jet on our way to lunch in Paris. They have to be extraordinary.”
Wow. Sam worked hard to act as if this sort of request came in every day. “Naturally. I will—”
“Margie’s two favorite things in the world are cats and chocolate. I want two pounds of chocolate kitty cats. Each must be unique—different poses, different facial expressions—whatever it takes to make this a gift that no one else in the world has ever received.”
Sam could pretty well bet that a box of custom made chocolates presented during a flight to Paris would be right up there in the list of exceptional gifts of all time, but if this man needed them to be shaped like cats she would simply have to figure out a way. Her brain worked at figuring out exactly how she could make this happen while her pen filled in the blanks on an order form.
“Understand, now, that the shape is only one aspect of these chocolates. I want there to be variety in flavor, color and texture too.”
Sure—go ahead and make the impossible a little more impossible. Sam felt her anxiety level rise. Next, he would probably want the gift box ready by tomorrow. She jotted a few notes as ideas came to her.
“Margie’s birthday is next Saturday. I’d like to pick up the order by Friday afternoon if that’s okay.”
A whole week. Bless him. She put Beau’s investigation and the funeral of Zack Robinet and the whole unsolved situation with her Jane Doe visitor on the back burner. Creating unusual desserts was her real love and she was about to get the chance to do something really special.
Stan Bookman reached into the front pocket of his slacks and pulled out a money clip. From it came two one-hundred dollar bills. “If that’s not enough, just let me know the balance when I come back,” he said.
Sam pushed one of the bills back to
him. “One will be more than enough. Depending on what I need to spend on packaging, I’m sure you’ll get change back.”
He thanked her and stood. “I look forward to seeing my wife’s lovely gift.”
Sam watched him walk out the front door before turning to see if Jen still needed help. Luckily, the crowd had thinned considerably.
“You do know who that was, don’t you?” Jen said, walking over to clear and wipe the empty table.
“Stan Bookman?”
“Book It Travel. The company handles worldwide travel arrangements for all the ritzy-rich who jet about in private planes. He’ll charter their flights, arrange stays at the most exclusive hotels, have their dogs shampooed and delivered all fluffy and white if that’s what they want.”
“Wow.”
“I’m surprised he was so nice,” Jen said. “I guess I assumed because his clients can be such snobs that he would be, too. Believe me, I saw a lot of them in the gallery before I started working here.”
Sam filed the knowledge as a caution. Just because the man was cordial today didn’t mean he wouldn’t know how to throw a supreme tantrum if his order was not up to his standards. This definitely raised the bar.
In the kitchen, Sam caught a glare Becky aimed toward Jane’s back. The sooner she could send their visitor back to the care of Melissa Masters, the better.
“I overheard a little of what that man requested in his order. He wants unusual flavors—how about some apple and carrots with ginger? Or maybe a cinnamon-nutmeg in eighty-six percent cacao?” Jane said. “Sam, I’d love to help with it. I thrive when I’m working in chocolate. And you know I’m good at it.”
Her eyes were bright with enthusiasm and Sam wavered. Jane could possibly be a big help. But what was going on with Becky?
“Let me think about it,” Sam told Jane. “I need to put some ideas together before leaping into this one.”
Jane walked over to Sam’s desk, picking up a sheet of paper and a pencil. She found a quiet corner of the worktable and began sketching.
“Becky, help me get something from the van?” Sam headed for the back door without looking back.
The shady alley felt chilly as clouds had rolled in. “I sense that you want to tell me something,” Sam said.
“I just don’t trust her, Sam. You know that.” Becky’s normally cheerful demeanor had been off for two days now.
“You said you thought she might be faking her amnesia. Is that it?”
“Well, what was last night all about? Did she go home? If she wasn’t at the shelter, where did she go?” Becky’s arms were folded tightly across her chest now.
“I suppose you asked her. The two of you seemed to be staring daggers when I walked in awhile ago.”
“I did. I came right out and asked.”
“And she said …?”
“Nothing, really. She doesn’t even have a reasonable explanation.”
“Maybe she doesn’t owe you one.” Sam bit her tongue. “Sorry, what I mean is that maybe she doesn’t owe any of us an explanation.”
Becky’s toe tapped impatiently. “Beau’s department and the social services folks have been called to help her. If she already knows who she is, shouldn’t she let them know?”
“If that’s the case, yes, she should. But we don’t know her story. Maybe there’s a reason she can’t go home or … I don’t know. There could be a lot of reasons she doesn’t want to go back.”
“Or she did go back and just—I don’t know!”
“Maybe she ran into someone she knew, came up with money for a motel room … We can’t know for sure unless she wants to talk about it.”
Becky’s muttered response conveyed the idea that she wouldn’t trust Jane even if she did decide to talk about it.
“Okay. For now, all I can do is take this whole situation at face value. Beau is still checking out some leads.” Although, as Sam recalled, he really had none. “Let’s get back to work.”
“Are you going to let her stay and work on the chocolates with you?”
“It’s a big, complicated order. So, yes, I probably will.”
Becky didn’t seem very happy about that. Finally, her shoulders relaxed. “I trust you, Sam. And I love my job. I won’t give Jane any trouble, but I really want to caution you to watch her.”
“This can’t go on for more than another couple days,” Sam said, reaching out to give Becky a hug. “Go back to that beautiful anniversary cake you were doing and send Jane out. I’ll talk to her privately.”
Sam had her phone in hand when Jane walked down the steps to join her.
“I need to call Melissa Masters. She deserves to know what happened last night and whether to keep a bed for you tonight.”
Jane pushed a strand of hair behind her right ear. “I, uh—”
“If you remember where you live, that’s wonderful. You should go home.”
“I don’t! I don’t remember anything!”
Sam wished she had Beau’s eye for spotting truth versus lies.
“If you went places in town maybe someone who knows you stopped and greeted you?”
“No, that didn’t happen.”
“Okay. Good enough. Let me call Melissa and be sure you have a bed at the shelter tonight. During the day you can come to work here. I really would appreciate your assistance with the chocolate.”
Jane fidgeted from one foot to the other. “Sam, please don’t make me go back there. I hated it. They’re nice people who run the place, but I just didn’t fit in. The women were so down-and-out, so abused. I don’t know why, but I couldn’t handle it.”
“Where did you stay last night?”
Jane hung her head. “Here.”
“At my shop?” She certainly had not been around when Sam left at ten p.m.
“No, I mean, not right here. I wandered the plaza until all the shops closed, then I found an unlocked car down the block. There was a blanket in the backseat.”
“Jane! You can’t do that. It’s not safe. Someone could have come along and harmed you.”
“I know. It was dumb. If you could loan me some money I’ll stay at a motel. I’ll work for free to pay you back.”
She sounded so truly desperate that Sam couldn’t bring herself to insist upon the shelter. “I’ll just let Melissa know you’re okay. Then we’ll figure out something. For now, go back inside and do an inventory of our chocolate. Find out how much cocoa we have on hand. I have a feeling I’ll need to order a variety of supplies.”
As she passed along the information to Melissa Masters over the phone, Sam’s mind raced. Should she invite Jane to stay at their house or simply check her into a motel and hope for the best. She hung up and called Beau.
“I don’t have a good feeling about it either way,” he said, “but I have a hard and fast rule about not inviting suspicious people into my own home. It has to be a motel. I wouldn’t pay for more than one night at a time, though. Who knows when she’ll go dashing off again.”
Sam agreed, mentioned the big order for custom chocolates and told him she wasn’t sure what time she would get home.
“Tell you what,” he said. “How about you get Jane settled into a motel room whenever you get to a stopping point at work? We can meet up for dinner and then you can go back to the shop if you need to.”
He was right. With everyone else gone for the day, Sam could work more quickly without interruptions. She clicked off the call and went back inside.
On the worktable sat a bag of roasted cocoa beans. Jane had found the grinder and was turning them to powder.
“I think we’ll have enough to get two pounds of chocolate,” she said. “A bit more if we do part of the assortment in milks and whites.”
Sam lifted the bag, guessing at its weight, and concurred. “Now, I wonder about molding them into cat shapes. I have no idea if any of my suppliers will have such a thing.”
“Try Bandenberg Wholesale,” Jane said. She stopped grinding the beans and stared at Sam. “I
wonder where that name came from? It just popped into my head.”
Sam caught the look Becky sent her direction from the other end of the worktable. But when she got online, she readily found the wholesaler and discovered that they did, indeed, have a large selection of unusual chocolate molds. One set featured cats and dogs, some lying down, some sitting. It wouldn’t provide the variety Stan Bookman wanted but it could be a great start. She placed an order, including cocoa beans to replenish the shop’s supply, and sprang for overnight shipping. That done, she made a shopping list of other items—flavorings and herbal essences—and decided that she could pick them up locally when she went out for dinner with Beau.
By four o’clock, Jane had ground nearly the whole bag of beans and Sam had her shopping list pretty well finalized.
“We can temper and start molding the chocolate tomorrow,” she told Jane. “Let’s head out now and get you settled for the night.”
“I’m meeting Beau for an early dinner out, so you can go ahead and lock up at closing time,” she said to Becky and Jen.
In the van she suggested to Jane that they make a stop at Walmart for a few toiletries and another change or two of clothing, to come from Jane’s first paycheck. Cash pay, Sam mentally amended, since there was no way she could file all the necessary forms to put Jane on the payroll without a name and social security number. Technically, this was illegal as hell but how could she turn down a woman so obviously in need, not to mention someone with this much knowledge of chocolate?
“I had a few other ideas for cat-themed chocolates,” Jane said later, as they walked out of the store with three shopping bags, “being that there isn’t a great variety of molds available. How about if I form some from modeling chocolate and we use them to sit on top of a platform, a slab or a cushion made of one of the exotic flavors?”
“If you’re good at sculpting delicate shapes, I will be forever grateful,” Sam said, her mind flashing again to the image of Bobul the Romanian making his exquisite pine cones.
“It’s funny, Sam. I have these little scenes go through my head. I can’t say where I am at the time but I distinctly see myself handling chocolate, and there are images … Valentine hearts … little kids getting Easter eggs … It’s the strangest feeling.”
Sweets Forgotten (Samantha Sweet Mysteries Book 10) Page 8