Sweets Forgotten (Samantha Sweet Mysteries Book 10)

by Connie Shelton

“I won’t even get a chance to talk to him alone. George made it clear that he intends to drive Bentlee back to school this afternoon and that none of them want me around. It was so humiliating.” The sobs started again.

  Sam felt her attention wandering. She wanted to be supportive but so much of this was unsolvable at this moment. She really needed to get on with other things.

  “I don’t want to go home, Sam. I’ll just sit around and cry all day and feel sorry for myself. Can I stay here and work, finish the chocolates?”

  Sam wavered. The downside was she really didn’t want to get caught up in Jo’s crying spells. On the other hand, the order of chocolates needed to be finished and Jo was much quicker at the work, freeing Sam’s time to finish several other orders. Plus, she knew Beau wanted to keep Jo on his radar. At least by having her at the bakery they would know where she was and what she was doing. Unfortunately, that sounded a little too much like the way Jo’s husband had treated her. Sam cast aside that train of thought. With a sigh, she agreed to have Jo stay and finish the chocolates.

  “I’m going to follow Jen’s suggestion and run out to see if I can locate the right box for this order,” Sam told the group in the kitchen.

  Getting into her van and driving away provided exactly the breath of fresh air Sam needed. Beau could be right about Jo’s involvement in Zack’s death. How well did she know the woman, anyway? Just because she was a master at chocolate-making didn’t mean she wouldn’t crack under the strain of an abusive marriage and estrangement from her son. For that matter, the whole breakdown in the interrogation room could have been an act. How many times had Beau told her never to trust what a suspect told you? Anyone, under the right circumstances, will lie to save her own skin. She shouldn’t have been so sharp with Beau earlier. As she steered down narrow Martyrs Lane to find parking at Millie’s Attic, she decided to make his favorite chicken parmesan dinner tonight.

  She’d no sooner put her hand on the doorknob of the quaint, tiny shop than she heard a familiar voice.

  “Time for shopping? I thought you were swamped with work this week.” Zoë’s grin teased her.

  “I wish it was casual shopping, but this is work.” She explained about the box for the chocolates and Zoë followed her inside.

  “Last time I was here I did see something like that,” she said. She greeted the owner, whose name wasn’t Millie at all, but Linda. Zoë explained that it was the current owner’s grandmother who had started the concept of selling spare things out of her attic when the Great Depression hit the family hard.

  Linda steered them toward one corner of the shop, where handmade fabric flowers filled pottery vases and the shelves contained vintage toys from the 1940s and ’50s. A stack of cardboard boxes on a low table glowed with colored light from stained glass ornaments hung in the nearby window. The boxes were covered in various papers with a Victorian feel.

  “I’m not sure whether the classic look will appeal,” Sam said, scanning the choices. “We’re designing the candy around the woman’s fav—”

  She stopped short when she spotted a box covered with colored pencil drawings of felines. It was slightly larger than she’d had in mind. They would have to turn out another dozen or so candies in order to fill it.

  “This one is perfect,” she said, picking up the feline box and handing it to Linda, who carried it to the register. One way or another, she would manage the extra chocolates.

  “Now, if only Jo can continue to work another day or two,” she told Zoë. “I have a feeling all the drama going on in her life right now will take over, right when I really need her.”

  After paying an incredibly small amount for the decorative box and carrying her shopping bag outside, Sam asked Zoë if she wanted to stop somewhere for a coffee.

  “As busy as you are?”

  “I need it. I get to the bakery and feel like I’m at my wit’s end.”

  A half-block away one of the cafés with outdoor tables appeared to be experiencing a mid-morning lull. They quickly found a table and ordered lattes.

  “We could have done this at my place—for free,” Sam said

  “But then you couldn’t talk quite so freely. C’mon, something’s bothering you.”

  “Nothing major. It’s just an unsettled feeling, wondering whether Jo is being honest with me. Beau still considers her a suspect, and I don’t see that. I can’t believe she’s a killer. We had a bit of a fight over it this morning.”

  “A real fight?”

  “Oh, no. More like testy words.”

  Zoë chuckled. “You two are so good together. Do you know how rare it is for a couple to make it a whole year without a fight? I see honeymooners at the B&B who are already fighting and they haven’t been married twenty-four hours.”

  Honeymooners. The B&B. Sam’s mind flashed back to their wedding, held at Zoë and Darryl’s place, the perfect September weather and beautiful decorations. The forgotten thing which had been nagging at her all week. Their anniversary—tomorrow—and she had wanted to do it up special.

  Chapter 19

  Beau sat in his cruiser in the shade of a cottonwood in the library parking lot and watched the blinking tracer dot as Jo Robinet parked at Sweet’s Sweets. As long as it didn’t leave again right away, his suspect would most likely stay put all day. Sam had mentioned a special order she’d assigned to her temporary helper, and she would be there to keep an eye on the woman. He dialed Kent Taylor’s number and the detective thanked Beau for the report on the junior programmer’s alibi for Wednesday night. J.B. had made a purchase at the comic book store, which could be easily verified. Beau mentally ticked another suspect off their list.

  “In other news,” Taylor said. “We’ve verified Ray Belatoni’s alibi. He wasn’t in Albuquerque at all that day. Krystal is still on our radar. She admits to being in the room both before and after Zack died, and the cameras agree. It’s looking like she’s our best bet right now.”

  “So, should I quit monitoring Jo Robinet?”

  “Not yet. We know she and Krystal had hatched a plan together. Jo inherits Zack’s half of a multi-million dollar business, which could give Krystal a whole lot of reasons for wanting to help the lady out. And with that much cash at her disposal, the recent widow could afford to go nearly anywhere in the world.

  Beau had to agree. Money was such an enticing little motive. Or, in this case, a big fat enticing motive. “Too bad for her, I’ve got her passport.”

  “That’s good,” Taylor said. “Got something else for you to check out. Our lab folks performed some kind of photo-enhancing thing on the footage of the man in the hat. Still couldn’t quite get the face, but the hat is a particular brand popular with golfers. We found two shops in Albuquerque that sell them and one in Taos. I’m sending you a picture of the hat.”

  “Zack Robinet played golf.”

  “And one of those golfing buddies recently had a run-in with him, right?”

  “Will Valmora. Seemed like a pretty mellow type when I talked with him, and I pretty much discounted him.”

  “Still, let’s find out where he was that day. Wouldn’t hurt to drop by the sporting goods shop that sells the hats and see if they sold one to Valmora.”

  “I’ll do it.” Beau smiled as he retrieved the photo on his phone.

  This was his kind of police work, tracking clues and looking for facts, rather than endless interviews with suspects who all proclaimed their own innocence. He put the cruiser in gear. He was familiar with the store Taylor had named; cutting through Martyrs Lane was a quick way to get there.

  A huge box of pastries caught his eye—the custom artwork on Sam’s bakery delivery van. It was parked at the curb in a block of cutesy little shops favored by women tourists. Two doors down, he spotted Sam chatting beside Zoë’s vehicle. He thought of his recent statement to Kent Taylor and pulled to a stop beside the van. Zoë got into her Subaru and waved as she started the engine.

  “Hey, you,” Sam said, walking toward him with a
smile.

  “I thought you were sticking close to Jo Robinet all day, making sure she didn’t skip out.” His displeasure must have showed on his face.

  “Excuse me?”

  “She’s a prime suspect, Sam.”

  “Well, how was I to know that? You let me believe she was pretty much off the list. And I don’t recall being assigned to babysit her. Your department can still track her car, can’t you?”

  He took a deep breath. “It just took me by surprise, seeing you out here shopping and socializing this time of day.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “You aren’t telling me how I’m supposed to spend my day are you, Sheriff?”

  “Sam, I—”

  But she’d already marched past him and gotten into her van. Oh boy.

  Since this seemed like a situation best left to cool awhile and then resolve with a rose bouquet at the end of the day, he continued his route toward Paseo del Pueblo Sur and the sporting goods store Taylor had named.

  The young man behind the counter gave Beau a blank stare when he inquired about the hat by its brand name. He held out his phone, showing the picture.

  “Oh, yeah, those. We have some, over there in the corner by the golf clubs and shirts.”

  “I don’t need to buy one,” Beau said, working to keep his voice patient. “I need to know if you’ve sold this particular style in recent—”

  Again, the blank stare.

  “Is the owner or manager here?”

  The kid disappeared through a half-door, beyond which Beau could see shelves packed with rental ski boots and racks holding skis. T’would soon be the season. A man followed the clerk back out, a guy who might be anywhere between thirty-five and fifty. Beau showed the photo again.

  “I assume your sales are computerized?” he asked. “Could you tell me if you’ve sold any of these recently?”

  The man squinted, then pulled a pair of low-power reading glasses from his shirt pocket.

  “This is last year’s style. The ribbon band is bandanna print. This year they went with tropical flowers. I don’t know why—men don’t really want to be wearing flowers on their hats, now do they?”

  Beau stood patiently while the manager tapped keys on the computer.

  “Looks like we sold three, two of them marked down to clearance price at the end of the season. Had to make space for ski caps and gloves.”

  “I need to know who purchased them, if that’s possible.”

  The man sucked air through his teeth. “A credit card purchase, maybe. Cash, no way.”

  “Check them for me. Please.” Beau felt almost guilty for asking. It would only prove Valmora owned such a hat, not whether he was the one in the hotel hallway outside Zack Robinet’s room. His lawyer would have great fun with this, but it was necessary to establish the full chain of events if they had any hope of eventually proving a case. Meanwhile, he could take another tack.

  He left his card with the store manager, asking to be informed of the names of the hat buyers. Glancing through his notes, out in the cruiser, he didn’t see where he had actually asked Will Valmora his whereabouts last Wednesday night. It wouldn’t hurt to do that and tie up one more loose end. And there was no time like the present. He got Dixie on the radio, obtained the address, which turned out to be surprisingly near his own home out in the ranchland, and debated. He could drive out there now or, more importantly, catch the Robinets and their grandson before they left to drive Bentlee back to his Albuquerque boarding school.

  He opted for the latter. He would be more likely to catch Will Valmora home at the end of the day, on his own way home.

  Greenlee Manor was buzzing when Beau pulled into the parking lot. He got sidetracked when someone shouted, “There’s the sheriff. Tell him!”

  A huge Buick, about four sizes too large for the tiny woman driving it, sat butt-to-bumper with a Prius and a small crowd had gathered.

  “She backed into me!” said a gray-haired man with a decided hump between his shoulder blades.

  “I did not.” The woman might be tiny but her eyes held a lot of fire. “Your car is outside its space. You pulled out without looking. Sheriff, give him a ticket.”

  “Is anyone hurt?” Beau asked, surveying the minor damage. Both drivers were walking around and he guessed the impact must have happened with the cars barely rolling.

  Across the lot, he spotted George and Nancy Robinet with Bentlee at their side. The teen was pulling a suitcase. Beau scanned the looky-loos at the accident, choosing two women who seemed the least befuddled among them.

  “Ma’am, I’d like for you to go inside and get someone from the staff to come out and make sure no one is hurt. And could you,” he said, turning to the other lady, “please wait with them until the town police arrive? I’m actually here on another case and need to get going.”

  As he strode across the lot toward the Robinets, he keyed his mike and asked Dixie to report the fender bender to the town cops. With such a minor accident on private property they likely wouldn’t do anything, but maybe they could give reassurance to the two oldsters and make sure a battle didn’t erupt. A few of the onlookers lost interest and trailed after Beau.

  Hoping for a more mellow tone than Kent Taylor had used with the boy, Beau approached the group with a smile.

  “Hey, Bentlee. Looks like you’re heading back to Albuquerque?”

  The teen sent out a so-what kind of look. What ever happened to basic politeness?

  “He’s got school, Sheriff. A place like Holbrook Academy, they fall way behind when they aren’t there. It’s a top school.”

  “I imagine they would be lenient in this case, knowing families need time together in times like this, especially his mother.”

  “My mother doesn’t need anybody,” Bentlee said with a snarl. “She’s a self-centered bitch.”

  Neither of the grandparents contradicted him, a fact Beau found astounding.

  “Well, I imagine everything is hitting her pretty hard right now,” Beau said.

  “Sheriff, he’s not wrong about Jo,” George Robinet said. “The woman was completely—”

  Beau held up a hand to cut him off. “This really isn’t the time or place,” he said. Whew—tough group. Even after his warning, Nancy Robinet continued to mumble criticism of her daughter-in-law.

  “Anyway, that’s not really why I wanted to catch you before you left. I have a few more questions about the day your dad died. Could we go inside and chat?” He eyed the nosy neighbors who lingered just out of range.

  Both grandparents made impatient gestures. What was it today? Beau wondered. Was he giving off some kind of unfriendly vibe? It seemed nearly every conversation became a confrontation.

  Since none of the other three made a move toward going to the apartment, Beau took the reins. “All right. Mr. and Mrs. Robinet, you may wait here at your car. I’ll talk with Bentlee in mine. We’ll just be a few minutes.”

  He gestured for the teenager to precede him to the nearby cruiser. When Beau opened the passenger door, curiosity won out. Bentlee slid into the seat, eyeing all the special equipment while Beau walked around to the driver’s side.

  “Okay, let’s just cut to the chase and get this done,” Beau said. “You talked with Detective Taylor in Albuquerque and told him where you were last Wednesday night. Unfortunately, what you told him proved not to be true. The police check that kind of thing. They also check out your friends and it turns out your best buddies seem to know a lot about drugs.”

  Bentlee went a little white around the edges at the mention of his friends. “Okay, look. I did lie about where I was that night. The school has a strict policy about drug use and I couldn’t let it get out that I was smoking a little dope and trying these new pills with my friends. Holbrook will kick me out and I’d have to go back home to live. It might be better without my dad there, but things aren’t great between my mom and me either. Know what I mean?”

  “Your dad died of a heroin overdose, son. You really don’t want
to start down that path yourself, do you?”

  “I’m not—”

  “No one starts with heroin. I’m just saying, be careful.”

  “You won’t tell my grandparents, will you? I’ll quit the drugs, promise.”

  Beau tilted his head, not really committing. “You might not realize it now, but your mother loves you very much. Both of you are in shock right now over what happened, but when it sinks in there will be some rough emotional times ahead. I think the two of you might like to be able to turn to each other.”

  “Is that what this is? A lecture on how to be nice to my mom? Seriously?”

  “Just saying. It’s been hard on her.” Mentioning the abuse didn’t seem necessary. The boy had been there.

  * * *

  Sam took a deep breath as the last of her employees left for the day. Between Jo’s emotional story and the near-argument with Beau, not to mention the pressure of increasing the output of their chocolate order, she felt drained. And she still hadn’t begun the anniversary cake she wanted to do for tomorrow. She and Beau really needed some time to themselves—a special dinner out, the cake. They could not start taking their marriage for granted this early on.

  She mulled over all this, including what on earth she might get Beau as a gift, as she drove home. His cruiser wasn’t there and she felt secretly a little glad about that. She would have time to shower, phone for tomorrow night’s dinner reservation, and regroup before he arrived. Not for the first time all day, she thought of the carved box. She’d missed its presence in her daily routine.

  The dogs greeted her with their perpetually happy faces and wagging tails. It might be quite pleasant to come back in her next life as a dog, she thought. Their carefree attitude seemed like the right way to approach each day.

  Once inside, she glanced toward the hall closet. The box was in the wall safe, waiting for her. It had been three months since her unexpected encounter with the woman from The Vongraf Foundation, Isobel St. Clair, and the story she’d told of the existence of two other boxes like this one. Especially bizarre was the fact an organization existed whose members were intent upon getting hold of the boxes, supposedly to use them for some nefarious purposes.