Sweets Galore: The Sixth Samantha Sweet Mystery (The Samantha Sweet Mysteries)

by Shelton, Connie

  Still tall and slim, only the slightest touch of gray at the temples, thinner in the face. Not quite as muscular as she remembered, but definitely not gone to fat either. The few wrinkles only added character to his chiseled features. How was it that men aged so much better than women?

  As she recalled he’d been only a year or so older than herself, so that would put him at about fifty-four, maybe fifty-five. She couldn’t remember when his birthday was—didn’t really spend any time thinking about it. She had to admit that he looked good.

  He stared steadily at her as he stirred the coffee with a wooden stick. When he grinned it caused one dimple to appear on the left side of his face.

  “Sit down, Jake,” she said, indicating one of the bistro tables at the side of the room. Her voice came out a lot calmer than she expected. It’s only coffee, she told herself. Stop being so resistant. “So? Life has been good to you?”

  He sipped at his coffee, complimented her on it. “Pretty good, yeah. You know. Both my parents are gone now. Some wives came and went. I moved around too much, I guess, maybe spent my money a little too freely.”

  “Sometimes that works with women, sometimes not.”

  “Huh, yeah. Guess I didn’t spend it on the right things.”

  She eyed the flashy pickup truck outside. “Evidently you bought what you wanted.”

  He nodded absently, giving the shop a long perusal. “Looks like you’re doing real good for yourself.”

  “Thanks. It was a long road getting here.” A series of dead-end jobs, a couple that paid well enough to support herself and her daughter, but realizing the dream of her pastry shop hadn’t happened until she met up with a nice windfall last year.

  “I tried to find you for a long time, Sammy. You left Alaska real suddenly.”

  She nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, it was time to move on.”

  “But you and I . . . we had a pretty hot thing going there.” He took an almost sensuous bite from the chocolate cupcake.

  A vivid picture came into her mind—a tent camp on the tundra, a down-filled sleeping bag . . . She willed herself not to blush. Wasn’t sure if she actually succeeded.

  “Jake, I’m about to be married. Even if I once had feelings for you, I’m not looking to rekindle anything.”

  He held up a hand. “No, Sammy, I didn’t expect that. Lot of water under the bridge and all.”

  “Good. Just so you know. And quit calling me Sammy. Please.” Thoughts churning, Sam sipped at her coffee to avoid saying what she was really thinking or admitting anything that really would be better left unsaid. So many things she’d never told anyone. She changed the subject. “Jake, it’s rare for someone to just happen to be in Taos.”

  He polished off the cupcake in two bites. “All business, right? Well, that’s good. I can see that staying businesslike has made you successful.”

  She waited.

  “So, um, there actually is a business reason I’ve stopped in today.” He rolled his cup between his palms as if he needed the warmth. “Like you said, life has been pretty good to me too, recent years. I’m in Hollywood now. You know, the industry. Know a lot of folks out there . . .”

  If he expected an answer to that, she couldn’t provide the one he wanted. Taos and Santa Fe had their share of Hollywood celebrities—big names and lesser ones—but Sam had never found a whole lot worth knowing in most of those she’d ever met. She’d made it this far in life without needing to cultivate their mostly shallow friendships. She let him fumble a little when the expected star-struck reaction didn’t come.

  “So, anyway, our current project is a new reality talent show. I know, you’re thinking there are already a lot of those—Idol, The Voice . . . But Deor has a whole new high-concept approach.”

  “Dior? Isn’t that a fashion designer?”

  “D-e-o-r,” he spelled it out. “Tustin Deor. You’ve heard of him, I’m sure. Wild Kittens, Game Runners . . .”

  He waited but Sam was genuinely drawing a blank.

  “So anyway, Tustin and I are scouting New Mexico locations, lining up some partners . . . putting together the whole project, start to finish . . .”

  She began to see where this was going. “Are you asking me for money?”

  “Sammy—uh, Sam, do you really think I stopped by to see an old friend because I want your money? Please, honey.”

  She held up a hand. “I’m not ‘honey,’ Jake. Don’t do that. Just take my word for it that I can’t invest in any kind of Hollywood project.”

  He set his empty cup down, reached across the table and took her hands. “This isn’t how I wanted this conversation to go, Sam. I really, honestly just wanted to see you again. For old times’ sake.”

  Yeah, right. “Jake, that’s nice. It was good to see you. I’m happy for your success in the television business.” She pulled her hands back and stood up. “And now I really have work to do.”

  He leaned back in his chair, and she was afraid he intended to stay awhile, but finally he stood. “Okay, then. I’ll be in town for awhile. Staying at the La Fonda, just a couple blocks away. We should have dinner while I’m here.”

  She wiggled her fingers at him, displaying her engagement ring.

  “We could all have dinner together,” he said.

  “We’ll see.” She stood, he left, and she watched him get into the tricked-out pickup and drive away before she turned toward the kitchen.

  She had no intention of bringing up the dinner invitation with Beau. It wasn’t like she and Jake had truly been old friends. They were an old item. Two kids working at a pipeline camp, having some fun. One forced to grow up; the other evidently hadn’t, even now. She’d very purposefully left him behind and made no effort to stay in touch. Hadn’t felt a need to have him in her life.

  Besides, she was pretty sure Jake had already covered everything he planned to cover—a little flattery, some fake sentimentality, and cut to the chase with the money request. Now that she’d turned him down, he would surely leave town and go pick on someone else.

  “Everything okay, Sam?” Jen asked as they passed each other near the doorway.

  “Yeah. A guy I knew ages ago,” Sam said.

  “He looked kind of familiar. He hasn’t come in the shop before?” Jen shrugged it off as two young women came through the front door.

  Sam went to the big walk-in fridge to pull out whatever cakes she was supposed to be decorating today. She still needed to get out the sketches for her own wedding cake and be sure to go over them with Julio and Becky. But she found herself staring at the shelves. Jake Calendar looked familiar to Jen because he looked so much like his daughter; Kelly and Jen had known each other since elementary school.

  Kelly had never really asked many questions about her missing parent. In these times, so many kids came from single-parent homes that it just wasn’t that unusual to have no dad in the picture. She and Sam had formed the perfect little family, all on their own. Even during the terrible-teens, Sam knew she had it easier than a lot of parents whose kids got into real trouble. Kelly might not have been the most responsible kid with her money (another picture of Jake flashed through Sam’s mind), but she’d never done drugs or much drinking or picked up any nasty diseases. All in all, Sam felt very lucky.

  Over the years Kelly had asked few questions about her father, and she seemed content with Sam’s sketchy answers: they’d never been married and the man was not going to be a factor in their lives. Period.

  And now Jake had showed up.

  Goose bumps rose on her arms; she’d stood in the fridge a lot longer than she realized. She picked up two square tiers that were meant for a small wedding cake and carried them out to the big stainless steel worktable. As she assembled them and applied creamy white fondant that she had dressed up with a quilted look, she let the Zen of cake decorating take over. Away went thoughts of Jake, of her diet, of everything except the work in front of her as she piped borders and added strands of rhinestones and ribbons of thinly rolled fonda
nt.

  With tweezers she placed tiny pearlescent candies as the finishing touches on the cake then stepped back to check her work. Satisfied, she set it into the fridge and pulled out a tray of sugar flowers for another—white roses and purple asters.

  “Sam? Lunch? We’re ordering deli sandwiches,” Jen said, holding the phone against her shoulder.

  Lunch. She’d been determined to skip as many meals as possible this week but then Becky had lectured her on how unhealthy that was, not to mention counterproductive. “Just order me something as low-cal as possible.”

  By the time the delivery arrived, Sam felt her energy lagging and knew that the turkey breast on whole grain bread was a good answer. She’d taken one bite when her cell phone vibrated in her pocket.

  “Samantha Jane, you never got back to me with the name of that hotel where you’ve got your aunt Bessie and uncle Chub staying. They need to call and be sure they’re getting a king sized bed. You know how Chub can’t sleep in one of those tiny, cramped up beds.”

  Leave it to her mother to micro-manage every detail of everyone’s lives. Sam had put Kelly in charge of hotel reservations and felt sure she’d contacted everyone.

  “I don’t remember, off the top of my head, Mother. Didn’t you get Kelly’s email with the details?”

  “Maybe so, but you know how I am with the computer. Your daddy probably read it and erased it.”

  “I’ll ask Kelly to send it again.” Sam scribbled herself a note at a desk that was already overloaded with little scraps of paper. She really had to get all this organized before leaving for two weeks.

  “We’ll all be there in three more days, honey. I just want to be sure everybody gets settled in all right. Now, your daddy and I are staying at that B&B of your friends? Is that right? And everyone else . . .”

  Three days—yikes! Nina Rae’s voice droned on, as she reiterated details Sam already knew. Sam ran a hand over her stomach, wondering if her waistline had gotten any smaller. She put the second half of her sandwich back in its container and closed the lid. No cookie for dessert either, she reminded herself.

  “. . . can’t wait to see you in your beautiful dress. Samantha? You haven’t said a word.”

  A vision of the zipper that wouldn’t close flashed through Sam’s head. “We’re just really busy this week at the bakery, Mother.”

  “Oh my lord, that’s the other thing. We’ve never seen your lovely little place of business. I can just hardly wait. I bet it’s just the most charming little place.”

  Sam glanced around at the sink full of dirty pans, the worktable loaded with unfinished cakes and the floor where Julio’s last batch of batter had dribbled from the mixer to the oven. Charming. Sam picked up a damp towel.

  “I really need to get back to work now, Mother. We’ll see you in a few days.”

  She clicked off the call before Nina Rae could think of a new subject, some other bit of subtle pressure in the form of a chore Sam needed to do before The Day. She dropped the wet towel to the floor and pushed it with her foot until all the small batter drops were gone.

  “Guys,” she announced after calling Jen in from the sales room. “We’ve got to get this place in shape. Three days and the inspection we’re getting will make the health department’s visits seem like child’s play. Okay, I’m exaggerating a little. But really, we do need to watch the little stuff. Clean up the messes when they happen, wipe down the counters. Jen, check the front window displays and the beverage bar and—”

  “Sam. Got it. We have moms too,” Jen said with a grin.

  Even Julio smiled. Becky patted Sam’s shoulder. “Why don’t you tell us what we need to do for your cake, Sam. Your wedding is the most important thing happening this week. We can get the layers baked, make the flowers or whatever trims you have in mind . . . That’s the main thing Mama Bear will want to see when she gets here, right?”

  “Thanks. All of you. You’re the best crew—”

  The front door bells tinkled on their delicate chain and Jen rushed out to attend to the new customer. A moment later the intercom buzzed. “Sam, there’s a consultation out here.”

  Sam paused a beat. Jen had begun handling nearly all the consultations and orders recently. She set down her folder of sketches and headed for the sales room.

  A young man sat at one of the tables, while Jen bustled to help three women who had apparently walked in at the same moment and were all talking at once. She sent Sam a grateful look.

  “Vic Valentino,” the young guy said, rising to shake Sam’s hand. He was wiry thin with spiky hair that made him look as if he’d awakened in the middle of a tornado. “I need a spectacular cake. Of me.”

  “Okay . . .” Sam set her order pad on the table and sat down. “Tell me about the occasion.”

  Valentino perched on the edge of his chair, energy radiating out of him. “Well, I need to impress a judge.”

  Sam felt her eyebrows rise. “Court troubles?”

  He laughed a little frantically. “Ha, ha, ha—no. Sorry I didn’t explain that very well. A talent judge. I’m auditioning for You’re The Star. You’ve probably heard of it. I heard that there are talent scouts in town and I need to beat the other contestants for the chance to audition. I read in In The Know magazine that somebody last year got onto one of those shows by wowing the judge with something he really liked. And then I heard that one of these judges really loves sweets. So, it’s a no-brainer, right? I show up with a cake, they love the cake, they love me. Easy?”

  “Well . . .”

  Valentino continued. “So. Here’s what I’m thinking. The cake is a stage, with these big spotlights and loads of glam. Stars, confetti, stuff like that. You could put some fireworks around the edges. And then there’s a sculpture of me, and I’m in the middle of the stage holding a microphone, wowing them with my song. I composed it myself.” He trilled out a few notes and the ladies at the counter spun around as if something were attacking them.

  “Well, I won’t sing it here. Can’t give away all my moves ahead of time,” Vic said. “I’ll need the cake tomorrow.”

  She nearly objected to the tight deadline. The customer is always right, she reminded herself. As she sketched a rough idea of the design, Sam quickly calculated the number of extra hours this creation would involve: sculpting a lifelike figure, finding fireworks in September, finishing the whole thing in a day. She added the extra hours and tossed out a reasonable figure for the amount of work involved.

  Vic Valentino winced. “Ouch. Any way you could, like, in the name of supporting an artist . . .?”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Valentino, we’re super busy this week as it is. I normally charge an additional fifty percent for short notice like this, overtime for my staff, you know.” She watched him argue the merits in his head.

  “Okay, let’s do it. This is my chance for my big break. And, heck, it’s cheaper than traveling to L.A. to meet with these guys.”

  He pulled out a photograph that showed himself in a sequined suit that would have made Liberace squint. He was standing on a stage in a karaoke bar and a man off to one side had an expression that said he’d kill for a set of earplugs.

  Sam suppressed a laugh and wondered what the rest of the audience’s reaction had been. Whatever it was, odds were that Vic Valentino had taken it as validation of his talent. He seemed like that kind of guy.

  He began humming a few atonal notes and made his way over to the counter where Jen was now customer-less. With a casual arm atop the glass display the words “love is . . .” came out in a jarringly minor key.

  She sent a heh-heh little smile toward him and then found something important to do in the other room.

  “On custom cakes we require payment at the time the order is placed,” Sam said to the man.

  “Oh, yeah, right.” At least he had to quit humming to answer her. He fished around in his pockets, pulling out cash of various denominations until he had come up with enough. Sam wrote a receipt and told him the cake wou
ld be ready after four p.m. the next day.

  The moment the front door bells stopped moving, a giggle erupted from the back room. In the kitchen Sam found Jen and Becky practically holding their sides.

  “Come on, girls, this is the man’s drea—” A sputter of laughter came out. “Sorry. I can only imagine those judges’ faces.”

  She took a deep breath and became businesslike. “It’s a rush order. We need to get moving.”

  On that serious note Jen headed to the sales room again and Sam began handing out assignments for the various elements on the Valentino cake.

  Chapter 3

  By five-thirty they’d made decent progress with the cake for the talent show auditioner. While Sam finished three other orders, Julio had baked and stacked layers to represent the stage, dirty-iced them and put them in the fridge to set up. Becky had the basics of a little figurine sculpted in white chocolate.

  “Check the plastic bin on the top shelf,” Sam told Becky. “I think we have some edible glitter that will work for the guy’s sparkly suit. Now if I just knew where to come up with fireworks.”

  “I can get them,” Julio said.

  Sam didn’t want to ask where he planned to shop since all but the smallest types were illegal and even those were usually unavailable after mid-summer. “Nothing that burns hot,” she said. “We’re working with icing here. Maybe just some sparklers.”

  He gave a pensive nod. “Got it.”

  Kelly peeked in at the back door. “Oh, hey. Didn’t realize everyone was still here. Mom, are you coming by the house after work, or going straight out to Beau’s?”

  “I have an errand over on the plaza,” Sam said. “After that I’ll be at Beau’s. Well, I guess I better get in the habit of calling the old house your place, since Beau’s is now ours. Why?”

  She’d bought a silver bracelet for her best friend Zoë, who was offering her bed and breakfast gratis for the ceremony, and the jeweler said she would have the engraving finished today. Sam glanced at the clock above the sink. She better get over there before the shop closed.