Spooky Sweet

by Connie Shelton

  Beau went over the sequence of events with Rico. Things moved fast at the back of the armored truck. Tansy was shot, Rudy Vasquez stepped out the back door and was disarmed, the bags were thrown out to the masked gunman. Rudy stated the armed man tossed them, one by one, to a second perpetrator who threw them into the back of a black pickup truck. A driver had the truck in gear and roared off down the road the moment the other two jumped inside.

  The two lawmen stepped over to a wall map and Beau showed Rico where the incident took place.

  “They probably cruised slowly through Eagle Nest, careful not to attract attention. Putting some distance between the crime scene and where they planned to stop next. In the lower canyon approaching Taos they pulled off at a picnic area. It wouldn’t be hard to find a spot unoccupied early on an October morning, right?”

  Rico made another note on his form. “The people who found the bags showed up around noon today. A family of four. The dad’s only day off this week and they’d brought some KFC for lunch. He said the kids noticed the bags in some bushes when they walked down a little path toward the stream. The little boy brought one up, asking his dad if he could get the padlock off it, but the father knew this was something official. He called us right away. It took a real sharp knife to cut through this material.”

  “Once the bags were abandoned, the suspects would have transferred the money to other bags, generic, like the one found at Charlotte’s Place. Rudy, the guard, told us the pickup truck had no plates, but I’m guessing the thieves probably used their little pit stop to put them back on, keep themselves inconspicuous. For all we know, the truck could be driving around town right now.”

  “I did as you asked, Sheriff, put out an alert for the serial numbers. If these guys start spending the money, we’ll have a way to trace it back to them.”

  “It’d be nice if they went on a spending spree right away, but I have a feeling even the dumbest of dumb criminals these days know better.”

  “At least we got a hundred grand of it out of their hands.”

  “Yeah. It wasn’t an easy sell for me to tell Mr. Carlisle at A-1 they couldn’t immediately have it back.” Beau set the bagged canvas on the table. “I’ll let you get to your report.”

  He went to his office and placed a quick call to his crime scene technician, Lisa, who verified that she’d run the prints from the banded cash and the black bag from Charlotte’s Place.

  “I’m hoping you have good news for me, results from national databases?”

  “Probably not,” she replied. “The roadblock barricades had no prints, but that probably just means the men wore gloves when they set them up. Mornings are chilly these days. It wouldn’t be unusual. The only identifiable prints on the cash are from the bank employee who is on record as the one who loaded the bank bags. The black bag from the restaurant had only one decent print. Couldn’t lift anything from the cloth, and the one print from the vinyl handle doesn’t match anyone, locally or nationally.”

  Which meant the perp had never been arrested, served in the military or applied for a government job. It left only, say, seventy-five percent of the population as possible suspects. He told Lisa that Rico would be bringing her the armored car transfer bags. With luck, the men had handled the metal padlock, and with even better luck at least one of those guys had prints on file. All they needed was one small lead at this point, something to give the two county departments a direction to follow.

  He thanked Lisa and turned his attention to the next thing on his to-do list. It had been an early morning and he felt eager to get home but there was time to follow one other possibility.

  The jammed hospital parking lot told Beau the place was bustling this time of day. Right before the dinner hour was that perfect time for people leaving work to pop in and visit, while having a ready excuse not to stay long. He took advantage of his cruiser’s official status and parked at the curb near the ambulance entrance. No one would question his presence unless it sat there a long time, and he anticipated this visit would require no more than a few minutes.

  He went directly to the ICU where, again, his uniform got him behind the lines at the nurse’s station without question.

  “Her vital signs improved only marginally,” the head nurse said, referring to the patient chart in her hands. “We still can’t say she’s out of danger.”

  Beau nodded and stared at the glass wall of the cubicle which served as Tansy Montoya’s room. Monitors beeped gently and rhythmically, flashing blue, yellow and red numbers that meant nothing to him. The diminutive figure on the bed had three-quarters of her face wrapped in white gauze, and wires snaked out from beneath the blanket.

  “You can stand beside the bed, if you’d like,” the nurse, whose badge identified her as Beth Baughn, offered. “She won’t know you’re there. Her mother came by earlier. So sad. She became distraught, seeing her daughter like this. Good thing a neighbor had driven her over.”

  “She’s got two kids,” Beau said with a nod toward the window.

  “Yeah, I heard. They can’t visit, of course. Even if they were allowed, it would be way too upsetting to see their mom this way.”

  Beau watched the colored lines on the monitors jiggle a little more.

  “I’ll need to speak with her as soon as she’s able,” he said. “She’s the only witness who can help us catch the guys who did this to her.”

  “I understand,” Ms. Baughn said. “As long as you realize she may not have any memory of the minutes leading up to the gunshot. Patients often blank out traumatic events. She may eventually recover those memories, or she may not.”

  He knew. He could only hope for the best. He left instructions, including his personal cell number, which Baughn wrote on a brilliant pink sticky note and attached to the top page of the chart. It was the best she could do to help his case, he realized.

  Retrieving his cruiser, he drove through town with an eye toward every black pickup truck on the street. A nervous driver, an extra glance his direction … you never knew what clue could be the right one.

  The image of Tansy Montoya in that bed, covered in bandages and fighting for her life, stuck with him. Surely she’d seen the gunman’s face. She would have never lowered her window to someone in a mask. Now if she could only recall that face when she became conscious again. If she did. Nothing was certain at this point.

  Chapter 12

  Jen’s voice came over the intercom, informing Sam she had a call. She set down the pastry bag she’d been using to pipe spider webs on a haunted house sheet cake, wiped frosting-sticky hands on a damp towel and picked up the receiver on her desk.

  “Ms. Sweet, this is Victoria. I’ve found something I think you’ll love.”

  Victoria? Sam’s mind went blank. Immersed in baking and decorating, it took her a moment to shift gears. It was the real estate agent from yesterday.

  “—ambiance for your business. Of course, you’ll want to see both. Would this afternoon be a good time?”

  Sam knew she’d missed nearly everything the woman had said, but the important part was the question at the end.

  “Let me check …” She frantically searched for the printout with her delivery schedule, which must have fallen off the corkboard above the desk. She spotted a single sheet of paper wedged between the wall and back of desk, completely out of her reach. “Just a minute.”

  She turned to Becky, covering the receiver with one hand. “What deliveries do I have this afternoon?”

  Becky nodded toward the sheet cake on the table, her brows arched into a question.

  “No, the customer’s coming to pick this one up.”

  “There’s a wedding cake I just finished awhile ago, but I think it’s for tomorrow.”

  “I really need to do this errand,” Sam told her assistant. “If anything comes up, I’ll leave the van with you.”

  “That’ll work.”

  She turned her attention back to the real estate agent. “What time did you have in mind?”<
br />
  “At your convenience, as long as we allow at least a couple hours before dark. I’m not sure if the power is on at that one place.”

  Sam gave another glance at the order forms awaiting her attention. “Four o’clock?”

  “Perfect! I’ll come by your shop and pick you up.”

  Sam replaced the receiver and turned back to her cramped work area. She put finishing touches on the pumpkin spice cake with the haunted house theme and carried it to the walk-in fridge to set up. Six more orders, plus she’d better get another batch of molded dark chocolates done—Book It Travel’s next order was due in three days.

  “I’ve got two hours before I need to head out to look at property,” she told Becky. “Any chance you’d have time to take over a couple of these birthday cakes?”

  Becky held up her own sheaf of order forms. “I can call Don. If he could get home in time to get our son to soccer practice I can stay late.”

  “This won’t go on much longer, I promise,” Sam said. If she went out with the Realtor for a couple hours, ran by home and borrowed a little help from the wooden box, then got back here for the evening she could surely get on top of the workload.

  Her cell phone chirped down inside her pocket and she pulled it out to take a look at the screen. Her daughter, Kelly.

  “Is this urgent?” Sam answered.

  “Uh, not really,” Kelly said. “We’re a little slow over here so I’m leaving early. Just wanted to see if you’d be interested in a girls’ pizza night. I know Beau’s super busy on that robbery case that was in the paper.”

  Sam thought quickly. “How about this? If you can come over here and lend a hand for the next couple hours and help me with a real estate decision, then we could grab pizza and spend a fun evening making chocolate.”

  “Well, it doesn’t sound quite as relaxing as pizza and chick flicks at home, but I’m hearing a lot of stress in your voice, Mom. So, sure. Great idea. I’ll wash my hands and be right over.”

  Sam turned to Becky again. “Line up some simple tasks—we have a helper for the afternoon.”

  Kelly couldn’t make a buttercream rose to save her life but she was good at basic icing, stacking layers, and could be an extra pair of hands for moving things about in the busy, crowded space. When she said she’d be right over, she meant it. Her job as dog washer was right next door at the grooming salon, Puppy Chic. She walked through the back door less than five minutes after hanging up the phone.

  Becky had already pulled the baked layers for several cakes from the fridge and set them on the stainless steel worktable, assembly line fashion.

  “The order form is with each one, so just look at the information right here …” She pointed to the instruction space for frosting type and color. “This one’s orange buttercream. Tint it and spread it. The square cake will be chocolate buttercream.”

  “Once you have the base coat of frosting on them, pass them along to either Becky or me,” Sam said. “We’ll work the borders and flowers.”

  “I’m getting pretty good at a basic shell border,” Kelly said. “If you need me to add some?”

  Across the room, Julio’s timer dinged and he pulled eight pans of newly baked layers from the bake oven. Cooled and stacked, they would be added to the next batch for the ladies to work on.

  “Love holidays,” Becky groaned as she watched him set the pans on racks and set his timer.

  “So, Mom, what’s the real estate decision you have to make?” Kelly asked, smoothing dark chocolate over the cake in front of her.

  “Well, I admit I was a little sidetracked when the lady described where she’s taking me today. Basically, we’ve got to lease some extra space.”

  Kelly looked around the room, nodding. “I can see that. I had no idea your new contract would change the face of things at the bakery so much.”

  “Yeah, that makes several of us.” Sam realized she and Kelly hadn’t spent a lot of time together in the past few weeks—Kelly with a new man in her life, Sam’s increased workload as she headed into the autumn holidays. She went into a little detail about the plans Darryl Chartrain had drawn up and the decision to lease a place.

  By the time Jen announced Victoria Benson’s arrival, the three women had knocked off a good portion of the orders, completing nearly all the easier, standard items. Becky had two wedding cakes to finish within the next two days and assured Sam she could get them done during regular hours. With no deliveries needed today, Sam decided she and Kelly would take the bakery van and follow Ms. Benson to make the rounds of properties.

  “The first place I’m taking you isn’t far from here at all,” Victoria said. “It’s a fairly utilitarian building but has good street-front access.”

  Sam followed the agent’s blue four-door sedan as she drove onto the main road through town, Paseo del Pueblo Sur, and then turned down a side road near Sam’s favorite Chinese place. A half-block later, Victoria pulled up in front of a square, brown metal building.

  “Well, she was right about utilitarian,” Kelly said. “It has the personality of a tennis shoe.”

  “We’re not looking for personality this time. It’s not retail space, it’s work space,” Sam reminded.

  They joined Victoria at the door, a heavy metal thing. Only one window interrupted the expanse of metal siding on the front; a place for my desk, Sam thought. At least I can see out while I do my computer work. Inside, the space was entirely empty. Concrete floor, a utility sink in the far corner, a partitioned-out tiny room which Victoria said was a bathroom.

  “The beauty of it is you can do virtually anything you want with it. The owner is not opposed to your adding partitions, doing some new flooring—I explained you would have to meet all the codes for food preparation.”

  Sam stared at the echoey four walls. It was basic, true. Nothing about it made her heart beat faster, but really, what did she want? Space for production, storage, shipping and some office functions. Darryl had recommended she find at least two thousand square feet. It might be more than she needed this very moment, but if the volume of her chocolate orders grew she would have room to accommodate without having to move again or expand.

  “What’s the square footage?” she asked.

  “A little smaller than you’d mentioned,” Victoria admitted. “It’s just under fifteen hundred.”

  Sam’s sketchy enthusiasm took a small downward turn.

  “Keep it in mind,” Victoria said. “I still want to show you the other place I told you about.”

  Which I didn’t exactly absorb, Sam thought.

  “This other one is quite different.”

  Whatever that meant. Sam and Kelly walked out to the van while Victoria locked up and got into her car. She led the way to a back street which wound its way north and westward with a few four-way intersection stops before Victoria took another turn. The area was residential for awhile and the lots became larger, the houses increasing in distance from each other, until she slowed and pulled into a wide circular drive in front of a wooden structure sitting in a field of overgrown weeds.

  “Mom, it’s a Victorian mansion!” Kelly said. “I had no idea there was anything like this around Taos.”

  Sam stared out the front windshield, stunned. What on earth was this woman thinking? How could this old house be suitable for a business? She stepped out of her van and took in the blue-gray wood siding, black shutters, octagonal two-story turret with its pitched roof at one corner.

  “Victoria, I—”

  “Don’t judge just yet,” Victoria said, facing the house with Sam and Kelly. “It’s been standing empty for about ten years, so yes, there’s a bit of cleanup to be done. But the bones of it are strong. It’s been tied up in an estate dispute most of that time, but the executors have taken great care to be sure it stayed weather tight, no mice or that sort of damage.”

  “But, it’s a house.”

  “Which is outside town limits, no zoning restrictions out here. Walk around with me.” Victori
a headed toward the left side of the place. “A straight, paved driveway comes right off the road here, leading to a side portico where your delivery trucks could pull up to load and off-load supplies and whatever.”

  The metal building had no access but the metal front door.

  “Back here,” Victoria said, “is the old carriage house. It would make wonderful extra storage. The lock on the side door seems to be broken, but replacing it would be a simple matter. Now let’s walk back to the front door and see inside. I should mention the house is a bit over three thousand square feet, including the basement. The carriage house-slash-garage adds another five-hundred feet.”

  More space than I need, Sam thought. How expensive will this be?

  Victoria guided them past raised flowerbeds which had once contained rose bushes that climbed up a trellis. The two steps leading up to the front door and concrete front porch were flanked by a solid-feeling railing that desperately needed a coat of paint. Ms. Benson opened a wooden door inset with a stained-glass oval done in a traditional Victorian design. As the door swung inward Sam cringed at the squealing hinges.

  “A little oil is all that’s needed here,” Victoria assured them. She led the way into a wide, tiled foyer with a carpeted staircase leading to the second floor. She waved dramatically to her right. “Over here, the parlor. Across the way, a dining room.”

  “Nice! Separate workrooms for your larger crew,” Kelly whispered to Sam.

  The walls had once been papered but someone had begun to strip them and not quite finished the job. Below the papered sections, decent wainscoting had once probably gleamed with polish. Each of the rooms had an impressive fireplace.

  “I’m not sure whether those are functional,” Victoria said when she noticed Sam looking at them. “We would have to ask. I do know there’s a central heating system that was converted from coal to propane about twenty years ago. The boiler is in the basement—I’ll show you.”

  Lack of fireplaces wasn’t bad news; a chocolate factory couldn’t possibly need a roaring fire.