“Yeah, aside from the repeated dysfunctional-family theme, the idea was total silliness,” Scott said. “I mean, I’m not belittling supernatural phenomena. I think there are many unexplained things in this world. I’ve seen some strange stuff on visits to the sacred places in Egypt, for instance. It’s just this whole storyline about the box … well, it was pretty hair-raising for twelve year olds, but that’s about all. I have to credit the author with a terrific imagination. She definitely got me.”
“And she lived right here in Taos when she wrote it?” Kelly asked.
“Yep. Lived in that same house almost her entire life. There was a brief marriage and she moved to New York with the husband, but she returned with a baby, a son, and somehow got the marriage annulled. She kept her maiden name and raised the boy on her own. By most accounts, he too was an odd duck. I gather he must have escaped his mother’s home and raised his own family, since you mentioned, Sam, you were renting from the granddaughter.”
Sam came out of her semi-reverie. “Yes, that’s what I was told.”
“Eliza lived to almost one hundred, most of that time alone, although the biography does say she had a companion in her later years, a woman who acted as housekeeper, cook and driver. They say Eliza died in her sleep in the parlor. The housekeeper claimed her employer left the entire estate to her, but the woman died before Eliza’s will was probated. The son, himself an old man by then, tried to lay claim to the property but it all got tied up in court so long he died as well. It sounds as if the granddaughter is only now getting it all set straight.”
“How sad,” Kelly said. She looked around the table where the empty dinner plates had gone crusty and cold as everyone listened to Scott’s story. “Let me clear this stuff real quick and we’ll have dessert in the living room.”
Sam could see the tiredness around Beau’s eyes and felt her own fatigue.
“We should probably skip dessert and make an early evening of it,” she said, picking up plates.
While she and Kelly quickly put everything in the dishwasher, the story of Eliza Nalespar’s popular book reverberated through her like an electric charge. What were the odds that a woman of her age would dream up a story about a magical wooden box? Could it be Eliza knew Bertha Martinez, the old bruja who had passed the box to Sam? Could Eliza have handled the box herself, and did the artifact mean more to the family where insanity was not uncommon than simply being the inspiration for a fictional story?
Chapter 24
October thirty-first. Sam rechecked everything at Sweet’s Sweets—twice—making sure the employees were ready for whatever Halloween might bring.
“My cell phone will be right with me,” she told Becky as she loaded her supply of imported cocoas and the best of the heavy cooking pots into her van.
“Do not worry.” Becky handed her the box containing utensils. “We can handle it.”
On a final check of the kitchen, Sam remembered the tin container above the stove where she’d stashed the three pouches with the special powders Bobul had given her. For the dozenth time in a week the thought crossed her mind that she needed to figure out a way to get more.
“Okay then, I’m on my way,” she announced. “Call me if you need anything at all.”
Becky rolled her eyes and gave Sam her most reassuring smile.
Halfway to the chocolate production house, Sam remembered that she had fully intended to drop by Ivan Petrenko’s bookshop to ask about the book Scott and Kelly had mentioned last night. Surely the bookseller could come up with a copy for her, even if it had been out of print awhile. At the first stoplight she dialed his number and put her phone on speaker.
“It is called The Box?” Ivan asked.
“You haven’t heard of it? The author is Eliza Nalespar.”
“I am certain I have not been hearing of this name,” he said in his mangled-English way. “This author—the name is a real one?”
She laughed as she made the turn toward the Victorian. “Yes, it was a woman who lived here in Taos. The book was written about eighty years ago.”
“Ah, is making more sense now. I shall be checking it for you, Miss Sam.”
“If you can find a used copy that doesn’t cost a fortune, order it for me please.”
He assured her he would check his sources, in a manner that made her wonder whether he’d been involved in black-marketeering at some point during his colorful life. She pulled into her driveway as they ended the call, looking at the old house with a new perspective, wondering about the lives of the mysterious family who once lived here.
Nalespar House. She tried out the sound as she stared at the faded boards and the second-floor window in the turret. She stopped herself. These days she must think of the place as the home of Sweet’s Chocolates.
It was almost noon by the time she unloaded her supplies and set up everything to create a handy workspace. She surveyed the sunny kitchen and let out a deep breath. The place was coming together exactly as she’d hoped. She set her copper double boiler on the stove and dropped in a quantity of her finest dark chocolate. It was melting nicely when her phone rang. Beau.
“Hey there. I called your shop and they said you’d already opened for business in the new place.”
“Well, ‘open for business’ is a bit of a stretch. I’m here by myself, but I am already cooking up my first batch of dark chocolate. Mr. Bookman’s theme for this week is autumn leaves.” She glanced at the set of leaf-shaped molds she’d already washed and laid out.
“I was hoping to take you to lunch but it sounds like you’re busy.”
She caught the disappointment in his voice.
“I still eat. Want to bring something by?”
By the time he drove up she had tempered the chocolate and poured it into the molds. Once hardened, dusting the pieces with gold, crimson and orange powders would give them the special finish she wanted.
“The sandwich man is here,” Beau announced, holding up a white bag from her favorite deli.
She cleared space at one end of the table.
“Sorry, I haven’t ordered any stools yet. We’ll have to eat standing.”
“Fine by me. I’ve been at my desk, on the phone most of the morning,” he said. “Talked quite awhile with Tim Beason over in Colfax County.”
“Oh. Any new leads at all on the robbery?”
He shook his head. “Not really. Sadly, Tansy Montoya is back in a deep coma. With the crime taking place basically out in the woods, there are no witnesses to question, no neighborhood to canvass—I’m losing hope on this one.”
“Oh, Beau.” She reached over and squeezed his hand. “I wish I had some ideas for you.”
“I wish I had some ideas for me, too,” he said. “Our only hope at this point is if someone comes forward with a tip or whichever of our perps left those few fingerprints gets arrested for something else. If we’re sharp enough to match the cases, we’d have something to move with.”
“You’ll get a break, honey. I’m sure you will.”
“I love your faith in me.” He balled up the paper wrapper from his sandwich and smiled at her. “Anyway, enough about that. How’s life at the chocolate factory? Seen any ghosts yet?”
The fact he could tease renewed her faith that he wasn’t taking the lack of clues in his case too personally. In law enforcement you won some and lost some. With luck, you won most of them. The troubling thing was when, as in this instance, a crime victim’s life hung in the balance. She knew Beau would keep the case active as long as it took to find the person who had shot Tansy Montoya. She assured her husband the ghosts had not shown themselves and she was perfectly comfortable working out here with only the wind in the trees for company, but once he’d left she began to notice little sounds in the house.
Sam, it really is just the wind in the trees, she told herself. Lighten up.
But just to be sure, she went through the entire house, making certain all the doors and windows were latched. It would be silly to s
pook herself over a breeze coming in if one of the workers had forgotten to close a window.
Satisfied, she returned to her candy. She brought up some favorites from the playlist on her phone and let them play softly in the background as she worked. Her brain went into creative mode and she worked up ideas for some new flavors for the chocolate assortments.
It had been a long time, she realized, since she’d worked alone and she loved the creative energy that came to her without the distractions of customers, employees and interruptions. She shaped a rosemary-cashew cream into small balls which would be dipped in dark chocolate, enjoying the rhythm of the repetitive activity, when the music suddenly quit.
One glance told her the battery on her phone had died. “Bring charger,” she said, adding it to her list for tomorrow.
With the quiet, she realized darkness had fallen while she’d been completely engrossed and now the brightly lit kitchen felt exposed. She thought of the one nearby neighbor, thankful her kitchen was on the side of the house away from theirs. Still, she was out here on the edge of town, and the unfamiliarity made the joy of being alone fade a little.
“No problem,” she said aloud. “It’s quitting time anyway. I’ll just gath—”
Clunk!
Her breath caught. The sound had come from right beneath her feet.
Chapter 25
Sara closed the front door and set the candy bowl on the kitchen counter.
“Those last little kids were so cute, weren’t they?” Mom said. She had positioned herself on the sofa where she could see the door. Watching costumed children with their plastic pumpkins collecting treats seemed to brighten her evening.
“Are you warm enough, Mom? I could bring the blanket from my bed if you …”
“I’m fine, Sara. Come sit by me and relax. You’re as jumpy as a black cat.”
Sara worked up a smile. “It’s okay. The doorbell will just—”
It chimed, validating her statement. A fairy, a princess and Batman shouted “trick-or-treat!” when Sara opened the door. She heard her mother giggle in the background as she dropped a small packet of gummy worms in each of their bags.
When the door closed once more, Mom gave Sara a firm stare. “Everything okay, sweetie? You’ve been preoccupied a lot recently.”
“I’m fine, Mom. How about if I make us some cocoa?”
“Where’s Matthew tonight?”
“He said he and Wolfe had something to do.” Sara dumped packets of cocoa mix into two mugs and turned on the burner under the kettle.
“Hm, I wonder what?”
The doorbell rang again, saving Sara from having to make up an impromptu excuse. Matt didn’t tell her anything these days. The fact he’d said he and Wolfe were going somewhere was the most she’d gotten from him in ages. She dispensed more candy and turned toward the whistling kettle.
“Here’s your cocoa. Watch out, it’s really hot.” She set the mug on a magazine on the end table. “Do you need me to help you to the bathroom first?”
“Sara, chill. I’m perfectly capable of getting to the bathroom myself, and I know cocoa is hot.”
Sara ducked her head.
“Oh, honey. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap.” Mom patted the sofa beside her. “Please sit for a minute. I’m worried about you. I know you haven’t been sleeping well and you’re losing weight.”
Mom tugged at the leg of Sara’s black pants, showing how loose the fabric had become.
“Please tell me what’s wrong.”
Although it was tempting, there was no way she was telling about the argument between Matt and his friends the other day, and really no way she’d tell about the money bag. Her mother had enough worries without this.
“I got a C-minus on a history test yesterday.” It was a D-minus and she’d immediately wadded up the paper and tossed it in the hallway bin at school.
Mom gave a sideways look. “This has been going on longer than that. Honey, if you need help with schoolwork, Matt was pretty good in history, or I can help. If it’s worries over boys or friends, you can talk to me about it.”
Sara shook her head. “It’s okay. I should have studied harder.” The doorbell saved her from a longer explanation.
By nine o’clock the trick-or-treat traffic had stopped and Mom was dozing on the couch. Sara helped her to bed, using the open math book on the table as an excuse to stay up later. Truthfully, she’d been working up the courage to talk to Matt. Not to tell him about the money bag she’d found—since she couldn’t get it back for him, there was no point. But she’d like to know how her brother and his best friend had gotten themselves wrapped up in this bad situation. She wanted to tell him to go to the police and let that bad-tempered older guy take the blame. Surely Matt and Wolfe were not the ones who instigated the robbery.
The Hanson kids and the Cook kids had been so close, back in their old neighborhood. Wolfe and Matt ran around together since they were ten years old, rode their bikes everyplace, while Sara and Crissy Hanson either tagged along with the boys or made up games of their own. All four kids loved going to Wolfe and Crissy’s aunt and uncle’s place a little ways out of town, where there were fruit trees and they were allowed to pick as many cherries as they wanted.
Crissy was the friend she would go to now, the one person who would help her figure out how to shake some sense into their brothers. Crissy, with her long blond hair and the pixie-like glint in her eye—
She cut off the thought. Crissy’s pink bike lying smashed in the road, the news that the ambulance guys couldn’t save her. Five years wasn’t nearly long enough to forget that scene. Five years, and so many changes. The Hanson’s divorce, Wolfe going wild in his high school years, now Mom’s illness and Dad gone. Sara stared at her mother’s favorite picture of Jesus on the wall. Why didn’t you fix it all?
Her vision blurred. Why didn’t someone fix something? Too much had gone wrong. She crossed her arms over the math book on the table, laid her head down and let the tears flow.
Chapter 26
“So then I hear this noise, and I swear it’s right under my feet.” Sam watched Kelly’s eyes grow wide. She had carried coffees to Puppy Chic where they were taking a short break.
“Whoa, Mom, what did you do?”
“I think I swallowed my gum. Seriously. But, you know, it was Halloween and I had Scott’s stories fresh in my head about the old man who died in the house and the crazy writer and all. I went back and forth between wondering if the place really is haunted or if it might be kids having a good time watching me freak out. In the clear light of day, I suppose it was just my overactive imagination.”
“Did you ever figure out what really made the noise?”
“No. It didn’t happen again and I chalked it up to the creaks and groans of an old house.” Sam drained the last of her coffee. “Well, back to work. Darryl’s guys will come by today and move my desk for me. Then I’m back to the new place to finish this week’s chocolate order for Bookman.”
“How’s that going?”
“Busier than ever. Last week we did twelve dozen mini-boxes and six dozen standard ones. This week he’s doubling the standard ones, so twelve dozen each, almost 2,500 individual chocolates. He’s hinted that he’d like me to develop a deluxe assortment—two-pound boxes—for his most favored clients.”
“That’s a lot of candy.”
“That’s a lot of candy. I must get some more workers hired—now.” Problem was, she hadn’t a clue where to begin. Help wanted ads were a thing of the past, not to mention this was a very specialized job and she couldn’t afford to put newbies on it and risk complaints about quality from her largest, and only, client.
Sam thought about it as she put her computer into the van and drove through town. She needed perhaps one or two experienced chocolatiers, plus a few helpers to move things around, pick and pack orders, and someone to make the run to the airport every few days. When she broke it down that way, the task became less daunting.
One person came to mind, a woman who had wandered into Sweet’s Sweets a few weeks ago with amnesia. After Beau and Sam had worked to discover her identity, Sam discovered Josephine Robinet had a strong background in chocolate. Jo’s skills would be most welcome right now, but the woman had already turned her down once and had relocated to the east coast to work in her uncle’s business. On the off chance Jo might be regretting her move, Sam looked up the shop and called as soon as she arrived at the Victorian.
Jo seemed thrilled to hear from Sam but said she and her son were very happy with their new life. She did remember a local woman who once offered candy classes in Taos. Sam took the name, even though she remembered the lady as a competitor in the Sweet Somethings dessert festival earlier in the summer.
Hiring could prove to be something of a sticky problem, she thought, grimacing at her own pun. An experienced chocolatier would question the addition of the special powders Sam used to make her candy so different from every other brand on the market. A competitive one might actually try to steal her secrets and her customer. However, she didn’t have the time or energy to train workers from scratch. She deliberated while she started the first batch for the day.
By the time she began to fill the molds, she heard Darryl’s truck out front. Four men wrestled her heavy desk up the stairs to the turret room. Despite its history, the writer’s old bedroom had the best views toward the mountains, and Sam told herself she would spend a lot of hours here. She might as well enjoy them.
While the men set the desk in place, Darryl took her up on her offer of coffee.
“So, you’ll have extra help soon?” he asked, taking his first sip.
She explained her dilemma about the secrets of her business.
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