Spooky Sweet

by Connie Shelton

  He had a feeling about this.

  When she saw Beau, the tears which had balanced on her lower lids flowed over and ran down her pale cheeks. Her hands shook as she wiped them away but the flood was on. A steady trail of tears dripped from her chin. He felt fairly certain she was the teen he’d seen at the hospital.

  “Hey, hey,” he said gently. “Let’s come inside and sit down. What’s your name?”

  An interrogation room seemed too scary and formal. From the look on this girl’s face, something had terrified her. He led her to a small conference room they used for meetings. It held a table and eight chairs, some video equipment and had a small wet bar in one corner. He indicated she could sit where she wanted but she was far too jumpy. She paced to the end of the room and looked out tall windows that faced a landscaped courtyard where ornamental trees were losing their red and orange leaves.

  “Can I get you a juice or a soda?” Beau asked, holding open the door to the mini-fridge to reveal the choices.

  She shook her head. He closed the fridge and asked again, “What’s your name? I can’t very well say hey-you all morning.”

  She spotted something outside and backed away from the window. “Sara. It’s Sara.”

  He debated filling in the last name himself but decided it might spook her. “Sara, what’s your last name?”

  “Cook.”

  Bingo. He’d been right. Beau pulled a chair out from the table and sat down, indicating she should do the same, but she was still jumpy as a deer.

  “Sara, thanks for coming in. Now, you wanted to see me about something?”

  She paced the length of the room before taking a deep breath. “My mom says it’s always best to be honest, even if somebody might get in trouble about it.”

  “Are you in trouble over something?”

  “It’s not me—it’s my brother. Mom didn’t know it was Matt I was talking about.” Her lower lip quivered again. “My brother isn’t a bad guy. He’d never kill someone. I don’t think he’s even ever fired a gun.”

  “Can I make a guess here? Are we talking about the robbery and the money you found?”

  She nodded before it occurred to her to be worried he knew so much. She took a step back but discovered she was in the corner.

  “You didn’t have anything to do with that robbery, did you?”

  A headshake.

  “But you think maybe your brother did?” He wished he knew more about the psychology of the teenage mind—how much to baby this along, how much to bluff, whether to get tough.

  “I don’t know …”

  He kept his gaze steady, his expression neutral.

  “Well, I guess I’m pretty sure.” Her arms were folded tightly across her chest.

  “You might not have to testify, if that’s what’s worrying you. You can tell me about it and we’ll just check it out. Maybe Matt won’t be in all that much trouble.”

  “It’s Kurt!” she blurted. “Matt and Wolfe, they aren’t bad people. It’s that Kurt. He’s mean and dangerous and I think he even uses drugs. Last night he—” Her voice broke and the tears started again.

  “That’s okay,” he said, giving her a moment. “I’ll need their last names. Who’s Wolfe?”

  “Wolfe Hanson, he’s been Matt’s best friend since we were little. His sister Crissy and I—” More tears. Beau wished he had a female deputy in the office today to handle this. He was always out of his depth with tears.

  He let her calm down again before asking his next question. “And this Kurt—what’s his last name? Is he also a long-time friend of your brother’s?”

  Her head wagged back and forth. “No, he’s awful. He was threatening Matt last night out in the parking lot and I saw them and I yelled at him and then he said he’d make me go and talk to the bakery lady. He thinks she’s in their way and if I can’t talk her out of the money then Kurt’s going to, and he’ll hurt her.”

  Beau felt the hair on his arms prickle.

  “Bakery lady? What bakery lady are they talking about?”

  “She’s been hanging around this old house out near Wolfe’s uncle’s place. I don’t even know what she does there. They just call her the bakery lady because of the design on this van she drives.”

  Chapter 48

  The sun had just topped Wheeler Peak, casting long shadows and making the ornate trim stand out more than usual on the Victorian. Sam parked in her usual spot under the portico. No sign of Bobul this morning but she knew he could show up at any moment. Early mornings and late nights were nothing unusual to him.

  The ICU scene with Tansy Montoya this morning kept playing through her mind. Her hands, freshly warmed by the box, had touched Tansy’s arms, her hands, her face. No response. When she laid both palms over the woman’s heart, she swore her breathing changed. But it was so slight, barely noticeable. She’d tried sending every positive wish toward the sad figure on the bed but without an immediate response Sam had no idea whether her efforts were having any effect. Finally, all she could do was pray for the best and leave.

  She unlocked the side door of the carriage house and peered in, checking Lisa’s progress in moving the shipping supplies into the house. There was still a stack in the middle of the floor, mostly cartons of the satin boxes for their orders. She would need to come back out and count them. Heaven forbid if they ran out of those when an order was due. Mr. Bookman was a nice guy, but Sam had a feeling he could become very firm about his deadlines.

  She headed back to the big house, went in through the side door, hung her heavy coat on its normal peg near the back door, and walked into the kitchen. Although Bobul could pop up at any time, Benjie and Lisa wouldn’t come for another two hours. Sam planned to use the time to inventory supplies—which were moving out at an astounding rate nowadays—and place orders for whatever was running low. The special powders—she must ask Bobul about them today. He was her only possible source.

  Upstairs in the turret room, she turned on her computer and let it go through its boot-up routine. It looked as if they would have gorgeous autumn weather today—clear blue sky, light frost on the grasses of the wide field beside the house. Already the white frost was turning to dewy droplets.

  She decided to start her inventory with the foodstuffs in the storeroom; she carried a notepad as she went back downstairs. She gave herself a minute to admire the renovations and the way the old house had shaped up so nicely as her very own chocolate factory. Her early reservations about the place seemed silly now. She would have to thank Kelly and Darryl for helping to set aside her fears.

  The storeroom seemed dim, even with the overhead light fixture. She pushed the curtains aside, knowing the sun would soon be reaching this south side of the house. Better. The shelves containing bags of sugar and cocoa, spices and flavors, food colors and decorative glitters and sprinkles were much more visible now. She drew columns on her notepad and began counting.

  She was halfway through the cacao boxes, each labeled according to its origin country, when she heard a sound from the basement. She straightened. Was this more of the house and the box reacting to each other? She started to poo-poo the idea but thought of the box inside her backpack, which was hanging on a peg by the back door. Had she locked herself in? She set her list aside and walked into the kitchen to check.

  Chapter 49

  As calmly as possible, Beau stepped into the hall and called out to Dixie. “I have an urgent call,” he said. “Can you entertain our visitor here … get her some breakfast, keep her busy … I don’t care what. Just don’t let her get away.”

  “But, Sheriff—” The dispatcher caught the meaning in his expression. Only something critical would make him ask her to leave her station. She walked into the conference room with a smile.

  He quickly told Sara to stick with this nice lady and he’d be back soon.

  Racing through the squad room he shouted to Rico. “We may have a situation at the old Victorian house on Tyler Road. Sam’s in danger. I’m on my wa
y. Get Walter on the radio—I want both of you out there too. Two to three suspects and they’re to be considered armed and dangerous.”

  He thought of nothing but the look of fear on Sara’s face as she’d described Kurt Blake.

  Chapter 50

  A quick glance into the kitchen showed everything exactly as she’d left it. Her coat and backpack hung on their peg by the door, which was locked. Sam listened intently. Noises were a part of every old building. She told herself what she’d heard was nothing more than the sun warming the timeworn timbers. Expansion and contraction—it happened with structures.

  Daylight showed brightly against the kitchen curtain on the south side. She leaned over the sink and pushed the left side panel aside, letting the warmth come in. Movement behind the house caught her eye and she refocused.

  Weeds still grew more than three feet high out there—clearing them was one of the tasks that seemed less-important than the dozens of others. The sunflower stalks were mostly crisp and brown now, the grasses golden this time of year. She reached for the other curtain panel. She must have seen a bird.

  Then a dark shape emerged. This was no bird. A man was standing at the carriage house door.

  Chapter 51

  Beau hit his lights and siren the moment he cleared the parking lot behind his office. In his mirror, he couldn’t see Rico come out of the building yet, but he wasn’t waiting around. If Sam was in danger from this creep Sara Cook had described, there was no time to lose.

  He’d ordered one of the younger deputies to run a background on Kurt Blake. His car radio keyed and the deputy began reading Blake’s rap sheet.

  Drug charges, armed robberies, assault on a police officer—all dating back since the man was nineteen years old. Beau would bet there was a locked juvenile record on him too. Guys with that lifestyle didn’t just suddenly turn bad when they hit the legal age. He’d started small, no doubt, building upward from candy store thievery to middle school drug deals and onward.

  Traffic moved aside as he took the intersection at Paseo and roared past the galleries and small shops. A lineup of stopped vehicles slowed him at the next light and he whooped his siren twice.

  For a brief second he wondered what Sam’s reaction would be if he came macho-roaring his way up to her place of business and there was absolutely nothing wrong.

  Forget it—embarrassed or not, he wasn’t taking the chance. Sara said there’d been a specific threat from this Kurt guy.

  Chapter 52

  Sam speed-walked to the door, taking a moment to look out the half-window that faced the carriage house. The guy appeared to be hardly out of his teens. She didn’t see a vehicle and wondered where he’d come from. She stepped out to the portico.

  “Hey, can I help you?” she called out.

  He turned. Dark hair, pimples, thin frame. He wore a light jacket with some kind of garage logo on the breast. His name was probably on there but she couldn’t read it over the twenty-foot distance between them.

  “I, uh …” his voice came out high and shaky.

  “Look, son, you don’t have any business—”

  Two more men stepped around the corner of the carriage house. One was about the same age as the guy she’d spoken to. His eyes were wide as he sent nervous glances toward the man beside him, an older man with a hard look. This one, who must be in his forties, held a gun.

  Sam felt the blood drain from her face. Suddenly, she felt very much alone out here.

  “Look, lady. We want no trouble. There’s something of ours in this garage. We just want to get it. That’s all. You stand right there and stay quiet until we get it, we’re fine. You reach for a phone or cause trouble …” He raised the gun to make his point.

  “Door, Matt!” the older man shouted.

  Sam thought he said doormat and couldn’t figure out what he wanted. The timid one who’d had his hand on the carriage house door reacted. He twisted the handle and it opened. She’d forgotten to lock it behind herself earlier.

  The gun waved toward Sam again and she closed her mouth, raising her hands to show she wasn’t going to cause trouble. The leader said something quietly to the other young guy, who followed his buddy into the carriage house.

  Sam took a breath, let it out, told herself they could have whatever they wanted and to let them leave without a fuss. But it wouldn’t be that simple, she knew. They weren’t out to steal garden tools or old trunks full of junk. Whatever they came here for, it was valuable enough to threaten a gray-haired woman in a baker’s jacket. She should be no threat to them, should be the type of person they could con their way past and take whatever they wanted. But the look in that one man’s eye told her he was either crazy or drugged. Either way, she didn’t dare take the chance he’d leave her as the only witness who could identify them.

  “Got it yet?” he shouted to the two who’d gone inside.

  Sam couldn’t hear the response, but she used the moment when the man turned his head to edge closer to the kitchen door. One more step …

  He stared at her again. Her expression was bland and her hands still up.

  “Dammit, Matt, where’s the bags?” This time there was all-out fury in the voice.

  When he looked again toward the open door, she dashed. Into the kitchen, door locked behind her, she dropped out of sight of the window. Her heart pounded so loudly she could hear it thrumming in her ears.

  Phone. She needed to call for help and mainly just keep herself safe until the men got what they wanted and left or until Beau arrived. She patted her pockets then remembered she’d stashed the phone in her pack when they arrived at the hospital earlier this morning.

  A shout outside. “Hurry up!”

  She reached for her pack, lifted it off the hook and sat on the floor to rummage through it. Her hand came in contact with the carved box and she started to set it out of the way. As soon as both hands connected with it, she heard a sharp sound. Gunshot? Door. The side door on the carriage house had slammed.

  Closer by, she heard several clicks. What the—?

  Locks. She realized she’d only turned the little doorknob lock here in the back entry. Now the deadbolt snapped shut as well.

  Then she heard a noise behind her.

  Chapter 53

  In his rearview mirror Beau caught sight of another set of red-and-blues, the strobes on Rico’s cruiser. The next stretch of road unfolded straight and clear as vehicles pulled aside for him. He took the turn toward the old Victorian a bit recklessly, his rear wheels slewing sideways. Back in control, he glanced over his left shoulder. Rico’s lights were catching up now and a second set was no more than a block behind.

  The radio crackled with activity, Tim Beason’s voice coming on to convey additional information, all in codes. Kurt Blake was wanted in three counties, including aggravated assault and a murder charge.

  Beau did little more than acknowledge. He couldn’t take his mind off his mission—get to Sam as quickly as possible.

  He made two quick turns and saw the other deputies closing in behind him. Ahead, the Victorian house sat in the midst of its large open field. He saw no activity at all. Could he be too late?

  Chapter 54

  The noise was subtle—feet sliding across the kitchen floor. How had the man gotten inside? Sam held her breath, her mind racing. What type of weapon could she put her hands on? Knives—in the kitchen. Heavy tools—a hammer, wrench, anything—out in the carriage house. Close at hand she had nothing but her coat, pack and the box. She thought of the times Beau had suggested she practice with a pistol and keep one at hand when she worked alone. Nothing she could do about that now.

  She crouched in the corner, ready to spring.

  “Miss Sam? Miss Sam all right?”

  Bobul!

  She leapt up and faced him in the kitchen. “How did you get in here?”

  “Heard sound. Men outside.”

  “I know. They want something in the garage. One of them has a gun.”

  “Bo
x protect.” He glanced down at her hands and she realized she was still holding it.

  The wood was glowing now, a brilliant golden color almost painful to look at, and the colored stones seem to wink like manic fairy lights.

  “Did it lock the doors?” she asked.

  He nodded. “Bad men trapped. No escape.”

  The box locked the doors on the carriage house too? She tried to wrap her mind around the idea.

  “How long will it hold them?” She realized she was musing out loud. At the moment she needed to call Beau and hope he could get here before the magic waned. Would it last a minute? An hour? Or a lifetime?

  Her hands were shaking as she set the box on the worktable and went for her phone. She’d no sooner picked it up than she caught a glimpse of red and blue flashing lights. These were outside.

  Beau’s department SUV roared up the driveway, stopping just inches behind Sam’s van, and two more squad cars followed. She met him at the back door.

  “How did you know—?”

  “A tip. Three men—one’s considered very dangerous.” His words were punctuated by sharp breaths.

  “I have them, locked in the carriage house. One has a shotgun.”

  “Get inside.” He turned to the deputies. “We have a situation.”