Sticky Sweet

by Connie Shelton

  Sam pulled the lid from the tin. As always the small bags were nearly weightless, but she gave a small squeeze to each to judge the volume of the contents. Satisfactory, for now. She once kept an extra supply of each on the wire shelf in the supply room, but the addition of so many new employees required that she take extra care. The safe in her upstairs office was now the repository for the rest of the precious magic. She returned the tin to its place above the stove and checked the lock on the back door.

  Outside, the late afternoon sky had grown darker. She pulled shades over the downstairs windows, turned on the nighttime lighting, and made certain the front door was also locked before heading upstairs.

  Her sketchpad lay on the desk, the feeble attempts at chocolate designs mocking her. She turned away and opened the closet where Beau and Rico had installed a small safe to hold important financial papers, a bit of cash, checkbook. But Sam’s most valued possessions weren’t money. She entered the combination and opened the heavy steel door.

  On the bottom shelf sat the three bags Bobul had left for her last fall—cloth pouches, larger versions of the three small ones down in the kitchen tin. She took them out. They felt lighter in weight than she remembered. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, she opened the red one and reached inside.

  More than halfway down, her fingers encountered the powdered substance. She took a pinch and brought it out to the light. The red flakes reminded her of the tiniest of snowflakes with their crystalline surfaces that sparkled in the lamplight. She let them fall back into the bag.

  The blue bag and the green one were also less than half full. She dipped her fingers into them, just to be sure. Would there be enough to meet the demand of these new orders? There was no way to know for certain, and she would simply have to trust.

  She flicked bits of green sparkle from her fingers, which tingled slightly. A rush of energy traveled up her arm. All at once, images began to appear in her mind, images of places and sights. The scent of chocolate came to her, along with smells that were at once exotic, tropical, moist, dry … foreign.

  Sam dropped the cloth pouches on the floor and raced downstairs to the kitchen.

  Don’t overthink this, she told herself. Just go with it.

  She reached for her favorite copper pot and the double boiler insert, a bar of her richest cacao, butter, cream. As the mixture warmed to the melting point, she added pinches of the ingredients from the tin. On the cold tabletop she watched the chocolate temper, and with her fingertips it began to take shape.

  The images from her mind took over. One by one, small details emerged in the chocolate as Sam formed and shaped, placing a tiny decorative touch here and there. Alone under the glow of the overhead light, she lost herself in the work as the sky blurred into night and the earth became coated in a thick mantle of white.

  Chapter 35

  With Travis at work to unearth Grant Mangle’s phone records, deputies Rico and Walters at the apartment of Ramona Lukinger, Beau decided his best bet was to take up where Rico had left off with the casino video footage. Boring, yes. Fruitless, possibly. Necessary—an inescapable yes.

  The afternoon shift change had happened already. With snow accumulating on the roads, he needed every deputy out there ready to respond to the inevitable calls, so Beau took the seat in front of the video monitor.

  Rico had kept precise notes about his progress, having made it about halfway through the list of Lukinger’s recorded casino visits. The deputy had noted the times when Percy interacted with anyone, a list that was fairly extensive because it included casino employees. Beau discovered he already knew about the most important encounters, but it was good for him to review them now that he’d interviewed Grant Mangle and had interacted with Ramona. He looked over the notes to get the time sequence firmly in mind, then started the tape and fast-forwarded it to the next date and time on the list.

  For the most part, Percy Lukinger had gambled alone and his visits consisted of sitting at one machine for twenty or thirty minutes, moving to another, ordering a drink from one of the roaming cocktail waitresses. On Friday and Saturday nights, he became more social, strolling the casino floor and chatting with other patrons. Rico had noticed the pattern—harder to catch because Lukinger often didn’t swipe his club card and therefore didn’t show up on the printout the security man had given them. Rico had made a note in his small, precise printing: Elderly—victims?

  Once Beau began looking for the pattern, it was fairly obvious. Lukinger did his serious gambling in the early morning hours when he sat alone and concentrated on his machine. On the weekends, he played the slots a bit, but it was obvious he was really playing the other customers as he chatted them up. Beau found it hard to watch the old people, many of whom probably didn’t have any spare money, as they became animated in conversation with the con man.

  There were a few instances where small envelopes changed hands, quite a number of times where Percy would drop what appeared to be a five-hundred-dollar casino chip on the floor, then tap an old lady on the shoulder and apparently ask if it was hers. When she shook her head, Lukinger would engage her in conversation.

  Beau chafed at the fact the video had no sound. He could imagine, based on what Rodriguez had told him about con games, that when the pair on film moved out of camera range, the old lady’s money was probably ending up in Percy’s pockets. He added to Rico’s notes, wondering if there would be any point to reviewing the tape with casino security personnel and attempting to locate the victims and manage to get restitution for them. It would be a huge, daunting task and probably impossible in the long run.

  He flexed his hands and stood, needing to stretch, when a new image came onto the screen. He recognized the woman who moved to the slot machine next to Lukinger. It was Ramona. With her natural blonde curls and upscale clothing, she was in her Missy Malone persona, the one Sam had identified as trying to pull a fast one at the bakery and shoplifting small valuables from Clarice’s gift shop. Beau’s attention sparked. This was no coincidence. The two con artists were up to something.

  Ramona’s lips moved, although she kept her eyes on the machine in front of her. To the casual observer, she wasn’t having a conversation with Percy—she was probably talking to the machine. But Percy’s subtle reactions and responses told Beau the two were conversing. When an elderly man stepped into the picture, Beau slowed the tape to see which of the con artists would drop the chip or envelope.

  To his surprise, the old man walked right up to Ramona, put his left arm around her shoulders, and handed her a drink. She smiled up at him and batted her long lashes. She touched his arm, then proceeded to introduce him to Percy. From all appearances, it looked as if the older man was her date for the evening and she was introducing him to a fellow gambler she’d just met. Beau backed up the tape and watched the sequence again.

  A gust of cold air caught Beau’s attention and he spun his chair to see Rico and Walters coming in the back door, stomping snow from their shoes.

  “Whew, it’s getting a little crazy out there,” Walters said, shaking flakes from his jacket as he hung it on the rack near the door.

  Rico carried a cardboard box filled with small evidence envelopes, which he set on his desk before removing his own coat.

  “Traffic moving okay?” Beau asked, noticing with a start that it was already dark outside. How long had he been sitting at the video monitor?

  “A few snarls,” Walters said. “Town police and our guys seem to be responding to everything all right.”

  “Rico, come here a second,” Beau said. “Take a look at this segment. It’s only a few minutes of footage, but it seems to tell a story.”

  The deputy rubbed his hands together and tucked them close to his sides as he walked over to the table where Beau sat.

  “Okay, I backed up the tape. Tell me what you see.”

  Rico stared at the screen. “That’s Lukinger. The woman … wait. She’s the one we hauled in here. His
wife?”

  Beau nodded.

  “So who’s the other man? She appears to be there with him.”

  “Exactly what I was thinking. My guess is that he’s just another mark.”

  They watched for a few more minutes, but Ramona and the older man did nothing more than put a few more coins into their machine, then they walked away. Beau couldn’t help feeling there was something significant to the encounter. But he was damned if he could figure out what.

  “Want me to take over?” Rico asked, with a nod toward the monitor.

  “Nah, your shift was over a long time ago. This can wait. You ought to get home.” Beau glanced toward the dark windows, where the lighted glare from the room reflected back. “Hell, I ought to get home. Surprised Sam hasn’t been calling to see why I’m not there for dinner.”

  He looked at his watch, startled to see it was after eight o’clock. A ripple of apprehension sliced up his spine. Why hadn’t Sam called to check on him? He picked up the box of evidence from the Lukinger apartment and carried it to his office where he could lock it away for the night. Setting it on the desk, he picked up his phone and tapped in Sam’s mobile number.

  No answer. The ripple grew stronger.

  Okay, he told himself. I’ll feel pretty silly when I get home and she’s sitting there in front of Dancing With the Stars. She just doesn’t have the phone nearby.

  He grabbed his coat and Stetson, checked out with the night dispatcher, and went outside to his cruiser. It took five minutes to clear the snow from his windows. More than six inches had accumulated since those first few flurries, and the white stuff was quickly freezing to the surface. It looked as if this might turn into the major winter storm the weather guys had predicted. With his heater blasting, he backed out of his spot and turned onto Civic Plaza Drive.

  The county snowplows had already made passes along Paseo del Pueblo, making it reasonably clear for the few cars that were still out. Taos wasn’t much of a nighttime town, especially not in inclement weather. The residents liked to be at home to keep their woodstoves stoked.

  Beau made a left turn onto the main drag and headed north. His mind kept returning to the Lukinger case, but he made himself put it aside. Oftentimes, he found it helpful to give himself a break, put a little distance from a problem, and an answer would come to him. His stomach growled and he realized it had been hours since he’d thought about food. Too late now for a big dinner, if he hoped to get a decent night’s sleep, but a cup of soup or a little snack would be welcomed.

  The cruiser’s automated four-wheel-drive kicked in when he came to the part of the highway where the plow had only cleared one blade-width down the center. Only one other set of tracks stretched out in front of him, a passenger car, he guessed from the width and tread pattern. In the distance, two small red taillights glowed. All was calm.

  He made the turns for their road, then the driveway. One glance told him things were not right. The house was dark and the dogs paced the front porch. Sam’s truck wasn’t in its usual place. His headlights alerted the dogs and they rushed out to greet him, streaks of black against the white snow. He got out of the cruiser and studied the ground. Not even the slightest indentations to show Sam might have come home and left again.

  He signaled the dogs to come inside, where he switched on lights and called out to Sam, although he knew she wasn’t here. He gave the pets food and water, then pulled his cell phone from his belt and went through the numbers. The bakery’s automated after-hours message came on. Same at the chocolate factory. Sam’s cell didn’t bring a response either.

  All his emergency worst-scenarios went through his head, mainly the possibility of a mishap on the roads. He flashed back to the afternoon Percy Lukinger had died after going off the snowy highway.

  “Okay,” he said out loud. “We’re not going there. Sam wouldn’t have any reason to be on any highway except the one I just traveled. She’s gone somewhere and left her phone behind, or it’s in her bag, or …”

  The border collie was staring up at him.

  “… or something. I just have to track her down.” He realized how obsessive that sounded. On a pleasant night, if she’d told him she would be working late, he wouldn’t worry a bit. Sam was extremely capable. She also checked in with him several times a day so they could coordinate plans. This felt different.

  He called the department and asked the night dispatcher if there’d been any call that involved a red Chevy Silverado or a white minivan painted with a fancy bakery logo. Sam might have found herself caught out in the van, having left the truck at the shop while she made deliveries or something. But none of his possible scenarios felt right—she would have called him.

  When the dispatcher replied in the negative—no problems with either of Sam’s vehicles—Beau knew he couldn’t just sit around the house and wait. He scribbled a note and left it where she always set her bag down, on the chance she would somehow get back here without his seeing her along the way. At least she would know he was out there looking for her. He gave each dog a treat; they had already settled on their padded beds near the furnace.

  Then it was back out into the storm. Lawman logic kicked in as he decided what to do. If this was an official call, the first thing he’d do was ask the missing person’s family about their habits and the places they frequented. That was pretty easy with Sam. Closest of her normal haunts was the old Victorian house, location of her chocolate factory. He headed in that direction.

  The highway bore a few intrepid tire tracks, but when he turned off the main road, the side streets hadn’t been plowed and by now there had to be close to eight inches of the fluffy white stuff. His SUV remained in four-wheel mode the whole way. With visibility near zero, he nearly missed the turnoff to Tyler Road. The cruiser kept good traction, though, and his quick swerve didn’t faze it.

  Ahead on the left he spotted the fuzzy glow of the lamp Sam left as a nightlight in one of the lower windows. It wasn’t until he pulled even with the driveway, that he saw another light in the kitchen toward the back of the building. Her red pickup truck was parked under the portico. No tracks—she’d been here all along.

  For half a second, his ire flared. She couldn’t have called?

  He checked the emotion. He didn’t know for certain she was okay. He pulled in close behind her truck and went to the back door. Unlocked. His hand instinctively went to his holster. But when he walked in, there was Sam at the worktable. Her hands were coated in chocolate and smears of it traced across her forehead and one cheek. She apparently hadn’t heard him come in.

  “Sam! What the hell?”

  Her head came up, her expression looking something like a mole emerging into daylight.

  “Beau—look at these!” She smiled with complete joy.

  She was pointing to the trays of chocolate candy on the table, an array of designs that fairly sparkled in the light. “I’ve done it,” she said with awe. “I’ve come up with the perfect chocolates.”

  His earlier tension evaporated and he crossed the room in two steps and pulled her into a gigantic hug.

  “Honey, what’s the matter?” she asked.

  He couldn’t be angry. She seemed truly bewildered. He held her so tightly she began to squirm.

  “What?”

  With one arm around her shoulders, he led her to the window and pulled back the curtain. Snow rimmed the frame, almost obliterating the view. In the distance, the sky was nothing but a black space filled with a million flying scraps of white.

  “Oh my god, it’s dark out. And the snow!” She stared for a full minute before turning back to him. “What time is it?”

  When he told her, she was astounded. “It’s been six hours since I sent the employees home. I can’t believe it.”

  A blob of white icing on the tip of her nose caused him to laugh. “Oh, you creative types.”

  She picked up a damp towel and began to wipe the chocolate from her hands.

&nb
sp; “So, do you plan on coming home?” he asked. “Or do you just want to camp out here for a few days?”

  He thought of what she had told him about that silly wooden box and its effects on her energy. She must have been at it again.

  Chapter 36

  Sam woke up and snuggled next to Beau’s warm back. She felt badly about worrying him last night. It still felt amazing that she’d concentrated so intently on her chocolates that she’d been completely unaware of the storm, the darkness, and the passage of time. She’d seen the look cross his face, his wondering whether she’d been under the influence of the magic box. She hadn’t, and that was another thing that surprised her.

  She breathed a contented sigh. It felt good to be back in her creative zone. At some subtle level, she realized she’d been worrying over whether she had lost her knack for coming up with new ideas.

  Beau rolled over and ran his hand up her arm to her bare shoulder. “Um, this has been out from under the covers—it needs warming up.”

  He proceeded to plant kisses where his hand had been, trailing them up her neck, nuzzling her hair, which still smelled of sugar and chocolate. They’d fallen into bed immediately after they got home last night. Her breath caught when the hand went under her gown. The room had grown decidedly warmer—then their phones rang. At the very same time.

  “That’s going to be the dispatcher,” he said. “I have to—”

  He reached for his nightstand and Sam turned toward hers. She didn’t immediately recognize the number on her screen, but the name was a familiar one. Isobel St. Clair. Director at The Vongraf Foundation.

  “Samantha, I realize it must be early there,” said the woman’s voice. “I apologize.”

  “It’s okay.” Sam couldn’t think of any other way to begin the conversation. She certainly didn’t want to ask whether anything was wrong.