Light glinted through the doorway, and Lisa called out from the packing room to say the customer had arrived. Frantically, Sam began placing the fish around the reef scene. What was missing? The stone box for Easter Island—argh!
In her chocolate-making frenzy, she’d come up with several irregularly egg-shaped chocolates. With their dusting of cocoa powder, they looked the way she would imagine eggs carved from stone and hollowed by wind and weather. Rather than the beauty of unsullied smoothness, they had a rugged feel and the flavors she’d created brought out the saltiness of the ocean surrounding the destination.
“Find that stone box,” Sam told Benjie. “I’m not sure where I put it.”
He cruised through the kitchen and found it under a tea towel near the sink. Sam had planned to set three of the dusty-cocoa eggs inside the rectangular box, but the first one she reached for slipped and crashed to the floor. No time for broom and dustpan—she kicked the shards under the table. Luckily, she had made spares. At the same moment the back door opened, she set the third egg in place and wiped a sprinkling of cocoa powder off the rim of the box.
Stan Bookman greeted Sam and the chocolatiers with a smile, but his eyes immediately strayed to the end of the table with the goodies.
“Sam—these are magnificent!” His hand went automatically to the clamshell with the reef inside. “How did you ever think of this?”
Ask any artist how she thinks of her ideas and few can answer. Sam merely smiled and hoped she didn’t have too much cocoa powder smeared across her face.
Chapter 47
“He loved them!” Sam told Beau, the minute she stepped into his office.
He looked up, puzzled.
“Stan Bookman—he loved what we’ve done for his worldwide tour package. I kept apologizing because not everything was done, but he really was blown away by what we’d done so far. He’ll be back through town in a few days, and I assured him I would have the rest of the samples done by then.” She took a deep breath, her eyes sparkling.
Beau stood and walked around the desk to give her a hug. “That’s great news, Sam. I’m happy for you.”
“Sorry. I didn’t actually come in here hoping for praise on chocolate, but the meeting was on my mind. I really stopped by on my way to the bakery to see how the interrogation is going with Miss—er, Ramona.”
“No surprises. She won’t admit a thing.” He waved vaguely toward a scattering of photos on his desk. “She admits nothing about any of the scams she was involved in here, and doesn’t even concede that she ever lived in San Diego. Detective Rodriguez gave me a list of questions to ask, and she just clams up. I’m about to start the paperwork to get her extradited back to California so she can become his problem.”
Sam picked up the photos, which appeared to be still shots taken from the casino video they had watched the other day. Only this time there was someone else in the pictures, a white-haired man. She gave a closer look.
“Beau, I know this man.”
“Really? You hadn’t said anything—”
“This is a different part of the casino than what I saw before.” She stared again, making certain. “The man with his arm around Ramona’s shoulder—his name is Arnold Zuckerman. He lives next door to the caretaking job I took over from Sadie a couple weeks ago. In fact, I really need to get back there and pay the plumber as soon as he’s finished fixing the broken pipes.”
She pulled out her phone and looked over the list of calls, in case she’d missed him. Nothing yet.
“Come to the observation room a second,” Beau said, taking the photos and pulling Sam’s hand. “I’ll ask her again, and I want you to tell me your impressions about her answers.”
Sam hadn’t told him that she’d handled the box again this morning after her big energy-lag, but he must have sensed it. She followed along and went into the room situated between the department’s two interrogation rooms, where an observer could watch through one-way mirrors on the walls and recording equipment caught video and sound for the official record.
Beau signaled her to remain quiet while he walked into the room where Ramona Lukinger sat at the metal table, her cuffed wrists resting there, her nails tapping an impatient staccato on the surface of it. Her fur coat lay draped over the back of her chair.
Beau took the seat across from the suspect, his back to the mirror. “Just got off the phone with San Diego PD, and we’ll have the paperwork ready pretty soon for your all-expense-paid trip to California.”
“Ha-ha,” Ramona said in a flat tone. “I told you, I know nothing about anything in California.”
“Well, you can address that with them. You’ll have lots of time to think during your ride in the bus with the bars on the windows. Meanwhile, another question about a local matter so I can wrap up a few loose ends.”
Sam saw a wave of energy come off Ramona’s body, although to outward appearances she remained calm.
“Arnold Zuckerman—you know the name?”
The energy wave turned brilliant red, although Ramona’s face only registered a momentary flicker of recognition.
“I’m going to throw out a wild guess here,” Beau said. “I’m thinking he may be the latest of your sweetheart con victims.”
The red wave pulsed, then quieted as Ramona took slow breaths.
“Nothing to say?” Beau asked. “It doesn’t really matter. I’ve already got a deputy headed to Mr. Zuckerman’s home. It’ll be interesting to see if your clothes are in the closets.”
At the mention of the deputy, Ramona obviously realized the lawmen knew where she’d been living. Her aura became more jittery. Sam thought of the several times she had been to the house next door to Zuckerman’s. She must have missed spotting Ramona by mere seconds. Since, as Missy, Ramona would realize that Sam could recognize her, she’d probably been the one peering out through the curtains, the one who quickly closed the garage door so Sam wouldn’t spot the red Mercedes inside.
Sam thought of Beau’s description of the sweetheart con—how a younger woman often targeted a wealthy elderly man, how the entire point of the relationship was to steal as much of his money as she could, as quickly as possible.
“Nothing to say about that?” Beau asked, pulling Sam’s attention back to the interrogation.
“Doesn’t mean anything,” Ramona said with a sneer. “You gotta look toward his daughter—she’s the real bitch here. Arnold is just a sweet old guy no one would ever want to hurt.”
Sam thought of the loud argument she’d heard this morning. Arnold had hardly sounded like a docile puppy, and the fact his daughter hadn’t been able to talk him into moving into a retirement home proved he wasn’t exactly a pushover.
Beau stepped out of the interrogation room, and Sam met him in the hall.
“Well, her saying Arnold’s name at least gives us reason to go talk to him. I guess I’d better actually get someone out there. Meanwhile, we’ll stick Ramona in the holding cell until we get her extradition paperwork done. Rodriguez is ready to move with his case. Ours, if she’s actually made off with any of Zuckerman’s fortune, is just beginning.”
Deputy Walters had come in the back door nearest the cell and Beau flagged his attention.
“Soon as you’ve got your jacket off, take the suspect from Interrogation 1 and put her in the cell.”
Walters was rubbing his hands together against the cold and looked as if he’d rather have a cup of cocoa, but he agreed.
Sam walked with Beau back to his office. She was about to suggest they meet up for dinner somewhere—her treat—when her phone rang. Jake the plumber had finished his work.
“Gotta go pay this guy and finish with this house, but it shouldn’t take long,” she told Beau.
They agreed to touch base later about dinner, but she could see he’d already turned his attention to the computer screen where he would begin filling out forms. The squad room was quiet when she walked through, but before she reached
the back door she heard a shout from the corridor behind her.
“Hey!” It was Walters’ voice. “Hey—Sheriff!”
A door slammed hard, and Sam heard the pounding of feet. Beau ran out of his office, heading toward the sound. Sam turned and ran after him. Walters was hobbling on an obviously painful leg, facing the other end of the hall.
“What happened?” Beau sounded a little breathless.
“She rushed me when I opened the door. Kicked me in the shin hard enough to knock me down, ran for the back door.”
A layer of cold air filled the hall, but there was no sign of Ramona.
“How’d she get the combination?” Beau demanded, running toward the back door. “Damn!”
It didn’t take a rocket scientist to spot the problem. Apparently, a small stone had become lodged near the doorjamb when Walters came in only a few minutes earlier, and it had prevented the door from closing completely. The combination lock had never engaged.
Beau ran out the door, saying something about how she couldn’t get far wearing handcuffs and no coat. But when Sam caught up with him halfway across the parking lot, they spotted the shiny handcuffs on the ground. No sign of Ramona.
Chapter 48
Sam remembered the phone call from the plumber. Much as she would have liked to be in on the excitement, she needed to take care of her own obligations. She got into her truck and headed toward Wicket Lane. Jake assured her he’d found every break and had turned the water back on and tested the system. Sure enough, she couldn’t see any wet places. Big relief. As she watched his truck drive away, she wanted nothing more right now than to finish with this place.
No time like the present, she decided. She walked out to her truck to grab the broom she’d left out there and a trash bag to make one final round through the house. A new box of garbage bags sat on the floor in front of the passenger seat. When she reached for it she realized something was wrong. The carved box was no longer on the seat.
Her heart thumped double-time. When had she last seen it?
Her mind raced back through the last few hours. She’d definitely had the box last night as she prepared to work on the chocolates. But she hadn’t left it at the Victorian—she had it this morning as she drove to town to meet the plumber. She began to frantically search the truck, but nothing else had been disturbed and there was no sign of the box. When could it have disappeared?
It had to have been recently, as she’d still felt the effects of it a short while ago, watching Ramona through the mirror in the interrogation room. But her truck had been parked most of the morning at the Victorian … and she felt sure she’d locked the doors while she was at Beau’s office. She tried to remember specifically hearing the double beep as doors unlocked—there had been such excitement, she couldn’t recall.
Oh god, Sam, what have you done?
We think Fitch may be headed in your direction … Isobel St. Clair’s words of warning.
“No—it can’t be that,” Sam said to the empty truck.
What about at the sheriff’s department? Could Ramona have spotted an opportunity when she escaped out the back door?—she’d certainly helped herself to sparkly objects in the gift shops.
“Why would she? She knows nothing about the box,” Sam assured herself. Does she?
But the suspect had certainly done an unbelievably fast disappearing act. Could she have somehow had magical help?
Sam raised her head too fast and bumped it on the door frame.
“Ouch—dammit!” She gripped the hurt spot.
“Is anything wrong?” The female voice behind her startled Sam again. “Are you okay?”
She turned to see Dolores Zuckerman standing beside her minivan, the door open as if she was about to leave.
“Yeah, I’m just—” Sam rubbed the painful spot again and tried to put on a smile. “A little clumsy at the moment.”
Dolores seemed preoccupied, staring up the street as if she was waiting for someone.
“Did your father go somewhere?” Sam asked.
“No, it’s Missy. She said she’d be right back and I’ve been waiting around now for hours.”
Missy. It took Sam a moment of headachy indecision before she made the Missy/Ramona connection once again. She pictured elderly Mr. Zuckerman.
Beau’s right, she thought with a sinking feeling. Ramona was pulling another scam, and it was happening right here next door.
“Uh, maybe she’s on her way back,” Sam said, staring up the street and mentally scrambling to figure out what to say.
After her dash from the sheriff’s office, Ramona could have set out on foot to come back here—the distance wasn’t all that far—although it would be foolish of her to think she could continue to hide out at Zuckerman’s house now that Beau knew of the connection.
Sam looked back at Dolores, wondering how much she should tell about the father’s fake wife and his being the victim of the con artist. The other woman was staring intently. All around her, Sam perceived a dull orange haze.
“I’ll be here a few more minutes,” Sam said. “I could give her a message, if she comes.”
Stupid suggestion, she realized, the moment the dull orange aura flared to deep red. The woman was like a volcano, about to erupt with deadly fire. Her features had hardened, her eyes narrowed to slits, her mouth pinched in a straight line. Evil intention came off her in waves.
Ramona’s words came back to Sam: Look toward his daughter—she’s the real bitch.
Sam’s eyes must have widened as the facts became clear. What she’d taken for a clash of personalities suddenly took on a whole new meaning when Dolores pulled a tire iron from the floor of her car.
This was no time to reason with the woman. The spark of insanity flared and she started across the driveway. Sam dodged to the other side of her pickup, but the woman was fast. She raced to the open front door of the break-in house, no more than three paces ahead of her pursuer.
A nano second over the threshold, Sam slammed the heavy front door, turned and bolted it just in time to hear the tire iron smack into the wood. It wouldn’t take another thirty seconds for Dolores to figure out that windows broke more easily and she’d be in the empty house with Sam.
Running toward the back, Sam pulled her phone from her pocket. Beau had said he would be coming out to talk to Arnold Zuckerman, but with Ramona’s escape and the excitement at the station, who knew when he might arrive? She paused to catch her breath and tapped his number. Outside, Dolores smacked the door with her weapon two more times. Then it went eerily silent.
Sam tiptoed through the kitchen and passed through the dining room. Drapes at some of the windows offered a little protection from the woman’s view, but the living room—where Sam really needed to assess the situation—had a huge picture window fully exposing her to Dolores’s evil glare. Sam tucked in close to the dining room wall, peering around a corner toward the front foyer, to see what was going on.
Beau’s phone had rung five times with no answer. She should have dialed 911, she realized. Just as she was about to hang up and redial, his voice came on.
“Little busy here,” he said. “Is everything okay?”
“No! Get to Zuckerman’s house. His daughter is the killer. She’s got me pinned inside the house next door.”
“Does she have a gun?” His words came out in huffs as he ran. In the background, Sam could hear him giving orders for the dispatcher to get more deputies on the move.
“Haven’t seen a gun, only a tire iron.”
“Is she in the house with you?”
“At the front door. She’s pounding hard enough to break through.”
“Get yourself to a safe place—a hidden room, if there is one. Somewhere you can converse with her but she can’t get to you. I’ll have someone there within a couple minutes.”
Chapter 49
Sam hung onto the words ‘a couple minutes.’ How on earth was she supposed to hide whi
le conversing with Dolores? A quick peek toward the front window didn’t reveal anything about her adversary’s position. She crept back through the kitchen, and into the den. A glance out each window didn’t show that Dolores had circled the house. From twenty feet away—the distance between the den fireplace to the front door—it appeared the door was still intact.
Dolores could have simply left, have gone back to her father’s house or to her vehicle. No doubt, that was Beau’s concern, the reason for his request for Sam to keep the woman talking.
A shadow moved behind one of the amber-colored sidelight windows.
“Dolores!” Sam called out. “Are you still out there?”
The shadow jerked, moved behind the solid door.
“Dolores! Just tell me what you want. I’m not a threat to you.”
The woman’s voice said something, but it was too muffled for Sam to make out the words. Sam glanced at the time on her phone. Had it been two minutes yet?
She approached the door, eyeing it for signs of weakness. It still appeared solid.
“Sorry, Dolores, I couldn’t hear you. What did you say?”
“… Missy and her brother. Thieves! Swindlers!”
The first words hadn’t come through, but Sam thought it sounded like ‘I know they did it—’
“What did they do?” Sam asked.
Through the archway to the living room, light flashed off the wall. A car? A department cruiser, she prayed.
“Dolores? What did Missy and her brother do?”
“They were—” The sentence broke off and the tire iron clattered to the porch.
“You!” The venomous shout came to Sam, loud and clear.
From a distance, Sam heard Beau’s voice, calm but deadly. “Move away from the door.”
Although he probably meant the order for Dolores, Sam complied. If he had to take a shot at the suspect, she didn’t want to be on the other side. She dashed to the living room window and watched the scene unfold as two more vehicles arrived.
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