Sweets Forgotten (Samantha Sweet Mysteries Book 10) Page 3

  Jane handled the gum paste well enough but her finished petals didn’t have the right shape.

  “Try again. You can reroll the dough another time or two if necessary.”

  The second effort wasn’t a whole lot better.

  “I guess I don’t have any past experience with this,” Jane said a little hopelessly.

  “That’s okay,” Sam said. She had finished the lava cakes and placed the order on a tray to be delivered to the bookshop next door. “I’ve got a little time before I have to finish the baby shower cake for Carla Simms.”

  Jane continued to fumble about with the flowers but her long nails got in the way and she couldn’t seem to master the small finger movements needed to deftly pinch and shape the dough. It wasn’t long before she moved aside and perched herself on a stool out of the way while Sam and Becky moved into double-time with the flower petals.

  Once Sam got into the rhythm of forming the tiny scooped chrysanthemum petals, she found her mind zipping to other subjects: Had Beau made any progress at all in learning Jane’s identity? And who was this new guy Kelly was seeing?

  Before she knew it, Jen was peeking through the curtain divider to ask if anyone wanted her to order them a sandwich for lunch.

  Noon already. Sam straightened her shoulders, rotating them to work out the stiffness. It was another reason she desperately missed the magic box. In the past, when she had an overwhelming amount of work, she’d relied on it—okay, maybe a little too much at times—to give her the energy and stamina to complete an amazing amount of work in a short time. Of course, that was fraught with dangers too. It was impossible for the others in the bakery not to notice how much work she accomplished and comment on it. She massaged her right shoulder. No, it was better that she just move at the pace that fit her fifty-four years and be content with that.

  “Let’s take a break,” she announced. “Jen, yes, sandwiches are a great idea. I’m just going to step out back.”

  She pulled her phone from her pocket, noting that Becky kept forming flower petals as if her hands wouldn’t stop the repetitive movements, even though her stomach said she was hungry.

  Outside, it was a perfect fall day with a deep blue sky, abundant sunshine and a crisp tang to the air. She tapped Beau’s number and waited while it rang three times. Just as she was certain she would have to leave a message, he answered.

  “Sorry, darlin’, I don’t have anything on your Jane Doe yet. I’ve been tracking down next of kin for that Albuquerque case. I’m at Greenlee Manor right now, waiting while they track down a couple who lives here. I’ll have to get back to you.”

  “Sure. No problem.” She felt a little letdown that he hadn’t had time to get Jane taken care of. Not that the woman was posing a problem here at the shop but it was just strange having an extra person looking on.

  Okay, don’t be this way, Sam. Jane did save your ass when the chocolate was about to burn. And it’s not as if she’s really under foot.

  “I can put in a quick call to social services if you want me to,” he was saying.

  “No, that’s okay. She’s not causing any trouble here at the shop. As long as I have somewhere to send her before the end of the day, okay?”

  She walked back through the kitchen, to the sales room, to check in with Jen. The sandwiches were coming from the deli a block over and if they didn’t want to wait someone should run over to pick them up. She couldn’t very well send Jane to do it, a woman lost and with amnesia. She told Jen she would walk over to pick up the lunches herself.

  Chapter 4

  Beau looked up to see a gray-haired couple in exercise clothing walking toward him. The assisted-living resident apartment manager had already confirmed that the Robinets had a son named Zachary, who was on record as their next of kin. George and Nancy Robinet certainly didn’t match the picture of any retirement home residents he’d ever met before. Both wore athletic shoes and Spandex walking shorts and shirts. They moved with confidence and George held out his hand.

  “I hear you wanted to speak to us, Sheriff?”

  “Yes. Could we go somewhere?”

  “Come along to our apartment,” Nancy said, wiping her forehead with a tissue. “I need to shed this jacket. Funny how chilly it seems when we start out walking but how quickly we warm up.”

  The elevator ride to the third floor took longer than Beau liked. He didn’t want to inform these people that their son was dead until he was certain of a few minutes privacy.

  “I have to admit that you two surprised me,” he said. “You seem pretty young and fit to have chosen life in a retirement home.”

  “Well, that’s the operative word,” George said. “We chose it. Hey, no more yard work for me.”

  “No cooking for me,” Nancy said with a bright smile. “Our kitchen here has never seen more than cups of coffee and occasional sandwiches. The cafeteria provides three meals a day if we want them.”

  “Frees up our time for travel, too. Don’t have to worry about who’s watching our house while we’re off to Europe or China or somewhere.”

  Beau nodded and stood aside as the elevator door slid open on the third floor. Clearly, these two had no clue as to the reason for his visit. He felt badly about the news he was about to spring on them.

  George unlocked the door to an apartment with an autumn-themed wreath on the door, and Nancy peeled off her workout jacket as she walked past the tiny efficiency kitchen. The place appeared to consist of the little galley, a comfortable living room and a bedroom. A bathroom probably connected beyond it. The Robinets moved briskly about the room, offering coffee but seemingly unconcerned about Beau’s presence.

  He cleared his throat. “There’s actually an official reason I stopped by today. I’m afraid it’s about your son, Zack.”

  “Oh dear.” Nancy dropped her jacket across the back of the sofa. “He hasn’t gotten another speeding ticket, has he? There was that time the officer got very upset with him and took him to jail. I had to come and provide bail.”

  “No ma’am. It’s not that.”

  “No, honey. Couldn’t be that,” George said. “He’s on his way to that tradeshow, remember?”

  “Maybe we should all sit down,” Beau suggested. Keeping track of them was like trying to round up a pair of leggy young calves. They wouldn’t hold still. He gestured toward the sofa and armchair.

  “I’m very sorry to inform you that Zack has died.”

  It took a full minute for the information to sink in and, even then, Nancy looked at him as if he’d rattled out something incomprehensible in a foreign language.

  “The Albuquerque police called our department with the news and asked that I contact Zack’s next of kin. I’m very sorry.”

  “Oh my god,” said Nancy, finally. George sat on the sofa, his shoulders slumped, a good ten extra years suddenly showing on his face.

  “What about Josephine?” he said.

  “That would be …”

  “Zack’s wife. Oh, and my gosh—poor little Bentlee. What will the boy do without a father?” At the mention of her grandson, Nancy’s face crumpled and George reached out to put his arms around her.

  Beau gave them a moment, feeling that he should leave but knowing he had still more questions to ask. Times like this were when he really hated this job.

  “Josephine didn’t go to Albuquerque with him?”

  Nancy shook her head numbly.

  “I’ll need to notify her as well,” he said. “I went by the house on Goldenrod Lane but no one was home.”

  George’s mouth pursed. “Hm, I can’t think where else Josephine would be this time of day. Except maybe Zack’s office. She sometimes helps out with the business.”

  “That would be ChanZack Innovations?”

  Nancy nodded. Giving the couple something concrete to think about seemed to help.

  “Chandler and Zack. They hit it off really well when they first met and decided to start the business together.”

  “I’ll s
top by there. Can you tell me any more about Zack’s trip to Albuquerque? Why he went, who he planned to see, that kind of thing?”

  “He went to some kind of computer convention,” George said. “I thought it was in Las Vegas. He only went to Albuquerque to catch his flight.”

  “Those busy freeways in the city,” Nancy said. “I knew he shouldn’t spend so much time driving around there.”

  “There wasn’t a traffic accident,” Beau said as gently as he could. “Zack’s body was found in a hotel room.”

  Nancy’s expression said she was processing the information as quickly as she could, working to find the logic. Beau could tell they were anxious, wanting more information.

  “He must have driven down there early and decided to stay the night before the trip.”

  “I don’t know ma’am. I was told there was an ongoing investigation. I’m afraid I don’t know anything more right now.”

  There was no way he was going to mention Taylor’s comments on the rough sex play, especially to the parents, and especially in light of the fact that the victim’s wife had not traveled with him. He repeated his condolences and left them sitting on their sofa, arms around each other, their world instantly shattered by his visit.

  Back in his cruiser, he took a minute for a deep breath. The idea of early retirement flashed through his mind. This was certainly not the first grieving family he had visited—it wouldn’t be the last. He dialed the cell number George Robinet had given for Zack’s wife, hoping to find out where she was at the moment, but after a few rings it went to voicemail. He clicked off. There was no message he could leave for this sort of thing. He pulled out the scanned sheet of Zack Robinet’s information and got the address for ChanZack Innovations.

  The suite of offices was in Taos’s version of an upscale location. Since ninety percent of the businesses in town were in small strip shopping centers or stand-alone adobe buildings, the two-story Appleton Center with its modern façade was it. A local bigwig, Rick Appleton, had made a fortune in real estate in the nineties and saw this building as the embodiment of his achievements. He’d filled the twenty suites with his own offices and other real estate related services, billing it as ‘Your one-stop property shop’ until the market tanked, helped along by onerous building codes and development rules. Appleton had gone off to greener real estate pastures, although presumably he still collected rent from the current-day tenants. With the one-stop theme gone, the spaces were filled by tech firms, graphics design places and a beauty salon attached to a high-end ladies clothing store. ChanZack Innovations was on the second floor, probably chosen for the corner location and view of Taos Mountain.

  With any luck, maybe one of the cars in the lot belonged to Josephine Robinet and Beau could complete his mission quickly. Then he could get back to that other case. Sam’s voice had betrayed her impatience at having the stranger underfoot in her shop.

  “Mrs. Robinet? No, she hasn’t come in today. Mr. Robinet is out of town,” said the model-gorgeous receptionist behind the sleek mahogany desk.

  “What about his partner? Is he in?”

  “Mr. Lane. At the moment, yes. He’s due to leave for the airport soon. I will need to ask whether he has any time.” She tried sending a coy glance in his direction.

  Beau touched the badge on his shirt pocket. “It’s official. I suggest that he make time.”

  He stepped aside, studying a range of colorful art on the wall beside the reception desk, while she made a quiet call. The poster-sized photos pictured trendy and successful people holding cell phones and tablets, staring at their screens with delighted smiles on their faces.

  “Sheriff?”

  The male voice came from behind him and Beau turned.

  “Chandler Lane. What can I do for you?” The man was one of those metro-sexual males with a polished complexion, perfect haircut, complete with blond highlights, and upscale casual clothing you rarely saw on Taos locals, where the tri-cultural blend of New Mexico was very evident—Hispanic politicians, Indian artisans and aging Anglo hippies. Lane was in his early thirties, the sort who knew he was at the top of his game and loving every minute.

  “Mr. Lane, you are Zack Robinet’s business partner?”

  “Yes, that’s right. May we offer you some organic coffee?”

  Beau declined. “Can we speak privately?”

  Lane’s deep brown eyes darted toward the receptionist and Beau got the sense of sexual tension between them. He followed Lane’s confident stride as the partner passed his thumb over a tiny panel beside the connecting door. A green light, an audible click, and he led the way into the first office on the left of a short hallway. The man’s desktop was filled by two large computer monitors and keyboards. A laptop with the lid closed sat on one corner of a credenza behind the desk. More posters of joyful phone users filled two of the walls in here, as well.

  “I swear I paid my taxes,” Lane joked, holding his hands up in a no-secrets-here gesture. “That’s not why you’re here. Okay, a donation to the police and sheriff’s association? You got it, you know.”

  “You might want to sit down,” Beau suggested.

  Chandler Lane only stood stock still.

  “I’m afraid I have bad news. Your partner, Zack, is dead.”

  “What!” Lane’s face went pale beneath his perfect tan. “I can’t bel—wow.”

  He paced the length of the room, running his hands through his hair, pausing, pinching his lower lip.

  “What happened? I mean, I’m just stunned. We’re supposed to be in Vegas tonight. All our trade show stuff was shipped ahead …” He crossed back and sank slowly into the chair behind his desk.

  “Did you know he was staying the night in Albuquerque?”

  “Yeah. Actually, I had planned to go too but then we couldn’t get on the same flight and I had some other stuff come up here in town. I’m supposed to leave by two, get to the airport, take a seven o’clock flight tonight. My god, what—what’ll happen?”

  “Tell me a little more about your business. What types of ‘innovations’ do you have?”

  Chandler took a deep breath, switching gears. “We, uh, we develop apps. Our biggie is a game called Infinite Star Fighter that seems to have every teen kid and half their fathers addicted to it. Made a couple tons of money on that, I have to admit. Following up was tough. I mean we did upgrades—version 2.1, etcetera. Our big announcement at the electronics show this week is a spinoff that we think will capture the girls’ market. Star Fighter Hotties, it’s called. You know, every girl wants to think she’s so hot she’ll hook up with one of the heroes from I.S.F. Sorry, you really don’t care about the details on all that.” He ran his hands down the sides of his face again. “I just can’t take it in—Zack gone. What did Jo say?”

  “Jo … oh, Josephine. I haven’t been able to reach his wife yet. I had hoped she would be here. Do you know where I can find her?”

  Chandler shook his head. “She comes once or twice a week. She coordinates ad campaigns and double-checks the bookkeeper on tax matters. Zack and me, we’re into the gaming kid’s mind, know how to come up with action and ideas they love. Not so good with money. Jo coordinates all that other stuff.”

  “I should probably be the one to notify her about Zack,” Beau said, placing one of his business cards on the desk. “If you hear from her can you find out where she is and give me a call? Until then, I’d appreciate it if you don’t mention this to anyone else. It would be devastating to a widow to find out from someone on the street if the word gets out.”

  “Agreed. Totally.” Chandler made a zipping motion across his lips.

  “Do you still plan to attend the trade show?”

  Chandler stared at his clasped hands. “I suppose I’d better. We sent out all these advance press releases about our new product. The sales team is going along to write up orders, but if no one’s there to introduce it and do the demos, we’ve invested about a million dollars in development that we’ll have a hard time g
etting back.”

  Beau stepped toward the door. “I’m sorry I brought sad news.”

  Chandler Lane merely stared at the floor and shook his head slowly.

  Down in the parking lot, Beau got into his department SUV and had barely reached to stick the key in the ignition when his cell phone rang.

  “Sheriff? It’s Kent Taylor here in Albuquerque.”

  “Yes, Detective Taylor. I was about to call you. I’ve located and notified the parents and the business partner of your victim, but haven’t found the wife yet.”

  “Okay. I mean, let me know when you do. Meanwhile, I’ve rushed the OMI on this and have some startling results on the autopsy. Robinet didn’t die from asphyxiation, as we first thought. Looks like a drug overdose. Heroin.”

  “Whoa. But the marks on his neck?”

  “Yeah, he’s got those all right, but that wasn’t the COD.”

  “Meaning—sex and drugs at the little party?”

  “The Medical Investigator questions whether the victim injected the heroin himself. He definitely wasn’t a habitual user. He’s thinks Robinet could have been unconscious at the time the drug entered his system.”

  Beau thought of the clean-cut appearance of Zack Robinet from his ID photo. Apparently there was a lot more to this situation.

  “We’re looking for the woman who was in the room with him, but there were a lot of prints. Unfortunately, hotel maids don’t exactly wipe down every surface when they clean so we can’t be sure when the various prints were left. The desk clerk remembers Robinet heading upstairs with a glamorous woman, so we’re running all the prints. Too bad it doesn’t go as quickly in real life as on TV.”

  “So this investigation is going to focus both in Albuquerque and in Taos.”

  “You got it.” A tired sigh came over the line.

  “I’ll get whatever I can in background on the victim,” Beau said, telling Taylor the little he knew after talking with Chandler Lane. “These guys have made a lot of money. That’s always good as a motive. The partners were headed to a trade show in Vegas to introduce another hot product so maybe a competitor is somehow involved. I think I’ll warn Lane to be careful.”