Sweet Hearts Page 4

  “Do you get mail from him too?”

  “Sometimes. I got some cards too. Once there was a package with a beautiful scarf, my favorite color. But nothing signed. Nothing in writing at all.”

  Sam set her empty teacup down. “You said you need to find Tito now. What has changed?”

  Marla stared at the leaves in the bottom of her cup for a full minute. When she looked back at Sam her eyes were filled with pain.

  “I’m dying, Sam. It’s cancer and the doctors don’t have any hope for me.” She answered Sam’s unasked question. “Yes, I’ve done the whole, horrible round of chemo—two years ago when I was diagnosed. It didn’t work and the cancer is too widespread now. I won’t do it again. What I need now is for Tito to come home and get Jolie. Once I’m gone, she’ll have no one at all.”

  Chapter 5

  Sam walked out into the gathering darkness, her heart heavy with the news from Marla. She thought of the twelve-year-old Jolie, having lost both father and mother, now about to lose the last of her family.

  Her van sat alone at the side of the road, about twenty yards from Marla’s driveway, barely visible out here away from street lights. The houses sat on five to ten acre plots, fairly well separated from each other, although Sam could make out lights in distant windows of the homes on either side of Marla’s. It was sad to think of Jolie leaving her friends and the only neighborhood she probably remembered.

  Sam turned her vehicle around, heading back toward Taos, noticing that a winter fog was moving into the low lying areas. She dimmed her lights and visibility of the road improved a little. But before she’d driven three miles, the fog became a thick shroud, encasing her in cottony white. She slowed to a crawl, peering ahead and behind in hopes that no other vehicles were nearby.

  Trees loomed at the sides of the narrow road, their dark shapes hovering, ghostlike, above. An occasional structure stood dark and silent, more of them as she came to the center of the tiny settlement of Arroyo Seco. She knew the small crossroads to be composed of about a dozen adobe buildings, but in the eerie darkness they seemed to move with the air, closer to the road, then farther away. Not a light shone from any window, not a person moved in the night. She had a brief bizarre vision that the entire earth had been abandoned and she was the only living being to remain.

  With one hand firmly on the wheel, she reached for the electric door lock. It snapped with a satisfying click that told her she was securely locked in on all sides. The town’s one restaurant, where Sam distinctly remembered there being four or five cars when she’d come out to Marla’s, sat dark and deserted now. She glanced at her dashboard clock and saw that it was only seven o’clock. A profound sense of the creeps edged its way up her arms.

  The van crawled along, despite Sam’s urge to stomp the gas pedal to the floor. It would be crazy to speed through this winding stretch of road with her view so restricted.

  She no sooner had that thought than a dark shape emerged from between two of the hunched adobe buildings on her left. Man-shaped, large, the figure stepped toward her van. He walked straight to her driver’s side door, one arm waving, beckoning to her. She hit the brakes, praying that no other vehicle would come up behind and crash into her.

  Sam peered through the mist, wondering what there was about him that looked familiar to her. He reached up and pushed back the cloak that covered his head. The garment fell across his shoulders and Sam recognized the shape of a large brown coat that she knew well. She lowered her window two inches.

  “Bobul?” she croaked.

  “Da, Miss Samantha, is Bobul here. You are doing fine?”

  “Bobul—what the hell?” She glanced in all her mirrors. “I have to get off the road. Someone’s going to come along and hit me.”

  He took two large steps back and waved her forward. She steered to the left, to what she hoped was the parking lot of a small shop, although she could barely make out the shape of its windows.

  Gustav Bobul, the chocolatier who had showed up at Sweet’s Sweets on a snowy night in December, then vanished on Christmas Eve, walked over to her door.

  “Miss Samantha need help with chocolates. Bobul know this.”

  She stared at him. Now just how had he heard her plea for help? Had he somehow been spying on her, watching her chocolate-making attempts that weren’t going so well?

  He seemed to be waiting for an answer but all she could do was nod like some stupid wobbly-headed doll.

  “Bobul have answer.” He unfastened three buttons of the huge brown coat that he’d always worn and reached inside, pulling forth a big canvas bag that hung by a wide strap across his chest, the one he’d brought every day to the bakery.

  “Do you want to come back to work for me?” Sam asked, feeling a spark of hope.

  “Cannot. Bobul have other plans.” He pulled the bag away from his body and practically stuffed his head inside it. Both hands worked their way around in there. Finally, he came up with a small reddish cloth pouch, which he extended to her with one hand while he continued to stare into the bag. Another little drawstring pouch came out, then a third, muddied shades of blue and green, respectively.

  “There. All fix now.” He stepped back and tucked the messenger bag back under his coat, then redid the buttons.

  “What? What’s all fixed?”

  “Miss Samantha chocolate problem, all fix.”

  She felt herself becoming impatient and remembered what it had been like, having him around all the time. “Bobul, explain. I don’t know what you mean.”

  He pointed at the reddish pouch. “One pinch.” Then, indicating the other two, “Two pinch.”

  “A pinch of this,” she said, holding up the first bag he’d handed her, “and two pinches of these? And then what?”

  “Put in chocolate, voilà—” His large shoulders rose. “Is perfect.”

  Huh? She wanted to get out and shake him. Or just drive away and ignore him. Or wake up from whatever weird-ass dream this was.

  Bobul patted the side of the van. Then he turned and walked toward the building behind him. When Sam blinked, he was gone. She stared toward the empty shop but saw no sign of the chocolatier nor any clue as to where he’d gone.

  She quickly raised her window and rechecked the door locks. That was just way too strange. She put the van in gear and slowly pulled away from the dirt parking lot.

  At the next bend in the road, the fog evaporated and a black sky with a million pinprick stars surrounded her. Okay, now I am going nuts, she thought as she sped up.

  Her arms and legs suddenly felt jelly-like and she wanted more than anything to be off this road and out of the van. When she spotted the turnoff to Beau’s place just ahead, she whipped the wheel to the left.

  The lights in his log house glowed warmly in the dark night, and the trail of smoke from the chimney sent a reassuring trace skyward. The dogs, Ranger and Nellie, set the alarm and Beau stepped out to the porch as she parked in front.

  “Hey, darlin’, didn’t know you were coming out tonight,” he said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her in close for a kiss. “Wow, you’re toasty warm.”

  She raised a hand to her forehead. Maybe that was it—she had a fever and delirium.

  “Come on in. I just poured myself a drink. What would you like?”

  His normalcy felt so reassuring that Sam simply followed along, letting him take her jacket and hang it up. She trailed along into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of wine from the bottle she’d uncorked a couple of nights earlier when they’d eaten dinner here. She’d been gradually getting used to the idea that this would soon be her home too, trying to feel less like a guest.

  “So, what’s up? Busy day at the bakery?” Beau asked as they settled together on the sofa.

  She took a deep breath. There was no point in revealing how close to freaked-out she’d been just a few minutes ago. Although Bobul had worked at the bakery for three weeks in December, and Beau had certainly seen him there, he’d not r
eally gotten to know the quirky Romanian. In fact, there were a lot of things about Bobul that Sam had never told her fiancé, mainly the fact that the man was in the country illegally.

  “I was just out this way, attending a sort of memorial for the son of a customer,” she said. She took a long pull from her wine glass.

  “Well, I’m glad you ended up here. I actually got home on time, for once. Made myself a burger. Did you eat yet? I could make you something.”

  She explained about the buffet dinner at Marla’s, and the longer she talked the more she relaxed.

  “Beau, do you remember a missing-person case from about ten years ago, a man named Tito Fresques? He’s Marla’s son and she says there is evidence that he’s still alive but she felt that the authorities didn’t do much to find him at the time, and then they dropped the case.”

  He set his drink on the end table. “Well, I wasn’t yet with the department back then, so the name doesn’t ring a bell. There’s probably a cold case file on it somewhere. I suppose I could check on it.”

  “Why wouldn’t they have investigated more thoroughly?”

  “There could be a hundred reasons. Our department has been understaffed forever, and there’s only so much we can do, maybe we just ran out of leads. And you mentioned that Fresques lived in Albuquerque. It could be that the case was handed over to APD. After that, it wouldn’t have been our concern anymore.”

  “But—”

  “Darlin’, grown men go missing all the time, and it’s usually because they want to. There’s trouble in the marriage or frustration with the job and the desire to start over somewhere new. Unless there’s evidence of foul play . . . sometimes there just isn’t much we can do.”

  “I guess.” She sipped from her wineglass. “But there’s more. Marla has terminal cancer. There’s no one to care for Tito’s daughter once she’s gone, so it’s really important to her to find him.”

  “Sorry to hear that. Tomorrow I’ll dig around and find the file. But I can’t promise much. We’re buried, and I don’t see the workload letting up anytime soon. I don’t know how I could assign anyone to it right now.”

  “Could I take a look?” Even as she uttered the words, she wondered when, exactly, she thought she would have time to do anything with the information.

  Beside her, Beau yawned widely.

  “I better get—”

  “Just stay. There’s no reason for you to drive all the way into town tonight.” He pulled her closer and she welcomed the warmth from his chest. It had been an intense day, with the frantic pace at the bakery, the revelations from Marla, and then the strange encounter in the fog.

  They climbed the stairs to the spacious master bedroom. Sam loved the golden lamp glow on the log walls. She turned down the bed. Standing side by side at the double sinks, brushing their teeth, she realized this was how it would be every night of their married life. The little things, like both reaching for the toothpaste at the same moment, brushing fallen hairs from the vanity into the waste basket, her robe hanging on the hook behind the door—it would all become part of the pattern of her life. From this day forward, as they said, a comfortable pattern.

  Beau’s eyes looked droopy as he reached to switch off the lamp on his side of the bed. He murmured as she turned off her lamp and then reached to drape his arm over her. In the dark, she let the muddled thoughts of the day drift out of her mind as she heard his breathing become deep and steady.

  A dream—one of those you know is a dream, even as it unfolds—put Sam in a garden somewhere, wearing a long white gown. The dress didn’t fit properly and the train snagged on something every time she took a step. She kept thinking, this is not the wedding dress I bought, why am I wearing this fluffy monstrosity? Chimes began to play and she tried to turn toward the spot where she knew Beau must be standing. Then the chimes became an alarm clock, and the tangled dress was the bed sheet wrapped around her legs.

  Beau groaned and muttered something that included, “Already . . .” and some other choice words.

  She really needed to bring her own clock. He could grab an extra hour’s sleep if he didn’t have to wake on her schedule.

  “Roll back over,” she whispered. “I’ll leave quietly.”

  “No, no, it’s all right.” He rubbed his face and sat up. “I can use the time. Feed the animals early and get to the office in time to find that file you asked about.”

  Bless him, she thought as she stood under the hot shower. Making time for her inquiry about an old case was really beyond the call of duty.

  From the bathroom window she could see him walking toward the barn in the dark, a strong flashlight beam marking the frosty path. The horses whickered softly, glad to see him, and she caught glimpses of the two dogs scampering near his legs. The barn door opened and a light came on.

  Sam got dressed, found blusher and lipstick in the small cosmetic kit she’d left in Beau’s bathroom, and was ready to head for the bakery by the time he came in through the kitchen door, stomping his boots on the deck outside.

  “See you later?” she asked.

  “If you can break away for lunch, I’ll try to have that file by then. Maybe we can both take a look?”

  “Perfect.” She kissed him, loving the feel of his cold, scratchy whiskers against her face.

  She unlocked her van and slid inside. On the passenger seat sat the three small cloth bags Bobul had given her. Damn. In the warmth of Beau’s arms last night, with the reality of the world firmly within her grasp, she’d almost convinced herself that exhaustion and the drive from Marla’s home had set her thoughts running wild and that she’d only imagined the fog and the encounter with the chocolatier. She lifted one of the pouches—it seemed nearly weightless. What was this all about?

  She caught Beau watching her from the kitchen window, obviously wondering if she were having car trouble. She put the van in gear and rolled away, blowing him a kiss.

  At Sweet’s Sweets Sam was blessedly alone. She started the bake oven and brewed a pot of coffee. The employees could handle the routine baking as they arrived, she decided. She pulled a two-pound block of fine dark chocolate from her supply.

  Much as she would have liked to do each step from scratch, she’d learned that the roasting, winnowing, grinding and conching were difficult steps that required lots of specialized equipment. Finding a supplier for chocolate that was ready for tempering was a huge time-saver. Even so, some things simply required time and concentration. She stood over the stove, watching the chocolate melt, checking the thermometer until it reached precisely 110 degrees. The steps of cooling, tempering, and blending while carefully watching the temperature were becoming second nature to her. When the mixture reached the ideal point for molding at 90 degrees, she pulled out the little pouches Bobul had given her.

  Okay, what had he said? One pinch from the red bag and two pinches from each of the others. She sniffed at the first pouch as she opened it. Maybe a faint hint of cinnamon? But not really. It was something else and yet she couldn’t name it. She stuck her fingers inside and took the requisite pinch of whatever the powdery substance was.

  “Here goes nothing,” she said, sprinkling the small amount of powder over the bowl of chocolate.

  The contents of the other two pouches had no discernable scent at all and the powdered substance inside was almost colorless. Two pinches from each, scattered over the surface of the chocolate like fairy dust, then stirred gently until it vanished.

  Sam stared at the glossy surface. “Man, I hope this doesn’t kill somebody.”

  Chapter 6

  Sam pulled the drawstring closures on the three little spice pouches, stuffed them into a metal canister and jammed them up into the corner of the overhead shelf. She pulled a teaspoon from the drawer and dipped it into the warm chocolate, then tasted. Tongue and taste buds reacted immediately. Finally, the result she’d wanted.

  She carried the bowl to the work table where she’d laid out clean molds. She tempered it then watc
hed the chocolate flow in a smooth ribbon into each small, heart-shaped cavity. Although she didn’t see how the minute amounts of Bobul’s powders could affect it, Sam swore that the consistency was silkier than anything she’d yet turned out.

  The molds went into the fridge for a five-minute quick cool down, and Sam started another batch. Again, she tasted. Again, the flavor was exquisite and she felt no odd side effects. By the time Cathy, Sandy and Becky arrived to start making the daily muffins and breakfast pastries, there were sample chocolates for the tasting.

  “Mmmm,” Becky said. “I think you’ve got it.”

  “I still don’t know how Bobul created his intricate designs, but at least the flavor is there.”

  “The molded hearts are perfect for Valentine’s,” Cathy said.

  She was right, Sam decided. With six days to go, she couldn’t hope to learn to sculpt the perfect little flowers and garlands Bobul had made at Christmas. But this was a good start. She rummaged through one of the storage shelves and found some gift boxes left from the holidays. Within an hour she’d filled several of them with the small heart-shaped chocolates and set them near the register for Jen to begin selling as soon as the doors opened.

  “We could save some of those to put on the cakes, too,” Becky suggested.

  Good idea. Sam envisioned them on cupcakes as well, and maybe on the miniature tortes that she planned as her Valentine-dinner specials.

  “Okay, I smell that special chocolate,” Jen said, pushing her way through the curtain that separated the sales area. “Is Bobul back?”

  Sam grinned. Jen, the great chocolate lover of the whole crew, would spot any inconsistency immediately. Sam handed her assistant one of the newly-made hearts and watched as Jen swirled her tongue and rolled her eyes.

  “Oh, yeah. Oh, yeah.”

  “Don’t go all orgasmic on us here,” Sam teased. “I just need to know if they’re good enough to sell.”