Sweet Holidays: The Third Samantha Sweet Mystery (The Samantha Sweet Mysteries) Page 4

  Kelly’s red Mustang was in the alley behind the pastry shop and Sam pulled her Silverado pickup in behind it. In the kitchen, Bobul was contentedly piping some kind of red filling into molded chocolate shells.

  “Hey, how’s it going?” Sam asked.

  He grunted some kind of positive response but didn’t look up from his work. At least she had to admit that she was getting a full day’s effort out of him.

  “When you finish those you can go home for the day,” she told him.

  From the sales area came a chatter of excited voices.

  “Bobul?”

  He looked up momentarily.

  “Hey, thanks. You were absolutely right about the customers’ reactions to your chocolates. I’m really glad you came along when you did.”

  One corner of his mouth quirked upward, the closest thing to a smile she’d seen from him yet. The little pencil mustache angled quickly upward, then back into its straight line. She thought for a minute he was going to give some kind of I-told-you-so response, but he merely picked up the molded chocolates and carried them to the refrigerator. A shriek from the front of the shop grabbed her attention.

  Two women were apparently reaching for the same truffle—the last one—and Jen had attempted to step between them.

  “Ladies? Is there a problem?” Sam asked.

  “I saw it first,” said the short Hispanic woman with a large mesh shopping bag over her arm.

  “Politeness would dictate that you let me have it,” responded the older woman. Kind of an age-before-beauty thing.

  “We’ll have more tomorrow,” Sam said in the most gracious tone she could muster, considering that she’d been on her feet since five a.m.

  “I want it now,” demanded the older lady. “I was going to eat it on the way home.”

  The other woman glared at Sam. There would probably no winning this battle, but in a moment of Solomon-esque inspiration she plucked the truffle from its display plate and cut it in half. Handing each of them a piece, she said, “There. On the house this time.”

  They popped the treats into their mouths before Sam could change her mind, and then both of them performed the same eye-rolling moan that Sam had caught herself doing earlier in the day. They walked out of the shop like the best of friends.

  “Good job, Mom,” Kelly said under her breath, as she picked out two scones for another customer.

  “It’s been like that all day,” Jen said.

  “Becky should be back tomorrow,” Sam said. “One of us can bake and the other will be out front with you. And I might have to think about taking on some additional help through the holidays.”

  “I know someone who needs a job for a short time,” Kelly said, as Sam stepped from behind the counter, heading toward the bistro tables which were in need of a wipedown.

  “Seriously?” Working for mom was usually pretty low on most younger people’s list of ambitions.

  “Well, depending on how Iris is doing by now. Beau said there would be time in the hospital and then a rehab place for her. I just got the feeling . . .”

  Neither of them wanted to finish the thought that his mother’s medical care could go long-term.

  Sam gathered used cups and carried them to the sink in the kitchen. No sign of Bobul. It was a little weird how he showed up and vanished without a sound. But she had a lot more on her mind at the moment.

  Kelly finished cleaning the tables and Jen rearranged the display cases. For the first time all day, the shop was empty and relatively quiet. Until Sam’s phone rang.

  She reached into her pocket and pulled it out. Beau.

  “Hey, how are things going today?” she asked, walking out to the privacy of the sunny front sidewalk.

  “Well, I’m as whupped as an old dog, but Mama’s doing a little better.”

  “I’m glad. Kelly will be relieved to hear it.”

  “It’s gonna be awhile, Sam. I don’t know what to tell Kelly about the job. Tending my animals is hardly worth the drive for her. I wish I could afford to pay her full time while Mama’s doing all the rehab and stuff, but our insurance isn’t going to cover a lot of this stuff.”

  “Beau, don’t worry.” She explained about the need for holiday help at the bakery. “If you need her back before Christmas, I’m sure we can manage. If not, well, I can keep her busy so she won’t go out and find another job.”

  He chuckled. “That almost sounds like a little conspiracy.”

  She pictured his ocean blue eyes and the way his face crinkled when he smiled. Her stomach got that fluttery feeling, and it wasn’t because she hadn’t eaten any lunch.

  “I can explain it to her. Hey, would you like to come over for dinner tonight? It’s going to be something really simple—probably spaghetti with sauce from a jar. I don’t have the energy for much else.”

  “Nothing else?” he teased.

  She got a flash of him naked and felt a tiny surge. But it quickly faded.

  “Well, I’m assuming you’ll need to get right back to the hospital. But even if you didn’t, I don’t know how long I’m good for this world once I sit down tonight.”

  “Sounds like you’ve got a lot on your mind.”

  “That’s putting it mildly. There’s a new, uh, product we’ve just introduced.” She caught herself, just short of mentioning Bobul.

  He didn’t seem to notice. “Dinner, even bottled spaghetti sauce, sounds great. What time?”

  “Seven?”

  She walked back into the sales area to find a trio of young girls ogling the chocolate chip cookies and a woman with a toddler who was explaining to Jen that she needed a quick dessert because her mother-in-law had just informed her that she’d be coming for dinner. Kelly took care of the girls, and Jen was making a strong case for the final Yule log cake that remained in the display.

  With things under control here, Sam went back to the kitchen to wash up the utensils, half expecting that Bobul might have left her with a sinkful of chocolate coated pots and pans. She was pleasantly surprised to see that he’d washed and stacked all the bowls and implements he’d used. The packets of seasonings and his bag of roasted cacao beans were out of sight. The kitchen itself showed no trace that he’d worked there all day.

  She gave a little head-shake.

  Half questioning her sanity, Sam went to the large walk-in refrigerator and yanked the door open. The chocolate molds he’d been working on twenty minutes ago were not there.

  Chapter 7

  She’d specifically watched Bobul place those molds in the fridge. What the heck was going on here? The odd feeling that maybe she’d dreamed the entire day and had just awakened to a different reality flicked through her mind.

  Then she spotted the molds on one of the utility shelves, safe inside a clear plastic storage bin. Of course he wouldn’t leave them in the fridge overnight. The chocolate would get too cold and be ruined. He’d probably placed them in there to harden while he washed the dishes, then he’d put them for safe keeping overnight where she’d just found them.

  You’re getting too tired, Sam. The late, practically sleepless night, the early morning, trying to keep track of the shop and her caretaking job and now Beau’s mother and the weather. Tonight, she promised herself, will be an early bedtime.

  “Mom?” Kelly sounded faintly impatient. “Where were you just now? Some other planet?”

  “I guess.” Sam sighed and straightened a couple of items on the shelves.

  “I called out three times before you heard me. You’re pooped. Why don’t you go on home, leave Jen and me to close up the shop?”

  Sam glanced at the clock above the sink. It was after five. “You’re right. I am and I will.”

  “Want me to bring something for dinner?”

  “No, that’s okay. I thought just spaghetti and a simple salad—we have everything at home. Beau’s coming over.”

  “Did he say anything about how Iris is doing?”

  “She’s a little better today. I guess he c
an fill us in later.” Sam left her baker’s jacket on a hook and pulled on her winter coat. “See you at home soon.”

  It wasn’t until she approached her truck that she remembered she’d tossed two bags of rotten food from the Talpa house into the back and in her rush to get back to the bakery had forgotten all about them. She quickly deposited them in the alley dumpster and pulled out onto the street.

  Zoë. Sam had completely forgotten that she’d planned to meet with her friend this afternoon and get the recipes for some Jewish holiday treats. Pausing a little too long at a stop sign she got honked at.

  “Okay, okay,” she muttered, pulling through the intersection and edging to the side so the impatient man could go around.

  Tired as she felt at this moment, she didn’t know that there would be any better time. Besides, Zoë had probably gone to some effort for this. Zoë and her husband Darryl lived at their bed-and-breakfast, in a big territorial style house, only a few blocks from Sam’s place so she simply turned left off Kit Carson Road.

  “Hey you,” Zoë greeted at the kitchen door. “Come on in.”

  Sam wiped her feet on the mat, glancing around in the deepening dusk. An avid gardener, Zoë had carefully bedded down her plants for the winter and her back deck looked neat and organized.

  “It’s really getting cold out,” Zoë said. “How about a cup of chai?”

  Sam wanted to plead a zillion projects and just get home but she saw the look on Zoë’s face. She and her best friend hadn’t spent much quality time in recent weeks.

  “Sure. Chai sounds wonderful.” She slipped out of her jacket while Zoë checked the kettle that stayed warm over a low burner all day. While her friend turned up the flame and the water began to make bubbling sounds, Sam noticed a folder on the tiled breakfast bar. She touched the old-fashioned flowered design on the front of it.

  “That was my grandmother’s recipe file,” Zoë said, spooning chai mix into two mugs. “Funny, the things we remember from childhood. My mother and dad moved to the commune before I was born. I don’t recall that we observed any religious holidays at all. Darryl and I . . . well, we’re just these earth-child types who go along with whatever our friends are doing.”

  She carried two steaming mugs to the counter and hitched herself up onto one of the bar stools. “But this little recipe folder . . . I remember Grandma Steiger would pull out this thing and page through it when I would visit her in the summers. She’d find traditional Jewish things to make. Said I shouldn’t lose the old ways.”

  Her gaze grew distant.

  “That’s nice,” Sam said. “Of course I grew up with Texas home-cooking, and I’ll never think of any holiday as complete without pecan pie.”

  “I’m afraid I really have drifted away from those old ways. I don’t know that I’ve ever baked any of these recipes. But you are certainly welcome to try them.” She shoved the folder toward Sam.

  “I’ll make copies and get these back to you. Even if you never make the recipes, the memories are important to you.”

  Zoë nodded absently, sipping her chai. Silence filled a few more moments.

  “So, how are things with the handsome sheriff?” Zoë finally asked, with a little smile. She’d been one of Sam’s strong supporters when the new romance started up.

  “Oh, gosh, I completely forgot to tell you.” Sam quickly filled her friend on the developments with Iris over the past twenty-four hours. “As a result, Beau has been at the hospital nearly the whole time. He’s coming over for a quick dinner tonight, but I’m sure he’ll have to get right back. In fact . . .” She glanced at the digital clock on Zoë’s stove. “He’ll be there and Kelly will be home from the store in about a half hour. I better get going.”

  As it turned out, Kelly was already home and pacing the kitchen floor when Sam walked in.

  “I thought you were coming straight from the bakery. I was getting worried.”

  Sam marveled at what a little mom Kelly could be—shades of herself years ago when Kelly was the kid, getting home late from some after-school activity.

  “Sorry. I forgot to tell you that I needed to stop at Zoë’s.” She held up the recipe folder. “More homework for me.”

  Kelly gave her mother an indulgent smile. “Always learning something new, aren’t you?”

  “Hey, it’s healthy for me. Can’t just settle back and let all these gray hairs take over my life.”

  “You’ll never do that, Mom.” She reached into the fridge for salad ingredients. “So, what’s the story with the new guy at the shop and all the candy? Jen said it was a madhouse there all day.”

  Sam pulled out her large pasta pot and ran water into it at the sink. As they worked, she filled Kelly in on the strange appearance of Bobul and his amazing talent with chocolate—everything except for the fact that she’d worked out the little cash-under-the-table deal. Kelly couldn’t always keep a secret, and she did work for Beau. At some point, though, Sam was going to have to figure out a solution. She didn’t want to lose her chocolatier, but she knew she couldn’t have a romantic relationship with secrets.

  Beau’s headlights beamed through the kitchen window as his Explorer swung down the long driveway and into a parking spot next to Sam’s truck.

  “Whoa—getting cold out there!” he said as he stepped into the service porch. “Forecast is for single-digits.”

  Kelly was stirring the sauce on the stove and Sam took the moment to slip her arms inside Beau’s sheepskin jacket. He indulged her with a long kiss.

  “Um, better.”

  “All right, you two. Dinner’s almost ready.” Kelly carried the large salad bowl to the table, where she’d already set three places.

  Sam drained the pasta and poured wine while the others began to fill their plates. The room grew quiet for a few minutes as they started eating. Sam was just taking her first sip of wine when her phone rang. She glanced at the readout and saw that it was Delbert Crow.

  “I’ll call him back later,” she said.

  “New caretaking job?” Beau asked.

  “Yeah, a strange one. In fact,” she said, picking up a square of garlic bread, “I meant to ask you if you know anything about this place.” She described the property in Talpa. “The occupant’s name is William Montague. Well, at least that’s the name on some prescription bottles I found there.”

  “He abandoned his house but left his meds behind?”

  “And more. It doesn’t look like he’s moved out. The place is fully furnished, and with good pieces. Most of the house was as neat as if the housekeeper had just left, but there were so many inconsistencies.”

  She passed the salad bowl to Beau for seconds. “I mean, if this guy took an extended trip, why were his personal things lying out on the bathroom vanity? Why would he leave so much food in the fridge? Why wouldn’t the bed be made up? Even if he had a travel bag with duplicates of the toiletries, he surely had to take his blood pressure medication with him.”

  “Maybe he had duplicate bottles of that too?” Kelly suggested.

  Sam looked toward Beau, eyebrows raised. He merely shrugged.

  “I just don’t think it looks right. I’ve been doing this for a few years, and yes sometimes I walk into places that are fully furnished. But it’s usually because someone died and there were no relatives to come clean out their possessions. Or because somebody is a jump ahead of the law and they skipped out fast.”

  “And there was that hoarder’s place awhile back,” Beau reminded her.

  “Well, yeah. That lady couldn’t have gotten her furniture out through the clutter if she’d tried.” She paused for another sip of her wine. “But this place just doesn’t feel like that. The guy obviously has money. You’d agree if you saw the quality of the things in that house. Why wouldn’t he just keep his mortgage up, pay in advance or something if he planned to be away?”

  Beau set his fork down. “Well, darlin’, if I may offer a little lesson in real life . . . and please don’t take this the wrong
way . . . but there are people who live the rich life who have not an extra penny to their names. Do you know how many people are in hock up to their eyeballs? Absolutely everything they have is bought on credit? Cards maxed out, second and third mortgages?”

  Sam met his gaze. He truly wasn’t being preachy. “I know. And you’re right.” She tapped her foot against the leg of her chair. “I just . . . I don’t know how to explain it.”

  “Well, to answer your first question, I haven’t heard anything about this Montague guy, but I’ll keep my ears open.” He wiped his mouth on a napkin and pushed his chair back. “Hate to eat and run, but I better call this an early night.”

  Kelly inquired about Iris as Beau carried dishes to the sink.

  “A little better today, hon. We still don’t know how long a recovery we’re in for, I’m afraid.” He pulled his sheepskin jacket from the hook where he left it. “I’ll let you know if we hear anything new.”

  Sam reached for a small bin on the counter where she stashed spare things from the bakery. “If you don’t mind having day-old, I can send some cupcakes with you.”

  “Just one,” he said with a smile. “Gotta watch my waistline and having a girlfriend with a bakery isn’t helping.”

  “Take them to the office then,” she said. “I know some of those guys aren’t watching their figures.”

  He laughed out loud. “You got that right.”

  She folded one of her bakery boxes and carefully placed a dozen chocolate cupcakes with buttercream frosting and peppermint flakes on them. “A little holiday spirit for the guys.”

  His vehicle wound its way out of her driveway and down the lane and Sam watched it disappear into the frosty night. Kelly had the dishwasher loaded by the time Sam stepped back inside from the service porch, and she reminded Sam of the call she’d missed during dinner.

  “Right. I better call him back before it gets any later.” She dialed the number from memory and sat down at her desk, leaning back in her chair and closing her eyes while the phone rang.