8 Sweet Payback (19 page)

This time Beau was the one yawning
before ten p.m. although Sam was getting tired too. Had they already become
old, married people? When he suggested they take a break, Sam agreeably set her
lists aside.

Brushing her teeth at the bathroom
sink she eyed the empty spot where her jewelry box normally sat. Which brought
back her earlier skittishness over the phone call from the unknown Zenda and
the probing questions about the box.

“Hon, where’s a good spot to hide
something in the house? A place where a robber probably wouldn’t think to
look?”

He finished swishing his mouthwash
and spat it out. “Why? You got a big stack of cash you never told me about?”

She laughed. “Fat chance about
that. No, it’s my jewelry box. I don’t want anything to happen to it.”

Although she’d told Beau about the
odd powers of the box, she’d glossed over the possibility that someone else
might want to get it. He wasn’t the kind of guy who probed when it came to
personal matters and he probably assumed that her simple costume jewelry was
worth more than it actually was.

“You can put it in my gun safe,”
he said.

At her raised eyebrows he paused.
“I never showed you the gun safe?”

See, Sam, you aren’t the only one in this house with a few secrets.
She
pulled the box from the upper closet shelf and followed him downstairs. He went
straight to the coat closet under the stairs and shoved the coats to one side.
Behind them, a small door revealed itself, one Sam had never noticed when she
added her own few items to the clothing there. With the wooden panel open, she
could see a heavy metal safe, about three feet wide and five feet tall. A black
box on the front had a keypad. Below it, a heavy metal handle.

“Combination is our anniversary,”
he said. “I reprogrammed it when we got married so I could never slip up and
forget it. I never told you this?”

“I’ve never seen this safe. But
you might have mentioned having it. Things were pretty crazy last September, if
you’ll recall.”

He pressed the correct series of
buttons on the keypad, making sure she watched so she could do it on her own.
She knew Beau had a hunting rifle and a smaller one for predator control—every
rancher in the West probably did. Shelves above held two cases for handguns—one
probably went with his service pistol—and a few boxes of ammunition.

“There’s plenty of space here,” he
said, moving one of the handgun cases to leave a clear shelf. Put anything you
want in here.”

She handed him the carved wooden
box. He showed her the process for locking up, closing the concealment door,
and sliding the coats back to their positions. “Just be sure you always close
it up like this. No point in having a safe if anybody who walks in the house
can get to it.”

She certainly hoped that no one
with an interest in the wooden box would ever make it that far.

Chapter
22

It felt good, getting back into
her bakery routine the next morning. Sam wanted to be in on the interview with
Althea Brooks but there wasn’t much point in sitting around Beau’s office all
morning, waiting for the woman to arrive from Farmington. He would call when it
was time.

Meanwhile, she tinted a batch of
white sugar-paste with enough coloring to turn it delicate pink and began to
form the center cones for roses. The cake was to be a bridal shower creation,
triple layer, with a smooth white fondant coating and a domed cap of roses and
daisies. Small white fondant hearts and piped dots would add a whimsical
border.

In the low humidity, the pink
cones dried sufficiently for the next step nearly as quickly as Sam could turn
them out. She cut petals for the first layering and applied them, set each one
to dry, and began to cut the daisy petals and curl them with a bone tool. The
work went smoothly, each layer of petals adding majesty to the full-blown
roses. Sugar flowers were more labor intensive than piped ones, but they were
so beautiful that a lot of brides didn’t mind the extra cost.

“Sam?” Jen startled her, so deeply
had she become engrossed in forming the flowers. “Um, it’s springtime, right?
Not even close to Halloween?”

Sam felt her brows pull together.
What was she talking about?

“Cause I think there’s a witch out
front. She’s staring at the cakes in the window and I think she’s about to—”

Sure enough, the bells on the door
tinkled.

“See if you can handle whatever
she wants,” Sam said with a nod toward the mass of flower petals on the
worktable.

Jen walked to the front but returned
within a minute. “It’s definitely you she wants to see.”

Sam had a feeling about this. She
washed her hands and went to the sales room, her mind whirling, wondering what
to say.

“Ms. Sweet? Hi, I’m Zenda.” The
apparition wore black, head to toe, starting with a lacy shawl that she pushed
back off her black hair, letting it rest on the shoulders of her black dress.
The garment’s soft fabric hung in a ragged cut nearly to the ankles, which were
clad in black stockings. Naturally, black shoes finished the look. Sam guessed
the young woman to be in her twenties but the heaviness of her costume added at
least ten years to that. In dress and demeanor this Zenda was a complete
opposite to Mary—the other witch Sam had met.

“I came to take a look at that,
um, item we discussed,” Zenda began, all smiles and over-familiarity.

“I never said—”

“Well, I just happened to be in
the neighborhood.” Zenda had a bright, expectant look on her face.

“It’s not here.” Sam took a
breath. “In fact, I don’t even own it anymore. I got rid of it.”

The bright expression turned
downward. “You sold it?”

“I, uh . . . Look, I’m not going
to pass along the name of the new owner. You’ll just have to accept that it’s
gone.”

Was it disappointment or anger
that crossed Zenda’s face. She raised a hand, three fingers pointing toward
Sam. “That is
not
the answer I
wanted.” Then she turned and swished out of the shop, the many skirt layers
floating behind her.

“
Oy
!”
Jen’s eyes were wide. “What the heck was that?”

Sam tore her gaze from the spot
where Zenda had rounded the corner at the end of the block and disappeared. “I
actually have no idea.”

But she did have an idea, and
seeing Zenda’s persistence and fervor over the box made Sam glad she had hidden
it away. She walked back to the kitchen, stewing over the bizarre visit. Botching
the next of her sugar roses, she set the petals down.

“I’ll be right back,” she told
Julio as she walked out the back door.

Checking the alley from end to
end, she walked over to the back entrance of Puppy Chic, where she was pretty
sure Kelly was working a half day.

“Don’t let that woman try to
befriend you and certainly don’t let her into the house,” Sam said after
describing Zenda. She’d fudged a little about exactly what the witchy girl
wanted. “She’s very pushy and tries hard to be friendly.”

Kelly pulled a little white
terrier from one of the wire crates and carried him to the deep sink for his
bath.

“Okay, Mom. Whatever.”

“
Kel
,
I’m serious. This lady believes she’s a witch and she might really know some
kind of spell or—” She realized how completely ridiculous this sounded. She
rolled her eyes. “I just don’t know what to think of her.”

“So, did she hex you or
something?” Kelly aimed the spray nozzle at the hapless dog.

Sam thought of the creepy little
finger motion Zenda had done. Yes. No. “I don’t know. She’s just weird. If you
see her around, go the other direction. And if you don’t want to be pestered to
death, don’t admit to her that you know me.”

Kelly gave Sam one of her charmer
smiles, the kind Sam recognized from her daughter’s teen years whenever she was
being humored. She walked back to the bakery, shaking her arms to work out the
tension.

The rose petals began to come out
perfectly again and Sam had almost put the Zenda incident behind her when Beau
called. Althea Brooks had arrived and, since it was lunch time, he suggested
they meet and chat with Althea in a less formal setting than his office.

The restaurant he proposed was one
of their favorites in the summer months for its outdoor tables under big shade
trees, and only a block from his office. However, with the April chill still in
the air, they opted this time to take seats indoors. Beau rose when Sam walked
in, introducing Althea who looked vaguely familiar. She was near Sam’s age,
slim, with chestnut hair in a brush-and-go style and smooth skin that didn’t
require much makeup. She wore jeans and a fitted T-shirt, with a denim jacket. Nothing
resembling any teacher from Sam’s schooldays but then again, times had
radically changed. Maybe fifty really was the new thirty.

“I’m not sure what I can tell
you,” Althea said, once they’d placed their orders. “As I mentioned on the
phone, I haven’t heard from my sister in years.”

“How long has she been gone?” Beau
asked.

“It will be twelve years next month.”
The speed with which she answered said that she wasn’t as unaffected by her
sister’s leaving as she first portrayed.

“And you tried to track her down?”

“Of course I did. Molly called me
to say that her mother had left. The poor kid was pretty upset. I talked with
Linden and he did nothing but badmouth his wife for running off with another
man. When I didn’t hear anything from my sister after a few weeks I called the
police but they said she wasn’t technically a missing person if she’d gone away
on her own volition. I hired a private investigator to look into it, just to
let me know where Heather had gone. He came up with nothing and assumed Heather
and this man had moved away together, that she’d probably even changed her
name. Then ten years ago, when Molly died in the accident, I gave it one more
try. I didn’t know if Heather had secretly stayed in touch with Molly—it
wouldn’t have surprised me—but we couldn’t find any evidence of it. I thought
she should know, in time to come for the funeral. But I had no luck finding an
address for her.”

“So, as far as you know, Molly was
buried without her mother ever knowing?” Sam felt a stab of pain. What if
something had happened to Kelly when she lived in California and Sam had never been
notified?

Althea shook her head. “It just
never made sense. But then Heather and I had grown apart over the years.”

She accepted the iced tea the
server brought and they waited a moment until the young man left.

“Heather and I are close in age.
I’m two years older, and we shared a bedroom when we were kids, walked to
school together every day. In childhood, we had a lot of the same friends but
as we got into school each of us bonded with kids our own age. So I guess it
was natural that we would drift off in different directions. She met Linden
shortly after she graduated—I don’t know if he’s still around or not. He’d done
his military time and was making a name for himself in real estate when they
married. Success always attracted Heather.” Althea sipped at her tea. “I never
seemed to meet the right guy to commit a lifetime to. I found my teaching
position in Farmington. Heather settled into being a wife and mother.”

“How was Heather’s marriage? There
were rumors.”

Althea sighed. “I honestly don’t
know. He seemed to treat her well, bought her anything she wanted. He started
building that huge house and Heather seemed very excited about having something
that large and fancy. I know he doted on Molly.”

Her eyes focused somewhere in the
distance. Beau glanced toward Sam. About the time Sam started to ask a
question, Althea spoke again.

“He doted on Molly so much that,
at one point Heather told me Linden had threatened that he would never allow
her—Heather—to take his daughter away.”

The statement hung in the air
while the server approached again, delivering plates of sandwiches and salads.

“So, maybe Heather had planned to
leave him?”

“It’s possible. She never told me
what prompted his comment, only that she knew she could never take Molly away
from him. She seemed . . . I guess
resigned
is the best word.”

“And she never told you her plans?
Ever mention another man, that maybe she would leave with someone?”

Althea picked at the crust of her
bread. “We really didn’t confide much. You would think, as sisters, we would
have remained close, but we just didn’t. Our lifestyles were so different and
even though we only lived a half-day’s drive apart, neither of us made the trip
very often at all.”

“When Molly called you to say that
Heather had left—tell me about that,” Beau said

“Well, she was crying. I do
believe she and Heather were close, although Molly was close to Linden as well.
Her dad had informed her that Heather ran off with one of the construction
workers. I guess he painted a pretty slutty picture of his wife. Molly was just
into puberty right then. I’m sure she didn’t even understand all of what he was
saying. It was inappropriate for him to talk that way, but by the time I got
the news the damage had been done.”

“And later? How did Molly handle
it after some time went by.”

“I tried to stay in touch with
her, assure her that I would be there for her until her mom came back. I had no
doubt, at least at first, that Heather would get over this little fling of hers
and come back to her daughter. Whatever the situation was between husband and
wife, I knew Heather loved that girl.

“So, one time I drove over on a
Friday evening. I’d managed to get out of school a little earlier than usual,
and it was going to be a Monday holiday so I thought I’d just come and do
things with Molly, give her a little girl time. I’d called Linden and arranged
all this. But when I got to Sembramos, he informed me that Molly was staying
the weekend with her friend Angela. I was a little peeved but I drove over to
the Cayne’s house and offered to take both girls to the movies. They had other
plans.

“Both girls were—can I say this?—
tarted
up with way too much makeup and skirts so short they
were embarrassing. They were going to a party with friends. Angela’s parents
weren’t home at the time but I spoke to the girls about being careful and being
smart about their behavior. I doubt they caught a word of it. They’d just
turned fifteen and gotten their driver’s licenses and the world was theirs to
do any old thing they pleased.

“I tried not to be judgmental—kids
always test the limits. It’s how they establish their independence, eventually.
I talked some more, realized I might as well have been talking to the walls,
decided to get a hotel room in Taos and then I went home the next day.”

“Disappointing,” Sam said,
memories of her own rebellious youth edging at her conscience.

“Well, especially sad because the
following summer, a bit over a year later, was when Molly and Angie were in
that accident. You can tell them, over and over, but kids don’t always get it.”

“And you never did hear from
Heather again?” Beau asked.

“Not a word. Both the police and
the private investigator decided she’d probably done just as Linden said,
hooked up with another man and moved away. Maybe she fell so madly in love with
him that she’s living happily somewhere else; maybe she wasn’t happy with him
but has been too humiliated to come back. Small towns and the gossip that runs
through them can be pretty cruel. Once Molly was gone, Heather really would
have no reason to come back here at all.”

“Did the two of you have words? Do
you think that’s why she never contacted you?”

Althea pushed her half-finished
sandwich aside. “There was a blow-up between us, after the time she told me
about Linden not letting her take Molly away. I told her she should just stand
up to him. I’m afraid I said that he was a jerk—maybe words worse than that—and
she got pretty defensive. Things were always tense after that and we lost
touch, even before she ran off. Contact had dwindled down to birthday and
Christmas cards, which is really sad. I hate to think it, but the fact that our
last conversation didn’t go well, it could be the reason she still won’t speak
to me. Heather’s hard-headed that way.”

Beau asked a couple more questions
about what happened around the time Angela Cayne was murdered, but Althea
couldn’t give any information. By that time she’d written off Sembramos and
knew nothing about the Cayne murder other than what she’d read in the papers.

They pushed their plates back and
Beau walked to the register to pay the check. Sam and Althea stood on the
sidewalk in front of the restaurant.