Bitter Sweet (22 page)

As if to reinforce her point, her
cell phone went off just then. She raised one shoulder—see?—and flipped it
open.

“Hey,
darlin
’.
Tried to reach you at home last night.”

Sam turned away from her
employees and headed to the sales room. She noticed that they started their
normal work, Julio pulling out ingredients for muffin batter and Becky grabbing
a tray of cookies she’d baked the day before so she could decorate them.

“I decided to work late, hon.
Stuff here has just piled up on me.” She didn’t elaborate and he didn’t ask.

“Figured as much. Look, I’ve got
some new information. Could I take you to breakfast?” His voice sounded
unusually tight, reserved.

“Sure. I’d like that.” She
suddenly realized she was starving. “Will it involve eggs and green chile?”

They agreed to meet at the
Taoseño in fifteen minutes.

Back in the kitchen, Becky was
humming the theme from a kid’s cartoon show as she spread glaze on sugar
cookies. Julio’s non-committal expression only revealed that he was paying
attention as he cut scones and placed them on baking sheets. Sam told them she
would return in an hour or so.

She knew something was bothering
him the minute she saw Beau. His normally open expression was tight, the smile
gone. His skin looked slept-in, to borrow one of her father’s sayings.

He’d already gotten a table and
she joined him, dying to ask what was wrong, but the waitress appeared with her
coffee pot at the ready and it took forever for her to finish reciting the
specials and filling their mugs.

“Hon, what’s the matter?” Sam
said, the minute the woman walked away.

“Looks like I’ll have to promote
you to detective,” he said, a tiny smile tugging at his mouth. “You don’t miss
a clue.”

“So, what’s happened?”

He gave her hand a squeeze. “I
went by Life Therapy yesterday. Just a couple of unanswered questions about
Lila Coffey’s death.”

“Hers did seem pretty suspicious.
She goes in for rehab on a broken ankle and soon she’s dead.”

“It’s the same place they took
Mama for her rehab after the stroke.”

She nodded. She knew this. So
what was the news?

“The director there told me
something I’d never known before. He said that Mama’s pastor visited her
several times.”

“I never knew your mother had any
religious affiliation.”

“She didn’t. And she wouldn’t
have welcomed a visit by any preacher.” He paused when the waitress approached
to take their orders. Once they were alone again he continued. “It’s a little
complicated. Mama was a churchgoer once, back when I was a kid. But something
happened when Daddy died. I don’t know all the details because she refused to
talk about it much. I got the feeling it had to do with money. Whatever it was
she came away with a bitter, bitter feeling about the church. She never went
back.”

“She might have become interested
in another denomination?”

“No. This went real deep. I
seriously doubt she would have let anyone through the door once he said he was
a preacher.” He sipped from his coffee. “I plan on asking some more questions.”

The waitress approached with
their steaming breakfast burritos and Sam unwrapped her knife and fork from the
paper napkin encasing them.

“Speaking of phonies,” Beau said
after they’d eaten in silence for a few minutes, “I’ve learned a few more
interesting things about our friends Ted O’Malley and James Butler. The two of
them knew each other in high school. Apparently they got into some trouble in
Nevada, mostly juvenile stuff that gets locked away off-record. When Butler’s
family moved to Albuquerque he lost touch with O’Malley for a few years. But
those types of bad pennies always seem to find each other again. They both did
time for getting caught in a junk-bond scam a few years later.”

Sam chewed slowly, mulling over
the new information. “I just wish we could put together the whole ‘big picture’
of these guys. There seem to be so many connections, but it gets confusing as
to who knew whom at what point.”

“And, are they just a bunch of
sleazy types who gravitate toward each other, or are they actually working
together in some way?” He scraped up the last of his green chile sauce as he
spoke.

“I know. I feel like the answer
has to be close. Look, I hate to eat and run,” Sam said, remembering the
delivery she’d promised by eight o’clock, “but the shop has been crazy this
week. I swear the third week of June must be the one everyone picks to get
married. I’ve got six deliveries today and several more tomorrow. I better get
going.”

“Maybe we can have dinner
tonight?” he suggested.

“I’d love it. And speaking of
weddings, I’ve got news about our own. I talked to Zoë about it yesterday and
I’ll fill you in.”

His mood had brightened
considerably, Sam was happy to see. She left him waiting in line at the
cashier’s desk, with a promise to touch base by phone later in the afternoon.

On the way back to Sweet’s
Sweets, Sam cranked up the van’s air conditioning as high as she could stand it
for seven in the morning. With luck she could get four of her six cake
deliveries done before the sun became blistering hot. The remaining two were
specifically not to be delivered before three p.m. She scanned the intense blue
sky for any sign of a rain cloud. Nothing.

The wedding deliveries went
well—aside from the first one, where yesterday’s customer to whom she’d had to
apologize was practically tapping her toe. A complimentary large box of
breakfast scones seemed to soften the woman’s temper and Sam managed enough
obsequious moves to get her to say that she would patronize Sweet’s Sweets
again.

Luckily, the other three
deliveries were right on time and those customers raved over the results. By
the time she’d dropped off the last one, she was feeling the normal letdown
after a night of hard work, magical influences or not. She phoned the shop to
be sure there were no emergencies and that the rest of the weekend’s orders
were on schedule. Then she stopped by her house, dropped her pack and jacket on
the kitchen table, and set her alarm for noon.

When it went off she felt
refreshed, although tempted to take the afternoon off and lounge around in her
pajamas eating potato chips and watching daytime TV. Since that was not an
option she washed her face, brushed her teeth and ran her fingers through her
hair. Donning a fresh jacket and reminding herself that she better run a load
of laundry very soon, she headed out the door.

Two small puffy clouds sat on top
of Taos Mountain, giving Sam hope that maybe their bigger brothers would soon
show up. The news still carried stories of forest fires all around the state.
Even if rain weren’t predicted anytime soon, cooler temperatures would be most
welcome.

Back at the shop, everything
seemed to be running pretty smoothly. Becky was diligently rechecking every
order before it went into the fridge, and Jen commented that several people
who’d picked up their cakes were very pleased. Sam looked around. Things hadn’t
run this smoothly in weeks and she felt like a surprise was going to jump out at
her any minute.

Beau phoned just as she was
leaving to make the final two wedding deliveries of the day and they made plans
to meet at their favorite little Chinese place at seven.

“My, you sure do look nice,” he
said in his most gentlemanly Southern tone when she walked into Yu Garden.

She smiled, not admitting that
she was wearing her last clean blouse. The dirty laundry still had not made it
as far as the washing machine. While they perused the menu she filled him in on
the wedding plans she’d discussed with Zoë. She left out the choicer moments of
yesterday’s phone call with her mother. Beau would soon enough learn more about
his future motherin-law.

“I cruised by that so-called
church you attended the other night,” Beau said after they toasted each other
with glasses of Tsingtao. “You’re right, it sure looks like a warehouse to me.”

“Anyone there?”

“Not at first. I had some
paperwork to fill out so I sat down the block for a few minutes. A car pulled
up—unfortunately, not the Toyota—and some young guy offloaded a couple of
guitars and amplifiers.”

“They must be having another
service tonight,” she said. “There was guitar music last time.”

“So, you want to go to church
after dinner?” he asked with a glint in his eye.

“Absolutely not. I did my duty by
snatching a plastic cup from the place. I probably have some kind of holy mark
on my forehead, branding me as a thief.” She rubbed her sandal clad toes
against his pants leg under the table.

His smile lit up. “I highly doubt
that, ma’am. If you’re going to hell for anything, it’ll be for the lewd
thoughts you’re having about me right now.”

“You got that right.” She laughed
heartily for the first time in days. “I plan to have my way with you. And then
I plan to get a good night’s sleep. Another early morning, and then I have a
day off.”

It was almost tempting to call on
the wooden box for another shot of energy so she could stay longer at Beau’s
and then work like a demon through the next day and night.

“Anyway, before you so
deliciously distracted me with carnal thoughts,” he said, “I meant to tell you
the rest about Redfearn and his church.”

She paused and lowered her beer
glass.

“Marshall Gray showed up while
the young guy was unloading the guitar equipment.”

“Really. I thought he left town.”

“He was back today. They spoke
for a few minutes. Of course all I got from down the road was hand movements
and body language. But it looked like angry words . . . not the kind of thing
you’d see in church, if you know what I mean. Gray stomped around while the
young guy looked baffled, and then Gray got into his car and roared away. Maybe
I should have grabbed him for a speeding ticket.” He looked genuinely regretful
at that last part.

Sam mulled over the new
information while they finished their mu
shu
pork and
paid the tab. She still hadn’t come to any conclusions by the time she’d
followed Beau’s SUV out to the ranch.

“I’ll be glad when you’ve moved
in,” he said, nuzzling her neck in the kitchen.

He poured them each a brandy and
they carried the drinks upstairs. For the next hour Sam didn’t think of nursing
homes or men with shady police records. Beau’s bedroom with the rustic log
walls and Indian art sheltered them in their own little cocoon, and she reveled
in their lovemaking.

Afterward, although she was
tired, she found herself too keyed up to fall asleep. Beau snored softly with
his arm draped over her, but her eyes were wide open. She gently picked up his
wrist and slid out of the king-size bed. Wrapped in her cotton robe she padded
barefoot downstairs in search of a glass of milk.

Iris’s bedroom door stood closed,
as it had since the day she died. Sam knew that Beau hadn’t yet been able to go
through her things. Maybe she should take the initiative and offer to help sort
the clothing and personal items. He would surely be able to move on more
quickly without that task hanging over him. She opened the door and switched on
the overhead light.

A cardboard carton sat on the
bed, which he’d left neatly made when Iris was admitted to the rehab center
last December. Sam stepped into the room and raised the flap on the box. A
lightweight plastic pitcher and drinking cup with a straw lay on top; these
were the things Iris had in her room. She lifted out the first few items. Below
the hospital-issue stuff were some personal things—her address book, a pair of
reading glasses, warm socks, and a few get-well cards from her friends. As Sam
picked up the cards a business card drifted to the bedspread. She reached for
it.

Joe Smith, Attorney at Law. As on
the card Renata had given her, there was no address, just a phone number.

She stared at it for a full
minute. A dagger of ice sliced her spine. How and when had this come into
Iris’s possession? Other than Beau, Kelly and herself, Iris had had few
visitors. She jammed the card into the pocket of her robe and flipped through
the stack of greeting cards. A pamphlet, longer and narrower than the cards,
stuck out of the pile.

It was just like the one Sam had
found in Lila Coffey’s home. The Fellowship of Good Works Church, Ridley Redfearn,
pastor. She grabbed it up, letting the other cards fall to the floor.

“Beau! Beau!” She raced up the
stairs and into the master bedroom.

He rolled over, a sleepy, sexy
smile on his face.

“Look what I found!” She sat on the edge of
the bed beside him and held out the brochure.

He came to attention immediately.
“Where did you get this?”

She quickly explained. “The
preacher who went by to see Iris was Ridley Redfearn. The guy who got his
degree from some online diploma shop.”

Beau’s face went white. “The
director told me—”

“Iris was incapacitated by that
first stroke. Even if she wanted him out of there she probably couldn’t get her
wishes across.”

“Exactly. And if she couldn’t
order him out, what kinds of things did he say to her? What might he have done
to her?”

“Oh, Beau. You think . . . oh,
god, could he have somehow been involved in her death?”

He gulped. “Here we’ve been
thinking that the men who married these old women—the husbands—were harming
them. But what if it wasn’t them at all? What if this Redfearn guy is behind
the whole thing?”

He got out of bed and pulled on
his jeans. “I’ve got to talk to that director again.”

“Hon, hold on a second.” She
reached a hand out to him. “It’s after ten o’clock. The place probably has
minimal night staff on duty right now. Wait until morning. It won’t change
anything.”