He paced the floor. “It might
save some poor woman’s life.”
“Call over there,” Sam suggested.
“Tell whoever’s on duty not to let Redfearn in until you’ve had a chance to
speak to the director in the morning.”
He pulled the telephone directory
from a drawer in the nightstand and paged through it with shaking hands.
“Let me,” Sam said, taking the
book. She thumbed the pages until she found the listing for Life Therapy. “Calm
down. Here’s the number.”
She read it out and he dialed.
Once he’d confirmed that Bob Woods wasn’t in, he conveyed the message about
Redfearn. When he hung up he turned to Sam. “I guess that’s all we can do
tonight.”
“I’m still not sleepy,” she said.
“Me either.”
“Maybe some hot chocolate?” She
rose, ready to go to the kitchen.
It was well after midnight when
they finally fell asleep and Sam’s early alarm was not a welcome sound in the
predawn. She tried to leave quietly but once Beau stirred he came wide awake.
“What time will you go down
there?” she asked.
“The night nurse said Mr. Woods
wouldn’t come in until nine. I’ll be waiting for him.”
“Come by the shop and get me. I
want to see what he says.” She sensed his hesitation. “Please?”
She raced through the morning
prep routine at Sweet’s Sweets, seeing to it that Julio and Becky were on track
with their tasks. By the time she heard Beau’s voice out front, she’d decorated
two wedding cakes and rolled out the fondant coating for the next on her list.
She shed her work jacket and grabbed up her pack.
“You look better at this hour
than you did last night,” she told Beau as they got in the car. “Sorry I shook
you up with that brochure.”
“It just caught me so unaware,”
he admitted. “I couldn’t believe Mama had anything to do with that sleazy
preacher. I wish I had gone through her things months ago.”
“We’ll see what they can tell
us.”
Life Therapy was gearing up for a
busy day, Sam thought, as they entered the front door. Beau’s uniform got the
desk clerk’s attention and she paged Robert Woods immediately.
The manager’s voice held a little
uncertainty. “What can I do for you this early, Sheriff?”
“I’m interested in a man who
claims to be clergy, who visited my mother at some point during her stay here,”
Beau said. “Ridley Redfearn.”
“I’m familiar with the name,”
Woods said. “Spiritual counseling is often a part of a patient’s healing
process. Several ministers make regular visits here, and of course any patient
may request the counselor of their choosing.”
“My mother was not a religious
woman, and she would have never invited a man like Redfearn to visit. Yet his
pamphlet was among her things.”
Woods shrugged. “I don’t know
what to tell you. He may have simply left the materials with her.”
Sam twitched in her chair. If
Iris didn’t want the man around she would have certainly not kept his information.
Of course, she’d had limited speech after the stroke and maybe she hadn’t been
fully able to say what she wanted. And she’d been wheelchair bound even before
the stroke, so getting out of bed and tossing something in the trash wasn’t an
easy task either. Still . . . Iris had been capable of getting her ideas
across, especially with Kelly. She would have to ask her daughter about that
later.
She nudged Beau and whispered in
his ear.
“Another patient was here until
just a couple of weeks ago,” he said to Woods. “Lila Coffey. Was Mr. Redfearn
her pastor as well?”
“This line of questioning falls
under patient confidentiality,” Woods said, stiffening a little in his chair.
“I’m not asking about anything
they might have said to each other. Just whether he visited her.”
“I believe so. But that’s all I
can say. I’m sure you understand.”
Sam wanted more but realized they
weren’t going to get it. Beau was probably lucky to get answers about his own
mother. After a couple more questions that went largely unanswered, they stood
up.
Out in the vestibule they
encountered a flurry of activity. A new patient had just arrived by ambulance,
a woman in a wheelchair with her neck in a sturdy brace and her left leg in a
heavy splint. Two male orderlies in blue scrubs hovered around the chair,
propping the double doors open and wheeling the chair into position. A perky
girl in a brightly flowered pink top spoke to the patient, assuring her that
they would soon be getting settled in her new room.
Sam and Beau stepped aside to
make space for the entourage to pass. As the wheelchair approached her, Sam got
her first real look at the patient’s bruised face with a long row of stitches
across the forehead. Before the injuries it had been a beautiful face, and
although the red hair was limp and stringy, there was no question about her
identity.
It was Renata Butler.
Sam stepped into the path of the
chair. “Renata, what happened to you?” she blurted out.
Renata rolled her eyes upward,
unable to tilt her head. Sam squatted down beside the chair.
“Ma’am—” One of the orderlies
started to interrupt but caught sight of Beau in uniform. He stepped back.
Renata looked confused for a
moment, then her mouth stretched into a tentative smile. “Madam Samantha? Is
that you?” Her Russian accent seemed more pronounced today.
Sam touched Renata’s hand. “Yes,
it’s me. What happened?” she whispered.
The bandaged woman patted Sam’s
hand with her free one. “It was car accident. A silly thing, really.”
It didn’t look very silly to Sam.
“We need to get her settled into
her room before her pain meds wear off,” the perky girl in pink said. “You can
come back to visit later if you’d like.”
Sam pressed Renata’s hand gently
and said she would come back. As she stood up she saw James Butler in jeans and
a t-shirt approaching the front door. She stepped aside to allow Renata’s chair
to pass by, then she and Beau closed in so Butler couldn’t follow it without
stopping first.
“James.” Sam let the single
syllable hang in the air.
He gave her a quizzical look.
“Samantha Sweet. I made the cake
for your reception.”
He put on his show smile. “Oh,
yes, how have you been?”
“I guess the more pressing
question is how have you and Renata been? She’s awfully banged up. An auto
accident?”
He clearly resented her tone and
started to push past but Beau stepped in closer.
“Let’s chat a minute,” he said to
Butler. “They need your wife alone in there for a little while anyway.”
He took Butler’s elbow but the
dark-haired man yanked free. He didn’t make any rash moves, though, merely
walked along beside Sam with Beau close behind.
Out in the parking lot the heat
pressed in. Beau put on his straw Stetson but James Butler had no such
advantage. Sam wished she could edge to a shady spot but she saw the benefit to
getting quick answers from Butler if he were uncomfortable in his surroundings.
“Tell me about the accident,”
Beau said with no smile on his face.
“I don’t know much about it,”
Butler said. “Renata went out alone, a quick errand, she said. She apparently
missed a stop sign and someone plowed into her. At the hospital they said she
was lucky to be alive.”
And how lucky are you feeling,
Mr. Butler?
Sam thought.
“Is your wife normally a safe
driver?” Beau asked.
“She only started driving a few
years ago. She came from Moscow and never owned a car before coming to America.
Her car was bought for her by her first husband. It’s a big, sturdy Mercedes.
Probably the reason she survived the crash.”
“And what about the condition of
the car?”
“We’re waiting for the insurance
company to look at it. Decide if they will considered it totaled or not. I
imagine they will. I hear it’s pretty messed up.” Butler shifted his feet on
the hot asphalt. “Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to be with my wife.”
Beau nodded, watching him
closely.
“Samantha, it was good to see you
again.” He walked back into the building.
“Pretty cool customer,” Beau
said.
“Unlike me,” Sam complained.
“I’ve got to get out of the sun.”
“I’ll track down the wrecked
Mercedes and have it thoroughly checked. I don’t trust that guy an inch.” He
started the cruiser and powered the windows down.
“Thanks. I told you I was
suspicious of him. And now that Renata’s in that home, I’m more scared for her
safety than ever.”
“Well, we can’t read ‘serial
killer’ into it just yet. Sometimes accidents really are just that.”
But the fact that James Butler
had attended school with Ted O’Malley and his own sister had convinced Renata
that she and James were meant for each other . . . Sam couldn’t let go of the
bad feeling in her gut.
*
“Sam, I’m so glad you’re back,”
Jen said the second she walked in the door. “We’ve got a problem.”
Another one. How surprising.
Sam put away the sarcasm long
enough to find out that the big disaster involved a bride who’d suddenly
discovered that she had miscounted the wedding guests. They would need cake for
fifty more people than planned. Since the cake was already done and due to be
delivered this afternoon, Jen hadn’t known what to tell the distraught young
woman.
“I’ll give her a call,” Sam said,
switching mental gears rapidly as she walked into the kitchen and picked up the
phone.
Once she got past the girl’s
hysterics she suggested that they provide a sheet cake that could be cut and
set out on plates by the banquet hall staff. None of the guests would ever be
the wiser. Now she just had to get the sheet baked, iced and decorated so
everything could be delivered by two o’clock. An impossible challenge always
made her day.
Julio, bless his heart, had
pulled the large sheet pan and started assembling ingredients before Sam even
finished the call.
“Vanilla or chocolate?” he asked.
“This girl’s vanilla all the
way,” Sam joked.
He dumped butter and sugar into
the mixer and started the big motor running. An hour later the cake was in the
fridge so it could cool quickly enough that the buttercream wouldn’t melt when
it touched.
Meanwhile, Sam reviewed the
orders to be sure no other disasters would smack her late in the day. As much
as she wanted Sunday off, it looked like she would need to come in, at least
long enough to place a supply order and get things organized for another crazy
week. As she remembered that July Fourth was coming up and made a note to order
a bunch of flag themed decorations, her mind kept darting back to Renata
Butler’s accident and all the questions surrounding it.
She skipped lunch when the others
ordered sandwiches from the deli down the block and by one-thirty she was on
her way to deliver several cakes, starting with the bride who had panicked this
morning.
The rented banquet hall was
bustling with activity and she recruited a couple of helpers to get the tiered
cake to a special table near the dais, while the sheet cake went to the
kitchen. She might have stayed to admire the elaborate flower arrangements and
draped tables but the van was idling outside and other brides awaited.
After the fourth delivery she
realized she was famished and pulled through the drive-up at McDonald’s for
some chicken nuggets that she could nibble while driving. The deli sandwich at
noon would have been a healthier choice, a reminder that she better be taking
care of herself if she planned to make it through this crazy season.
As she pulled away a persistently
beeping horn caught her attention. A woman in a yellow Volkswagen beetle was
trying to flag her down so she pulled to the far edge of the parking lot.
“I saw the van,” the woman
panted. “I need a birthday cake.”
Sam counted to three. Did this
lady actually think the van just drove around with a selection inside and she
could just grab a cake? She left the air running while she jotted on a napkin.
The party was actually the following afternoon and Sam made notes about the
child and the party theme, reminding herself to keep her suggestions simple. She
described one of their standard Barbie doll cakes for the six-year-old and
quoted the price.
“My shop is closed on Sundays,”
Sam explained. “But if you don’t mind paying in advance, I can have the cake
delivered in the morning.”
She accepted the lady’s cash on
the spot and wrote down the address. Now if she could just avoid losing that
McDonald’s napkin. She sat in the van and watched the VW drive away. People
never ceased to amaze her. Might as well get this one on the schedule. She
phoned the bakery and recited the details to Becky, who assured her she was
getting it all down on an order form.
“If Julio can bake the cake this
afternoon, I’ll decorate it in the morning,” Sam said. “Unless you have some
spare time this afternoon.”
The groan at the other end of the
line answered that question.
“It’s fine. I have to come in
tomorrow anyway. As long as we have the ingredients I can whip it out pretty
quickly.”
She no sooner ended the call than
the phone rang in her hand. Beau. With a quick glance at the dashboard clock
she let it go. Even though she was itching to know what he’d found out, she
would be late for her final two deliveries if she took the time to talk now.
By the time she’d handed off the
last of the wedding cakes she felt frazzled and as damp as an old mop. She
pulled into the shade of a huge tree near the courthouse and dialed Beau’s
number.
“Hey there,” he said. “I guess I
caught you at a busy time.”
“Very busy. But I’m eager to
know—did you find out anything about Renata’s accident?”
“Quite a bit. It’s not good. I
pulled the accident report. Luckily, the other driver didn’t hesitate to talk
to me without waiting to have an attorney. You never know, these days. Anyhow,
the man was driving along on Paseo, at the speed limit, early morning and there
was light traffic. Says the Mercedes pulled right out from a side street
without even slowing down. He braked, in his words, for all he was worth but he
hit her anyway. His airbag smacked him in the face, but otherwise he wasn’t
hurt.