Sweet Hearts (8 page)

“Jennifer, cut it out. I’m not a
fragile little glass ornament.” She hobbled to her desk and shut down the
computer, then glanced around to be sure the oven was off, the refrigerator
securely closed.

“Okay, I’ll get the front. You
take care and rest up tonight,” Jen said.

Once her assistant’s back was
turned, Sam headed for the sink where she drew a glass of water and swallowed
four ibuprofen. The leg ached like crazy as she turned out the lights and crept
down the two steps to the alley and climbed into her van. By the time she got
home she was seriously wondering whether she ought to have an x-ray taken. She
gritted her teeth and limped into the house where she shed her coat and
backpack. This really could not have happened at a worse time.

An ice pack would help the
soreness, but she couldn’t quite work up the energy to fill one. She made it as
far as her bedroom, where the temptation was to simply fall into bed, let the
painkillers take effect and sleep for the whole night. And she was about to do
exactly that when she caught sight of her oddly lumpy, carved jewelry box.

From the day it had come into her
possession, months ago, the box seemed to give Sam some extraordinary
abilities. One of those abilities had been a healing touch; on several
occasions after handling the box, Sam was able to make someone else’s aches and
pains go away. And at this moment in time, the person who most needed help in
that department was herself.

She picked up the box and sat
gingerly on the edge of her bed. As her hands rubbed the curves of the box’s
quilted design, the wood began to warm. She placed it on her lap, letting the
heat seep through her slacks and into her legs. Within minutes her arms began
to tingle, then her legs, a feeling familiar yet vaguely scary.

She lifted the box and set it on
the bed. Small cabochon stones of red, green and blue were mounted in the wood,
at each little X where the quilted grooves intersected. In its quiet periods,
the box was a dull, sour yellowish color, the stones dim and almost colorless.
But now, after her touch, the wood glowed golden and the stones winked with
brilliant color. She stroked the bright stones then placed the box on the night
stand.

“I better rest,” she mumbled. She
rolled over to her side, away from the box.

The room was completely dark when
Sam woke and it took her a minute to realize that the buzzing cell phone in the
pocket of her slacks had awakened her.

“Hey, darlin’, I was wondering if
you were coming out here for dinner tonight?”

“What time is it?” She groaned as
she rolled over.

“Six-thirty,” he said. The
numerals on her clock confirmed it. “Did I wake you up? You sound kinda
groggy.”

“Yeah, I guess I was pretty
tired.” She scrubbed at her face, left-handed.

“Well, then you should just tuck
in and stay there. It’s getting cold out and there’s no point in catching a
chill by driving out here.” Some metal implement made a noise in the background
and she pictured him in the kitchen. “Although I sure was thinking about having
you here in my arms for the night.”

She relaxed into her pillow. That
did sound nice.

“. . . and catch you tomorrow,” he
was saying. “Go back to sleep.”

The phone went dead in her hand
and she was tempted to roll over again but realized that she really needed to
go to the bathroom. She sat up and switched on her bedside lamp, noticing for
the first time that the rest of the house was dark, too. Kelly must have gone
directly from her job at Puppy Chic out to the nursing home. Sam swung her legs
over the side of the bed and tested to see how her hip was going to feel with
her weight on it.

Surprisingly, there was only a
little pain, like a toothache that had subsided to a small throb. She stood,
paused, then felt confident enough to walk. In the bathroom she pulled her
slacks down and looked at the hip in the mirror. No sign of a bruise, no
swelling. Amazing.

She went back to the bedroom to
get out of her work clothes. In her soft robe and warm slippers she felt nearly
human again, deciding she should eat a little something. The fridge revealed
what she already knew; she hadn’t cooked a real meal at home in days, so there
wasn’t much in the way of leftovers. She made a peanut butter sandwich and
poured a glass of milk to go with it.

Her backpack lay on the kitchen
table, reminding her that she’d intended to look through the investigator’s
file that Marla had given her. She took a big bite of the sandwich and dialed
Beau’s number. It rang several times before he picked up.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were
hurt?” he demanded. “I was just on the line with Jennifer. She called to say
that I should go check on you. That you had a bad fall at the shop today.”

Thanks, Jen.
“Beau, I feel
fine. Yes, I fell, and yes, it hurt like crazy right at that moment. But
really, I had that little nap and I’m feeling almost a hundred percent.”

“Are you sure? I mean, she really
made it sound like you could hardly walk.”

Okay, Sam, this is the perfect
time to tell him about the box and its powers.

“Should I come over there?” he
asked. “Is that why you called? You need some help?”

“No, actually, I was calling to
discuss the Tito Fresques case.” She went on to tell him about the visit to
Marla and the folder of notes from the private investigator. “I haven’t had
time to read through his report yet, but I had an idea. About those greeting
cards Marla believed Tito sent. They were mailed from several different cities.
Maybe there’s a way to check on that. Or maybe fingerprints? Would that be
possible?”

Her voice must have sounded
normal enough because Beau switched off the doting boyfriend voice and went
into professional mode.

“Fingerprints on paper can be very
well preserved,” he said, “depending on whether the surface is shiny or rough,
whether the paper was exposed to heat . . . that kind of thing.”

“Maybe the case could be reopened
with proof that he’s been in contact with his family?”

“Darlin’, can I ask what is the
point of this? I mean, we know Tito Fresques is not in Taos, probably not in
Albuquerque. It’s likely that he really sent the cards. But knowing that
doesn’t disprove the original idea that he left his family voluntarily.”

She thought about that for a
minute. “I suppose you’re right. I just wanted something concrete to tell
Marla.”

“She already believes Tito is
alive and well somewhere, and thinking of his family. Nothing we do will change
that.”

Darn it, he made a lot of sense.

“I’ll take another look and might
be able to reopen the case, but don’t expect any huge breakthrough because of
it.”

She sighed. “Okay.” She almost
hung up but something stopped her. “You know, something just crossed my mind .
. . Assuming Tito were living a normal life somewhere, he can’t be doing it
under his real name. If he got a job using his own Social Security number the
employer would have to be withholding child support and that money would be
going to Marla and his daughter.”

He thought about it for a few
seconds. “Not unless the court ordered it. Court ordered child support is
treated that way, but since he was never divorced or legally separated, I don’t
think . . . Well, I’m not sure. It might be an angle to pursue, but surely
Marla would have mentioned to you if she’d tried to get money to support the
child, wouldn’t she?”

That was probably true, but the
whole thing was a muddle. When Beau changed the subject she put the Tito
situation out of her head.

The high protein dinner put Sam
into drowsy mode and even though it was barely seven-thirty, she coasted
through her bedtime routine and crawled between the covers. When her alarm went
off she was still in the same position as when her head hit the pillow.

She rolled over and sat up,
feeling a twinge from her injured hip. And although she’d promised herself to
get away from using the wooden box’s magic powers to accomplish her work, she
knew there was no way she could be on her feet all day at the bakery without
some help. She reached for the box.

Once the warm glow had permeated
her limbs and sent its energy throughout her system, she rushed through a
shower and grabbed her backpack. The hip felt absolutely fine—no pain
whatsoever—and it only bothered her for a split-second that she’d used magic to
accomplish the miraculous healing.

She arrived at the bakery, went
through the normal routine to make things ready for the rest of the crew, then
eagerly turned to the real task—making more of the special chocolates. By the
time her three kitchen helpers arrived at six, she’d completed crèmes,
truffles, nougats, and molded enough hearts in rich dark chocolate to fill at
least a dozen of the new gift boxes which should arrive this morning.

“Wow, Sam, these are gorgeous!”
Becky exclaimed. “I think you’re doing them as well as Bobul ever did.”

“Have a sample,” Sam said to the
three women. “I’m curious what you think about this new flavor I added, the
caramel crunch.”

Three pairs of eyes closed in
ecstasy. No one thought to ask how she’d managed to make so much chocolate so
early in the day.

Jen reported for work at a
quarter to seven and immediately marched into the kitchen with a stern look on
her face.

“I told Beau to be sure you went
for an x-ray and then stayed home in bed today,” she said, facing Sam over the
worktable.

Becky and the other ladies
stopped to stare.

“She didn’t tell you guys? She
fell last night and really hurt her hip. She shouldn’t be standing on her feet
all day.”

Sam looked around the room. “It
wasn’t all that bad. Surprised me when it happened, but no real damage. See?
I’m fine.” She stepped away from the table and walked across the room and back.
“It really doesn’t hurt.”

The others turned back to their
work, but Jen gave Sam a long hard stare. “If you say so,” she finally said.
“But if it starts bothering you at all . . . Sam would you just please take
care of yourself.”

Sam offered a hug. Jen had been
her first employee and they had a special affinity. It was natural for her to
worry the most, Sam decided.

“Here, have one of the new chocolates.
The girls gave them a big thumbs-up.”

She glanced toward the bake oven,
where Sandy and Cathy were giggling over something. Becky was working at making
risqué replicas of male body parts for a bachelorette party order, a drifty
smile on her face as she handled the modeling chocolate—perhaps a little too
enthusiastically.

“Becky! Come back to earth.”

Becky dropped the piece she was
working on. “Sorry, Sam. For some reason I was just—” She flushed crimson. “Oh,
never mind.”

Sam pulled out an order form for
a child’s birthday party and reminded Becky that she needed to finish that one
before noon, diffusing her embarrassment.

Jen, meanwhile, had carried the
boxed chocolates out front, along with a plate of sample pieces. Soon, Sam
heard the jingle of the bells at the front door and knew the morning customers
were beginning to arrive. She immersed herself in decorating two more of the
proposal cakes, thinking all the while that she wished she’d had time to read
through Marla’s private investigator’s notes last night.

When she finally got the chance
to step out to the sales room to check on the display cases and coffee carafes,
she realized that the sky had clouded up with that all-over white that meant
snow.

“Winter’s coming back,” she said,
half to herself and half to Jen and the man who stood at the counter.

A silly laugh erupted from behind
her and she turned to see Jen flirting outrageously with the male customer. A
bag of pastries sat near the register and he seemed to be in the process of
choosing more. Obviously, the giggles and dimpled smile were helping Jen’s
sales technique. Sam smiled and checked to be sure they weren’t running low on
teabags.

The door jingled again as Sam
finished wiping up the small blots of coffee and sprinkles of sugar that inevitably
accumulated wherever people served themselves beverages.

“Cute, huh?” Jen said, staring at
the retreating back of the man who’d just left.

“Looked like a good customer. Is
he a regular?”

“No. It’s the first time I’ve
seen him here.”

Sam grinned at her assistant. “He
seemed pretty taken with you.”

“Maybe so. He asked me out
tonight.”

“Really.” Sam
so
wanted to
caution Jen—all the usual ‘be careful on a first date’ stuff—but it really
wasn’t her place. “Well, have a good time.”

She looked up to see Kelly’s
little convertible pull up to the curb next door at Puppy Chic. It lurched to a
halt and out came Kelly, her curly brown hair looking a bit more frazzled than
usual. Instead of going right into the grooming shop, Kelly headed toward the
bakery.

“Ohmygod, Jen, you won’t believe
what I did last night,” she said, her breath coming in white puffs on the cold
air. She screeched to a halt when she spotted Sam.

“Oh?” Sam said. “No, you know
what? Unless it was something illegal, it’s none of my business.” She sent a
smile toward her daughter and walked into the kitchen.

I’ll just pry it out of Jen
later
, she thought as she pulled a tub of cookie dough from the fridge.

Some harried whispers trickled
through the curtain and the shop bells chimed again a minute later.

They’re both adults, both
entitled to love lives
. Sam’s eyes scanned the kitchen, noting the perky
smiles on the other three women, the faint sense of pheromones floating through
the air. What on earth was going on here?

By five o’clock, all her kitchen
staff were hinting that they needed to get home to their husbands—early dinner,
favorite TV show, got to get the kids to bed early . . . and Sam knew something
was up. Was it only because Valentine’s Day was coming up—all the
hearts-and-romance stuff at the shop?