Sweets Forgotten (Samantha Sweet Mysteries Book 10) (18 page)

“I don’t want to go home, Sam.
I’ll just sit around and cry all day and feel sorry for myself. Can I stay here
and work, finish the chocolates?”

Sam wavered. The downside was she
really didn’t want to get caught up in Jo’s crying spells. On the other hand,
the order of chocolates needed to be finished and Jo was much quicker at the
work, freeing Sam’s time to finish several other orders. Plus, she knew Beau
wanted to keep Jo on his radar. At least by having her at the bakery they would
know where she was and what she was doing. Unfortunately, that sounded a little
too much like the way Jo’s husband had treated her. Sam cast aside that train of
thought. With a sigh, she agreed to have Jo stay and finish the chocolates.

“I’m going to follow Jen’s
suggestion and run out to see if I can locate the right box for this order,”
Sam told the group in the kitchen.

Getting into her van and driving
away provided exactly the breath of fresh air Sam needed. Beau could be right
about Jo’s involvement in Zack’s death. How well did she know the woman,
anyway? Just because she was a master at chocolate-making didn’t mean she
wouldn’t crack under the strain of an abusive marriage and estrangement from
her son. For that matter, the whole breakdown in the interrogation room could
have been an act. How many times had Beau told her never to trust what a
suspect told you? Anyone, under the right circumstances, will lie to save her
own skin. She shouldn’t have been so sharp with Beau earlier. As she steered
down narrow Martyrs Lane to find parking at Millie’s Attic, she decided to make
his favorite chicken parmesan dinner tonight.

She’d no sooner put her hand on
the doorknob of the quaint, tiny shop than she heard a familiar voice.

“Time for shopping? I thought you
were swamped with work this week.” Zoë’s grin teased her.

“I wish it was casual shopping,
but this is work.” She explained about the box for the chocolates and Zoë
followed her inside.

“Last time I was here I did see
something like that,” she said. She greeted the owner, whose name wasn’t Millie
at all, but Linda. Zoë explained that it was the current owner’s grandmother
who had started the concept of selling spare things out of her attic when the
Great Depression hit the family hard.

Linda steered them toward one
corner of the shop, where handmade fabric flowers filled pottery vases and the
shelves contained vintage toys from the 1940s and ’50s. A stack of cardboard
boxes on a low table glowed with colored light from stained glass ornaments
hung in the nearby window. The boxes were covered in various papers with a
Victorian feel.

“I’m not sure whether the classic
look will appeal,” Sam said, scanning the choices. “We’re designing the candy
around the woman’s fav—”

She stopped short when she
spotted a box covered with colored pencil drawings of felines. It was slightly
larger than she’d had in mind. They would have to turn out another dozen or so
candies in order to fill it.

“This one is perfect,” she said,
picking up the feline box and handing it to Linda, who carried it to the
register. One way or another, she would manage the extra chocolates.

“Now, if only Jo can continue to
work another day or two,” she told Zoë. “I have a feeling all the drama going
on in her life right now will take over, right when I really need her.”

After paying an incredibly small
amount for the decorative box and carrying her shopping bag outside, Sam asked
Zoë if she wanted to stop somewhere for a coffee.

“As busy as you are?”

“I need it. I get to the bakery
and feel like I’m at my wit’s end.”

A half-block away one of the
cafés with outdoor tables appeared to be experiencing a mid-morning lull. They
quickly found a table and ordered lattes.

“We could have done this at my
place—for free,” Sam said

“But then you couldn’t talk quite
so freely. C’mon, something’s bothering you.”

“Nothing major. It’s just an
unsettled feeling, wondering whether Jo is being honest with me. Beau still
considers her a suspect, and I don’t see that. I can’t believe she’s a killer.
We had a bit of a fight over it this morning.”

“A real fight?”

“Oh, no. More like testy words.”

Zoë chuckled. “You two are so
good together. Do you know how rare it is for a couple to make it a whole year
without a fight? I see honeymooners at the B&B who are already fighting and
they haven’t been married twenty-four hours.”

Honeymooners. The B&B. Sam’s
mind flashed back to their wedding, held at Zoë and Darryl’s place, the perfect
September weather and beautiful decorations. The forgotten thing which had been
nagging at her all week. Their anniversary—tomorrow—and she had wanted to do it
up special.

Chapter
19

Beau sat in his cruiser in the
shade of a cottonwood in the library parking lot and watched the blinking
tracer dot as Jo Robinet parked at Sweet’s Sweets. As long as it didn’t leave
again right away, his suspect would most likely stay put all day. Sam had
mentioned a special order she’d assigned to her temporary helper, and she would
be there to keep an eye on the woman. He dialed Kent Taylor’s number and the
detective thanked Beau for the report on the junior programmer’s alibi for
Wednesday night. J.B. had made a purchase at the comic book store, which could
be easily verified. Beau mentally ticked another suspect off their list.

“In other news,” Taylor said.
“We’ve verified Ray Belatoni’s alibi. He wasn’t in Albuquerque at all that day.
Krystal is still on our radar. She admits to being in the room both before and
after Zack died, and the cameras agree. It’s looking like she’s our best bet
right now.”

“So, should I quit monitoring Jo
Robinet?”

“Not yet. We know she and Krystal
had hatched a plan together. Jo inherits Zack’s half of a multi-million dollar
business, which could give Krystal a whole lot of reasons for wanting to help
the lady out. And with that much cash at her disposal, the recent widow could
afford to go nearly anywhere in the world.

Beau had to agree. Money was such
an enticing little motive. Or, in this case, a big fat enticing motive. “Too
bad for her, I’ve got her passport.”

“That’s good,” Taylor said. “Got
something else for you to check out. Our lab folks performed some kind of
photo-enhancing thing on the footage of the man in the hat. Still couldn’t
quite get the face, but the hat is a particular brand popular with golfers. We
found two shops in Albuquerque that sell them and one in Taos. I’m sending you
a picture of the hat.”

“Zack Robinet played golf.”

“And one of those golfing buddies
recently had a run-in with him, right?”

“Will Valmora. Seemed like a
pretty mellow type when I talked with him, and I pretty much discounted him.”

“Still, let’s find out where he
was that day. Wouldn’t hurt to drop by the sporting goods shop that sells the
hats and see if they sold one to Valmora.”

“I’ll do it.” Beau smiled as he
retrieved the photo on his phone.

This was his kind of police work,
tracking clues and looking for facts, rather than endless interviews with
suspects who all proclaimed their own innocence. He put the cruiser in gear. He
was familiar with the store Taylor had named; cutting through Martyrs Lane was
a quick way to get there.

A huge box of pastries caught his
eye—the custom artwork on Sam’s bakery delivery van. It was parked at the curb
in a block of cutesy little shops favored by women tourists. Two doors down, he
spotted Sam chatting beside Zoë’s vehicle. He thought of his recent statement
to Kent Taylor and pulled to a stop beside the van. Zoë got into her Subaru and
waved as she started the engine.

“Hey, you,” Sam said, walking
toward him with a smile.

“I thought you were sticking
close to Jo Robinet all day, making sure she didn’t skip out.” His displeasure
must have showed on his face.

“Excuse me?”

“She’s a prime suspect, Sam.”

“Well, how was I to know that?
You let me believe she was pretty much off the list. And I don’t recall being
assigned to babysit her. Your department can still track her car, can’t you?”

He took a deep breath. “It just
took me by surprise, seeing you out here shopping and socializing this time of
day.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You aren’t
telling me how I’m supposed to spend my day are you, Sheriff?”

“Sam, I—”

But she’d already marched past
him and gotten into her van. Oh boy.

Since this seemed like a
situation best left to cool awhile and then resolve with a rose bouquet at the
end of the day, he continued his route toward Paseo del Pueblo Sur and the
sporting goods store Taylor had named.

The young man behind the counter
gave Beau a blank stare when he inquired about the hat by its brand name. He
held out his phone, showing the picture.

“Oh, yeah, those. We have some,
over there in the corner by the golf clubs and shirts.”

“I don’t need to buy one,” Beau
said, working to keep his voice patient. “I need to know if you’ve sold this
particular style in recent—”

Again, the blank stare.

“Is the owner or manager here?”

The kid disappeared through a
half-door, beyond which Beau could see shelves packed with rental ski boots and
racks holding skis. T’would soon be the season. A man followed the clerk back
out, a guy who might be anywhere between thirty-five and fifty. Beau showed the
photo again.

“I assume your sales are
computerized?” he asked. “Could you tell me if you’ve sold any of these
recently?”

The man squinted, then pulled a
pair of low-power reading glasses from his shirt pocket.

“This is last year’s style. The
ribbon band is bandanna print. This year they went with tropical flowers. I
don’t know why—men don’t really want to be wearing flowers on their hats, now
do they?”

Beau stood patiently while the
manager tapped keys on the computer.

“Looks like we sold three, two of
them marked down to clearance price at the end of the season. Had to make space
for ski caps and gloves.”

“I need to know who purchased
them, if that’s possible.”

The man sucked air through his
teeth. “A credit card purchase, maybe. Cash, no way.”

“Check them for me. Please.” Beau
felt almost guilty for asking. It would only prove Valmora owned such a hat,
not whether he was the one in the hotel hallway outside Zack Robinet’s room.
His lawyer would have great fun with this, but it was necessary to establish
the full chain of events if they had any hope of eventually proving a case.
Meanwhile, he could take another tack.

He left his card with the store
manager, asking to be informed of the names of the hat buyers. Glancing through
his notes, out in the cruiser, he didn’t see where he had actually asked Will
Valmora his whereabouts last Wednesday night. It wouldn’t hurt to do that and
tie up one more loose end. And there was no time like the present. He got Dixie
on the radio, obtained the address, which turned out to be surprisingly near
his own home out in the ranchland, and debated. He could drive out there now
or, more importantly, catch the Robinets and their grandson before they left to
drive Bentlee back to his Albuquerque boarding school.

He opted for the latter. He would
be more likely to catch Will Valmora home at the end of the day, on his own way
home.

Greenlee Manor was buzzing when
Beau pulled into the parking lot. He got sidetracked when someone shouted,
“There’s the sheriff. Tell him!”

A huge Buick, about four sizes
too large for the tiny woman driving it, sat butt-to-bumper with a Prius and a
small crowd had gathered.

“She backed into me!” said a
gray-haired man with a decided hump between his shoulder blades.

“I did not.” The woman might be
tiny but her eyes held a lot of fire. “Your car is outside its space. You
pulled out without looking. Sheriff, give him a ticket.”

“Is anyone hurt?” Beau asked,
surveying the minor damage. Both drivers were walking around and he guessed the
impact must have happened with the cars barely rolling.

Across the lot, he spotted George
and Nancy Robinet with Bentlee at their side. The teen was pulling a suitcase.
Beau scanned the looky-loos at the accident, choosing two women who seemed the
least befuddled among them.

“Ma’am, I’d like for you to go
inside and get someone from the staff to come out and make sure no one is hurt.
And could you,” he said, turning to the other lady, “please wait with them
until the town police arrive? I’m actually here on another case and need to get
going.”

As he strode across the lot
toward the Robinets, he keyed his mike and asked Dixie to report the fender
bender to the town cops. With such a minor accident on private property they
likely wouldn’t do anything, but maybe they could give reassurance to the two
oldsters and make sure a battle didn’t erupt. A few of the onlookers lost
interest and trailed after Beau.

Hoping for a more mellow tone
than Kent Taylor had used with the boy, Beau approached the group with a smile.

“Hey, Bentlee. Looks like you’re
heading back to Albuquerque?”

The teen sent out a so-what kind
of look. What ever happened to basic politeness?

“He’s got school, Sheriff. A
place like Holbrook Academy, they fall way behind when they aren’t there. It’s
a top school.”

“I imagine they would be lenient
in this case, knowing families need time together in times like this,
especially his mother.”

“My mother doesn’t need anybody,”
Bentlee said with a snarl. “She’s a self-centered bitch.”

Neither of the grandparents
contradicted him, a fact Beau found astounding.

“Well, I imagine everything is
hitting her pretty hard right now,” Beau said.

“Sheriff, he’s not wrong about
Jo,” George Robinet said. “The woman was completely—”

Beau held up a hand to cut him
off. “This really isn’t the time or place,” he said. Whew—tough group. Even
after his warning, Nancy Robinet continued to mumble criticism of her
daughter-in-law.

“Anyway, that’s not really why I
wanted to catch you before you left. I have a few more questions about the day
your dad died. Could we go inside and chat?” He eyed the nosy neighbors who
lingered just out of range.

Both grandparents made impatient
gestures. What was it today? Beau wondered. Was he giving off some kind of
unfriendly vibe? It seemed nearly every conversation became a confrontation.

Since none of the other three
made a move toward going to the apartment, Beau took the reins. “All right. Mr.
and Mrs. Robinet, you may wait here at your car. I’ll talk with Bentlee in
mine. We’ll just be a few minutes.”

He gestured for the teenager to
precede him to the nearby cruiser. When Beau opened the passenger door,
curiosity won out. Bentlee slid into the seat, eyeing all the special equipment
while Beau walked around to the driver’s side.

“Okay, let’s just cut to the
chase and get this done,” Beau said. “You talked with Detective Taylor in
Albuquerque and told him where you were last Wednesday night. Unfortunately,
what you told him proved not to be true. The police check that kind of thing.
They also check out your friends and it turns out your best buddies seem to
know a lot about drugs.”

Bentlee went a little white
around the edges at the mention of his friends. “Okay, look. I did lie about
where I was that night. The school has a strict policy about drug use and I
couldn’t let it get out that I was smoking a little dope and trying these new
pills with my friends. Holbrook will kick me out and I’d have to go back home
to live. It might be better without my dad there, but things aren’t great
between my mom and me either. Know what I mean?”

“Your dad died of a heroin
overdose, son. You really don’t want to start down that path yourself, do you?”

“I’m not—”

“No one
starts
with heroin. I’m just saying, be careful.”

“You won’t tell my grandparents,
will you? I’ll quit the drugs, promise.”

Beau tilted his head, not really
committing. “You might not realize it now, but your mother loves you very much.
Both of you are in shock right now over what happened, but when it sinks in
there will be some rough emotional times ahead. I think the two of you might
like to be able to turn to each other.”

“Is that what this is? A lecture
on how to be nice to my mom? Seriously?”

“Just saying. It’s been hard on
her.” Mentioning the abuse didn’t seem necessary. The boy had been there.

*
* *

Sam took a deep breath as the
last of her employees left for the day. Between Jo’s emotional story and the
near-argument with Beau, not to mention the pressure of increasing the output
of their chocolate order, she felt drained. And she still hadn’t begun the
anniversary cake she wanted to do for tomorrow. She and Beau really needed some
time to themselves—a special dinner out, the cake. They could not start taking
their marriage for granted this early on.

She mulled over all this,
including what on earth she might get Beau as a gift, as she drove home. His
cruiser wasn’t there and she felt secretly a little glad about that. She would
have time to shower, phone for tomorrow night’s dinner reservation, and regroup
before he arrived. Not for the first time all day, she thought of the carved
box. She’d missed its presence in her daily routine.

The dogs greeted her with their
perpetually happy faces and wagging tails. It might be quite pleasant to come
back in her next life as a dog, she thought. Their carefree attitude seemed
like the right way to approach each day.

Once inside, she glanced toward
the hall closet. The box was in the wall safe, waiting for her. It had been
three months since her unexpected encounter with the woman from The Vongraf
Foundation, Isobel St. Clair, and the story she’d told of the existence of two
other boxes like this one. Especially bizarre was the fact an organization
existed whose members were intent upon getting hold of the boxes, supposedly to
use them for some nefarious purposes.

At the time, especially after one
of these men had nearly killed Isobel in her car, Sam had felt on high alert,
worried for her own safety and that of the box in her possession. But months
had passed without incident. No one had come snooping around. Not even a casual
mention of the box from any stranger. Maybe the whole story was a fabrication
or a bunch of silly superstition. Sam punched the buttons for the safe’s code
and the door swung quietly open.