Sweets Forgotten (Samantha Sweet Mysteries Book 10) (2 page)

Chapter
3

Beau walked into the empty squad
room. Every deputy not sick at home with the flu was out on patrol and, judging
by the radio chatter, the department was stretched pretty thin. In the dispatch
office Dixie was speaking into her headset, typing at her keyboard and looking
as unflappable as always.

She caught sight of him from the
corner of her eye and held up a handwritten message while tapping computer keys
with her left hand. Her eyes rolled slightly as she said, “Yes, ma’am, I’m
going to put you on hold for just one moment.”

“Sorry I haven’t had much time to
work on your missing person search,” Dixie said, handing Beau the pink slip of
paper.

“I can see you have your hands
full.” For all he knew, the woman at Sam’s might not be missing at all. She
could have had some small mishap where she struck her head and walked away
without her ID. Those things happened.

“This,” said the dispatcher,
pointing at the message, “is the info on the death in Albuquerque. The caller
was an APD detective. His name and number are there.”

The phone console beeped,
reminding her of the woman still on hold.

“I’d better …”

“Yeah, fine. I got this.” Beau
read the note as he walked toward his office. The detective’s name was Kent
Taylor. Beau decided to call him before contacting the local family. According
to the brief note, the victim had been found in a hotel room. People always
asked questions when they received word of a loved one’s death, and knowing
something of the circumstances would help him know what to tell them. A death
that took place in a hotel was fraught with unknowns. People died in hospitals,
in cars, in their own bathtubs—they generally didn’t go to a hotel to die, and
families were always a little freaked out by the news.

Kent Taylor answered his cell
phone on the first ring and Beau introduced himself.

“Yeah, I don’t know what will be
helpful to you up there,” Taylor said. “I can copy you all the ID we found in
the guy’s wallet. I tried directory assistance and came up with only one
Robinet in Taos. First name George.”

He read off an address and Beau
wrote it down.

“Cause of death?” Beau asked. The
families always asked.

“Undetermined—yet. You should
know we saw evidence of rough sex play in the room. This was at the Kingston
Arms—not the kind of place to attract typical lowlifes. Victim has
strangulation marks on his neck, but the OMI will have to say for sure if that
killed him.” He went into a few more details, things Beau definitely would not
tell the relatives.

“So, do you think it was
accidental or are we looking at a murder?”

“I’m homicide division,” Taylor
said. “But you know, things aren’t always what they seem.”

While Beau waited for the scan of
the victim’s identification to come through, he looked up George Robinet the
old-fashioned way, in the phone directory. The address seemed familiar. When he
checked it on the map he remembered why. Greenlee Manor was an assisted living
retirement complex, one of those places where, depending on the abilities of
the resident, they might be fairly independent or under nursing care. He’d
better check a little further before showing up at the door.

He opened his email and saw Taylor’s
message. Attached were scans of a New Mexico driver’s license in the name of
Zachary J. Robinet and a business card that showed his name as Zack and his
position as partner in a company called ChanZack Innovations, Inc. Beau
wondered who Chan was, since the rest of the company name was obviously a play
on Zack’s name. According to the license, Zack was forty-five years old, six
foot one, and two hundred twenty pounds. He printed a copy of the scans, then
cropped the driver’s license photo of Robinet, enlarged it and printed the
face.

The residential address on the
license didn’t sound immediately familiar. Beau looked it up and found it to be
on a winding road on the south end of town, the same direction as Greenlee
Manor. With luck, he might find a wife at the home address and she could be the
one to inform the elderly parents. No matter who he spoke to, these things were
never fun. How do you tell either a wife or a guy’s parents that he was messed
up in something unsavory in an out-of-town hotel? He grabbed a file folder and
stuck the printed pages inside, stopped by Dixie’s desk to let her know he was
leaving, and went outside to his cruiser.

Goldenrod Lane was a short,
narrow road that jutted off one of the through streets, about a half mile from Paseo
del Pueblo. The neighborhood was like many in Taos, lots of old-time adobes
patched together and added onto for generations, mixed with the new upper
middle class ones where money had allowed the owners to build big the first
time. The Robinet address was one of the latter. A long driveway showcased a
portico of thick logs and a heavy front door with a stylized Zia symbol carved
into it. Fall asters and chrysanthemums bloomed in neatly groomed patches of
red, gold and purple. A three-car garage at the west end of the house was
closed up tight and if any cars were present they were inside it.

Beau picked up the photo of Zack,
took a deep breath and walked up to the front door. A doorbell sent rich tones
chiming through the house, a hollow sound. He had a feeling right away no one
was home. If there was a Mrs. Robinet she was probably at work. He gave the
bell one more push but the result was the same, so he turned back to his
vehicle and headed toward the next address on his list: Greenlee Manor.

*
* *

Sam wondered when she would hear
from Beau as she smoothed the melted chocolate with her spatula, cooling it to
the proper consistency before it could be poured into the special molds she had
purchased for the mystery book group next door.

She sent a sideways glance toward
Jane who seemed content to sit on a stool and merely watch the normal
hustle-bustle in the kitchen.

Okay, she hasn’t really
taken over
the day. It’s just weird having a stranger sitting here staring at me
.

Becky had stored the fashion purse
cake in the large walk-in fridge and was now piping trim onto the anniversary
cake. It was a simple, traditional one that would have a golden 50 on top. As
cakes went, it was a relatively easy one. The real work would come later in the
week with a six-tier extravaganza of a wedding cake. Cascades of autumn flowers
must be made—Sam and Becky had estimated nearly two hundred of them. Those
would be fashioned out of gum paste and set to firm up until Thursday, when the
massive job of creating ruffles and swags would commence.

Why isn’t this lady worried?
Sam mused.
I’d be frantic to figure out where I lived, who might be missing me.
What if she has kids and they don’t have a clue that mommy can’t get to them?
She edged a glance toward Jane and smiled half-heartedly when that blue-eyed
gaze met hers.

A scream erupted from the sales
room, a crash, and Jen’s voice. “Sam!”

Sam dropped her spatula on the
table and rushed through the curtained opening. Jen was at the beverage bar,
holding onto the midsection of the coffee maker, the top precariously balanced
and spilled coffee grounds scattered in a swath around her.

“Help—grab that carafe,” she
panted. “I can barely hold this thing.”

Sam rushed to her side, feet
sliding on coffee grounds. She moved two carafes out of harm’s way and helped
to right the machine.

“I don’t know what happened,” Jen
said, wiping her brow with the back her hand. “One minute I was opening the lid
to make a fresh batch and the next minute it was coming down on me. Maybe when
I cleaned the machine yesterday I didn’t put things back right—I don’t know.”

“At least it’s under control now.
Don’t worry about it.” Sam checked the base of the machine to be sure it seemed
steady.

“I’ll get the broom.” Jen headed
toward the kitchen but a customer walked through the door and sidetracked her.

“Maybe I can put Jane to work
sweeping it up,” Sam said as Jen attended to the man who’d headed straight for
the bear claws and ordered two.

But in the kitchen, Jane was
standing over the chocolate Sam had abandoned. She’d scooped up the tempered
liquid and was now injecting it into the molds through the tip of a pastry bag.

“Jane? What are you doing?”

“Oh, sorry. It had cooled and I
was worried it would set up too quickly. You would have had to reheat and
temper it again, and since it nearly became overheated earlier, I was worried
about the flavor.”

Sam eyed the perfectly filled
molds. “Okay, that’s the second time you’ve saved this order. You know
something about chocolate, Jane. Quite a lot, I’d say.”

Jane went very still. “I guess I
do. I have no idea how I would have known to do that.”

Becky and Julio had both stopped
working and were listening in.

“It could be a clue to your
identity. If Beau doesn’t immediately come up with your name, maybe we need to
start calling candy companies around the state.”

“It was as if I didn’t even have
to think about it. I just knew what to do.” She stared toward the middle of the
room. “I don’t know what—”

The back door opened and all
attention went that direction. Sam’s daughter, Kelly, stopped in mid-stride.

“Um, sorry. Didn’t mean to
interrupt.” Her brown curls bobbed a little and a flush rose to her cheeks.

Julio cleared his throat and
turned back to his task, pouring red velvet cake batter into the pan for a
half-sheet cake. Becky greeted Kelly as she placed the cake topper on the
finished anniversary cake.

Kelly looked at Jane, standing
frozen in place with a pastry bag in hand and chocolate on her fingers, with
frank curiosity.

Sam skipped introducing
them—explaining everything would have taken way too long. “What’s up?”

“Well, I know I said I would get
pizza and come out to your place for dinner tonight, Mom. But something else
has come up.”

“Okay, no sweat. Something
special?”

“A date. I have a date.” The
twinkle in her eye belied her casual tone.

Sam carried the chocolate molds
to the cooling rack. “Oh yeah? Anyone I know?”

“Um, I really can’t say.”

“Ah …
can’t
say or
won’t
say?
C’mon, who’s the mystery guy?”

“Yeah, well, I better get back to
work. I’ll talk to you later.” She was out the door before Sam could respond.

“Okay, that was weird. Becky, has
she said anything to you?” All young people kept secrets from parents but Kelly
was usually fairly candid about her friends and her love life.

Becky shrugged. “No idea at all.”

Sam turned her attention to the
devil’s food cupcakes Julio had baked first thing this morning. They were to be
the basis for the Sherlock-themed dessert for the book club. Devil’s food lava
cakes, mocha cream frosting, molded chocolate toppers—these folks never seemed
to OD on chocolate. They even called themselves Chocoholics Unanimous.

While Sam iced cupcakes, Becky
began kneading food color into sugary gum paste to make the assortment of fall
flowers on their biggest project of the week. After an hour she had almost two
dozen orange lilies and yellow nasturtiums done. The time-consuming work on the
individual petals of chrysanthemums hadn’t even begun and she needed to make
pansies and asters as well.

“Jane, you were really good with
those chocolate molds,” Becky said. “Want to pitch in on these flowers?”

Jane looked a little unsure but
said she would give it a try. She washed her hands and stood beside Becky as
the experienced decorator showed the simple technique for a pansy.

“The secret is to roll the sugar
dough really thin. Then you cut each petal shape individually. Once you have
five of them, you gently roll the edges with this tool to give them a pretty
little shape, then pinch the five petals together at the center to form the flower.
We’ll add the shading and details with food color later.” She handed Jane the
tool and a sheet of the thinly rolled dough, moving her own work to a new spot
at the table.

Jane handled the gum paste well
enough but her finished petals didn’t have the right shape.

“Try again. You can reroll the
dough another time or two if necessary.”

The second effort wasn’t a whole
lot better.

“I guess I don’t have any past
experience with this,” Jane said a little hopelessly.

“That’s okay,” Sam said. She had
finished the lava cakes and placed the order on a tray to be delivered to the
bookshop next door. “I’ve got a little time before I have to finish the baby
shower cake for Carla Simms.”

Jane continued to fumble about with
the flowers but her long nails got in the way and she couldn’t seem to master
the small finger movements needed to deftly pinch and shape the dough. It
wasn’t long before she moved aside and perched herself on a stool out of the
way while Sam and Becky moved into double-time with the flower petals.

Once Sam got into the rhythm of
forming the tiny scooped chrysanthemum petals, she found her mind zipping to
other subjects: Had Beau made any progress at all in learning Jane’s identity?
And who was this new guy Kelly was seeing?

Before she knew it, Jen was
peeking through the curtain divider to ask if anyone wanted her to order them a
sandwich for lunch.

Noon already. Sam straightened
her shoulders, rotating them to work out the stiffness. It was another reason
she desperately missed the magic box. In the past, when she had an overwhelming
amount of work, she’d relied on it—okay, maybe a little too much at times—to
give her the energy and stamina to complete an amazing amount of work in a
short time. Of course, that was fraught with dangers too. It was impossible for
the others in the bakery not to notice how much work she accomplished and
comment on it. She massaged her right shoulder. No, it was better that she just
move at the pace that fit her fifty-four years and be content with that.