Sweets Forgotten (Samantha Sweet Mysteries Book 10) (8 page)

“Yeah. I had just radioed
dispatch to see if anyone reported any luck with our BOLO. Sorry, no sign of
her yet and she hasn’t showed back up at the shelter.”

“Sorry to hear that. I wonder if
we should be worried.”

He was studying the menu painted
on the side of the hut-sized building. “I doubt it, darlin’. We know she’s not
in the hospital or involved in an accident. Other than that, nearly anything
could have happened. Most likely she ran into someone who knew her and they got
to talking and her memory came back and she’s safely home by now. Taos isn’t
that big a town. Somebody has to know this lady.”

“You’re right. It would have been
nice though if she’d called one of us.”

“You’ll learn that thank-yous are
pretty rare in law enforcement. Everybody wants you there on a moment’s notice
but they rarely show gratitude when you are. I’m getting the beef taco
dinner—how about you?”

He walked up to the order window
and came back with tall paper cups of soda.

“Meanwhile,” he said, “I need to
go visit Zack Robinet’s parents again, find out when the funeral will be. Kent
Taylor is back in Albuquerque to interview the son at Holbrook Academy. I’m
hoping to catch time to talk to the kid myself when he comes up here for the
services.”

“That’s got to be pretty hard, a
kid learning that his dad was murdered.”

“Yeah, rough. There’s no easy way
to handle those interviews.”

She caught the ‘but’ in his tone
and gave him a look.

“In this case we heard there were
some pretty hellacious arguments between father and son. Their clashes were one
of the reasons young Bentlee got sent away to boarding school.”

“Is he a suspect?” Sam asked
after the waitress delivered their tacos in plastic baskets and walked away.

“We’ve considered it. Zack had
battles with several people but the son is one of the few with opportunity,
being in Albuquerque. The employees were all here in Taos at the time and the
partner wasn’t due to head for the airport until the next day.” He polished off
one taco and started on his second, while Sam dipped her crispy taquito into a
small plastic cup of salsa. “There was an altercation at the Chevy place a few
days earlier, big argument over the cost of a repair bill. I need to check that
out too.”

“Really? I bought my truck there
years ago. I’ve always found their service people really pleasant to deal
with.”

He shrugged. “Could turn out to
be nothing. Could just be that Zack Robinet isn’t the sweet angel his parents
painted him to be.”

Beau must have been hungry—he’d
nearly finished three tacos before he spoke again. “So, what’s the rest of your
day look like? Want to come with me to talk to the Robinets?”

Sam tried to remember what was
ahead of her at the bakery. Aside from the Salazar order, now safely out of her
hands, she thought Becky and Julio had things under control.

“I’ll call the shop to be sure
but yeah, I think I can break away for a little while.”

With the all-clear, she left her
baker’s jacket in her van and got into Beau’s cruiser with him. The ride to
Greenlee Manor took precisely eight minutes and they found the elder Robinets
in their apartment. The door stood open to the hall and a half-dozen other
gray-haired people milled about. When they saw the sheriff’s uniform the little
crowd shuffled to the corners of the small living room.

“If you all don’t mind,” said
Beau. “I need to speak with the family alone. If anyone has something that
might assist my investigation, I would like to speak with you later. Give my
deputy here your names and addresses.”

Sam had almost forgotten that
Beau had deputized her at one point during an earlier case. But it took only a
moment to fall into the routine of working with him, taking a notebook and pen
and standing near the door as the guests left. All of them lived here in the
same complex so it was merely a matter of taking names and apartment numbers of
the two who felt they had something to contribute.

With their door closed, George
and Nancy Robinet now settled on the couch. Nancy’s eyes were puffy and red,
George stoic with heavy lines dragging his mouth downward. Beau had seen this
often when he delivered news of a death in a family. The first reaction could
be anything from stunned silence to almost nonchalance because the news never
sank in right away. But after a day or two the reality began to hit them. The
visiting neighbors, the covered casserole dishes and homemade cakes with foil
over the pans … it all became overwhelming. With this family, the wife became
the talkative one.

“I still can’t believe it, Sheriff.
The feeling is unreal.”

“I know. I know it’s hard. I’ll
keep my questions quick so you can get back to your friends.” He let Nancy take
his right hand and he patted her arm with the left. “We haven’t been able to
locate Josephine. Have either of you heard anything from her?”

George shook his head. Nancy just
leaked a few more tears and dabbed at them with a wadded, soggy tissue.

“And their son,” Beau said. “He’s
been contacted. When is he coming home for the funeral?”

Nancy spoke up. “The service will
be Monday afternoon. George was going to drive down to Albuquerque and pick him
up tomorrow. Bentlee has a car here at home but he’s not allowed to take it to
school. It’s a rule for freshmen.” She looked at her husband. “But I don’t
really want George driving. He’s too upset.”

“We can make some arrangement,
I’m sure,” Beau told them, making a note to call Kent Taylor’s office.

The lack of a car would have made
it a little more difficult for Bentlee Robinet to get to his father’s hotel—if
he was, indeed, still on their suspect list. Sam said as much as she and Beau
left after speaking with the two neighbors—who seemed more enthralled about
talking with the handsome sheriff in hushed tones than actually providing any
useful information—and were on their way to where she’d left her van.

“Never underestimate a teenager’s
ability to mobilize help,” he said. “Anyway, I’m guessing his spending more
than two hours riding with a detective might prove very enlightening.”

Chapter
9

Sam’s dashboard clock told her she’d
already been away from Sweet’s Sweets too long so she headed that direction.
The parking lot out front was full of cars, a cheering sight. She pulled to her
normal spot in the alley and walked through the back door. There in the kitchen
stood Jane.

“You’re back.” Sam blurted it out
before realizing how it sounded. “I mean, we were worried last night when
Melissa called to say you never made it to the shelter. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Jane put on a
smile.

“Where did you spend the night?
Did you begin to remember anything?”

Jane wore the same borrowed jeans
and T-shirt from the day before, but at least they looked clean. She didn’t
appear to have slept out in the open.

“Sam!” Jen stage-whispered from
the doorway. “I need you on a consultation. The shop is packed and this man
needs some specialty chocolates.”

“I’ll be right back,” Sam told
Jane. “Don’t leave until I’m finished up front.”

Jen had not understated the
situation; four customers waited at the counter for assistance and all three
bistro tables had people seated at them. Jen nodded toward the one with a lone
man who sat with his hands around a mug of coffee. Fifty-ish, with steel-gray
hair and thick wire-rimmed glasses, he smiled confidently when Sam approached.

“Hi, I understand you’re the
owner. I’m Stan Bookman. Your girl told me you were the expert in chocolate.”
He let go of his mug long enough to shake hands.

Sam took one of the chairs at the
table. “We do make a pretty great line of chocolates.”

“I’ve heard of them.”

Much of the state of New Mexico
had heard of them by now, after two holiday seasons in which Sweet’s Sweets had
barely been able to keep up with the demand. A memory flashed through Sam’s
mind, the oddball Romanian chocolatier who had showed up that first year and
left her with the secrets to the fantastic, practically addictive, taste of
really good chocolate. If only Sam had Bobul’s finesse in molding and forming
intricate shapes with it.

“What I’m after,” said Mr.
Bookman, “is an out-of-this-world surprise for my wife’s birthday. I want to
give her the most exquisite box of chocolates that has ever been created.”

“I’m sure we can come up with a
wonderful selection for you,” Sam said, understanding why he hadn’t just picked
up a box from the display.

“Not to criticize, but nothing
off the shelf will do for her. I’m sure your standard chocolates are very good.
But I’m going to present these to her aboard a chartered jet on our way to
lunch in Paris. They have to be extraordinary.”

Wow. Sam worked hard to act as if
this sort of request came in every day. “Naturally. I will—”

“Margie’s two favorite things in
the world are cats and chocolate. I want two pounds of chocolate kitty cats.
Each must be unique—different poses, different facial expressions—whatever it
takes to make this a gift that no one else in the world has ever received.”

Sam could pretty well bet that a
box of custom made chocolates presented during a flight to Paris would be right
up there in the list of exceptional gifts of all time, but if this man needed
them to be shaped like cats she would simply have to figure out a way. Her
brain worked at figuring out exactly how she could make this happen while her
pen filled in the blanks on an order form.

“Understand, now, that the shape
is only one aspect of these chocolates. I want there to be variety in flavor,
color and texture too.”

Sure—go ahead and make the
impossible a little
more
impossible.
Sam felt her anxiety level rise. Next, he would probably want the gift box
ready by tomorrow. She jotted a few notes as ideas came to her.

“Margie’s birthday is next
Saturday. I’d like to pick up the order by Friday afternoon if that’s okay.”

A whole week. Bless him. She put
Beau’s investigation and the funeral of Zack Robinet and the whole unsolved
situation with her Jane Doe visitor on the back burner. Creating unusual
desserts was her real love and she was about to get the chance to do something
really special.

Stan Bookman reached into the
front pocket of his slacks and pulled out a money clip. From it came two one-hundred
dollar bills. “If that’s not enough, just let me know the balance when I come
back,” he said.

Sam pushed one of the bills back
to him. “One will be more than enough. Depending on what I need to spend on
packaging, I’m sure you’ll get change back.”

He thanked her and stood. “I look
forward to seeing my wife’s lovely gift.”

Sam watched him walk out the
front door before turning to see if Jen still needed help. Luckily, the crowd
had thinned considerably.

“You do know who that was, don’t
you?” Jen said, walking over to clear and wipe the empty table.

“Stan Bookman?”

“Book It Travel. The company
handles worldwide travel arrangements for all the ritzy-rich who jet about in
private planes. He’ll charter their flights, arrange stays at the most
exclusive hotels, have their dogs shampooed and delivered all fluffy and white
if that’s what they want.”

“Wow.”

“I’m surprised he was so nice,”
Jen said. “I guess I assumed because his clients can be such snobs that he
would be, too. Believe me, I saw a lot of them in the gallery before I started
working here.”

Sam filed the knowledge as a
caution. Just because the man was cordial today didn’t mean he wouldn’t know
how to throw a supreme tantrum if his order was not up to his standards. This
definitely raised the bar.

In the kitchen, Sam caught a
glare Becky aimed toward Jane’s back. The sooner she could send their visitor
back to the care of Melissa Masters, the better.

“I overheard a little of what
that man requested in his order. He wants unusual flavors—how about some apple
and carrots with ginger? Or maybe a cinnamon-nutmeg in eighty-six percent
cacao?” Jane said. “Sam, I’d love to help with it. I thrive when I’m working in
chocolate. And you know I’m good at it.”

Her eyes were bright with
enthusiasm and Sam wavered. Jane could possibly be a big help. But what was
going on with Becky?

“Let me think about it,” Sam told
Jane. “I need to put some ideas together before leaping into this one.”

Jane walked over to Sam’s desk,
picking up a sheet of paper and a pencil. She found a quiet corner of the
worktable and began sketching.

“Becky, help me get something
from the van?” Sam headed for the back door without looking back.

The shady alley felt chilly as
clouds had rolled in. “I sense that you want to tell me something,” Sam said.

“I just don’t trust her, Sam. You
know that.” Becky’s normally cheerful demeanor had been off for two days now.

“You said you thought she might
be faking her amnesia. Is that it?”

“Well, what was last night all
about? Did she go home? If she wasn’t at the shelter, where did she go?”
Becky’s arms were folded tightly across her chest now.

“I suppose you asked her. The two
of you seemed to be staring daggers when I walked in awhile ago.”

“I did. I came right out and
asked.”

“And she said …?”

“Nothing, really. She doesn’t
even have a reasonable explanation.”

“Maybe she doesn’t owe you one.”
Sam bit her tongue. “Sorry, what I mean is that maybe she doesn’t owe any of us
an explanation.”

Becky’s toe tapped impatiently.
“Beau’s department and the social services folks have been called to help her.
If she already knows who she is, shouldn’t she let them know?”

“If that’s the case, yes, she
should. But we don’t know her story. Maybe there’s a reason she can’t go home
or … I don’t know. There could be a lot of reasons she doesn’t want to go
back.”

“Or she
did
go back and just—I don’t know!”

“Maybe she ran into someone she
knew, came up with money for a motel room … We can’t know for sure unless she
wants to talk about it.”

Becky’s muttered response conveyed
the idea that she wouldn’t trust Jane even if she did decide to talk about it.

“Okay. For now, all I can do is
take this whole situation at face value. Beau is still checking out some
leads.” Although, as Sam recalled, he really had none. “Let’s get back to
work.”

“Are you going to let her stay
and work on the chocolates with you?”

“It’s a big, complicated order.
So, yes, I probably will.”

Becky didn’t seem very happy
about that. Finally, her shoulders relaxed. “I trust you, Sam. And I love my
job. I won’t give Jane any trouble, but I really want to caution you to watch
her.”

“This can’t go on for more than
another couple days,” Sam said, reaching out to give Becky a hug. “Go back to
that beautiful anniversary cake you were doing and send Jane out. I’ll talk to
her privately.”

Sam had her phone in hand when
Jane walked down the steps to join her.

“I need to call Melissa Masters.
She deserves to know what happened last night and whether to keep a bed for you
tonight.”

Jane pushed a strand of hair
behind her right ear. “I, uh—”

“If you remember where you live,
that’s wonderful. You should go home.”

“I don’t! I don’t remember
anything!”

Sam wished she had Beau’s eye for
spotting truth versus lies.

“If you went places in town maybe
someone who knows you stopped and greeted you?”

“No, that didn’t happen.”

“Okay. Good enough. Let me call
Melissa and be sure you have a bed at the shelter tonight. During the day you
can come to work here. I really would appreciate your assistance with the
chocolate.”

Jane fidgeted from one foot to
the other. “Sam, please don’t make me go back there. I hated it. They’re nice
people who run the place, but I just didn’t fit in. The women were so
down-and-out, so abused. I don’t know why, but I couldn’t handle it.”

“Where did you stay last night?”

Jane hung her head. “Here.”

“At my shop?” She certainly had
not been around when Sam left at ten p.m.

“No, I mean, not
right
here. I wandered the plaza until
all the shops closed, then I found an unlocked car down the block. There was a
blanket in the backseat.”

“Jane! You can’t do that. It’s
not safe. Someone could have come along and harmed you.”

“I know. It was dumb. If you
could loan me some money I’ll stay at a motel. I’ll work for free to pay you
back.”

She sounded so truly desperate
that Sam couldn’t bring herself to insist upon the shelter. “I’ll just let
Melissa know you’re okay. Then we’ll figure out something. For now, go back
inside and do an inventory of our chocolate. Find out how much cocoa we have on
hand. I have a feeling I’ll need to order a variety of supplies.”

As she passed along the
information to Melissa Masters over the phone, Sam’s mind raced. Should she
invite Jane to stay at their house or simply check her into a motel and hope
for the best. She hung up and called Beau.

“I don’t have a good feeling
about it either way,” he said, “but I have a hard and fast rule about not
inviting suspicious people into my own home. It has to be a motel. I wouldn’t
pay for more than one night at a time, though. Who knows when she’ll go dashing
off again.”

Sam agreed, mentioned the big
order for custom chocolates and told him she wasn’t sure what time she would
get home.

“Tell you what,” he said. “How
about you get Jane settled into a motel room whenever you get to a stopping
point at work? We can meet up for dinner and then you can go back to the shop
if you need to.”

He was right. With everyone else
gone for the day, Sam could work more quickly without interruptions. She
clicked off the call and went back inside.

On the worktable sat a bag of
roasted cocoa beans. Jane had found the grinder and was turning them to powder.

“I think we’ll have enough to get
two pounds of chocolate,” she said. “A bit more if we do part of the assortment
in milks and whites.”

Sam lifted the bag, guessing at
its weight, and concurred. “Now, I wonder about molding them into cat shapes. I
have no idea if any of my suppliers will have such a thing.”

“Try Bandenberg Wholesale,” Jane
said. She stopped grinding the beans and stared at Sam. “I wonder where that
name came from? It just popped into my head.”

Sam caught the look Becky sent
her direction from the other end of the worktable. But when she got online, she
readily found the wholesaler and discovered that they did, indeed, have a large
selection of unusual chocolate molds. One set featured cats and dogs, some
lying down, some sitting. It wouldn’t provide the variety Stan Bookman wanted
but it could be a great start. She placed an order, including cocoa beans to
replenish the shop’s supply, and sprang for overnight shipping. That done, she
made a shopping list of other items—flavorings and herbal essences—and decided
that she could pick them up locally when she went out for dinner with Beau.

By four o’clock, Jane had ground
nearly the whole bag of beans and Sam had her shopping list pretty well
finalized.

“We can temper and start molding
the chocolate tomorrow,” she told Jane. “Let’s head out now and get you settled
for the night.”

“I’m meeting Beau for an early
dinner out, so you can go ahead and lock up at closing time,” she said to Becky
and Jen.

In the van she suggested to Jane
that they make a stop at Walmart for a few toiletries and another change or two
of clothing, to come from Jane’s first paycheck. Cash pay, Sam mentally amended,
since there was no way she could file all the necessary forms to put Jane on
the payroll without a name and social security number. Technically, this was
illegal as hell but how could she turn down a woman so obviously in need, not
to mention someone with this much knowledge of chocolate?