Sweets Galore: The Sixth Samantha Sweet Mystery (The Samantha Sweet Mysteries) Page 10

  “If you know nothing about poison in a cupcake, how is it that you very conveniently have a can of Ratzout in your vehicle?” Schwartz’s mouth settled into a hard, straight line.

  “I use it in my business,” Sam said, realizing two seconds later what a mistake that statement had been.

  “Obviously,” said Schwartz with a grim little smirk. “Poison and baked goods seem to go well together, for your purposes.”

  Schwartz left the interrogation room and Sam thought about simply getting up to find out if that door was locked, but she wasn’t sure how far she would get. Plus, they still had her things.

  Time dragged by. Clearly, they were trying to wear her down by making her wait. She’d tried every calming technique she could think of to keep herself from screaming.

  Eventually, Ordonez came back in and Sam heard raised voices out in the hallway. She knew one of them.

  “Beau! I’m in here!” she shouted, dashing to the door and pounding on it.

  He appeared to brush off whomever he’d been speaking with as he opened the door.

  “Sam, come on. We’re leaving.” He stared at Ordonez. “You had no right to hold her here all this time. Tell Sanchez this is not over.”

  “He’s got my phone and my passport and our airline tickets,” she told Beau.

  Beau stood straight, regal in his tuxedo, and stared the shorter man down. Ordonez led the way into the hall and down to a desk. He picked up a large plastic bag, reached into it and retrieved Sam’s cell phone.

  “The passport and tickets have to stay with us,” he said. “She’s a suspect and, with these, a flight risk.”

  Beau’s jaw muscle twitched but he didn’t say anything. He took Sam’s elbow and steered her toward the exit where his Explorer waited in the parking lot. It was dark outside and Sam shivered in the chilly air. She hugged herself against the cold and felt her eyes well up.

  “I’ve missed my wedding,” she said bleakly. A sob escaped.

  “Darlin’ it’s okay. We’ll straighten it out.” He opened the passenger door and guided her into the seat, closed her in securely and got behind the wheel.

  “How did you know where—?”

  “Kelly got your call about being delayed and then I thought to check my messages.” He started the engine. “I’m so sorry that my phone was off when you called. When you said the police were at the house I started calling around. At first nobody would tell me where you were, but I finally reached somebody helpful. One of my former deputies who switched over to the PD. He scouted around and told me you were at the station being interrogated.”

  “I thought they would just ask a few questions and it would be quick. I kept thinking I could get back to the wedding. What happened there?”

  He gave a rueful glance. “Well, the minister had to leave. He had another wedding this evening. By mid-afternoon everyone was getting hungry so Zoë and the caterer put out the buffet and that kept them happy for awhile. I managed to make them hold off on the cake. It’s safely locked inside Zoë’s office.”

  “Everyone went home?”

  “Yeah. The relatives are all settled back at their hotels. Poor Zoë was getting the third degree from your mother, but I tried to let them all know that everything would turn out just fine.”

  “I can’t face them right now,” she said.

  “You don’t have to. We’re going home.” He’d already turned away from the center of town and headed north toward the ranch.

  Sam’s thoughts churned, reviewing everything that should have happened by this point in the evening. So many things to reschedule. Among the first on the list would be to contact Clinton Hardgate and be sure the travel reservations were changed so they weren’t permanently lost. Damn the local cops, she thought. You aren’t messing up both my wedding and my honeymoon.

  She was astonished to see, when they walked into the house, that it was after nine p.m. She phoned Zoë and reassured her that she was all right. Zoë offered to pass that along to the parents so Sam wouldn’t have to get into a long explanation. The next call went to Hardgate’s cell number and she was half surprised when he actually answered.

  “I know it’s late on the coast,” she said.

  He was gracious about it and told her not to worry about the travel plans. He would place everything on hold and wait to hear from her again. Although she hadn’t given the reason for the delay, he wished her luck.

  “What would you like? Are you hungry? Or maybe just some wine or tea?” Beau asked from the kitchen.

  “A shower first. Then maybe a cup of hot chocolate.” Sam couldn’t think of anything at the moment beyond getting rid of the scummy feeling of the police station.

  When she came back downstairs fifteen minutes later, fluffing her hair to dry it, wearing soft pajamas, Beau handed her a mug of cocoa and she snuggled into her favorite corner of the sofa.

  “We can set the wedding up for tomorrow,” he said. “Same time, same station.”

  “I can’t do it, Beau. I can’t stand the idea of starting marriage as a murder suspect.”

  He went completely still. “Did they actually say that? What all did they ask you, darlin’? Go through the whole thing.”

  She did, covering every question, every answer, and everything Ordonez had said to her. As she talked he paced the room.

  “Damn. I wish this were in my jurisdiction. Even though I couldn’t work the case myself—because of us—I’d have ways to find out what’s going on behind the scenes, to know what evidence is coming out.”

  “Until they get the autopsy results, they won’t know for sure that Jake was poisoned or that the poison came from the cupcake, will they?”

  He looked thoughtful. “Well, they probably have a pretty good idea about the poison. There are signs on a body. They may even know what type it was. But the medical investigator’s office in Albuquerque will verify it.”

  “They can’t really think that I, or any of my crew at the shop, really did it though. That would be so stupid. My business would be ruined if—oh, god, what am I thinking? If word of this gets out, my business will probably be ruined anyway. People won’t buy pastries at a bakery if somebody died from our product, will they?” Despair crept in.

  “Don’t get ahead of yourself, darlin’. We can only take things a step at a time. I’ll call the O.M.I.’s office myself tomorrow and see if I can get answers. If their findings eliminate you as a suspect, I’ll go down to the PD and demand your documents back.”

  Sam had a horrible feeling it wouldn’t be quite that simple.

  Chapter 11

  Another sleepless night. Sam stared at the ceiling until nearly dawn. She felt Beau’s eyes on her. He moved in close and held her, but it didn’t help a lot. She’d ruined their wedding plans.

  No, she told herself. Jake Calendar ruined their wedding plans. He’d made someone mad enough to take revenge. It was just ill-fated timing that it happened in her town and right after they’d had words. The thought of Pete Sanchez’s bad feelings toward Beau and the way Ordonez and Schwartz had looked at her as they asked their questions—the whole thing made her feel sick inside.

  At dawn they gave up the pretense of sleep.

  “Come outside with me,” Beau said. “Let’s breathe some fresh air and get your mind off everything else.”

  He got up and started pulling on his clothes. She followed on semi-automatic, not really because she thought it would help but because it was a relief to simply follow, not to have to think or plan.

  A light frost lay on the pasture grasses and the dogs trotted along beside them as she trailed Beau along his well-worn footpath to the barn. He dipped a bucket into the feed bin and handed it to her.

  “Here, Old Boy likes this oat mix. Hold it out for him.” He scooped another bucket for the mare, Pretty Girl, and they walked out to the wire fence where the two horses stood in the chilly air.

  As the animals nuzzled into the buckets Sam focused on the little things—the way the mare�
�s hair formed a whorl around the white patch on her forehead, the way steam rose from their nostrils when they raised their heads and chewed.

  “How about a short ride?” Beau asked.

  Without waiting for an answer he headed into the barn and came back with a saddle and tack. Within minutes he had Pretty Girl saddled for Sam and a blanket thrown over Old Boy’s back. He helped Sam with her stirrups, then saddled and mounted the other. They set a leisurely pace, riding the fence line around the fifteen acres.

  Frost crunched under the horses’ hooves. Steam rose from the grass wherever sunlight struck, melting ice crystals into dew. In the trees two vivid blue jays got into a ragged conversation, and a raven cawed as it soared overhead. Sam felt her head begin to clear. It was easy to forget your worries out in the blue-gray dawn air. She let out a contented sigh. If only life could stay this simple, always.

  The phone was ringing when they walked back into the house. She felt her mood deflate. Beau picked it up.

  “Zoë,” he said, handing the receiver to Sam.

  “Hey, girl. You okay?” She didn’t really wait for an answer. “Just FYI, I wanted to let you know that your mother and sister have started the day on a mission. They’re determined to see the wedding go through—today.”

  “Oh boy.” Sam could see the female dynamos of the family orchestrating to fix what they felt were Sam’s failings in the planning department.

  “Do you want to come by and talk to them about this?”

  No. Not at all. “I guess we better. Can you get them through breakfast and we’ll come down there in awhile.”

  Zoë chuckled. “Breakfast is what we do here. Don’t worry about it. I’m sure Darryl and I can think of ways to stall them even longer if you want us to.”

  “I have to deal with this sooner or later,” Sam said. She could hear the resignation in her own voice.

  Beau figured out what Zoë had said.

  “Let me call Albuquerque and see if I can get someone I know on the line at the O.M.I.’s office. Somebody will be at work there, even on a Sunday.”

  Sam put coffee on to brew while he dialed. In a minute or so he signaled her over and put the phone on speaker.

  “. . . chocolate cake, ingested between three and four p.m. with death occurring within minutes afterward. The poison was cyanide, commonly found in rat poisons or several other household products used to kill vermin,” the male voice said.

  “Any other trauma to the body?” Beau asked.

  “None. The poison was definitely the COD.”

  “Thanks, Dan. If you would, don’t mention my call to anyone from the Taos Police Department. We’re working a different angle of the case.”

  “No problem.”

  The line went silent.

  “This isn’t good,” Sam said. “They already know that a chocolate cupcake came from my bakery. And they found Ratzout in my truck. Every year we get an infestation when the weather turns cold and I’ve doused my garage and several of my caretaking properties with the stuff.”

  “Half the stores in town sell Ratzout and a lot of homes have a supply of it,” Beau said. “They’ll never prove that you are the only one who could have poisoned Jake.”

  “But none of those other homeowners really had a reason to wish Jake would go away.”

  “One thing at a time,” he said. “Who knows, maybe overnight they’ve found someone else with even a stronger motive. Let’s just let it play out.”

  He poured coffee for each of them and made cinnamon toast with the last two slices of bread in the house.

  “I better go face the music with my family,” Sam said, brushing toast crumbs from her hands as she finished the small breakfast. “I can’t leave it to Zoë much longer.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  “You don’t have to do that. Besides, you can do more by trying to find answers and get my passport back.”

  He kissed her on top of the head and squeezed her shoulders. “It’s going to be fine. I’ll make some calls and be sure we can get the latest information. Maybe today they’ll find the real killer. It’ll be such a relief that you’ll be ready to come walking down that garden path by this afternoon.”

  She wrapped her arms around him and fervently hoped he was right.

  Ten minutes later, she knew he wasn’t. Blue strobes flashed in her rearview mirror as she approached the plaza. She pulled onto narrow Bent Street and stopped at the curb. Really? Right here in the middle of town?

  She powered down the window of her pickup.

  “Samantha Sweet? I’m afraid you need to come with us, ma’am.” It was Pete Sanchez, with an officer that looked like a rookie. The chief’s face held a hint of humor. The bastard was enjoying this.

  She felt like cursing, crying, screaming. But she got out of the truck, locked it, and walked with Sanchez to his cruiser.

  * * *

  This time she didn’t say a word. They advised her of her rights, photographed and fingerprinted her. She kept her lips pressed together through the whole ordeal and was shown to a cell where a tired-looking woman in a see-through blouse and tight skirt that barely covered her buns sat on the thin mattress on a stainless steel bunk. An unflushed toilet sat in the corner. Sam felt her lungs tighten against drawing in the odor. The woman raised her head, took in Sam’s freshly washed hair and clothing with hard eyes.

  “What’d you do?” she asked.

  “Nothing!”

  “Yeah. Me too.” She resumed staring at the floor.

  An hour later a female officer showed up and ushered Sam down the corridor to a room where a man in a windbreaker waited at a table.

  “Sam, hi. I’m Mark Nelson. Beau Cardwell called me.”

  She recognized his lean face from an ad on the cover of the phone book, one of those “If you’re in trouble with the law . . .” ads she’d always found pretty sleazy. Now she was glad to see him. In jeans and a polo shirt, with the casual jacket, he looked like he’d been pulled away from a Sunday ball game with his kid.

  “Beau says you’re in some kind of trouble. Said he called me because he’s watched me in court before.”

  That wasn’t exactly a glowing recommendation, since Beau often complained about attorneys who twisted the facts to get guilty clients off. At least his voice was kind.

  “Beau gave me the basics: you had a prior relationship with the dead guy and argued with him that day, he died from a pastry that came from your shop, your fingerprints were on the bag the pastry came in, and you don’t have an alibi for the time of death. That doesn’t sound good.”

  Her already-rotten mood plummeted.

  “But, I don’t think they have nearly enough evidence to take this to trial. Beau seems to think the Chief has targeted you to get back at him for some reason.”

  Sam started to open her mouth but Nelson held up a hand.

  “It doesn’t matter. What matters is that we can make a pretty good case for the judge to allow bail. You’re a solid member of the community and shouldn’t have to spend months in jail while they build their case.”

  Months? Sam felt her face go pale. How could her life have gone so completely haywire in less than a day’s time?

  * * *

  “Bond is set at fifty-thousand dollars,” the judge said on Monday morning, banging his gavel and calling for the next case.

  An hour later Sam walked out into sunlight, with Beau’s arm around her and his assurances that meeting the bond agency’s requirements had not posed a problem.

  “I’m so sorry I couldn’t do better for you last night, darlin’,” he said, helping her into his Explorer.

  “Has any of this been in the news?” she asked, a twist of fear in her gut.

  “No. The local reporters got wrapped up covering a suicide off the gorge bridge, and the Albuquerque stations have a lot bigger things happening in the city.”

  “What about my folks?”

  He pulled out of the parking lot. “I’ve covered, saying that you we
re helping the police with some questions and that it was our mutual decision to put off the wedding for a few days. I kind of didn’t tell them you were away from home all night. Your sister and her gang had to leave yesterday. Her boys have school today. The aunts and uncles are getting a little restless since they’ve seen all the touristy stuff already. I think some of them are getting ready to leave.”

  “Mother must be fit to be tied.”

  “Probably. Zoë says she’s determined to stay until there’s a wedding. Sounds like a shotgun situation to me.” He winked and sent her a grin that lightened her heart.

  “I better talk to Mother and Daddy,” she said. “But first I have to get a shower and disinfect these clothes. I’m surprised you can stand to be in the car with me.”

  “I’d be anywhere with you.” He reached across the console and took her hand.

  He drove north, parked beside the house and walked inside with her. “Now, you take your time with a shower and do whatever you want. I’ll go get your family and bring them out here. You can talk to them alone, or I’ll be on hand for support if that’s what you want.”

  She nodded. Watching him drive away she steeled herself against the shaky feeling that threatened to overtake her. She talked herself through the steps. Shower. Face the parents. Discuss wedding. Find Jake’s killer. Of all those, she knew the last item was most important.

  Forty-five minutes later, one step done. Sam felt better with clean hair and clothes although the knot in her stomach refused to go away. To keep busy she put together a light lunch for the others—salad and sandwiches—and was ready to set it out when she heard Beau’s car coming up the drive. She drew in a big breath, watched Nina Rae and Howard get out, tried to read their expressions. Behind the Explorer was Chub’s rental car. He, Bessie and Lily followed.

  Her father appeared glum, his mouth downcast, his eyes very still. Mother was the opposite, eyes taking in everything, quick turns of her head, as if there might be photographers behind every bush waiting to capture their humiliation.