8 Sweet Payback (12 page)

“Back to town? So it happened in
Taos?”

He nodded and was out the door. A
minute later red and blue lights flashed across the ceiling and she heard
gravel spin as he drove away. Sam ran her fingers through her hair, realizing
that sleep would never come back now. She got up and tried to decide which of
her many obligations to handle first.

Chapter
13

Knowing that Beau was probably
right now standing over the body of Lee Rodarte, and wondering how this would
spark the tinderbox situation in Sembramos, Sam knew her mind would never
settle down enough to concentrate on decorating cakes this morning. Nor did she
think her husband would be pleased if she headed toward the big white house,
having to drive right into the powder-keg up north. She stared into the
bathroom mirror, feeling that there was so much work she needed to do, yet
stymied as to what to prioritize.

Coffee. That would help.

The temptation to stay in pajamas
and robe, nursing endless cups of warm comfort, tugged at her; simply letting
her mind and body take a break would feel so nice. Good in theory, impossible
in real life. She dressed in jeans and a work shirt. If she could get the
go-ahead to finish her caretaking project, that would be a big relief and would
keep her from having to make that drive ever again. All of this went through
her head while the coffee dripped into the carafe.

She poured a mug of the black brew
and dumped in plenty of sugar. Pacing the living room, hoping a plan would
present itself, her gaze fell to the notes she’d been writing the night before.
She debated continuing, but decided her thoughts wouldn’t settle down enough.
Some important detail would get away from her.

Her cell phone sat on top of one
stack of paper, reminding her of her mother’s call last night. Sam picked up
the remote control and switched on the television, scrolling to a news channel.
Tornadoes across the plains dominated the first story—and Nina Rae thought Sam
lived in danger. She turned her back on the images and picked up the witness
list she’d written. Beau would probably recognize the names; he’d been
interviewing the citizens of Sembramos for a couple of days now.

Sam thought a few sounded
familiar, probably because he’d mentioned them. For some reason, the thought of
the big white house came into her mind, and the unanswered question of why its
owner had abandoned it. Another thing added to her to-do list was to find someone
associated with LG Properties. It was always possible they hadn’t received the
notices and weren’t aware of the impending auction.

The television interrupted her
thoughts. “The violence continues to escalate in Taos County, New Mexico, with
yet another murder. Lee Rodarte was released from the state prison less than a
week ago, one of two men convicted in the murder of a young woman in that small
northern town. We go live to the scene in Taos, New Mexico.”

A reporter holding a microphone
stood shivering on a street corner, one Sam recognized. It was only about four
blocks from her old house. A chill went through her, realizing that Kelly might
have passed the very spot where Lee died if she’d been out last night. Sam
missed some of the reporter’s words, and when the phone rang she missed the rest
of it.

“Sammy?” Her father’s voice came
through. “Your mama wanted me to check on you this morning. Everything okay?”

“Fine, Daddy. I suppose you guys
are watching the news again.” It had to be the reason for the call. She could
hear her mother’s voice in the background and a moment of shuffling as the
phone was handed over.

“Samantha Jane, I’m worried.”

Sam glanced at the TV screen but
the coverage had moved on to something in Washington.

“I know, Mother. But, believe me,
the trouble isn’t nearly as widespread as the news people are making it sound.
It’s a very small town about a half hour away from us. The people are upset,
yes, and Beau’s men are there to keep the peace.”

“But this news lady this morning,
she said a murder happened in Taos. I don’t like it that you’re living there so
close to all this.”

Sam sighed. “We don’t know what
happened with that one yet, Mother. Beau’s checking it out.”

She wanted to point out that
murders happened everywhere but that seemed callous. A death was always
personal to someone. But it didn’t have to mean that everyone nearby was in
danger. There had to be connections between Lee and Jessie and Angela, although
it certainly didn’t seem as straightforward as Sheriff Padilla’s original
theories made it out to be. She realized that her mother was still talking.
Sam’s head began to hurt.

“I need to go now, Mother. I’ll
talk to you again soon. Don’t worry.” Sam clicked off the call before Nina Rae
could repeat her worries for the umpteenth time.

She rubbed her temples, forcing
herself to relax. Her parents were getting older; of course they would worry.
The coffee in her mug had gone cold and the smell of it suddenly turned her
stomach. She switched off the TV and went looking for something more
nutritious.

An apple and a bowl of yogurt
later, she decided she had to get out of the house. If she couldn’t go to
Sembramos she could at least check in at the bakery.

She drove through the outskirts of
Taos, slowing as she approached the plaza, watching the side streets to her left.
A block away, down San Fernando, she could see Beau’s cruiser and a few other
vehicles, along with a strand of yellow tape cordoning off the alley behind The
Rooster, a small bar that Sam had never been to. The team seemed to be working
quietly, and most motorists on the main drag went on by without even noticing.
She itched to go over there and find out what happened, but this wasn’t the
time. Beau would call her when he finished at the scene.

Sam made a right-hand turn and
circled a block to enter the alley behind Sweet’s Sweets. The familiar scents
of sugar and cinnamon filled the kitchen and she breathed it in, realizing
she’d really missed her business the past couple of days.

“Hey, you’re back,” Becky said,
looking up from a tray of brownies onto which she was piping small milk
chocolate roses. Becky noticed Sam looking at them. “It’s for the Chocoholics
book group. Do you think this will be okay? Ivan didn’t say what he wanted.”

“He never does. We just make up
whatever we want to, as long as it’s chocolate. He’ll love these—they all
will.” Sam wiped up a smudge of the frosting from the table and tasted it.
“Ooh, nice. What did you do? Let me guess . . . a touch of coffee?”

“It’s okay?”

“Yummy.” Sam looked toward the
basket of order sheets on the corner of her desk. A satisfying stack of pages
sat there, enough to say that business was good, not so many that it would
overwhelm her crew if she didn’t put in a lot of hours this week. Julio was in
front of the big bake oven, waiting for the timer to ring so he could take out
a large pan of muffins. He nodded toward Sam and smiled.

“Hey, Sam, I thought I heard your
voice.” Jen stood in the doorway to the sales area. With a glance to be sure no
customers awaited, she asked, “So what’s all this on the news about some
trouble up in Sembramos?”

“Yeah, well, there’s been some
conflict among the residents. I’m really surprised that the national media
picked up on it.”

“My uncle used to live up there,”
Becky said. “When I was a kid he would bring us the best peaches from his
orchard. I guess it’s a hard life though, farming. He got too old to handle it
and none of his kids wanted to do it. I wonder what ever happened to that
orchard.”

The front door bells tinkled and
Jen left to serve the customer. Sam looked through the order sheets; they
seemed like standard items the others could handle. She walked into the sales
room to check it just about the time Jen had bagged three scones and rung up
the sale for the lady who had come in. When the woman left, Jen asked about
Sam’s newest caretaking project.

“Strangest thing I’ve seen,” Sam
said. “It’s a brand-new house—huge—and no one has ever moved into it.”

“Seriously?”

Sam described the site, the layout
and the rooms. “It would have been an amazing place, furnished, with some art
and decoration. I could imagine it as a place where you could host fabulous
parties. Well, if you were into that sort of thing.” Personally, she’d never
hosted anything larger than the grand opening for the shop.

“Wait a minute,” Jen said. “Is it
a big white place, like you might see around the Mediterranean?”

“Yeah—you’ve seen it?”

“Only in pictures. When I worked
at the gallery, there was this man who would come in to look at art. Sometimes
his wife was with him. I can’t think of his name . . .

“Whenever he came in, the gallery
owner would rush out of her little office and insist on waiting on him herself.
He only looked at the most expensive stuff, so of course she didn’t want to
share a commission with me. Didn’t matter. I never really liked talking with
those snotty rich types anyway.” She wiped a crumb from the top of the glass
display. “But, wait . . . you were assigned that house because—?”

“Back taxes. I guess things went
downhill for Mr. Important.”

“Wow. I
guess
. I mean, that’s one guy I would have never expected for
that.”

“Yeah? Well, I have no idea what
happened.” Sam looked at the beverage bar and saw that everything was in order.

“You know, I did overhear some
gossip. Now that I’m thinking about the guy. He’d asked Lily to hold several expensive
pieces for him and said he would come pick them up in a few weeks, once the
house was done. He never came back and my boss was telling another client that
if he didn’t take it soon the painting she wanted would be available. So
anyway, the other lady was saying ‘don’t hold your breath.’ She went on and on
about how his real estate deals had fallen through. Something about the guy’s
family falling apart, his wife died or left, or something like that.”

“It must have been a long time
ago. The taxes haven’t been paid in four years.”

“Oh yeah, longer than that. I
don’t remember exactly. I worked for Lily seven years—can’t believe I did
that—and I’ve forgotten the details.”

Sam nodded. It was a puzzle
indeed. She complimented Jen on the display cases, offered to carry the
brownies next door to Ivan at the bookshop, and left her crew to handle the
rest of the day. She got into her truck and let it idle while she decided what
to do next.

Two other things hovered at the
edge of her awareness. One, she’d told Cora the librarian that she would stop
by for the information the woman had taken the trouble to gather. Since the old
Harwood Library wasn’t far from the shop, it would be easy to do that now. The
other thing was to track down the owner of LG Properties, just to be sure he
knew about the tax situation. Maybe Jen’s bit of gossip was true, but it didn’t
feel right that the man would lose the house he’d worked so hard for and cared
so much about. At least Sam would feel better if she knew that he was aware of
the problem and was letting go of the place willingly.

During the drive of two blocks,
Sam tried to focus her thoughts on what she’d wanted from Cora Abernathy. Her
goal was to learn something about her wooden box and where it had come from. As
far as she knew, Bertha Martinez was the only connection to it here in Taos but
maybe Bertha had friends who might know something. It was a tenuous connection.
From what Beau had told Sam when they first met, the old woman had been a
loner. But it was worth a little of her time to find out.

Cora Abernathy looked much the way
Sam had pictured from her voice. The gray-haired woman was of medium height and
reed-thin, with arthritic hands and the sort of peachy complexion that meant
she’d always been careful to wear hats outdoors. She greeted Sam
enthusiastically and thanked her for the pink-frosted cupcake Sam had brought
in one of her bakery bags.

“Here is the information I found
for you,” Cora said, turning to a bookcase behind her desk. Neat stacks of
books and papers filled two shelves and the woman knew just which one to reach
for.

“These two books are on
witchcraft, with emphasis on beliefs in New Mexico. In modern-day practice, there
are many types of witches. Wicca, for instance, is actually recognized as a
religion. Some practitioners study very seriously and even acquire degrees in
wiccan studies. There are some covens in our area.” She picked up a sheet of
typing paper upon which she’d written notes. Pointing at the page she said,
“This first one is pretty easy to find. They don’t seem to be secretive and
they even hold a festival each year, sometime around the feast of Beltane.”

Sam assumed that reading the
material would give her a clue as to what that meant. The coven names looked
familiar, probably the same ones she’d found online.

“I’ve also included a list of
books that could give more in-depth information. I’m sorry we didn’t have all
of them in our collection.”

Sam couldn’t see herself becoming
interested in a study of the craft; she really only wanted to know whether
Bertha Martinez had ever mentioned the origin of the wooden box to anyone. She
tamped down her impatience and smiled at Cora.

“Here’s another thing I found
interesting,” said Cora, “The covens usually use a place in the woods for
ceremonies. I’d had that impression, you know. But one of the women I spoke to,
she told me that for the winter solstice ceremonies, if it’s too cold outside
they are allowed to find a place indoors. But it has to be a place with the
right ambiance.”

“I wonder what she meant by that?”

“She didn’t really say. But the
way she said it—
am
biance—I guess the
mood and setting have to be just right. You know, for the magic to work.” A
cute little sparkle showed in her eyes.

 
Sam picked up the books, thanked Cora for the
information, and walked out to her truck. She remembered a certain room at
Bertha Martinez’s home, a room with white symbols painted on red walls. Maybe
that was the sort of setting the witches wanted.