Sweet Hearts (25 page)

“She’s going to be blown away.”

Sam placed a few loose petals on
the board at the base of the flowerpot. “Okay, let’s take it out there. Grab
one of those deep boxes.”

The cake didn’t quite fit into
the box and Sam cautioned the customer not to try closing the lid on it. “It
will ride fine in your car if you don’t take any sudden turns.”

“Ms Sweet, it’s absolutely a
dream,” the lady gushed. “Mother is going to love it!”

Sam carried the cake out to the
woman’s car and assured that it was firmly resting on the back seat. When she
turned back to the shop she spotted another car pulling into one of her parking
slots.

Felicia Black got out of her
silver Lexus and gave her bright hair a toss.

“Sam, dear, so great to catch you
here.”

Uh-huh. And just what is so
great about it?
Sam crossed her arms.

“I just had a marvelous idea,”
Felicia said, oblivious to the frosty reception. “Some friends and I tried a
new restaurant the other night—Cuarto del Oro—and I’d love to take you and Beau
there for dinner this weekend. Tomorrow night?”

“Felicia, that’s not—”

“Oh, Beau’s available. I already
asked him. He said he’d love to.”

Yeah, right
. The new Gold
Room was very high-toned according to rumor. Sam didn’t believe for one second
that Beau would agree to go there. “I’ll check that with him, Felicia. Let me
get back to you.”

Obviously, the woman wasn’t going
to take a simple ‘no’ for an answer. It would be better if she and Beau put
together a firm refusal and delivered it together. Sam turned back to the
bakery, saying she had work to do, but Felicia didn’t go away. She followed Sam
through the door.

“I need to get back to work—”

But Felicia had turned her charms
on Jen, exclaiming over something in the display case. Sam escaped to the
kitchen and flopped down onto her desk chair. How could she get rid of this
pest, once and for all? She tapped her toe, her mind going in a hundred
directions. When she heard the front door bells tinkle, she peered out through
the curtain. The Lexus was backing out.

She dialed Beau’s cell. “Did
Felicia just invite you to dinner at some new restaurant?”

“Well, yeah, both of us. She
breezed in awhile ago and acted like it would be such a fun evening, the three
of us having a fancy meal. Her treat, of course.”

“Same here. She said you’d
already agreed to it.”

“Not me.” She could envision him
backing away as he said it.

“Good thing we’re checking with
each other on these wild claims of hers. I guess she somehow thinks we never
talk.” She picked up a paper clip and bent it with her fingertips. “I’ve heard
of the place. White table cloths, a guitarist strolling around playing
requests, way too many knives and forks and glasses.”

“You don’t actually want to go,
do you?”

“Absolutely not.” She suppressed
the temptation to blame him for the ongoing contact. The fault lie completely
with Felicia. “I’ll handle it. And if she tries to tell you I accepted, do
not
believe her.”

He chuckled as they ended the
call. But Sam wasn’t in quite such a cheery mood. Her gaze traveled around the
kitchen, as she tried to think of a way to put a stop to this nonsense. She
spotted the canister with Bobul’s special spices on the top shelf above the
stove. Two could play at this game. She quickly called the restaurant and left
some instructions, then dialed the number Felicia had given her and left a
message to meet at Cuarto del Oro at eight o’clock the following evening.

An hour later she’d mixed up a
small batch of truffle filling and as she dipped the small orbs in deep, dark
chocolate she finalized her plan. While the coating set, she located a classy
paperboard box covered in luminous red foil. The perfect size for the six
special chocolates. On a thick cream velum card she printed the words ASK THE
GUITARIST TO PLAY “LOVE ME TENDER.” I’LL BE LISTENING FOR IT. She found a
length of gold ribbon.

One by one, the employees left for
the evening. Sam took out her smallest decorating tips and piped tiny designs
on the truffles—one with two hearts overlapping, a miniature nosegay on
another—whatever romantic designs popped into her head at the moment. She
placed the six beautiful pieces into the box, set the red foil lid on top, tied
an elegant bow with the gold ribbon, and inserted the small envelope under it.

She closed up the bakery and
drove to Cuarto del Oro.

“Yes, madam,” a pointy-nosed
maitre ’d said, with a downward glance at her baker’s jacket.

She stepped in close. “One of
your regular patrons is planning a special surprise for tomorrow evening. The
reservation is under the name Felicia Black. When the lady arrives, please seat
her at a table for two and be sure this box is at her place. Tell her the
gentleman will be only a few minutes late but he insists that she open the card
and the box immediately.”

The man gave her a long look.

“At Sweet’s Sweets we make
pastries and wedding cakes for some of the most influential people in this
town. I can send a lot of business your way if I get positive reports from this
particular couple.”

His manner changed quickly and he
placed the small red box under the podium. “I shall keep this safe, madam, and
deliver it as instructed.”

Sam walked out to her van and sat
there for a minute, thinking that another visit to Marla might be a good idea.
She could run home first and try for some more of the healing power from the
wooden box. A smaller dose, she promised herself. It wouldn’t be good to repeat
yesterday’s complete energy drain. She quickly phoned Beau and cautioned him
not to speak to Felicia if she were to call.

“I’ve got a plan in place that I
hope will send her off in a new direction,” Sam said, ignoring his questions.

Luckily, he got a radio call from
dispatch and had to sign off quickly.

She arrived at Marla’s house
about an hour later, after stopping for a chicken sandwich and grabbing the
wooden box. It occurred to her that the power might work better if Marla held
the box herself.

Camille answered the door and
showed Sam to Marla’s bedroom.

“Hey, Marla,” Sam said.

It was the first time she’d seen
the woman take to her bed, other than the time she’d been sent to the hospital,
and once again her condition seemed to have deteriorated. Sam glanced around
and saw that Camille had left them alone.

“I have something I’d like to
try,” Sam said, pulling the box from under her coat. “It’s . . . well, I’m not
sure exactly. But it seems to give me energy. I thought it might do the same
for you.”

She placed the box on Marla’s
abdomen and her friend reached out to touch it.

“It’s funny, isn’t it?” Marla
said. “Kind of ugly, but kind of pretty too?”

Sam smiled. “Try rubbing your
hands over the surface of it.”

Marla complied but Sam saw no
reaction—either from the box or the woman. After two or three minutes, Marla
shrugged.

“Is it supposed to do something?”

“I guess it won’t. I’d hoped it
would make your hands warm, make you feel energetic.”

“How would it do that?”

Sam shrugged and picked up the
box. “Never mind. It was just a thought.”

Immediately when she held the box
close to her own body, Sam felt the warmth start to flow. When Bertha Martinez
had given her the box she’d said Sam was meant to have it. It must be true. She
sat on the edge of the bed and held the box for a little while, then clasped
Marla’s hand.

“Your hands feel warm,” Marla
said, closing her eyes. “That’s nice.”

But there was only a small rush
of energy, and no obvious signs of healing. She watched Marla drift into a
light sleep. When Sam stood up Marla awoke.

“Marla, there’s something I
wanted to talk to you about. It’s Jolie.”

Marla’s eyes grew bright at the
mention of her granddaughter but her smile was filled with sadness.

“This is hard, I know . . . Marla
have you made out a will? Without one, you know the State will decide who gets
to raise Jolie. It will probably be a complete stranger.”

A tear slipped from the corner of
Marla’s eye and landed on the pale blue pillowcase. “I didn’t talk to Diane’s
lawyer that day. I really thought Tito would come back.”

“Are there no other relatives?
Someone Jolie would feel comfortable with?”

Marla shook her head. “I have
cousins in California. But Jolie has never met them. They would be strangers to
her.”

“Have you talked with your
friends? Maybe a neighbor would be willing—”

“I can’t ask that of them. Most
of them are older, not able to take on a child. The only neighbor with children
is Diane. I know she would keep Jolie for awhile. But they don’t have the space
for another child, or the money.”

Sam thought hard, but couldn’t
come up with an alternative. “Let me do some checking. Maybe Beau will have
some ideas.”

She pulled the blanket over
Marla’s shoulders and asked whether she wanted the bedside lamp on. As she
switched it off and left the room with the box tucked into her coat once more,
she saw Jolie standing in the doorway.

“I’m not going to live in
California. I won’t like it there,” the girl insisted.

Sam pulled the bedroom door shut
and nodded toward the living room. “It wouldn’t be easy, but you might need to
be open to new ideas. California has beaches and palm trees—”

Jolie stared hard at Sam. “Don’t
you think I already know what it’s like to have my life turned upside down?”
Her voice was quiet, not belligerent. The calm tone hit Sam harder than a
tantrum would have.

“Oh, sweetie, you’re so brave,”
Sam said. She reached out to put her arm around Jolie’s shoulders but the girl
turned toward her bedroom. Sam followed. “I promised your grandmother that I
would try to find an answer to this. Will you give us that chance?”

The dark eyes welled. The girl
nodded. Then she walked into her room and closed the door.

Camille came out of the kitchen,
drying her hands on a towel, and Sam blinked back her own emotions.

“I need to go home,” the neighbor
said. “They’ve been doing all right alone here at night, but the time will come
soon . . .”

“I know.”

“Tito’s funeral is scheduled for
tomorrow afternoon. I think Marla is hanging on for that. She knows they
probably wouldn’t let her out of the hospital for it, and she’s determined to
go.”

“I’m so sorry,” Sam said,
regretting that the box’s powers had not worked.

“We all are,” said Camille. “I
wish . . . but the doctor isn’t . . .” She pressed her lips together and shook
her head.

Sam squeezed her hand and told
her she would be at the funeral tomorrow. She walked out into the dark front
yard and let out a sigh that became a shudder, which turned into a sob.

She started her van and drove
slowly down the dirt road toward the highway. She’d passed through Arroyo Seco
and made the turn onto 522 by the time the emotion abated. The highway was dark
in all directions but within a mile after she’d turned onto it, a large vehicle
came up behind her, blinding her with bright lights in her mirrors. She slowed to
allow it to pass, but it stayed. The lights came closer, until she felt sure
the truck was within inches of her bumper.

She sped up. It sped up.

She slowed again. The large
vehicle tailed her relentlessly.

“What the hell are you
doing
?”
she shouted. Some stupid drunk. She didn’t dare take her hands off the wheel to
dial 911 or call Beau. She sped up again, doing over sixty, then realized that
there was a curve in the road ahead. She slowed for it and felt the nudge of
the guy’s bumper against hers. She gripped the wheel, praying not to go into a
skid, her eyes riveted on the northbound traffic facing her.

Then all at once he backed off
slightly, whipped into oncoming traffic, corrected, and zoomed off into the
distance. Sam caught only the briefest glimpse of the boxy dark shape as she
straightened her wheel and got her van back under control.

At the first wide spot she pulled
over, the trembling in her arms traveling throughout her body. Her hands raked
through her hair and she let out a shaky sigh. On the passenger seat the wooden
box throbbed with a soft glow. She reached for it.

“What is it?” she whispered.

The glow sent a calming energy
through her limbs so she kept holding it. Traffic streamed past. “What just
happened there?”

What am I doing, talking to a box? Do I expect it to answer?

She stared ahead at the highway
and the flow of traffic. That vehicle had been nowhere in sight when she pulled
onto the pavement back there. And then suddenly it was right on her tail. Had
he been waiting? Purposely targeting
her
?

She debated calling Beau for an
escort home, but that seemed silly. It was a drunk driver—had to be. She set
the box back on the passenger seat and put the van in gear. Watching for a
good, wide berth she pulled back onto the road and caught herself watching for
dark SUVs the rest of the way home.

Kelly’s car was in the drive and
lights at the windows reassured her. She scanned the yard and then chided
herself for being so jumpy. Inside, the television played canned laughter from
a sitcom.

“Some guy called for you earlier,
Mom,” Kelly said over her shoulder when Sam walked in. “He said he had some
kind of information . . . I don’t know.”

Sam spotted the note on the
kitchen table. Jonathan Ernhart. No number.

“He didn’t say to call him back,”
Kelly explained when Sam showed her the note.

Sam left the note and went to her
closet to choose something appropriate for Tito’s funeral tomorrow. Flipping
through the hangers she came across the dress she’d worn for Iris’s service. In
January, it had been far too cold for a dress and it wasn’t a whole lot warmer
yet. She pulled down a pair of black slacks and matching jacket. At the
graveside, she would have to add a winter coat and she wished she owned a
dressier one.