Sweet Hearts (6 page)

“See you later?” she asked.

“If you can break away for lunch,
I’ll try to have that file by then. Maybe we can both take a look?”

“Perfect.” She kissed him, loving
the feel of his cold, scratchy whiskers against her face.

She unlocked her van and slid
inside. On the passenger seat sat the three small cloth bags Bobul had given
her. Damn. In the warmth of Beau’s arms last night, with the reality of the
world firmly within her grasp, she’d almost convinced herself that exhaustion
and the drive from Marla’s home had set her thoughts running wild and that she’d
only imagined the fog and the encounter with the chocolatier. She lifted one of
the pouches—it seemed nearly weightless.
What was this all about?

She caught Beau watching her from
the kitchen window, obviously wondering if she were having car trouble. She put
the van in gear and rolled away, blowing him a kiss.

At Sweet’s Sweets Sam was
blessedly alone. She started the bake oven and brewed a pot of coffee. The
employees could handle the routine baking as they arrived, she decided. She
pulled a two-pound block of fine dark chocolate from her supply.

Much as she would have liked to
do each step from scratch, she’d learned that the roasting, winnowing, grinding
and conching were difficult steps that required lots of specialized equipment.
Finding a supplier for chocolate that was ready for tempering was a huge
time-saver. Even so, some things simply required time and concentration. She
stood over the stove, watching the chocolate melt, checking the thermometer
until it reached precisely 110 degrees. The steps of cooling, tempering, and
blending while carefully watching the temperature were becoming second nature
to her. When the mixture reached the ideal point for molding at 90 degrees, she
pulled out the little pouches Bobul had given her.

Okay, what had he said? One pinch
from the red bag and two pinches from each of the others. She sniffed at the
first pouch as she opened it. Maybe a faint hint of cinnamon? But not really.
It was something else and yet she couldn’t name it. She stuck her fingers
inside and took the requisite pinch of whatever the powdery substance was.

“Here goes nothing,” she said,
sprinkling the small amount of powder over the bowl of chocolate.

The contents of the other two
pouches had no discernable scent at all and the powdered substance inside was
almost colorless. Two pinches from each, scattered over the surface of the
chocolate like fairy dust, then stirred gently until it vanished.

Sam stared at the glossy surface.
“Man, I hope this doesn’t kill somebody.”

Sam pulled the drawstring
closures on the three little spice pouches, stuffed them into a metal canister
and jammed them up into the corner of the overhead shelf. She pulled a teaspoon
from the drawer and dipped it into the warm chocolate, then tasted. Tongue and
taste buds reacted immediately.
Finally
, the result she’d wanted.

She carried the bowl to the work
table where she’d laid out clean molds. She tempered it then watched the
chocolate flow in a smooth ribbon into each small, heart-shaped cavity.
Although she didn’t see how the minute amounts of Bobul’s powders could affect
it, Sam swore that the consistency was silkier than anything she’d yet turned
out.

The molds went into the fridge
for a five-minute quick cool down, and Sam started another batch. Again, she
tasted. Again, the flavor was exquisite and she felt no odd side effects. By
the time Cathy, Sandy and Becky arrived to start making the daily muffins and
breakfast pastries, there were sample chocolates for the tasting.

“Mmmm,” Becky said. “I think
you’ve got it.”

“I still don’t know how Bobul
created his intricate designs, but at least the flavor is there.”

“The molded hearts are perfect
for Valentine’s,” Cathy said.

She was right, Sam decided. With
six days to go, she couldn’t hope to learn to sculpt the perfect little flowers
and garlands Bobul had made at Christmas. But this was a good start. She
rummaged through one of the storage shelves and found some gift boxes left from
the holidays. Within an hour she’d filled several of them with the small heart-shaped
chocolates and set them near the register for Jen to begin selling as soon as
the doors opened.

“We could save some of those to
put on the cakes, too,” Becky suggested.

Good idea. Sam envisioned them on
cupcakes as well, and maybe on the miniature tortes that she planned as her
Valentine-dinner specials.

“Okay, I smell that special
chocolate,” Jen said, pushing her way through the curtain that separated the
sales area. “Is Bobul back?”

Sam grinned. Jen, the great
chocolate lover of the whole crew, would spot any inconsistency immediately.
Sam handed her assistant one of the newly-made hearts and watched as Jen
swirled her tongue and rolled her eyes.

“Oh, yeah.
Oh, yeah
.”

“Don’t go all orgasmic on us
here,” Sam teased. “I just need to know if they’re good enough to sell.”

“At double the price. People will
love
these!”

“Just price the boxes the same as
we did at Christmas.” She let Jen take another heart from the sample plate. “I
better get busy on some truffles now.”

While Sandy and Cathy
concentrated on the standard array of breakfast pastries and Becky began
assembling and filling layers for the custom cake orders, Sam sneaked the
canister of little pouches back into her own work area beside the stove. No one
seemed to notice that she’d begun including extra ingredients.

“Okay, Mom, when were you going
to let Riki and me in on the secret?” Kelly demanded, walking up to the
worktable where Sam was dipping truffle centers into a bowl of the new
chocolate.

“I just turned out the first
batch this morning at six o’clock. Not my fault you didn’t stop by earlier.”
She continued dipping.

“My first break of the morning.
Can I take a couple back to Puppy Chic with me?”

Sam pointed toward the pile of
rejects, those inevitable pieces that didn’t unmold quite right or the dipped
truffles that weren’t perfectly symmetrical. Usually, she just melted them down
or cut them into small bits for samples.

Kelly immediately popped one into
her mouth, did the same eye-roll that Jen had earlier, and then grabbed up two
more and wrapped them in a napkin.

“Thanks, Mom. Short break. Gotta
go.”

“No more soapy-dog emergencies
today, I hope?”

Kelly laughed and headed out the
back door.

Sam had just finished the last of
the truffles when her cell phone rang down inside her pocket.

“Hey darlin’. Almost ready for
some lunch?”

She glanced at the kitchen clock,
startled to see that it was after eleven-thirty. They made a plan to meet in
ten minutes at the Taoseño, and she rushed to the sales room to be sure Jen had
things under control there.

“Quit eating all the samples,”
Sam cautioned, chuckling at the guilty look that crossed Jen’s face.

“I’m giving out plenty, too.
Look, nearly all the boxes are sold already.”

Uh-oh. Sam scratched a note to
herself to order more boxes from her supplier. Clearly, the few remaining in
the storage area weren’t going to get them through the week.

She walked through the door of
the popular local restaurant a few minutes late, but luckily Beau had snagged
them a table. Her heart gave a little flip when she saw him. God, he looked
good in his uniform. Maybe tonight . . .

He stood and pulled her chair
out. “I ordered your favorite burrito. It’s already getting crowded and the
waitresses looked pretty busy.”

“Thanks.” She gave him a long
look. “I don’t know if I ever mentioned how absolutely wonderful you are. I
mean, not only dashingly handsome but considerate as well.”

He actually blushed, and Sam
realized that it wouldn’t hurt her to be a little more forthcoming with
compliments. He really was a treasure.

He cleared his throat and looked
up. Their orders had arrived.

“Oh, I got the Fresques file for
you,” he said after they’d taken a few greedy bites of their food. “Glanced
through it.”

“Is there any new information for
Marla?”

“I doubt it. I got interrupted
and really didn’t have time to study it. The gist of it was that no one pursued
the case very far because there was no evidence he didn’t leave of his own
accord. But feel free to take it home and read through it. Ask questions if you
want. Maybe Mrs. Fresques has information that she didn’t provide at the time.”

“She told me that family members
have received birthday cards but they are never signed. She’s convinced that
Tito sent them.”

“Where were they mailed from?”

“She said a variety of places.
That doesn’t seem to make sense with the ‘other woman’ scenario, does it? I
mean, wouldn’t he have just filed for divorce so he could be with this woman?
Why would he continue to send his wife birthday cards?”

He paused with his fork midway
back to his plate. “Well, it’s odd, that’s for sure. I don’t think there was a
mention of these cards in the file. It would be nice if Sheriff Padilla had
asked more questions at the time, rather than assuming so much.”

Sam bit back a comment about the
former sheriff. “I’ll see if Marla can tell me more.”

“Let me know if you come up with
anything that would make it reasonable for us to reopen the case.”

She nodded thoughtfully.

People were lining up at the
door, waiting for tables, so Sam and Beau quickly finished their meal. In the crowded
parking lot she hugged the case file to her chest as Beau walked her to her
van. She climbed in and powered her window down.

“Touch base later?” he asked,
leaning in for a quick kiss.

She stared at his back as he
walked toward his cruiser.
Umm, nice view.

She pulled out her phone and made
a quick call to the bakery. Sam heard laughter in the background although Jen
assured her that everything was under control.

“I need to do an errand before I
come back. Call me if you need to.”

Jen giggled at something someone
had said. “Sure, Sam. We’re doing fine here.”

As long as business isn’t being
ignored, Sam thought. A drive all the way out to Marla’s place probably wasn’t
the best use of her time right now, but she needed to ask more questions and
the week wasn’t going to get any less busy. Plus, her wedding florist’s shop
was on that end of town and Sam needed to give him a check for the balance
they’d agreed upon.

It took fifteen minutes to get
past the midday traffic clog near the plaza, out to the small flower shop on
the north side.

“I shall order your flowers on
Friday,” the diminutive owner said as he reached for her check. “They will
arrive Monday, as fresh as can be, and your bouquets will be ready Tuesday
morning.”

“Thanks, Eben. My daughter will
probably be the one to pick them up.”

He handed her a single red rose,
nestled beside a sprig of fern and wrapped with green tissue around the stems.
“It’s an extra. Enjoy.”

She carried the flower out to her
van, laid it gently on the seat beside her and picked up the file Beau had sent
with her. As he’d said, there wasn’t a whole lot to it.

A report, neatly filled out in
someone’s squarish printing, gave the basics. Tito Fresques was last seen by
his family members when he left Marla’s house to drive into town for beer.
Although he hadn’t stated as much, both Marla and his wife, Tricia, assumed
that he would go to the supermarket where the family normally shopped. It
should have been a round trip of less than an hour. When Tito didn’t show up
after more than two hours, the women became concerned. He’d left his cell phone
in the bedroom, his former childhood room, so Tricia decided to take Marla’s
car and drive the route, concerned that he’d had car trouble somewhere. There’d
been no sign of him or his vehicle along the way or at the grocery store. She’d
driven to the other large supermarket in town, with no sign of him there
either, then she’d cruised slowly past the few liquor stores. No car. No Tito.
At one point she’d called back to Marla’s house to be sure he hadn’t arrived in
her absence.

Feeling a little panicky, Tricia
had then driven to the sheriff’s department and informed them of the situation.

A shadow crossed the page. Eben,
the florist appeared at Sam’s window and she rolled it down. “Everything okay,
Sam?”

“Oh, yeah, I just had something
to read over. I hope I’m not taking up a valuable parking spot?” It was nice of
him to worry about her.

He assured her that he didn’t
mind, then pulled his sweater more tightly across his chest and hurried back inside.

Two other pages in the file
contained notes about phone calls the deputies had made to the hospital and the
morgue. Among Tito’s friends who’d been contacted no one said they’d heard from
him. Someone had made a note in the file that the sheriff’s department had
simply recommended that Tricia Fresques go back to Albuquerque and wait there
for her husband to come home.

Sam closed the folder and tapped
it against her steering wheel, pondering. Pulling out her cell phone she made a
quick call to Marla, who didn’t mind at all that Sam wanted to drop by.

Sam glanced at the time. She
could afford another hour away from the bakery. She pulled out of Eben’s
parking lot and headed north toward open country. There’d been no new snow
since mid-January and the bright February sun now shone on tan fields of
stubble. Horses stood in the sunshine, their fuzzy winter coats soaking up its
warmth. Flocks of small black birds suddenly abandoned perches in a spiky
cottonwood tree, flowing like a dark stream low across a field on her right,
landing to pick at fallen seeds on the ground.