Connie Shelton - Sweet's Sweets - The Second Samantha Sweet Mystery

The home’s small entryway felt amazingly larger now. With the walls visible, Sam realized that the place might actually clean up pretty well.

She pointed the three workers toward the living room. “This room next, I guess. Strip out everything but the furniture and we’ll see how that goes. Then do the same in the dining area.”

She stepped into the kitchen, belatedly remembering what a disaster it was. Grabbing a box of extra-strength trash bags she dispensed with the disgusting contents of the fridge as well as the crusted dishes and pans. There were times Sam went to the effort to clean up a place and leave some of the household items for the new owner, but this wasn’t one of them. She opened the back door and a window to the fresh October air, and surveyed the room in hopes that she’d gotten most of the smelliest junk out of there.

The light was fading fast, and without power in the house they wouldn’t be able to work much longer, which was fine with Sam. Her body ached all over. She flopped onto one of the kitchen chairs, from which she’d just cleared a kid’s booster seat and a nasty-looking baby doll.

“It’s almost five, Miss Samantha.”

She glanced at her watch. “You’re right, Troy. What time do you guys normally knock off?”

“Just whenever.”

“Good enough for me.” She forced herself not to groan as she stood up.

The three guys had made good progress through the living room and partway into the dining area.

“Tomorrow, eight o’clock?” She directed the question at Troy.

What am I thinking . Do I want to be back here at eight? “Just a sec.” She pulled a new lockset from the toolbox in her truck, took one of the keys from the package and handed it to Troy. “This will open the front door. Do not lose it.”

“Yes ma’am.” She smiled as she watched them drive away. Troy seemed like a responsible guy, pretty good looking. Maybe she should introduce him to Kelly.

Forget it. I do not need one more thing to think about at this moment.

Ignoring her protesting muscles, she drilled the old lock and replaced it with the new lockset. Pocketed the remaining key, locked up the rest of the house. In the waning light she walked slowly through the rooms where walls and floors were now free of clutter. The condition of that old coat weighed on her mind, but she could see no sign of blood anywhere in the house. She would have to ask Beau if he’d taken a look at the garment.

As much as Sam yearned to work on her new shop, her body was simply telling her not to. She drove through town, stopping at the market for something ready-made for dinner, realizing that part of her energy slump might be because she’d entirely forgotten to eat lunch.

Her kitchen phone was ringing as she walked in but before she could reach for it, the cell phone in her pocket went off too. Sheesh. The readout on the cell told her it was Beau; the voice coming over her answering machine was a bakery customer. The woman won out. Sam felt around for pen and her order pad as she intercepted the call. A Chamber of Commerce breakfast. They wanted eight dozen pastries—assorted muffins, breads and coffee cakes. And if she could provide fruit platters and juice, that would be even better. Oh, and it all needed to be delivered by eight o’clock the next morning. Sam gritted her teeth but put a smile into her voice as she assured the woman she could handle it. Why did she have the feeling that someone who’d been assigned the job of organizing all this had completely forgotten until the last minute?

Sam immediately phoned Kelly and gave her a list of groceries to pick up on her way home from the Cardwells. Then she collapsed into a chair at the kitchen table and seriously considered whether to scream or simply cry.

Bertha Martinez’s words came back to her: The box will give you immense power. Use it to your advantage and to help others.

Sam’s eyes narrowed. The dream she’d dismissed last night now seemed to offer hope for accomplishing all she needed to do in the next few hours. She eyed the bottle of ibuprofen sitting on the counter but got out of her chair and walked into the bedroom instead. The bottom dresser drawer where she’d shoved the wooden box this morning stood open a couple of inches. Sam came to a dead stop.

She stared around the room but nothing else was out of place. What the hell was going on? Could the damn box move?

She gingerly reached for the edge of the drawer and pulled it open. On top of a folded sweater lay the box, its dull red, blue and green stones catching the light from the overhead fixture. Sam picked it up and ran her hands over the quilt-shaped surface.

Immediately, the box began to warm to her touch. She wrapped her arms around it and held it close to her body. When she looked down at it, the sour yellow varnish had taken on a golden glow. The colored stones sparkled with life. Her hands warmed and she felt a new energy surge up her arms and through her chest. The aches in her body vanished.

The first time this had happened, more than a month ago, it frightened her. Farm girls from Texas did not buy into the idea of magical powers, brujas or the ability to see things that weren’t there. Yet here she was, turning to a charmed object to help her accomplish more than humanly possible. She deposited the box on the dresser and kicked the drawer shut. Rubbish!

She tried to put it out of her mind as she rushed back to the kitchen, washed her hands and got out her recipes. Assorted pastries. She would need at least three varieties of each item. And she better go with simple recipes and rely on little embellishments. Autumn flavors. Pumpkin, apple, cinnamon. Pulling ingredients from the pantry she mixed the first batters. As pans of muffins went into the oven, she mixed streusel for one of her favorite coffee cakes and a lemon glaze for another.

When Kelly got home Sam put her daughter to work cutting up fruit and arranging it on platters.

“Is there going to be any dinner tonight?” Kelly asked as she came in from the service porch after placing the fruit platters into the spare refrigerator.

Sam aimed her elbow toward the microwave. “Would you mind warming up that deli casserole I brought home?”

Fresh, homemade goodies for the clients; deli food for themselves. Sam vowed to stop that trend once the bakery opened and her own kitchen was once again reserved for home cooked meals. She set the pans of perfectly baked muffins out to cool and put the coffee cakes into the oven.

Sam’s chirping cell phone interrupted. Beau again. She’d forgotten all about returning his previous call. She set her dinner plate down and fished the phone out of her pocket.

“Hey there. Sorry I didn’t get right back to you.”

“It’s okay. I’ve been pretty tied up today, too. It’s about a trench coat that Rose found at the thrift shop.”

“Ah, yes. Was it okay that I gave her your direct number?”

“No problem. She was right. It’s . . . well . . . a mess. She said you brought it in?”

Sam explained the circumstances and how she’d not found any other traces of blood at the house where she’d gotten the coat.

“I’ll need to come out there and take a look. Someone may have cleaned up the visible evidence, but there could be traces. Would tomorrow be good?”

She explained about the pastry delivery first and they made a plan to meet around nine o’clock. It wasn’t until she’d hung up that she realized he’d used the word ‘evidence.’

Chapter 5

Sam rolled over in bed and grumbled at the beeping alarm clock on her nightstand. Even with Kelly’s help, they’d been up until after one o’clock to finalize the pastry order for the Chamber breakfast, and now six o’clock was here way too quickly. She slapped at the button to shut off the annoying thing and flung the covers off. The room was too chilly to tolerate being coverless for long, so she pulled on her robe and headed for the shower.