Sweets Galore: The Sixth Samantha Sweet Mystery (The Samantha Sweet Mysteries) (12 page)

“Do you have time for a cup of
tea?” Zoë said as they walked back to the kitchen. “The kettle is already hot.”

Sam checked the time. “A quick
one. I told Kelly I would meet her here at noon. For some reason she wants a
couple hours to make me presentable. I still have to run by the house and get
my dress and see if I’ve left anything else behind.”

Sam tamped down the zillion
questions that had been racing through her head: had they ordered enough food
from the caterer; would Kelly remember her checklist; would her mother try to
change the floral order; would the dress fit as well today as yesterday? She
closed her eyes and let the tea soothe her.

“Well, I better get moving,” Sam
said when her cup was empty.

Out in the van she dialed Beau’s
cell but didn’t get an answer. His list of errands was nearly as long as hers
and he may have left the phone lying around somewhere. At her old house she let
herself in and tossed her pack on the kitchen table.

I have to know
, she thought. She went to the bedroom and slipped
her clothes off quickly then stepped into the gown. As it had yesterday, the
zipper moved effortlessly closed. Her eyes rolled heavenward.
Thank you.

The front doorbell rang, startling
her. No one ever came to the front door. She hiked up the wide skirt and
tiptoed through the house.
I’m not
speaking to anyone who’s selling anything
.

A police car sat out front. Town
of Taos, not one from Beau’s department.

She opened the door a few inches.

“Samantha Sweet?” Two men stood on
her porch, one in uniform, the other in a suit. The suited one had asked the
question.

“Yes?” She looked at their faces.
Both were vaguely familiar as occasional customers in her shop.

Suit Guy held up a badge wallet.
Detective Raul Ordonez.

“We’re looking into the death of
Jake Calendar,” Ordonez said. “May we ask you a few questions?”

He stepped forward, assuming Sam
would let them in. She backed into the living room.

“You don’t seem surprised to learn
that Mr. Calendar is dead,” he stated, eyes scanning the layout of the house.

The uniformed officer glanced into
the kitchen and the short hallway leading to the two bedrooms and bath. Sam
watched the officer closely, not really wanting to give him access to the
house.

“I heard. Last night. Sheriff
Cardwell is my fiancé.”

“Not for much longer,” Ordonez
said, tilting his chin toward her gown.

“The wedding is in two hours,
actually, and I’m supposed to be on my way. So, what can I do for you?”

“We have a number of questions.”

“For example?”

“Where were you yesterday
afternoon between two and five o’clock?”

“I was right here.”

“Anyone with you? Someone who can
verify that?”

“No—I stopped by to try on my
gown. A friend came by to help me with the dress.”

“For three hours?”

“After he left, I got sleepy and
laid down for a nap.”

“He?” His insinuation was clear.

“It’s not like that—he’s not
interested in women.” Sam explained who Rupert was and the man seemed
momentarily satisfied with her answer. It wouldn’t matter. She knew, as she was
talking, that Rupert could only swear to being with her for a few minutes of
the whole afternoon.

“And no one else came by or called
you during that time?” Ordonez was writing notes in a small spiral notebook;
the other officer had moved back to the front door.

“Where are you going with this? I
don’t see how it relates to your case.”

“You had an argument with Mr.
Calendar yesterday morning. There were witnesses.”

Sam’s gut clenched. Could someone
have construed their discussion as a threat? It was ridiculous and she told him
so. She rubbed her bare arms against the chill in the shaded house.

“Would you be more comfortable in
your regular clothes?” Ordonez asked with a sympathetic expression. “We can
wait a minute while you change.”

She did feel a little ridiculous
being questioned in her wedding gown. “Yes, thank you.”

In the bedroom she quickly put the
dress on its hanger and got back into her jeans and the striped cotton shirt
she’d put on this morning. She glanced over at the telephone on the nightstand.
She should call Beau and tell him about this. Rapidly punching in his cell
number, her heart beating faster, she waited. It went to voice mail again and
she left a quick message.

A tap at the door. “Ms. Sweet?
Please come out.”

She set the receiver down and
opened the bedroom door. The uniform guy stood there and she held her ground
until he retreated again into the living room.

“After your argument with Mr.
Calendar yesterday, what happened?” Ordonez smiled, keeping his tone friendly,
although Sam knew the questions were deadly serious.

“It wasn’t really an argument. He
wanted to borrow money, I said no. After he left I finished some work at my
shop and went to lunch with relatives who are in town for the wedding. After
that I came here and tried on the dress and fell asleep.”

“And that’s all?”

“When I woke up I realized I was
running late for the wedding rehearsal so I dashed over to that. From that
point on I was with a lot of people throughout the evening.”

His pencil scratched away at the
notepad.

“All of them, including Sheriff Cardwell,
can verify that,” she insisted.

“I’m sure they can. It’s just that
. . . that one stretch of time that you can’t account for.”

“I did account for it. I was right
here.”

“It gets a little more complicated
than that, Samantha. May I call you Samantha?”

She gave an impatient nod.

“We should really discuss this at
the station. We’d like for you to come with us.”

“I’m getting
married
in an hour and forty-five minutes! Can’t this wait until
another day?”

“Not really.” He held out a hand,
ushering her toward the door.

“Wait a second. I’ll need my bag
and keys,” she said, ducking around him and heading to the kitchen for her
pack.

She locked the front door behind
them, eager to figure out what they really wanted so she could get back to her
plans.

She rode in the back seat of the
cruiser, feeling a little unsavory. How could she keep the day on track with
this nonsense going on? She pulled her phone from her backpack and called
Kelly, telling her to go by the house, get the dress and take it to Zoë’s. When
she said she’d been delayed, Kelly jumped to the conclusion that she’d gotten
tied up at the bakery and Sam let it go. There was no way she wanted to get
into explanations. Surely this couldn’t take more than a few minutes.

The cruiser drove past the plaza and
turned on Civic Plaza Drive. Sam’s face burned with the knowledge that someone
she knew might see her in the police car. Her hands weren’t cuffed but as they
walked her through the back entrance of the police station, Sam couldn’t have
felt more like a perp. Her blood pressure kicked up as the place closed in on
her.

“Your pack, ma’am,” said an
officer just inside the door. “Scanner. It’s procedure.”

She set her pack on the conveyor
where it didn’t set off any alarms, but when Ordonez unzipped the top and
spotted her passport he paused.

“Going somewhere?”

“Yes, on my
honeymoon
! It’s an old tradition, right after a couple are married
. . .”

He gave her a look that told her
she better shut up. The envelope from Clinton Hardgate came out next and he
held it up, his eyebrows arched.

“Beau and I are going to Ireland.
Tomorrow.”

Ordonez handed her pack to her but
held on to the passport and tickets. “We’ll see.”

Sam felt like screaming. Surely he
couldn’t do this.

“You’ll get them back. I only have
a few other questions.” He led the way to a room with a small glass window
inset in the door and ushered her inside. “Have a seat.”

She remained standing and crossed
her arms. “My wedding starts in less than an hour and a half. I’ve answered
your questions. I need to go.”

Ordonez met her gaze steadily.
“Not yet.”

He pulled open a large paper bag
and from it withdrew a plastic evidence bag. “Our crime scene people were at
the La Fonda nearly all night, processing the scene. Do you recognize this?”

Inside the evidence bag she
glimpsed a very familiar shade of purple—a small bag from Sweet’s Sweets, with
her logo on it, a little crumpled.

She took a shaky breath. “These
sacks come from my bakery. Every customer who buys a small item usually gets
one.”

“Do they usually get one with your
fingerprints on it?”

“What are you getting at? Where
did you get this?”

“From Jake Calendar’s hotel room.”

“So? He did come into my shop. He
bought a few things.” Although, as she recalled, Jake usually wolfed down his
pastries before he got out of the shop.

The detective set the bag down.
“This particular item seemed to be made especially for the victim. Once we have
autopsy results we can verify our suspicions.”

“
What
suspicions?”

“The indications are that Mr.
Calendar was poisoned. By a cupcake from your shop.”

Sam felt her mouth fall open.

“You also seem to have left out
one significant detail when you failed to mention that Mr. Calendar was the
father of your daughter.”

She closed her mouth and sat down.

Chapter
10

Sam caught a glimpse of Chief
Sanchez through the small window in the door leading to the corridor. The
chiseled planes of his face seemed set in smug satisfaction. A frisson of fear
went down her spine.

“I want to make a phone call,” Sam
said.

“You’re not under arrest. Relax.
We’re just talking.”

“My wedding . . . The guests will
be there by now.” Beau would be in his tux, Zoë setting up the cake, everyone
waiting on her. She could imagine the look on her mother’s face. Kelly trying
to reassure her grandmother while wondering what on earth had happened.

“I can send a squad car over to
let them know about the delay,” Ordonez offered, for all the world sounding
like he wanted to be helpful.

“No! Do
not
upset my parents with this. Let’s just get the questions over
with.” She worked to keep the panic out of her voice, picturing Pete Sanchez
behind the two-way mirror, gloating over messing up Beau’s wedding day.

“Here’s what it looks like to us,”
Ordonez said, fixing her with a hard stare. “You and Jake Calendar had an
intimate relationship. He came to town. You say it was to ask for money, but
maybe there was a hint that he would expose that relationship to your fiancé or
your family.”

Heaven forbid that her mother
learn about Jake Calendar through the police. Sam realized she should have
gotten all of it out in the open years ago.

He read her expression too well.
“That concerned you. You wanted him out of the way, figured a little something
added to a pastry . . . He would believe the pastry was a kind of peace offering
or something so he wouldn’t hesitate to eat it . . .”

Sam knew she should call a lawyer.
But whom? The only attorney she’d spoken to in years was Clinton Hardgate in
New York. And he only dealt in wills and trusts. Locally, she’d revised her own
will a few years back. That firm would be of no help either. She had no clue
who to call on a criminal matter.

Her phone rang down inside her
backpack. She reached for it before Ordonez could stop her.

“It’s my daughter. I’m sure
everyone is frantic. Let me just tell her I’m delayed.”

“
Only
that.”

“Kelly, the police have a lot of
questions about Jake’s death,” said Sam in a rush. “Tell everyone we have to
postpone the ceremony until four o’clock.”

She barely got that out before
Ordonez grabbed her phone away. He shut it off and laid it on his side of the
table.

“What? I didn’t say anything I
shouldn’t have.”

A tap came at the door and Ordonez
nodded to someone through the window. Again, Sam spotted Chief Pete Sanchez.
Ordonez picked up all the items on the table, including her cell phone, and
left the room. She eyed the mirror on the opposite wall, certain that she was
being observed. After all, she had stood behind the two-way mirror in Beau’s
department a time or two when he had interrogated someone. She did her best to
appear calm. It was probably a losing effort. Minutes ticked by.

When Ordonez returned he went
right back to his notes.

“Now, you say you went directly
from lunch at The Willows to your house to try on your dress. How, then, is it
that your vehicle showed up on a traffic camera on the north end of town?”

“There are traffic cams in Taos
now?”

He gave her a hard stare.
“Temporary ones. Ms. Sweet, is that really all you took from that statement?”

She pressed her knuckles to her
temples, thinking. The past few days had been so busy— “I went to Beau’s—to the
home I now share with my fiancé, who would be my
husband
by now if you hadn’t come along—to get something. Then I
came back and tried on the dress.”

“We’ve been unable to reach Rupert
Penrick
to verify that.”

“Because he’s at my wedding.
Waiting for me!”

“I can send someone over there to
speak with him, if you’ll tell me where it is,” he said in a perfectly
reasonable sounding voice.

No!
The word resounded through her head. This whole thing was going
in circles.

“What else?” she asked.

“Can you explain how the bag from
your shop—with your fingerprints on it—got to Jake Calendar’s hotel room, with
a poisoned cupcake inside it?”