her nostrils.
There must be bedrooms. Could they be any worse? She edged along the magazine-lined hallway and discovered two. A master bedroom held a double bed and crib—both with rumpled bedding and scattered clothing. The smaller bedroom contained bunk beds, plus a single. At least three children had occupied it, with toys for seventeen. What on earth were these people thinking? They could have made their house payments for a hundred years with what they spent on all this . . . this debris. Sam shook her head, wondering at what led someone to live this way.
She’d often wondered what, aside from being unable to make their payments, would lead someone to abandon their home. Six weeks ago she’d encountered two situations where the homeowners had died. But standing here surrounded by junk, floor to ceiling in places, she could see the appeal of simply walking out with a toothbrush and the clothes on your back. Surely the overwhelming clutter could drive a person insane at some point.
She stared into the master bedroom closet. Aside from a few coats, slacks and a solitary dark suit, most of the clothing was for a female. Maybe the man of the house went crazy first and simply bolted, leaving his mate to cope with everything. Sam had been in here less than thirty minutes and she already felt the cloak of despair settling upon her.
Chapter 2
Before she could let it get to her, Sam pulled her cell phone from her pocket, dialed a number from her address book and ordered a roll-off. As much as she believed in recycling she simply couldn’t spare the time to go through everything in this house and separate it. Delbert Crow had been insistent that she finish the job quickly. She had to wonder if he’d actually seen the place.
She tapped her toe, debating.
At least someone could use the clothing. She grabbed an armload from the rail in the master closet, carrying the bulky burden carefully through the maze and out to her van. Several more trips and she’d filled the vehicle with clothes, nearly emptying the closets and taking most of the shopping bags from the dining room. It didn’t make a dent in the overall clutter but she felt better that the thrift shop would put it all to good use.
The autumn sun was low in the sky by the time she finished and with many of the windows blocked by junk, the rooms were becoming dim. She taped a sign-in sheet to an upper kitchen cupboard, afraid it would be completely lost if she laid it on any of the flat surfaces. She hadn’t come across a key to the front door and had no tools with her to drill the lock so she left it as she’d found it, closed but unlocked. She could only hope and pray that someone would come along in the meantime and rob the place of everything in sight. Doubtful she would get that lucky.
Out in her van Sam remembered that she needed to have the utilities turned on at her new shop. It would be too late to speak with the business offices this evening when she got home so she sat in her van and made the necessary calls for gas, water, electricity and telephone.
Two kids roared up on their bicycles, stopping beside her window, eyeing the stranger in the neighborhood. Sam gave them a quick smile while she talked on the phone, and they zipped away again when they discovered no other kids to play with.
It was nearly five o’clock when she pulled up at the back door of her favorite thrift shop, feeling a little guilty at leaving them such a huge donation at the last minute of the day. But Rose, the senior volunteer, took everything with good grace. The two of them unloaded the van, stacking the bags and loose items on a large worktable in the receiving area.
“Sorry to bombard you with all this,” Sam said after showing Rose which bags of clothing needed to be laundered.
“Hey, we can use it all,” Rose said. “With winter coming on, there are lots of people who need warm clothes. And most of this looks to be in great condition.”
“It really does. I noticed that, too. Some of these baby clothes were never worn.”
“I’ll go through it all tomorrow.” She gave Sam a hug and told her to go home. “You look tired.”
Sam caught herself yawning as she sat at the traffic light at Kit Carson Road. Long day. And not nearly finished. She had a torte to bake for a ladies luncheon tomorrow and she really ought to get better organized for both of her cleanup projects.
Kelly’s red Mustang sat in the driveway at the back of Sam’s property. Her daughter was home earlier than usual. When she’d showed up here in Taos nearly two months ago, jobless and homeless, Sam had given her a month to find work and get her own place. The job came quickly enough. Kelly became caregiver to the elderly mother of Sam’s new man, Deputy Sheriff Beau Cardwell. But finding herself another place to live was still up in the air, and Sam wasn’t sure how she felt about that. Kelly’s company was nice—they’d always gotten along well—and she often pitched in with the kitchen chores. It was just really awkward having Beau over with her grown daughter in the house. A lot of aspects of the new relationship were still working themselves out.
Sam parked beside Kelly’s car and groaned as she got out of the van. Rose was right—she was tired.
“Hey, Mom,” Kelly greeted. “I defrosted some steaks. I hope that’s okay?”
“Sounds yummy. Thanks.” She hung her backpack and keys in their usual spot just inside the kitchen door. “You’re home early. Everything okay with Iris?”
“She had a doctor appointment this afternoon and Beau wanted to take her. She’s getting more frail all the time.”
“I hope everything’s all right.” If it became necessary for Beau to put Iris in a nursing home Kelly would immediately be out of work again. But that was a selfish thought, Sam scolded herself. Iris was spunky and vivacious for a woman in her eighties and Sam knew that it was hard on Beau watching his mother become more helpless all the time.
“Shall I pour us some wine?” Kelly asked.
“Sounds great, but I want a shower first. I’m grubby.”
“Oh, right, the new shop! I want to hear all about it.”
“What you
In her bedroom, Sam began to peel off her clothes. She raised the lid of her wooden jewelry box to stash away her earrings and watch. When she touched the old box the wood warmed to her touch. She sat on the edge of the bed for a minute, holding it, watching as the lumpy wood surface took on a glowing patina and the small red, blue and green cabochon stones that were mounted in the carved grooves began to shine with light.
She’d told no one but Beau about the box—the fact that a dying woman who was known locally as a witch had given it to her, or the fact that every time Sam handled it she seemed affected in strange ways. Common sense told her not to believe in that stuff. She refused to even consider that Bertha Martinez might have passed along her weird and witchy legacy. But still . . .. Feeling a surge in her energy level, Sam set the box back on the dresser, donned her robe and went into the bathroom to run the shower as hot as she could stand it.
An hour later, Sam put the finishing touches on her special cinnamon-apple torte while Kelly cleared away the remains of their steak dinner and loaded the dishwasher. Sam carried the torte out to the spare refrigerator on her service porch, where several other deliveries awaited. Chocolate lava cupcakes for the Chocoholics Anonymous group at the bookstore, a pumpkin cheesecake with ginger crust for a customer’s business dinner, and four dozen decorated Halloween cookies. Sam checked everything, glad that the little rush in business had happened before she’d been assigned the new hoarder’s delight or realized how much cleanup was required at her new shop location.
As long as her revitalized energy held, Sam decided she would type up an email report to Delbert Crow, advising him of the condition of the property on Hickory Lane, letting him know that she’d ordered the extra expense of a roll off, and that she planned to hire some extra help for this one. Technically, she didn’t need his permission but it was better to avoid his typical “What the hell is this expense” later, when she submitted her bill.
The email sent, she phoned her best friend Zoe, who owned a B&B near the plaza, with her white- bearded teddy-bear husband, Darryl. Darryl always had a supply of young, muscular types on his crews and she hoped he could spare a few of them for a day or two if construction was slow.
