The 911 operator, after hearing her fuzzy description of what she’d found, didn’t seem to consider it a true emergency—as in the lights-and-sirens variety—but she did connect Sam with Sheriff Orlando Padilla’s office.
Sam repeated her explanation about the gravesite and asked whether the sheriff might want to take a look.
“Sorry, he’s out on a call,” the dispatcher said. “Can you hold for a minute?”
Sam held, watching fat raindrops as they picked up speed, plopping off the hood of her truck, filling the air with the scent of wet dust.
The dispatcher’s voice came back on the line. “I tried both radio and his cell phone, but he’s up in the ski valley, probably out of range. I left a voice message.” She paused. “It might take awhile for him to get back to me.”
Sam gave her cell and home numbers—didn’t mention that the sheriff’s department had already responded to one call from her today. She debated waiting for him but it could be hours. She didn’t want to stand around in the pouring rain, staring at the grave but from this morning’s instructions by Deputy Beau she figured she better not work indoors either. She tapped an impatient toe as heavy raindrops saturated the freshly cut lawn. It seemed to be tapering off. She dashed for the front door, gathered her tools and locked the newly installed lock.
The strange events of the day were wearing her down; she thought of her friend Zoe, who operated a homey B&B with her husband Darryl. The rain had slowed to a drizzle and blue sky began to show in the west. This was usually how New Mexico rainstorms went. Sam pushed her mower up into the utility trailer, backed the little rig around and headed into town, envisioning a cup of tea and some good conversation to smooth over the afternoon.
She’d just reached the intersection of Highway 64, when her cell rang.
“Samantha Sweet? This is Beau Cardwell. Two bodies in one day? I have to say, that might be some kind of record.”
She couldn’t tell if he was irritated or joking so she quickly explained about finding the grave and how she’d quit mowing the minute she found it. “Is it legal to bury someone on private property?”
“With a permit, usually it’s fine,” he said. “But since the place was abandoned, it might be smart for me to check it out. Don’t touch anything until I can get some answers.”
She told him about her plans for Zoe’s, clicked off the call and drove on. The Chartrain’s B&B was right in the middle of Taos, a hundred-year-old house sitting on a winding lane amid picturesque adobe neighbors. Maneuvering Sam’s truck and trailer in there would be iffy, so she drove to her own house on Elmwood Lane, two blocks away. A narrow drive led to the back of the property, where she had a good, wide turnaround spot. She parked there and walked over to the B&B. The rain shower, which had drenched the county west of the Rio Grande, apparently hadn’t touched this part of town at all.
Zoe was out front, knee deep in a bed of wildflowers, rose bushes and zinnias. Hollyhocks in full pink and burgundy bloom towered behind her and a graceful weeping willow draped its slim branches over a pond on the northwest corner of the lot. Zoe wiped a wisp of stray hair out of her eyes and tucked it behind her ear.
“Hey,” she greeted in her soft voice. Wearing a gauzy skirt and tank top, with leather sandals on not-quite- clean feet, she looked every bit the child of the commune in which she’d been raised. Her parents were some of the true free-love hippies of the ’60s and Zoe never gave up her roots. It wasn’t until she met Darryl ten years ago, that she settled into married life at thirty. The B&B came about as a result of their love of people and the fact that Darryl had inherited the six-bedroom house when his father passed away. Sam had the feeling that Zoe would rather simply tend the huge organic garden out back, but rave reviews on both the accommodations and their bountiful table kept her interested in the business.
“What’s going on?” Zoe said, dusting soil from her hands. She gave Sam an intent look and her pale brows pulled together. “Something’s happened, Sam. You look upset.”
“Do I?”
“Yes, you do.” She picked up a watering can and tipped it to rinse her left hand, switched and rinsed the right, while Sam gave a quick recap of both of the day’s strange events.
“The sheriff will check on the grave, but they don’t want me out there right now. I was thinking . . .”
“. . . about a cup of tea.”
“Chai, if you have it.”
Zoe kicked a bunch of clippings into a little pile and then led the way around the side of the low adobe, to the kitchen door. Just inside, she kicked off the Birkenstocks, wiped her bare feet on the mat, and headed toward the kitchen sink, giving her hands a good scrubbing before reaching for the cookie jar.
“Here—I still have a couple of your brownies that the guests didn’t get.”
Sam stepped up to the sink and washed off the dust, rust and weird feeling that she seemed to have picked up during her morning labors. Zoe’s kitchen was a cheerful place, painted in soft terra cotta with lots of bright Mexican tile, large copper pots hanging from ceiling hooks, and a round table with fuschia and yellow placemats and cloth napkins. It always smelled of Mexican vanilla. Darryl remodeled it about two years ago, bringing in the latest professional appliances and knocking out a divider wall so there was plenty of room around the island counter for guests to have their first cup of coffee as the muffins were coming out of the oven. They loved that homey atmosphere.
Zoe brought chai mix out of the pantry and put the kettle on to boil.
“It’s the first time I’ve found anything like . . . death . . . at my properties, and now twice in one day.”
“You don’t find it kind of spooky going out to those houses and sneaking in?” She pulled a colorfully painted plate from the cabinet and put brownies on it. “I mean, there has to be some strange energy in those abandoned places.” She set the plate on the counter near the barstools.
“So far, in the months I’ve been doing this, it’s been pretty tame,” Sam said. “Usually just a lot of junk that has to be hauled off before the authorities can consider holding an auction. I had one place where the trash filled a whole roll-off Dumpster. Once the clutter is out, most places clean up pretty well.” She didn’t mention the time she’d come across the earmarks of a meth lab. That one had been in the middle of town and local police came right in and handled it. Since it was only her second property after taking the job, Delbert Crow had taken over and she’d been out of the picture quickly.
The kettle whistled and Zoe poured, stirring in the chai. She joined Sam at the counter and Sam was well into her second brownie when her phone rang.
She swallowed a hunk of the brownie and saw the caller was Deputy Cardwell.
“Sam? Are you still at that property where you found the grave?”
“No. I left after the rain shower.”
“Things are pretty well stacked up this afternoon and I can’t get there until tomorrow. But I’d like to have you meet us there—say eight in the morning?”
Sam wasn’t eager to visit the grave again. There had been such an eerie feeling around it. But she had to finish cleaning the house and tending the yard, and it would be easier to approach it for the second time with the authorities there.
“If you get there first, don’t touch anything,” he said. “It’s potentially a crime scene.”
Chapter 4
Sam left Zoe’s place with a brief sugar high but it quickly faded when she got home. Too much excitement. She briefly considered sitting in on the mystery book discussion at Mysterious Happenings that evening but it seemed like an effort. The peace and quiet of her own home, enjoyed in solitude, were much more appealing.
As she got out of the truck she spotted Bertha Martinez’s little wooden box on the back seat. Why had the woman insisted that Sam, a total stranger, was meant to have it? Maybe she was just a lonely old woman with no friends or family. The box might have been her only prized possession. Maybe she just wanted to hand it over to
