“No idea. I’m no cryptographer.” He thumbed through a few more pages. Each one seemed to represent one account, or maybe one transaction—hard to tell. “The State crime lab has one—a cryptographer. But like every other thing they have one of, I’d bet he or she is backed up with work for a year.”
“Look at the first column on each page. The numbers are written as decimals but they could easily be dates. See? 7.6, 8.29, 1.31. None of the first digits are higher than twelve and none of the second sets are more than thirty-one.”
“Good catch. And it makes sense that he would start each entry with a date.”
“Each date is followed by sets of letters that must be a sort of shorthand. Client names, billing codes or something?”
Sam took the book and turned to the last page that contained writing. “If this is the most recent entry, and if those numbers are dates, he last wrote in this book on October 19th.”
“Less than a week before his body was found.”
“More than a month after Cheryl Adams moved away. So, his coat being in her closet still makes no sense at all.”
Sam handed the book back to Beau. “So, what was he entering into this book, in code, right before he died?”
“The answer to that would win you top prize on one of those game shows, wouldn’t it?” He sighed and stood up. “I don’t know the answers, but I’ve been on duty since seven this morning, I’m starving and I still have five hours to go before this shift is over.”
“Fast food? Let’s take both of our cars and meet at Burger King.”
He picked up the mysterious journal, stuck it into an evidence bag and carried it with him as they left the PI’s office.
“Technically, that journal should be entered into evidence and turned over to the cryptographer at the state crime lab,” he said, between bites of hamburger. “But I can see that taking forever and then, even if it did lead us to some important clue, a defense attorney would get it disqualified in a New York minute because it isn’t written in English or some such thing.”
Sam shrugged. He was probably right.
“You did a good job of figuring out what the dates meant,” he said. “Would you want to give the rest of it a try?”
She stared at him.
“Seriously. If there’s anything in there that could lead to one of his cases, odds are good that there’s a file in that office corresponding to it. Maybe you’ll spot something we can use. The guy obviously kept thorough records. On the other hand, the book might just be his accounting system. Records of payments or some such.”
Sam pondered that. It could be exactly that. They hadn’t come across any financial ledgers, no computer. It wasn’t unheard of for a guy to keep a coded ledger or a second set of books, pocketing cash payments here and there.
She stared at the leather book in Beau’s hand. The idea of a secret code, mysterious entries, a guy who wanted to pull something over on the IRS . . . But doubts nagged at her when she thought of the straight-arrow Fenton in the photo, receiving the governor’s award.
“I’ll give it a try but you take it out of the evidence bag,” she said. “I’m not being responsible for that.”
He held it up. “I never sealed it.” The book slipped into his hand and he gave it to her.
The house was dark and cold when she got home. A note from Kelly explained that she was spending the night at the Cardwell’s since Beau had to work a double shift. She’d left a stack of the flyers announcing the gala opening of Sweet’s Sweets. Sam placed them near the back door so she wouldn’t forget them in the morning, then went to her computer and composed an email announcing the Saturday gala to her whole list of friends, as if there were any who hadn’t had an earful about Sweet’s Sweets, right from the beginning.
Twelve hours was about the limit of the box’s power, Sam had discovered, and it was quickly fading now. She glanced at the leather journal but couldn’t summon the energy to give it much thought. Five a.m. was going to come way too early. She stuck the book out of sight in her nightstand and prepared for bed.
Elena Tafoya came into Sweet’s Sweets again on Wednesday, shortly after noon. Sam had started Becky with muffins—they were simple enough—and found that her new assistant had a flair for coming up with ideas, mixing new combinations of flavors. Sam left her at the stove, making an autumn fruit medley of red pears, kumquats and cranberries as a topping for their plain cheesecake. It smelled heavenly as Sam left the kitchen, answering Jen’s summons. She had two visitors.
Sam offered Elena coffee and told her to take a table while she dealt with the other, the crew who chose this moment to install the new awning and signage. Once Sam consulted with the lead guy, she left them to their drilling and joined Elena with a mug of coffee. She wasn’t sure why the politician’s wife had taken such a liking to her, but she felt that the woman was—something—lonely?
At any rate, when they sampled Becky’s warm fruit compote over a shared slice of cheesecake, and when Elena raved over it, Sam knew she’d found a good friendship.
“Are you eager for the election to be done?” Sam asked, during a lull when the store was empty.
Elena sighed. “I guess it’s always going to be this way. I once dreamed we would have children and the family would be more important to him . . .” She bit at her lower lip. “But there were no kids, and this is what Carlos does. He’s a politician to the core.”
Sam wanted to ask if his political charisma was what attracted Elena to her husband in the first place, but another customer walked in just then. Jen had gone to the back so Sam got up and filled the man’s order for a dozen Frangelica chocolate chip cookies. He was dressed in business attire and she guessed that he was going back to the office with an after-lunch treat for the staff.
She slipped one of the Frangelica cookies to Elena, who took a bite and rolled her eyes. “Pure magic, Sam.”
“You can be my permanent taste-tester,” she joked.
“Absolutely. Call me anytime you’ve got something this good.” Elena’s mood had brightened in the past few minutes.
“You’ll come to our gala party Saturday, won’t you?” Sam asked Elena as the blond gathered her coat and purse to go.
“I’d love to, but Carlos always has such a full schedule. We will at least make an appearance and I’ll be sure he knows you are the one making the cake for his own victory party.”
“Thanks. I’ll take all the help I can get from high places.” Sam bagged a couple of decorated butter cookies for her new friend. “Be careful of those ladders as you go out.”
The workmen had nearly finished hanging her large sign and Sam had to go outside and take a look. The Sweet’s Sweets logo stood out, purple against a white background with touches of gold. With the new purple awning across the front of the shop, the effect would be stunning.
“Bob will be here himself tomorrow,” the lead guy told her. “Get the hand lettering done on the windows.”
“Perfect.” Sam smiled at the way the storefront was coming together. She still needed to make up a few dummy cakes for the front windows. Real cake and buttercream would wilt in a few hours with the sunshine, but foam bases worked well and she would make up decorations in hardier royal icing.
She went back inside, deciding to get started on the displays right away. As she pulled the fake forms from the latest shipment from her supplier, she got the idea for the gala cake. Why hadn’t she thought of it before? She would do a large sheet cake base and then recreate the shop itself on top of it. The building would consist of stacked square cakes, coated in fondant with the brick pattern pressed into it. She could sculpt the awning and pipe images of the display cakes and the signs. The street outside would be represented in black fondant and a few evergreens and shrubs would be easy to create with sugar cones and frosting.
Quickly, she sketched out the new idea, roughing in measurements and making sure she had enough fondant and sugar. Made herself a note to cut a board large enough to hold the whole thing, from her stash of wood in the garage.
By three o’clock Sam had finished two wedding cakes. It made a huge difference when you didn’t actually have to bake or handle real cake. Jen and Becky helped her carry them to the front and place them in the windows
