on either side of the door. All three women stood outside to admire the finished picture.
Sam had decorated one in autumn colors—garlands of fall leaves trailed from one tier down to the next, while piles of chrysanthemums in yellow and burnt orange covered the top and lay in small clusters between tiers. The other cake was a confection of white on white—actually ivory on ivory, as it was easier on the eyes. She’d created draperies of same-color fondant so it appeared that wide ribbons of fabric flowed down the sides of the cake. She’d applied a quilted look to the center tier, with tiny pearls dotting the criss-crossed lines. Pearls also draped from the edges of the tiers, and a huge fondant bow topped the upper layer.
“They’re gorgeous!” Becky exclaimed. “I wish I’d had you make my wedding cake.”
Sam gave her a quick hug. “I would have, if I’d known. I’ll bet you were a beautiful bride.”
Although Becky had put on a bit of weight since the childhood days Sam remembered, she had the kind of flawless skin and glowing smile that made any woman lovely.
“You’ll do my cake, won’t you?” Jen asked. “Well, if I ever find the guy I want to marry.”
Becky left to pick her kids up from school, and the phone was ringing when Sam and Jen went back inside the shop. Jen answered and then handed it off to Sam.
“Hey there,” Beau said.
“Did you get any rest last night?” she asked.
“Finally. Got off at eleven, and I’m back on duty now.” He dropped his voice a notch. “Did you get a chance to look at that book?”
“Oh, sorry. Not yet. I was fading fast last night. And the shop has really been busy today. I’ll be leaving here soon and I’ll get right on it.”
“That’s fine. Look, don’t say anything about it.”
“I wouldn’t. You know that.”
“I mean, within the department. If, say, Padilla was to be in your shop or anything.”
Sam couldn’t imagine that Beau’s boss would question her about evidence in a case, but she agreed.
“I can’t say for sure,” Beau said, “but I get the feeling that Padilla is wanting to brush this case under the rug.”
“Why?”
“Why do I think that, or why would he do it?”
“Both.”
“Well, I think it because today he specifically told me to wrap the case up. It was probably a gang thing and will never be solved, according to him. Why he would say that?—anybody’s guess. My theory is that the election is coming up very soon and he doesn’t want there to be an unsolved murder hanging over him. He wants the electorate to think that Taos County is crime-free.”
“And chalking this death up to gang activity would do that? Pardon my skepticism.”
“I know, I know. I don’t get it either.” He paused a moment. “Sorry, another deputy just walked past my car and I thought he was going to stop. Look, between you and me, I’ll stick with this until I get the answers. We probably won’t have an arrest, and definitely won’t have a prosecution, before the election so Padilla can rest easy. He’ll be re-elected—it’s a given in this county. I don’t know why he’s concerned. But I plan to do my investigation quietly, and I need for you to do the same.”
Sam wondered about the politics of it all as she drove home. Once again, Kelly was staying over with Iris Cardwell, and Sam had the house to herself. It felt good. Even though she and her daughter got along really well, she liked having time alone. And since Jen and Becky had offered to open the shop, giving Sam a morning to sleep in, well that was just the icing on the cake—so to speak.
She made a sandwich for dinner and brought out the little coded journal. Now that she’d figured out Fenton’s method of writing dates, those were easy to figure out. She noticed that each page began with a set of letters, perhaps the initials of a client or the person Fenton was checking out. Columns contained sets of letters and numbers, a shorthand system of sorts.
Assuming that each page represented a different client, it appeared that the records belonged to about two dozen different people. Remembering back to the manila files in Fenton’s office, there had been a lot more than that. Maybe the folders contained cases dating back for years, while the ledger contained only the business he’d done this year. It was a theory but again she had no way to prove it without comparing the files. And Beau’s warrant didn’t allow them to take anything that wasn’t related directly to the PI’s connection to Cheryl Adams. As she scanned through she found nothing in the book with Adams’s initials or her address or anything Sam could definitely tie to her. The answers were probably here somewhere but Sam’s exhausted brain wasn’t grasping them.
She carried the journal to bed with her but drifted off without breaking the code.
“
“
“
“
The dream ended and Sam woke with a start, her own whispers echoing in the dark room.
“Bertha?” Her voice came out loudly, startling her.
She sat up in bed, fully awake now. What the heck? She rubbed at her eyes, but aside from a faint light at the windows from faraway street lamps, Sam could see nothing. There was certainly no ghost or apparition or phantom spirit of Bertha Martinez.
She struggled to remember the exact words from the dream. Something about a lady and some blood and being worried. Had Bertha given Sam a clue to finding Cheryl Adams? She just couldn’t remember.
She looked at her bedside clock. Nearly midnight. If Beau had worked the evening shift he might still be awake. She got out of bed and put the tea kettle on as she dialed his cell number.
“Did I wake you?” she asked.
“No, I’ve only been home for a half hour or so. Just unwinding with some TV. Kelly’s asleep in the guest room and Mama’s probably been in bed for hours. What’s up?”
“This is going to sound ridiculous,” she said, reaching for a mug and teabag. She told him as much as she could remember about the dream, without mentioning that she suspected the ghost of Bertha Martinez was speaking to her. That part of it was still way too hinky.
“Strange that you would dream about the case, especially the mention of a woman who is worried,” he said. “We had a little quiet spell at the office this evening and I did some more research on Cheryl Tercel’s family in Colorado. Turns out her brother heard from her recently, said she was really worried about her ex finding her. When I told him this was an official investigation, not connected with anyone’s ex-husband, he told me she’s living in Alamosa now.”
“So, are you going to be able to question her about Fenton?”
“Officially, I can’t. Padilla would have a fit. If I ever get a day off, I’d like to. Alamosa’s not that far—it would make an easy half-day trip, up there and back.”
“I could break away tomorrow. If you would want me to go instead.”
“I really need to be there. If she killed Fenton, stashed the coat in her closet, then got to thinking about what she’d done and just bolted . . . well, she might be dangerous.”
Sam hadn’t thought about that, but it made sense. Although why Cheryl Adams didn’t just chuck the trench coat in the nearest dumpster, that didn’t add up. And if Bertha was right about the lady being worried, well, it could go a lot further than that—Adams might be desperate.
“—first thing in the morning?”
“Sorry, my mind went elsewhere for a minute.”
“I don’t have to be at work tomorrow until mid-afternoon. If we got an early start, and assuming that Kelly wouldn’t mind staying over again with Mama . . .”
“Did you say ‘we’ could get an early start?”
