Sweet's Sweets: The Second Samantha Sweet Mystery

“Samantha Sweet,” she said.

“Is this, um, the bakery—Sweet’s Sweets?” a female voice asked. Assured that it was, she continued. “Elena Tafoya gave me your number. I’m in a bit of a bind, I’m afraid. I’m holding a little political fundraiser for our Senate candidate and need a dinner catered for thirty. It’s this coming Sunday night.”

Thanks a lot, Elena. Sam backed up against a storage shelf, hoping she hadn’t actually said the words aloud. “We’re just a pastry shop,” was what she said, “not at all set up for dinner catering.”

“I know, I’m sorry I didn’t explain myself better. Elena thought you might know someone who caters. She said you have a friend who does breakfasts?”

Zoe? Sheesh. Asking her to make dinner for thirty people was a pretty far stretch from breakfast burritos for a dozen at the B&B. Plus, they were closed for the off season right now, not planning to start up again until skiers began to arrive in December.

“I’m afraid I can’t—”

“Please hear me out. This is very important. The candidate gave us very little notice and the other place, uh, well, the dinner party will be held in my home. I can even provide staff to serve. I only need the food and desserts delivered sometime on Sunday.”

Only. Why was it that people who wanted a huge favor usually thought of it as only one little thing?

“I’ll pay double your usual rate.” The voice was getting desperate.

Sam took a deep breath. “Let me check on it. Now, tell me a little more about what you had in mind for the food and for the desserts.” Why am I even talking to her? The week was crazy enough without this.

She hung up the phone and looked at the clock. Zoe would normally be awake by now, getting her contractor husband off to his job. During the summer months she was easily up, with coffee brewing and something in the oven for her early-riser guests. Sam decided to take a chance.

“Sam? Everything okay?” Zoe sounded concerned, as she might well be under normal circumstances.

Sam gave her the gist of the desperate woman’s phone call. “I got the feeling that some caterer backed out on her at the last minute. I don’t know. Anyway, I talked her into a decorated cake for dessert. I should be able to feed thirty with a half-sheet. But I didn’t have a clue what you could do for dinner, if you even want to do this.”

“Well, things are slow now and I could use the extra money, with the B&B closed. How about Mexican food? Something different from the rubber chicken circuit that these politicians usually get, something I can make up in advance and deliver pretty easily?”

“I’ll let you work that out with her. And make sure you let her know that I told you about the double-your- normal-price offer. Now that she’s got us hooked, don’t let her back out.”

Zoe laughed. “Will do. I’ll keep you posted.”

Sam mixed up the batter for the half-sheet and was just pouring it into the pans when Becky came in.

“Hey there,” she said. “Hard at it already?”

“You wouldn’t believe. Can you get this into the oven and set the timer? Then maybe I can teach you how to make roses?”

While the cake baked, Sam whipped up some buttercream frosting and tinted it in the candidate’s colors. She pulled out decorating tips and wide-topped flower nails and had Becky follow along as she demonstrated how to form a small center cone, then add the petals in rows, building until the full-blown rose was finished. Becky botched a few but they got progressively better until she had a few keepers.

“Stay with it. If you mess one up, just scrape the icing back into the bowl. Put the good ones on this baking sheet and we’ll refrigerate them so they set up firm.”

While Becky continued making flowers, Sam piped out dozens of miniature versions of her butter cookies, which they would hand out as samples during the day Saturday. With the gala opening spanning the entire day, she had to think of things to make it special. Her signature blend coffee would be free all day, plus the sample-sized cookies and mini cupcakes. By happy hour they would switch to wine, with cheese and herb nibbles. And the gala cake shaped like the store would come out in the evening, to be served with a selection of coffees, teas, chai, and a hot mulled cider.

Her ads were due to start on the radio today and run every hour for two days. That, plus the editor of the newspaper had promised to send someone out to take photos and do a little write-up for the business section. If all that didn’t bring the people in, she didn’t know what would.

Beau called at some point but when Jen poked her head into the kitchen to tell Sam, her boss was putting some very delicate touches on the gala cake. Jen told Beau that Sam would have to call back, then tucked a message slip near the extension phone before dashing back to the front as the door chimes sounded.

By that evening, the two younger women had hung fairy lights and set fresh flowers on all the tables, making sure there were plenty of coffee cups ready and that the display cases were full.

“Get a little extra rest,” Sam told them before they left. “Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”

“But worth it,” Jen said. “Look how beautiful everything looks.”

Sam had to agree. The shop had become everything she wanted it to be. She carried that thought with her, all the way home and up to the moment she crashed into bed. She’d completely forgotten to return Beau’s call.

At five o’clock on Saturday they switched out the daytime overhead lights and Jen plugged in the strands of tiny white lights they had strung around the walls of the store. It gave the whole place a feeling of intimacy, with a party flair. The gala cake, the reproduction of the shop itself, sat near the front windows—clearly the showpiece of the party.

While Sam greeted her guests, Becky poured wine and Jen offered platters of miniature cheese biscuits, flaky herb twists and elegant hors d’oeuvres fashioned from their signature items.

The first to arrive were Ivan from Mysterious Happenings and Riki from Puppy Chic.

“Is tres magnifique!” Ivan exclaimed, taking the first glass of wine. “Your shop, she is the topping of neighborhood.”

Sam thought something must have been lost in translation, but understood the sentiment. She gave him a hug.

“Samantha, it’s just brilliant!” Riki stood near the gala cake, pointing and exclaiming over the details. “I must have you do one for my shop sometime.”

Before Sam could thank her for the compliment, she saw Beau’s Explorer outside. Kelly was climbing out of the backseat and the two of them brought out Iris’s chair and helped her into it.

“I’m so glad you made it!” Sam said, bending to give Beau’s mother a kiss on the cheek.

“Wouldn’t miss it for anything,” the white-haired lady said, wheeling herself toward the gala cake. “The shop looks positively magical!”

Beau slipped an arm around Sam’s waist and kissed her ear. “Kelly explained about how busy you’ve been. The call wasn’t that important anyway.”

“Oh, Beau, last night! I totally forgot!”

“Don’t you worry. Have a good time tonight and we’ll talk tomorrow.”

She started to give him a kiss but the door opened again, bringing a chill breeze and more guests. Elena looked elegant as ever in a turquoise silk blouse and skirt with a multicolored woven scarf—surely cashmere— draped over one shoulder. Sam recognized the man beside her as the former mayor, now running for governor.

“Sam, have you met my husband?”

Carlos Tafoya did the politician’s handshake. Automatic smile, strong eye contact, his left hand cupping her elbow. Sam felt herself pulling back a fraction of a second before he let go. A dark feeling touched her, then was gone in a flash. Well, who wouldn’t get a touch of the creeps from a politician?

Two of the Tafoya entourage introduced themselves: Martin Delgado, the campaign manager, and Kevin Calendar, a young campaign volunteer. Sam noted the dark suits and red ties that were de rigueur in the politico dress code.

“Carlos can’t stay long,” Elena was saying. “He has a speech in Albuquerque and a stop in Santa Fe. I just