wanted him to see what a great job you’ve done with the shop.” She turned to her husband, whose gaze had zipped around the room just short of the speed of light. “Isn’t it a lovely place, darling?”
“Nice,” he murmured.
“A real asset to the town, don’t you think? Did I tell you that Sam makes absolutely everything from scratch. No mixes, nothing pre-made?”
He took a cheese twist from the platter Jen offered, but Sam noticed that he was paying more attention to Jen’s behind as she moved on. “Uh, oh yes. You’ve done a great job with your place, Ms. Sweet.” He munched the flaky pastry down in one bite, then moved around the room to shake hands and introduce himself to the dozen or more people who’d arrived since he came in. He quickly tired of that and after circling the room once, stepped over to Sam and thanked her for the invitation, wished her well with the business.
“I’ll see you later,” he said to Elena. Clearly his other event was a wives-not-included type.
Elena dropped her scarf across a chair and accepted a glass of wine from Becky. When Beau stopped by to tell Sam that he ought to be taking his mother home, she noticed that Elena excused herself to get another glass of wine.
The Cardwells said their goodbyes after awhile. Kelly offered to stay and help with the party if Sam would give her a ride out to Beau’s place to retrieve her car later.
“That’s okay, hon. We’re doing fine here, and Beau can probably use your help with Iris. I’ll see you at home later.”
Orlando Padilla and his wife walked in about a minute after Beau drove away. Sam remembered being introduced to Margaret Padilla at another event recently. The sheriff’s wife was attractive in a matronly way. Although Padilla was in his early fifties, and she assumed Margaret was as well, the wife dressed and acted older. Maybe just the traditional Spanish influence, Sam thought, smiling and shaking hands with both of them.
“Help yourselves to whatever you’d like. Coffee is set up on the back table, and there’s tea or wine. We’ll be cutting the cake about seven.”
Padilla gave Sam that same politician’s smile. “We can’t stay too long. This time of year . . . well, you know next Tuesday is a pretty important day.”
Sam nodded and wished him well. At that moment the reporter from the newspaper showed up and Sam went to greet her. The college-aged girl asked a few questions about the business and snapped several pictures of the displays and, finally, the gala cake.
“Can we get a shot of you cutting the cake and serving it to someone?”
Sam stepped to the cake table and posed making the first cut. As she placed the slice on a plate, Orlando Padilla stepped forward to receive it and smile for the camera. His grandstanding would have been especially funny, Sam thought, if Carlos Tafoya had stayed around. The two men would have probably started an elbow battle in order to get in the newspaper’s photo. Padilla and his wife left a couple of minutes later.
Sam served several more slices of the cake. By now the room was full; probably at least fifty people were here. She looked around the room but didn’t see Elena. Her beautiful scarf was still draped over the chair, though.
Sam turned the cake service over to Becky while she walked to the back to check the supply of coffee and teas. The hot mulled cider seemed to be going well.
Just then Elena came out of the back room. “Visited your little-girl’s room. I hope you don’t mind?”
“Of course not. Everything okay?”
Elena’s smile seemed tight. “Just peachy.”
Something wasn’t right and Sam put a hand on Elena’s arm. “It’s crazy here right now but if you want to hang around awhile . . . maybe we could talk?”
Elena nodded. “I really don’t want to go home alone right now.”
“Stay then. How about some coffee and cake?”
Elena held up her wine glass. “I think I’ll just top this off. I’ll be fine. Get back to your guests.”
By seven, the crowd had thinned considerably and when the last of the guests left at seven-thirty, Sam suggested that Jen and Becky go home too. “It’s been a long day. I’ll put a few things away, and then we can do a real clean-up tomorrow.” Elena was the only one left.
“Whew! What a day,” Sam said, settling into the chair across from Elena with a cup of hot chai. “I’m so glad we had a good turnout for the party.”
“It was lovely, Sam, really, such a beautiful evening.” Tears glistened in Elena’s eyes.
Elena’s blond hair hung limply to her shoulders. “It’s okay, Sam. I’m not really in the mood for cake.”
“You do look pretty tired. I imagine the pace of the campaign is catching up. Bet you’ll be glad when it’s over, huh.”
Elena picked up her glass and drained it in one gulp, then stood up and started unsteadily for the beverage table. Sam started to follow but sat down again. None of her suggestions had taken hold so far. At this point all she could do was insist on driving Elena home. She touched her friend’s handbag, which was lying on the table. While Elena poured herself more wine, Sam lifted the clasp and slid her keys out, closing the bag and pocketing the keys before the other woman noticed.
“Oh, Sam, it’s been . . . so . . . I can’t explain it. You can’t imagine.”
Sam made some there-there noises, assurances that it would be over soon and life could settle into a new normality.
Elena set her glass on the table with a rattle. She paced to the front door and back, then sat down heavily, as if all the bones in her body had just withered.
“Sam, this will never be over. I have a terrible secret that will never go away.”
Sam had a sudden vision of blood. The hairs on her neck rose.
“What, Elena? Who died?”
“I didn’t say—” Her face had gone ghostly pale.
Sam stared at her, trying to piece together her own forceful vision and Elena’s reaction. As she watched, her friend’s face crumpled into agony.
“I’ve killed a man, Sam.”
Chapter 15
Sam gave a halfhearted heh-heh chuckle. Then she caught Elena’s expression. “You’re serious?” Her blood rushed through her veins. Her hands, cupped around the mug of hot chai, felt icy. “Elena? What are you saying?”
Tears flowed down Elena’s face and her nose was running. Sam unconsciously grabbed for a paper napkin and handed it to her.
“I did it. I didn’t mean to, but I killed him.”
“Slow down. Who do you think you killed.?” Sam could not wrap her mind around the idea of her elegant friend killing anyone, not even accidentally.
Elena balled up the paper napkin, kneading it with fingers that could not stay still. “Carlos has become so cold, so distant to me. His career is everything. I just felt so . . . ugly. Like he doesn’t want me anymore.”
Sam struggled to comprehend what Elena was saying.
“I started seeing another man. I don’t know why.” A sob ripped out of her. “It was stupid. Carlos became suspicious. I had to be so careful, but I couldn’t stop seeing this man.”
“You killed your lover?”
“No, it was a stranger. I’d been with my lover. I was walking to where I’d parked my car. The footsteps . . . someone was following me. I got so scared. I thought . . . well, it was dark and not the best part of town. I could only think of protecting myself and I had this little knife in my purse and I just thought that maybe if he saw it he would back away. I slashed at him but I didn’t know it would—” She choked and dissolved in tears. “The man was grabbing at his neck, holding the collar of his coat up to it . . . I think he tried to yell. I don’t know.”
Bram Fenton. No wonder the investigator’s notes were encrypted. Among his clients had been the former mayor.
