She watched as Kelly grabbed up her jacket and purse, and stood leaning against the kitchen counter as her daughter’s red car pulled out of the long driveway.
Sleep. Like that would be possible.
Her brain swirled with a million thoughts, reliving last night’s conversation, seeing Elena with her multicolored scarf around her shoulders. The secret she revealed was a terrible one, granted. But Fenton’s dying had been an accident, Elena’s strike against him she believed to be self defense. Sam tried to remember what she’d said to her friend, how they’d left things. Elena’s state of mind—frightened, worried, secretive. She clearly didn’t want her husband to know the truth. But was she scared enough to kill herself?
A chill settled over Sam and didn’t go away even when she crawled back under the thick quilts on her bed. She’d insisted that Elena go to the authorities.
And that, she feared, was the thing that pushed the poor woman over the edge.
Chapter 16
The bedroom was dim with late afternoon light when Sam awoke with a start. Despite her whirling thoughts and ragged emotions, exhaustion won out and she’d drifted off to sleep for several hours. She stared at the clock, uncomprehending, until it hit her that the thing she had to remember was to deliver the cake for the Senator’s dinner, which started at six.
She dragged herself to the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face, combing her hair into a semblance of order and then wandering back to her closet for fresh clothes. Thank goodness she didn’t have to play hostess tonight. No way she could have handled that. She checked her appearance in the mirror; with puffy eyes and ghostlike skin she was barely presentable.
She’d obviously slept more soundly than she imagined. In the kitchen three messages blinked on her machine: one from Zoe asking whether they might want to drive to the party together to deliver the food and dessert; one from Kelly saying that she would be staying with Iris past dinnertime; the final one from Beau to inform her that they’d nearly finished processing the scene and that he’d try her cell. On the cell, he’d said that he would call her again when he actually got away. He could either come by her house or they could meet somewhere. When she returned Zoe’s call, Darryl informed her that Zoe had already left. Sam erased the messages then got in the van and drove to the shop.
Sweet’s Sweets was quiet, as was the street at this time of day. Most of the small retail businesses along here were closed on Sundays, one main reason that Sam had decided to take the day off as well. She pulled to the alley behind and went inside.
Wrestling the large cake board from the walk-in fridge, she admired her handiwork.
The large house sat perched on a steep hillside with views of the town, the river and the far-off volcanoes in the west. The sun was well below the horizon, leaving the sky in brilliant crimson, as Sam followed the winding drive.
Guest cars filled two pullout areas and she bypassed them, hoping there was a separate service entrance. When she spotted Zoe’s little Subaru wagon, she headed that direction.
The kitchen bustled with activity. A housekeeper seemed to be in charge, a thin reed of a woman who was speaking urgently with a lady in full Taosena regalia, brushed silk skirt and top with loads of turquoise jewelry.
“Ah, the cake,” the dressy lady said. “We were beginning to worry.” She said it in a tone that really meant ‘it’s about time.’ She turned her back and left it to the housekeeper to organize and instruct Sam where to put it.
“The cake can go on that table,” the other woman said. She, too, turned around and began directing others. Sam spotted Zoe in a corner of the large kitchen, checking something under foil in a large chafing dish. She gave a quick nod toward her friend and headed out to the van to get the cake.
“Now I know why I don’t often cater meals for rich people,” Zoe said as they walked out to their vehicles together after assuring that the serving staff were ready to handle the actual interaction with guests. “Too many bosses and too many opinions.”
Zoe had grown up in a hippie commune in the sixties where food consisted of whatever someone cooked at whatever time they cooked it. No whining unless you wanted to do it yourself.
“So, what’s up with you? You were beaming all over last night, and now you look like something that’s been run over and left by the road.” Zoe looked at her suspiciously. “Have a little
“Not that kind,” Sam assured her. “I just found out this morning that a friend died.” She still had a hard time saying the words.
“Oh, god, Sam. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been so flippant.”
“It’s okay. You didn’t know.”
“Come home with me. We’re having the same dinner as all these snooty political donors, minus the speeches and the groveling. I made extra.” Zoe took Sam’s hand and squeezed it. “You look like you shouldn’t be alone tonight.”
Sam hesitated. Being alone probably wasn’t the best thing for her, but she couldn’t imagine coming up with dinner conversation either. “I, uh—” Her cell buzzed inside her pocket and she pulled it out to look. “It’s Beau. I, um, I may have some information about his current case and he wants to talk to me.”
“If you didn’t look as if you were about to go to a dental appointment, I’d think that was just an excuse to see Mr. Gorgeous.” She gave a half wink. “Go—get the interview done. If you want to talk later, I’ll be home.”
Sam caught the call just before it went to voice mail, and she waved bye to Zoe.
“Hey there. Glad I caught you,” Beau said.
“Yeah, sorry I managed to sleep through all the other messages.”
“You needed the rest. So. I need to hear about this final conversation between you and Elena Tafoya. Is it something that needs to be done at my office, with a stenographer and all?”
Sam hadn’t considered that. She fumbled an answer.
“How about if we meet somewhere private. You tell me about it. If it’s the kind of thing that needs to go into the record we’ll re-do it, officially.”
“Thank you. I . . . I guess I’m . . .”
“Still shaken up. I know. Since Kelly’s at my house with Mama, how about if I come to your place? Have you eaten?”
Less than a bite of egg at breakfast, Sam realized. Nothing since. “I don’t feel hungry.”
“By that answer, I’m guessing you’ve had nothing all day. I can’t have you wasting away to nothing. I’ll bring a bucket of chicken.”
Wasting away to nothing was not going to happen in this century, Sam thought, but it was nice of him to offer. They agreed to meet at her house in thirty minutes.
Beau was sensitive enough not to bring up the subject of Elena’s death right away. Despite believing she couldn’t eat a bite, the smell of the spicy chicken captured Sam and she surprised herself by eating three pieces, along with coleslaw and a biscuit.
“I’ll never lose these extra pounds if you keep treating me this way,” she told Beau as they cleared the paper plates away and put coffee on to brew.
“Have I ever asked you to? I’ve told you, I like you just the way you are.” He pulled her close and she tried to relax against him. But the upcoming conversation was eating at her.
“Let’s take our coffee into the living room and sit down. This may take awhile.”
Suddenly she felt nervous about what she knew. But she laid it all out, everything Elena had said about her affair and how someone was following her down a dark street. The knife, the blood. How she’d run away as the man gripped at the collar of his coat.
“Don’t you see? It was Bram Fenton,” Sam said. “Carlos Tafoya must have been his last client, the man who hired him to watch Elena and catch her in the affair.”
“She mentioned the trench coat?”
