“She said he held his coat collar against his neck, where the knife caught him.”
“But she left him on the street, nowhere near the gorge bridge?”
“I mentioned the gorge and she was really puzzled. She wasn’t out there.”
Beau stood up and paced to the far end of the room. “So how did Bram Fenton end up at the bottom of the gorge? Someone took the coat off him and moved the body.”
“Cheryl Adams? The coat was at her house.”
“You saw her, Sam. She’s about ninety pounds soaking wet. How’d she pick up a lifeless man and move him? Much less get him up and over the railing on the bridge?”
“With help?”
His eyes squinted nearly closed as he thought about it. “I don’t know. I sure didn’t get the feeling she knew anything about Fenton or his coat.”
Sam sipped at her coffee but it tasted bitter in her mouth. “Even though she admitted to the killing, I couldn’t help but feel sorry for Elena in all this. After she told me the story, I suggested that she needed to report it. That the case was surely self defense. She got panicky when I told her that.”
She set the nearly full mug on an end table. “Beau, I feel like I might have pushed her too hard. Maybe she was so scared that—”
“Sam, you can’t start thinking that way. You did not make Elena Tafoya kill herself.” He sat beside her on the sofa and put an arm around her shoulders. “She admitted that she was really unhappy in her marriage. That was the whole reason for the affair, right?”
She nodded against his shoulder.
“She might have done this anyway, even if she’d never talked to you about it.” He kissed her hair. Then her temple. Then her mouth.
After his kisses had worked their magic for a few more minutes they found themselves in the bedroom, and an hour later Sam felt a lot better. She snuggled against his solid chest, wishing he could stay right in this spot all night. But it was not to be.
“Poor Kelly,” he said after awhile. “She was supposed to get the day off. I’m sure she’s got other things she’d rather do than care for an old woman.”
“She loves Iris,” Sam assured him. “I know my daughter. She wouldn’t have taken the job if she wasn’t happy to do it.”
“But still . . .”
“Yeah, still. She probably
Beau pulled himself away, leaving the warm quilt tucked around Sam. She stretched luxuriously and watched him put his uniform back on, admiring the way the fitted shirt hugged his shoulders, the way his jeans fit just right. She stifled that line of thinking before she could reach out and drag him back into her bed.
Grabbing a robe, Sam walked him to the back door and watched as his cruiser pulled away. As the languor of great sex began to fade, Sam found herself thinking about Elena again. She switched on the TV set in the living room and tucked herself into one corner of the sofa.
The nightly news was just coming on and, even on the Albuquerque channels, Elena’s death was the top story. Cameras focused on Carlos Tafoya and reporters gathered around him at the little impromptu news conference on the steps of the county courthouse. After a few of the usual absurd “how do you feel” questions, the press got to the meat of what they really wanted to know.
“Mr. Tafoya, does this mean that you’ll be dropping out of the race?” “Do you feel that you can still serve in office at this point?”
Carlos looked solemnly out over the gathering, waiting for a pause in the rush of questions. “My beloved wife’s death has deeply shaken our family. We are understandably distraught. But my entire life has been devoted to public service and I shall press on and continue with my duty. Pain subsides with time and I can make it through this. So, yes, my name will still be on the ballot next Tuesday.”
In a display of utter bad taste, someone asked how soon the funeral services would take place. Less than eighteen hours after Elena’s death—Sam cringed at the tactlessness.
Carlos had the good grace to duck his head and say that a private memorial would be scheduled.
Sam hoped to go, to honor Elena’s memory. She could surely find out what the plans were from Beau. She flipped among the four local stations, wondering if there was any additional information but they all had identical film and no new questions.
When Kelly came in, Sam was nodding off.
“Mom, you okay?” Kelly leaned over the back of the couch and landed a gentle kiss on Sam’s cheek.
“Yeah, I will be. Eventually.” She groaned her way to her feet and switched off the TV. “I better be getting some sleep. The bakery opens pretty early in the morning.”
It was hard to imagine getting back into a normal routine, but Sam moved on autopilot through her nightly ritual for bedtime.
When she arrived at Sweet’s Sweets at five-thirty a.m. it was to find Jen and Becky already at work.
“We thought you might want to sleep a little late this morning,” Jen said, taking a tray of cinnamon scones from the oven. She turned to slide three pans of muffins inside.
“I would have loved that,” Sam said, “if I’d actually been sleeping.”
“We heard about Mrs. Tafoya,” Becky said. “It was so shocking, her just being at our party the night before.”
“I took her home,” Sam said. “I was worried that she’d had too much to drink and might have an accident.”
“Is it true, what they’re saying on the news?” asked Jen. “That she killed herself?”
“I don’t know. Deputy Cardwell is investigating. He seems to think that’s what happened.” Sam walked absentmindedly to the tray where she placed orders to be filled. “It’s—well, it’s complicated.”
She caught a glance at their inquisitive faces. No way would she spread stories of Elena’s troubles. “Okay, let’s get this place organized. We need a chocolate creation for the Chocoholics group at the bookstore. Becky, can I turn that one over to you? Put your imagination to work, as long as everything on the dessert is chocolate.”
She came to the order form she’d filled out for Elena’s order—the victory cake for her husband’s celebration. They’d first talked about it almost two weeks ago. Now, although everything had changed, it had also stayed the same. Carlos was still on the ballot, the election would take place in a few days . . . and Elena wouldn’t be there. A tear dropped onto the sheet of paper.
Sam hastily wiped it away. She took a deep breath. Cleared her head. Elena had paid for the cake and it was up to Sam to deliver it. She filed the order form and sketches so she would come back to them the day before the election.
Sam took a look at the creation on which Becky was working, a chocolate headstone over a chocolate grave, complete with cookie-crumb dirt and a rising ghost of white chocolate.
“I hope it’s—I didn’t mean to be morbid,” Becky said. “Mr. Petrenko said they’re reading a ghost story this week, and with Halloween and all . . .”
“It’s perfect,” Sam said. “Business must go on, and I’m happy to see how well you’ve captured their theme. And I love the little sculpted spiders and bats. Great job.”
She walked out to the sales floor, where Jen was doing a brisk business in breakfast pastries and coffee, the Monday crowd needing a little something extra to wake them up on the way to their jobs in nearby shops and offices. Sam recognized quite a few faces from the Saturday night gala, happy to see that people were returning.
The goodwill created by the party was definitely paying off. She mingled, said hello to several, made sure the coffee was plentiful and the plate of samples filled with variety. The phone had been ringing all morning and Jen clearly could use a break from it, as she waited on customers.
“I’ll grab that in the back,” Sam said, hurrying to the other extension. “Sweet’s Sweets.”
“Hi, darlin, it’s me.”
“Beau. Have you found out anything new?”
