impossible that she’d awakened him after dreaming about Elena. Most of the coffee-and-croissant crowd had already come and gone.
“Maybe we should talk somewhere else?” Beau suggested.
For the first time in hours Sam looked out the front windows. The breeze still bent the bare tree limbs but the sleet had vanished. “A short walk might keep me alert,” she said. She grabbed her jacket from its hook near the back door.
The thirty degree air nearly took her breath away after the warmth of the kitchen but she picked up her pace and kept up with Beau easily enough.
“So, is there any news?” she asked, almost the moment the shop door closed behind them.
“Actually, yes. I guess an early morning call, even from a county sheriff’s deputy, carries some weight. The funeral home put the cremation on hold immediately. Then the MI’s office got my message and collected the remains shortly after their office opened at eight.”
It felt awful to hear Elena referred to as ‘the remains’ but Sam bit back a reply and tamped down her emotions.
“I don’t know whether it’s because of Carlos Tafoya’s political prominence or if they just felt pushed to clear the case, but the medical investigator got right on it.”
“And . . .?”
“And I sent one of our other deputies down to Albuquerque with the scarf. The guy wasn’t especially happy to make the trip right at the end of his shift. But he left here about four a.m. and will probably be happy for the overtime.”
“Beau! Get on with it. What did they find?”
“I quote: ‘Upon closer examination of the ligature marks on the victim’s neck, it appears that there are signs of strangulation aside from any marks made by the wool scarf.’”
Sam stopped in a crosswalk, ignoring the squeal of brakes from a car that almost didn’t stop. Beau took her elbow and steered her toward the safety of the sidewalk before he spoke again.
“Yes, you heard that right. In the report they faxed to me, it seems that there were some bruising patterns. There was also a thin line, perhaps a cord of some kind. Overlying all that were the wider, softer marks made by the wool scarf. It was most likely grabbed up as an afterthought, a way to disguise the previous markings and to make it look like a suicide.”
Sam stopped and looked up at him.
“So, you were right,” Beau said. “She didn’t choose her favorite scarf to, uh, do this.”
Sam stifled her fleeting feeling of triumph. She didn’t need to be right about this. She’d have given anything to have Elena back, alive and well.
“So, does this mean that the investigation will continue?”
“You bet. Now that we know that someone else killed her, we have to pursue it as a murder.”
They had reached the plaza now. The sidewalks were nearly deserted, in sharp contrast to the summer months when crowds of tourists packed the quaint shops and fought over parking spaces. Beau instinctively steered Sam toward the side that would keep them out of the harsh wind.
“Beau, I hate to think this but I have to say it. I think you’ll have to look at our possible new governor as a suspect.”
Chapter 19
His mouth formed a tight line. “How sure are you about . . . well, about the affair?”
“Elena told me. She wouldn’t confess if she hadn’t done anything.” Sam pulled her coat tighter around herself. “I think Carlos found out. Maybe he grabbed her in a rage.”
“There’s just one big, giant hitch with that. Carlos Tafoya had an airtight alibi. Remember, he was giving a speech in Albuquerque. I’m pretty sure it ran late and he planned to stay over. I’ll check it out, but when he’s out campaigning he’s got a whole slew of people around him. I will question them all but it’s not likely that he could just leave without someone knowing it.”
“Hm.” Sam chewed at her lip. “Who else would have easy access to their house? Maids, gardeners, that sort of person?”
“Yeah, but what motive does a maid or gardener have to kill the person who’s writing their paychecks?”
She gave him a look that basically said
“Maybe they had a houseguest?” she suggested halfheartedly.
“We’ll be looking into it.”
They’d circled the plaza now and Sam could see a half-dozen cars in front of her shop.
“I better get back,” she said. “Hey, thanks for filling me in. I promise I’ll sleep better tonight and I won’t call you in the wee hours.”
He pulled her close and stepped into a tiny alcove where two old buildings came together. The kiss was brief but nice.
Sam walked back into the warm, sugary air inside Sweet’s Sweets, puzzling over the implications of the MI’s findings and the increasing complicatedness of Elena’s life. Sadly, she realized that she really didn’t know much about her new friend despite the fact that they had hit it off so quickly. Elena’s startling confession to an affair and a murder might well be just the tip of the iceberg.
Those thoughts continued to plague her as she handed out frosted cookies to the costumed kids who bombarded the store.
“Aren’t they cute?” Jen whispered as a tiny ballerina left with her older brother, a ferocious vampire.
“No kidding—I remember being so excited over Halloween as a kid,” Sam said. “Look at this next group.”
She handed cookies to a space alien, a teddy bear, a clown and a cowboy. As that bunch filed out a taller girl stepped in, replete with flowing black robes and a rubber witch face, including a green complexion and warts.
“Ooh, you look pretty scary,” Sam teased.
The witch came in close, holding her hand out for the cookie. Her husky voice came out in a ragged whisper.
“What—?” Sam leaped back and stared, her heart pounding as the witch accepted the cookie.
“Thank you,” said the little witch in a completely normal child’s voice.
Sam opened her mouth, but the witch had spun around and disappeared out on the sidewalk. Her hands shook as she noticed a fresh group of kids waiting for their treats. She handed out cookies absently.
“Jen!” she called out the moment she had a break. “Did you notice that witch? The girl with the scary costume?”
“Sorry, no, Sam. I’d stepped into the back and the phone rang. We just got another order.” She waved a printed form she’d carried from the kitchen. “Birthday cake for a ten year old, princess theme. I guess she’s a princess until the price goes over thirty-five dollars.”
Sam shook off the eerie feeling and took the form Jen handed her.
“One of the little princess’s friends had the Cinderella cake, wide skirt with lots of flouncing . . . I guess ours wants the same thing. By five o’clock, if possible.”
“Take over Halloween detail?” Sam gave Jen the cookie tray and walked into the kitchen, her mind still reeling. The warning voice had sounded uncannily like Bertha Martinez’s.
She stared at the princess order, pulled the cone-shaped pan from the shelf, and told Becky to mix up chocolate batter and get it in the oven. She had pink and lavender buttercream already made for the baby carriage cake and she could easily use part of it to do Cinderella’s ball gown at the same time.
“Becky, while you’re at it, we better bake up some new fabulous thing for the Chocoholics group. If you have any brilliant ideas on that, I’ll let you run with it. I’m a little stumped for them this week.”
