Sweet's Sweets: The Second Samantha Sweet Mystery

Chapter 21

The blue sedan sat at the curb and the woman was sticking coins into a parking meter, struggling to keep her dark green wool coat from flying open and shrugging her oversized bag onto her shoulder at the same time. Her neatly cut page was whipping across her face, obscuring her vision and making the job twice as difficult. It didn’t appear that she had seen Sam.

Curious coincidence, Sam thought. Same restaurant, same street as Beau’s office. She shook off the sense of worry. Taos is a small town. A lot of people plan their errands to get several things done in the same part of town at once. Silly to give it a second thought. But she couldn’t help remembering how the woman had appeared to be listening to their conversation at the table.

At Sweet’s Sweets Jen assured Sam that all was well. They’d had a larger than normal rush on cupcakes and cookies right after lunch, people stocking up with bags of goodies to take home for a quiet evening in front of the fire. The cheesecakes were all gone, too, she noted, as were the apple tarts and most of the cinnamon crumb cake.

Luckily, Becky had noticed the shortages. Four cheesecakes had just come out of the oven—their signature amaretto, a chocolate to be topped with raspberries, a pumpkin spice, and of course a plain one. She told Sam she’d also just put a crumb cake in to bake.

“You’re wonderful,” Sam said, admiring her new assistant’s meticulous work.

Becky blushed slightly. “I’ve mixed up the dough for tomorrow’s cookies and put it in the refrigerator. And the dry ingredients for muffins and scones—they’re mixed and stored in those tubs. All we have to do in the morning is add the liquids and bake them.”

“Great idea. That will save quite a bit of time. Especially if the roads are snowy and I’m a little late getting here.” Sam surveyed the kitchen and made up a supply list, which she faxed to her wholesaler. “Ladies, if it stays slow this afternoon, or if the weather gets bad, feel free to close a little early. I have to meet a repairman at home, but you can reach me there if you need to.”

She didn’t mention that while she waited she intended to read Elena’s diary, which was burning a hole through her backpack at this moment. Fifteen minutes later, she’d pulled the small book from her pack and was putting the kettle on for tea. Snuggled into a corner of the sofa, she opened the leather-bound book.

Familiar writing covered the pages. Sam felt a catch in her throat as she remembered her friend’s written instructions for the cake that was to celebrate her husband’s election. A decision soon to be made by voters. Sam tuned out those thoughts and concentrated on the pages.

The first entry was dated earlier in the summer. The initial entry seemed to indicate that this was Elena’s first attempt at keeping a journal.

I don’t normally put personal things into writing. But this summer has become too . . . what shall I say . . . too emotional, too revealing, too strange to ignore. I feel like I must talk about it with someone and yet I cannot. I feel as if my head will burst with this new knowledge. If not my head, my heart will surely break.

After that first one, the entries were more traditional, dated, beginning the first week of July.

Despite knowing it’s wrong, I’m still seeing him, the man I shall refer to in these pages by the initial D. The first few pages discussed the very things Elena had told Sam on what was to be her final night. She was seeing a man, believed herself to be in love with him. D? The name didn’t fit anyone Sam could think of but she read on. In spite of the fact that both were married, they wanted to be together, to leave their unhappy marriages and start a new life together. Then came the part that frightened Elena.

Someone may have seen me. I’m so afraid that I may be caught out at night in the wrong neighborhood. That the person might reveal my affair to Carlos. Or worse, to the media. Carlos’s life revolves around becoming governor. The next few months will be crucial. If only he would lose the election and give up. Then I could leave and start my own life. But he won’t. He’ll never give up.

Another entry, three weeks later: I’m now sure someone is spying on me. I might try to get a small gun for protection. I could probably ask for bodyguards, like Carlos has, because I’m the wife of the candidate. But that would only complicate things further. I would have to give up seeing my real love, and that is also impossible. It’s better that I be ready to defend myself.

Apparently the idea of the gun hadn’t worked out, since Elena ended up with only the small knife. Two weeks went by with mundane entries about everyday life. Almost as if the fears and intrigues of Elena’s life had disappeared. But Sam knew better.

In the second week of August came the entry she expected. Elena’s normally elegant script was jagged and off-kilter.

Horror!!! I had the most—absolutely most—awful experience. The stalker caught up with me. I swung. I ran. I don’t know what to do now.

Couched in vague language that didn’t admit to the murder, nevertheless Sam knew what Elena meant.

The next entry was calmer: It’s been taken care of. D assures me that the awful deed will be noted as an accident. I don’t know how—I’m just thankful to put this behind me. We have agreed to take a break, to see each other less often until November. I don’t know how I will survive this but I shall.

Sam found a yellow pad and jotted notes to discuss with Beau. Apparently the lover had disposed of Fenton’s body, which explained a lot. No one of Elena’s size could have lifted a grown man over the railing at the gorge bridge and dumped him. But another man . . . it made sense. It also made sense that the lover would now want some distance between them, and if Elena hadn’t seen him in a few weeks it could very well be the reason that she broke down and confided in Sam. But Sam’s sense of tidiness ended abruptly when she read the next entry.

The gross unfairness of it!!!! I hate him!!! My loving husband – he is lower than scum. I’ve always suspected his affairs but now I learn this new fact. There is a child—a little boy!!!! He told me so, himself. The BASTARD! As if to rub my face in it!! He wants me to ignore his indiscretions while I am so tortured about mine??

Sam found herself reading faster, needing to know Elena’s state of mind as this revelation had surely rocked her world. A child by someone else. Elena’s own heartbreak over not having any children of her own, and now learning that he’d fathered a son, secretly. She turned to the next entry.

I cannot keep still about this. We screamed at each other half the night. He swears he has not seen the other woman in years—he finally tells me that she died in a car accident more than two years ago. He says the child has no idea who his father is, that he is now being raised by an aunt. Isn’t that convenient for him?? I want to scream, to scratch his eyes out! I should tell that reporter about it, the one who interviewed me last year about our happy home life. That would teach Carlos a lesson. What would the voters think of him then?

The rest of the pages were blank. Sam’s heart thudded.

What better motive for Carlos Tafoya to kill his wife? She’d confronted him and threatened to ruin his career. A bombshell like this, practically on the eve of the election? Oh, Elena, what did you do?

Sam dialed Beau’s cell phone and read him the last two pages. “Do you suppose she actually confronted him and threatened to expose his secret?”

“Certainly points us to a motive, doesn’t it?”

“But he has a pretty good alibi, doesn’t he? Giving a speech in Albuquerque the night she died, a few hundred people witnessed that, didn’t they?”

“I’d be surprised if a guy like Tafoya actually did the deed himself, Sam. He’s got connections and bodyguards and henchmen who would do that sort of thing for him.”

“True. But, geez, Beau. That sure opens him up to a greater risk, doesn’t it? People like that wouldn’t be exactly trustworthy in keeping a guy’s secrets.”

“You’d be surprised. If the money’s right, a man can buy just about any kind of loyalty.”

Sam grumbled but let it go. He was right.

“Have you looked outside recently?” he asked, changing the subject. “There’s already an inch or more on the ground.”

Sam peered around the edge of the living room drape. Sure enough, the ground was white.

“It’ll probably start sticking to the roads pretty soon,” Beau said. “Unless you want Kelly home with you tonight I think I’ll suggest that she stay with Mama. I could get called out to handle traffic problems or