ingratiating manners held the door for the sheriff. Padilla stepped up into the mini-bus and it started moving the minute he’d taken his seat. She saw his eyes following her as the bus drove out.
“Whatever you said to him certainly got his attention,” said a voice behind Sam.
She started. When she turned, she saw a dark page haircut and billowing dark green wool coat. The young woman was standing at the curb, about twenty feet away, her hand on the handle of a blue sedan.
Sam stepped toward her. “I’ve seen you around. Who are you?”
The woman reached into a pocket of the coat and pulled out a business card. “Sandy Greene. Santa Fe
Sam’s eyes squinted as she stared at the card. “Why has a Santa Fe newspaper sent a reporter here to Taos?”
“Shouldn’t that be pretty obvious? It’s an election year. We cover all the races in the northern part of the state.” She smiled prettily. “Well, I’m off to get a few more pictures.” She patted the side of a camera case that hung from a shoulder strap.
Sandy Greene got into her car and Sam watched her drive away.
Itching to fill Beau in on her new findings, Sam dialed his cell as she walked slowly back to the bakery. She fumed when it went to voice mail but realized that his day was undoubtedly running on task overload. She left a message: “Gotta talk to you. Call me when you get a minute.”
Sweet’s Sweets was bustling with after-lunch customers wanting cake or pie to satisfy their need for sugar and boost them into their afternoon work world. Sam joined Jen behind the counter, boxing up chocolate nut drop cookies, macadamia nut wafers, amaretto cheesecake, and the new pumpkin spice cake with the ganache icing which they’d had trouble keeping in stock ever since they introduced it.
By five o’clock Sam felt dead on her feet and Jen remembered that she’d never eaten any lunch.
“You go,” Sam told her. “Get something to eat and rest up. I’ll get the kitchen in order and head out of here shortly, myself.”
She locked the front door behind her assistant and turned on the night lights. Daylight was fading quickly by the time Sam walked out and got in her van. A voicemail symbol showed on the front of her cell, obviously something that had come in while she was buzzing around the bakery at such a pace that she’d never noticed it. Beau. She dialed him back.
“Hey,” he said. “I just got my rookie back on the road to Albuquerque. Your message sounded kind of urgent. Everything okay?”
“Yeah, fine. I got so busy at the shop today that I almost forgot I’d called you.” She filled him in on the fact that she’d learned the name of Carlos Tafoya’s lover from all those years ago, and the name of his illegitimate son. “Kevin Calendar is working for the campaign. I’ve seen him around several times and I’m not sure why I never noticed the resemblance to his father.”
“But then, why would you?” he said. “Why would anyone? I’m guessing the son never lived around here until recently.”
“That’s what I’m interested in knowing, too. When did he show up on the scene in Taos? And is his mother also here? Maybe Elena’s fears were justified. Maybe part of the reason Carlos had begun to treat her so badly was because his old lover was back.”
“It certainly bears asking him some more questions, I’d say. Not to mention that I’d like to get Kevin’s DNA and see what he has to say about it showing up on the bootlace that killed Elena, assuming it’s a match.”
“Questioning Carlos is going to get nearly impossible, don’t you think? I had the radio on in the kitchen awhile ago and the exit polls are making it sound like he’s pretty sure to go to Santa Fe. Once he’s sworn in as governor he’ll find ways to make himself legally bulletproof, won’t he?”
“Seems to be that way with these guys, doesn’t it?”
“I have an idea how you could get to him right away. I happen to have a personal invitation from the candidate himself to attend his victory party tonight. He’s at the Arroyo Grande Lodge.”
“I’ll pick you up in fifteen minutes,” Beau said, clicking off the call before Sam had a chance to utter another word.
She drove like a bat, skidding the van to a stop in her driveway and dashing into the house, hitting her closet with a vengeance to find something to wear to a party. She settled on black slacks—a dressier pair than her normal work pants—and a sequined top. As she sat at her dresser, rummaging through her jewelry box for a fancier pair of earrings, she took a few seconds to let the wooden box send a nudge of additional energy her way. By the time Beau arrived, still in uniform, she’d run a brush through her hair and managed to slap on a little blusher.
“Hey, you sure look delectable,” he said, giving her a smile that made her wish they were just staying in, alone and undisturbed by murders and such.
“Probably too much, huh. I just thought they might not let me in the door in a batter-stained baker’s jacket.”
“I like it.” He pulled her close for a kiss. “Well, let’s go interview a killer.”
The Arroyo Grande Lodge’s parking lot was filling quickly. The polls would be closed in another thirty minutes and the excitement was evident in people’s posture as Sam watched them rushing toward the lobby entrance.
Beau, in his cruiser, ignored the whole protocol of parking and pulled up to the curb out front. While the crowd flowed down a central corridor toward the ballroom, Beau and Sam approached the front desk. He flashed his badge and said that he needed Carlos Tafoya’s room number.
The young clerk, clearly briefed to never give out a guest’s information, much less that of the future governor, looked bewildered at the sight of the badge.
“Please get your supervisor,” Beau requested, with just the right amount of charm.
A little back and forth, and the manager passed a small slip of paper across the desk. They took the elevator, even though there were only three floors in the hotel. Beau tapped gently at the door of Suite A and it was opened almost immediately by none other than Kevin Calendar. The young man looked at Sam, trying to place her. Beau stepped forward, not giving him the opportunity to deny them entry.
The suite, probably the hotel’s largest, featured a spacious living room decorated in traditional Mexican furniture and brightly patterned Indian rugs. A large flat-screen TV set was tuned to a news channel, where the anchors were making small talk until actual precincts could begin sending their results. Doors, presumably leading to bedrooms, stood closed on either side of the living area.
Carlos Tafoya sat on a leather sofa beside a thin woman with chin-length yellow hair. She stared at Beau’s uniform, clearly concerned about why the law might be showing up. Tafoya jumped to his feet and started toward Beau.
“Is there anyone else in the suite?” Beau asked, his right hand hovering near his handgun.
“No!” said Carlos.
Beau peeked quickly into each of the bedrooms and then lowered his hand.
When Kevin circled to stand behind the sofa where the other two had been seated, Sam immediately noticed his resemblance to both parents. With his mother’s fair coloring and his father’s dark eyes and full lips, there was no denying the origin of his genetics.
“This is really cozy, but sort of bad form, don’t you think?” said Sam. “Your wife died less than a week ago.”
Jean Calendar flinched, her gaze flicking warily toward Carlos. Kevin glanced toward the door but Sam and Beau stood between him and the escape route.
“What do you want?” Carlos demanded.
“I need to ask your son a few questions,” Beau said. “And I’ll need a sample of his DNA.” He pulled one of those little self-contained swab kits from his pocket.
Carlos looked over at Kevin. “He should have a lawyer.” Sam noticed that Tafoya didn’t bother to deny the statement about Kevin being his son.
“He’s not a minor, so he gets to make that decision himself. You’re not under arrest,” Beau said to Kevin. “I can do this quickly, right here, or we can take it downtown.” He met the politician’s gaze with a level stare.
Kevin shifted from one foot to the other. “What’s this about?” He tried to ask it with a show of bravado but everyone noticed that his voice was pretty shaky.
“We’ve found familial DNA markers on a piece of evidence. We’re simply taking samples to eliminate non- suspects.” The way he phrased it seemed to make Carlos relax a bit. He gave his son a nod and Kevin opened his
