breathed contentedly. Alone in her own space, secure with the doors locked against the rest of the world, Sam fixed the vision of her finished pastry shop in her head. What if the box’s powers went far beyond anything she could imagine, as the vision of Bertha Martinez had suggested? What if she were to open her eyes and the shop would be there, real and finished, ready to open for customers? What if . . .
The tingle in Sam’s arms became intense. Her heart raced as if jolted by electricity. She yanked her hands away from the box.
Her eyes popped open and she stared around the storeroom. Everything was as before. Thank god. What would she have done had her vision actually manifested itself? The very idea scared her. Thrilled her. She couldn’t be sure which.
She stood up and shook her hands to relieve the prickling sensation.
Delving into the sack she grabbed two fries and gobbled them. The cheeseburger disappeared in a few bites. She couldn’t remember having lunch and there’d been only a slice of pumpkin bread for breakfast. That explained it. No wonder she’d been lightheaded, allowing her imagination to go all vivid on her. Crazy.
She wiped her hands on the napkin from the bag and tossed the wrappers into a trash bag.
She went to work on the display cases in the sales room. The wood immediately began to gleam with new luster and the glass shone brilliantly. She’d been half worried that the old furnishings would be too battered and worn to do her any good, but they were turning out beautifully. She pushed them into the positions where she’d envisioned them. Nice.
The old hardwood floors didn’t seem nearly as scarred as she’d first thought. Just having the lights on made all the difference, she decided. She swept, mopped and applied a good coat of paste wax. The electric buffer that she’d left here yesterday made quick work of that task and when it was finished Sam stood back, gazing out at her showroom.
Really, with the addition of tables and chairs, a cash register and a few more odds and ends, she could begin making sales right away. She smiled at her handiwork.
Scarcely two hours had passed but Sam didn’t want to dwell upon the fact that she was obviously working under the influence of the box’s magic. She turned to the second room, the one that would be her kitchen. With the power of invincibility behind her she began shoving everything she didn’t plan to keep—every box, every old rickety shelf unit, every tacky bit of detritus that the old tenant had left behind—toward the back door. It made a good- sized stack but she piled it all up. Then she opened the back door and began heaving all the junk into the dumpster in the alley.
One by one, the trashy items became history. Sam didn’t give herself the chance to think about how her joints were going to feel in the morning, or the luxury of saying that she ought to quit and tackle it again tomorrow. She simply worked like a robot—reach, lift, turn, throw. And soon the big stack became a small stack and quickly even the small stack was gone. She gave a sigh and took a deep breath of the crisp night air.
Ivan’s vehicle was gone now. It must be after eight o’clock.
Sam still felt like she had energy to spare. Secretly glad that no one had stopped by to interrupt, she went back inside and began cleaning the floors in the back room. These were sealed concrete and the cleanup went quickly, as she filled and refilled her mop bucket, washing all traces of the former dust and grime down the drain in the little porcelain sink in one corner. Soon, stainless fixtures would replace the old ones. She assembled bakery racks in her new storage area, readying it for the stores of supplies and tools she now kept crowded into her meager service porch at home.
Stepping back, she surveyed the now-open work space. Last month when Sam first had the idea that this location would become hers, she’d come by with the landlord and measured the entire area. When the reality of having money in the bank finally sank in, she’d ordered custom fixtures from a commercial kitchen outfitter in Albuquerque and Darryl’s cabinetry man was making the rest of what she needed—a back counter for the sales area, window display shelves and special racks for cakes and other pastries.
She laughed aloud. What fun this was turning out to be!
Chapter 6
The luxury of sleeping late would no longer be a regular thing, Sam was beginning to realize. She awoke to a gray dawn, knowing that a million tasks awaited, but she rolled over and tugged the comforter up over her shoulders. Dimly, from the rest of the house, came the sounds of Kelly rising and showering and making her way to the kitchen. Sam ignored it all, telling herself that just thirty more minutes of sleep wouldn’t hurt anything.
When her bedside phone rang at eight o’clock, she sat up and rubbed at her eyes. Clearing her throat she picked up the receiver.
“Samantha Sweet,” she answered, hoping she didn’t sound as sleepy as she felt.
“I’m at my wits end,” the female voice said. “My niece’s birthday party is at four o’clock and I completely forgot that I was the one who volunteered to bring the cake.”
Groping for pen and paper, Sam privately wondered why the lady didn’t simply grab a generic cake at the grocery store.
“. . . princess theme and the cake has to be shaped like a castle.”
“A castle?” On less than a day’s notice?
“Pink. With lavender flowers and a pony in front of it.”
Sam opened her mouth to protest that she didn’t just happen to have a pony waiting around to grace this particular cake. But the woman uttered the magic words: “I’ll pay extra.”
“Give me just a second here,” Sam said, jotting instructions as fast as she could, taking information about how many guests there would be and trying to wrap her head around the logistics of putting this thing together on such short notice. As she calculated the number of layers and the amount of trimming she’d have to do, her call waiting signal came through. She excused herself to the distraught woman and clicked over to the other call.
“Ms. Sweet, it’s Maria at Signs R Us. Just wanted to let you know that your van will be ready to pick up anytime after noon today.”
Sam jotted a note on her hand. By noon it looked like she would be up to her elbows in pink frosting and cake crumbs.
Back to the lady with the emergency castle order. Sam thought of the most she’d ever charged for a special- shape cake and doubled it, half hoping the woman would call her crazy and hang up. But, no. She accepted without a second’s hesitation and gave the address where she wanted this miracle cake delivered.
“Be sure to be there by three-thirty,” she said.
“I’ll do my best, ma’am.” Sam bit back what she really wanted to say, glad she had doubled the price.
All this before I’ve even been to the bathroom, she thought, grabbing up some jeans and a clean work shirt. Thirty minutes later the first two cake pans were in the oven and she’d gathered ingredients for sponge cupcakes. Stacking them was the easiest way she could think of to create turrets. Rummaging through an upper cabinet in search of pink lace to line the cake board, she’d come across a plastic unicorn that she’d once ordered from her supplier, thinking it was cute.
The oven timer pinged, the layers came out, cupcakes went in. And Sam began piping a host of lavender and pink roses, setting them aside in the fridge to firm up before they could be placed on the cake. She stuck the cakes into the fridge, as well, pushing desperately to cool them a little faster.
Her cell phone vibrated on the kitchen table and then chirped out a couple of final tones. Beau. She picked it up and balanced it against her cheek while she scooped colored icing into a pastry bag.
“Hey there,” he said. “How’s things going?”
“No time whatsoever for conversation. Sorry, that was rude. I didn’t mean . . . ”
“No, it’s okay. I don’t have much time either. Thought you might want to know that the preliminary blood test from that coat shows it to be male. So, it’s not your lady homeowner. But it’ll take awhile longer to get specific DNA.”
Sam felt a degree of relief that Cheryl Adams wasn’t the victim of whatever had happened. Still, Sam wondered . . . maybe one of the men in Cheryl’s life had pushed her too far.
“I’m working on a few leads that might tell us where Ms. Adams went when she left Taos,” Beau was saying.
