Sweets Galore: The Sixth Samantha Sweet Mystery (The Samantha Sweet Mysteries)

Sweets
Galore

The
Sixth Samantha Sweet Mystery

Copyright
2013 – Connie Shelton

“Shelton continues to combine
suspenseful storytelling with sensitive portrayals of complex family
relationships.” —
Booklist

“...a wonderful, easy flow
that draws in the reader.”

—Amazon 5-Star review

“As for me, I
enjoy mysteries infused with a little touch of magic and a dream that anything
is possible.” —Amazon 5-Star review

“Connie Shelton
gets better with every book she writes.”

--Midwest Book
Review

Chapter
1

Samantha Sweet stood before her
full-length mirror. Champagne silk, with ivory lace insets, the tiered skirt
that skimmed the floor, the tiny rows of pearls—so beautiful. Except for the
way the fabric puckered around her midsection. She moaned in frustration.

“This fit perfectly six months
ago. What happened?”

Her friend, Rupert
Penrick
, tugged at the two halves of the zipper but they
were inches away from meeting in the back. “It’s just a little off. And it’s
late in the day. Everyone gets a little puffy late in the day.”

“I’m getting married in the
afternoon,” Sam said. “In one week. How am I ever going to manage this?”

Kelly’s eyes met Sam’s in the
mirror, then edged away to look at the errant zipper. “Ooh.”

“I know this fabulous spa in Santa
Fe,” Rupert said. “A week there and you’ll drop those pounds like magic.”

“Mom, I don’t want to sound like a
downer here but dropping twenty pounds in a week is going to take more than a
steady diet of carrot sticks. I’ll get you a guest membership at my gym.”

How could I have let this happen?
She turned sideways to get a look
at the hopeless situation. This dress had been a perfect fit back in February
when she and Beau originally planned their wedding at Valentine’s Day. But the
inevitable delay—due to circumstances beyond her control—stress, not watching
her diet, the temptations of all those baked goodies right there in front of
her every day . . . She stood tall and sucked in her breath but there was no
way the zipper would close, not without drastic action.

“At least veils don’t have sizes,”
Kelly offered, holding up the froth of tulle that matched the champagne tone of
the dress.

“That doesn’t help,” Sam said,
although she knew the veil would look good now that she’d let her short hair
grow out a little. “Okay, let me get back into my other clothes. I’ll have to
figure out something.”

She shooed the others out of her
bedroom and peeled the dress down over her hips. A dozen possibilities flitted
through her mind: wear something else for the wedding, have this dress altered,
starve for a week and then hold her breath through the ceremony. The one thing
she could
not
do was to postpone the
wedding again.

Beau would start to wonder how
serious she really was about their marriage, and that would be bad enough, but
her mother would kill her. After pressing Sam to set the date this past summer,
Nina Rae had reinforced her troops with relatives from all over the place.
Members of the Sweet family from Texas, Colorado and Oklahoma were congregating
in Taos next weekend and there
would
be a wedding.

Sam let out a sigh and slipped
into jeans and a loose blouse. When she walked into the kitchen Kelly was
pouring hot water over a tea bag in a cup.

“Here, this is supposed to reduce
water retention,” she said, handing the cup to Sam. “Rupert had to go. Said
he’s on some kind of deadline with his editor.”

Rupert
Penrick
secretly wrote steamy romance novels under the pen name Victoria
Devane
and downplayed the fact that he was perpetually on
the bestseller lists. Sam had frequently wondered what Victoria’s readers would
think if they knew the pink-clad blonde in the author photos was a model and
that the real writer was a male nearly six feet tall with flowing gray
collar-length hair who, at two-twenty, filled a room wearing his signature
blousy purple shirts and scarves that probably cost what Sam earned in a week.
At least he usually offered sound fashion advice.

She debated actually taking him up
on the offer to visit that Santa Fe spa, but instantly discarded it. Even if
she could afford the place—which was doubtful—there was no way she could take
the next week off from her two jobs. Between breaking into houses and running a
bakery, life was running at full speed right now.

She looked up at Kelly. “I need to
teach you the finer points of picking locks,” she said, “just in case a new
assignment comes along. I haven’t been away for two straight weeks since I took
that job.”

Kelly looked a little
apprehensive.

“Mostly, we’re going to winterize
my current three properties, in case the weather turns colder before I get
back. There probably won’t be anything new. You’ll handle it just fine.”

“And I can call you if I really
hit a snag, right? I mean, you’ll be driving during the days, stopping at
night. You could offer the voice of experience if I need it.”

“I’m going on my honeymoon. I’m
really hoping not to hear from either you or Jen the whole time.”

Jennifer Baca, one of her bakery
employees, could easily handle the customers in any typical week. With Julio
baking and Becky decorating, Sam didn’t foresee anything her team couldn’t
manage at Sweet’s Sweets. Sam’s and Beau’s plan to take a leisurely driving
trip through the Southwest was their ideal getaway—no pressure to meet a
schedule, beautiful autumn scenery in southern Colorado and Arizona, and time
simply to enjoy themselves. No crimes to solve for the handsome sheriff of Taos
County.

“We won’t bother you, Mom. If Jen
runs into a problem at the bakery, I’m sure
Riki
will
let me take some time away from the pooches to go help her out.”

Kelly was a lot better at bathing
dogs than at decorating cakes, but Sam didn’t say anything. She’d been telling
herself for months now that everything would work out all right. She glanced at
the clock above the stove.

“There’s time to make it to the
place on Bowen Road before dark,” she told Kelly. “We might as well get it out
of the way.”

Kelly picked up a notepad that
always sat near the phone. “I better write stuff down.”

Sam nodded. Even at thirty-four,
her curly-haired daughter had her scatter-brained moments. Last year at this
time she’d arrived in Taos to inform Sam that she’d quit her job and lost her
home in California to foreclosure while racking up a ton of credit card debt.
At least she’d fiscally settled down quite a bit since she’d been here.

Ten minutes later they were
walking the perimeter of a modest adobe, not unlike Sam’s own house, on a quiet
street near the center of town.

“We’ll shut off the water supply
and put anti-freeze in the drains, since this place has had the power cut off.
Without heat—”

“The pipes would freeze,” Kelly
finished. “See? I am getting some of this stuff.”

“Good. I’m just reminding, since
years in southern California couldn’t give you a clue about how early in the
season we get freezing temps here in the mountains.”

They circled the house,
disconnecting garden hoses and stowing them in the garage. Indoors, Sam went
through the rooms, showed Kelly what to do, how to fill out the required sign-in
sheet and stash the key back in the lock box at the front door.

“If you don’t have to get home to
Beau, how about some dinner?” Kelly suggested as they drove away. “I’ll spring
for pizza.”

Sam gave her a hard look.

“Oh, yeah. How about a salad?”

“I better just get out to Beau’s
place. Our place.” Why did she have such a hard time, still, calling Beau’s
large house her home? The acreage, the horses, two loving dogs, the warm glow
of the log walls when the lamps were low and the fireplace blazing—it was an
idyllic spot. And Beau. The first man in her life who loved her
unconditionally, completely, committed but without an agenda for changing her
or uprooting her life.

After dropping Kelly off she drove
north, passing the turnoff to the Taos Pueblo and a string of little
businesses, then made the familiar turn toward the mountains and drove through
the big stone gateway to the property.

Home
, she said to herself.
Home,
home, home
. Nellie and Ranger came to attention on the covered wooden
porch, recognized her red pickup truck and sat expectantly as she parked next
to her bakery van and walked toward them. Beau was working late tonight and the
black Lab and the smaller border collie wouldn’t be entirely comfortable until
he arrived and completed the family circle. Nevertheless, both greeted Sam
effusively, tails whipping back and forth, nudging and pressing against her
legs in competition for her attention.

She indulged them in a brisk
rubdown and checked their food bowls. “I’m not feeding you guys until I check
with your daddy,” she said. Nellie, particularly, would eat six times a day if
someone let her do it.

Sam let herself inside and spent a
moment staring at the late afternoon view from the French doors that led to a
back deck and looked out over the open pasture land beyond. The tall
cottonwoods that bordered Beau’s acreage were hitting their full yellow-gold
splendor and the grasses had already begun to go brown with the cooler nights.

She switched on lamps in the
living room, where Western art and Indian blankets decorated the walls. Beau
had told her to change anything she wanted, to add a woman’s touch. But Sam
honestly admired his taste in the furnishings and knew that nothing from her
old house could compare in quality. She would leave her old things behind as
long as Kelly wanted to stay in their smaller house in the middle of town.

Beyond the windows, darkness set
in quickly and Sam went to the kitchen to see what she might make for a solo
dinner. Kelly’s suggestion of salad made sense, and the fridge was well stocked
so she chopped a few leaves of lettuce and some veggies and tried to resist the
dressings.
This isn’t so bad
, she
kept telling herself.
I can handle a week
of salads.
She ignored a Sweet’s Sweets box of cookies she’d brought home
earlier in the week and went to the living room to switch on the television.

Distraction, distraction,
she reminded herself. She steered away
from the Food Channel and found an old movie where the actors did a lot more
talking than eating.

She was dozing on the sofa when
she heard sounds outside. Boots on the wooden deck, a gentle voice speaking to
the dogs, the front door latch.

“Hey,
darlin
’.
Did I wake you up?”

She covered a yawn by rubbing at
her face and running fingers through her hair. “TV. I must have dozed.”

He shed his jacket, draping it
over an elk antler coat rack near the door, and Sam walked over to hug him from
behind.

“Glad you’re home,” she murmured
into his muscular back.

He turned and circled her with his
arms, planting a kiss on the top of her head. “
Mmm
,
me too. Did you have a good day?”

“Parts of it were great.” She told
him about Kelly’s little training course in locks and drain pipes, plus the
fact that the bakery had run without her help for an entire day.

“Parts of it?” Law enforcement
types always seemed to pick up on the little things you don’t quite say.

“My wedding gown. It isn’t quite
the fit it was when I bought it.”

“So, wear something else.”

Mr. Practical.

“But I love this dress. And
there’s only going to be one wedding day—ever.”

“Have it altered.” He held her at
arm’s length. “Sam, I don’t care what you’re wearing that day. You know that. I
love you. It’s an as-is deal.”

“Thank you for that. Really. But
I’m going to do whatever it takes to get into that dress.”

He kissed her, the kind of kiss
that can only go one direction and they raced each other up the stairs.

Sam woke the next morning at
daylight, with a growl in her stomach.
Dieting
is not my strong suit
, she grumbled to herself as she brushed her teeth.
But I can’t give up
. She spat the
toothpaste into the sink and gave herself a little lecture about self
discipline and sticking with a plan. Grabbing an apple on her way out the door,
she started her bakery van and headed toward town.

The commute, although quite a bit
longer than her old one, was much more scenic and she gave herself over to
enjoying the rising sun as it hit the fall foliage while she ate her apple.
I will ignore everything sweet or fatty
today
, she vowed.

Easy to say, until she got to the
bakery and walked in to smell the muffins and scones that Julio had already
removed from the oven. She said good morning to the two kitchen employees and
braced herself against the temptation to start the day with a croissant and cup
of coffee.

“How are the wedding plans coming
along?” Becky Harper asked, not looking up from a cake full of flowers upon
which she was putting finishing touches.

“Do not let me eat anything,” Sam
said. “All day.”

“Ooh, right. The dress.”

Julio sent the women a puzzled look.
Sam gave a wan grin. “Don’t ask.”

He dumped a pitcher full of raw
eggs into the big Hobart mixer and switched it on. Sam remembered the first
time he’d walked into her shop, how she’d been a little put off by the tattoos
that crept from his knuckles to who-knows-where under the white T-shirt, how
the rumble of his Harley coming up the alley never failed to startle her just a
little. But the guy knew how to bake.