Chapter 26

 

“So then I hear this noise, and I swear it’s right under my feet.” Sam watched Kelly’s eyes grow wide. She had carried coffees to Puppy Chic where they were taking a short break.

“Whoa, Mom, what did you do?”

“I think I swallowed my gum. Seriously. But, you know, it was Halloween and I had Scott’s stories fresh in my head about the old man who died in the house and the crazy writer and all. I went back and forth between wondering if the place really is haunted or if it might be kids having a good time watching me freak out. In the clear light of day, I suppose it was just my overactive imagination.”

“Did you ever figure out what really made the noise?”

“No. It didn’t happen again and I chalked it up to the creaks and groans of an old house.” Sam drained the last of her coffee. “Well, back to work. Darryl’s guys will come by today and move my desk for me. Then I’m back to the new place to finish this week’s chocolate order for Bookman.”

“How’s that going?”

“Busier than ever. Last week we did twelve dozen mini-boxes and six dozen standard ones. This week he’s doubling the standard ones, so twelve dozen each, almost 2,500 individual chocolates. He’s hinted that he’d like me to develop a deluxe assortment—two-pound boxes—for his most favored clients.”

“That’s a lot of candy.”

“That’s a lot of candy. I must get some more workers hired—now.” Problem was, she hadn’t a clue where to begin. Help wanted ads were a thing of the past, not to mention this was a very specialized job and she couldn’t afford to put newbies on it and risk complaints about quality from her largest, and only, client.

Sam thought about it as she put her computer into the van and drove through town. She needed perhaps one or two experienced chocolatiers, plus a few helpers to move things around, pick and pack orders, and someone to make the run to the airport every few days. When she broke it down that way, the task became less daunting.

One person came to mind, a woman who had wandered into Sweet’s Sweets a few weeks ago with amnesia. After Beau and Sam had worked to discover her identity, Sam discovered Josephine Robinet had a strong background in chocolate. Jo’s skills would be most welcome right now, but the woman had already turned her down once and had relocated to the east coast to work in her uncle’s business. On the off chance Jo might be regretting her move, Sam looked up the shop and called as soon as she arrived at the Victorian.

Jo seemed thrilled to hear from Sam but said she and her son were very happy with their new life. She did remember a local woman who once offered candy classes in Taos. Sam took the name, even though she remembered the lady as a competitor in the Sweet Somethings dessert festival earlier in the summer.

Hiring could prove to be something of a sticky problem, she thought, grimacing at her own pun. An experienced chocolatier would question the addition of the special powders Sam used to make her candy so different from every other brand on the market. A competitive one might actually try to steal her secrets and her customer. However, she didn’t have the time or energy to train workers from scratch. She deliberated while she started the first batch for the day.

By the time she began to fill the molds, she heard Darryl’s truck out front. Four men wrestled her heavy desk up the stairs to the turret room. Despite its history, the writer’s old bedroom had the best views toward the mountains, and Sam told herself she would spend a lot of hours here. She might as well enjoy them.

While the men set the desk in place, Darryl took her up on her offer of coffee.

“So, you’ll have extra help soon?” he asked, taking his first sip.

She explained her dilemma about the secrets of her business.

“Well, what most businesses do is have all employees sign a non-compete agreement. They can’t go to work for anyone else or start their own business using your proprietary information. I’ll bet our attorney could draw up something for you,” he said.

She took the phone number he pulled from his phone, wondering if she would have to admit to the attorney she used magical ingredients. Surely, attorney-client privilege would apply somehow.

She made the two calls right away. Darryl’s attorney was a friendly woman who assured Sam her office did this sort of thing all the time. If it worked for Sam, they could meet tomorrow afternoon. With an appointment set, she called Rosalie Gutierrez, the woman who taught chocolate-making classes.

“Oh, yes, of course I remember you, Sam, from the chocolate festival last summer. You did a marvelous job of organizing it. Will there be another next year?”

Rosalie seemed to have forgotten that a murder had happened, or she was fishing around and hoping for a prime booth if the event was repeated. Sam kept her answer vague. She certainly had no time or intention of being the one to bring together a repeat event.

“What I’m calling about today,” she said, steering the conversation back where she wanted it, “is I understand you teach classes and wonder whether you’ve had students whose abilities were outstanding and who might be looking for work.”

“You’re hiring? Your business must be doing well.”

More fishing?

“I’m making some changes and need one or two young chocolatiers.” Careful, Sam. Next thing you know, Rosalie will be offering her own services.

She wanted competent workers, not someone used to calling the shots, someone who would be tempted to push for changes. Mr. Bookman liked everything just the way it was. Plus, Rosalie had struck her as sharp-eyed and a hustler. It could be a disaster if she figured what the secret ingredients really were. Better downplay this.

“Students would be fine,” Sam said. “The job isn’t much of a challenge, really.”

“Well, Benjie Lucero comes to mind. He learned quickly and expressed an interest in a career. As I recall, he wanted to apply to Ecole Chocolat. I have a feeling that particular one would be beyond his means. I think he’s working somewhere here in town.”

Rosalie gave Sam a phone number and said she hoped they would stay in touch. It won’t help, Sam thought as she hung up. I’m not organizing another festival.

She immediately dialed Benjie’s number. A clatter of background noise came through when he answered, and it took Sam three tries to get him to understand who she was. After about a minute of this, he must have stepped outside because things quieted.

“Sorry,” he said. “Work. It’s a rat race here.”

Sam went through it again—how she got his number and what she wanted.

“Is it a quiet and creative place?” he asked.

She stared around the big kitchen, occupied only by herself and a table covered in chocolates.

“Definitely. Of course, I’ll be hiring a few more people and I’m not saying the pace won’t pick up a bit.”

“I get a break mid-afternoon. Could I come talk to you?”

She gave directions and he said he’d be there by three. Before starting her next batch, she placed a quick call to Sweet’s Sweets to be sure everything was moving along all right. Jen laughed and told her she hadn’t been this protective when she went all the way to Ireland for her honeymoon.

“Okay, you’re probably right. I didn’t have the chance to check up on you guys then. I’ll dial it back. Meanwhile, ask around and let me know if any of you know of someone looking for work. You know what’s required. I want to interview right away.” She made a similar call to Kelly, then decided to put it out of her mind and let it all take its course.

Working quickly, she transferred the finished chocolates from the kitchen to the old dining room, what she’d begun thinking of as the boxing room, where cartons of her satin-covered decorative boxes waited to be filled. She thought again of Eliza Nalespar, the oddball writer, and wondered if Ivan had made progress toward finding a copy of the book Scott had mentioned.

Either way, there was no time to think about it, much less to actually read the book. She placed a light muslin cover over the candy and went back to the kitchen to begin another batch—truffles this time. By end of day she needed to finish the mini-boxes, at minimum, because tomorrow there would be twelve dozen larger ones to fill. She thought of Benjie Lucero and hoped, with a deep longing, he could start immediately.

She was in the boxing room, filling the cute mini-boxes with assortments of molded chocolates and creams when a car pulled up in the circular drive. A young man got out, dressed in neat black pants and T-shirt with a red jacket. His dark hair stood in spikes above his round face. He stared upward at the old house, his mouth practically gaping. This had to be Benjie.

He started up the steps and she met him at the front door.

“This place is awesome!” he said, following her into the boxing room.

“I hope you don’t mind if I work while we talk.” She pointed him toward one of the new stools she’d brought this morning. “At the moment I’m trying to do it all myself and I tell you, I had no idea what the pace would be.”

“I can help, if you’d like. Where do I wash up?”

She was pleased to see neatly trimmed, clean nails and noticed he washed thoroughly at the kitchen sink before returning to put on a pair of disposable plastic gloves. She demonstrated how the boxes were to be filled and he picked it up right away.

“Fast pace I don’t mind,” he said when she described the volume of chocolate they were making now. “It’s the nonstop clatter of pans and the chef shouting orders at the rest of us that’s wearing me down. At the restaurant I’m supposed to come up with fantastic desserts, but working in a tiny space with people tripping all over me is just killing my creativity. The other day someone slopped salad dressing over my fruit tart. I’d spent an hour on it—ruined! I haven’t even gotten the chance to try any of the fancy chocolates we learned in class.”

Sam knew already she wanted to hire this guy. He answered questions about chocolate-making techniques and filled boxes without a single mistake, somehow keeping an eye on the time since he told her he had to get back in time to make his pastries for the dinner crowd.

“I really need to give my boss at least a week’s notice,” he said when she asked how soon he could start. “I know, no one else worries about that, but my parents were in business and I know what a hassle it is when someone just walks out.”

The work had breezed along so well in just the twenty minutes he’d been here, Sam felt a wave of disappointment. But she would never talk an employee out of acting ethically. They agreed he would start the following Monday. Exhaustion hovered over her as he drove away. She would manage, somehow, to keep doing it all until Benjie came on board.