Chapter 27

 

Sam shook herself into action, walked back to the kitchen and pulled out the lunch she’d brought from home. A salad, wheat crackers and a bottle of green juice should knock out the tiredness and get her back to work with a little more energy. She found a spot where sunshine came through the kitchen window and parked herself there while she ate.

The food helped, along with the little pep talk she gave herself. Yes, she was tired but she was doing something about it. In a week’s time she would have another chocolate maker in the kitchen to work alongside her, and Becky had already called to tell Sam her niece could start tomorrow part time to help with boxing and packing.

Meanwhile, there would be some late nights to get this week’s order finished. Simple as that.

“I can do this,” she said to the empty house as she turned back to Bookman’s order.

The sun was low in the west when she paused long enough to figure out where she stood with the order. Only about half the required mini-boxes were done, boxed and ready for shipment. It would take at least four more hours to make enough chocolate for the rest of them. The plane would leave before noon tomorrow, so there was no way she could put off the work until morning. She called Beau to let him know she wouldn’t be home for dinner.

“I’ll bring food out,” he offered. “At least we can eat together.”

The idea of a meal she didn’t have to cook proved to be irresistible. A little before six he arrived with a roasted chicken, potato salad and rolls. They ate at the boxing table, since the one in the kitchen was more than half covered with freshly molded candy that needed to cool.

He looked around the rooms appreciatively. “It’s come a long way, darlin’, in just over a week. I’m amazed.”

She told him about the new helper and chocolatier. “Within a couple more weeks, I hope we’re really up and running. Mr. Bookman’s clients seem happy and he’s hinting at more business to come.”

“You’ll do it. I’m so proud of you, Sam.” He planted a kiss on her forehead. “Plus, I’m excited to have a wife who’ll make a huge fortune and let me retire from county work.”

The sparkle in his eye told her he was joking. He gathered the paper plates and put the leftover chicken in the refrigerator before he left.

“I’ll wait up,” he promised when she walked him out to his cruiser.

“No need to if you have an early day tomorrow. But I’m hoping to be finished here within another two hours or so.” She didn’t mention she would need the help of the wooden box to meet that schedule.

Back in the kitchen she pulled the box from her bag. The carved surface felt slightly warm. Odd. It always felt cool to the touch until she’d handled it for a few minutes. Maybe the kitchen was warmer than she realized. She held the old artifact between her hands and watched as the wood began to attain a golden glow, warming her palms and sending energy through her arms and shoulders.

She started to set the box on the countertop and it emitted a noise, a shrill whistle like wind through a crack around a window. She nearly dropped it.

What on earth? She returned it to her backpack, her heart racing.

In all the time she had possessed this box it had never made a sound. What the hell was going on? The whistling stopped. She opened the pack and picked up the box. Again, the shrill whistle. It was as if it were somehow afraid of the kitchen.

She zipped the pack closed. No more noise.

This is ridiculous. An object cannot show fear. She looked for rational explanations. The wind must have picked up, coming through a window that hadn’t been tightly closed. That must be the reason. She checked both kitchen windows but they were secure. The back door—she had come and gone several times out to her van. She probably hadn’t shut it well enough. But it was closed and she couldn’t feel the slightest hint of air around the edges.

Okay, this is super weird.

She walked through the entire house, checking every door and window. Everything was locked, and she felt no breath of air leaking through. Outside, the trees showed no sign of a breeze. Back in the kitchen, she looked at her work in progress.

I’m tired. I should quit for the night.

There’s too much work to be done. Plus, now you’re energized from handling the box.

She measured cocoa and butter, heated the large copper pot once more. Within a half-hour she’d decided she must have had some sort of waking dream, created a silly experience out of her head. She tempered the chocolate and poured it into a new set of molds she’d found through her supplier. These fit the autumn theme nicely—pumpkins and sheaves of wheat. She set the molds into her tiered cooling racks and covered it with muslin to keep dust out.

Working at an energized pace, she added decorative touches to the autumn leaf pieces in the boxing room. As usually happened in this state, time completely escaped her and she realized it was well after eleven. The finished candies sat in neat rows, ready to be placed in boxes in the morning. Sam felt as if she could work for hours more but remembered Beau was expecting her at home. Plus, she needed to save something for her new packing and shipping assistant to do tomorrow.

She picked up her pack, reaching inside for her keys. The box lay there, a faint glow still clinging to the wood surface. Warm. Her fingers closed around it.

I’m being a silly ninny. I know this.

She released the box, zipped her pack, turned out the lights and rushed out to her van.

Driving past the old cemetery on her way out to the ranch, she saw pinpricks of light on the ground, dozens of them. Of course—the Day of the Dead. Families had visited the graves of those who passed on before, leaving food and candles for comfort.

At home, she entered quietly and saw only a couple of small lamps burning. Beau had already gone to bed. She left her pack and coat downstairs and went up. When she crawled in beside him he draped a drowsy arm over her and she snuggled into his warmth.

Within minutes her eyes grew heavy and she slept, but her dreams were punctuated with odd sounds and images involving the magic box. She rolled over and the red numerals on the clock told her she’d slept less than two hours.