Chapter 34

 

Sam and Lisa packed boxes at a furious pace. The team approach worked well—Sam could see how the addition of one more packer, if she could find someone of Lisa’s caliber, would free up her own time significantly. Isobel St. Clair’s words stayed in Sam’s head. The whole thing—rival organizations wanting to get hold of the box, evil men who believed they could use its power for their own purposes—it all made Sam’s head hurt.

What am I supposed to do with this information? I’m a baker, not some super-hero crime fighter.

Still, the choice would not be hers. If the people from OSM wanted to come after her for the box, they would. She could only heed Isobel’s warning and watch out for herself. In the meantime, she was feeling a little panicky about how quickly her special ingredients were waning, now that chocolate production was in full force.

“Sam?” Lisa’s voice cut into her thoughts.

She looked up to see her helper standing across the table from her, doing nothing.

“I asked if there’s more candy in the kitchen?” Lisa spread her hands.

“Um, actually no. This is it.”

“Then are we done?”

Sure enough, the candy racks were empty and the satin boxes were neatly stacked in the shipping cartons. The clock showed 11:14.

“Wow. Let’s get these into the van. Seems you get to leave a little early today.” And I can spend a little extra time at the bakery.

They each grabbed a carton and carried it to the back door. A cold gust channeled inside the moment Sam opened it.

“Ooh, looks like the weather’s taking a turn.” She wondered if the plane taking the candy order to Book It Travel’s Houston office would be able to fly through the thickening cloud layer.

The women stacked the cartons, went inside for more and finished loading them as sleety flakes began flying through the air. Sam phoned ahead and Herman, the airport counter man assured her the pilots were performing their pre-flight check and planned to take off as scheduled at noon.

“We’re on our way,” Sam said. She turned to Lisa. “It’s pretty frigid out here for a bike trip. If you’ll ride with me out to the airport, I’ll take you home afterward.”

Lisa didn’t raise an argument. They loaded her bicycle into the van and headed out.

By the time they pulled onto the tarmac next to the private jet, the sleet was sticking to the sagebrush surrounding the airport. Although it melted as it hit the paved runway, it could be a matter of time before that, too, would turn white.

“Glad you’re here,” the pilot shouted over the rising wind. “We need to get out real soon.”

The co-pilot joined them and the four of them passed boxes hand-to-hand into the cabin. The pilots boarded and retracted the stairs, waving to Sam and Lisa as Sam closed the back door of the van. Nothing like a truly last-minute delivery, she thought.

“That was fun,” Lisa said, as Sam drove through the chain-link gate and Herman closed it behind them. “Can you imagine traveling on your own jet all the time? How cool is that?”

Pretty cool, Sam had to admit. Although she seldom traveled farther than Albuquerque anymore, not since the bakery and now the chocolate factory consumed her time. The beautiful thing about doing work she loved was it didn’t bother her to stay home—well, maybe the occasional pang when she wondered about other lifestyles.

“Okay, you’ll have to give directions to your house,” she said to Lisa when they reached Highway 64.

Before Lisa could answer, Sam’s phone rang. She idled at the stop sign and checked it. Ivan from the bookstore.

“Good afternoon, Miss Sam. Ivan calling to say book is here. Your special order.”

“Already? Very good. I’m heading toward the bakery in a few minutes.”

She hung up and followed Lisa’s directions, discovering the route to the parents’ house was nearly the same way she always took to get to the Victorian. Two streets before the turnoff to her own place, Sam took Handman Road and pulled up in front of a cute, one-story bungalow of tan stucco and bright blue trim.

Her phone rang again as she opened the van door.

“Ms. Sweet? It’s Benjie Lucero? I wanted to let you know I can start work tomorrow, if you’re ready for me.”

She assured him the answer was yes. The next big order wouldn’t be due for a week, but with a new employee she never knew how quickly the work would go. Better to train him slowly when there was a lot less pressure.

Lisa had pulled her bike out and stood beside the van, out of the wind, until Sam finished the call.

“Will you need me tomorrow too?” she asked. “I mean, I heard you say you’ll be training this other guy.”

“Sure,” Sam said. “We won’t have any chocolates to pack but there are loads of other miscellaneous things to do around there.” She looked up at the sky. “If this weather gets much worse, will you be okay getting there?”

“Oh, yeah. My mom offers me a ride every day. So far, I’ve preferred my bike, but I’m no hero on snowy roads.”

Early November, it was doubtful there would be much accumulation, but Sam felt better knowing Lisa wouldn’t take chances. She drove away, heading for Sweet’s Sweets. Behind the shops, a skim of white covered vehicles and blacktop alike. Only one set of tracks marred the surface. Sam parked behind the bakery but walked to the bookshop’s back entrance and tapped at the door.

Alex Byrd, Ivan’s young assistant, answered with a quizzical look on her face. “Oh, hi, Sam. You’d better get inside, out of the cold.” She held the door open and Sam stepped into their storeroom.

“It’s not too bad yet, but funny how this first taste of winter always takes me by surprise each year.”

Alex laughed. “Me too. Wasn’t it just last week I went with some friends for a picnic in the park?”

“Maybe more like a month ago,” Sam said. “Don’t tell me you’re already having that speeding-time syndrome we old folks normally get.”

Ivan came into the storeroom at the sound of their voices. “Ah, Miss Sam. Book for you is at front desk. Come.”

“Popular title, in the day,” Ivan said as he reached below the counter and brought out a scuffed blue cloth-bound book. “Lucky many printings, not hard to find copies now. Not so expensive, also.”

Sam handed him a ten-dollar bill and got a little change back. She turned the book over in her hands. The cover boards showed through in places where the cloth had worn away. Darkened crescents at the edges showed where many hands had held this volume, avidly devouring the story if Scott’s assessment of its popularity was correct. The pages had become tanned over time, with traces of foxing on the title page.

The Box by Eliza Nalespar. G. P. Putnam’s Sons, 1938, she read. Gently turning pages, she came to the opening line of the story: It was an ugly thing, made of dark wood so old Michael truly believed it could have come from some magical realm. Set into the carved pattern were dull stones …

“Miss Sam? Everything is okay with book?” Ivan’s voice startled her and she nearly dropped it.

“Y-y-yes. Sorry, I—” She blinked and closed the book. “Looks like it’s going to be every bit as captivating as I was told.”

She stuffed the book inside her jacket and walked out, wondering what sort of new unforeseen troubles this book might reveal.