Chapter 59

 

She thought of Bobul’s words about the wooden box, his knowledge of it before he’d ever seen it. The box. The Box. She remembered Julio having a reaction to the book when Ivan had sold it to her. She’d wondered about it but had never asked him. Could it be Julio also knew something about the wooden box?

Her heart raced slightly at the thought. He’d never seen it in her possession—of that she felt certain. But such knowledge could explain why he always seemed—what? Watchful?

She looked at the floor beside her desk where she’d dropped her backpack when she came up. Should she be more cautious?

Isobel St. Clair’s words came back to her, the warning that there were people in the world who would do anything to get their hands on the artifact.

She picked up her phone and found the phone number for the Vongraf. Soon, Isobel was on the line and Sam found it difficult to phrase the questions. What would she say—Do you know of a man called Julio? What about Bobul? Should I be worried about them—either individually or together? What about a woman named Eliza Nalespar who wrote a popular book about a magical wooden box?

It all sounded completely ridiculous when she began trying to decide what to ask. In the end she talked about the weather and asked whether Isobel might be coming out west again and if so to be sure and visit Taos.

“Sam, are you certain everything is all right?” Isobel asked after Sam had fumbled her way through the inane conversation.

“I think so. There’s nothing—” Funny noises in the basement and a house that can lock its own doors. “—nothing that makes any sense, anyway.”

“Sometimes these paranormal objects really don’t make sense, Sam. Stay alert, but don’t let yourself obsess over it. And call me anytime you’d like.”

With little more to say, they ended the call. Sam felt marginally better. Surely, Isobel would have picked up on any real, actual threat to Sam.

I’m just tired. Since before Halloween the weeks have been unreal with the amount of work and the oddball occurrences.

She stood up and shook the tension from her arms and legs. Did a little dance in place, which caused the floorboards to creak, and that made her laugh. She would heed Isobel’s words to be cautious. No more bringing the box to work, and although she’d helped heal Tansy Montoya—she was convinced her actions truly had made a difference—she didn’t need the box with her at all times. She would get it out of the safe only when needed.

She picked up her pack, deciding to lock it in her van until she could take it home later in the day.

Down in the kitchen, Benjie had four finished trays of molded chocolates, cooling on a rack. He was standing over the stove stirring a batch that smelled to Sam like rich, eighty-five percent cacao.

“Where’s Bobul?” she asked, heading toward the back door.

“I dunno. He went in the storeroom awhile ago.”

Sam put her pack under her driver’s seat and locked the van. Bobul still wasn’t in the kitchen when she went inside. The storeroom was empty but the door to the basement stood slightly ajar. She looked down the dark stairs, flipped the light switch and called out his name.

No response, but she spotted something curious. The old sofa which had been left behind no longer had its layer of dust. Neatly folded at one end were two quilts and a pillow, ancient-looking things. A small wastebasket she’d never noticed before contained wrappers from two empty packets of instant noodles. On the dresser stood a freshly burned candle.

Had Bobul been living here in the basement?

It could certainly explain the times she’d heard noises. A better explanation than believing the house haunted by Halloween phantoms or the ghosts of the Nalespar family.

But why hadn’t he said anything? He could have asked for a place to stay and she’d have gladly made the accommodations more comfortable.

She walked through the rest of the house, calling his name softly, circling back to the kitchen. Neither Lisa nor Benjie had seen any sign of the man in the past half-hour. When she came to the storeroom again, she spotted three small, fat cloth pouches—a red one, a green and a blue. The special powders Bobul had instructed her to use in her candy. The reason her chocolates were irresistible to her customers. She picked them up and clutched the pouches to her chest. He’d gone—again.

Sam remembered the previous time Bobul had appeared out of nowhere, worked several weeks for her, and vanished without a trace. He’d lived in a cabin in the woods—she had driven him there herself once—but when she went back it had clearly been abandoned for a long time. She climbed the stairs now, heading back to her office for a few minutes to think.

Her view out the turret window reminded her again of the writer who had lived here and most likely sat near this window, gazing at this view, as she crafted her stories. The mountains in the distance, the winter grasses waving golden in the breeze. Sam might never know the truth about her mystical chocolatier but decided she wanted to learn more about the woman and the old house. Scott Porter, history professor and ghost enthusiast—she’d love to visit with him on the subject. She picked up her phone and called Kelly.

“How about you and Scott having dinner with us tomorrow night?”