Sweet Dreams on Center Street (2 page)

“Well, I don't think Mom's ready to give up on love. Maybe you
could match her up with someone,” Bailey suggested.

“No!” Several people turned to stare and Samantha downed a slug
of punch in an effort to put out the fire in her cheeks. What was wrong with
her? Could a woman suddenly get Tourette's at thirty?

The wicked in Cecily's grin kicked up a notch. “I know what you
mean. No one will ever be able to replace Waldo.”

“I liked Waldo, I really did,” Samantha said. “But no more men.
I've got enough to deal with already.”

“Gosh, Sammy.” Bailey frowned at her.

Samantha frowned back. “Hey, baby sister, you two get to go
back to sunny California and match up lonely millionaires and cater events for
starlets. I'm the one stuck with the fallout here.”

Cecily sobered. “I'm sorry. You're right. We're leaving you
with a mess. You've got the business to sort out, plus Mom's affairs.”

“Except if anyone can do it, you can, Sammy,” Bailey said,
linking arms with her.

Samantha sighed. As the oldest it was her job to be the rock
everyone leaned on—although right now she didn't feel like a rock. She felt like
a pebble on a beach about to be swept away by a tsunami.

And her own mother had been the one to unwittingly drop her
there. She and Muriel loved each other dearly, but they often disagreed. And
before Waldo died they'd disagreed a lot, especially when Samantha tried to get
her mother to talk sense into him.

“He's not feeling well,” Mom kept saying, but when pressed for
details she'd remained vague.

Maybe the poor guy's heart had been acting up all along. Maybe
he'd been so worried about his bad health he hadn't been able to concentrate and
that was why he'd made such poor decisions. Except that didn't explain his odd
purchases. Or the answers he'd given her when she asked about them.

“A man needs to be able to protect what's his,” he'd said when
she'd questioned him about the gun.

“In Icicle Falls?” she'd countered. The biggest crime they'd
had all year was when Amanda Stevens keyed Jimmy Rodriguez's Jeep after he'd
cheated on her with another girl. And Jimmy hadn't pressed charges.

“You never know,” Waldo had hedged. “I saw someone. In the
parking lot.”

“Doing what?” she'd asked.

“He was following me. And don't tell your mother,” he'd said.
“I don't want to worry her.”

Like he'd just worried his stepdaughter? Then there'd been the
water.

“We could have an avalanche and be trapped here for days,” he'd
said.

She'd let that slide, too. Until things started getting really
bad. And then, just when she'd decided she and her mother would need to have a
very unpleasant conversation, Waldo had walked from their house on Alpine Drive
into town and keeled over dead right in front of Lupine Floral. Poor Kevin had
dropped the roses he'd been storing in the cooler and run out to give him CPR
while his partner, Heinrich, called 9-1-1, but Waldo was dead within
minutes.

And now she was stuck dealing with the mess he'd left behind.
Her sisters were leaving on Monday and she was the one who'd be dealing with
their mother and figuring out how to pay the people who depended on Sweet Dreams
for their livelihood. Great-grandma Rose, who'd started this business on a
dream, was probably turning in her grave at what her descendants had done to
it.

Samantha frowned at her half-empty punch cup.
The glass is half empty…the glass is half full.
Either
way, “This stuff needs booze.”

Chapter Two

Your biggest asset is your family.

—Muriel Sterling,
Mixing Business with
Pleasure: How to Successfully Balance Work and Love

T
wo hours later, friends and extended
relatives had exhausted themselves on the topic of Waldo and consumed all the
potato salad and cold cuts. The party was over. Sent on their way with one final
hug from Olivia Wallace and a paper plate containing half a dozen lemon bars,
the three sisters and their mother stepped outside to a cold, cloudless
night.

Mom looked as drained as Samantha felt. Only Mom's exhaustion
was from pure grief. Samantha's was contaminated by a less pure mixture of
feelings.

“I'll follow you guys back to the house,” she said, and went in
search of her car.

It was now five-thirty on a Friday afternoon and the
old-fashioned lampposts along Center Street stood sentinel over a downtown
shopping area about to go to sleep for the night. Nearby restaurants like
Zelda's and Schwangau would open for business, but here, on what the locals
dubbed Tourist Street, the shops were closed and only a smattering of cars
remained.

Samantha loved their little downtown, its park with the gazebo
and multitude of flower beds, its cobbled streets edged with quaint shops, the
mountains standing guard over it. Normally this time of year the mountains would
have worn a thick blanket of snow, and both cross-country and downhill skiers,
as well as snowboarders, would be in town for the weekend, shopping, eating in
the restaurants, enjoying the little outdoor skating rink and admiring the
Bavarian architecture. But these days there were few visitors. It had been a
lean year for snow. Heck, it had been a lean year, period, and several
once-thriving shops were now shuttered.

Businesses going under—don't even think
about that.

Too late. That was all it took to make her angry once more
about her own company's troubles and she had to remind herself that her world,
unlike her mother's, had not come to an end. Somehow she'd manage to pull the
business from the brink but Mom would never have her husband back. This was the
second one she'd lost in five years. What was that like, to be in love and happy
and lose it all not once but twice? Samantha thought back to her own romantic
troubles and realized she had no point of reference. She could only imagine.

She needed to be a supportive daughter, lock any negative
thoughts inside her head and keep her big mouth shut.
Mouth
shut, mouth shut, mouth shut.
She chanted it for the last several
steps to her car. Then she got in, closed the door and said it one more time.
“Mouth shut.” Okay. She was ready.

She got to the house to find Cecily starting a fire in the big
stone fireplace, the sound of crackling cedar already filling the great room.
Bailey was arranging cards along the mantelpiece where Waldo's ashes reposed in
a brass urn, while in the kitchen Mom made tea. The plate of lemon bars sat on
the granite countertop. It was a regular postwake party.

Bailey turned at the sound of the door and knocked the urn,
making it wobble and their mother gasp. Fortunately, Cecily grabbed it before it
could tip.

“Sorry,” Bailey said.

Mom shot a look heavenward. “Put him on the hearth, honey.”

Cecily nodded solemnly and moved Waldo to safety.

Samantha shed her coat and hung it in the closet, then forced
herself to walk to the kitchen and ask her mother if she needed help.

Mom shook her head, her gaze riveted on the mugs lined up in
front of her on the counter. “Would you like some tea?”

The offer came out stiffly. No surprise. The way they'd been
not getting along lately, she could almost envision her mother lacing hers with
arsenic. “No. Thanks.”

She suddenly longed for the comfort of her little one-bedroom
condo at the edge of town, where she'd find no emotional undercurrents and the
new man in her life would be waiting to welcome her—Nibs, her cat. Everyone
would be fine here without her. Mom had Cecily and Bailey to keep her company
and listen to her Waldo stories. And they could do it guilt-free.

“I think I'll take off.”

“Stay for a little while,” Mom said.

Or not.
Samantha nodded and went to
slump on the couch.

“Tea is ready,” Mom announced. Cecily and Bailey both picked up
their mugs and returned to join their sister, Cecily taking up a position on the
couch next to Samantha and Bailey settling on the hearth beside Waldo.

Mom followed and sat on the yellow leather chair she always
read in. She took a sip of her tea, then set the mug on the coffee table, laid
back her head and sighed deeply. “I just want you girls to know how much I've
appreciated the moral support. I still can't wrap my mind around the fact that
Waldo is gone.”

“He'll be missed,” Bailey said.

“Yes, he will,” Mom agreed, giving Samantha a look that dared
her to say any different.

No way was she taking that dare. “I need a lemon bar,” she
muttered.

“Never mind that. Let's get the hard stuff,” Cecily said.
“Break out the chocolate.”

But there wasn't so much as a shaving of chocolate in the
house. Mom had gone on a binge. So Bailey stayed with her while Samantha and
Cecily made a run to the shop.

Sweet Dreams Chocolate Company occupied prime real estate a few
streets back from Center Street on a block the locals nicknamed Foodie Paradise.
Across from them was Gingerbread Haus, Cassandra Wilkes's fantasy bakery,
specializing in fanciful baked goods. At Christmas she was swamped with orders
for her gingerbread houses and shipped them all over the world. Next to that was
the Spice Rack, which carried every exotic spice known to man. Every time the
door opened, the scent of lavender or sage drifted out to tickle noses and tempt
shoppers inside, and whenever she was in town Bailey practically lived there. On
the other side of Gingerbread Haus sat Bavarian Brews, where everyone went to
chitchat and indulge in great coffee—very convenient when Samantha needed a
quick pick-me-up. Down the street they could see Schwangan's, a five-star
restaurant and another popular destination. Its owner and head chef, Franz
Reinholdt, made a mean schnitzel.

The Sterlings had the biggest piece of land, though—so far,
anyway—and an inspiring view, with their second-story offices looking down on
the town from one side and out over the Wenatchee River from the other. The
factory and retail store occupied a full block. The warehouse, part of the
company's pre-Waldo expansion, occupied another. It should have been full of a
lot more supplies and inventory than it currently was. Sigh.

Samantha unlocked the store, flipped on the light and turned
off the alarm as Cecily strolled in.

“Sometimes I miss this place,” Cecily said, taking in the gift
shop with its various shelves and display tables of treats. There was plenty to
drool over—goodie bags of enrobed fruit, chocolate-dipped apples, potato chips
and cookies, boxes of mixed chocolates, gift boxes of salted caramels, cognac
truffles made from Great-grandma Rose's secret recipe, fudge and hot fudge
sauces (Mom's contribution to the line) that ranged from spicy Mexican to
chocolate mint. Over in the corner under the TV that played a video feed of the
gang in the factory hard at work, shoppers could find all manner of nonedible
goodies, including candy dishes, chocolate scented candles, little kitchen signs
with chick-centric statements like “The Best Kisses Are Chocolate” and “I'd Give
Up Chocolate but I'm No Quitter.”

“You can take the girl out of the chocolate company but you
can't take the chocolate out of the girl,” Samantha teased, snagging a box of
truffles and walking over to the cash register. “Have you got any money? All I
have on me is a five.” And she was lucky to have that.

Her sister looked at her in shock. “Since when do we have to
pay?”

“Since we went broke.” Samantha held out a hand, palm up.

Cecily frowned and dug out her wallet. “I have to pay for
chocolate from my own company? This sucks.”

“Welcome to my world.”

“Keep the change,” Cecily said, and handed over a twenty.

“Thanks. I will.”

“It really is bad, isn't it?”

“No,” Samantha said firmly. Maybe if she said it enough she'd
believe it.

As a little girl she'd loved hearing the stories of how
Great-grandma Rose started the company in her kitchen, of the recipes that
literally came to her in her dreams, how she and her husband, Dusty, used their
life's savings to buy this piece of land and build a modest shop back when
Icicle Falls was nothing but a rough-and-tumble collection of mismatched
buildings. Sweet Dreams wasn't just a company. It was a family legend. It was
also a source of income for thirty families and she was going to pull them out
of this tailspin no matter what it took.

Cecily leaned on the counter and gave her an assessing stare.
“Are you lying to me?”

“Yes, but things could be worse. We still have inventory.”
Samantha stowed away the money, then opened the box, pulled out a truffle and
popped it in her mouth. It hit her taste buds like a drug and she let the
sweetness travel over her tongue. She could almost feel a troupe of endorphins
doing a happy dance through her body. A girl could bite off even the biggest
challenge if it was coated in chocolate.

“So what are we going to do besides eat the inventory?” Cecily
asked.

Cecily had been the one dissenting voice way back when they'd
talked about taking out a loan and expanding the company, ignoring both
Samantha's charts and Dad's confidence. At the time Samantha had accused her of
a lack of vision.

That was both ironic and stupid, she now had to admit, since
Cecily had uncanny instincts. In high school she could always sense a surprise
quiz lurking around the corner, and she knew when her sisters were going to
break up with their boyfriends long before they ever had a clue. After Dad died,
she'd predicted Mom would be remarried within the year. She'd only been off by a
few months.

But when it came to business Samantha had prided herself on her
expertise and bulldozed over all objections, dreaming big and ready to gamble
big, and Dad had backed her. Now, between her ambition and the disaster that was
Waldo, she was in danger of losing big. Her father's confidence had been sadly
misplaced. Suddenly the box of truffles was looking all wavy, like they were
underwater. She blinked and a tear dropped on the counter.

She felt a hand on her shoulder. “Hey, it's okay,” Cecily said.
“You'll sort things out. I know you will.”

Samantha rolled her eyes. “Do you really believe that or are
you trying to make me feel good?”

“A little of both. Meanwhile, though, maybe you could talk to
Arnie over at the bank, see what he can do?”

“Arnie's on his way out.”

Cecily blinked. “What?”

“I heard Cascade Mutual is bringing in a new manager. I have no
idea what that person will be like.” Maybe he'd turn out to be as nice as Arnie.
She could hope. But realistically, she suspected that the good old days of
having a community bank that cared were gone. Arnie had cared a little
too
much, which had a lot to do with why the bank was
under new management.

Cecily twirled a lock of blond hair. “Maybe I could get a
loan.”

“No,” Samantha said. “We could be on the
Titanic
here and if we are, I don't want you going down with
us.”

“We're family and this is a family business. We stick together.
Remember?”

“Thanks.” Her sister's words were comforting, but when it came
right down to it, Samantha was both captain and crew of this ship and steering
clear of disaster was going to be her responsibility.

“I'm sure I could come up with something,” Cecily insisted.

L.A. was not a cheap place to live and do business, and
Samantha had no intention of saddling her sister with a big chunk of debt.
Anyway, Cecily would never be able to come up with the kind of money they
needed. “I'll manage.”

“You always do, but I just want you to know that you don't have
to do this alone. After all, I still owe you for stealing your diary,” Cecily
said with a smile.

Samantha couldn't help smiling, too, at the memory of finding
her sister reading her deepest twelve-year-old thoughts to her friends. Pretty
darned funny now. Not so much at the time. “You were lucky you lived to see
middle school.”

Cecily sobered. “I want to do something to earn my share of the
profits when they start coming in again.”

“If I think of something, I'll let you know,” Samantha told
her, but they both knew she didn't really mean it. She'd already had one
person—Waldo—“helping” and that was enough for a lifetime.

Cecily reopened the box and bit into a truffle, then offered
another to Samantha. “I know things will turn around.”

“I hope you know as much as you think you know,” Samantha said.
Otherwise… Oh, no. She wasn't going down that rocky road. Not yet, anyway.