Sweet Somethings (Samantha Sweet Mysteries) (11 page)

Beau’s right eyebrow went up. Sam
had no idea whether Moondoggie knew what he was talking about but calculated
that the answer to Beau’s question was that the group intended to stay at least
a couple more weeks.

Beau took a different tack. “There’s
a lot of trash blowing around on the ground and I don’t see any toilets. Plus,
you do realize that your group is subject to the same fire restrictions that
are in effect throughout the state and county? You’ve got to keep your
campfires contained within dirt or stone pits and allow a minimum thirty feet
of bare earth around each one.”

“Quite so. We want only the best
for our Mother Earth.” Moondoggie’s beneficent expression took on a harder edge,
just a touch. “We do have a contractual right to be here upon this place. Mr.
Mulvane was quite agreeable.”

“He says he has not received the
balance of payment that the contract calls for. Based on that fact, you would
be in breach of contract and he can ask that you vacate.”

Moondoggie reached into a deep
pocket within the folds of his loose pants and pulled out a wad of cash.

“The payment will be made this evening.
We are completely legal.”

“I’m sure the landowner will
appreciate that. Meanwhile, just be aware that my department will check back
now and then, making sure the trash is contained and the sanitation situation
has been addressed properly.”

“Properly . . .” Moondoggie’s gaze
drifted skyward, a silent prayer for the obtuseness of the law, most likely.

Beau scanned the encampment. Nothing
seemed to pose a threat at the moment so there wasn’t much else he could do. He
reminded the hippie leader to be sure he paid Mulvane the money they owed, then
he and Sam walked back to the cruiser.

“I hope the next three weeks go
uneventfully,” Sam said as Beau pulled onto the highway.

“I didn’t get the impression they
were necessarily leaving right after their big peace rally. They could end up
staying the whole summer. Mulvane was a fool for not specifying a termination
date to that contract. He’s basically given them access for as long as they
want to stay.”

“Well, that makes my current
headaches seem like nothing at all. At least this festival will be done and gone
in three more days. End of story, and I won’t volunteer for another one, that’s
for sure.”

Beau pointed toward their favorite
pizza place, just ahead, and when Sam nodded he turned in. They took a table by
the windows and ordered what seemed like the lightest thing on the menu.

“Don’t let me eat much tonight. I
have a feeling I’ll be sampling chocolate
everything
for the next few days. You should at least come by and try some things, Beau.
Each vendor will choose his or her best item and submit it anonymously to the
judging panel. We’ve got a couple of prominent locals and one actual celebrity
from Hollywood.”

“It almost sounds like fun,” he
admitted, “but you’ve already told me too much about the battles between those
women on your committee. Hyped up on chocolate . . . I can only imagine the
carnage. I’d better stick with my usual, and hope that I don’t have anything
much more serious than some speeding tickets to hand out.”

They finished their pizza and went
home for an early bedtime. Although the doors for the festival wouldn’t open
until ten the next morning, Sam knew there were still a hundred details to
attend to. She set her alarm for her usual four-thirty.

* *
*

Becky and Jen, both looking a
little haggard at this extra-early hour, met her at Sweet’s Sweets at six
o’clock. They would help her load the van and stock their booth, then Jen would
return to make sales all day in the shop. Becky and Sam could run the booth
and, with luck, take custom orders and add a lot of new customers to their
regular clientele.

Sam had made two ambitious
creations for display: a bathtub-shaped cake, complete with claw feet and gold
trim, spilling over with edible gelatin ‘bubbles’ in pale pink and a
traditional wedding cake covered in sleek, pale-lavender fondant with trim of
rose-gold beading and delicate miniature garden flowers in all shades of
purple. She had to admit that they were two of her finest examples. If someone
wanted to buy either of them, she would insist they pick them up at the end of
the event. A flashy ‘Sold’ sign would surely instill urgency in the minds of
other customers.

“I think I pretty well sorted the
festival goodies from what we normally need in the shop,” Becky said. “The top
two shelves in the fridge are what we need to load into the van.”

“Check everything, though, just to
be sure,” Sam suggested as she stepped into the big walk-in. “It would be a
mess if we sold slices of someone’s birthday cake.”

They worked quickly to fill the
van before the day began to warm up. Jen followed in her car as Sam led the way
to the hotel. Already, two other vehicles were in the loading zone. Harvey
Byron apologized for taking extra space but his ice cream was even more fragile
than Sam’s frostings. At least the others were moving as quickly as possible
and soon it was Sam’s turn.

The sun began to fully hit the
parking lot as they were wheeling the last stack of boxes through the garden
and into the corridor by the ballroom.

“I’ll move your van over by those
trees,” Jen said, “then I’m on my way back to open the shop. Good luck—or is
that break-a-leg or something?”

Sam laughed. “Let’s hope nothing
gets broken. Call me if you need anything, although I’m sure you and Julio can
handle it fine.”

“It’ll probably be slow. I think
everyone in town will be over here.”

“We sold more than a thousand
advance tickets, and people can still get theirs at the door.” Even as she said
it, Sam began to feel a little overwhelmed.

Carinda Carter rushed toward her
before Sam had gotten to the ballroom door.

“Bentley Day arrived last night! I
offered to act as his assistant.” She was practically quivering with this news.

Sam noticed that she was wearing a
blue dress that fit her slender body very well and her hair was freshly styled.
How Carinda looked really didn’t matter, Sam decided; at least she seemed in a
decent mood at the moment.

“I’ve checked in with our
celebrity already this morning,” Carinda said, “to be sure he had a good
night’s sleep.”

Poor guy.

“I suggested that he come down
soon to meet all the contestants, but he seemed a little out of sorts and
wanted more time over his coffee.”

Sam couldn’t imagine anyone
not
being out of sorts if the first
voice they heard in the early morning was Carinda’s. She merely nodded and
headed into the ballroom.

“I got the impression he wants to
primp a little and then make a grand entrance,” Carinda was saying, trotting
along beside Sam. “But I did offer to bring his props downstairs ahead of time.
See? Even his famous chef’s knife.”

She tugged at Sam’s sleeve and
directed her attention to a box beneath the skirted table at the judging stand.
A white cloth chef’s hat lay atop several other items—who knew what little
egocentric things a reality TV star would carry with him? Probably photos he
could hand out to fans and cards with his phone number for the extra pretty
ones. While Carinda was absorbed in her own importance as Bentley Day’s
assistant, Sam walked toward her own booth to help Becky finish setting out
their products.

“Only a hour before the doors open
to the crowds,” Becky said, shifting a tray of brownies forward in the display
case to make room for the boxed chocolate pueblos. “Do you really think people
will be gobbling down all this chocolate at ten in the morning?”

“Well, we sell a lot of it to the
midmorning coffee crowd at the shop.”

“Coffee! We should have brought—”

“I think Java Joe has that
covered,” Sam said. She had actually thought of bringing carafes of her
signature blend, but the local coffee shop had a huge following so why not let
him do all the work?

Voices rose near Farrel O’Hearn’s
booth and Sam glanced up to see Danielle Ferguson standing there. Farrel had
her back to Sam but the tension in her shoulders was evident and the way her
head bobbed as she spoke emphasized that the words must be emotional.
If I have to step in and separate you two
again . . .
Sam gritted her teeth.

In the booth next to Sam’s, Nancy
Nash glanced up briefly but went back to pouring ice cream syrup from a bottle
into a small crockery cooker. Sam felt her eyes go wide. Was this the super-special
recipe Nancy’s family loved so much—strawberries dipped in plain bottled syrup?
Nancy caught her looking and turned away to stash the bottle out of sight.

Danielle had moved on, her spiky
blonde hair bobbing as she walked toward her own booth.

“Okay, I have officially had it
with that woman,” Rupert said, startling Sam as he edged in close, approaching
from the opposite direction from where she’d been looking.

“Danielle or Farrel?”

“Carinda! She’s out there in the
corridor ordering the two volunteer ladies around. All they have to do is take
tickets and Carinda is acting as if she’s the only person in the world who
could handle it.”

“So, let her. Let her handle
everything and see how quickly she cries for help,” Becky offered.

Sam piped up. “You know what—she’s
not worth it. Don’t let yourself get in a twist, Rupert.”

“All I can say is that she better
stay out of my way. I’ve offered to MC this thing but I don’t have to take
orders from Miss Skinny Britches over there.”

As if she’d been summoned, Carinda
came through the wide doorway and headed straight for Sam’s booth. Rupert
scooted past Nancy’s spot and kept on going. Sam saw him make a wide circle of
the room and go into the corridor at the east end near the kitchen.

“The mandatory vendor meeting is
supposed to start in fifteen minutes,” Carinda stated abruptly. “I think it
would be a good idea if Bentley Day were present—you know, to meet the
contestants, give everyone a little cheerio, good wishes and all.”

Mandatory meeting?
Sam glanced at the printed schedule, which had
fallen to the floor under her table. It did say that all vendors should be set
up no later than nine forty-five; how did that turn into a mandatory meeting?

“So anyway, I’ll run upstairs,
give Bentley a little nudge and bring him down.” Carinda was off before Sam
could say anything.

“I swear, she’s the most
irritating person,” Becky said under her voice. Strong words, coming from the
usually mellow Becky. “I’m still trying to figure out why she thinks she has to
report every little thing to you, and yet she goes ahead and acts on her own
anyway.”

Good question. Sam took a deep
breath. A glance around the room showed that Danielle Ferguson had not returned
to her booth yet and Farrel O’Hearn was also out of sight, hopefully not tracking
Danielle and making that situation even worse. It was going to be a very long
weekend.

She turned her attention to
finishing the Sweet’s Sweets display, arranging rows of cookies and slices of
cheesecake. The girls had insisted she include her secret recipe amaretto
cheesecake, even though it contained no chocolate—her regular customers would
expect to see it and she couldn’t afford to pass up that many word-of-mouth
recommendations. They placed the two showpieces—the bathtub cake and the
purple-themed wedding cake—on pedestals at each end of the booth, then Sam
stepped out to the aisle to give their display a final perusal.

“Looks good,” she said, checking
the time.

They should do a few announcements
and introduce the judges before the doors opened. Already she could hear the
low buzz created by a sizeable crowd coming from the hotel lobby and the end of
the corridor the other side of their ticket table. Where was Bentley Day?
Carinda had gone to get him more than twenty minutes ago.

She scanned the room but didn’t
spot either of them. All the vendors were in their booths, making a few final
touches or just relaxing with coffee before the bombardment. Check that—Farrel O’Hearn’s
assistant was alone in her booth. Danielle was back now and by the look on her
face, the two of them may have had another altercation; the buxom blonde seemed
agitated, with two spots of color on her cheeks that were visible even across
the length of the large room.

Sam walked to the double doors
opening into the hall and peered out. The two young ticket takers were chatting
nervously at the sight of the crowd but there was no sign of Carinda or
Bentley.

Back at the dais, the other two
judges—the mayor’s wife and police chief’s wife—were in their seats, looking a
little unsure about what they should be doing. Rupert bustled past them and
walked up to Sam.

“We better take over this thing,”
he whispered. “You start with whatever information you want the vendors to
know. Then I’ll introduce the judges. If Mr. Day isn’t here by then . . . well,
everyone knows who he is anyway.”

Sam went with him and picked up
the microphone. A few words about sticking to the schedule, and about preparing
their contest entries.

“Someone from the committee will
come around to pick up your entry. Use the generic white plate that was
provided in your packets and be sure to include the little numbered tag also.
All entries are anonymous, so it’s a fair contest for everyone. There are nice
prizes on the line and we want to be sure every aspect of the judging is done
fairly.”

She handed over the mike to Rupert
who introduced the two lady judges and announced that Bentley Day would be
joining them shortly.

“And now, Mrs. Mayor, would you
please officially open the festival?”

The dark-haired woman beamed, clearly
comfortable with speaking to a crowd as her beautiful smile and stylish
clothing had been a big reason for her husband’s election to the town’s top
office after a series of political rallies last fall. She welcomed everyone,
made a joke about how much weight she would probably gain this weekend, and
ended with, “Let the chocolate begin!”