Sweet Somethings (Samantha Sweet Mysteries) (4 page)

At a commercial break halfway
through, Sam set her salad aside and called Rupert.

“Seriously? This Bentley Day
person is obnoxious and foul-mouthed. We can’t have him at the chocolate
festival. We’re hopelessly small-town polite here. He’d never fit in.”

“Samantha, dear, all that stuff on
TV is scripted. The accent, the language . . . it’s all written down and he’s
merely acting the part.”

“Yeah, but if the point is to
bring a celebrity chef here as one of our judges, won’t people expect him to be
the same character they see on his show?”

“We’ll write him a script that
leaves out the f-words, okay? With the Aussie accent and wearing his
Killer Chef
white coat, he’ll still be a
big hit. Besides, I’ve already gotten his mother to tell him that he
will
do this.”

“If you say so . . .” Sam didn’t
even try to keep the skepticism out of her voice.

“Trust me, dear heart.”

He hung up and she went back to
the show. Muting the volume helped some, and the segment where a food fight
began in the kitchen only moments before the dishes were to be judged actually
added enough tension to keep her eyes firmly on the screen. When the next
episode began, Sam turned off the set. She knew how this worked. If she watched
three of them she would begin to feel for one of the contestants—probably the
young girl who seemed so browbeaten by Bentley—then in another episode or two
this girl would become the villain as she took up gossiping about her competition.
Eventually, one would begin to emerge as the ‘nice’ one and—ooh, surprise—by
the end of the season that person would be the winner and everyone in the land
would end up happy. Really. She’d watched Kelly sucker in for way too many of
these setups.

She called Rupert again as she
walked into the kitchen. “In addition to striking our celebrity’s colorful
language, please be sure that he understands there are to be no food fights and
no pretending to get sick on any of the entries. He has to behave himself,
start to finish.”

She put her dinner plate into the
dishwasher.

Rupert started to say he would
handle it but Sam found herself distracted by the sound of tires on gravel out
front. A moment later the front door opened, closed sharply, and Beau’s boots
stomped across the room. She told Rupert goodbye and walked into the living
room.

“What’s up?” Sam asked when she
saw Beau standing by the wide French doors that faced the back deck.

“I can’t believe it!” He stared
into the deepening dusk. “Old man Mulvane is letting them in—just like that!”

“Them?” Sam’s mind hadn’t quite
left the
Killer Chef
scene.

“And he wasn’t even going to tell
me! I found out because Max Rodriguez called awhile ago, when I was making the
salad for dinner.”

“I’m afraid I’m not really putting
all this together,” she said, standing beside him and leaning into his field of
view.

“Sorry.” He took a deep breath.
“Okay, you know that the property bordering us on the west is Max’s. The sixty
acres to the east belongs to old man—uh, Bruce—Mulvane.”

She nodded, although she’d barely
met either of the ranchers.

“So, Mulvane just gave permission
to the Flower People to use his land this year. Last year, up near Del Norte,
Colorado, over a thousand of them showed up and stayed two months; they overran
several neighboring farms and did so much damage that the landowners are still
trying to get restitution. That will never happen—these are the free-love,
free-everything types who don’t think anything should cost money. It’ll be a
miracle if they don’t cut our fences and ruin the grazing land the horses need.”

“Why on earth would Mulvane agree
to this?”

Beau shook his head and paced
across the room. “I was over there just now . . . I’ve been hearing that he’s
slipping a little.” He tapped the side of his head. “Thought I could talk him
out of it, but he had a contract.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, they may be
anti-establishment, but somebody in that group knows a bit about legalities.”

“What can you do about it?”

“I don’t know, but they’ll
probably start showing up this weekend.”

Chapter
4

Sam had no trouble waking up
Thursday morning at four-thirty. Beau had tossed and turned all night long. She
spent the morning at Sweet’s Sweets, going into high gear. While she cooked,
tempered and molded chocolate pueblos and flavored creams, Becky and Julio
worked to stock the shop for the next two days. Next week they would be baking triple
batches of cakes, brownies, cookies and cheesecakes.

“If the festival doesn’t bring in
huge crowds, we’ll have inventory to last until Christmas,” Becky said as she
helped Sam box up the chocolates.

“I sure hope not. I won’t exactly
be able to sell these as fresh beyond next week. We might have to brace
ourselves for an all-time big sale.”

“It’ll work out. Don’t worry.
Everyone in town
loves
your recipes.
They will turn out in droves.”

Speaking of droves, Sam thought of
Beau’s concern over cattle getting into his alfalfa fields if the invading
hippies should break down the fences. She knew he’d planned to go to the
courthouse this morning to see what he could legally do to keep them out. And as
long as her mind was on the subject of out-of-control situations, she
remembered that her unharmonious committee was set to meet at Carinda Carter’s
apartment this afternoon. She let out a sigh and tried to envision a day,
somewhere in the future, where all this drama would be a thing of the past.

Carinda had emailed her address to
everyone—a small set of duplexes on a quiet side street not far from Sam’s old
house where she’d lived for nearly thirty years before marrying Beau and moving
out to his ranch. Sam parked in one of the outer slots marked for visitors,
noting a few other familiar vehicles. She tucked her burgeoning file folder
under one arm and picked up the bakery box of sugar cookies she’d brought along
in hopes of keeping everyone happy.

The eight units formed a square
around a neatly landscaped patch of ground with colored lava rock for ground
cover and xeriscape plantings, some of the few things that were doing well in
the current drought. The back windows of each apartment faced the parking area,
while the front doors were accessed by walkways at each of the four corners of
the square. Sam found Carinda’s place by following the sounds of loud chatter.

“We should wait until Sam arrives
before we get into all this,” came Riki’s voice through the screen of the open
front door.

“Sam is here,” she announced,
holding out the box of cookies.

She stepped into a tiny living
room where Carinda had placed dining chairs and two plastic ones from her front
porch in order to accommodate everyone. So far, in addition to their hostess,
the group consisted of Riki and Kelly, Harvey Byron, and herself. Sam gave a
quick version of the reason Sarah would not be attending, an unsubtle way of
letting them know they would each need to absorb a few extra duties.

Rupert arrived with apologies for
being late, giving the tiny apartment and its rental-grade furnishings a
critical eye. Sam shot him a look and hoped Carinda didn’t notice. Not everyone
lived on the scale that Rupert indulged in.

“Okay, everyone, let’s get started
so we can all get home at a reasonable hour,” Sam began. “I understand that the
advertising materials have been sent to the printer?”

Carinda nodded. “I’ll have them
tomorrow. I can use some help to get them put up around town.” Without waiting
for volunteers she called upon Riki, with a withering look which hinted that the
groomer had done precious little so far.

Sam spoke up. “All of us have
businesses to run and our time is limited.”
Except
for you, Carinda
. She didn’t say it. “Let’s divide the posters equally and
each of us can be responsible for a few. Put them up in your own shops and
whatever other public places where they’re allowed.”

Riki sent Carinda a triumphant
little look. Sam went to the next item on her agenda.

“Harvey? Anything new with the
judges?”

“I’m happy to say that I’ve
confirmed two—the police chief’s sister and the mayor’s wife. They both seem
very excited about it, but I’m afraid I’m stumped for a third. But worst case,
I know I could get my brother to do it.” He blushed deeply. “Sorry, I didn’t
mean that would be the worst case at all—”

“It’s okay, Harvey. None of us
took it that way.” Sam glanced toward Rupert. “We actually have a lead on
someone—something of a nationally known face—that we might be able to get.
Rupert? Do we know anything more about that yet?”

“We’re all set.” He stood up to
make the announcement, having never forgotten his roots in theatre. “We, dear
committee members, will be graced by the presence of none other than Bentley
Day, star of
Killer Chef
.”

A couple of gasps went up, but Sam
was pleased to see Harv’s blank expression too. At least she wasn’t the only
person in town out of touch with reality TV.

Naturally, Kelly was one who
reacted. “Oh my gosh, Bentley Day! I wonder if he’ll bring that huge chef knife
he always carries around.”

Riki spoke up. “Oh, can’t you just
see him whacking into the cakes and pies with that thing—cutting out slices for
the judges to taste?”

“Oh, man, this will be great!”
Kelly said.

Riki, Rupert and Kelly, all fans
of the show, began trading best episode quips. Carinda, no longer the center of
attention, sat with her mouth clamped firmly shut, while Harvey and Sam seemed
to be the outsiders. Sam gave them a minute and then called everyone back to
attention.

“I need someone to contact Sarah’s
friends who were making decorations and find out how that’s coming along. The
deadline is next Thursday, and there should be a place where one of us can pick
up everything. I can use my bakery van for that, but I won’t have time to run
around to a dozen different women’s homes.”

Kelly looked up from her notepad.
“I’ll do it. Somewhere in my notes I think I jotted the names of those ladies.”
She flipped pages and Sam mentally checked one item off her list.

“The other thing is the venue. Sometime
in the next couple of days I’ll get out there and look over the layout, sketch
out a floor plan and figure out how the booths will be laid out. I’m hoping
vendors can begin setting up Thursday afternoon, since the gates open at ten
o’clock Friday morning. But I’ll go over all that with the hotel manager. Does
anyone else have questions or something to report that we haven’t covered?”

Carinda, to no one’s surprise,
spoke up. “If Bentley Day backs out, my offer still stands to be a judge.”

Rupert took a deep breath, ready
to rebut the insinuation that he’d chosen a flaky judge, but Sam beat him to
it. “Thank you, Carinda. We will certainly keep that in mind.”

“In fact, maybe it would be better
to have four judges anyway,” the woman went on.

“Carinda, what are you thinking?”
Rupert said. “Everyone knows that a judging must have an odd number, in case
there are ties. Bentley Day will be the perfect person to act as tie breaker
between two local, female judges. It’s all settled.” The way he crossed his arms
over his chest, along with the fact that several others were nodding, left no
room for discussion.

Carinda’s expression froze
somewhere between embarrassment and hatred as she stared at Rupert. Sam sent
her a faltering smile before glancing around the room and adjourning the
meeting.

“I’ll catch you later, Mom,” Kelly
said under her breath. She turned to Riki, who must have been her ride over
here from work.

Rupert swished one of his
signature purple scarves across his left shoulder, looked down his nose at
Carinda, and walked out.

Why does he have to do that? He can be such a diva sometimes.

Sam gathered her pages of notes
and looked up to see that everyone had cleared out quickly. Carinda clattered
dishes in the small kitchen alcove just off the living room.

“Sorry about that last bit,” Sam
said. “Here, why don’t you keep the rest of the cookies?” The box still felt
nearly as heavy as when she’d brought it, a testament to the tension among
those in the room. Rupert and Kelly alone would have normally polished off more
than half of them.

“No one appreciates my work, do
they?” Carinda said with a catch in her voice. “I try so hard and they really
don’t care.”

“It’s not that,” Sam said without
much conviction in her voice. “They just don’t know you.”

Nor did they want to, she
realized.

She heard a loud sniff and saw
tears trail down beside Carinda’s beak-like nose.
Oh boy
.

“I never seem to fit in, no matter
where I go. It was the same way in my own family—nobody really wanted me
there.”

Sam restrained a long sigh. She
so
badly did not want to be this woman’s
therapist.

“Carinda, your designs for all the
printed materials were wonderful. I’m sure you’ll impress the hell out of the
group when they see the finished product.” She spotted a box of tissues on an
end table and handed one over. “Don’t let Rupert’s attitude get to you. He’s
not usually that way . . . probably just having a bad day.”

“You think so?” Carinda blew her
nose loudly. The tears seemed to be waning.

“You’ll see. Planning things is
always a little tense but once the festival starts, it’ll be so much fun that
everyone will forget these little squabbles.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Sam knew this was her exit line.
Otherwise, Carinda would start to see them as all chummy and might do something
drastic like asking her to stay for dinner.