Sweet Somethings (Samantha Sweet Mysteries) (19 page)

She let the big mixer stir the
brownie batter.

Several people had come looking
for Carinda—Sam tried to remember who all they were. There had been a run-in between
Farrel O’Hearn and Carinda, but Sam had considered it minor. Farrel’s big
competition was Danielle, so that was the battle that had stuck in Sam’s mind.
Of course, there was the fact that Farrel and Carinda had been wearing such
similar dresses . . . Had she mentioned that to Beau, on the theory that Farrel
might have been the real intended victim? She should say something to him when
she got home.

Brownies into the oven, Sam
started on the recipe for her Triple Chocolate Kahlua Torte.

Looking at this case from another
angle, who had access to the murder knife? Early Friday morning, it had been
with Bentley Day’s props in that box under the judges’ table. Carinda herself
had shown it to Sam. And afterward? Carinda might have taken it from the box,
thinking she should carry it upstairs to Bentley for when he made his grand
entrance. A possibility.

What about the other vendors? The
closest booths to the dais were Harvey’s, Sam’s, Farrel’s and Susan Sanchez,
one of the finalists in the contest. Of those, it kept coming back to Farrel as
the one with the most grievance against Carinda. It would have been fairly
simple for her to watch for a lull around the dais when no one else was
present, stroll over there and duck behind the table for a moment. The knife wouldn’t
have been exactly inconspicuous, but many of the bakers had knives on the
premises for slicing cakes. No one would have necessarily thought twice about
someone carrying one around.

She poured the cake batter into
round pans. The timer on the brownies showed only a few more minutes.

Of course, the fact that anyone
could quietly carry a knife around, anywhere near the festival, pretty much
opened the list of suspects right back up again. Face it—anyone could have done
this.

Brownies came out of the oven,
torte layers went in. They were thin enough to bake quickly, so Sam used the
time to wash utensils. In the morning she could whip out a few batches of
cookies and make frosting for the brownies and the torte. Being Sunday, she
would have the place to herself.

The chair at her desk looked
inviting—just for a few minutes to get off her feet—but exhaustion was setting
in and it would be too easy to rest her head on her arms and end up sleeping there
half the night. She kept moving.

At last the timer dinged for the
torte layers. Ten more minutes before she could remove them from the pans, so she
used that opportunity to organize space in the fridge for storage. When
everything was neatly stashed away, she headed home.

Her eyelids felt heavy during the
final few miles and she nearly missed the driveway turn.
I have to get some rest
. Pulling the van in beside Beau’s personal
SUV she got out and saw that the dogs were waiting for her on the porch. Her
heart tugged a little—how nice that simple thing was, to be greeted with wags
and excitement.

Nellie, the border collie, rubbed
against Sam’s legs when she stopped to give each of them some attention. Beau
must have heard her vehicle; he opened the front door.

She stood up and started toward
him, and that’s when she smelled smoke. Faint and distant, but distinctly the
smell of burning vegetation. She turned toward Beau.

“Yeah,” he said. “The fire’s still
burning north of here. Wind’s carrying the smoke right toward us.”

Chapter
16

The bedcovers felt so good. Sam
snuggled in closer to Beau, relishing the afterglow of predawn sex. They’d
fallen into bed last night, both too tired for anything but a lazy goodnight.
But somewhere around four, he reached for her and the timing was just right.
Now, she wanted nothing more than to stay exactly where she was for the next
two days.

That wouldn’t happen, of course.
The excitement of the chocolate festival was wearing off but the duty to be
there had not yet gone away. One of her recommendations to the Chamber folks—if
they planned to do this again—would be to make it a one-day event. Catch
everyone at the peak of enthusiasm and end it while they still wanted more.
Just her opinion.

There was also the real
possibility there might not be another festival at all. The murder was still
making the news and more than once had been linked to the festival because of where
it happened and Carinda’s involvement with the committee. She drifted back to
sleep almost hoping that the event would vanish for all time.

She woke to Beau’s nudging.

“Sam? The alarm didn’t go off.
It’s nearly seven,” he whispered against her neck.

“Seven!” Almost a record sleep-in
for her, these past two years. She sat upright, her heart pounding.

Spitting toothpaste into the sink,
she forced herself to calm down. There wasn’t that much yet to do at the
bakery. She would be better off to think clearly and get the work done; even
with cookies, brownies and a torte to finish she would still make it to the
hotel by ten for the opening.

She walked into the ballroom at 9:57,
in time to see Rupert put down the microphone after giving the usual morning
pep rally and with enough time that she and Becky easily filled the display
with the new items before people had drifted up to their booth. A glance around
the room showed that most of the other vendors were present—only a few had
completely given up the show, and for the most part the empty spaces had been
put to good use with tables and chairs where folks could sit for awhile to
enjoy coffee or tea with their dessert.

Despite the fact that Sam really
just wanted this day to be over, she was glad to see that others were still on
their toes to make it a quality event for the crowd. She and Becky did a brisk
business in scones, muffins and coffeecake for awhile, then Kelly showed up.

“I never thought I would say this,
but the smell of sugary things has no appeal at all for me today,” she said to
her mother. “What do you say to a real breakfast with eggs and bacon and
everything? Right here in the restaurant—I’ll buy.”

Sam looked toward Becky, who said,
“I had exactly that at home before I came. It did hit the spot—you guys go. I
can handle things here.”

An assessment of the room showed
much thinner crowds than the previous two days. Becky could surely manage.

“Call me if you’re swamped. I can
come right back,” Sam told her assistant.

A long buffet had been set up in
the Bella Vista’s restaurant, Sunday brunch in place of menu service. Sam
filled a plate with protein and fruit.

“I really am reaching my
saturation point with sweets and crowds and people in general,” she said
quietly to Kelly after they’d found a table beside a divider that partially
screened it from the rest of the room. “Between the thousand and one hippies
next door, the whole to-do over Carinda, and constantly having to smile while
selling cheesecake slices . . . I’m ready for a break.”

“Take one, Mom. You and Beau
should book a trip and get away for awhile.”

Sam laughed. “Well, a trip isn’t
going to happen. He’s tied up with this case—who knows how long that will
take—and I know he won’t leave the ranch until the band of flower children go
away. He’s nervous as a bird about having that many of them around.”

“How long will they stay?”

“Probably another month. Their
leader said they have a big thing set up for summer solstice.”

“No wonder Beau is antsy. At least
you get to be done with
your
big-crowd
event by the end of today.”

Kelly glanced around the room,
aware that others from the festival might be nearby. Sam peered over the
divider.

“Speaking of Carinda . . .See that
lady with her hair up in a clip?” Kelly asked. “Just leaving, bright turquoise
top?”

Sam nodded, although she only
caught a flash of the brilliantly colored shirt as the woman disappeared out
the door.

“I saw her here the other day,
too, kind of arguing with Carinda.”

Who
didn’t
argue with Carinda?

“It was something about money, is
all I really got from it. They were standing in the alcove right by the ladies
room and when I came around the corner they shut up really fast, like it was
none of my business.” She speared a strawberry and it dangled from her fork
while she talked. “Which it wasn’t. But it was funny to see the look on
Carinda’s face when she recognized me. I just ducked into the bathroom and
ignored her. They were gone when I came out, but it was the last time I ever
saw her—Carinda, I mean.”

Thinking of seeing someone for the
last time reminded Sam of Sarah Williams. She made a mental note to call the
nephew after breakfast and find out what time the funeral would be.

“Good omelet, Mom. You should get
one.” Kelly had taken the time to have the buffet’s chef make one fresh, while
Sam had piled the pre-made scrambled eggs on her own plate.

“It looks good. But I’m getting
full and I really should get back to Becky. Take your time to finish. I’ll
catch the tab up front.”

“No, you don’t. This was my
treat.”

Sam smiled at her daughter. It
wasn’t that long ago when Kelly had showed up after ten years away from home,
jobless and in debt trouble. She’d done a great job of turning all that around.

“Okay, next time it’s mine,” Sam
said.

Outside the restaurant she
remembered to phone Marc Williams. He sounded busy, the sounds of voices in the
background, but he told her that Sarah’s funeral would be at two o’clock
Tuesday. She stuffed her phone into her pocket and strolled slowly to the
ballroom. No sign of the woman Kelly had tried to point out. If she spotted
that turquoise blouse, Sam would try to speak to her. This would be someone
else that Beau’s men should question.

Booth sales seemed a bit slow, not
only at the Sweet’s Sweets location. Sam offered Becky a break if she wanted
it.

“Nah, I’m fine. Today’s hot item
seems to be the torte you brought this morning. Not as much cheesecake.”

It was always a guessing game,
trying to figure out what to prepare the most of. At least cheesecake could go
into the fridge and would last another day. Cookies and brownies were always
welcomed at the homeless shelter and Sam could easily make a run by there at
the end of the festival.

The next two hours dragged by. It
was far easier to have the booth surrounded by impatient crowds and to be
rushing around filling orders than to sit idly by and deal with a trickle of
business. Sam signaled to Rupert when he stopped at Harvey’s booth for ice
cream.

“Do you suppose we could liven
things up a bit?” she whispered to him. “Even Bentley Day yelling ‘chop-chop’
would be better than standing here twiddling our thumbs.”

“Hang on to your hat, honey. Kelly
scheduled a series of radio spots that started at twelve. We want this thing to
go out with a bang, so the raffle drawings are going to begin in another
fifteen minutes. I’ll space them out to keep people around until the judges
make the big announcement at a quarter of two. When the prizes are announced, KVSN
will be here to cover it live and a reporter and photographer from the
Gazette
are coming for it too.”

“I truly did not mean to doubt
you,” she said, squeezing his arm. He seemed to have forgiven her for
yesterday’s law enforcement questioning.

Ask and you will receive
, Sam thought as she looked up to see that
the corridor outside the ballroom was already more crowded than just a few
minutes ago.

Rupert picked up the microphone
and gave a toss of his silver hair.

“Ladies and gentlemen . . .
welcome to the final day of Sweet Somethings, the day when these five beautiful
cakes now on display at the judges’ table face the test of taste and beauty.
Three prizes will be awarded, three of our fabulous bakers will go home with
prize money and the acclaim of being winners in the First Sweet Somethings
Chocolate Festival!”

Applause rose from the audience,
even though only a handful had actually gravitated to the front of the dais at
this point.

Sam couldn’t believe she had walked
right past the five finalists’ cakes without really taking note of them; she
nearly always checked out other bakers’ creations. From her position in the
booth, though, she could only see a yellow daisy sticking up from the top of
one cake and a complicated-looking tangle of chocolate shapes on another. Just
as she started to step out of the booth to take a look, four customers
approached at once.

“Our judges will be announcing the
winners in a little over an hour,” Rupert continued. “For now, don’t forget to
come forward and take a good look at the five cakes then cast your ballot for
the People’s Choice Award. The cake with the most votes from our festival
audience wins a special prize.”

Sam wouldn’t have minded competing
for that one. In her quest for publicity for the festival, Kelly had convinced
the local newspaper publisher to feature the People’s Choice winner on the
cover of their summer tourist magazine, along with a story about the winning
baker. Sam couldn’t have afforded to pay for that kind of advertising for
Sweet’s Sweets—the free publicity could have been invaluable. Alas, for
appearance’s sake, as head of the festival committee she had disqualified
herself. Darn it.

Rupert picked up the fishbowl of
ticket stubs and drew someone’s name for a door prize. The throng continued to
grow and Sam and Becky began madly bagging orders. She had no idea how much
time had passed when she became aware that Bentley Day had taken over the MC
duties.

“G’day, Taoseños!” he announced,
giving away his New Mexico heritage by actually pronouncing the word correctly.
“The time is here! We judges have made our decision. If you’ve not cast your
ballot for the People’s Choice, you have five minutes to bring it up here and
put it in this.” He held up a box which had been wrapped in
Qualitätsschokolade
logo paper.