“So! I’ll go get my husband fed, and I’ll see you in a day or so, whenever you want to drop off those posters at my shop.” She beat a path around the side of the building and got her van in gear as fast as she could.
Beau wasn’t home when she arrived so she set about her plan for putting him back in a good mood. His favorite fried chicken, mashed potatoes and green beans—just the way his mother had always made for his birthday. Everything was nearly ready when he came in, and she gave him a glass of his favorite Scotch before putting the food on the table.
“I’m guessing by the look on your face that you didn’t accomplish much at the courthouse,” she said as she handed him the potatoes.
“I got a little lecture from the judge, along the lines of ‘don’t waste the court’s time with questions you already know the answers to’.”
“But you were just—”
“He was right. No law has actually been broken yet. I knew that. With that contract the Flower People have the right to go onto Mulvane’s land. Until they come onto our place they aren’t trespassing. Until they cause damage, they can’t be cited for that either.”
She reached out and squeezed his hand.
“If I were being called out to anyone else’s land this is exactly what I would have told them. I jumped the gun by going to the judge, so I guess I’m grumpy because he called me on it. He did drop the hint that it would be perfectly within my jurisdiction to post a couple of uniformed officers out here, to keep an eye on things and to catch them in the act if they get out of hand.” He sighed. “Like I have the manpower for that. I have one more approach to try, but it would have to involve a different judge.”
Sam nibbled at her chicken.
“And then there goes my whole weekend,” he said. “I had the days off, and I was planning to help you at the festival.”
“Really? You would do that?”
“It was a thought.” He smiled, the one that had originally made her fall in love.
“Well, play it by ear. Maybe the hippies won’t cause any trouble at all.”
Whether it was the fried chicken dinner or the kind words, Sam didn’t know. She did know that he was in an amorous mood later and they made it an early bedtime. When she woke up before her alarm the next morning, feeling unbelievably refreshed, she decided to get an early start at the bakery.
Two wedding cakes and eight dozen molded chocolates later, Sam looked up in surprise when Jen peered through the curtain from the sales room.
“A lady’s here, asking about someone on your festival committee . . . I think. I’m not really sure what she wants.”
Sam didn’t recognize the tall, blonde woman who stood in the front of the shop, eyeing the display of cakes in the front window. City dweller, was Sam’s first impression. Designer shoes with six-inch heels, a deep red dress that fit her slim body perfectly, a haircut and color job that had to have cost a couple hundred at least. No one in Taos dressed like that.
“Hi, Ms. Sweet? I’m Kaycee Archer.” She held out a hand with hundred dollar nails on it. No, definitely not from around here. “I’m sorry to interrupt your work, but I’m looking for someone that I believe is here in Taos.”
And I’m the logical person to have this information?
“I was told that she’s involved with an upcoming festival and that you’re the person heading it up. Her name’s Carinda Carter.”
“I do know her.”
“Wonderful! I need to contact her on another matter. I suppose you would have an address or phone number for her?”
Sam almost pulled out her phone to recite the number stored there but something held her back. For all she knew, this city slicker was selling insurance or cosmetics or something like that.
“If you’ll give me your card, I’ll be sure to pass it along to her when I see her again.”
Kaycee didn’t seem thrilled with that plan but she pulled a pen from the tiny purse hanging by a thin cord from her shoulder. She reached for a napkin near the cash register and scribbled a number on it. “Tell her the call will be financially beneficial to her.”
Hmm. Insurance, it was.
Sam took the napkin and watched the woman walk out and get into a nondescript sedan parked in front of the bookshop next door. She started to crumple the napkin but thought better of it. The decision wasn’t hers to make. Carinda could easily throw the saleslady’s number away herself.
“Nice shoes,” Jen said. “Completely impractical. But nice.” She gave that if-only-I-lived-in-a-city sigh that wasn’t uncommon around here.
Sam sent her a smile. “Since I’m out of the kitchen already, I think I’ll run out to the Bella Vista Hotel and go over some things with the manager. Carinda Carter may stop by with a stack of posters. She’s the skinny one with auburn hair. If so, you can give her this.” She plunked the napkin down by the register. “The posters can go in back, beside my desk, please.”
“No problemo,” Jen said with a smile. “You have fun out there.”
Sam gathered her backpack, her folder of notes pertaining to the vendors, along with a tape measure and blank notepad.
The Bella Vista Hotel had once been a Taos showplace, with a driveway that swept up to a sturdy adobe porte-cochere, acres of manicured lawns and ancient cottonwood trees that thrived on the moisture from the Rio Fernando running behind the property. The design was Southwest-meets-Art-Deco, where a lobby with high ceiling formed the perfect focal point as one approached. Two-story wings flanked this central feature, rooms designed so that each small balcony had privacy plus a view of either the river, the gardens or the woods.
Over the years motel chains had come to town, eclipsing the classy old grand dame with their closer proximity to the middle of town, plentifully mundane rooms and cheaper prices. The Bella Vista had gone through hard times but kept its integrity as a place for the genteel and the art set. In times past it had claimed such luminaries as Georgia O’Keefe and D.H. Lawrence as guests. Rupert, as a member of that crowd, had no doubt called in some kind of favor in order to get the owners to allow the chocolate festival. Sam couldn’t honestly remember there ever being such a public event here.
She parked in a lot that was discreetly screened from view by a row of high arbor vitae, consulted her notes and went in search of Auguste Handler, the manager. As it turned out, he stood behind the hotel’s front desk, watching over the shoulder of a young clerk as the girl typed at a keyboard. Handler could have been anywhere between thirty and fifty, with perfectly trimmed dark hair, a pudgy face, and impeccably aligned ultra-white teeth. His dark suit seemed more in line with the attire of a metro male lawyer than a small town manager in the hospitality field, but apparently the outfit was in keeping with the image the Bella Vista wanted to portray.
Sam introduced herself and didn’t merely imagine the critical glance directed toward her white baker’s jacket.
“I’d like to take some measurements in the ballroom,” she told him, “and maybe you can show me the outdoor area we’ll be using.”
“I will take you out to the gardens first,” he said, aiming his polite smile just a tad over her shoulder. Not exactly a warm and friendly kind of guy; maybe she should have brought Rupert with her to butter him up.
Handler led the way through a side door and down a cloistered walkway until they came to a wide, graveled path that bisected the spacious lawn.
“We must insist that foot traffic stay to the gravel and the walkways. It’s nearly impossible to keep a lawn intact in these dry conditions, much less one that has been trampled to oblivion.” He pointed to one narrow area where his criteria could be met.
Sam took in the layout, the sun directly overhead, the forbidden grassy spaces. To effectively guarantee that crowds of people wouldn’t trample the landscaping, they would need to erect fences or ropes and put up signs. This didn’t look promising.
“May I see the ballroom now?”
She followed him back to the heavy glass doors through which
they’d come, then down a wide corridor. He paused at a set of carved wood doors that were easily twelve feet tall and pushed inward on one of them. The deco theme was prevalent here with parquet floors, metal and glass wall sconces, massive pillars and art-glass chandeliers. She could practically see dancers in long, flowing skirts whirling to an orchestral waltz.
Pulling out her tape measure, she held it up. “Mind if I take some measurements?”
He spread his arms, palms upward, in a be-my-guest manner. “I will be at the desk, if you have any questions.”
Okay, she thought, stretching the tape along the north wall, where high windows were draped with gold silk swags. Making lines and jotting measurements on her notepad, she sketched out the rectangular room. Booths could easily line most of the four walls, except where exit doors came in on the south wall and a service door, probably to the kitchen, was tucked into a corner of the east wall. She could also place a row of vendors along the center of the room, with breaks for the large pillars.
The committee had planned on allowing forty vendors, wanting as much variety as possible and giving everyone who wanted to sell their products the chance to do so. No matter what she did, no more than twenty-five booths were going to fit into this room. She wandered back to the garden and stared out over the pathway and lawn. Overhead, the sun blazed down and Sam could envision chocolate creations running down the fronts of table skirts and onto the ground—customers buying nothing and unhappy vendors. A sure way for the festival to get bad reviews in the press and ill will from the populace. She felt a headache coming on.
Back inside, she contemplated the ballroom again. A standard booth size was normally ten feet wide, but if she reworked that a bit and tweaked the placement . . . She called Kelly.
“How many vendors are signed up so far?”
“Twenty-three, I think.” Pages rustled in the background. “Yep, that’s it.”
Sam stared at her sketch and made an executive decision. “Pull the ad calling for more, and tell anyone else who inquires that we’re full.”
Rather than taking on the agony of crowd control out there on the lawns, not to mention the grief she would get from vendors who didn’t like their choice of site—indoors or out—she could simply limit the number to however many she could crowd into this room. That would be it. Double-checking her measurements, she paced off the booths and was even able to allow for a space at the west end of the room where they could erect a small platform to use for presentation of the prizes. The sponsor, Qualitätsschokolade, would be pleased to have that area for its advertisements.
She reviewed the sketch and felt satisfied. She would need to sit down with Kelly and go over the specific applications, decide placement of each booth, but at least this was a great start.
She found Auguste Handler—as promised—at the front desk.
“I think I have it all worked out and we’ll only be using the ballroom, not the garden,” she told him. “I will need access early Thursday morning, so I can mark off the vendor spaces. The vendors will begin setting up from noon onward that day.”
He nodded, leaving a little expectant pause in the air.
“Ah, the check. I’ll just—” Sam rummaged in her bag.
Handler stood there with the composed patience of his class, while Sam scribbled out the amount Rupert had told her. As she was ripping the check from her checkbook her phone rang. She pushed the check across the desk, thanked Mr. Handler and walked toward the exit as she pulled out her phone, noting that the call was from Sweet’s Sweets.
Becky’s voice was shaking so badly Sam could barely understand her.
“The pueblos—for the festival—”
“What’s happened, Becky? Calm down.”
But the explanation was incoherent.
“Hang on. I can be there in fifteen minutes,” Sam said. She started her van and tried not to imagine too large a disaster awaiting her.
Chapter 5
Sam arrived at the bakery to find Julio working on one of the metal storage racks with a wrench, Becky sitting at Sam’s desk with a cup of tea and red-rimmed eyes, and Jen picking up decorating tools and broken ceramic wedding cake toppers. Becky’s eyes welled with tears when she saw Sam.
“Are you all right?” Sam rushed to her side and looked her over for injuries.
“I’m okay but I am so sorry! I don’t know what happened.”
Sam could pretty well figure it out. She’d been meaning to empty that rack and repair the shaky leg on it for some time. Since it meant unloading hundreds of little items and reorganizing the whole thing, she hadn’t yet found a minute to do it.
Becky set her tea aside and stood up. “I just reached for the plastic bin with the bottles of edible glitter but that shelf was a bit over my head. I should have stood on a stool. This is the worst of it.” She showed Sam the remains of the pueblo chocolates—some intact, many broken in pieces, lying among a litter of the small cardboard boxes in which they would have been sold.
A solid rock went to the pit of Sam’s stomach. All that work. At home she might have claimed the five-second-rule and picked them up, but there was no way she could sell these in her business. Her license would be gone in moments even though the bakery floor was probably cleaner than in most hospitals.
“Let’s see if any of the boxes can be salvaged,” she said. “Unfortunately, the chocolate has to go.”
A vision of the wooden box flashed through her head. In times past, faced with insurmountable deadlines, she had used its energy burst to perform some amazing things. But none of the employees knew that. She had to go carefully here.
“I’ll come in at night and help with it,” Becky pleaded. “Anything at all. I feel so awful.”
Sam faced her and put her hands on Becky’s shoulders. “It’s not your fault. I should have fixed that shelf a long time ago. And I shouldn’t have started stacking the chocolates there. I could have found a safer place.”
Tears spilled down her assistant’s face.
“Listen—it’s fine. I’ve really got the recipe down pat now so I can remake them in a lot less time. Do not worry! I mean it.”
Julio set down his wrench and gave the leg of the shelf a couple of good tugs. Sam went to his side and the two of them set the shelving unit upright. She gripped both sides of it and shook it. The thing felt solid but she agreed with Julio’s suggestion that they should fasten it to the wall. He rummaged through her toolbox and came up with enough sturdy bolts to do the job.
“Okay, back to work,” Sam said. “What else needs to be finished this afternoon?”
Becky pointed to a princess-themed birthday cake she’d been working on when the need for the glitter arose. She assured Sam that she felt steady enough to finish it. Jen went back to the front displays, and Sam began sorting through the boxes for clean, unbroken pueblo chocolates.
It would be far simpler to sell them from a bulk tray and bag them for the customers rather than boxing them in charming sets of four and six as she’d done earlier. She glanced at the clock. Tonight was as good a time as any; once the shop closed she would sneak back and work on them.
“Don’t forget all these posters,” Jen said later, as she set the bank bag on Sam’s desk. She tilted her head toward a large box that Sam hadn’t noticed earlier, what with the demands of reorganizing the contents of the downed shelf.
Carinda had, as per the plan, counted out some posters to place around town but had left the majority to be divided and distributed by Sam, since most of the committee members were her friends. She’d figured on twenty posters per person. Sam pulled a few off the stack and asked Jen to place two in the front windows of Sweet’s Sweets and take twenty to Riki’s dog grooming shop for distribution. She would see that Kelly took a share of them too. And she could drop by Rupert’s place on her way home and leave a batch with him. Only forty or fifty to go—goody.
She carried the box out to her van, figuring she would ask everyone she came across to take a few. B
eau might even be able to put them in the public areas around the sheriff’s department and the county courthouse. With less than a week to go, they really needed to get these things posted soon around town.
Feeling a little lucky that neither Kelly nor Rupert were home when she got to their places, Sam left the posters where they would be found—in the kitchen at Kelly’s and on a small tea table on Rupert’s covered front porch. She got back into her van and drove away, wishing she was merely going home to crawl into bed early.
Unfortunately, her list of tasks was way too long and she didn’t dare put off redoing the chocolates. The upcoming week could only get more crazy with each passing day.
She had no sooner pulled into the driveway than her phone sent out a trill that meant a text message from Beau: Traffic accident call—don’t wait dinner.
Poor deluded husband—as if there would have been any dinner tonight anyway. She replied with a chipper tone, saying it was okay, she would catch up on some things at work. She parked beside the big log house where both dogs met her with such enthusiasm that she wished she really was going to stay home with them. She scooped food into their bowls and went upstairs in search of her magic energy fix.
The carved wooden box sat near the sink in the large master bathroom, right where she had left it. The sight of it reminded her that she really had meant to get back to the hospital to check on Sarah Williams. With luck, maybe her previous visit had helped Sarah improve to the point where she would soon go home. She picked up the box and closed her eyes, sending positive messages out to her friend as the warmth of the wood permeated her hands. The box’s energy traveled up her arms; the moment her hands began to feel too hot she set it on the vanity top.
Shaking her arms to dispel the tingle, she made her plan—stop by the hospital to see Sarah, then back to the bakery to work on chocolates.
* * *
Sweet Somethings (Samantha Sweet Mysteries) Page 4
