Sweet Somethings (Samantha Sweet Mysteries)

by Connie Shelton

  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!”

  Rupert must have signaled the ticket girls because the wide doorways were suddenly filled with people. They flowed like a molten stream into the room, branching out to the booths with exclamations over each new discovery. From the height of the dais Rupert glanced toward Sam’s booth and gave her an exaggerated wink.

  Two women who were regulars in Sam’s shop immediately recognized her sign and came straight to the booth.

  “I just couldn’t wait to see what special thing you’ve made this time,” said Mrs. Greenbaum, her white fluffy head bobbing as she scrutinized the items in the display. “Oh! I bet it’s those little candies shaped like the pueblo.”

  “You are right—they’re exclusive to the festival,” Becky said.

  “Have one, on the house.” Sam picked up one of the chocolates with tongs and held it out. Of course, Mrs. Riley had to have one too.

  “That is fabulous—I’ll take a dozen of them.” Mrs. Greenbaum reached into her purse. “Do you have change for a fifty?”

  Becky’s face went pale. “I knew there was something I forgot to bring inside. The cash bag you brought from the shop—it’s still in the van. I’ll run get it.”

  Sam sent a smile toward the two ladies. “There’s always some little forgotten detail, isn’t there?”

  They assured her it was fine; while Becky rushed out they continued to browse the display, pointing out molten lava cupcakes, s’mores brownies and chocolate nut drop cookies, each filling a bag.

  Sam found herself glancing toward the doors. Becky’s errand seemed to be taking a long time. When she spotted her assistant, Becky was rushing along the crowded aisle. Something was definitely wrong. Pushing her way into the booth, she handed the money bag over to Sam and turned her back on the customers.

  Sam quickly made change for the two women, excused herself a moment to the others who were browsing, and turned to get a good look at Becky. The younger woman’s face was pale and her hands shook.

  “What happened out there?”

  Becky glanced toward the throngs of people in the room. Her voice came out a ragged whisper.

  “There’s a—a body, out in the garden. I’m pretty sure she’s dead.”

  Sam felt the blood drain from her face. Of all the disasters that might have happened at the festival, this was one she’d never considered. “I wonder who—?”

  “It’s Carinda Carter.”

  Chapter 10

  Sam took Becky’s shoulders and forced her to stand still. “Did you call the police?”

  Becky shook her head.

  “We need to do that. I’ll find someplace private—” A distant scream interrupted.

  Sam turned to the customers in front of her booth. “I’ll be right back. Just let Becky
know what you want.”

  She shot Becky a look that said, take your mind off the other and just stay busy. Edging out of the booth, she met the challenge of speed walking and looking nonchalant at the same time. The single scream had largely been ignored inside the ballroom. Once Sam was past the corridor she rushed to the garden.

  A hotel maid had dropped a stack of white towels onto the damp lawn; she stood with both hands to her mouth, her eyes wide. Sam reached her at the same time as a gardener. On the ground, among the rose bushes, lay Carinda Carter in her tight blue dress. Unfortunately, the shiny fabric was marred by a massive red stain spreading from the hilt of a large knife that protruded from her back. By the angle of her limbs, she was most assuredly dead.

  “Has anyone called the authorities?” Sam asked.

  The maid seemed in danger of hyperventilating. Sam gestured to the gardener to lead her away from the body, while she pulled out her phone.

  The hotel was outside the town limits so this would fall in Beau’s jurisdiction. She felt as if her explanation probably came out garbled, but he got it. He said he and his men would be right there.

  Time stood still but it couldn’t have been more than five minutes before she heard sirens. Damn. She met the first cruiser at the curb in the loading zone, recognized Rico, one of Beau’s deputies, and rushed toward him, explaining that a festival was going on inside and if they didn’t want several hundred people to come rushing out into the crime scene, it would be better to do this quietly. He got on the radio and when two more cars arrived, it was without fanfare.

  Sam pointed Rico in the direction of the rose garden, although one of the other men stayed behind and started to ask questions. Who had discovered the body? Did she know the deceased? Where had she been when she heard the maid scream? She was becoming impatient with the quizzing and worried about going back to her booth when Beau drove up.

  He sent the deputy to mark off the crime scene.

  “I need to get back to Becky and make sure she’s okay,” she said. “I think it would be best if questions about the murder were done away from the crowd inside. Of the hundreds of people here in the hotel, only a handful really even knew this woman. I can give you a list.”

  Beau walked with her as they circled the ribbon of yellow crime scene tape. One of the deputies was already snapping photos and collecting evidence around the body. “Don’t let people inside start talking about this. Just advise everyone to cooperate when it’s their turn to answer questions, but remember that anyone has the right to an attorney if they want one.”

  She nodded, a little impatiently. Who on earth didn’t already know this?

  “I’ll get Kelly to take over my booth so Becky can talk to you. And I’ll pass along your words of wisdom.” She started to open the heavy door to the corridor but turned back to him. “Oh, Beau, who would do this? I mean, Carinda was really irritating, but who would hate her this much?”

  He pulled her into a hug and rubbed her back as he murmured soothing sounds. “We’ll talk later, once I get this organized.”

  “Thanks. I’ll be in my booth near the northwest corner of the ballroom.”

  Becky looked a little better when Sam arrived. Bagging cookies and boxing up slices of cheesecake for customers had helped bring the color back to her face, although her hands were still pretty shaky.

  “What’s going on out there?” she whispered to Sam when a slight lull came in the activity around the booth.

  “A lot of standard procedure, I suppose. Beau or one of his deputies will want to talk to both of us. Don’t worry. You just tell them what you saw. I’ll go find Kelly now. She’ll help out here while we’re busy with that.”

  She headed toward the dais, where she’d last seen Rupert chatting with the police chief’s sister just before Sam had returned to her booth. The woman was tapping something into her cell phone and Rupert’s princely head of hair showed above the gathering out in the corridor. Sam breezed past the dais and caught up with her friend.

  “Dish, girl. What’s going on around here?” he asked when she tapped his arm.

  “I need to find Kelly. Have you seen her?”

  “Over by the ticket table.” He gripped her wrist. “Wait-wait-wait. What’s the deal?”

  Sam took a breath and pulled him into a small alcove away from the traffic. “Carinda’s been killed. Beau’s men are here and I’m doing my best to keep it as quiet as possible. Do not say anything to anyone. They’ll want to talk to everybody who saw or spoke with her in the last few hours.”

  Rupert actually blanched.

  “Rupe? Did you have another run-in with her?”

  He waved away the thought. “I just had a brilliant idea for a scene in my next book.”

  Writers. Sheesh. Sam reminded him to keep quiet before she hustled off to catch up with Kelly.

  “I’ll need you to handle my booth for awhile.”

  “Sure, Mom.” Kelly gave Sam a hard stare. “What’s going on around here? It’s like there’s an electric current running through the carpeting.”

  She might as well make an announcement over the PA. But that would lead to complete chaos.

  “Tell you later. Whatever is said, please just brush it off and keep selling brownies, okay?”

  A man in jeans and a leather jacket was standing at the booth when Sam and Kelly approached, and Becky seemed shaken all over again. It was one of Beau’s deputies—Ben Garcia.

  “Hi, Sam. Beau asked me to take preliminary statements. Not being in uniform, I guess, will make people less nervous with me.”

  Sam assured Becky it was all right to go with him. Luckily, a large group of customers walked up just then so Sam and Kelly had no opportunity to talk about anything but baked goods for the next fifteen minutes. Becky returned, looking more relaxed than she had since the discovery, and told Sam that Ben Garcia was ready to talk to her now. She gave directions to a room on the second floor. Sam sent a warning glare toward both of the younger women. Do not talk about this here!

  Garcia smiled and offered coffee when she entered the room, which Auguste Handler must have offered as a temporary interrogation space. It looked like the living room portion of a small suite. She gratefully accepted the coffee and sat on the couch he indicated. He flipped through a little notebook before asking what she knew of Carinda’s movements that morning.

  “Last I saw of her she said she was going to rouse our celebrity judge and get him downstairs before the doors opened to the public. Now that I think of it I haven’t seen him, even yet.”

  “Did you or your committee people have any problems or arguments with Ms. Carter?” Garcia asked. “Beau kind of hinted.”

  Let me count the ways . . . “Carinda has—had—a way about her. She managed to antagonize people just by walking into a room. Of our committee—” She stopped. What was she doing? Handing her friends over for something that surely none of them would have done? “Let’s just say that she was pushy and irritating, but everyone knew to blow it off and stay out of her way.”

  “Were there specific incidents that provoked anger? Stabbing someone involves a lot of rage—anyone dislike her that much?”

  Sam recounted what she could remember—the woman’s uncanny ability to butt into every aspect of the festival planning but when the real work began how she could manage to vanish. “But I never saw anyone actually threaten her. Truly, her mannerisms were more of an annoyance.”

  “We’ll need to locate her next of kin. Do you know who that might be?”

  Sam shook her head. “She never talked about family. I got the idea that she was really new in town and had joined our committee because she had no one else to be close to.”

  He nodded and jotted more notes. Sam got the impression he was finished with the questions.

  “Oh,” he said, reaching beside his chair and picking up a sealed evidence bag. “Do you recognize this?”

  The bag contained a large and deadly looking knife, complete with blood. Sam’s st
omach lurched. It looked like Bentley Day’s famous chef knife from his TV show. On the handle, a metal medallion had the show’s logo. She’d assumed it was only a prop, not actually sharp enough to inflict damage.

  “Carinda showed me this knife, just this morning. It was in a box of items belonging to Bentley Day.”

  “Bentley Day . . .” he scribbled as he said the name. “Is that the Bentley Day from Killer Chef?”

  “I—I—yes, it is.” Sam’s thoughts tumbled in her head like bingo numbers in a hopper. “This doesn’t look too good for him, does it?”

  “He would have had to come down to the ballroom to retrieve the knife before meeting Ms. Carter in the garden. Surely someone would have noticed a celebrity among the crowd?”

  True. And no one had mentioned seeing him this morning. So, what did that mean?

  Garcia didn’t seem to expect an answer. He stood up and Sam followed suit, glad to leave the room but a little shaken that she’d come away with far more questions than answers. Bentley Day’s prints would surely be on the knife, but then so would Carinda’s and probably half the people she’d been showing it to. On the way back down to the ballroom Sam wondered whether any of her inner circle of friends would be among them. She really wished she could sneak Beau away from the garden right now and discuss all this.

  In the downstairs corridor, Sam caught a flash of white heading into the ballroom. She followed, just in time to catch a murmur passing through the crowd.

  “G’day, Taos!” The man in kitchen whites standing on the dais with both arms raised must be Bentley Day. Curly blond hair in some kind of a shaggy cut peeked out below the band of the chef’s hat on his head. He ramped up the volume on the Aussie accent: “I say, g’day, Taos!”

  A cheer rocked the room and people crammed as close to the judging table as they could get. Both of the female judges had retreated to the back of the space on the platform.