Sweet Revenge (2 page)

“This is going to be fun,” George said as she stretched out in one of the living room's easy chairs and surveyed the box of chocolates with interest.

“Of course it's going to be fun,” said Bess, her mouth already full of chocolate. “Hey, do you think I look good enough to meet Brock Sawyer?”

“Hang on a minute, Bess,” George said cautiously.
“If you're planning to act like some kind of crazed fan all weekend, I don't want to be seen in public with you.”

“Of course I'm not!” Bess told her indignantly. “That would be totally uncool. Famous people hate it if you gush all over them. I just want to look nice in case we happen to bump into Brock, that's all. Nothing obvious.”

Nancy picked up her suitcase and carried it into her bedroom. “Come on, then,” she called back to Bess. “Let's get out of here before you eat that whole box of candy and can't get into any of your clothes.”

The girls unpacked quickly, then headed back downstairs. The lobby was almost crowded now. Festival guests had obviously started to arrive, and they were milling around, waiting for information or the keys to their rooms.

“I bet Samantha's too busy to show us around now,” said Nancy. “Maybe we could—”

“Nancy! George! Look over there!”

Bess's blue eyes were wide, and she was pointing a shaky finger down the wide hall. Samantha Patton was standing in a doorway. Next to her was a man all three girls recognized instantly.

Brock Sawyer was even more handsome in person than on TV, Nancy decided. Tall and slim, he had craggy features, wavy brown hair, and amazingly blue eyes—eyes that were fixed on Samantha.

“It's him! It's him!” Bess's whisper was more like a scream, and several people in the lobby turned to look. “I've got to go get his autograph!
I've got to meet him! I've got to— Wait here!” Before the girls could stop her, Bess was dashing toward Samantha and Brock Sawyer, jostling other guests as she raced by.

“Nothing obvious, eh?” George murmured, rolling her eyes. “Brother!”

Just as Bess rushed over to Samantha and Brock, two things happened. The first was that Brock leaned down and slipped his arm around Samantha's shoulders.

Nancy's head swiveled automatically toward Bess. That was when she saw the second thing. From out of nowhere a young man with dark brown hair and icy green eyes raced up behind Bess, shoved her out of the way, and aimed a vicious punch at Brock's jaw.

Y
OU KEEP AWAY
from Samantha!” the young man yelled as he threw the punch.

Brock Sawyer ducked just in time, and the young man's fist crashed into the doorjamb. Nancy noticed that Bess had halted a few feet from them, a startled expression on her face.

“Tim, what's your problem?” Samantha shouted angrily. “Stop it!”

So that angry blond guy was Tim Krueger, Samantha's boyfriend, Nancy realized. He was obviously very upset about Brock. Ignoring Samantha, he reeled backward and began swinging at Brock again.

“No, Tim!” Samantha cried. “Please, somebody stop him!”

“I'll
stop him,” Brock growled between
clenched teeth—and he slugged Tim right in the stomach.

Nancy grimaced as Tim doubled over. Behind her a woman let out a frightened gasp.

What can I do to stop this? Nancy thought.

She scanned the crowd, and for a second her gaze landed on a short, heavyset man standing beside the fireplace. He had a camera up to his face and was busily snapping picture after picture of the fight.

Ugh! Nancy thought. What a nasty way to behave! A grunt from Tim brought her thoughts back to the fight.

Tim was lurching unsteadily forward, ready to throw another punch. Nancy started forward to grab him. Then, from somewhere in the crowd, Jake Tagley stepped around Nancy.

“That's enough, guys,” he said, stepping firmly between Tim and Brock. With a swift movement of his arms he pushed the two men apart.

Gasping for breath, Brock and Tim glared murderously at each other. A hush had fallen on the guests in the lobby. Then the silence was broken.

“Are—are you all right, Mr. Sawyer?” came Bess's hesitant voice.

“I'm fine,” Brock Sawyer answered, scowling. “It would take more than this to—”

“Then may I have your autograph?” Bess interrupted.

Everyone in the lobby burst into laughter.

A reluctant grin spread across Brock Sawyer's face, too. “Let me just ask the boss,” he answered
with a nod toward Samantha. “You're the one who's been keeping track of my schedule, Sam. Do I have time?”

“Uh, sure, Brock. This would be a good time for me to check in with the kitchen. I want to see how everything's coming along.” Nancy noticed that Samantha was shaking slightly.

“I can check for you,” offered Tim. From his expression Nancy guessed he wanted to smooth things over.

But Samantha wasn't about to let him off easy. Giving him a frosty glare, she snapped, “No, thanks. You've done enough already.”

Then suddenly she seemed to remember the guests and turned to face them. “Sorry about the disturbance, folks!” she called, her voice full of forced cheer. “Why don't you come over and meet our celebrity guest? And don't forget to be at the Round Room at twelve-thirty for the first chocolate event of the day. Lunch will be at one-thirty in the dining room.”

Samantha's words broke the last of the tension in the room. More than a dozen people crowded around Brock, all talking at once. Brock, too, had become the professional once again. He was smiling and chatting easily as he signed the scraps of paper people were holding out to him.

In the commotion the people in the crowd seemed to have forgotten the fight. All but Tim, who was leaning against the wall, scrutinizing Brock with flashing green eyes. Next to Tim, Jake was bending down to pick up his toolbox.

“Want to give me a hand in the east wing?” Nancy heard him ask Tim quietly.

Tim opened his mouth to say something, then seemed to think better of it. Raking a hand through his hair, he shrugged and then followed Jake out the door.

“Looks like we've got all the makings of a good soap opera here,” George said into Nancy's ear.

“Apparently, some of the other guests think so, too,” Nancy whispered back. She flicked a thumb toward the fireplace. “See that guy with the camera over there? He was taking pictures during the whole fight.”

George followed Nancy's gaze. “Press, probably,” she suggested.

“Maybe. He's not wearing a press badge, though. I'm going to head over there to see what he's up to.”

“Always the detective,” said George, laughing. “I'll wait here for Bess.”

Nancy was frowning when she came back ten minutes later.

“So, what's his story?” George asked.

“The guy's name is Dan Avery. Apparently, he's just a nut for chocolate, like the rest of us,” Nancy explained. “But—I don't know. All that camera equipment he's got looks a lot more expensive than most people would carry around, and—”

“Hey,” said Bess, rushing up to them and waving a cocktail napkin. “Look at my autograph. Let's hang around until the crowd thins
out a little. Maybe we'll get a chance to really talk to Brock.”

“Come
on,
Bess,” George said with a groan.

“He'll be here all weekend,” Nancy added. “All we've seen so far is the lobby, and I'd like to check out the inn a little.”

Reluctantly Bess followed her friends. “Some people don't recognize
real
scenery when they see it,” she grumbled under her breath.

• • •

“Hey, George! I found an antique!” Bess called from a corner of the torn-up room that the girls were exploring. She held up a creased wall map. “What do you think it's worth?”

The girls had made their way up a flight of stairs into the east wing. This was the part of the inn being worked on, and the girls had gotten dirt and sawdust all over their clothes.

“Ten cents, probably,” George told her cousin with a grin. “But look at this!” She showed Nancy and Bess a tiny porcelain figurine she had found on the dusty mantelpiece. “If someone cleaned this up, it would be really pretty.”

Nancy glanced around the room. It had a forlorn, abandoned quality, as did the other east wing rooms they'd been in. They had poked through bedrooms with four-poster beds wearing canopies of cobwebs, and bathrooms with shelves lined with long-forgotten brands of shampoo and soap. Except for the areas under construction, the east wing looked as though it hadn't been visited in about fifty years.

“There's lots of stuff here that would look nice
if someone cleaned it up,” Nancy commented. She brushed her hands together to get rid of some dust. “They must have left the whole east wing pretty much the way it was when they closed it off.”

Bess shivered nervously. “I feel as though we're surrounded by ghosts, don't you?”

“Nope,” said George cheerfully. “Let's go check out some more rooms.”

Suddenly Bess froze. “Wait!” she whispered. “What's that bumping sound?”

Nancy stuck her head out into the hallway. “It's just Jake,” she said, catching sight of his sandy hair and jeans. “Hi, Jake!”

He was walking down the hallway toward them, lugging a power saw. “Find any skeletons yet?” he asked.

“Not yet,” Nancy told him, “but this sure looks like the kind of place where we could.”

“You're right,” Jake agreed. “In a few months, though, you won't recognize this place. If you can believe it, we're actually about to finish one of the rooms in this wing—the new conference room. It should be done today.”

“You must have been working hard getting ready for this weekend,” Bess observed.

“We've been going pretty much nonstop for the past few months,” Jake replied, nodding. “Tim helps when he can, but he's pretty busy with his own job.”

“Your dad's been helping, too, right?” asked George, wiping her hands on her shorts.

“Yes. But mostly he works in the basement,”
Jake told her. “He's building bookcases in his workshop. My dad's really a cabinetmaker, not a carpenter.

“In fact, that's how he met my stepmother,” Jake went on. “He was hired to do some restoration work a few years ago. Samantha's mother was running the inn then, too. She and my father hit it off, and they got married about six months later.”

“That's so romantic!” Bess exclaimed. “Love at first sight!”

“Well, maybe,” said Jake slowly. “I'm not sure it was the greatest match, but—” Suddenly he broke off. “It's none of my business as long as my dad's happy, I guess.”

Bess seemed not to notice his doubtful tone. “This inn would be a great setting for a romance,” she said. “Though not the east wing, of course.”

“I guess not,” Jake agreed ruefully.

“So Mrs. Tagley was running the inn alone before?” Nancy asked, half to herself.

“Right,” Jake said with a nod. “She took it over after her first husband died. I don't know much about him, but there are people on the staff who were here even before my stepmother came. I hear her first husband was a nice enough guy, but she was really the one in charge. Kind of like now.”

“But I thought Samantha ran the inn now,” George put in.

“Well, she's certainly on her way,” Jake said proudly. “Sam graduated from hotel school last
year at the top of her class. The Chocolate Festival was her idea. Her mother has always been a great pastry chef and candy maker, so Samantha decided to use those talents to promote the inn. We've been trying to come up with ways to bring in more people, and—”

He stopped again, and a deep blush crept over his face. “Guess I've been working by myself too long,” he said awkwardly. “I'm really rambling on. Sorry.”

“Hey, we don't mind,” Nancy said quickly. “This place looks like it has so much history. It's nice to learn some of it. Do you work here full time?”

“Oh, no. I'm in hotel school, too. Once I saw the possibilities for this place, I got bitten by the same bug as Samantha and my stepmother. I'm still in my first year, though. What about you three?” he went on. “No fair for me to answer all the questions. Are you students or chefs or what? What brings you to our little chocolate paradise?”

“Love of chocolate, plain and simple,” said Nancy with a smile.

“That's right,” Bess echoed. “Nancy's a detective. But the only mystery she's going to be solving this weekend is how I'm going to fit into my clothes after all the chocolate I plan to eat.”

“Speaking of chocolate,” George put in, checking her watch, “weren't we supposed to be somewhere at twelve-thirty? It's twelve twenty-five now.”

“That's right!” said Bess. “The Round Room,
our schedule said. Jake, could you tell us how to get there?”