Sweet Revenge (6 page)

“Maybe she's just confused and needs some time to work out her feelings,” Nancy suggested.

George nudged Bess teasingly. “Come on. Admit it. Aren't you really just jealous that Sam is stringing two guys along?”

“No way,” Bess said defensively. Then, giggling, she admitted, “Maybe just a little.”

• • •

Five minutes later Bess was already in her nightgown, flipping through a magazine in the living room of the girls' suite.

“I'm too wide awake even to think about getting ready for bed,” Nancy said. “George, want to help me search the downstairs living room one more time?”

“Sure. We'll let Bess get her beauty sleep.” There was a mischievous twinkle in her brown eyes as she added, “She needs it after tiring herself out eating all that chocolate today.”

The pillow Bess hurled just missed them as they slipped out the door.

Downstairs only a couple of lights were burning. Most of the rooms were shrouded in shadow, and there were no guests anywhere.

“Will you keep out of this?” an angry voice ripped through the darkness, causing Nancy and George to jump. The voice was rising high and shrill, and Nancy realized it was coming from
behind the door to a lighted office. “You're not my father, you know!”

“I'm not trying to be your father!” It was Mr. Tagley's voice, and he sounded just as angry as Samantha. “I'm just suggesting that we bring someone in to give you a hand running this place until the festival is over! That doesn't seem like much, considering the strain you're under. The strain you're putting us
all
under.”

“I'm not under any strain!” Samantha insisted in a tone that contradicted her words. “Stop trying to take the festival away from me!”

“Sam, maybe there
is
too much for one person to do—at the moment, anyway.” This voice was Jake's, and he sounded much calmer than the other two. “Why don't you let me help you out? Dad can handle the construction in the east wing by himself, and I could give you a hand with the day-to-day stuff.”

“No.
No,
” repeated Samantha in a cracked voice. “I'll do fine with the day-to-day stuff if you guys will just get off my back!”

“Well, you didn't exactly do a great job with those guests in Room two fourteen,” Samantha's mother put in tartly. “If I hadn't been on hand to persuade them to stay, they would be long gone. And if you don't watch out, you're going to lose
all
the guests. People don't like wondering whether they're about to be poisoned, you know.”

“It's not my fault they got the creeps!” Samantha shot back. “And how can you talk
about losing guests? This inn was losing guests
and
money before you let me take over!”

“The only thing the guests care about are my desserts,” her mother retorted. “My chocolate concoctions are the only reason people have come to this festival.”

“Now, wait a minute, guys,” Jake said mildly. “Why don't we all try to—”

Samantha wouldn't let him finish. “Oh, so
you're
the reason this festival got started, Mother?” she asked sarcastically. “I had nothing to do with it—is that what you're saying? After all, I
only
came up with the whole idea and handled all the publicity and convinced Brock to come and—”

“Brock Sawyer has brought us nothing but problems so far,” Mrs. Tagley snapped. “He was your first mistake.”

“You're all against me!” Samantha yelled. She sounded beside herself.

In the darkened hallway Nancy and George exchanged an uncomfortable glance. Nancy had been so shocked by all they were hearing that she hadn't even realized they were eavesdropping. With a tilt of her head Nancy suggested that they should start back to the lobby.

“No one's against you, Sam,” came Mr. Tagley's faint voice. “Can't you see we're on your side? It's just that you can't be expected to work as hard as you have been.”

“Oh, so you think I can't handle the work?” Even from down the hall, Samantha's voice was
louder and shriller than before. Then Nancy heard the sound of a door being yanked open.

“I don't want to hear any more!” Samantha shouted. “You all
deserve
to have this festival fall apart!”

S
HE'S COMING THIS WAY
! Quick, get back!” Nancy whispered. She swiftly pulled George into a shadowed doorway.

Samantha swept by without appearing to notice the girls at all. Then she was gone.

There was nothing but silence coming from the office she had just left. Finally Nancy heard the sound of a chair scraping on the floor, as if someone was standing up. “Let's get back upstairs before the rest of them come out,” she whispered to George. They tiptoed the few steps to the elevator, and Nancy punched the button. Thankfully, the doors slid open quickly, and Nancy and George ducked inside.

“This is even more of a soap opera than I thought,” George commented.

Bess was still reading her magazine when Nancy and George got back to the suite.

“Wow!” she exclaimed softly after hearing what had happened. “I didn't realize that Samantha and her mother were
that
mad at each other. You don't think this festival is making Samantha a little crazy, do you?”

Nancy had been wondering about that herself. “She seemed ready to come unhinged tonight,” she answered soberly as she sat down on the couch next to Bess.

“Unhinged enough to poison Brock, though?” George called from her little bedroom. She emerged a moment later in an oversize red T-shirt and plopped down in the worn armchair.

“I'm not sure,” Nancy began thoughtfully, propping her long legs up on the coffee table. “She asked me not to investigate this case after I found that ant jar. I guess she
might
be trying to sabotage the festival herself—both to take the pressure off herself and to teach her family a lesson. Except that everything that's happened so far has been aimed at Brock, not the festival in general. Can you see Samantha trying to hurt Brock in that way?”

Both Bess and George shook their heads. “I can't see
anyone
trying to hurt him,” Bess put in emphatically. “Poor Brock! I called the hospital while you were downstairs. They said he's in stable condition. I'm glad he's okay, but I'm
sick
from worrying about him.”

“I notice you polished off the rest of that candy while Nancy and I were downstairs,” George
pointed out, grinning. “Maybe that's what's making you feel sick. Anyway, what about Jake Tagley? Did you forget about him?”

“Forget about Jake? What do you mean?” Bess sounded puzzled.

George's brown eyes were twinkling. “Well, Bess, you've certainly had a busy day. Jake's got a major crush on you, and you're so in love with Brock you haven't noticed!”

“I'm not in love with Brock
or
Jake,” Bess said stiffly. “Besides, it's mean of you to joke about Brock when he's in the hospital.”

“Brock's in good hands,” Nancy reassured her. She got up from the couch and stretched. “Anyway, you guys should get some rest. Tomorrow's going to be busy.”

“What about you?” asked George. “Aren't you going to bed?”

“Not yet. We were interrupted before we got to check out the living room, remember? I won't be able to fall asleep if I don't do it.”

Bess's blue eyes opened wide. “But, Nan, you can't go down there alone. It's so late! Can't it wait until tomorrow morning?”

“Too risky,” Nancy told her. “I don't want the cleaning staff to get the chance to clean the place up. They probably start early. I've got to check the room for clues tonight.”

“Do you want me to come?” George asked.

“No, you're all ready for bed. I'll just hurry down and be right back up.” After saying good night, Nancy stepped quietly out into the hall and moved toward the elevator.

Now every creak the elevator made seemed loud enough to wake the whole inn. Nancy held her breath when the door clanged open in the lobby—but the first floor was dark and deserted. No one was there to see her tiptoe across the lobby and into the living room.

Did she dare switch on a light? It was so dark that Nancy knew she had no choice. Feeling along the wall inside the doorway, she clicked on the light switch, blinking in the sudden brightness.

As she made her way across the room, she saw that the end tables were littered with glasses, crumpled napkins, festival schedules, and ashtrays. There was a faint trail on the Oriental carpet of what appeared to be sawdust footprints leading from the fireplace to a side door.

Sawdust? Nancy suddenly asked herself. What was sawdust doing in the living room? There wasn't any construction there!

She gently pushed open the side door. The tracks led into a narrow hallway that Nancy hadn't been down before. Leaving the side door ajar so she could see by the light from the living room, she stepped out and followed the yellow footprints to—

“The kitchen,” Nancy murmured aloud. “Another entrance to the kitchen!”

She held her breath as she switched on a kitchen light—then let out a huge sigh of disappointment.

The trail of sawdust ended right at the kitchen door. The busboy Nancy had spoken to earlier
obviously hadn't been exaggerating when he described how clean the kitchen was kept. The floor was gleaming brightly enough to be used in a floor wax commercial!

Then Nancy's gaze landed on something else. On the counter right next to the light switch, within easy reach of the door, was a huge pile of Silk and Cream chocolate boxes. They were stacked in neat rows against the wall. Nancy noted that the stack closest to the door had one less box than the others. She was willing to bet that it had been the box that poisoned Brock.

Had the poisoner gotten into the kitchen to alter the chocolates before Samantha brought them out? Was the sawdust a clue? If it was, whoever had tracked it in had probably come from the east wing of the inn. That pointed to someone who had been working there—probably Jake, Tim, or Mr. Tagley. A visitor to the east wing might have picked up a little sawdust on his or her shoes, but not enough to leave an actual trail.

“Hmmm,” Nancy murmured aloud. It wasn't much of a clue—more of a hint really.

Just then her mouth stretched open in an enormous yawn. You've done enough for one day, Drew. The case will have to wait until morning. Yawning again, she tiptoed back toward the elevator.

• • •

“I think I'm going to skip the brownie workshop,” Nancy told Bess and George the following morning after breakfast. “I want to head over to
the police lab. They may have figured out what poisoned Brock by now.”

“Do you want us to come?” Bess asked reluctantly, twisting her blond hair in her fingers. “I'd hate to miss trying the ultimate brownie, but—” “Go on,” said Nancy, laughing. “I'll be fine. The workshop sounds like a lot of fun.”

George groaned and tugged at the waist of her jeans. “After those chocolate-chip pancakes we just had, I may never eat again. It seems kind of soon to be making brownies.”

“Speak for yourself!” Bess sounded shocked.

• • •

The police station and lab was about a half-hour's drive from the Oakwood Inn. The technician on duty in the lab, a woman in her thirties named Officer Sherbinski, greeted Nancy coolly but politely.

“Officer Ullman told me you were coming,” she said. “He said it was fine to answer any questions you might have.” She directed Nancy to a small table, and they sat down.

“Any word on how Brock's doing?”

“Mr. Sawyer is conscious, but he's feeling too weak to talk,” Officer Sherbinski replied. “A detective went to the hospital to question him, but he wasn't up to it.”

“I see,” said Nancy. “Do you know yet what kind of poison was used?”

Officer Sherbinski nodded. “Yes. Mercurous chloride. Its common name is calomel.”

“Calomel? I don't think I've heard of it.”

“It's a white, tasteless powder that was once
used as a purgative. People took it to clean out their systems,” the officer explained. “It's not used much nowadays. It can do a lot of damage—especially to the liver and kidneys. Mr. Sawyer is lucky to be alive.”

“He certainly is,” Nancy agreed. “Were all the chocolates in the box poisoned?”

Giving Nancy a meaningful look, the officer said, “Well, that's where it gets complicated. There wasn't any mercurous chloride in the chocolates. None at all. They were clean.”

“What?” Nancy said, leaning forward over the table. She didn't suppose there was any way the poisoner could have tainted only the chocolates Brock ate, since there couldn't be any way of knowing which ones they'd be. “That means you have no idea how Brock was poisoned,” she said at last.