Sweet Somethings (Samantha Sweet Mysteries) (17 page)

Jen glanced over Kelly’s shoulder.
“Oh, yeah. Julia Joffrey. I heard about that. She died a few months ago, didn’t
she?”

As usual, when it came to
celebrities and the surrounding gossip, Sam felt out of the loop.

Jen eyed Bentley Day, now up on
the dais making an announcement that the last three contestants should send
their entries forward for judging.

“I’ll bet he knew Julia Joffrey,”
she said. “Remember that other show he starred in, before
Killer Chef
? It took place in Washington and there was always some
socialite or famous person who would come to the restaurant for the meal he
prepared.”

“Yes!” Kelly lit up. “I think I
actually remember that one. She was this society type from Maryland or
someplace, seemed ancient—but she dressed really classy and Bentley teased her
the whole time.”

“He teased everyone the whole
time. I think it’s how he tried out the semi-obnoxious personality he uses
now.”

Semi?
Sam hid a smile.

“Did he have the Australian accent
back then?”

“Hmm, I think so. Maybe not as
strong as it is now.” Kelly tossed the magazine aside as two kids approached
and held up a dollar bill. She saw to it that they got a decent-sized bag of
cookies for their money.

“Cute, huh.” She looked toward Sam.
“Mom, do you realize that we need more cheesecake?”

“Again?” Sam stared at the round
cardboard base with one remaining slice. I called Julio earlier and asked him
to bake more. Tomorrow’s only a half-day here and I’m sure things will be
winding down early. We’ll have to make do with what we have and I’ll go by the
shop on my way home tonight to get them.”

As if they’d heard of a run on a
failing bank, two people stepped up and split the final slice.

Jen waited on them while Sam
checked the other items in the display. She
really
did not want to spend the night baking, but there might not be any other time.

“Sam, I’ve got Julio on the phone—he
says he’s got one cheesecake already done. Do you want more than that?” Jen held
the phone away from her ear while she waited for Sam’s answer.

“Tell him yes, two more. I’ll go
to the shop right now for the finished one and we’ll use the others for
tomorrow.”

 
Up on the dais, Rupert was calling out names
of people whose tickets had been drawn for door prizes. The room had somehow
filled up again.

“I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.
Anyone dying for cheesecake can have some then,” Sam said as she picked up her
pack and headed for the parking lot. In the corridor she caught sight of the
ice cream guy deep in conversation with the tall blonde who’d been at his booth
earlier. A little festival romance? She smiled and hurried on.

At Sweet’s Sweets Sam noted that
the kitchen was clean and Julio already had the two extra cheesecakes in the
oven. Becky sat at one of the bistro tables, chatting with three women who were
taking their time over afternoon coffee and cake. She came to the register and
gave Sam a quick rundown of the morning sales.

With the spare amaretto cheesecake
in hand, Sam went back out to her van. She’d hardly unlocked the door when a
large form appeared beside her. Her heart raced into overdrive.

“Bobul!” She gripped the bakery
box. “What are you—?”

“Good day, Miss Samantha. Sorry.
Bobul not mean to scare.”

Everything about him was the same
as the last time she’d seen him—his hulking six-foot frame in rough clothing, thick
facial features and delicate hands—even down to the heavy boots and long, dark
coat that must feel oppressive in the June heat. She’d learned that he came
from Romania as a child but could only guess how many other places he had
traveled before showing up in almost this exact spot two Christmases ago and
offering his help. His exquisite chocolate creations had helped launch her
sales into the stratosphere during her first holiday season. She had no idea
where he called home, certainly not the abandoned cabin in the canyon where
he’d been staying while he worked for her; as far as she could tell, he lived
nowhere in this county. The man seemed to arrive and disappear on the ether. Now,
she could only guess that he had somehow heard of the chocolate festival.

“Do you need a job?” Half hoping
he would say yes and she would immediately put him to work on something that
could become her grand finale for the event.

He shook his head vigorously.
“Bobul come to warn you.”

“Warn me of wh—”

He held up a hand. “We talk, long
time ago, about bad people who want—” he glanced up and down the alley and
stared at the closed door to her shop. “Carved box. Bad people want that box
still.”

Sam’s mind shifted gears. Her last
mention of the box to anyone was to Sarah Williams.

“Persons will come. They want box.
Do not trust.”

Sarah had not asked to have the
box.

“A good person will also come.
This one not asking for box, only want to know it is safe. This person looking
for other box, the evil one.”

An evil person? Or an evil box?
Sam started to open her mouth but he spoke again, quickly.

“Bobul learn there is more than
one box.”

Sam knew that much. She had
encountered the second one last fall in Ireland, in her uncle’s possession.

“Bobul—I want to know the whole
story. Can we meet somewhere later? Can you tell me all of it?”

He shook his head and ignored her
questions. “One is bad. One good. Good person will say these words to you.” He
looked skyward, working to get it right. “Will say ‘lightning strikes once and
makes three’.”

Sam repeated the phrase, but there
were so many thoughts coursing through her head at the moment that she doubted
she would remember it exactly.

“Bobul, please come back
tomorrow—or even tonight. I need to ask more about this.”

“Is all Bobul know. I must go
now.”

She watched him walk away, started
to run after him but paused. He’d always been a man of few words and he
probably wouldn’t tell her anything new even if she hounded him. She ran the
odd phrase through her mind again as she set the boxed cheesecake on the passenger
seat of her van.

A deep sigh escaped her. Too many
questions, not enough answers. Too many deaths. Too little sleep.

That was it, she decided as she
put the van in gear and pulled out into traffic. She was simply tired. Get
through today; finish the festival tomorrow. Sleep for a week. It wouldn’t
happen but it sounded so good that it buoyed her mood.

She had lost her parking spot
under the trees and had to settle for a less appealing one in full sun. Inside,
the crowd seemed denser than ever and she realized it was nearly time for the
announcement of the ‘final five’ as Rupert had been referring to the
contestants who would make the cut today. Sam found that a small queue had
formed, people waiting for the new cheesecake Kelly had promised. She set it
down and Kelly began selling the slices; within minutes it was more than half
gone.

Sam moved about the booth on
automatic, filling orders, shifting items in the display case, opening a new
pack of napkins and setting more paper bags near the register. For Jen, waiting
on customers came as second nature and she efficiently kept the ranks of people
moving happily along with their purchases. Kelly excused herself to go up to
the dais; the announcement of the second-round contestants would be made soon.
Rupert was nowhere to be seen, probably hidden away someplace, tallying the
ballots.

Sam barely gave any of this a
passing thought, her mind still reliving the strange encounter with Bobul an
hour ago.

There was something unexplainable
about that box, and each time Sam felt she was coming close to the answer it
eluded her. Again today, Bobul dropped hints but didn’t give the full answers.
Perhaps it was as he’d said—he simply didn’t know. But, lightning? Lightning
strikes once and makes three—what did that mean? It sounded as if he was
warning her of real danger. She shivered, staring for a moment at the elaborate
ceiling in the ballroom; if only someone would come along who could tell her.

That line of thinking led her back
to Sarah Williams. The healer had been the last in a succession of people whom
Sam had hoped could tell her what the mysterious gift was all about and now
Sarah was gone. She’d lost the answers and she’d lost a friend.

Rupert’s voice from the podium
interrupted her downward-spiraling thoughts.

“Welcome, everyone!” he called
out. “The judges have tasted today’s scrumptious dessert entries, they’ve
marked their ballots, the votes have been tallied . . . And now, to announce
the names of the five finalists, here is our celebrity judge, Mr. Bentley Day,
the host of
Killer Chef
!”

Bentley came on full force again,
striding across the tiny stage with arms upraised, slashing through the air
with that repulsive knife to the calls of “Chop Chop!” from the crowd. Sam
looked away, tired of the whole showmanship game.

“G’day!” he shouted.

The crowd poured toward the stage.
If the ballroom had been a ship, the thing would have listed to that end. For
one ridiculous moment Sam pictured all the booths and tables sliding to that
part of the room. She caught herself chuckling at the image.

“All right! Here are your
finalists, based on the number of points given by the judges. In fifth place .
. . Susan Sanchez with her Molten Lava Volcano Cake! Susan, come on up here.”

The plump little woman seemed
surprised but hurried to the dais.

“In fourth place, Cynthia Freeman
with Bitter Chocolate English Butter Toffee! Get over here, Cynthia.”

Sam knew the lady as a customer of
her shop, but never had an inkling that Cynthia was a pretty extraordinary
cook.

“And now, for the top three . . .”

He dragged out the announcement
and Sam saw that both Farrel O’Hearn and Danielle Ferguson seemed to be
balancing on the balls of their feet.

“In third place, Grace Maldonado
with Dark Chocolate Raspberry Tarts!” He waved the lady toward him, to a huge
cheer from the crowd. Apparently she’d brought along her own fan club.

“And now . . . for the top two.
Any guesses as to who they might be?”

Oh, come on, Sam thought. They
have to be Danielle and Farrel. Then the thought struck her—if the next name he
called was not one of those two, there was likely to be another murder right
here on the spot. This time it might be their grandstanding celebrity chef who
went down.

But, rather predictably, the top
two were Farrel and Danielle—in that order. Farrel sent a triumphant little
brushoff glance to Danielle as she took the number one spot on the stand.
Danielle retaliated with a clenched jaw and icy smile. The war was definitely
on.

“All right, ladies,” Bentley said.
“Remember that tomorrow’s entry must be something entirely new. And the judges
will be looking not only at taste and presentation, but we shall be giving
favor to the entry most stunning in the elaborately decorated department. Have
at it, and may the best baker win!”

You could charge batteries on the
amount of electricity sparking between the two top rivals. The other women’s
emotions ranged from stunned to nervous to exuberant as they descended the
steps and were surrounded by their own friends in the crowd.

The big announcement had capped
the day’s events for most people and Sam noticed a steady flow out the doors.
She left her booth in the capable hands of Kelly and Jen, while she made one
last pass through the ballroom. Some of the vendors were obviously packing up
their wares—the contest itself had been their only goal; others seemed to have
taken Sam’s strategy—sell all you could in three days—whether it be for charity,
as in her case, or just to make extra money and gain visibility in the
community.

Danielle Ferguson was back in her
booth, sketching something on a pad which she set face down on the table as Sam
approached. Her design for tomorrow’s grand finale?

“Congratulations, Danielle. Good
luck tomorrow,” Sam said.

“So you think I’ll beat Farrel?”

Sam shrugged. “I have no idea. I
don’t get a vote. I’m just thankful that we’re getting good crowds. It looks
like we’ll have a decent donation for our charity.”

Danielle made all the right sounds
about the charity but still, underlying her thin attempts at good
sportsmanship, her deep hunger to win showed through.

Sam moved on, wishing again for
Sarah’s steadying presence, sad that their friendship had ended so abruptly and
that Sarah had missed the excitement of the festival, the fruits of all her
hard work.

Two other vendors interrupted Sam
with questions which she answered absently, wondering where Beau was right now.
Sweet’s Sweets had sold so much of their product that she realized she’d better
plan on going back and baking some more. Sunday might be a slower sales day but
she didn’t want her offerings to look skimpy. Kelly had done a good job of
getting press coverage for the event and with the announcement of the prizes
tomorrow, there would likely be a sizeable crowd.

“Yeah, I knew the old bat,” Farrel
O’Hearn was saying to someone at her booth, keeping her voice low as Sam passed
by.

Sam looked up to see Farrel toss
something onto the back table in her booth, the same copy of
People
, open to the page Kelly had
showed her earlier about the peculiar heiress who’d left a fortune to her dog.
Was that who Farrel was talking about? Sam shrugged it off. Farrel made no
secret of the fact that she’d gotten her training in some high-class east coast
place. It was a little disconcerting to hear her talk of the society woman in
such disparaging terms, but that seemed to be Farrel’s way. Sam could only
imagine how she thought of the hicks from the Southwest.