Sweet Somethings (Samantha Sweet Mysteries) (20 page)

Customers who had been scattered
throughout the large room now began to migrate toward the dais, blocking access
to others who were trying to get to the nearest booths.

“And now . . . what all of our
contestants and all of our visitors have been waiting for . . .” Bentley Day
put on his biggest showman smile. “In third place—”

A man in front had been waving his
arms wildly and now caught Bentley’s attention.

“Vait!”

Sam could see his profile from
where she stood—his stocky build, the round face with pink-apple cheeks, the
cottony white hair. He wore a rather formal-looking three-piece suit and
gold-rimmed eyeglasses. His right hand was in the air, index finger pointing
toward the ceiling.

“Vait!” he said again. “Dis is not
correct!”

Rupert and Bentley both leaned
forward to hear him.

“You cannot avard the prize in
this manner.”

Rupert whispered, but
unfortunately Bentley had not switched off the microphone so everyone in the
large hall got every word.

“And you are?”

“I am Wilhelm Schott, president of
Qualitätsschokolade
. It is I who has
given this prize!”

Everyone on the dais seemed
momentarily stunned. Rupert looked toward Sam with
help
in his expression. She pushed through the crowd. At the very
least she could insist he turn off the microphone until they solved the problem.
She climbed the steps and took it from him.

“Folks, we will have this sorted
out in a few minutes. Meanwhile, continue browsing and be sure to pick up those
last minute gift items.” She flicked the switch and set the microphone down.

“Mr. Schott, how nice to meet you.
We are honored and so pleased that you could come to the festival.”

The vivid blue eyes glared from
under spiky white brows.

Sam took a breath. “Obviously, we
missed something in your communication to us. I am—we all are—glad you came today
so we can do this according to your wishes.”

“One prize,” he reiterated. “Goes
to top baker only.”

“Yes, yes. We will do that.” She
shot Rupert and Bentley a look that said
Work
this out!
before she took Schott by the arm.

“While the judges evaluate their
decision, let me treat you to a coffee,” she said, leading him to the booth
where she knew that Java Joe had created a superb brew using a hint of the
sponsor’s chocolate to make it the rave of the show.

Less than two minutes later,
Rupert switched the mike on again. “All right! Sorry for that little delay. Since
the judges had already made their first-place choice, that decision will
stand.” His eyes found Sam in the crowd and she nodded.

“All of our bakers have put
enormous effort, many hours, and unbelievable creativity into their entries and
now to honor them, we shall describe all five cakes before announcing our grand
prize winner.”

Sam’s stomach settled a little;
Mr. Schott seemed to be savoring his coffee. In the booth beside the coffee
place, Danielle Ferguson was sending balls of imaginary hellfire toward Farrel O’Hearn.

“The first cake on our table,”
Rupert began, “is an elegant wedding cake from the kitchen of pastry chef
Farrel O’Hearn. Each of the four dark chocolate cake tiers is shaped as a
perfect globe, covered in shimmering ivory fondant. Tiers one and three are
draped in swags of matching fondant, while the middle tier features hand-piped
beaded frames around tiny cherubs. Between each tier are clusters of pink,
coral and blush-rose gumpaste flowers. This romantic cake is an absolute
show-stopper.”

A wave of applause for Farrel’s
cake.

“Is
schokolade
?” asked Mr. Schott. “I do not see it.”

Sam ushered him to one of the
tables where he could see the stage and yet relax with his coffee.

“Second in presentation is another
wedding cake, this from local home baker Grace Maldonado. Square tiers of red
velvet cake are draped in alternating white chocolate and dark chocolate
fondant, smoothed to perfection. Cascading from the top, dark chocolate roses
adorn the white chocolate tiers, while white roses offset the dark tier. The
gorgeous flowers swirl around the cake and end in a trail of blossoms at the
base. The black and white theme continues ‘over the top’ so to speak with a
lush bouquet that any bride would love.”

“Ah, now this one . . . she is
schokolade.
” The Swiss visitor drained
his cup and leaned back in his seat.

“Third on our table is a romantic
pink confection from Susan Sanchez.” Rupert moved to stand behind the cake in
the center. “The dome-shaped chocolate mocha cake is covered in hundreds of
delicate pink ruffle flowers made of molded white chocolate. Whether for a
bride, a new mother, or your own little princess, this delicate creation will
delight that special lady and all her guests.”

The descriptions were beginning to
sound like fashion show fare, and Sam spotted Rupert’s writing flair in the
narrative. Careful, she thought, someone’s going to figure out your nom de
plume.

“From the kitchen of Taos resident
Cynthia Freeman,” he continued, “comes this whimsical two-tier design of milk
chocolate with dark chocolate chips in the cake itself. The rolled fondant
decorations say Spring, with bright yellow daisies punctuating the chocolate
and white stripes and a big yellow bow gives it an old-fashioned hatbox feel.
On the top tier a sweet-faced honeybee rests his wings and we can only imagine
that after his little nap he will be buzzing around the rest of the abundant
yellow daisies in this beautiful little garden.”

Cynthia must have brought family
with her today; a cheer rose from one corner of the ballroom when Rupert
finished describing the cake.

“Last, but most certainly not
least,” Rupert said, “we have Danielle Ferguson’s entry, an all-chocolate
wedding cake of four tiers. Each tall level of cocoa supreme cake is iced with
chocolate ganache which is then covered in a smooth chocolate wall. Crisp
chocolate ‘lace’ was molded to fit every surface of those walls, giving the
overall effect of a delicate castle with ethereal parapets where the occasional
white-chocolate flower peers out to the ordinary world below.”

Sam had to hand it to him—he’d
come up with more ways to describe chocolate cake than she would have ever
imagined. And the contestants had displayed amazingly creative talent. She
wondered if any of them was looking for a job—just in case Sweet’s Sweets
became even busier than at present.

Rupert handed the microphone to
Bentley Day who, unable to be out of the limelight for more than a few minutes,
had been providing boyish distractions at the back of the stage.

“Thank you for those lovely
descriptions, Rupert. We have tallied the ballots that all of you, chocolate
lovers of Taos, turned in, and I am pleased to announce that the winner of the
People’s Choice Award goes to . . . Cynthia Freeman for Honey Bee!”

Cheers erupted and applause came
from all corners of the ballroom.

Cynthia blushed and slowly made
her way from her booth at the very back of the room up to the front, where
Bentley placed a ribbon with a medal around her neck. The photographer from the
newspaper hustled forward for pictures. Apparently he suggested that the cake
be moved to a separate area where he could set up the proper lighting because
Cynthia picked it up and the little procession that included the reporter
assigned to the story made their way, smiling and waving, out of the ballroom.

“Now, shall we find out who won
the top prize?” Bentley Day teased the crowd.

No, let’s just bag it and go home. What did he
think? Sam tamped
down her impatience for the day to be finished.

“In the judges’ estimation,” he
began, “based on flavor of the cake, use of the
Qualitätsschokolade
product, and creativity of design . . . the top
honor, and ten thousand dollar prize . . . goes to . . . Danielle Ferguson for
her all-chocolate wedding cake!”

Next to Sam, Danielle shrieked and
began to push through to the front. Farrel O’Hearn must have stepped aside for
the cute little bee cake to pass by; she walked back into the ballroom at the
moment Danielle’s name was announced. Her face went stony, then red.

For a split second Sam thought she
was seeing Carinda—Farrel’s hair today fell in the same shape Carinda had
always worn and her dress was the same blue color that the murdered woman had
worn on her final day.

Danielle turned to her with a look
of shock. She recovered quickly, however, and shot her rival a smile of smug
triumph.

It was too much for Farrel, having
the loss rubbed in her face that way. She lunged toward Danielle with a roar.
The two women gripped forearms, snarling and clawing, pinwheeling out of
control toward the table full of cakes.

Chapter
17

Several hundred people held their
collective breath as the inevitable unfolded. Farrel’s momentum propelled the
two women directly toward the dais. The table holding the remaining four cakes
teetered. The two female judges saw it coming and leaped to the very back of
the platform just before the tallest of the cakes, Farrel’s three-tiered
creation of ivory fondant globes tilted forward and crashed onto her head. The
wobbling table dispensed the other three cakes on top of the fighting
women—splat! Cake, fondant, frosting and chocolate lacy bits shot out, covering
a five-yard swath of the audience and nearby booths. Harvey Byron picked bits
of cake out of his ice cream vats and in Sam’s booth Becky and Kelly stared at
each other in horror before they began to laugh at the sight of the pink and
chocolate goo on their faces.

Sam turned to catch Herr Schott’s
reaction—dignified Swiss repulsion—right before he stomped out of the ballroom.
Well. So much for any hope of another year’s sponsorship.

As chair of the event she should
probably be horrified at the battle between Danielle and Farrel, but the two
women had been giving each other—and everyone else—grief since day one. The
melee was almost inevitable. Danielle could have handled it better. A gracious
winner is always more beloved than an arrogant one, and Danielle had been about
as snotty toward Farrel as humanly possible. All in all, though, it really was
pretty funny to watch the two of them rolling around in the wreckage of
chocolate and icing on the floor.

Half the audience reacted
similarly to the Swiss chocolate maker; a bunch of the others simply leaped in
and began gobbling up hunks of broken cake and frosting flowers.

Auguste Handler showed up, alerted
by shrieks from the room full of spectators and as soon as the two sugar-coated
women were pulled apart he promptly presented them with a bill for cleanup. By
this time all the other vendors were well into the process of breaking down
their booths and hustling their belongings out the back door. It was more than
an hour before Sam got away.

She pulled her van near the back
door of the homeless shelter where she often donated spare baked goodies,
hoping to give a lift in spirits to those who needed one. Her own mood had been
strangely buoyed since the breakup of the fight that signaled the grand finale
of the chocolate festival. Turning off her engine she walked to the back of the
van to pull out three large bakery boxes filled with cookies, muffins, cake and
cheesecake.

“Whoa, what’s this? On a Sunday
afternoon?” Greta Ortiz, who ran the shelter, greeted Sam at the door with a
big smile and a hug.

Sam carried the boxes into the
facility’s kitchen and set them on the table.

“Mid-afternoon snack, dessert
tonight, breakfast tomorrow . . . whatever you want it to be.”

“I hear things got kind of
exciting at the festival awhile ago,” Greta said, taking a peek into the box on
top.

“Uh-oh, this didn’t get on the
radio, did it?” Bad publicity, after all their hard work to make the festival a
positive, upbeat event for the community?

“Oh, no. Nothing like that. In
fact, the radio guy talked it up real big. The way your announcer described
those cakes . . . made me want to run right down there and have some.” Greta reached
into the box, picked up a cookie and began nibbling the edges. “I got the
skinny on the big fight from my gal who comes in to clean. Her sister was there
and I’ll tell you, she’s no fan of Danielle Ferguson. She just had to call
Sissy and pass along the word. Ooh, these chocolate cookies with all the nuts
are really good!”

Including the word that Danielle
had baked the winning entry? Sam closed her eyes for a moment and willed the
whole scene out of her head. She was bone tired and ready to be done with
everyone associated with the festival.

For now. She was sure to keep
hearing about Carinda’s murder and had a sneaking suspicion that someone
involved with the festival would end up being implicated. She could only hope
that, if it was Bentley Day or one of the other out-of-towners, Beau was close
to figuring it out and making an arrest.

As Sam was leaving, Greta thanked
her profusely and assured her that the people they fed for the next couple of
days would love the extra treats. Sam started her van and dialed Beau.

“If you don’t have any objection,”
she said, “I’m picking up deli food for dinner. Roast chicken, salads and rolls
okay with you? I can’t seem to summon up the energy to cook.”

“I’ll go you one better. I’m about
a block from the store now—I’ll even pick up the food.”

Well, what woman in her right mind
would say no to an offer like that? She headed north on Paseo, cruising slowly
along. The midday temperature hovered around eighty, with a crystalline blue
sky and a sharp quality to the light. She realized what a perfect weekend she’d
nearly missed, stuck indoors for most of three days.

Passing the municipal complex she
glanced that direction just in time to catch a flash of turquoise clothing. A
blonde woman with her hair up in a clip, hands cuffed behind her back, was
being led into the building by a uniformed officer. Her appearance so closely
fit what Kelly had described at breakfast that Sam whipped her steering wheel
to the right and bounced a little as the van took the driveway a bit too fast.