Better Than Chocolate Part 19

Chapter Fifteen.

Sooner or later, trouble is bound to knock on your door. Welcome it. Then poison it.

-Muriel Sterling, Knowing Who You Are: One Woman's Journey Del wasn't in his office. Again. "When will he be back?" Samantha asked p.i.s.sy.

"By noon, but he has a lunch date so he's not going to be able to talk to you."

"I'm sure he can spare a minute," Samantha said, and plunked herself down on a chair to wait. This time she was not leaving until somebody told her something about those permits.

p.i.s.sy shrugged. "Suit yourself." Then she went back to her desk and got busy looking busy.

Really, if people could get a degree in immaturity, p.i.s.sy would have a doctorate. Samantha took out her phone and began checking email.

She'd barely gotten started when Elena called. "You'd better get back here."

The urgency in her voice made Samantha's heart stop. "What's going on?"

"Something fishy. The manager from the bank is here with two other men and they want to inspect the factory."

"What?" Samantha bolted from her seat and hurried out the door. "Where are they now?"

"I sent them to the gift shop for some free samples. I didn't know what else to do."

"You did the right thing," Samantha said.

"Why are they here? Does this have anything to do with your meltdown a couple weeks ago?"

"Yes, but it's under control. Don't worry."

"Don't worry? Estas demente? I know a shark when I see one. What's going on, chica?"

"Nothing I can't handle," Samantha a.s.sured them both. Oh, Lord, she hoped she was right. She ended the call and broke into a run.

But when she reached her street she realized she needed to face these buzzards from a position of strength, not weakness. Entering her business establishment breathless, sweaty and panicked was no way to put up a strong front. She slowed down, finger-combed her hair and found a tissue in her purse to blot her damp forehead. Then she took a deep breath and marched into battle.

She'd expected to see Blake the Snake and maybe another bank manager, but not the third man, and her heart seized at the sight of him. She knew this man, just like she knew all her compet.i.tors. She'd made it her business to check out the compet.i.tion. Trevor Brown was a busy boy. Every year he lobbied for Madame C to become the official candy of Was.h.i.+ngton State, as the Liberty Orchards people who made Aplets and Cotlets did, and Brown & Haley, producers of Almond Roca-as if he was even in their league-and Sweet Dreams, the chocolate contender. He had big suppliers and a big appet.i.te. He'd already gobbled up two small companies, and now he was looking to swallow hers. Well, he wasn't going to get it.

She donned her business smile and forced herself to move forward, hand out. "I heard we had visitors."

Blake shook her hand. She felt a jolt at the contact and told herself it was rage, pure rage.

He looked embarra.s.sed. He should. He should be mortified by his behavior. Entering the Mr. Dreamy contest and now bringing the vultures for a little deathbed visit. She ended the handshake as quickly as possible. Shaking hands with the other two men as he made introductions wasn't any more pleasant. No jolt there, just panic. Don't panic!

"Nice to meet you," she said to Trevor Brown even though they both knew it was a lie. "Your reputation precedes you." As a maker of inferior chocolates.

"Does it?" He smiled and took another bite of the pecan b.u.t.ter crunch fudge Heidi had given him.

Meanwhile, Heidi was standing behind the counter, a question mark in her big blue eyes.

Samantha smiled rea.s.suringly at her, then returned her attention to the trio of vipers in front of her. "So, gentlemen, what can I do for you?"

"Actually, we're here to tour your facility," said the man Blake had introduced as Darren Short.

"I'm afraid we don't give tours." Samantha smiled with faux regret.

"To the bank that's calling in your note you do," Darren said pleasantly.

Samantha's veins turned to ice. Heidi's shock came at her like a wave; before the day was over, all her employees would be in a panic. She suddenly felt like the proverbial little Dutch boy trying to plug a mult.i.tude of holes in the dike. "The bank doesn't own Sweet Dreams." Not yet, anyway.

"No," Darren said, "but as holder of the note we do have the right to inspect the facility at any time and make sure it's in good working order."

"Then I suggest you send in someone who's qualified to do so."

"We have," Darren said. "That's why Trevor is with us."

This had to be how a cat felt when it was cornered by a pack of dogs. Both Darren Short and Trevor Brown were s...o...b..ring to devour her, and Blake the Snake stood there, his jaw clenched like he wished she'd just shut up and die and be done with it.

Well, she'd be d.a.m.ned if she would. She raised her chin. "I'm sorry, gentlemen, but I'm afraid Mr. Brown doesn't qualify as an inspector." The only t.i.tle he qualified for was king of mediocrity. "If you're concerned about the condition of our building or equipment you can, of course, send someone appropriately qualified, although I can a.s.sure you everything is in perfect working order." Now she smiled, the charming businesswoman offering hospitality. "Mr. Brown, I know you've got a long drive back to Seattle, but I'm sure you'll want to check out one of our fine restaurants. Zelda's is popular, and if you like Mexican there's Der Spaniard. And Schw.a.n.gau can give you some wonderful authentic German fare." She moved to the door and opened it.

"Now, wait a minute," Darren sputtered.

"Gentlemen, I think it's time for lunch," Blake said, moving to the door.

Trevor shrugged. "I've seen enough. Great chocolate, by the way," he said to Samantha as he sauntered past.

Darren wasn't such a good sport. He punched a finger at her. "I want reports on all your equipment and the condition of your building on Blake's desk by the end of business today. Got it?"

In his dreams. Samantha glared at him. "Get. Out."

He stormed off, but Blake lingered. "Samantha, this was not my idea."

She glared at him, too. "But here you are, anyway."

"Not by choice."

"Said the hangman to the prisoner," she retorted.

"Believe it or not, I'm trying to help you."

"Yes, I can tell," she said through gritted teeth. She nodded at his departing partners in crime. "You'd better hurry and catch up. I'd hate to see the vultures start lunch without you."

For a moment he stood there, his jaw working.

"I guess that was too polite. Let me translate. Leave."

He nodded curtly and strode off down the street and she closed the door behind him, then collapsed against it.

"What's going on?" Heidi asked in a small voice.

"A temporary glitch with the bank," Samantha said. "Don't worry. We'll be fine."

She said the same thing to Elena a minute later.

"No me digas mentiras, chica. We have troubles, don't we?"

"We have troubles, yes, but we're going to pull out of them," Samantha insisted. "Hang in there with me, okay?" It was asking a lot. Elena needed both the money and the health insurance.

She nodded. "You know I will."

Samantha's throat tightened and her eyes stung with tears. "Thanks," she managed to say, and shut herself in her office.

The rest of the day was torture. More than one employee came to her wearing a worried expression.

That night she tossed and turned and stared at the ceiling. When she finally slept, her dreams took her to the factory, where she stood alone on the a.s.sembly line, trying to gather a million chocolates off the conveyor belt as they scooted by and put them in boxes. Above her a giant grandfather clock began striking the midnight hour. With the final bong the factory door shot open and the flying monkeys from The Wizard of Oz swooped in. One s.n.a.t.c.hed her up and out the door they flew. Over a frozen Wenatchee River, it let go and she began to fall.

She woke up right before she hit the ice, her heart pounding. And she'd wanted to go to sleep? What had she been thinking?

She called a meeting with her employees the next day and a.s.sured them that Sweet Dreams was not closing its doors, all the while hoping she didn't end up a liar. "With Waldo's death we've had a few challenges to work through." Yeah, and the great flood of Genesis was just a rainstorm.

"But what were those men doing here?" Heidi asked.

"Snooping," Samantha said.

"I heard one of them was from the bank," said Chita Arness, a single mom who worked the production line. "Are they trying to close us down?"

None of Samantha's business cla.s.ses had prepared her for this. She took a deep breath. "No one is closing us down. My family owes them money and they were checking on their investment. It's that simple." And that ugly. She didn't have the heart to tell everyone that if they didn't pay up, Cascade Mutual would be selling Sweet Dreams to the highest bidder.

But Chita obviously wasn't fooled.

"What if you can't pay the bank?" she asked. "What about our jobs?"

"If we were to get bought out, I'm sure you'd still have them." Trevor Brown would keep everyone employed, wouldn't he? Samantha's stomach churned. "Don't worry," she said as much to herself as her employees. "We're restructuring and, as you all know, we're gearing up for a lot of business the weekend of the chocolate festival. We have no plans to shut our doors, no matter what you may hear to the contrary." That was her story and she was stickin' to it.

She went back to her apartment drained and ready to do nothing but stare at her TV like a two-legged squash. But vegging out wasn't an option. It was Friday and she had to go to Mr. Dreamy Night-the brainchild of her sister and Charley-which was taking place in the bar at Zelda's. And, according to Cecily, the face of Sweet Dreams needed to be there for the big contest kickoff.

"Well, you'll have to find another face," she'd said when Cecily had first asked her to attend. "I'm not going."

Then Cecily had caught a bad cold. She was still in bed, slurping Mom's homemade chicken soup and watching old movies on her computer and guess who was going to Mr. Dreamy Night.

Samantha pulled her hair into a sloppy ponytail, put on a black skirt, her favorite V-neck gray sweater and a pair of boots and left it at that. No way was she freshening up her makeup or getting all dolled up for what could very well prove to be a repeat of the Bill Will incident. Cecily and Charley had promised her things wouldn't get out of hand, but she knew better. Her whole life was out of hand. Why would tonight be any different?

There wasn't much to eat in the fridge but that was okay. Since her confrontation with the vultures earlier in the week she'd had no appet.i.te, anyway.

She got to the restaurant at quarter to eight. The dining area was almost empty with only a few older people and one or two couples. From the noise drifting out from the bar, it wasn't hard to figure out where all the customers had gone.

"Everyone's raring to go," Charley told her. "Go on in and order a drink. I'll be there as soon as I can get away."

Samantha entered the bar. It was so packed with people both standing and sitting, she could hardly see the vintage pictures of twenties gangsters and flappers that hung on the wall. Laughter and loud talk rolled over her like a tidal wave. This was going to be a zoo. No one under the age of forty had stayed home tonight; they were all here, slurping huckleberry martinis and chowing down on hot wings and pretzels. Samantha looked around and saw that most of the tables were occupied by couples, but there were also plenty of singles. Four women sat at one table, clearly out hunting for their own Mr. Dreamy. They were dressed to the max in outfits designed to show both cleavage and leg and wore full makeup. At another table she spotted a couple of grocery checkers from Safeway, probably new Mr. Dreamy contestants.

Rita Reyes, looking hot in her simple black shorts and s.h.i.+rt and requisite flapper headband, came over to Samantha, bearing a sheaf of papers. It was impressively thick. "New entries," she said.

"Just from tonight?"

"Yeah. Oh, Charley said to ply you with booze. What would you like?"

The way her week had been going? a.r.s.enic. "I don't know."

"Your sister had Hank invent a drink for the night-a chocolate kiss. They're pretty popular. Want to try one?"

What she really wanted was to go home and feel sorry for herself but that wouldn't help, so she said, "Sure."

"Charley will be here soon. We're about done out in the restaurant."

Samantha was about done in here and they hadn't even started.

"The s.h.i.+rtless-man parade's in twenty minutes. She'll be MCing it."

s.h.i.+rtless-man parade. Oh, Lord. Cecily had conveniently neglected to tell her about that. "Hurry up with my drink," Samantha said weakly.

She tried her best to shrink into the shadows, but failed. Several women dragged their boyfriends over to schmooze and a couple of guys offered to buy her drinks. And then-oh, no-here came Bill Will.

"Samantha!"

She held up a hand. "No singing."

He grabbed a chair from the other side of her little table and set it next to her, then slid onto it and slipped an arm around her shoulders. "Oh, come on," he teased.

Rita arrived with her drink and she grabbed the gla.s.s and took a swallow. "Wow, this is good," she said in surprise.

"What it needs is a Sweet Dreams chocolate in it," Bill Will said, going for shameless flattery.

Actually, though, that was a good idea.

Red Ralston, who worked on the guest ranch with Bill Will, came over and seated himself in a chair on her other side. "Hey, is Bill Will trying to bribe you?"

"I can't be bribed," she said. "Anyway, the compet.i.tion isn't tonight. You both know that. This is just the kickoff."

"We know," Red said amiably.

"And I'm not the only judge."

"You're the most important one," Bill Will said, giving her a playful b.u.mp with his shoulder.