Better Than Chocolate Part 25

"Of course you do," he said comfortingly. "I understand. A woman has...needs."

Needs? Oh, no. Not those kinds of needs. "Del, you've misunderstood-"

He patted her arm. "You don't have to be ashamed, Muriel. You're only human."

And Del Stone was subhuman, and proof that charm and character didn't always go hand in hand.

"After dinner, let's go back to my place. I've got a Chablis I know you'll love."

Pa.s.s number one, she could excuse. He'd been drunk. Pa.s.s number two, there was no excuse. "Del Stone, my husband has been gone less than a month. What are you thinking?" Silly question. It was obvious.

"Nothing," he insisted. "I just thought you needed comforting."

"I don't," she snapped. "I need money. And now I need to go home." She started scooting out of the booth.

"But we just ordered."

"I'm sure you can eat your meal and mine."

"Muriel, don't leave," he pleaded.

"I'm afraid I'm not hungry anymore," she said, and left.

She marched from the restaurant and down the street. Of all the nerve! What was it about widows that made men think they could just waltz in and take advantage like that?

It took half a block for her to acknowledge that she herself was part of the problem. She'd been the one to call Del, hoping she could persuade him to help bail her out. What was he supposed to think except that she was a lost, lonely widow?

She was. Her heart hurt. And now so did her feet, thanks to these ridiculous heels that pinched her toes. Still, there were no taxis in a town the size of Icicle Falls. She would be limping home.

She was halfway there when a car cruised up beside her. She turned to inform Del that she wasn't getting into his car, only to discover that the car wasn't Del's. It was a conservative black Lexus and Arnie, her old friend from the bank, sat behind the wheel, looking at her with concern.

He rolled down the window and called, "Do you need a lift?"

She nodded and gratefully got in.

"I was just on my way home from the grocery store when I saw you," he explained.

"Well, thank you for stopping," she said. "You saved my life. My feet are killing me."

Arnie wasn't the handsomest man on the planet. He was thin and his hair was doing a disappearing act. But he had a beautiful heart and he knew shoes. "Those are nice," he observed, "but not exactly walking shoes."

"I hadn't intended to walk," she said. She removed one of the offending heels and rubbed her aching toes. "I left a dinner engagement early."

Arnie didn't ask questions. He merely nodded as if that was the most normal behavior in the world. "How are you doing these days, Muriel? I haven't seen you since the memorial."

Samantha had told her not to talk about the business but surely that didn't include Arnie. He knew about their loan. But did he know they were behind? Maybe not. Maybe she shouldn't say anything. "I'm managing," she lied. She didn't have to tell him that she was managing to ruin everything she touched.

He looked over at her and frowned. "All right. Now, tell me how you're really doing."

A tear slid down her cheek. "Awful. Waldo didn't keep up the payments on his life insurance, I'm upside down on the house..." She stopped herself there. What she'd already shared was depressing enough.

"Oh, Muriel," he said sadly.

She sounded pathetic. How humiliating! "I'll work things out."

"I have a little money set aside."

Oh, no. She wasn't going down that road again.

"I couldn't ask it of you, but thank you for being such a good friend."

He wanted to be more. He'd wanted to be more well before Waldo came along. She supposed if she'd married Arnie she would never have had to worry about money. He was gainfully employed, now working as a claims adjustor for an insurance company in Wenatchee, and he could balance a checkbook. Still, that was no guarantee of stability. A man could lose his health and his mental faculties, leaving both his wife and his checkbook vulnerable. There really was only one person a woman could depend on-herself. It was time she learned that lesson.

"Isn't that what friends are for, to help?" he countered.

"I appreciate the offer, but I think I'm going to have to figure out how to fix my problems without borrowing from anyone. I could use some advice, though."

"I'll be happy to do that," he said. "And if you do find yourself in a pinch, don't hesitate to call."

She was already in a pinch.

That will change, she told herself. Life was always changing, sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse. As bad as things were now, they had no way to go but up.

Samantha and Ca.s.s sat at Bavarian Brews, fortifying themselves with caffeine. "I swear I'm going to end up in a straitjacket if my daughter has anything to do with it," Ca.s.s said.

Oh, no. Had Amber already broken her promise to reform? Samantha suddenly felt like an accomplice to a crime. Maybe she should have told Ca.s.s. If she were a mother, would she want a friend keeping this kind of information from her?

"What's she done?" Samantha asked cautiously.

"Cut cla.s.s," Ca.s.s said in disgust.

"I can think of worse things," Samantha said. Smoking. Shoplifting. Failing to tell a friend you'd caught her kid sampling coffin nails.

"I know." Ca.s.s nodded. "I cut a couple of cla.s.ses in my day. It's the kids she was with. I don't like who she's hanging out with these days."

Samantha didn't, either.

"G.o.d knows what she'll do next. By the way, she came home with a box of your chocolates. She says you gave them to her."

"I did," Samantha said, and hoped Ca.s.s wouldn't ask why.

"Why? What was that about?"

"Call it a bribe."

Ca.s.s took a sip of her mocha. "A bribe, huh?"

"Well, you were worried about her grades, weren't you? Chocolate can be a powerful motivator."

"There's more to this than you're telling me, isn't there?" Ca.s.s was studying her as if looking for the hole in her story, and that made her squirm.

"A little," she admitted, "and I guess I should have asked you before I gave her that chocolate."

"No. I trust your judgment."

That should have been a comfort but it only added to the weight of responsibility on Samantha's shoulders. She should have ratted out Amber. She still could.

But then she remembered the look of relief on the girl's face when she promised to give her a break. Everyone deserved a second chance, especially erring daughters who wanted to s.h.i.+ne in their mothers' eyes.

"We all need a mentor, I guess," Ca.s.s said, "and sometimes a second mom. And I've got to admit I've been so crazy with the business, I haven't given her as much attention as I should." She shook her head. "Ever since she spent Christmas with her dad she's been a handful." Ca.s.s set aside her half-finished mocha and frowned. "Sometimes I want to run away from my life."

Samantha could more than identify with that. "Living isn't for sissies."

Ca.s.s grinned. "Thank G.o.d for friends, that's all I can say. And thanks for being a friend to my daughter."

"Any daughter of yours is a friend of mine," Samantha quipped.

But a certain fourteen-year-old had better watch her step. Samantha had enough stress in her life. She wasn't about to let Amber add to it.

Be glad you didn't have children, she told herself. Imagine having kid problems on top of her business woes. She'd have gone completely insane.

Or maybe not if she had a husband to help stave off the insanity, a big man with broad football shoulders to cry on.

Where had that come from? Once again she had to boot the image of Blake Preston out of her mind. Get out and stay out!

He left but she could hear him saying in an Arnold Schwarzenegger accent, "I'll be back."

The permits finally surfaced from the sea of red tape at city hall. It was a sign, Samantha told herself. The permits were in place and the rockslide would be history. Now they just needed visitors.

If you have it they will come. At least she hoped so. "Let's push forward aggressively," she told her festival committee. "We need to get every service club and church signed up for a booth, as well as the restaurants. That will bring out our people and the ones from nearby towns. Who has a list of all our local artists and crafters?"

"We've got one on file over at the Chamber office," Ed replied.

"Great," Samantha said. "I think, instead of emailing, we should make phone calls. It will be more personal that way and easier to get a commitment."

"Oh, my," Olivia said weakly. "I'm already busy with the tea, although if this mess doesn't get cleaned up I don't know who'll come."

"I'm not good at that sort of thing," Annemarie Huber said.

Ed shrugged. "Sorry, Samantha. The virus I had really took it out of me. I can email you the list of contacts but that's about all I've got the energy for."

After doing whatever he'd done to nudge the permits along, Ed was off the hook. Still, some of the others could pitch in. She looked hopefully at Heinrich.

He shook his head. "We have several arrangements to do for Frank Reinhold's funeral and I have two birthdays. And I'm busy planning decorations for the ball. I won't have time to make so many calls."

Where was everyone's team spirit? Well, never mind. She'd rather make all the calls herself. That way she'd be sure they got done. "Fine, I'll do it," she said.

"I'll help," Cecily told her.

What would she have done without her sister? She smiled gratefully at Cecily, then asked briskly, "Okay, what else do we need to cover?"

"Publicity," Cecily said. "I've sent out press releases to the papers both on this side of the mountains and in Seattle saying that the slide will be cleared in plenty of time, and I've called and left messages for the producer of Northwest Now. But I haven't heard back."

"We need to take out more ads," Samantha said.

"Are we sure the highway will be cleared this week?" Annemarie fretted.

"It will," Samantha a.s.sured her. That road would be cleared even if she had to get out there with a borrowed truck and haul away boulders with her bare hands.

"How much can I spend?" Cecily asked. "I checked and it's not going to be cheap to run an ad in a Sunday paper in Seattle."

"My goodness, that's steep compared to our Icicle Falls paper," Olivia said after Cecily quoted prices.

"But think how many people will see it," Samantha countered. "We have to spend something. Much as we all love free publicity-" except when it involved embarra.s.sing situations "-papers are more interested in printing bad news than good. If it bleeds it leads."

"We can't afford a fortune in advertising," Annemarie cautioned. "Not after all the money we've already spent."

But if they didn't get the word out, they wouldn't have any visitors. All this would wind up being for nothing. "One ad? Can we do one ad?" Samantha pushed.

Ed turned to Cecily. "Get me all the information. We'll see what we can do. And meanwhile, keep trying to get hold of that TV producer. Now, there would be some great publicity."

As long as no one told Bill Will that TV people were in town they'd be fine.

The meeting broke up and Samantha reminded Ed to send her the list of artists.

"Will do," he said. "Then I'm going to go home and crash with a good book."

No surprise there. He was Pat's best customer. "I hope you feel better soon," she said. "And I don't know what you did to get those permits through, but thanks."

He shook his head. "I'd love to take credit but I didn't do a d.a.m.ned thing. I went home and hit the sack."

"Oh. Well."

Ed smiled. "The wheels of progress move slowly in our city hall sometimes, but they do move."

Still, getting those permits had begun to feel like the impossible dream. So what had happened?

Who cared? They'd finally sailed across the sea of red tape and that was all that mattered. She was just grateful to whatever good fairy had helped with the crossing.

Now, if they could get people to come...