Better Than Chocolate Read online

  * * *

  “We’re almost at full occupancy for the weekend of the festival,” Olivia announced to the rest of the committee as they met over breakfast at Dot’s Breakfast Haus.

  “I’m a little over half full now,” Annemarie said. She smiled at Samantha. “This was a great idea.”

  “And the Mr. Dreamy contest was positively inspired,” Olivia said. “I’m going to enter both my sons.”

  Samantha could feel Cecily’s superior smirk without even looking at her. The elbow in the ribs was quite unnecessary.

  “We don’t have permits yet,” Samantha told them.

  “Maybe you should see what the holdup is,” Olivia suggested.

  As if she hadn’t been trying. On the issue of those permits, Samantha felt like a salmon trying to spawn in quicksand. No one at city hall seemed to know anything and they kept referring her to Pissy, which was a joke since every time Samantha called, Pissy always managed to be out of the office or on the phone or just plain unavailable.

  When she’d finally cornered her archrival, Pissy had gotten, well, pissy about the whole thing. “Do you think we’re incompetent around here?” she’d demanded.

  “No, of course not,” Samantha had said, getting in touch with her inner Cecily. Just spiteful.

  But even Pissy wouldn’t be so small as to sabotage this merely to one-up Samantha. At least, Samantha hoped not. Unless she didn’t get that it was good for the whole town.

  “Especially when this is going to benefit so many businesses,” Samantha had added, just to make sure Pissy was seeing the whole picture.

  “Yours especially,” Pissy had said. “Now, if that’s all you need I’ve got to go. I have an important meeting.”

  “With your shrink?” Samantha had snapped.

  But Pissy was long gone and the only reply she’d gotten was a dial tone.

  Obviously, it would help if someone besides Samantha bugged the gang at city hall. “Maybe someone with a little more pull should try to get things moving. Ed, would you mind giving Del a call?”

  “I’m sure he’s on top of it,” Ed replied, “but I’ll talk to him. It would be good to know where we are.” He rubbed his forehead.

  “Are you feeling okay?” Olivia asked him, sounding like a concerned wife. Samantha suspected she’d like to step into that role, but Ed only had eyes for Pat Wilder, the statuesque widow who owned Mountain Escape Books.

  “Just got a touch of headache,” said Ed. “I’ll be fine. But I think I’ll go home and take a rest. I’m feeling kind of tired.”

  “I hope you’re not coming down with something,” Olivia said.

  Me, too, thought Samantha. If you are, don’t get sick until you talk to Del.

  Selfish, she scolded herself. “Feel better soon,” she told Ed. “And let me know what Del says,” she added, a subtle hint to call the mayor before he collapsed. Okay, so she wasn’t the most noble girl in Icicle Falls, but damn it, she had a business to save and a town depending on her.

  Ed’s departure, along with the fact that the pancakes had been consumed, signaled the end of the committee meeting, but Samantha decided she needed a private meeting with her sister. “Walk with me to the office,” she said as they left the restaurant.

  “Is that an invitation or a command?”

  “Uh, yes?”

  Cecily frowned but obliged.

  It was a lovely day for a walk, anyway, Samantha reasoned. The sun was out, the sky was blue, the rugged beauty of the mountains was breathtaking and the crisp mountain air invigorating. Talk about a jewel of a setting for a town. This festival was bound to attract new visitors, and once they saw how lovely Icicle Falls was, they’d return and bring family and friends.

  “Is there a problem?” Cecily asked, bringing her back to the present.

  These days it seemed like there was always a problem. Samantha didn’t say that, though. Instead, she said, “I wish you’d held off a few more days before running that piece about the contest in this morning’s Sun.”

  “You can’t wait until the last minute with this sort of thing.”

  “I know.”

  “You’re worried about the permits, aren’t you?”

  Samantha nodded. “We’re doing things backward. That makes me nervous.”

  “If you wait until you have the permits in hand you won’t have time to set up all your events,” Cecily said.

  Of course her sister was right. They were racing against the clock and that meant they couldn’t follow standard operating procedure. Still. She liked to get her ducks in a row and these ducks were swimming in all directions. Now she rubbed her forehead. Ed’s headache was catching.

  “I know I’m obsessing,” she admitted, “but without the arts and crafts and food booths the festival won’t really feel like a festival. People will feel cheated.”

  “We’ll have to manage the best we can,” Cecily said with a shrug.

  Her sister was right. Worrying wasn’t helping anything. At the rate she was going she’d be prematurely gray by Valentine’s. Samantha forced herself to stay on track. “So, what’s this I hear about a kickoff for the Mr. Dreamy contest at Zelda’s bar?” She could only imagine how tacky that would turn out to be. “Is it really necessary?”

  “Yes, it is. It’ll be a fun evening and get people excited. And it’s another way to remind everyone that they want to buy tickets for the pageant, not to mention chocolate.”

  “I suppose,” Samantha said grudgingly. “Who have you suckered into judging that, by the way?”

  “You, for one.”

  “Me?” Oh, that was what she wanted more than anything in the world, to be a judge in a male beauty contest.

  “Do I detect a sneer in your voice, Miss Icicle Falls?”

  Samantha pointed a warning finger at her sister. “That was for college scholarship money. And we at least had a talent competition.”

  “Well, this is for valuable prizes,” Cecily said. “And we’ll have interview questions.”

  “Like if they want world peace?” Samantha scoffed.

  “Nothing so boring,” Cecily said with a grin.

  “I don’t know about this,” Samantha muttered. Although it didn’t make any difference. Her sisters had turned into event bulldozers, plowing over her objections and concerns. Not that she had many when it came to the classier events. It was only this stupid Mr. Dreamy contest she wasn’t wild about.

  “It’ll be great,” Cecily assured her. “Guys will have to tell us their favorite Sweet Dreams candy, so of course they’ll buy lots to do research, and that’s good for sales. Anyway, everyone’s on board and this train is already down the track.”

  “Well, you can let it go down the track without me,” Samantha said.

  “I’m afraid we can’t. Sweet Dreams is sponsoring this and you’re the face of Sweet Dreams. By the way, Nia Walters wants to interview you for the paper. So you’re not only getting sales out of the contest, you’re getting free publicity.”

  It was hard to argue with free publicity. Still, Samantha would rather have jumped naked into the icy Wenatchee River than judge this stupid contest. “Who else is judging?” she asked grumpily.

  “Mom and me.”

  “Sounds like you have plenty of faces. You don’t need mine. And what’s Bailey doing?”

  “Mistress of Ceremony, since she loves the spotlight. And yes, we do need you.”

  “So is that it? I mean, shouldn’t we have
someone else?”

  “I thought maybe Cass. She’d be unbiased.”

  “Have you asked her?” Somehow, Samantha couldn’t picture Cass going along with such silliness.

  “I hoped you would,” Cecily said, careful not to meet Samantha’s gaze.

  “You little chicken.”

  “Cluck, cluck,” replied her sister. “Look at it this way. I’ve given you a chance to micromanage.”

  They were at Sweet Dreams now, and before Samantha could come up with a comeback her sister had breezed into the gift shop to see if any men had stopped by for an entry form.

  “We’ve already had six guys,” Heidi said.

  “I knew this was going to be popular,” Cecily crowed.

  Samantha decided to say nothing other than, “I’ve got to get to work,” and escaped to her office.

  “Don’t forget to talk to Cass,” her sister called after her.

  “Why me?” she grumbled.

  The answer to that was easy. She was the oldest. She got to do the dirty work.

  Later she found Cass and her daughter, Danielle, busy draping a necklace holder with necklaces and bracelets made of chocolate cookie hearts with pink icing.

  “They’re for the festival,” Cass said. “What do you think?”

  “I think they’re adorable,” Samantha gushed. “Who’s the designer?” She didn’t really need to ask. Danielle was beaming and Cass was looking like a proud mama.

  “It was Dani’s idea,” Cass said. “Is she good or what?”

  “Or what. You’re an artiste,” Samantha told the girl.

  “Try one,” Danielle urged.

  They were almost too pretty to eat. Almost. Samantha bit into one and got sent straight to taste-bud heaven. “These will sell like crazy,” she predicted.

  “Especially with middle-grade girls,” Danielle said. “If they go over well, then maybe Mom will sell them on the website,” she added, looking to her mother.

  Cass nodded slowly. “It’s a possibility.”

  “Could Luke help me figure out how to box them so they don’t break?” Danielle asked Samantha.

  “I’ll send him over later today,” Samantha promised, happy to support a budding entrepreneur.

  Two teenage girls entered the store in search of after-school sustenance and Danielle went to serve them.

  “You have such a great daughter,” Samantha said.

  “Yes, I do,” Cass agreed, looking at Dani with pride. “I just wish her sister would stop driving me crazy,” she said, brows furrowing.

  Amber, Cass’s youngest child, was fourteen going on trouble. “Willie’s doing okay, though,” Samantha said in an attempt to help her look on the bright side. Between wrestling and football and Boy Scouts, her son had plenty of activities to keep himself out of mischief.

  Cass gave a snort. “Two out of three’s not bad. Is that what you’re saying?”

  It had been. Lame. “She’ll come around. Cecily went through a phase where she drove our parents nuts and she came out of it.”

  “I’m sure Amber will, too,” Cass said. “It’s either that or I’m going to kill her. I know, maybe I’ll adopt her out. Would you like a fourteen-year-old?”

  “In about twenty years,” Samantha quipped.

  Cass shook her head. “I love her dearly but sometimes… If only she didn’t take after her father. She can be so surly. And stubborn.”

  As far as Samantha could tell, that described most fourteen-year-old girls.

  “And, of course, I’m the bad guy these days, getting on her about her grades, ruining her social life,” Cass continued, “while he gets to look like a cross between Santa and Saint Christopher. Men,” she added in disgust.

  Cass was obviously not feeling generous toward the opposite sex right now. Maybe this wasn’t the moment to ask if she wanted to help choose Icicle Falls’ first Mr. Dreamy.

  But Cass was always unhappy with her ex, so there’d probably be no good moment. “Speaking of men, we need an impartial judge for our Mr. Dreamy contest. Cecily was hoping we could recruit you.”

  “As long as none of them look like Mason I can be unbiased,” Cass said with a grin.

  “We’ll work on that.” Samantha sobered. “You know, I’ve got to admit I’m surprised you’re willing to do this.”

  “Oh? Why?”

  “Well, for one thing, it’s silly.”

  “It’s also fun and I’ll enjoy watching those men jump through whatever hoops Cecily dreams up. And I assume there’ll be chocolate in it for me, right?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Then call me Your Honor.”

  Well, that was easy, Samantha mused as she left. In fact, other than the frustration of not knowing where those permits were in the tangle of city hall red tape, plans for the festival were coming along nicely. What should have required months was falling into place in record time, thanks to an entire town full of enthusiastic volunteers. And things like that just didn’t happen except in books and movies.

  So, when was the other shoe going to drop?

  * * *

  Cecily started a buzz in the grocery store when she stopped by to put up a poster for the Mr. Dreamy contest on the community bulletin board.

  “How fun!” exclaimed Lauren Belgado, who had ducked in on her coffee break. “And, oh, my gosh, look at the stuff the winner gets. I’m so nominating Joe.”

  Her boyfriend, Joe Coyote, had a nice face and a nice build. Due to a scar on his face and a limp (a souvenir from a construction accident) Cecily wasn’t sure he could compete against some of the better-looking men in town. Still, if a man could win on heart alone, the prize was Joe’s.

  Now another woman had come over. “Oh, wow, I read about this in the paper. I’m going to pick up an entry form. If my boyfriend wins, we can take that wine tour.”

  “What all do the guys have to do?” asked Lauren. “Is there, like, a talent competition? Joe’s kind of shy.”

  “No talent.”

  “Then what do they have to do?” the other woman asked.

  “Oh, we’ll have some questions for them to answer, like what their favorite Sweet Dreams candy is.”

  “Research,” Lauren said happily, making Cecily wish her sister was present to hear this conversation. “What else?”

  “Nothing too hard,” Cecily assured her. “Probably walk out on stage without their shirts.”

  The women giggled.

  “Dumb,” a deep voice said behind Cecily.

  She turned to see that Todd Black had emerged from his man cave to purchase sustenance for the Neanderthals. If you could call a grocery cart filled with soft drinks and pretzels sustenance. The first thought that came to mind was There’s our first Mr. Dreamy.

  She quickly squelched it. She didn’t know Todd Black’s educational background, but wherever he went to school he must have majored in obnoxious behavior. “No dumber than the Miss America Pageant,” she said.

  “True,” he agreed in a tone of voice that told her what he thought of that competition.

  “Or the Victoria’s Secret special,” she said sweetly, determined to strip off his P.C. camouflage and reveal that he was just as superficial as any other man.

  He didn’t disappoint her. “That’s worth watching,” he said with a grin.

  Now two more women were eavesdropping and she felt the need to put him in his place. Diplomatically, of course. “Not to us,” she told him. “And that’s why we’r
e having a Mr. Dreamy contest. Since women are the ones who like chocolate—”

  “Guys like chocolate, too. Remember?” he said.

  “Just not chocolate festivals.”

  “Have a Miss Chocolate Kiss competition. I’ll come,” he said. “I’ll even vote for you,” he added with a wink, and wheeled his cart out the door.

  “My God, he’s gorgeous,” one woman breathed.

  “Better than chocolate,” another said.

  “Nothing is better than chocolate,” Cecily informed them even as her traitorous hormones muttered that she’d sell off all the stock in the Sweet Dreams warehouse for a night with him.

  Fortunately, her brain was in charge now. Her hormones had proved they couldn’t be trusted.

  Oh, but she was willing to bet he was an exceptional kisser.

  Lots of practice, said her brain. Leave him in his man cave where he belongs.

  Good idea.

  * * *

  Muriel had meant to get dressed, she really had. But somehow the day had gotten away from her. Now the doorbell was ringing and she was in the living room in her pajamas.

  She wouldn’t answer. The drapes were drawn. She could just hide in here until whoever was pestering her went away.

  But then she heard voices and a key in the front door lock and she had to find a new hiding place. She scurried down the hall to her bedroom and shut the door.

  A moment later Cecily’s voice drifted down the hall to her. “She’s home and I’m sure she’ll want to see you.”

  No, she wouldn’t, whoever it was. She slipped into the bathroom and shut that door, too, putting another barrier between herself and the world.

  She heard a knock on the bedroom door, then, “Mom?” followed by tentative tapping on the bathroom door. “Mom, Pat’s here.”

  “Tell her I’ll call her later,” Muriel said. “I’m not feeling well.” That was certainly no lie.

  “Okay.”

  She sounded disappointed, like Muriel had failed some sort of test. This was hardly surprising. She seemed to be failing all kinds of tests lately.