Sweet Somethings (Samantha Sweet Mysteries) by Connie Shelton Page B

messages.
    Auguste Handler: “Ms. Sweet, I
understood that your group planned to use only the ballroom? Your associate now
informs me that you also need the garden area. The fee will be different, you
understand. Call me, please.”
    Harvey Byron: “Sam, what’s this
all about? I’m supposed to sell ice cream outdoors, with no access to
electricity to keep my refrigeration running? Call me ASAP.”
    An unknown female voice: “Ms.
Sweet, this is Farrel O’Hearn in Santa Fe. My assigned vendor location at Sweet
Somethings simply will not do. Please call me with a reassignment.”
    Marc Williams: “Sam, sorry to
bother you. You asked for updates on Aunt Sarah’s condition, and I just wanted
to let you know they’ve taken her into surgery. No need to call back. I’m going
to my hotel for some sleep. I would like to speak with you later, if possible.”
    Auguste Handler: “Ms. Sweet, I
haven’t heard from you yet. A wedding party wants the garden. Since our
contract calls for only your use of the ballroom . . . Please call me. Soon.”
    Rupert: “Sam . . .? Where are you?
Pick up? Carinda Carter is driving me nuts!”
    Carinda: “Sam, hi. Just wanted to
let you know that I’ve got everything under control. No worries whatsoever.
Talk to you soon. Bye.”
    Sam dropped her pen and held her
head in her hands.
    “I hate dealing with people !” She moaned it so loudly that
Nellie the border collie came over and laid her chin on Sam’s thigh. It’s okay,
the dog seemed to say.
    “Nellie, it’s not okay. This
stupid chocolate fair is going to drive me insane.”
    She glanced over the names again.
There had to be a way to prioritize them. Since Auguste Handler had the power
to completely shut them down, she hit the redial button beside his name.
    “Ms. Carter said she was on your
committee and that she was in charge of organizing the vendor booths,” he said
after Sam basically asked what the hell was going on. “She came by, probably a
half-hour after you left. Sketched out both the garden and ballroom layouts and
said the festival would be needing both locations after all. To accommodate
that I will require another five hundred dollars.”
    Sam willed her voice to stay calm.
“Okay, first, Carinda Carter was not put in charge of the vendor booths.”
    “But—”
    “I don’t care what she said. We’re
taking the ballroom, that’s it.”
    “So I can let this wedding party
use the garden on Sunday?”
    “Yes. And if you should hear from
Carinda Carter again, don’t discuss anything with her. Refer her back to me.
Please.”
    He seemed a little put out about
all the extra communication, but he wasn’t the only one. She dialed Harvey, who
seemed among the least antagonistic in his message.
    “Check your email, Sam. She drew
up a diagram of the hotel, marked off spaces and told each of us where our
booths would be. I didn’t know she was supposed to do that. I specifically said
on my application that I would need to be near an electrical outlet.”
    “I know, Harvey. I had no idea
Carinda was doing this. I have another map and you are definitely near a wall
plug.”
    Relief was evident in his voice
when he thanked her and hung up. She dialed Rupert next—might as well leap
right back into the drama.
    “What’s going on?” she asked
innocently enough.
    “Didn’t the committee meet only
two days ago? How is it that Hurricane Carinda managed so much damage so quickly?”
From the high tone in his voice, Sam could picture him striding around his
writing room.
    “I’m getting calls from all over.
Farrel O’Hearn, who thinks her you-know-what doesn’t stink has expressly forbid
Carinda from contacting her, for any reason. And I’m the one who got the
earful.”
    “What’s she done?”
    “In Farrel’s words, ‘I’ll bring
this festival down if my booth isn’t the first one people see as they walk
through the door. I studied at Ecole
au Chocolat, the finest school in Paris .
There is no one who