Sweet Revenge

  “Looks like we’ve got all the makings of a good soap opera here,” George said into Nancy’s ear.

  “Apparently, some of the other guests think so, too,” Nancy whispered back. She flicked a thumb toward the fireplace. “See that guy with the camera over there? He was taking pictures during the whole fight.”

  George followed Nancy’s gaze. “Press, probably,” she suggested.

  “Maybe. He’s not wearing a press badge, though. I’m going to head over there to see what he’s up to.”

  “Always the detective,” said George, laughing. “I’ll wait here for Bess.”

  Nancy was frowning when she came back ten minutes later.

  “So, what’s his story?” George asked.

  “The guy’s name is Dan Avery. Apparently, he’s just a nut for chocolate, like the rest of us,” Nancy explained. “But—I don’t know. All that camera equipment he’s got looks a lot more expensive than most people would carry around, and—”

  “Hey,” said Bess, rushing up to them and waving a cocktail napkin. “Look at my autograph. Let’s hang around until the crowd thins out a little. Maybe we’ll get a chance to really talk to Brock.”

  “Come on, Bess,” George said with a groan.

  “He’ll be here all weekend,” Nancy added. “All we’ve seen so far is the lobby, and I’d like to check out the inn a little.”

  Reluctantly Bess followed her friends. “Some people don’t recognize real scenery when they see it,” she grumbled under her breath.

  • • •

  “Hey, George! I found an antique!” Bess called from a corner of the torn-up room that the girls were exploring. She held up a creased wall map. “What do you think it’s worth?”

  The girls had made their way up a flight of stairs into the east wing. This was the part of the inn being worked on, and the girls had gotten dirt and sawdust all over their clothes.

  “Ten cents, probably,” George told her cousin with a grin. “But look at this!” She showed Nancy and Bess a tiny porcelain figurine she had found on the dusty mantelpiece. “If someone cleaned this up, it would be really pretty.”

  Nancy glanced around the room. It had a forlorn, abandoned quality, as did the other east wing rooms they’d been in. They had poked through bedrooms with four-poster beds wearing canopies of cobwebs, and bathrooms with shelves lined with long-forgotten brands of shampoo and soap. Except for the areas under construction, the east wing looked as though it hadn’t been visited in about fifty years.

  “There’s lots of stuff here that would look nice if someone cleaned it up,” Nancy commented. She brushed her hands together to get rid of some dust. “They must have left the whole east wing pretty much the way it was when they closed it off.”

  Bess shivered nervously. “I feel as though we’re surrounded by ghosts, don’t you?”

  “Nope,” said George cheerfully. “Let’s go check out some more rooms.”

  Suddenly Bess froze. “Wait!” she whispered. “What’s that bumping sound?”

  Nancy stuck her head out into the hallway. “It’s just Jake,” she said, catching sight of his sandy hair and jeans. “Hi, Jake!”

  He was walking down the hallway toward them, lugging a power saw. “Find any skeletons yet?” he asked.

  “Not yet,” Nancy told him, “but this sure looks like the kind of place where we could.”

  “You’re right,” Jake agreed. “In a few months, though, you won’t recognize this place. If you can believe it, we’re actually about to finish one of the rooms in this wing—the new conference room. It should be done today.”

  “You must have been working hard getting ready for this weekend,” Bess observed.

  “We’ve been going pretty much nonstop for the past few months,” Jake replied, nodding. “Tim helps when he can, but he’s pretty busy with his own job.”

  “Your dad’s been helping, too, right?” asked George, wiping her hands on her shorts.

  “Yes. But mostly he works in the basement,” Jake told her. “He’s building bookcases in his workshop. My dad’s really a cabinetmaker, not a carpenter.

  “In fact, that’s how he met my stepmother,” Jake went on. “He was hired to do some restoration work a few years ago. Samantha’s mother was running the inn then, too. She and my father hit it off, and they got married about six months later.”

  “That’s so romantic!” Bess exclaimed. “Love at first sight!”

  “Well, maybe,” said Jake slowly. “I’m not sure it was the greatest match, but—” Suddenly he broke off. “It’s none of my business as long as my dad’s happy, I guess.”

  Bess seemed not to notice his doubtful tone. “This inn would be a great setting for a romance,” she said. “Though not the east wing, of course.”

  “I guess not,” Jake agreed ruefully.

  “So Mrs. Tagley was running the inn alone before?” Nancy asked, half to herself.

  “Right,” Jake said with a nod. “She took it over after her first husband died. I don’t know much about him, but there are people on the staff who were here even before my stepmother came. I hear her first husband was a nice enough guy, but she was really the one in charge. Kind of like now.”

  “But I thought Samantha ran the inn now,” George put in.

  “Well, she’s certainly on her way,” Jake said proudly. “Sam graduated from hotel school last year at the top of her class. The Chocolate Festival was her idea. Her mother has always been a great pastry chef and candy maker, so Samantha decided to use those talents to promote the inn. We’ve been trying to come up with ways to bring in more people, and—”

  He stopped again, and a deep blush crept over his face. “Guess I’ve been working by myself too long,” he said awkwardly. “I’m really rambling on. Sorry.”

  “Hey, we don’t mind,” Nancy said quickly. “This place looks like it has so much history. It’s nice to learn some of it. Do you work here full time?”

  “Oh, no. I’m in hotel school, too. Once I saw the possibilities for this place, I got bitten by the same bug as Samantha and my stepmother. I’m still in my first year, though. What about you three?” he went on. “No fair for me to answer all the questions. Are you students or chefs or what? What brings you to our little chocolate paradise?”

  “Love of chocolate, plain and simple,” said Nancy with a smile.

  “That’s right,” Bess echoed. “Nancy’s a detective. But the only mystery she’s going to be solving this weekend is how I’m going to fit into my clothes after all the chocolate I plan to eat.”

  “Speaking of chocolate,” George put in, checking her watch, “weren’t we supposed to be somewhere at twelve-thirty? It’s twelve twenty-five now.”

  “That’s right!” said Bess. “The Round Room, our schedule said. Jake, could you tell us how to get there?”

  A wide smile spread over Jake’s face. “I’ll do better than that. I’ll take you there myself,” he told the girls. “Just give me a second to brush off all the sawdust.”

  • • •

  “So this is the Round Room,” commented a woman walking through the door ahead of Nancy, Bess, and George. They all stopped to take the pieces of paper and pencils being handed to them. “Well, it fits its name.”

  She was right. The Round Room was certainly round—a white, windowless room that made Nancy feel as though she were standing inside a huge drum. It was filled with expectant and hungry people.

  “Mmm.” Bess gave a rapturous sniff and grabbed George’s arm as she made it into the room. “What’s that incredible smell?”

  “That,” said Samantha, who happened to be standing nearby, “is melted chocolate. Pure, rich Creamfield’s milk chocolate. Three hundred pounds of it. See that vat over there?” She pointed to an immense copper kettle standing on a platform at one end of the room, a dark green silk curtain behind it, setting the copper off perfectly. “It’s full of melted chocolate.”

  “Great, but what’s it for?” asked George.


  Samantha laughed, and Nancy was glad to see she’d shaken off her bad mood after the fight between Tim and Brock. “It’s designed to tempt you into buying Creamfield’s milk chocolate, of course. They’re bringing out a new line of super deluxe candy bars that weigh a pound apiece. Some Creamfield’s executive got the idea that the best way to promote the new chocolate was to let people smell it. And since melted chocolate smells even better than unmelted chocolate, they send that dipping vat filled with chocolate around to festivals like this one.”

  Samantha gave them a tempting smile. “Hurry on up front so you’ll get a good view. You might get a chance to win a couple hundred Creamfield’s chocolate bars, if you’re lucky.”

  “How?” Bess asked.

  Samantha just raised her eyebrows mysteriously. “You’ll find out.”

  The girls followed Samantha as she threaded her way through the crowd toward the platform that held the vat of melted chocolate. They found a place at the front and watched Samantha jump up onto the platform, pick up a microphone, and move over to the vat of chocolate.

  “Attention, please, chocolate lovers!” Samantha said brightly. “Welcome to Oakwood Inn’s first annual Chocolate Festival!”

  Loud applause rang out from around the room.

  “We’d like to kick off the festival with a little contest,” Samantha announced. “To help us, please welcome the festival’s celebrity taster, Mr. Brock Sawyer!”

  Beaming, Brock strode up onto the stage and put his arm around Samantha. Nancy couldn’t help but notice Tim, who was slouching against the curved wall. He looked pretty miserable. His fists were slightly clenched, and the expression on his face was drawn and tight.

  “And the prize,” Samantha went on, “is the next best thing to Brock himself—Brock’s weight in Creamfield chocolate bars!”

  With a flourish she pulled open the green curtain behind them to reveal what looked like a mountain of chunky chocolate bars. They were piled high next to a huge, old-fashioned scale that hung suspended from the ceiling.

  “We’re going to ask Brock to climb onto one side of this scale,” explained Samantha. “And then we’re going to ask you to guess how many delicious Creamfield’s chocolate bars it will take to equal Brock’s weight. Whoever guesses correctly wins all the chocolate. Please fill out your papers and put them in this box on the stage.” When the last guess was tucked inside, she said, “Okay, here goes!”

  There was a buzz of excitement from the audience as Brock, with a wave of mock farewell at the audience, climbed carefully onto one side of the huge scale and perched gingerly in the pan.

  “It’s kind of an unsteady perch,” Samantha said, “so I’m going to use these straps to keep Brock from sliding off.”

  “Oh, I wish I’d brought my camera,” moaned Bess softly.

  Lots of other guests had brought theirs. They were crowding forward now to snap the comical picture Brock made wobbling around on the huge scale. Nancy noticed that Dan Avery had made his way to the front with his camera. He was kneeling on the ground just in front of Nancy, snapping away.

  “Now let’s hear what some of your guesses were!” called Samantha. She pointed to a woman across the room from Nancy. “Yes, ma’am?”

  “A hundred and sixty-two!”

  “Okay,” said Samantha. “Let’s try it.”

  She picked up handfuls of the large candy bars and piled them on the scale.

  “Hey, wait a second. The scale’s tipping!” Brock exclaimed.

  Nancy’s attention snapped to the actor. “It’s doing more than that!” she added. “It’s shaking!”

  Brock grabbed at the edge of the pan to steady himself, but the shaking only grew worse.

  “I’ve got to get off this thing!” he shouted, pulling at the straps tying him to the scale.

  But it was too late. With a tremendous crash the scale tipped forward. Brock soared through the air—and landed headfirst in the vat of steaming melted chocolate!

  Chapter

  Three

  OH, NO! He’ll be boiled to death!” shrieked Bess.

  “That’s impossible,” said a thin, bespectacled man near her. “Fine chocolate is never heated to the boiling point. The cocoa butter would—”

  Nancy didn’t bother listening to the rest. She leapt onto the stage just as Brock’s head appeared above the edge of the tempering pot. He was coughing, sputtering, and trying unsuccessfully to wipe chocolate from his face with a chocolate-drenched hand.

  Samantha reached the pot at the same time as Nancy, and both girls held down their hands to Brock. “Are you all right?” Samantha cried.

  “I—I think I am,” sputtered Brock.

  By this time both Tim and Jake had also rushed forward to help. The four of them tugged on Brock’s hands and arms. As they were yanking him over the edge of the vat, it unexpectedly tipped.

  Nancy jumped back, but there was no avoiding the wave of hot melted chocolate that cascaded onto her feet, covering the stage and dripping down to the floor. Brock, Samantha, Tim, and Jake—all of them as chocolate-covered as Nancy—were unable to move. The guests who were closest to the stage yelped and stepped hastily back.

  Except for one—Dan Avery. He pushed his way through the crowd so eagerly that for a second Nancy almost thought he wanted to lap up some of the melted chocolate. Once he was near the stage, though, he held up his camera and began taking pictures.

  “What is that guy’s problem?” Nancy heard George say to Bess. And next to her, a disgusted-looking Brock was trying to wipe chocolate from his face. “I’ve got to get to a shower,” he muttered.

  “Right away,” Samantha agreed. She turned to Tim and Jake. “Could you guys do me a big favor and start cleaning up this mess while I help Brock to his room? I’ll help later.”

  “Sure thing,” said Jake.

  “I really appreciate it,” said Samantha. Then she turned toward the guests. “Sorry, folks,” she said with a strained smile. “We didn’t mean to go quite so far to get your attention. I guess we’ll have to postpone this contest—but don’t despair. In an hour we’ll be serving the first of our spectacular Chocolate Festival meals—complete with a surprise dessert.”

  “Haven’t we had enough surprises for one day?” a woman remarked tartly. “First we get ringside seats at a boxing match. Then we get dipped in chocolate! This isn’t the most festive festival I’ve ever been to.”

  Samantha’s mouth was set in a straight line, Nancy noticed. “Well, I’m sure things will go smoothly from now on,” Samantha assured the crowd. “Now I’d better help poor Mr. Sawyer. Don’t worry about getting chocolate on the floor, Brock. We can clean it up later.”

  As the guests began to trickle out of the room after Samantha, Nancy said, “I’m going to have to clean up, but first I’d like to get a closer look at that vat of chocolate.”

  “Fine,” said George, who had remained untouched by the chocolate. “Maybe Bess and I will check out the grounds. We’ll see you at one-thirty.”

  Stepping around Tim and Jake, who were scraping sticky chocolate off the platform, Nancy went over to the vat and scale. She was grateful that they didn’t seem to notice her. They both seemed preoccupied with something Tim was muttering angrily about.

  “Why did Samantha say she’d help us clean up the chocolate?” Tim was saying. “Because you know with one thing and another, she won’t be able to help us. She’ll have to check something in her office or make a phone call. Or talk to Brock,” he finished in disgust.

  “I know what you mean,” Jake said sympathetically.

  Nancy was listening with only half an ear. Her attention was mainly concentrated on the scale that had tipped Brock into the chocolate.

  “What’s so interesting about that scale?”

  Suddenly Nancy realized that Jake’s question was directed at her. “Oh, nothing,” she replied casually. “I’ve just never seen one of these up close.”

  That was true, and up close Nancy could see that ther
e was something wrong with it.

  The two pans on either side of the scale were held up by chains that, in turn, were attached to one central chain. There seemed to be some kind of crack in one link of the chain leading to the pan Brock had been sitting on. Bending in to examine it even more carefully, she saw that the link had been filed almost all the way through!

  Someone had meant that chain to loosen and stretch, which would dump the contents—Brock—into the vat. But who? And why?

  There was no way to answer those questions before lunch, Nancy realized. She might as well get cleaned up.

  Saying nothing about her discovery, Nancy murmured a quick “See you guys later,” then walked out of the Round Room.

  The inn was so big and rambling, she decided to try a new route back to the room. The hallway she chose was dimly lit and empty—except for Dan Avery, who was talking on a pay phone in a little alcove.

  He was speaking so venomously that he didn’t even notice Nancy as she walked past. “Absolutely. I’m in total control. Believe me, I’ll take care of him for you. I’ll get that actor if it’s the last thing I do.”

  • • •

  “Chocolate rice? I can’t believe it!” Nancy exclaimed at lunch.

  The Chocolate Festival’s first lunch had just begun—and chocolate had made its way into every course. The rice served with the shrimp main course had unsweetened cocoa in it, though not enough to make it taste strange, Nancy was relieved to note. The butter served with the chocolate whole-wheat rolls was chocolate flavored. There was even chocolate salad dressing on the fruit salad.

  “I can’t imagine what dessert will be,” Nancy said, scooping some rice onto her fork.

  Brock Sawyer smiled down at her, his blue eyes sparkling. “I don’t know, but you’d better save some room for it. It’s bound to be delicious.”

  Before the meal Samantha had spotted Nancy, Bess, and George hesitating at one end of the dining room, trying to decide where to sit. She had asked them to join her family, Tim, and—to Bess’s delight—Brock.

  Now Nancy was feeling a little uncomfortable, though. Brock had spent most of the meal talking to her. She was seated between him and Samantha. Nancy kept trying to steer the conversation toward Bess, who was seated on Brock’s other side, but it wasn’t working.