Sweet Revenge

  NANCY LEAPT to her feet and raced to him. “Brock, are you all right?” she asked urgently.

  The only answer was a dreadful moan.

  “Brock?” Samantha shouted in a panicked voice. “Brock?”

  Bending over, Nancy shook his shoulder. At her touch Brock fell onto his back.

  Bess screamed, and a chorus of gasps and cries rose from the other guests.

  “What’s the matter?” shouted a woman wearing a press pass. She rushed forward—but stopped short when she saw Brock. His face was gray and flecked with sweat, and his lips were drawn back into a shocking grimace of agony. His blue eyes were bulging and staring, as if he couldn’t focus.

  “Help me. Please!” he managed to gasp out.

  “Is there a doctor here?” someone called.

  “I’ll call an ambulance,” Jake Tagley spoke up in a take-charge tone. He dashed out the door.

  “Brock, can you hear me?” Nancy asked as calmly as she could. “We’re getting help.”

  Brock didn’t respond. Nancy checked his pulse. It was shallow, and his wrist was icy.

  Sobbing, Samantha threw herself down next to Brock. “Say something, Brock,” she begged. “I can’t believe this is happening!”

  Gripping both of his hands tightly, she stared up at Nancy. “He’s—he’s not going to die, is he?”

  But Nancy couldn’t answer.

  • • •

  Half an hour later an ambulance pulled away from Oakwood Inn, carrying Brock to the hospital. Samantha had gone with him, so Mrs. Tagley was now frantically trying to put together an activity for the horrified guests.

  Nancy, Bess, and George were still in the living room. A police car had arrived, and a gangling young officer named Steve Ullman was taking statements from the guests.

  “You know, Nancy’s a detective. She’s incredible,” Bess said proudly when it was her turn to be questioned. “You should let her work with you on this case.”

  Officer Ullman smiled politely. “We don’t know if it’s a case yet,” he said, flipping to a new page of his notebook. “But, of course, I’d be grateful for any help any of you can give me.”

  “You should know about a couple of strange things that happened earlier.” Nancy told him about the “accidents” that had taken place that day and about her suspicion that Brock was poisoned. “His attack came right after he’d eaten the first piece of chocolate.”

  “Seems hard to believe it could work so fast without killing him,” Officer Ullman mused. He was eyeing Nancy with more respect now. “I’m not a poison expert, but I’ll definitely take those chocolates back to the lab. You say you found the jar of ants hidden in the kitchen? Do you think any of the kitchen staff could be responsible?”

  “It’s hard to think of a motive, but I can check it out for you,” Nancy replied.

  “I may be back myself, depending on what the lab boys turn up,” said Officer Ullman. “In the meantime, let me know if you find anything.”

  Unfortunately, most of the staff had left for the evening by the time Nancy and her friends reached the kitchen. The lone waitress putting away some leftover chocolate-raspberry mousse torte had nothing to add to what the girls had seen for themselves.

  “We’ll have to try again tomorrow,” Nancy said, pushing through the kitchen doors into the deserted dining room. “Let’s go up to the suite. I’d like to go over what we know so far”—she frowned—“which isn’t much.”

  “Oh, let’s not go back up yet,” said George. “Couldn’t we find some other room where we could talk in private? Our suite’s so small it makes me feel claustrophobic.”

  “Fine with me,” said Nancy. “But nothing on the first floor where anyone could interrupt us or listen in.”

  They settled on a small lounge in the basement that smelled as if it was a smoking room, probably for the staff.

  “Well, Nan,” George said, settling into a battered armchair. “It looks as though you have another case on your hands.”

  Nancy and Bess sat down on a couch covered with an Indian-print spread. “Whoever put the ants on that cake and tampered with the chocolate scale may have been playing a prank. But poisoning’s no joke. Someone’s definitely out to get Brock.”

  “But who would want to hurt him?” Bess asked. “I mean, an actor might have enemies, but you’d expect them to be—oh, I don’t know, rivals for acting parts or something. Who would try to attack an actor at a chocolate festival?”

  Three names popped into Nancy’s head immediately. “Tim might,” she said. “He’s obviously jealous of Brock. And, maybe, Mrs. Tagley. She made the chocolates, so she had a perfect opportunity to poison them. I’m not sure what her motive would be, but I get the feeling that she’s not crazy about Brock. I also don’t trust Dan Avery. I have no idea what he’s up to, but I did overhear him say he’d get Brock. Other than those three, I—”

  Thwack! Thwack!

  “What’s that?” Bess asked. Nancy was the first to get up and walk to the doorway and out into the hall. A light was on in an adjoining room. A pool table stood in the middle of the room, and board games were scattered on card tables with fold-out chairs around them. On the far wall was a dart board, at which Jake Tagley was just aiming his third dart.

  “It’s Jake,” she called back to Bess and George, who were still in the hall.

  “Hi,” Jake said to the girls as they came over to join him. “I couldn’t think of anything else to do. This is supposed to relax me, but I’m not sure it’ll work.” Nancy noticed that Jake was speaking mostly to Bess.

  “I don’t blame you,” Bess said sympathetically. “We feel terrible about Brock, too. What a nightmare!” She shivered, and Jake stepped closer as if to protect her. “It’s just so spooky thinking that there’s someone out there who could . . .” Bess’s voice trailed off, and she shuddered again.

  “Don’t worry,” said Jake, putting a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll watch out for you.”

  He tried to sound as if he was half joking, but his admiring gaze made Nancy sure he meant what he said. From the glazed expression in Bess’s blue eyes, however, Nancy realized that Jake’s concern for her friend wasn’t even registering.

  Jake seemed to notice Bess’s indifference as well. To change course, he checked his watch and sighed. “So much for my dart game. I guess I should go help my dad a little before I call it a night. He’s a night owl and loves to work late. He’s nailing down baseboards in the east wing.”

  “And we might as well head up to the lobby and see what’s going on,” Nancy said. “Maybe Mrs. Tagley has some news about Brock.”

  They found Samantha’s mother sitting at the front desk going over some flow charts. Seeing the girls, she put down her pen wearily. “Were you looking for something to do?” she asked the girls. “I’m afraid our evening plans have fizzled out.”

  “We just wondered if there was any news about Brock,” Bess said.

  “He’s not doing well at all.”

  Nancy thought she detected a strange note of satisfaction in Mrs. Tagley’s voice. But why? Could it be that she disliked Brock so much that she was actually happy he was sick?

  “Samantha called a little while ago,” Mrs. Tagley went on. “Brock’s in intensive care, unconscious. The doctors suggested that Samantha come home because there’s nothing she can do for him right now.”

  Just then Nancy heard the front door open. She turned to see Samantha walking wearily up to the front desk, her face chalk white.

  “M-Mother?”

  “Hello, dear,” said Mrs. Tagley worriedly. “How are you doing?”

  Before Samantha could answer, Bess spoke up. “How’s Brock doing?”

  “No change from the last time I checked in. But I can tell that the police think”—Samantha’s dark eyes filled with tears—“that they feel Brock was poisoned,” she choked out. “They were asking all kinds of questions about the chocolates. And about the guests here. And—and about Tim.”

  “What
about Tim?” Mrs. Tagley asked quickly.

  “Things like where he was when Brock got sick,” Samantha said miserably, tears falling down her pale cheeks. “And whether he had access to the scale that dumped Brock into the chocolate. And if he had any reason to be jealous of Brock. Mother, I know they suspect Tim of poisoning Brock!”

  “Oh, that’s ridiculous,” said Mrs. Tagley, but Nancy didn’t think she sounded convinced.

  “B-but if it wasn’t Tim, then who was it?”

  There was an awful silence.

  “I can’t believe this is happening,” Samantha finally said, wiping her tears away. “I couldn’t even face Tim right now. Things are awkward enough between us.” Brushing back a wayward strand of long hair, she glanced at the grandfather clock by the front door. “I should go up to bed, but first I need a glass of milk.”

  “We should head upstairs, too,” said Nancy to Bess and George. “I’m sure we’ve got a big day ahead of us.” And not just tasting chocolate, she added wearily to herself.

  Once they were in the elevator and out of earshot, Bess muttered, “I don’t blame Tim for being upset. Samantha’s just running away from her problems. I mean, why is she so cozy with Brock if she’s going with someone else?”

  “Maybe she’s just confused and needs some time to work out her feelings,” Nancy suggested.

  George nudged Bess teasingly. “Come on. Admit it. Aren’t you really just jealous that Sam is stringing two guys along?”

  “No way,” Bess said defensively. Then, giggling, she admitted, “Maybe just a little.”

  • • •

  Five minutes later Bess was already in her nightgown, flipping through a magazine in the living room of the girls’ suite.

  “I’m too wide awake even to think about getting ready for bed,” Nancy said. “George, want to help me search the downstairs living room one more time?”

  “Sure. We’ll let Bess get her beauty sleep.” There was a mischievous twinkle in her brown eyes as she added, “She needs it after tiring herself out eating all that chocolate today.”

  The pillow Bess hurled just missed them as they slipped out the door.

  Downstairs only a couple of lights were burning. Most of the rooms were shrouded in shadow, and there were no guests anywhere.

  “Will you keep out of this?” an angry voice ripped through the darkness, causing Nancy and George to jump. The voice was rising high and shrill, and Nancy realized it was coming from behind the door to a lighted office. “You’re not my father, you know!”

  “I’m not trying to be your father!” It was Mr. Tagley’s voice, and he sounded just as angry as Samantha. “I’m just suggesting that we bring someone in to give you a hand running this place until the festival is over! That doesn’t seem like much, considering the strain you’re under. The strain you’re putting us all under.”

  “I’m not under any strain!” Samantha insisted in a tone that contradicted her words. “Stop trying to take the festival away from me!”

  “Sam, maybe there is too much for one person to do—at the moment, anyway.” This voice was Jake’s, and he sounded much calmer than the other two. “Why don’t you let me help you out? Dad can handle the construction in the east wing by himself, and I could give you a hand with the day-to-day stuff.”

  “No. No,” repeated Samantha in a cracked voice. “I’ll do fine with the day-to-day stuff if you guys will just get off my back!”

  “Well, you didn’t exactly do a great job with those guests in Room two fourteen,” Samantha’s mother put in tartly. “If I hadn’t been on hand to persuade them to stay, they would be long gone. And if you don’t watch out, you’re going to lose all the guests. People don’t like wondering whether they’re about to be poisoned, you know.”

  “It’s not my fault they got the creeps!” Samantha shot back. “And how can you talk about losing guests? This inn was losing guests and money before you let me take over!”

  “The only thing the guests care about are my desserts,” her mother retorted. “My chocolate concoctions are the only reason people have come to this festival.”

  “Now, wait a minute, guys,” Jake said mildly. “Why don’t we all try to—”

  Samantha wouldn’t let him finish. “Oh, so you’re the reason this festival got started, Mother?” she asked sarcastically. “I had nothing to do with it—is that what you’re saying? After all, I only came up with the whole idea and handled all the publicity and convinced Brock to come and—”

  “Brock Sawyer has brought us nothing but problems so far,” Mrs. Tagley snapped. “He was your first mistake.”

  “You’re all against me!” Samantha yelled. She sounded beside herself.

  In the darkened hallway Nancy and George exchanged an uncomfortable glance. Nancy had been so shocked by all they were hearing that she hadn’t even realized they were eavesdropping. With a tilt of her head Nancy suggested that they should start back to the lobby.

  “No one’s against you, Sam,” came Mr. Tagley’s faint voice. “Can’t you see we’re on your side? It’s just that you can’t be expected to work as hard as you have been.”

  “Oh, so you think I can’t handle the work?” Even from down the hall, Samantha’s voice was louder and shriller than before. Then Nancy heard the sound of a door being yanked open.

  “I don’t want to hear any more!” Samantha shouted. “You all deserve to have this festival fall apart!”

  Chapter

  Six

  SHE’S COMING THIS WAY! Quick, get back!” Nancy whispered. She swiftly pulled George into a shadowed doorway.

  Samantha swept by without appearing to notice the girls at all. Then she was gone.

  There was nothing but silence coming from the office she had just left. Finally Nancy heard the sound of a chair scraping on the floor, as if someone was standing up. “Let’s get back upstairs before the rest of them come out,” she whispered to George. They tiptoed the few steps to the elevator, and Nancy punched the button. Thankfully, the doors slid open quickly, and Nancy and George ducked inside.

  “This is even more of a soap opera than I thought,” George commented.

  Bess was still reading her magazine when Nancy and George got back to the suite.

  “Wow!” she exclaimed softly after hearing what had happened. “I didn’t realize that Samantha and her mother were that mad at each other. You don’t think this festival is making Samantha a little crazy, do you?”

  Nancy had been wondering about that herself. “She seemed ready to come unhinged tonight,” she answered soberly as she sat down on the couch next to Bess.

  “Unhinged enough to poison Brock, though?” George called from her little bedroom. She emerged a moment later in an oversize red T-shirt and plopped down in the worn armchair.

  “I’m not sure,” Nancy began thoughtfully, propping her long legs up on the coffee table. “She asked me not to investigate this case after I found that ant jar. I guess she might be trying to sabotage the festival herself—both to take the pressure off herself and to teach her family a lesson. Except that everything that’s happened so far has been aimed at Brock, not the festival in general. Can you see Samantha trying to hurt Brock in that way?”

  Both Bess and George shook their heads. “I can’t see anyone trying to hurt him,” Bess put in emphatically. “Poor Brock! I called the hospital while you were downstairs. They said he’s in stable condition. I’m glad he’s okay, but I’m sick from worrying about him.”

  “I notice you polished off the rest of that candy while Nancy and I were downstairs,” George pointed out, grinning. “Maybe that’s what’s making you feel sick. Anyway, what about Jake Tagley? Did you forget about him?”

  “Forget about Jake? What do you mean?” Bess sounded puzzled.

  George’s brown eyes were twinkling. “Well, Bess, you’ve certainly had a busy day. Jake’s got a major crush on you, and you’re so in love with Brock you haven’t noticed!”

  “I’m not in love wit
h Brock or Jake,” Bess said stiffly. “Besides, it’s mean of you to joke about Brock when he’s in the hospital.”

  “Brock’s in good hands,” Nancy reassured her. She got up from the couch and stretched. “Anyway, you guys should get some rest. Tomorrow’s going to be busy.”

  “What about you?” asked George. “Aren’t you going to bed?”

  “Not yet. We were interrupted before we got to check out the living room, remember? I won’t be able to fall asleep if I don’t do it.”

  Bess’s blue eyes opened wide. “But, Nan, you can’t go down there alone. It’s so late! Can’t it wait until tomorrow morning?”

  “Too risky,” Nancy told her. “I don’t want the cleaning staff to get the chance to clean the place up. They probably start early. I’ve got to check the room for clues tonight.”

  “Do you want me to come?” George asked.

  “No, you’re all ready for bed. I’ll just hurry down and be right back up.” After saying good night, Nancy stepped quietly out into the hall and moved toward the elevator.

  Now every creak the elevator made seemed loud enough to wake the whole inn. Nancy held her breath when the door clanged open in the lobby—but the first floor was dark and deserted. No one was there to see her tiptoe across the lobby and into the living room.

  Did she dare switch on a light? It was so dark that Nancy knew she had no choice. Feeling along the wall inside the doorway, she clicked on the light switch, blinking in the sudden brightness.

  As she made her way across the room, she saw that the end tables were littered with glasses, crumpled napkins, festival schedules, and ashtrays. There was a faint trail on the Oriental carpet of what appeared to be sawdust footprints leading from the fireplace to a side door.

  Sawdust? Nancy suddenly asked herself. What was sawdust doing in the living room? There wasn’t any construction there!

  She gently pushed open the side door. The tracks led into a narrow hallway that Nancy hadn’t been down before. Leaving the side door ajar so she could see by the light from the living room, she stepped out and followed the yellow footprints to—