Sweet Revenge

Eight

  SUDDENLY Mrs. Reames’s face froze. “You won’t tell Mrs. Tagley I’ve been blabbing on about her like this, will you?” she begged, twisting her apron. “I’d probably get in all kinds of trouble!”

  “I promise we’ll keep your secret,” Nancy told her. She stood up to leave. “Thank you so much. Come on, George.”

  “You were right, George,” said Nancy as she and George took the stairs up to the main floor. “This really is a soap opera!”

  George asked, “Do you think Mrs. Tagley could have been trying to get revenge on Brock for what his father did to her first husband?”

  “It’s possible,” said Nancy. “I hope not, though. I like Samantha. It would be terrible for her if her mother had done something like that. And that reminds me of something else. Does Samantha know about the way Brock’s father treated her father? I mean, does she know she fell in love with the son of the man who destroyed her father’s spirit?”

  George shrugged. “I guess that’s one of the things you can find out when you talk to Mrs. Tagley. You are going to talk to her, aren’t you?”

  “You bet—very, very carefully. I really don’t want to get Mrs. Reames in trouble, so I’ll have to tiptoe around the whole thing. Let’s see, what time is it?” Nancy checked her watch. “Four-thirty. I don’t think there are any more activities scheduled for this afternoon. This is probably as good a time as any to talk to Mrs. Tagley.”

  “Want me to come?” asked George. “Or do you think she might say more if I’m not around?”

  “I guess I should try a personal approach,” said Nancy. “Maybe you can track down Bess and Jake.”

  “Will do. Good luck!” George headed for the elevator.

  Nancy found Mrs. Tagley’s office next to Samantha’s—the door open. When Nancy peeked in, she saw that Samantha’s mother was talking on the telephone.

  “You’ll be done working by dinnertime, won’t you?” she snapped into the receiver. There was a short pause, then she said, “Well, what about my dessert demonstration tonight? It would be nice to see you once in a while, instead of having you work every second.” She paused again, then sighed. “Oh. Well, okay. Listen, put on a tie if you get a chance, won’t you?”

  She hung up. Seeing Nancy, Mrs. Tagley smiled ruefully and said, “I’m married to a workaholic. He’d rather finish a staircase than eat. Can you imagine?”

  Nancy wasn’t sure what to say, but fortunately Mrs. Tagley didn’t wait for her to answer. “Well, I’m sure you didn’t come to listen to me complain about my husband. Have a seat, Nancy. My daughter’s told me you’re looking into Brock’s poisoning. Is that what you’ve come to talk to me about?”

  “That’s right,” Nancy said, sitting down. “I’m trying to find out who might have had a motive.”

  “I should have thought that was easy,” said Mrs. Tagley. Was there a wary look in her eyes now? Nancy wondered. “Poor Tim has a pretty good reason.”

  “He does,” Nancy agreed, “but so do some other people.” She took a deep breath before asking, “How did you feel about Brock?”

  Now Mrs. Tagley was definitely on the alert. “How did I feel?” she repeated, staring at Nancy. “You sound as if he’s dead or something. I like him fine.”

  “Samantha told me that you objected when she first started dating Brock.” That, at least, wouldn’t get Mrs. Reames into trouble.

  “Well, they did get serious awfully fast.” Mrs. Tagley gave an uneasy laugh. “Besides, I have to admit I have an old-fashioned prejudice against actors. You never know if they’re suddenly going to be out of work.”

  “That’s hardly a problem for Brock now.”

  “No. It’s not.” Mrs. Tagley fell silent.

  “I’ve heard a rumor,” Nancy said carefully, “that Brock’s father and your first husband had a falling-out.”

  In an instant all pretense of cordiality vanished from Mrs. Tagley’s face. “Where did you hear that?”

  “It seems to be common knowledge.” Nancy knew she was stretching the truth a little—but surely more of the staff than Mrs. Reames knew about Brock’s father. “I don’t mean to pry, Mrs. Tagley, but I’m sure you can see that this information has a bearing on the case.”

  For a long moment Mrs. Tagley merely stared at Nancy. Then, letting out a long breath, she said, “My first husband, Lloyd Patton, was a very successful realtor. He was a brilliant businessman, but he was also very temperamental—you could almost say unstable.”

  Samantha seemed to have inherited some of his temperament, Nancy thought.

  Mrs. Tagley’s eyes focused far off as she explained. “As long as things were going right for him, he got through his days all right. But whenever he was disappointed or worried about something, he seemed to feel it ten times more than the average person.

  “So along came Brock’s father—who was also named Brock, by the way.” Mrs. Tagley’s eyes flicked to Nancy. “I bet you thought Brock’s name was made up, didn’t you?”

  “I did, now that you mention it,” Nancy admitted with a smile. “It’s so perfect for TV.”

  “Anyway, Brock Sawyer senior had all the charm of his son and then some. He told Lloyd he had a great idea for doubling their incomes. They would go into partnership to develop a retirement community in Arizona. Lloyd would put up the capital while Brock senior handled the actual developing. He told Lloyd he didn’t want to bother him with the day-to-day stuff.”

  Mrs. Tagley shuddered at the memory. “Well, my husband loved the idea. He found investors. He found potential buyers. He put everything he had into that business—his assets and his good name. And—well, I guess you know what happened next.”

  “Mr. Sawyer didn’t hold up his end of the bargain,” Nancy said quietly.

  “Hah! That’s a mild way of putting it!” Nancy thought Mrs. Tagley was about to launch into an angry tirade, but she just took a deep breath, as if to calm herself. She continued, “Lloyd lost all his money—and his investors’ money. He never forgave himself for that. He was never a happy man again. Brock Sawyer destroyed him.”

  Nancy felt terrible about bringing up such painful memories, but she knew it was the only way to get at the truth of Brock’s poisoning. “That’s when you moved out here to the inn?” she asked.

  Mrs. Tagley nodded. “We thought we could make a go of it—that it would be a pleasant and maybe relaxing way to support ourselves. Shows how much we knew about innkeeping,” she said with a snort. “I liked our new life, but Lloyd just couldn’t make the adjustment. His health started failing after a couple of months, and he went downhill very fast.

  “The doctor said it was heart failure. I’d call it heartbreak. My husband died of grief.” Tears suddenly sprang to Mrs. Tagley’s eyes. “So now you know.”

  Nancy still had one more question. “But Samantha doesn’t, does she?” she asked gently.

  “No. I’ve kept all this from her. I hope you will, too.” Mrs. Tagley leaned forward, gripping the edge of her desk intently. “But whatever problems I had with Brock Sawyer senior are in the past. All of this really has no bearing on what’s happened to his son.”

  Unless Mrs. Tagley had poisoned Brock, of course.

  • • •

  “And that was pretty much all she’d say,” Nancy told Bess and George as they were sipping glasses of iced tea in the living room. The spacious room was once again immaculate, and the girls were sitting on a window seat in a bay window that overlooked the inn’s front lawn and flower beds. “If she is the one who poisoned Brock, it’ll be hard to prove it.”

  “I feel sorry for her,” said George. “I thought she was just kind of stern, but now I can see why.”

  “I can, too,” Nancy said, “not that being sorry for her means she’s not a suspect.” Turning to Bess, Nancy asked, “Did Jake tell you anything that might be useful?”

  “Not exactly,” said Bess, her mouth curving into a hint of a smile. “He did mention that he couldn’t figure out what was going on be
tween Samantha and Brock. But I’m afraid we didn’t get around to discussing the case much. . . .” Her voice trailed off, and a furious blush spread up her face.

  Crossing her arms over her chest, Nancy asked, “Just what did you do?”

  Bess grinned at the memory. “Well, Jake took me out for pizza for lunch—said he was getting sick of chocolate. Then we drove around the countryside and just talked. He’s really a nice guy, Nancy! Funny, considerate—and he’s a great listener.”

  George’s expression indicated she was dubious. “Is he nicer than Brock?”

  “Well, I don’t really know Brock,” said Bess with a dismissive wave. She made it sound as if she’d never even glanced in Brock’s direction before. “Do you guys think we could extend our visit a little?” she went on in an excited rush.

  Nancy sighed. “We may have to, if I don’t come any closer to solving this case than I did today.”

  “Oh, give yourself a break,” Bess told her. “You’re doing a great job.” Jumping up, she started in the direction of the elevator. “Let’s go up and get dressed for dinner. Jake asked us to sit with them.”

  An hour later Nancy, Bess, and George entered the dining room and headed for the Tagleys’ table. The girls had all changed into dresses, but Jake seemed to notice only Bess. Nancy had to admit Bess looked terrific in her flowered minidress. Jake wasn’t bad himself, in his white pants, blue shirt, and navy blazer.

  The girls said hello to Jake and Samantha. Mr. and Mrs. Tagley weren’t around and Nancy wondered if Mrs. Tagley—like her daughter at lunch—hadn’t been able to face eating in public after the emotional scene in her office.

  “Don’t tell me there’s chocolate in this!” Nancy exclaimed as a waiter set a plate of chicken with dark, spicy-looking sauce in front of her a few minutes later.

  “Well, there is,” Samantha told her, laughing. “That’s a mole sauce. It’s a Mexican recipe that uses unsweetened chocolate. You can’t really taste the chocolate, but it adds wonderfully to the flavor.”

  “It’s delicious,” said Nancy after she’d taken a bite. “I can’t wait to tell Ned I ate chicken with chocolate!”

  “Save some room for dessert,” Samantha cautioned. “After my mom’s cooking demonstration, we’re going to pass around a big selection—all chocolate, of course.”

  “That sounds wonderful,” said Nancy. “I’m in.”

  “Well, I hope you all have a great time,” Samantha said.

  Jake shot his sister a startled look. “You’re not coming?”

  “I can’t. I’m going to visit Tim. I—I can’t just forget about him while he’s in police custody, can I?”

  “Of course not,” George said warmly.

  “Make sure you notice Jake’s handiwork, too. This will be the first time we’re using the conference room in the east wing. He’s done a great job restoring it.”

  The work showed, Nancy thought when she walked into the new conference room after dinner. The room was on the second floor, with windows running all along one side. The other three walls were papered in a woven fabric Nancy thought was cheerful and businesslike at the same time. The ceiling’s acoustical tiles kept the room from echoing even though it was full of people. A big oval table was set up at one end of the long room. At the other end rows of chairs were lined up facing the new wooden stage. A demonstration table was set in the center of it. Jake was inside and directing people to sit.

  Going over to him, Nancy said, “This room looks great, Jake. Did you and your father do all the work yourselves?”

  “Yeah, but my dad was the real mastermind. I just held nails for him.”

  “I bet you did more than that,” Bess piped up, moving up beside them. “Anyway, it’s beautiful.”

  Jake nervously brushed his sandy hair back, as if embarrassed. But his hazel eyes were filled with pride. After finding the girls chairs at the end of one row, he continued seating the other guests.

  Glancing around, Nancy saw that the room was already almost full, and a couple of photographers had stationed themselves near the stage. It seemed odd that Dan Avery wasn’t among them, she thought, considering how he’d practically stomped all over everyone trying to get shots of some of the other events. Come to think of it, Nancy hadn’t seen him all day. Where could he be?

  Before she could wonder any further, Mrs. Tagley strode briskly onto the stage, and everyone started clapping. Then, with a quick bow, Mrs. Tagley announced, “Tonight I’ll be preparing a dessert I call Chocolate Volcano. It’s a spectacular finale to any meal, and it’s a fun dessert to demonstrate because it’s so dramatic. I’m going to need an audience volunteer. Who’d like to help me?”

  A forest of hands popped into the air.

  “How would you like to help?” she asked, pointing straight at Nancy.

  “Me?” Nancy asked in surprise. She hadn’t even had her hand up. “But I—”

  “Go ahead. It’ll be fun,” whispered Bess eagerly.

  “How can you resist?” George chimed in, grinning.

  “Well, okay—why not?” Nancy stood up and began making her way toward the stage.

  Bess was right. Working on the Chocolate Volcano was fun. Together Nancy and Mrs. Tagley shaped a mound of chocolate mousse into the shape of a mountain. Then Mrs. Tagley showed Nancy how to roll out a sheet of chocolate “leather”—made of chocolate mixed with corn syrup—and how to fit the leather neatly over the “mountain,” leaving a hole at the top.

  “Why do I suddenly feel all thumbs?” asked Nancy with a laugh. She happened to glance out at the audience as she spoke and saw that Jake had taken her chair and was whispering something in Bess’s ear. Bess smiled at him, and then Jake slipped quietly out of the conference room.

  “And now comes the most realistic touch,” Mrs. Tagley was saying cheerfully. She seemed more relaxed than Nancy had ever seen her. Obviously, cooking and chocolate brought out the best in her. “I’m talking about the molten lava.”

  “Lava?” Nancy repeated in mock alarm. “Sounds dangerous!”

  “Not at all. First we pour a half-cup of rum into the hole at the top of the mountain.” Mrs. Tagley handed over the rum, and Nancy poured it in carefully.

  “Next, we light the flame. The rum will begin to burn, and that’s what makes the ‘lava.’ There won’t be any alcohol left after it burns off, so you younger people will be able to sample this. Now to light the flame!” From a drawer under the table, Mrs. Tagley pulled out a miniature acetylene torch.

  “Now, that really looks dangerous!” someone in the crowd called out.

  There was a little nervous laughter before Mrs. Tagley said reassuringly, “It’s not. Honestly, it’s one of the most important cooking tools I own.”

  Mrs. Tagley pressed a button on the torch, and a thin spurt of blue flame leapt out. Carefully she aimed the flame at the rum that was now streaming down the sides of the cake. In an instant the rum was ablaze.

  “There’s your volcano!” she announced triumphantly—and the audience burst into spontaneous applause.

  Just then Nancy was distracted by a thin cloud of white powder drifting down from the ceiling and settling in the air around her.

  “Hey!” said Nancy, waving to try to clear the air. “Where did that—”

  A muffled explosion cut off the rest of her sentence.

  Before anyone had time to move, Nancy was surrounded by a sheet of flame!

  Chapter

  Nine

  FOR THE REST of her life Nancy would be grateful that she’d so often rehearsed what to do in a fire emergency. Without conscious thought she dropped to the ground and rolled rapidly over and over until the flames licking at her clothes were out. Then, panting, she jumped to her feet. She had acted so swiftly that she hadn’t been burned at all. One sleeve of her blouse was slightly charred, but that was the extent of the burns.

  Checking Mrs. Tagley, Nancy saw that the woman, though white and shaking, was also unharmed. The fire had spread by then to the sta
ge curtains behind them and the audience had panicked and was screaming and running for the exit.

  “Where’s, a fire extinguisher?” Nancy called loudly to Mrs. Tagley, above the din.

  Mrs. Tagley’s mouth opened, but she didn’t make a sound. She was swaying and gripping the edge of the table as though she were about to pass out.

  Nancy peered out at the audience, frantically checking the room for a fire extinguisher. There had to be one— Yes! There it was, hanging on the wall next to a circuit breaker. She ran to it, yanked it from the wall, and raced back to the fire.

  As she reached the stage, the curtain ripped from its metal frame and tumbled to the floor, a mass of flames that spread across the entire width of the platform.

  Nancy yanked back the pin on the fire extinguisher and aimed it at the flames. Foam shot out, dousing the fire. In seconds the flames were out, and the curtain was a black, smoldering tangle on the floor.

  Drawing a deep breath, Nancy checked on Mrs. Tagley again. She was still leaning against the table for support and was quite obviously in shock.

  There were only a few people left in the conference room now, and one hysterical voice kept calling out over and over.

  “Nancy! Nancy! Are you all right?”

  It was Bess.

  “I’m fine,” Nancy called back shakily. “But I don’t feel like making another Chocolate Volcano for a long, long time.”

  • • •

  “Now, explain to me just why you turned off the sprinkler system,” the fire chief was saying patiently to Samantha.

  “I knew that the dessert was going to be flambéed,” Samantha said shakily. “I was afraid that the flames would set off the sprinkler, so—so I switched off the system. I’ll never do it again,” she added in a small voice.

  The fire chief’s expression softened. “Okay. I’m holding you to that.”

  Nancy was standing a little to the side with Bess and George, frowning. Something seemed wrong to her. She wasn’t an expert, of course, but she was pretty sure flambéing a dessert wouldn’t set off a sprinkler system. Was Samantha lying? Had she turned off the sprinkler in preparation for what was to come?