Better Than Chocolate

by Sheila Roberts

  “Enough.” He grinned at her again. “You do like to…dance, don’t you?”

  “I’ve danced some.”

  “Why are you in such a hurry to leave Icicle Falls?”

  “It’s time.”

  “Yeah, I guess small towns can be a little scary. You get close to people fast in a place like this. Easier to hide in the big city.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Oh, brother,” she said in disgust. “You know what else small towns offer? Amateur shrinks and men who are bored and need a new skirt to chase.”

  “Oh? And which one of those am I?”

  “Both,” she said. They were on her street now. “Thanks for the ride. You can let me out here.”

  * * *

  The LAMs had much to discuss at dinner, the chocolate festival being the main topic of conversation. All agreed it was a smashing success and Muriel received kudos for the fabulous decorations at both the ball and the tea.

  “You’ve got a gift for that creative stuff,” said Dot. “But tell us, how are you coming with mastering your finances?”

  “Well,” Muriel said, “I think I’m making progress thanks to Pat. I’m sure you were shocked by how ignorant I was.”

  “Not at all.” Pat shook her head. “It’s understandable, considering the fact that you were never the one handling the finances.”

  “I let Duncan handle our finances when we were first married,” Dot said. “He went out for dog food one day and came home with a truck we couldn’t afford, and that was the end of that. Afterward he got an allowance. The man was hopeless when it came to money.”

  The blood drained from Muriel’s face as she had a sudden vision of her hopeless self going out and doing something equally dumb.

  “You’ll be fine,” Pat said reassuringly.

  “I hope so,” Muriel said. “We put all my bills on a spreadsheet so I can go through and check them off as I pay them every month,” she told the others. “So I’m organized, but I need money. I got a small royalty check, thank God, so I could make my house payment this month, but I know I can’t go on like this. Nenita was just over. I’m going to put my house up for sale.”

  “Oh, no,” Olivia protested. “You and Waldo loved that house.”

  “No, Waldo loved that house. It was going to be ours together, but without him there’s no need to stay.”

  “If you can sell the house and get out from under, it’ll be great,” Pat said.

  She appeared so well-put-together sitting there in her jeans and crisp white blouse topped with a forest-green blazer and scarf. Pat had seemed to float easily into widowhood, like a butterfly landing on a down comforter.

  Muriel, on the other hand, had been like a bug on the windshield. But whose fault was that? She’d happily let someone else run her financial life. She’d never worried about where the money came from or where it went. That big cosmic windshield had been heading toward her for a long time. It really was a miracle she hadn’t hit it before now.

  “If only I’d paid more attention to money,” she lamented.

  “If shit didn’t happen there’d be no need for toilets,” Dot said.

  Olivia wrinkled her nose. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means stuff’s going to happen,” Dot said. “You can’t be prepared for everything. I don’t care what the Boy Scouts say.”

  “Will you have enough money left after you sell the house to buy another?” Olivia asked Muriel.

  She’d be broke. She shook her head. “I’ll find some place to rent.” At least she hoped she would.

  “We don’t have very many rentals here in town,” Dot said.

  “You could have a room at my place,” Olivia offered.

  Muriel had never thought she’d be down to one room until she was an old woman in a nursing home. But she’d also never envisioned herself practically penniless. Even with selling her house she’d be on a tight budget. If she’d spent the money her first husband had left her more wisely instead of dribbling it away with Waldo, she wouldn’t be in this position now. Still, she had time to make changes that would improve her life. She’d take that room. It beat having to become a burden to any of her daughters, none of whom was really in a position to help her.

  This was the beauty of having friends. They saved you from so much humiliation. “Thank you,” she murmured.

  “I have another idea,” Pat said slowly. “You could rent the cottage.”

  “Your little guest house? But you use that for tourists,” Muriel objected.

  “It’s empty half the year. I’d love a full-time tenant. Let me know if you need it. I’ll give you a deal,” Pat added with a smile. “It’s small but you can’t beat the view.”

  A lovely little vineyard with a mountain for a backdrop—the view would more than make up for the size of the place. And while it wouldn’t be as big as her house, it was more than a room. Muriel felt as if a weight had been lifted from her. Selling the house would be hard, but she could do it. For the first time in her life she’d be living on her own and learning to stand on her own two feet. And that was a lesson well worth some discomfort.

  “And meanwhile, tell me if you need money,” Dot said.

  What was it Muriel hadn’t liked about Dot? She couldn’t remember. “Thank you. Thank you, all of you.”

  Dot shrugged. “No need for thanks,” she said. “LAMs stick together.”

  As the evening rolled on and the women shared their problems and their dreams, she couldn’t help feeling that she had, somehow, turned a very big corner. She would be fine, if not immediately, eventually.

  She wished she could say the same for the family company. That mess was her fault, too. What, oh, what was she going to do about that? She spent the rest of the evening only half listening to the conversation as she pondered this question. By dessert she’d come to the conclusion that there was nothing she could do—other than pray that Samantha succeeded in tracking down Mimi LeGrande.

  * * *

  Los Angeles. People lived here on purpose? Samantha thought as Bailey threaded her secondhand VW Bug in and out of traffic on their way down the freeway from LAX. “It’s like being in an ant farm,” she said, looking around.

  “Yes, but it’s warm,” Bailey said.

  “Warm and smoggy.” Exactly like it had been the last time she visited her sisters. What did they see in this place?

  “But it’s exciting, full of movie stars and swimming pools and palm trees. And there’s the ocean, too.”

  It was just as smoggy and crowded there as it was everywhere else, in Samantha’s opinion. And the traffic—how did her sister sit through this without gnawing off her arm? She didn’t care how many palm trees they had here. She’d take her small mountain town and clean air over this mess any day. And it was nice to have four seasons. How long could a person look at palm trees without getting bored, anyway?

  “There is one thing it’s missing,” Bailey said.

  Only one? “What’s that?”

  “My family.” Bailey sighed. “Sometimes I wonder why I came all the way down here.”

  “You listened to Mitzi and Bitzy,” Samantha said. Bailey had been friends with the twins since grade school and when they decided to move to L.A. and become stars they’d painted a picture of glamour and success she couldn’t resist. So far, neither sister was a star. One had landed a bit part in a B-movie. The other was waiting tables.
r />   Bailey made a face. “You never liked them.”

  “Because they’re airheads.” Sheesh.

  Bailey dropped the subject of Mitzi and Bitzy, instead saying, “It’s still fun here, but I hate only getting to see you and Mom a couple times a year. Oh, well,” she went on before Samantha could suggest she pack it in and come home, “when I’m a famous celebrity chef I’ll fly you guys down whenever you want.”

  Which would be never. “And you can fly up to see us,” Samantha said. If she was still in Icicle Falls. If she didn’t have to move cross-country for a new job. The idea made her heart contract and she took a firm grip on the carton with the ice-packed box of candy sitting in her lap. There had been no taking this box out to show anyone.

  “Absolutely,” Bailey said. “Meanwhile, I’ve got great friends to keep me company.”

  Like Mitzi and Bitzy, the two most self-centered creatures on the planet? “Friends can’t take the place of family. Family loves you no matter what.” Thank God.

  That got Bailey nibbling her lower lip as she zipped from lane to lane.

  It was all Samantha could do not to cry, “Watch out!” and grab the wheel. Jeez, these people all drove like maniacs. Of course, that wouldn’t bother her so much if she was driving. “Bailey! They’re braking up ahead.”

  Bailey, who had been tailgating the red Corvette in front of her so closely the two vehicles could have mated, eased up on the gas. “I really am sorry about dropping the candy, Sammy.”

  “That could have happened to anyone,” Samantha said. Especially Bailey, but her heart had been in the right place and Samantha wasn’t about to make her feel any worse than she already did.

  “But it didn’t. It happened to me,” Bailey said miserably. “I so wanted to be there for you, Sammy.”

  “You were,” Samantha assured her. “And you still are, and I appreciate it.”

  Funny how she’d always had it in her head that her family needed her. Now, remembering the past few weeks, she realized that door swung both ways. Mom’s kindness and creativity, Cecily’s hard work, Bailey’s unwavering confidence in her—they’d been a source of strength, a silent wind pushing her forward. She owed them all a debt of gratitude.

  * * *

  The next day they went to Spoonie’s, the latest upscale addition to restaurant row in Los Angeles. It featured soups, homemade breads and, for dessert, all manner of exotic ice cream flavors. Decor was simple and sweet. Wind chimes using vintage sterling spoons dangled from the ceiling, and spoon collections hung on the walls. Tables were covered with linen tablecloths and adorned with little vases holding silk daisies—a little bit of old-fashioned in a sophisticated city. The place was packed and even with reservations they got stuck at a table right by the kitchen. Bailey had to scoot her chair in close to the table to avoid getting hit when the kitchen door swung open.

  Still, in all that crowd it wasn’t hard to spot Mimi LeGrande, a gamine, fortysomething woman with short, dark hair. There she sat, resplendent in jeans, a black sweater and her trademark gorgeous jewelry, talking with a man who could be either her producer or significant other. Samantha looked at Mimi’s necklace, which consisted of pink and black pearls and crystals (probably Swarovski) and practically drooled. Or maybe she was just salivating over all that opportunity waiting across the room, sipping coffee.

  “Good thing we got here when we did,” Samantha said to Bailey. “Any later and we might have missed them.”

  “They’re eating lunch kind of early.” Bailey checked her phone. “It’s only a little after noon.”

  Their waiter had come up to tell them about the specials when Bailey pointed and said, “Oh, my gosh. They’re leaving. Quick!” She jumped up and pushed back her chair just as another waiter emerged from the kitchen bearing a large tray with a soup tureen and several bowls and, being Bailey, managed to bump into the tray.

  Like a juggler balancing plates, the waiter wobbled to the side, trying to keep everything from sliding south.

  He might have succeeded if Bailey hadn’t reached out to help him steady the tray. “I’m so sorry,” she said.

  “I’ve got it.” He tried to move out of range as everything slipped and slid.

  “Look out!” their waiter called.

  But it was too late. Yet another waiter came out of the kitchen with another tray laden with soup. The two servers did a millisecond do-si-do and then everything went to the floor with an impressive crash. And there stood Bailey, gaping in horror at the whole mess while Samantha sat on her side of the table, her whole face sizzling with mortification.

  From across the room Mimi and her companion looked on with mild interest as they moved away from their table. Ah, the peons are at it again.

  Oh, boy. This was not the way to influence a chocolate mover and shaker.

  But it was the only way Samantha had. She took a deep breath, left Hurricane Bailey to deal with the disaster and hurried after Mimi.

  She caught up to her at the door. “Ms. LeGrande!”

  The woman turned and arched an eyebrow. Do I know you?

  “It looks like you didn’t have dessert,” Samantha said. “My name is Samantha Sterling and my family owns Sweet Dreams Chocolates and I’d love to give you a complimentary sample.” She held out the box, all wrapped in pink ribbon, giving Mimi no choice (if she had any manners at all) but to take it.

  Mimi took the box. “Sweet Dreams?”

  Obviously, she’d never heard of them.

  “Our company is in Icicle Falls, Washington. We’re named Sweet Dreams because my great-grandmother, who founded it, literally dreamed the first recipes.”

  That almost made Mimi smile. “Really.”

  “These are our newest truffles. I hope I’m following in my great-grandmother’s footsteps. I discovered the recipes in a dream just the other night and I think you’ll like them. We’re calling this our chocolate garden.”

  Now Mimi was intrigued. To Samantha’s surprise and delight, she stepped over to the reception area, found an empty chair and sat down with the box.

  Samantha held her breath as Mimi selected one and took a delicate bite. Then both eyebrows arched. “What on earth is that flavor? I swear it tastes like rose water.”

  Samantha nodded. “Actually, it is.”

  “Try one, Miles,” Mimi offered the box to her companion, who was standing next to her.

  The man took one and popped it in his mouth. And smiled. “Very nice.”

  “And you say these came to you in a dream,” Mimi asked.

  Samantha nodded.

  “And where is your company again?”

  Samantha launched into a spiel that would have made both her great-grandmother and her fellow Chamber of Commerce members proud. If the woman didn’t want to come to Icicle Falls and check them out after this, there was something seriously wrong with her.

  “This is intriguing,” Mimi said. “Have you got a business card?”

  Yes, yes, yes! “I do.” Samantha calmly, like a true business professional, produced one while on the inside she was doing the Snoopy dance.

  She returned to the table to find the waiters cleaning up the mess while Bailey sat there looking like a child who’d been sent to the principal’s office. But when she saw Samantha she beamed. “She loved them, right? I can tell by the way you’re smiling.”

  “She asked for my business card.”

  Bailey jumped up to high-five her with an enthusiastic, �
��Yes!” just as another waiter came out the door with a laden tray.

  As it went flying, Samantha said, “I think we’d better go eat somewhere else.”

  * * *

  Mimi LeGrande’s producer, Miles, called Samantha the next day as she was waiting for her plane to Seattle. Mimi would like to do a segment on them the following week. Would Monday be all right?

  More than all right. Samantha hardly needed the plane to fly home.

  Once more it was lights, camera, action, as Mimi’s crew hit town to film.

  Cecily had put together a huge gift basket, which Mimi accepted as her due with only a minimum of thanks. Mom’s faint frown of disapproval was barely noticeable. Not that Mimi would have noticed, anyway. She was too busy looking around the gift shop. “Small,” she pronounced it, “but charming.”

  Okay, they could live with charming.

  After the filming, Mimi and Miles went off to lunch at Schwangau, leaving Samantha and her mother and sister in shock.

  “Did I hear him right?” Cecily asked faintly.

  Samantha nodded. It was all she could manage since her throat was choked with tears. The show wouldn’t air until May. Her mind closed the door on the happy vision she’d entertained of orders (and money) flooding in. Oh, orders would flood in after the show aired, but it would be too late to help her family. The new owner of Sweet Dreams would reap the benefits of her hard work.

  This was a dark day for the Sterlings, indeed. There went their last hope for keeping their company from floating down the River of No Return.

  The thought of Sweet Dreams Chocolates winding up in the hands of Trevor Brown, the king of cheap chocolate, made Samantha want to throw up.

  So, what are you going to do about it?

  Good question. She went to the office and locked herself in to eat truffles and think.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Love makes heroes of us all.

  —Muriel Sterling, Mixing Business with Pleasure: How to Successfully Balance Business and Love