Part 11 (1/2)

”Big fish eat little fish,” Darren said with a shrug.

”And we serve up little fish on a platter.”

Now Darren set down his knife and fork. ”Was it a mistake sending you back to your hometown?”

Maybe. ”You've seen my report. You tell me.”

Darren took another swig of beer, then leaned back in his chair and studied Blake. They sat there for a moment, locked in a stare-down, while in the background other diners talked over an old German drinking song.

Darren was the first to break eye contact. He picked up his knife and fork and resumed attacking his meat. ”You're doing a fine job. I'd hate to see you follow in Arnie's footsteps.”

”I have no intention of doing that,” Blake said. ”But I am trying to do what's best for the bank. Maintaining good community relations by helping a business that's been part of this community for generations is a sensible way to bring in more business.”

”We don't want the kind of business that costs us large amounts of money. Come on, Blake, you've been in banking long enough to know the bottom line.”

”Yeah, and it sure isn't people, even though we say it is,” Blake muttered.

”Trevor Brown is people, too, and if Sweet Dreams goes under, his company will benefit from their loss.”

Blake's eyes narrowed suspiciously. ”So you know Brown.”

Darren calmly cut off another piece of meat. ”I know a lot of businessmen in Seattle. Look, Darren. I'm not saying I want this company to fail. I hope they succeed. But in case they don't, either way, the bank will be fine and someone will be happy. Someone goes down, someone else goes up. And that, my boy, is business,” he said, and popped the meat in his mouth.

”Like you said, either way the bank comes out fine,” Blake said in disgust.

”That about sums it up. And all the people who work in the Icicle Falls branch will still have jobs come March 1 because you're doing what has to be done.” He picked up his gla.s.s and saluted Blake. ”Cheers.”

Yeah, cheers.

Chapter Ten.

Luck is what you make it.

-Muriel Sterling, Knowing Who You Are: One Woman's Journey The day before had been ugly, with unsympathetic creditors to deal with and an unexpected computer crash. Miraculously, Jonathan Templar had been able to fix it, but that minor miracle had taken several hours, and he'd warned Samantha it was only a temporary fix. She'd finally left the office at seven, a drained dishrag in heels, thoroughly depressed by what felt like a never-ending run of bad luck.

But now their luck was going to turn, she was convinced of it. Her sister being able to come and help was surely the first of many lucky breaks, she told herself as she drove to Sea-Tac Airport on Friday to pick up Cecily. Reinforcements had arrived and things were already humming right along for the festival.

Shop owners as well as the restaurants and B and Bs were on board and promising to offer special sales. Jonathan had their website up and, with the exception of one thing, it looked good. For the home page he'd used a landscape shot of the town and surrounding mountain peaks for background and then superimposed a glorious box of bonbons in the foreground. Looking at Center Street with its Bavarian shops and window boxes and hanging baskets full of spring flowers (not to mention that box of goodies), who wouldn't want to come to Icicle Falls and enjoy a weekend dedicated to shopping, fun and chocolate?

Cecily's flight was on time, more good luck.

”How are you doing?” Cecily asked as soon as they had her bags loaded in the car.

”Great,” Samantha said. ”Did you check out the website?”

Cecily nodded. ”It's fabulous. I can't believe how much progress we're making.”

”It's amazing how much you can accomplish with so many people pitching in,” Samantha said. ”But...that schedule of events you had Jonathan put up- I'm not so sure about this Mr. Dreamy contest.” She had a sneaking suspicion their baby sister was behind it. ”Was this Bailey's idea?” Whoever came up with it should have run it by her first before posting the event. Was it too late to remove the contest? Even though the website had already gotten a lot of hits, no one had entered yet, and she'd know if they had, since, according to the website, contestants could download the form and drop it off at the Sweet Dreams gift shop. Another little detail no one had run past her.

”Yes, it was Bailey's brainchild,” Cecily said, ”but it's a clever idea.”

Translation: I didn't stop her because I didn't want to hurt her feelings. Samantha frowned.

”It'll stir up lots of local interest,” Cecily said, ”and you can bet Festival Hall will be packed with women the night we have the compet.i.tion. We're charging for the event, so we'll make a ton of money.”

”And you know that because?”

”Because I've been to events where the firefighters who do those fundraiser calendars make an appearance. The women go crazy. We'll give everyone a small box of chocolates and a chance to watch their favorite man walk the catwalk s.h.i.+rtless, and they'll think they scored big.”

”It all seems a little tacky.”

”I suppose it is,” Cecily admitted, ”but with the ball, the dinner and the chocolate high tea at Olivia's we already have enough cla.s.sy events. This gives people a chance to cut loose and get silly. And Bailey's rounded up some really cool prizes, so I suspect we'll have a lot of men wanting to enter, not to mention women volunteering their boyfriends.”

”I don't know,” Samantha said dubiously.

”Sam, you're not going to micromanage us, are you?”

”I don't micromanage.” She shot a glance in her sister's direction to see Cecily giving her a look that said, Oh, yeah? ”I don't,” she insisted.

”Okay, then, since you don't, don't. You've delegated the events and publicity to us. Let us handle them. You've got your hands full overseeing the festival and running the business. That means you just have to make sure we're doing our jobs. You don't get to tell us how to do them.”

”I would never do that. I mean, I might offer some suggestions once in a while.” That was part of overseeing, after all.

”Suggestions are always welcome, but don't worry. Everything's under control,” Cecily said.

”Okay, so tell me where we are with promotion.”

”I found the name of the producer of that Seattle talk show, Northwest Now. I'm going to email her and see if they'll do a story on the festival. I know the Mountain Sun will do one.”

”Free publicity, the best kind,” Samantha said approvingly.

They spent the rest of the drive home talking about Cecily's ideas and brainstorming other ways to promote the festival. By the time they entered town both sisters were excited.

”This really is going to be great,” Cecily predicted.

Samantha nodded. ”I think our luck is about to change.”

And to prove it, her car started ka-thwumpity-thwumping down the road.

”What the heck?” Cecily asked as Samantha gripped her jiggly steering wheel.

”We've got a flat. That's a real pain.” Samantha pulled off into the parking lot of the Man Cave.

She got out to inspect her car and discovered that her left rear tire was flat. ”My lucky day,” she grumbled as she got back in the car to fish out her cell phone and call a tow truck.