Beware False Profits by Emilie Richards Page B

by too many meals of mystery meat in school lunchrooms.”
    “I could tell you some hair-raising stories about string beans.”
    “Leave me some illusions.”
    A couple more people wandered up to thank Chad for the tour, and I wandered off to find Ed. After his warning, I was going to make him serve me a glass of punch. I might drink half a dozen glasses just to make a point.
    I got close to the table just in time for disaster to ensue. The tent flap blew open, in itself nothing to cause a problem. But the same strong gust of wind that had sent it flying swept across the chocolate fountain. I remembered what Sally had said and jumped backwards just in time. Unfortunately, others nearby weren’t so lucky.
    Brownie, who had been dipping a strawberry, was now as chocolate as his name. And Hazel had been sprayed with enough dark chocolate to indulge in clandestine licks for a month to come.
    The Kefauvers jumped back, sputtering.
    “Turn that thing off!” Hazel screeched. “Who’s responsible? Who’s the incompetent who’s responsible!”
    Brownie took her by the arm and pulled her away from the scene. She was too busy peeling chocolate off her chin to resist. But she continued to screech more abuse as she peeled.
    If you’ve never seen a chocolate tornado, you’ve missed something special. Chocolate flew everywhere. Everything for several feet in diameter was thoroughly coated. Sandwiches, pastries, and the punch bowl. As if that wasn’t enough of a problem, the chocolate that wasn’t spraying the table was bubbling out of the fountain in bursts, as if it was taking shots at the people trying to move food out of harm’s way.
    “Unplug it,” Sally commanded, and two men I’d never met dropped to their knees, crawled under the table, apparently bumping heads judging from the profanity, and managed to make a simple job unbearably complicated. While they struggled with the cord, chocolate coated everything in sight.
    Ed came over to watch from a safe distance. “Tell me you had nothing to do with this.”
    “Oh, ye of little faith.”
    “What happened?”
    “Sally was just complaining about how hard the setup was. I guess they didn’t get it right after all.” I looked up at him. “I’d built up to the chocolate fountain, you know. I have an active fantasy life, and I was dragging it out. I was just about to indulge. Does this seem fair to you?”
    “I’ll buy you a funnel cake.”
    “Maybe I could get a little closer and open my mouth. I can always wash my hair.”
    “Hazel!”
    I wondered what Hazel had done now. I hoped whatever it was, it didn’t involve Sally Berrigan and hands around the throat. Hazel was probably stronger, but Sally had more friends.
    I turned to see Hazel facedown on the ground to our left. Hazel is a difficult woman and hard to like, but I knew she wasn’t the kind of person who would faint for attention.
    “Ed…” I grabbed his arm. “Something’s got to be wrong.”
    “She was furious.” He started forward.
    I wondered if in her rage, Hazel had gone after Sally or somebody else, and they had shoved her and she’d fallen.
    But now Brownie was kneeling beside his wife, shaking her. “She was okay. She was okay a minute ago. Then she gasped and…then, then she fell.”
    Once the tour was over I hadn’t noticed Roussos, but he must have been with a crowd of VIPs closer to the tent door. Now he pushed past us and joined Brownie on the ground.
    “Help me turn her over,” Roussos ordered.
    “Maybe we shouldn’t. Maybe she hurt her back or her neck or—”
    “We’re turning her over now.”
    Used to following orders, Brownie pushed as Roussos got on the other side and pulled. I put my hand to my mouth. Hazel looked awful. And the chocolate splattered all over her cheeks and neck didn’t help.
    Roussos put his fingers against the side of her throat. He kept moving his fingers, as if he was feeling for a pulse. I knew he hadn’t found one when he tilted her head