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answered. “Some pet stores sell ants for ant farms. All anyone would have to do is put them in the refrigerator for a few minutes to make them sluggish enough to pour onto the—”
    â€œStop!” Samantha was turning slightly green. “I believe you,” she said quickly. “But who would do something like that?”
    â€œI don’t know,” Nancy admitted. “Maybe the same person who set up the scale so it would tip while Brock was being weighed.”
    Now Samantha was even more confused. “Set up the—the scale?”
    â€œI forgot to tell you about that,” Nancy said gravely. Quickly she filled Samantha in. “I don’t know whether these pranks are being aimed at Brock or the festival in general,” she finished. “But I’m a detective, and if you’d like me to investigate, I’d be happy to.”
    â€œNo!” Samantha said emphatically. Then, as if to calm herself, she began rubbing her temples. “No, thank you, I mean. I’m sure these were just isolated incidents. The scale was probably already broken.”
    â€œBut if someone’s out to sabotage the festival or hurt Brock—”
    â€œNo, Nancy,” Samantha said firmly. “That’s impossible. It’s—it’s just an old mayonnaise jar, after all. I’ll tell the kitchen staff to do a better job cleaning up from now on.”
    She seemed so determined not to hear Nancy’s message that Nancy didn’t bother pointing out that someone had already done an excellent cleanup job—on the jar. There wasn’t a fingerprint on it.
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    â€œPure cocoa butter,” a woman with a round face and bouffant hairdo was telling Nancy. “That’s the only way you can get it to melt properly. I buy mine from a mail-order place in Switzerland. Would you like the address?”
    â€œIt sounds wonderful, but I don’t think so,” Nancy said politely.
    Dinner had just ended—a fabulous buffet that included everything from melon in white-chocolate sauce to turkey with chocolate stuffing to chocolate-raspberry mousse torte. Now Nancy, Bess, and George were in the living room—a cozy room with a flagstone fireplace at one end, and sofas and chairs scattered throughout—as they waited for the final chocolate event of the day.
    The woman headed off to find someone else to trade recipes with, and Nancy turned to Bess. “I think the people here take chocolate even more seriously than you do, Bess.”
    â€œImpossible,” Bess said promptly. “I mean, I’ve eaten about four thousand chocolate things today, and I still can’t wait to try those new chocolate creams Samantha was telling us about.”
    â€œThey did sound pretty scrumptious,” George agreed.
    At dinner Samantha had announced that Oakwood Inn was planning to launch a line of its own homemade chocolates. And Brock Sawyer was going to give the new chocolates their first official taste.
    â€œI wonder how famous you have to be before you’re asked to be a taste tester at one of these things,” Bess said longingly. “Oh, look, there’s Brock! I’ll ask him.” She bolted across the room toward the actor.
    Nancy chuckled. “Bess doesn’t believe in playing hard to get, does she?” she said to George. “Let’s go see how her tactics are working.”
    When they reached Bess, she was saying, “But don’t you get full? I can’t eat more than a bite of these rich desserts, myself.”
    George elbowed Nancy in the ribs, and Nancy had to bite her tongue to keep from laughing. But Brock seemed to buy Bess’s act.
    The actor shook some of his special artificial sweetener into a glass of iced tea he was holding and took a big swig. “I’m just grateful I’ve got such a great nutritionist,” he told Bess. “If she hadn’t told me about this sweetener,