Revenge of the Chili Queens Page 8

  “And Tiffany?”

  “Tiffany, well, she claims she’s a huge fan of Tri-C chili, but truth be told . . .” She leaned in close to share the secret with me. “Tri-C served us dinner before we got out here tonight, and Tiffany, she passed on the chili. She had a salad instead.”

  “I don’t really care what she eats. What about Tiffany and Dom?”

  “Oh. Well, next time I saw her, I mean after the day Dominic dropped that news on her like a load of bricks, well, the way she stomped into our first walk-through rehearsal, I thought the heels of her shoes would just poke right through the floor. She was that mad.”

  “At Dom?”

  “At the world! At cruel, cruel fate. But yeah, mostly at Dom. What that woman said she’d do to him if she ever got her hands on him was positively—”

  Just when things were starting to get really interesting, the realization of all she was telling me dawned on Miss Texas Triangle, and she clamped her lips shut.

  I smiled to make it look like I didn’t care nearly as much as I did. “Been there,” I assured her, and she didn’t have to know it was true. “And let me tell you, I had plenty of nasty plans for my ex.” Also true. “I’m sure there was a time or two that I said I’d like to kill him. And it’s not like anyone could blame Tiffany, is it? After all, she was dumped. Of course she said she’d like to kill Dominic. Right?”

  “I’ve known Tiffany for years and years,” Miss TT told me, and she was sure to add, “You know, she’s older than me. Nearly twenty-five.”

  “So you probably know her better than a lot of people do.”

  “I do. And I know that no matter what she might have said—”

  “So she did say she wanted to kill Dominic.”

  “That doesn’t mean she meant it.”

  “But she was still mad yesterday. Even though he dumped her over a week ago.”

  She nibbled on her lower lip. “Well, I hadn’t seen her in a while. And yesterday when I got here, I asked how she was doing.”

  “And she said . . . ?”

  Miss TT threw me a quick glance. Maybe she was trying to decide if she could trust me or not. “She said if she bumped into Dom, she was going to grab a knife and push it straight through his stone-cold heart.” She gave a nervous little laugh. “But you understand, she couldn’t have been serious. She was just acting like a crazy lady.”

  A crazy lady.

  Senora Loca.

  Could Tiffany have been the one Dominic was referring to? Was that the reason he’d come frantically looking for Nick?

  “Did you see them together after that?” I asked Miss TT.

  “They were talking. Once. But it’s not like they were arguing or anything. It was just a chat. Tiffany gave him a sample of our chili.”

  “Was it a friendly chat?”

  “Tiffany’s face was a little red.”

  “And Dominic’s?”

  “Well, you didn’t know Dom, did you? The man wasn’t bothered by a thing. I mean, really. To that man, everything was like water rolling off a duck’s back.”

  “Including how he made Tiffany feel when he dumped her.”

  Her top lip curled. “Just watching from the outside, I could tell he didn’t give a d—” She cleared her throat and looked around to make sure no one had overheard what was apparently a no-no word for beauty queens. “Dom didn’t care. Not one little bit. He broke Tiffany’s heart, and he acted like it didn’t matter. It’s no wonder the poor girl was angry.”

  “Angry enough to kill?”

  “Tiffany is Miss Texas Chili Pepper. She’d never do a thing like that. Of course . . .” Miss TT’s attention was distracted when Tiffany strolled by about twenty feet from us. She had an odd way of holding herself, her right hand out to offer pens to the people around her, her left arm close to her side. No doubt it was how beauty queens were trained. After all, it took a special girl to hang on to her composure and her bouquet of flowers once that sparkly crown was placed on her head.

  “Tiffany’s got a following. In the pageant world, I mean,” Miss TT said, almost to herself. “And that Miss Consolidated Chili pageant is coming up. It’s not that I have one little ounce of doubt that I’m going to win and become the company spokeswoman, but if something happened and she couldn’t be there . . .”

  I could just about see the wheels turning inside her head.

  “You wouldn’t say anything that wasn’t true, would you?” I asked, because let’s face it, I might want to get to the bottom of our little murder mystery, but having Ms. TT lie and send me heading off down that road would get me nowhere fast.

  “I’m Miss Texas Triangle, and after this weekend, I’m going to be Miss Consolidated Chili.” Her shoulders shot back. “And if there’s one thing I’ve learned from John Wesley Montgomery, it’s that his business is based on quality and integrity. Of course I’d never lie. I haven’t lied. I told you, Tiffany said she’d like to kill Dominic.”

  “And do you think she could have done it?”

  When Tiffany sashayed by with a string of adoring fans behind her, Miss TT’s eyes narrowed.

  “Oh yes,” she said. “I know it for a fact. Tiffany was as mad as a whole box of hornets. She hated Dom Laurentius. Oh yes, she very well could have killed him.”

  CHAPTER 7

  It should come as no surprise that I am something of a night owl.

  I blame this habit on years of growing up with a mother who tended bar in our Wicker Park neighborhood in Chicago and whose hours were erratic at best. Sure, there were babysitters. They all pretty much gave up after staying with me one time, and after enough of them waved the white flag, Mom surrendered, too. She took me to work with her, and I camped out in the bar owner’s office. In theory, I was supposed to be doing my homework and catching up on my sleep. The reality looked something more like me sneaking out of the office to play pinball, hustle the clientele who didn’t think a little girl could play pool (they were oh, so wrong!), and bugging Big Sal, the cook, for burgers and chicken soup and her chili, too, until I realized my own chili was way better and took over the chili cookin’ duties.

  By that time, my own personal time clock was set, and I kept the crazy schedule, feeling more energetic once the sun went down than I ever did when it was shining in my eyes.

  Still, nights of working the fund-raisers over at Alamo Plaza and days at the fairground for the Showdown were taking their toll.

  The next day when I was dressed as the Chili Chick and supposed to be dancing up a storm in front of the Palace, I was instead leaning against the RV, tuckered out and dying for a nap.

  And it was only a little past noon.

  I yawned and stretched and reminded myself that it wasn’t fair to leave Sylvia out there handling customers on her own.

  That was right before I told myself that it was Wednesday and the Showdown wasn’t anywhere near as busy that day as it would be on the weekend. For all I knew, Sylvia was getting in a little nap herself behind the display she’d created on our front counter, orderly pyramids constructed out of jars of our most popular chili spices. The weekend, that’s when the real crowds would arrive, along with the beauty queens vying for the title of Miss Consolidated Chili.

  “Miss Consolidated Chili.” There was no one around to hear me, but I snorted anyway, because it was the right thing to do. “What was Tumbleweed thinking to let them have a contest for a canned chili maker at the Showdown?”

  No matter that there was no one around to answer my question; I already knew the answer. Tumbleweed was thinking about what Tumbleweed was always thinking about—the vendors who traveled the country with the Showdown. He knew that the pageant meant publicity and that publicity meant customers and that customers meant sales. I got it. Really, I did. But I wasn’t about to swallow my pride and cozy up to Tri-C, and there was no way I was going to attend the pageant.


  Unless, of course, it was to see Tiffany Jo Baxter, Miss Texas Chili Pepper, led away in handcuffs for the murder of Dominic Laurentius.

  Tiffany, see, wasn’t just my best suspect. She was my only suspect.

  And it was driving me crazy.

  “Too easy,” I grumbled. “Guy dumps girl. Girl kills guy.” As much as I got it (and believe me, after being played for a sucker by Edik back in Chicago, I got it), I just couldn’t wrap my head around the reality. It wasn’t that I didn’t think a beauty queen could be nasty enough to kill; it was just that I wasn’t sure Tiffany was smart enough.

  Not like, say, Nick was.

  Had anyone been hanging around behind the scenes, they would have heard a sigh whoosh out from behind the mesh at the front of the Chick costume. This was not the usual sigh I sighed when sighing about Nick. That one was all about plain ol’ unadulterated lust, and this one . . .

  I thought about what Nick had said, about how he wasn’t the one who killed Dom.

  And then I thought about how he’d once beat up Dom so bad, Dom ended up in a hospital.

  And I wondered if I was being played for a fool again.

  Another sigh, and I knew all this thinking and sighing was getting me nowhere. It was time to get to work. I pushed off from the RV and headed out front.

  Or at least I tried.

  Before I made it even as far as the back door of the Palace, two strong arms went around my chili and held me in place.

  “Hey!” I yelled and squirmed. I gasped and strained to take a look out of the mesh and over my shoulder to see who had hold of me, but let’s face it, in a giant chili constructed of canvas and wire, that was nearly impossible.

  And what was really annoying was that something told me that the person hanging on to me knew it, too.

  Those two strong arms tightened around the Chick, and before I could scream or call out for help, my feet were off the ground. That’s when my attacker braced me against a muscular chest and started spinning.

  The scenery beyond the mesh whirled in front of my eyes.

  The side of the RV.

  The back of the Palace.

  The tires of the RV parked next to ours.

  The side of the RV.

  The back of the Palace.

  I gulped and tried my best to remember the spotting technique I’d learned in a long-ago dance class. Stare at one place. Find it again. Keep from getting dizzy.

  It didn’t work for me then, and it sure didn’t work now. My stomach swooped, and I was pretty sure I was going to upchuck the Twinkies that had been my breakfast.

  Around and around, my head spun along with the slice of scenery I saw when I dared to look beyond the mesh.

  I flapped my arms and tried to elbow my attacker in the stomach, but I missed by a mile and ended up stabbing nothing but air.

  As quickly as it started, the spinning stopped.

  “Mind your own business,” a gravelly voice that definitely belonged to a man growled close to my ear.

  And just like that, my assailant loosened his hold.

  My stilettos slammed back down to the ground, but by then, my legs were rubber. I crumpled face-first in a heap of canvas and wire and mesh and nausea, my knees bloodied from where I landed in the gravel. I managed to brace my hands in the grit and push myself up, but looking around was another thing altogether.

  I grunted and spun and landed on my chili butt. I cursed and rolled and managed to get to my side.

  By that time, my attacker was gone and I was all alone.

  Moaning, I flopped down on my back, my legs spread out, my arms flung out to the sides, and my breath coming in gulps that burned my lungs and heated up the inside of the Chick.

  I couldn’t move, and after a minute or two of struggling, I didn’t even try. I lay there like a chili lump, staring up at the cloudless Texas sky and wondering what the heck just happened and who the heck had just threatened me.

  That’s exactly where Sylvia found me.

  She bent over far enough to peer beyond the mesh at me. From my vantage point, all I could see were her big blue eyes.

  “I’m up front working my fingers to the bone,” she grumbled. “And here you are, taking a nap. Honestly, Maxie, don’t you ever do anything useful?”

  • • •

  Call me superstitious.

  Go ahead, see if I care.

  When I finally hoisted myself up off the ground and dragged into the RV, I peeled out of the Chick costume and refused to put it on again that day.

  No way was I going to take the chance of being bushwhacked again.

  Sans costume and wearing denim shorts and a chili pepper red shirt with Jack’s face embroidered above the heart, I stayed busy and worked the Palace the rest of that day. Yes, Sylvia was suspicious about my sudden burst of diligence, and honestly, I can’t say I blame her. Even when I tried to explain what had happened there behind the Palace earlier in the day, she didn’t quite get it.

  “Well, I can see why some people would want you to mind your own business,” she said. We were restocking shelves, and she handed me a box that contained individual packages of dried peppers and reminded me to be sure I put them out alphabetically. “But I can’t think of anything you’ve done lately that would make someone threaten you.” She gave me a piercing look. “Or have you done something?”

  “Scouts honor.” I held up a hand, three fingers folded down and two extended, as if to prove it. “I’m hardly investigating at all.”

  “Investigating!” She combined a sniff and a harrumph into a new and altogether demeaning sort of sound. “You know better than to stick your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

  “I know if I didn’t, you’d still be in jail back in Taos,” I reminded her.

  Big points for Sylvia; she didn’t dispute this. Instead, she propped the cardboard box she was holding against one hip and, thinking, pursed her lips. “So if someone told you to mind your own business, maybe you’re minding their business.”

  This was an observation convoluted enough to be worthy of me, and Sylvia must have known it because she made a face. “What I mean is, someone must want you to back off. Because maybe you’re getting too close to the truth.”

  Of course I’d come to this same conclusion sometime between when I landed on my chili butt on the ground behind the Palace and when Sylvia had been gracious enough to offer me a hand to help me to my feet. “The only person I was looking at as a serious suspect was a woman,” I told her. “And the person who grabbed me . . .” I relived the scene. “Definitely a man.”

  “And you don’t have any men in mind?” Her eyes were the same color as the Texas skies above us, and she rolled them for all she was worth. “You know what I mean. I mean, I know you always have men in mind and they’re always the wrong kind of men and obviously a murderer would definitely be the wrong kind of man. So are any of your suspects men?”

  I debated about telling her what I was thinking, but in the end, talking out my worries seemed a better plan than keeping them all hidden inside, nibbling away at my brain.

  “Nick knew Dom,” I said.

  “The victim.” Sylvia nodded. “Did Nick know him well enough to hate him?”

  I thought about how they were former partners and about how Dom ended up in the hospital. “Yes.”

  “Do you think Nick killed him?”

  “Why do you have his number on speed dial, anyway?”

  Honestly, those were not the words I planned to have come out of my mouth, and just listening to them, I cringed. The last thing I needed to do with Sylvia was show any kind of weakness. If I did, it would be the hungry lion and the injured wildebeest scenario. I’d just revealed myself as a limping wildebeest, and I waited for her to pounce and devour me.

  Instead, she finished stacking a fresh row of Thermal Co
nversion, flattened the box the jars had come out of, and set it in the pile of cardboard we’d take to Tumbleweed’s trailer for recycling.

  “It’s not what you think,” she said.

  “You don’t know what I think.”

  A tiny smile played its way around her mouth. “Give me some credit, Maxie. I’ve known you nearly thirty years. Of course I know what you think. You think Nick and I—”

  “Do you?”

  “Have a thing going? With Nick?” There was another box of spice jars sitting on the floor of the Palace waiting to be unpacked and put out on display, but she didn’t bend to retrieve it. Instead, she cocked her head and studied me. “You like him.”

  This was not something I was going to discuss. Not when Sylvia might be about to reveal what I thought she was about to reveal.

  I chewed on my lower lip.

  Sylvia picked up the box of spice jars and slit it open with a box cutter. “He’s a good man,” she said. “Not that I know him very well or anything, but you can tell that sort of thing, you know?” Apparently, she remembered who she was talking to, because she added, “Well, maybe you don’t know. You’ve never been very good at figuring out who the good guys were and who the stinkers were. Nick . . . well, I can tell, he’s one of the good ones.”

  This wasn’t news to me. Tell that to the chunk of ice that suddenly formed in the pit of my stomach.

  “You and Nick . . .” I did my best to make it sound like it didn’t matter, like this was good news and I was happy for her. To tell the truth, maybe I was. If Nick and Sylvia had a relationship, that meant I could put him out of my mind once and for all.

  Of course that didn’t explain the sudden hollow feeling that settled itself somewhere between my heart and my stomach.