Chili Con Carnage (11 page)

Yeah, yeah, whatever.

I was listening to him say all the right words, but believe me, my mind was racing so fast, I wasn’t paying a whole lot of attention. Before the questions could escape me, I had to butt in.

“Did you know him?” I asked.

It took Carter a second to realize who I was talking about. “That Roberto guy? Did I know him?”

“That’s what I asked. Did you know him?”

Carter backed up a step, his face so screwed up, it reminded me of the mushy Play-Doh creations I used to make at the table of our RV while Jack was behind the wheel, navigating our way from Showdown to Showdown. “I never . . .” He passed a hand over his eyes. “I never saw the man until you screamed and we all ran over here and found you lying under him. You don’t think I—”

“Like I said, I don’t think anything. Except that Sylvia didn’t do it. Which means somebody else did. And if we can figure out why that somebody did what he did, then maybe we can figure out who did it.”

Somehow, he followed along on this foray through logic that was my way of thinking. “Well, it wasn’t me.” Carter’s jaw was stiff. “And if you think it was—”

“I didn’t say that.” There I was, trying to unruffle his feathers. Just like I’d seen his producer, Amanda, do a couple days earlier. I hated myself for it at the same time I told myself that sometimes you’ve got to swallow your pride. If it meant finding the answers I was looking for, then I’d cater to the star Carter thought he was. “All I’m saying is that if there was a connection between you and Roberto—”

“There wasn’t.”

“All right, I believe you. But if there was, then maybe it would make some sense. I mean, why he was stuffed in your motorhome. If there wasn’t a connection . . . and I believe you when you say there wasn’t . . . then that leaves us with two possibilities.”

I thought he might jump in with his theories and when he didn’t, I went right on. “Either somebody killed Roberto because they had a reason to kill him and stashing the body here, maybe that was just convenient.” I was thinking of Karmen and Alphonse as I said this, but I didn’t mention either of them to Carter. It was too early in my investigation for that kind of guessing. “Or the killer left the body there to either scare you or to send you some kind of message. Did it?”

“Scare me? You’re darned right it scares me to think that might be true.” Had we been anywhere near his crowd of adoring fans, I knew Carter wouldn’t have been nearly so honest. “Send a message? I can’t imagine what it would be a message about. I’m a chef, for pity’s sake. I don’t make enemies, I make dinner. And the body of a roadie . . . I mean, what sort of message does that send, anyway? Stay off the road? Avoid chili cook-offs?”

“So let’s look at the first possibility.”

“You mean, someone trying to scare me.”

“Who would want to?”

When he shrugged, I practically heard the snap of the starch in his shirt.

“Anybody mad at you? I know, I know,” I added quickly, because he opened his mouth and I knew what was going to fall out of it. “You don’t have any enemies. Not even any of the little people you climbed over when you made your way to the top. But what about since then? What about right now? Anybody got it in for you?”

His mouth fell open.

And I darted forward, something so like the light at the end of the tunnel sparkling before me, I nearly jumped for joy. “You remember something. You know something. You just never thought—”

“No.” When Carter shook his head, not one hair moved even a fraction of an inch. “She would never!”

“She. She who?”

His cinnamon brows dipped low over his eyes. “Tessa would never—”

“Tessa who?”

His head snapped up and honestly, I think he’d forgotten I was there. “Tessa Fleming,” he said. “My sous chef. She’s here in Taos with me, of course, because we’re doing a big charity benefit here next week, and . . .” He scraped a hand over his chin. “You understand about sous chefs, don’t you? What they do for celebrity chefs?”

I didn’t, and told him so.

“Tessa is my assistant,” Carter said. “She’s the one who does the chopping and the cutting and the dicing and the—”

“Cleanup?”

“Well, there have to be some perks to being the star of the show. Not doing any of the grunt work is one of them. Yes, Tessa does cleanup, along with all those other things. She’s a decent chef in her own right and she’s been with me for a couple years.”

“She sounds terrific. Except something makes you think that there’s a possibility that she just might hate you enough to put a dead body in your motorhome.”

“I didn’t say that.” He hadn’t, I admit that, but if it wasn’t what he was hinting at, why bring up Tessa at all? “What I said was that she’s been with me for years and she’s done a great job, and . . .” He bit his lower lip.

“And?”

Carter blew out a sigh. “I have to preface this by saying I don’t think there’s any way Tessa would ever do anything like this. I mean, really, I’ve known her a long time and she’s a really nice girl.”

“But.”

“But, well, a year or so ago, I saw a real improvement in her work. She’d always been good. Like I said, a competent chef in her own right. But about a year ago, she really turned on the afterburners. Her work went from good to stellar. So did her cooking. I was impressed. In fact, I was more than impressed.”

“You asked her to marry you.”

This seemed the logical conclusion to his story, so really, Carter shouldn’t have laughed. “We’re talking TV here, darling, and in that world, happily ever after does not mean walking down the aisle together. No. What I did was suggest to Tessa that I might be able to talk to my producer and get her a show of her own.”

“Impressive.”

“Yes, and generous on my part, you have to admit. Tessa’s a real asset to my team, and I was willing to let her go so she could make a name for herself on the network.”

“Why do I think this story doesn’t have a happy ending?”

“Maybe because you asked who could possibly be mad at me.” Carter poked his hands in the pockets of his khakis. “Tessa was thrilled. In fact, she was more than thrilled. As soon as I mentioned her getting her own show, she developed all sorts of attitude. I put up with it. For one, I knew I was the one responsible, so I figured I had it coming. For another thing . . . well, I admit it . . . I didn’t want to say anything about her suddenly too-big head because I didn’t want to tick her off and have her walk away before her show was ready to go into production. I didn’t want to lose her. I hate the thought of breaking in a new sous chef, so I knew if I just put up with the attitude, she’d stick around for a while longer.”

“And she’s still with you?”

“Yeah.” Carter cleared his throat. “But I don’t know for how much longer.”

“Because she’s finally getting her own show?”

“Because after I told her she was going to have her own show, she turned into the chef from hell. Not only did her attitude suffer, so did her cooking. I just found out last week . . . I just told her when we got to Taos. I told her the head of the network came to me and asked about her. I told her I had to tell the guy the truth. The network isn’t considering Tessa for a show any longer.”

I whistled low under my breath. “She’s pissed.”

“That’s putting it mildly.”

“And she quit?”

“Believe me, she would if she could. But she’s under contract, so she’s going to have to bite the bullet or risk her healthy salary. But honestly, I don’t know how much longer I can put up with her. She . . .” As if he was considering the wisdom of saying any more, he turned away for a few moments. When he turned back to face me, his expression was set in stone. “She threatened me. I hate to admit it, but it’s true. When I told her the network wasn’t interested in her show any more, Tessa begged me to go to bat for her. I told her the truth, I couldn’t. Not without risking my own reputation. That’s when she said I’d regret it.”

“Wow.” I considered all he’d told me. “But then why kill Roberto?”

“Like you said earlier, maybe he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Tessa saw a chance to get back at me and . . .” As if he’d just woken from a deep sleep, Carter shook his head. “No. It isn’t possible. Look, I’m sorry I said all those things. I never should have mentioned it.”

“Even though it’s all true.”

“It is, but you don’t know Tessa. She’d never kill anyone. Not to prove a point or to try and scare me. She’s not that kind of girl. Pretend . . .” He stepped back and motioned me toward the front of the Palace. “Pretend I never said anything about her, okay? It was just a theory. A crazy theory. It doesn’t mean a thing.”

I didn’t have a chance to answer. Sometime while we were in back of the Palace talking, a camera crew had arrived and a guy with a huge camera on his shoulder rushed toward us as soon as we were back up front.

“Hey!” Carter held up a hand. “Come on, fellows. No pictures. I’m not here for publicity.”

“No, but I am!” I waved the cameraman forward at the same time I tugged Carter to just the right spot. Heck, if we were getting our picture taken together, it might as well be smack dab in front of the sign that advertised Texas Jack Pierce’s Hot-Cha Chili Seasoning Palace!

I can’t say there’s any scientific proof, but I’ll bet anything that research backs me up—chili eaters are beer drinkers. In addition to the vendors who sell everything from spices to salsas, hot sauces to cookware, and dish towels to beans, the Showdown has a beer tent.

After asking around a bit, trudging around some more, and generally searching high and low, that was exactly where I found Tessa Fleming.

She was a pretty woman. I suppose she wouldn’t have been offered that almost-golden opportunity to host her own TV show if she wasn’t. She was also two sheets to the wind by the time I caught up with her.

“Tessa.” After the bartender pointed her out, I slipped into the chair beside Tessa. “I’ve been looking for you.”

She gave me a cockeyed stare.

“Maxie,” I said by way of introduction. “I need to talk to you. About Carter.”

“Son of a . . .” Tessa’s grumble was lost beneath the sound of her taking a gulp of her beer. “What’s he wa now?”

I took this to mean
what’s he want?
and went from there. “He doesn’t want anything. Carter didn’t send me here.”

“Then tell him to get lost.”

I pretended this made sense, because really, there was nothing to be gained from asking her what the heck she was talking about. While I was at it, I pulled a paper bowl filled with snack mix closer and grabbed a handful. I was starving, and something told me a little food in her stomach wouldn’t hurt Tessa, either. “Carter says you’re a decent chef.”

“Decent?” Tessa was a blonde, but I’d bet a year’s worth of Thermal Conversion the color wasn’t the one she’d been born with. Her eyes were brown and her complexion wasn’t peaches and cream, not like Sylvia’s. Still, she pulled it all off with style. Just the right amount of makeup to accent high cheekbones and a small, perky nose. Just a touch of lip gloss on a mouth that was a little too thin. Though the temperature outside the tent was quickly shooting into the nineties, she had an ice-blue cotton cardigan tied around her shoulders and the white sleeveless top she wore with trim denim capris.

She flicked a hand through her shoulder-length hair. “I’m better than decent, and Carter, he knows it. If it wasn’t for me—”

“Exactly what I was thinking.” I nudged the bowl a little closer to Tessa and she took a handful of the mix of pretzels, crackers, and nuts. “You do a lot for Carter.”

“You got that straight.” She munched and talked with her mouth full. “If it wasn’t for me—”

“Yeah, you said that. And hey, I get it. Really. I mean, he promised you your own show, right?”

She had another handful of snack mix halfway to her mouth, and she paused. I wondered if I looked a little blurry to her. Then again, she was swaying, just a tiny bit. “Who are you?” she asked.

“Maxie.” I said this like it was not only the most natural thing in the world (which it was), but like she should have known it all along. “We were talking about Carter, and how he promised you your own show.”

“Damn straight.” She took another gulp of beer. “‘Oh, Tessa, you’re so wonderful’,” she said in a singsong voice that told me she was quoting Carter, and doing it with a heaping spoonful of acid. “‘You’re the best thing since sliced bread. You need your own show’.”

“But it didn’t happen.”

She stopped, mid-chew. “It didn’t happen. It’s never going to happen. And you know why?”

I remembered what Carter had said, about how Tessa’s work had suffered and her attitude had gone through the roof when she thought she was on the brink of cooking stardom. Something told me this wasn’t the time to mention either. Wannabe diva, beer, sour grapes toward Carter . . . it all added up to bad juju.

“I haven’t heard the whole story. At least not anything I’m sure I can believe.” I grabbed another handful of snack mix before Tessa could wolf it all down. Lucky for me, I got two of those little pretzels. I love the little pretzels. “That’s why I wanted to hear your side of the story,” I told her.

“My side of the story . . .” She hiccuped and pounded her chest. “About what?”

I am not a patient person. At least not unless the situation calls for it. My teeth were gritted when I said, “The TV show. You know, your TV show.”

“Yeah.” As if that cardigan was chain mail, her shoulders drooped. A single tear spilled out of her left eye and rolled down her cheek. She flicked it away with one perfectly manicured hand. “I was supposed to have a TV show.”

“And now you don’t. Because of Carter.”

Her lips thinned. Her eyes narrowed. Her right hand curled into a fist, and since it happened to be filled with snack mix, pretzel crumbs and orange phony cheese and bits of salted peanuts rained down on the white plastic table cloth. “I hate that man.”

Okay, so this wasn’t exactly something you want to hear somebody say about somebody else, but honestly, I had to control myself or I knew I’d smile. I was getting somewhere. Oh, the path was still murky, and at this point, it was awash with beer, but I didn’t care. I was searching for information and finally—finally!—I was getting some.

I nodded.

Tessa might not have been following the conversation totally, but she nodded back.

“I know just what you mean,” I said.

“About what?” she asked.

My jaw tightened. “About how you hate Carter. You know, on account of how he offered you your own TV show and—”

“He said I was the best cook in the world. Then . . .” She tried to click her fingers and when it didn’t work, she drowned the realization in another swig of beer. “I’ll never have my own show now.”

“Like I said, I understand. You know, I once had this boyfriend named Edik and—”

“Edik?” She giggled. “That’s his name?”

“Pretty funny, huh?” I actually never thought it was, but then, I knew the whole package that went with the name. Edik of the long, dark hair and the nicely muscled body. Edik, whose tats intrigued me and who could make a cup of espresso like no other I’d ever tasted before. Edik, who was so good in bed—I came to my senses to find Tessa watching me. Well, at least one of her eyes was. The other had sort of wandered off in the other direction. “I know what it’s like to be really pissed at a guy,” I told her. “I know when Edik did what he did to me—”

“Edik.” Another fit of the giggles. I waited it out.

“I know I would have done anything to get even with him,” I said. “Anything at all.”

“Well, here’s to you, sister!” Tessa raised her plastic cup and took another drink. “Because I’ll tell you what, I’d do anything to get even with Carter, too.”

“Anything?”

Maybe I sounded too eager. Tessa suddenly looked a little too clearheaded. “Did somebody kill him?” she asked.

“Carter?” I shook my head. “He’s alive and well.”

She snorted. “If he’s alive, all’s not well.”

It was actually kind of funny, so it wasn’t like I was just trying to get on her good side when I laughed.

“So tell me . . .” She dangled her beer cup in one hand. “What did you do? You know, to get even?”

“With Edik?” That was a sticky subject, but I knew what was going on. Drunk or not, Tessa needed to know we were comrades when it came to the I-hate-men wars. If we weren’t, there was no way she was ever going to share, and if she didn’t share . . .

I scooted forward in my seat, the better to look like I was trading girlfriend confidences. “Well, I put sugar in the gas tank of his car,” I said. It wasn’t true, but hey, it sounded nice and nasty. And tough. And revengeful. All the things I wished I’d been when I found out what Edik had done to my bank account and my self-confidence. Nasty, tough, and revengeful sounded better than disbelieving and sucker punched. They beat heartbroken all to heck, too.

Tessa grinned. “What else?”

There needed to be more? I scrambled. “I called his new girlfriend,” I said, and this was actually partly true. Well, except for the part about how when said new girlfriend answered the phone, I hung up. “I told her what a creep he was. I told her she couldn’t trust him. I told her—”

“You go, girl!” Tessa held up a hand for a high five, and when I obliged, she missed my hand by a mile.

“So . . .” I pretended like it didn’t matter. Like Sylvia’s life and liberty didn’t depend on the next words out of Tessa’s mouth. “What did you do? To Carter?”

“About what?” she asked.

Good thing she was busy waving to the bartender for another beer or she would have heard my exasperated sigh. “About how he treated you. You know, promising you your own show and then not giving it to you. What did you do to get even?”

“Well . . .” Whatever she was going to share with me, Tessa was so excited, she shivered. She looked left, then right. She leaned in so I could hear her when she whispered. “I put in a call to my attorney out in LA,” she said.

“Huh?” I sat up so fast, I knocked into the guy bringing over the beer and some of it sloshed out of the glass. Tessa looked so darned upset about the waste of such perfectly good beer, I dug into my pocket, pulled out a five, and told the bartender to keep the change. “So what you’re telling me is that your big plan of revenge is—”

“Number one,” she said, swaying forward. “I’m leaving Carter’s show. Gettin’ out of my contract. Up and quitting.” She threw up one arm to emphasize this and nearly toppled out of her chair. “I don’t need him anymore. And then . . .” Tessa’s eyes twinkled. “I’m going to sue the pants off the bastard.”

“So you’re going the legal route.”

She gave me a broad wink. “Darned tootin’.”

“And you didn’t try to teach Carter a lesson or scare him by putting Roberto’s body—”

“Roberto.” She stuck out her bottom lip. “That was the guy who fell out of Carter’s RV. Fell out. Did you know that?” She nodded, faster and faster. “Fell out. He was dead.”

“And you knew him, right?”

This time, she shook her head, and the quick change of direction must have sent her head spinning, because she hung on to the table with one hand. “He’s dead. Never knew him.”

Really, I guess I wasn’t surprised. What person in their right mind would cop to a murder in the middle of a chili cook-off beer tent? That didn’t mean I wasn’t disappointed. I may not have expected more, but I sure had hoped.

And hope does, or so I’ve been told, spring eternal.

I tried one last time.

“So . . .” I did my best to sound oh-so-casual. “You’re not the one who stabbed Roberto in the heart?”

Perfect makeup or not, Tessa’s face went pale one second and turned a livid green the next. “He was stabbed right in the heart?” She pressed her hands to her own heart, suddenly breathing hard and fast. “Oh, that’s just horrible. Terrible. There must have been . . .” The green washed right out of her face. “There must have been a lot of blood,” Tessa sighed.

I was about to tell her she was right on the money, but I never had a chance.

That was pretty much when Tessa clamped both her hands over her mouth and raced out of the beer tent.

• • •

So much for that line of inquiry.

I kicked my way through the dust and back toward the Palace, and if anyone took the chance of getting close enough, they would have heard me grumbling. Then again, I was crabby, annoyed, and discouraged, and I guess the expression on my face showed it.

Nobody took the chance of getting close.

That was fine by me. With no one daring to get within ten feet of me, I could mumble and grumble all I wanted. That mumbling and grumbling went something like this:

“Fine. Good. Great. So Tessa’s idea of revenge is a big, fat settlement package. So she didn’t kill Roberto. So it was a long shot to begin with. So what? At least I found out something useful.”

Only when I thought about it, I wasn’t at all sure what that useful something was.

I grumbled some more.

“She didn’t even know Roberto. I’m beginning to think nobody knew Roberto. Nobody but Sylvia, that is.”

This did little to lift my mood, so I refused to think about it. The beer tent was at the far end of the fairgrounds, and I wound through the crowds, watching as they parted in front of the storm cloud that was me.

“Roberto.” I snorted my opinion of the man and the mess he’d made of my life thanks to his dying. “If his body wasn’t put there to scare Carter, that means somebody killed Roberto because somebody didn’t like Roberto. Just like I figured to begin with. And so I need to start with Roberto, and what I know about Roberto, and what I know about Roberto is—”

A sudden thought brought me to a stop in the middle of the midway.

So did a sudden realization: Other than the fact that he was formerly known as Robert Lasky and that he’d been engaged to Sylvia and interested in beer, that Karmen claimed he was smart (and let’s face it, it wouldn’t take much to impress Karmen), and that he claimed he’d once had some big, important job . . .

Other than those bits and pieces, I knew squat about Roberto.

Lucky for me, I happened to be right outside the entrance to the auditorium where the salsa judging was just beginning, and I had a flash of inspiration. Roberto had worked at the Showdown. That meant that somebody at the Showdown had to know something. And that somebody . . .

No sooner did I think it than I saw Nick walk past the doorway of the auditorium and head toward the stage. As security chief, it was his job to make sure the salsa samples delivered by the contestants were untampered with and untasted until they were put in front of the judges, and as security chief, Nick had access to things like employee files. And employment applications. And files and applications were just the kinds of things that could give me a glimpse into Roberto’s life.