Chili Con Carnage (4 page)

“Really?” Carter swiveled from the Chili Chick to Amanda. “Really? I host the most popular food-related TV show on the planet. I own the hottest restaurant in LA. I’ve got a book on the
New York Times
list. The flippin’
New York Times
list, for crying out loud! And I have to put up with this horse-hockey while I’m trying to work?”

“You don’t. You won’t.” Amanda grabbed my arm and hauled me to the side of the Palace. “Out of my shots and keep your mouth shut,” she snarled. “And that goes for you, too,” she added for Sylvia’s benefit. “Or I’ll have Security—” She glanced over to where Nick was just waiting for the signal to step forward. That, and shaking his head as if he was seeing it all, he just couldn’t believe it. “I’ll have you both tossed out of here on your publicity-seeking little behinds!”

Sylvia blushed a pretty shade of pink.

I made a face at Amanda.

Even if I wasn’t wearing the Chick costume, she wouldn’t have seen it, because she turned right around and marched back to soothe Carter.

As soon as things were settled, he started back into his patter. “I’m here at the famous Chili Showdown in Taos, New Mexico, to get a taste . . .” The way he emphasized the word told me someone thought it was clever. “. . . of the chili cook-off circuit. Join me. We’ll take a look around and . . .”

“Yeah. Whatever.” My gaze glued to the action, I ignored the rest of what Carter had to say and leaned back against the Palace with my arms crossed over my chili, grumbling quietly enough so no one but Sylvia could hear me. “We’re only trying to help. You’d think they’d cut us a break.”

She didn’t respond.

Then again, what did I expect? Sylvia had always kowtowed to authority, and in this instance that meant Amanda. And Carter. With the double whammy of TV stardom and producer wrath trained on her, poor Sylvia probably wouldn’t be able to speak for hours, she’d be so busy sniffling and regretting that she’d ever cooked up that batch of oh-so-ordinary chili.

“I said, you’d think they’d cut us a break,” I repeated.

And when Sylvia still didn’t respond, I looked over the counter.

She was nowhere to be seen.

Nowhere inside the Palace, anyway.

Who would have thought Sylvia had the cojones!

I looked toward the action only to realize that while I was busy being annoyed, she’d come out of the Palace with her bowl of chili and before I could move, she was already closing in on Carter with it, waiting for the moment when filming stopped and she could make her move.

“Oh no.” She couldn’t hear me, not from where I was, but I didn’t care. She couldn’t see the fire in my eyes, either, but that didn’t stop me. I scrambled over to where she was standing and leaned in nice and close. “You’re not going to one-up me, Sylvia,” I crooned in her ear. “Carter’s not going to try your chili. Not until after he tries Jack’s.”

And with that I tap, tap, tapped my way over to Carter.

He was midway into explaining how a chili cook-off works, how each contestant prepares two gallons of his or her recipe and how each judge gets one scoop of each entry. That’s when I slid the steaming bowl of chili under his nose.

“The best in New Mexico,” I said. “Maybe the best in the whole US of A. Do your viewers and your taste buds a favor and—”

“I can’t believe this!” Carter groaned and threw his hands in the air. “Amanda, what the hell—”

He didn’t finish. But then, he was too busy taking a long whiff of the chili I held out to him.

His eyes lit. “Cognac?”

He couldn’t see me smile. “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Another sniff. “And Malibar leaves?”

Oh, I was liking this guy better by the moment. Not only had he not called Nick over to get me tossed out on my cute little chili, he actually knew his spices. “Amanda!” He waved her over and this time there wasn’t even the teensiest bit of aggravation in his voice. “Let’s keep rolling the cameras while I take a taste of this chili.”

No sooner were the words out of his mouth than Sylvia appeared at my side, the tray—and the bowl of chili on it—stretched out to Carter. “You’d like this one better.”

I stepped in front of her. “This chili is unique. You said so yourself. Sylvia wouldn’t know a Malabar leaf if it came up and bit her.”

She sidestepped from behind me and edged ahead of me. “Unique doesn’t always translate into good. In fact, Carter, you know that with such disparate ingredients, that chili could be a monumental failure.”

Those were fightin’ words.

I turned to face her. “Oh yeah, like Jack’s chili could ever be bad!”

She kept her smile pasted in place. “Like anything you’re ever involved in could actually be a success.”

I stepped toward her.

Too bad I didn’t look where I was going. The tall, thin heel of my left shoe met Carter’s instep and the results were predictable. He yelped and jumped back. I called out “Sorry!” and stepped forward. Sylvia saw her opportunity and made a move to get between us. While she was at it, she knocked into me and my bowl of chili sloshed, slid, and flew out of my hands.

I almost got a hold on it before it hit the ground, but let’s face it, bulky costumes do not make for graceful movement. At the same time my stilettos nearly slipped out from under me, I got one outstretched hand under the bowl, tried to close my fingers around it—and batted it right at Carter.

By the time I steadied myself on my feet, it was too late to do anything but watch the remarkable way the plastic bowl adhered to his shirt and the globs of Texas Jack’s secret-recipe chili slid down his chest and left red, greasy streaks in their path.

“I’m so sorry!” I was, and I tried to prove it by blotting the paper napkin I’d brought along against the chili that dotted his torso. “I didn’t mean to . . . well, what I mean is that I did mean to . . . except not like this.”

Carter didn’t speak. But then, his teeth were clenched, so I guess it would have been kind of hard.

“I’m so sorry!” Yes, I said it before, but in situations like this, it never hurts to repeat that sort of thing. “I lost my grip and I—” There was a bit of ground chuck near Carter’s collarbone, and with two fingers I carefully picked it off. “Not to worry! You’ve got another shirt,” I told him, remembering his earlier conversation with Amanda. “It’s in the RV. I know, I know . . .” I held up one hand though I wasn’t sure if it was to stop him from going to get the shirt himself or just to keep him from punching me in the nose. When I moved toward his motorhome/dressing trailer, I didn’t bother with any dance steps. “I’ll get your red shirt.”

Before anyone else could move, I raced over there and grabbed the door handle of Carter’s RV.

I yanked.

And nothing happened.

It was a bad time to look inept, what with the entire production crew, Carter Donnelly, Nick, Sylvia, and most of my fellow Showdown vendors watching in stunned silence. Rather than admit I was a weakling, I braced a hip against the RV and tried again.

This time, the door popped open, and for one second, I felt nothing but relief.

That is, until something big and heavy fell out of the doorway.

It wasn’t until I was lying under it on the blacktop that I realized that big, heavy thing was Roberto’s body.

My feet were still moving, but this time I sure wasn’t dancing.

Nick behind me and a crime scene technician named Phil from the Taos police force in front of me, I stood inside the RV that I shared with Sylvia and hop-skipped a crazy pattern against the beige tile floor, each of my steps as discombobulated as I was feeling.

“Can’t you hurry it up, please!” I added a little oomph to the request by flapping my arms at my sides. “I’ve got to get out of this stupid costume. There was . . .” I looked out through the mesh at the front of the costume and down at the smear that started at chest level and went all the way down to where the chili ended just below my hips. It was a deeper red than the chili, and even now, a full hour after I’d gotten clobbered by Roberto’s lifeless body, the stain was still wet and sticky.

My stomach flipped. My brain froze. The composure I’d been trying (and failing) to maintain completely deserted me and I curled my hands into fists. “There was a dead guy on top of me!” I wailed.

“Take it easy. It’s over now.” Nick had insisted on coming to the RV while the technician collected evidence, and now he stepped up beside me and put a hand on my arm. “You’re not in any danger.”

“Except maybe the danger of throwing up.”

At this, Phil, who’d been using long tweezers to carefully collect anything that looked like evidence from the outside of my costume, made a face and jumped back. “You’re not actually going to—”

“She’s not.” The touch of Nick’s hand was as reassuring as his words. Or at least it would have been if I wasn’t so far past the panic point. I guess he’d learned a thing or two out on the mean streets of LA, because he slid his hand down my arm and closed his fingers over mine.

All right . . . yeah . . . I admit it . . . Any other time, any other place, and under any other circumstances, this would not only have turned my head, it would have sent tingles of anticipation racing through me. Of the rocket’s-red-glare-bombs-bursting-in-air variety.

Surprise! Murder, it seems, trumps even sexual attraction. The sound of my racing heartbeat was lost under my own rough breathing, and with thoughts of how there was nothing separating me from Roberto’s blood except a thin layer of canvas-covered wire, Nick’s touch wasn’t even mildly exciting. It was, in fact, just the anchor that kept me from spinning completely out of control.

“Deep breaths,” he suggested.

“And how am I supposed to do that?” My wail scaled back to something more like a whimper. “There isn’t enough air in here. If I could just take off this costume—”

“You will. In just a minute.” Damn him for sounding so calm. But then, I suppose that was something else Nick had learned during his time on the police force. Courage in the face of danger. Composure when everything and everyone around him was out of whack.

Too bad I’d never had the same training. This was the first I’d been up close and personal with a dead guy. And to have that guy land smack on top of me—

Good ol’ Roberto. All he’d ever wanted was to jump my bones.

The thought hit and like it or not, I found myself grinning.

It looked like he finally got his wish. Too bad he was too dead to enjoy the ride.

I wondered if Nick was about to question the quick bark of laughter that came from inside the chili, and just in case he was, I headed him off with a comment of my own and a wriggle to top it off. “I can’t get this costume off soon enough.”

Phil backed off. He was a fortyish guy with a receding hairline and thick, dark-rimmed glasses, and sure, I might be just a tad strung out, but I still couldn’t help but notice that he wasn’t so much looking for evidence on my costume as he was staring at my legs.

Briefly, his gaze flickered to where he figured mine was behind the mesh. “I think I’ve got everything I need, and we got photographs earlier so that’s taken care of. We’ll need to take the costume as evidence.” As if to prove it, he picked up a jumbo-sized plastic bag from the nearby table and waved it like he was leading the flag corps at a football game. “That means I’ll have to stay with you. You know, so the chain of evidence isn’t compromised. Go ahead.” His glasses winked in the light from the window behind me. “Get undressed.”

Too bad he couldn’t see the sour smile that went along with my reply. “I hate to ruin your day. I mean, the way having a dead guy fall out of a trailer and on top of me ruined mine. But news flash, buster, if you think you’re in for a peek at a Victoria’s Secret angel, you can think again. I happen to be wearing clothes under this costume.”

Phil’s cheeks flamed. “I didn’t say that. I didn’t even think it. I—”

“And you can stop checking out my legs, too.” Just to make sure he did, I squashed myself between Nick and the table bolted into the floor in front of a built-in bench covered with green vinyl. This was Jack’s RV, after all, and the decorating scheme was masculine from start to finish. The upholstery on the bench matched the curtains on the windows. The tiled floor was nearly the same color as the maple cabinets.

Safely away from Phil, I groped for the zipper at the back of the costume, but dang, though I put on a good show when it came to putting the creep in his place, I was still dazed and confused by everything that had happened outside. My hands shook too much for me to get a grip. I’d already turned a pleading eye on Nick when I realized he couldn’t see me.

“Could you . . .” I spun around so that my back was to him. “There’s a zipper up near the top and . . .”

Something else to remember about Nick: When it came to removing women’s clothing, he knew his way around. Even when the woman in question happened to be wearing a giant chili. He didn’t hesitate, and he didn’t falter. He grasped, pulled, and a second later, I heard a welcome unzipping sound and felt a touch of cool air against the back of my neck.

Even though the costume was still over my head and my face was still covered, I breathed a sigh of relief.

That didn’t last long when Phil moved forward and reached for my hips. “I’ll help you the rest of the way out of the costume.”

“That won’t be necessary.” There was steel in Nick’s voice, and Phil might be creepy but he wasn’t stupid. He backed right off, and he kept on backing up when Nick added, “In fact, Phil, you’re going to wait outside. We’ll call you when we’re ready.”

“But the chain of evidence—”

“Out.”

That one last word was all it took. Of course, Nick didn’t so much say it as he growled it.

No sooner had the door slammed behind Phil than Nick’s hands closed over my shoulders. His fingers were cool, but his palms were hot, and at the contact, I found myself gasping for air inside the chili.

“I’m just going to push the costume over your head and slowly peel it down,” he said. “You ready?”

That all depended on what he was asking me to be ready for.

Like I said, any other time, any other place. Right now, I couldn’t get the picture out of my head: Roberto’s eyes had been wide open when he came at me from the gloom inside the RV. His arms flopped at his sides. He tongue bulged from between his teeth, an image that was sure to haunt my dreams. Even that wasn’t as gruesome as the smear of blood across his shirt.

My breath hitched. My stomach flipped. When I didn’t give Nick the go-ahead to start removing the costume, he simply waited, and I realized with a start that in spite of the scary images racing through my head, the warmth of his touch had already seeped through my T-shirt and into my skin. Bit by bit, the tension faded. So did the grisly image of Roberto.

“I’m ready.” Was that my voice? Good thing I was swathed in the costume, or Nick might think there was a reason for my breathlessness that had more to do with him than it did with the suffocating air inside the chili.

His voice brushed the back of my neck. “I know you’re anxious to get out of there, but I’m not moving fast. I don’t want to disturb any evidence.” The costume was years old, and pretty bulky thanks to the wire foundation that kept the chili shape. Once he’d pushed it down over my shoulders, he had a better sense of how clumsy the chili really was. I didn’t see Nick make a face, but I imagined he did when he said, “You really wear this thing all day? How do you dance in it?”

I tried for a quick shuffle. But then, that was a better course of action than standing there thinking about the heat of his hands resting on my waist.

“Very funny.” He might have said it, but he wasn’t laughing. In fact, he sounded as winded as I suddenly felt. He inched the chili down a little farther toward my hips, a little more—“I can get it the rest of the way off,” I told him, and moved as far as I was able out of Nick’s reach. That was no easy thing since we were standing at the front of the RV and the driver’s seat and dashboard were only inches away. I wiggled out of the costume and handed it to him. “You can tell pervert Phil that he can come back in to get his evidence.”

Nick did just that then stood back, his arms folded over his chest, while Phil stowed the costume. “Stockings and shoes, too,” Phil said, with a quick look at Nick designed to gauge whether he was on the verge of offending me again. Apparently, he wasn’t taking any chances because he added, “I’m sorry. But I have to ask. You understand.” He glanced at Nick again. “My boss is going to be all over me if I don’t come back with the entire costume.”

All over.

Like Roberto was all over me.

The heat of Nick’s touch dissolved thanks to the chill that shot through me, freezing me in place before I could snap the first garter. I flinched when Nick cleared his throat and pointed toward the rear of the RV. “You might want some privacy,” he suggested. “That’s a bedroom, right?”

Actually, that wasn’t just
a
bedroom, it was Sylvia’s bedroom. I didn’t bother to mention this, just like I didn’t explain that when Tumbleweed had called to say Jack had gone missing, I hadn’t been picking up my phone messages thanks to my credit cards, Edik’s spending habits, and the way every debt collector in the Midwest and beyond had me on speed dial.

Sylvia had gotten to Abilene before I did, and she moved herself lock, stock, and barrel into the larger of the RV’s two not-so-large-to-begin-with bedrooms. My own room (it had actually started life as a storage area) was on the other side of the bathroom and I hurried in there to finish undressing. Done in record time, I tossed my stockings to Phil and set my stilettos on the floor. When he finally packed up his gear and headed out, I sped to the front of the RV.

“I need a cigarette,” I said, more to myself than to Nick. “Bad.”

“You don’t smoke.”

Since this was a little detail I’d completely forgotten in the heat of the moment, his comment brought me up short. “How would you know?”

His smile wasn’t as genuine as it was quick. “My ex was a smoker. Believe me, I can recognize the smell a mile away.”

“An ex, huh?” Hey, he’d opened himself up to the question. Which meant he shouldn’t have ignored it. I wasn’t in the mood to care. Dead body + scared out of my wits + blood all over me = one heck of a nicotine craving.

Too bad I remembered I’d left my purse—and the pack of cigarettes in it—back at the Palace.

I grumbled a curse, but hey, I was not about to be beaten. Not when I couldn’t wait to get a cigarette in my fingers and a long, delicious drag of smoke into my lungs.

I rummaged through the cupboards in the kitchen and when I didn’t find a stray pack there, I started in on the vanity in the bathroom.

No luck there, either, and I raced into my bedroom.

I squashed myself between my single bed and the wall and looked under the bed, so I didn’t so much see Nick follow me into the room as I felt his stony presence. “I don’t smell like smoke because I quit,” I said, loud enough so he could hear me. I crawled out from under the bed and flopped my head against the mattress. Even though I’m short, there wasn’t a lot of room for my legs; I had to bend my knees to fit. “And damn, but I got rid of every cigarette in the place.”

“Isn’t that good news?”

“You obviously never smoked.” I pushed off from the floor and hotfooted it back into the kitchen. I’d seen a bag of Chips Ahoy! there a couple days before, and hey, any port in a storm. I moved Sylvia’s color-coded, arranged-in-alphabetical-order bags of dried fruit to find it—tossed the bag of cookies on the table, plopped down, and dug in.

Okay, so chocolate isn’t nearly as good as nicotine when it comes to relieving stress.

But it comes in a close second.

By the time I’d polished off four cookies, my heartbeat had ratcheted down to something close to normal. The stiffness in my shoulders dissolved. I sank back against the bench.

“I thought you said you felt like you were going to throw up.”

I’d been so busy chomping my way to nirvana, I’d nearly forgotten Nick was there. Now, I glanced up to see that he was watching me carefully.

It was the first I realized I had crumbs on my chin.

I wiped them away and grabbed another three cookies before I pushed the package across the table toward him. “Want some?”

“Some answers.”

The next cookie halfway to my mouth, I froze. “You came to the wrong place. I don’t even know the questions.”