Chili Con Carnage (7 page)

“This was one of the knives she must have had back in culinary school. Her name was engraved on it.”

“But—”

“And the cops found it stashed in one of the cupboards under the front counter of the Palace.”

“Oh.” There was a brilliant comment if ever there was one. I looked out the window, but believe me when I say I didn’t pay the least bit of attention to the passing scenery. It was as much of a blur as the thoughts racing through my head.

“But why would Sylvia—”

“I was there when they came for her,” Nick admitted. “The local cops stopped to see me first, as a courtesy. I went along when they questioned Sylvia about the murder.”

Either the fairgrounds was closer to the Taos Inn than I thought, or I’d been so absorbed in the conversation, I hadn’t realized how much time had passed. Nick wheeled into the parking lot and pulled into a space next to an attractive adobe building with a red tile roof.

He turned off the ignition and turned in his seat just enough to look me in the eye. “She admitted it.”

“That she killed Roberto? There’s no way in hell that she ever—”

“That she knew him.” Sometime while I was busy losing it, Nick had put a hand on my arm. I didn’t realize it until I stopped seeing red and glanced down. This time, I didn’t pull my arm away. I told myself it was because I was just too darned tired to fight, but truth is, there was something about his touch that didn’t warm me as much as it steadied me. At this point, I needed it.

“My guess is Sylvia thought she had nothing to hide,” he said. “And that’s a good thing. When they questioned her about the knife and her relationship with Roberto, she told them she’d known him years ago and that yes, she recognized him when he showed up at the Showdown.”

“Seems like a pretty big coincidence, doesn’t it?”

For a second, Nick didn’t catch on to what I was getting at. Then slowly, his eyebrows rose. “You think he was at the Showdown because of Sylvia?”

“I think it’s mighty odd that the cops found out they knew each other. I didn’t know until I found that newspaper article.”

He opened his door and got out of the car and I had no choice but to follow.

“Good police work,” he said, leading me to the lobby.

“Or somebody wants to make Sylvia look guilty.”

Nick cocked his head. “You really believe that?”

I flopped down on a couch near a fireplace and grumbled. “I believe . . . well, I don’t know what to believe. I always knew Sylvia was evil, but not this evil. There’s no way she killed Roberto. You’re a cop, Nick, or at least you used to be.”

Oh yes, when I said this, I gave him my most innocent look. Nick’s past was something he refused to talk about, and he deserved a little comeuppance for the grief he’d given me earlier about Roberto.

“At least that’s the word around the Showdown,” I said, as if distancing myself from the information even though I knew there was more truth in it than rumor. “Can’t you help Sylvia?”

He looked over to where a middle-aged couple was just finishing up at the registration desk. “The local cops will handle it,” he said, ignoring my dig about his past just like I knew he would. “They’re not going to screw this up. When they find out they’ve got the wrong person . . . if Sylvia is the wrong person . . . they’ll make things right.”

“And she’s supposed to sit in jail until then?” I hopped to my feet, the better to give him a glare. It would have been easier if he wasn’t so darned much taller than me. “You’re just going to let her rot there for something she didn’t do?”

Nick didn’t even bother with a shrug. It was more of a one-shoulder twitch. “You think she didn’t do it? Prove it.”

With that, he turned and strode toward check-in.

Following him, I took my first good look around the lobby, and this time it was my turn to stop Nick in his tracks.

“No way I can stay here,” I said, leaning in close and whispering so none of the people around us could hear. “I can’t afford a place like this.”

“Not to worry. I’ll take care of it.”

I stepped back, my weight against one foot. “So you’re going to pay for my room? And not expect anything in return?” I still had the shoe box and I shifted it from under one arm to the other. “I’m not buying it.”

“Neither am I.” Nick waited a heartbeat. “Which is why you’re going to pay the cost of some no-tell motel you can afford.” He gave me a wink and walked over to register. “I’ll pick up the difference.”

As much as I begged, Nick refused to take me back to the Showdown when he left the hotel and returned to work. He said that since I couldn’t work at the Palace—not until the cops were done going through the place—and I couldn’t get back into the RV—not until the crime scene techs had looked it over—I was sure to get in trouble. He mentioned that I’d get in the way of the professionals who were already there doing their jobs. He was sure I’d poke my nose where it didn’t belong, he insisted, and that would cause problems.

He was wrong, of course.

But he was the one with the car keys.

I will not repeat the word I used to memorialize the occasion when from my first-floor room, I saw him stride into the parking lot, get into his car, and drive away. I will say that after a few minutes of grumbling and groaning, I devised a plan. So I couldn’t get back to the Showdown right now to do what I could to figure out what was going on and how Sylvia had been caught up in the whole thing. That didn’t mean I had to sit there and do nothing. What was it Nick had told me? If I thought Sylvia didn’t do it, I should prove it? Well, that was exactly what I was going to do.

Armed with the information I got from the helpful concierge at the front desk and the memories I had of my one and only date with Roberto, I was outside within a couple minutes. Taos is not a large town. In fact, when the Showdown had arrived, I heard one of the other vendors mention that there are only seven thousand people who live there. Those numbers swell according to the season: skiers in the winter, art lovers who prowl the galleries and workshops in the summer, and the New Age dropouts who sell crystals and psychic readings at head shops and street fairs. Unfortunately, small town does not equal quick walk. Especially since I got lost—twice—before I found the bar Roberto and I had visited Wednesday evening.

I recognized the place immediately. There were boards over the front windows, which had been broken out during the melee.

I arrived hot, tired, and in need of a lite beer. As soon as I was through the front door, what I got instead was an ear-piercing shriek.

“You! Maxie Pierce! You gotta lot of nerve showing up here, bitch!”

It was sunny outside and, thanks in part to the boarded windows, as dark as the inside of a bowling ball in the El Rancho Tavern. That would explain why I didn’t see the woman who came at me out of the shadows like some sort of superhero on steroids. Before I had a chance to react, her hands were around my neck.

“How dare you! How dare you!” Her screeching was like fingernails on a blackboard, especially this close to my ears. Her fingers pressed against my windpipe hard enough to make it impossible to take a breath. She shook me, and my head snapped back.

Stars exploded behind my eyes and I felt myself falling into a blackness I knew I wouldn’t come back from. I kicked. I squirmed. But whoever the woman was, she had a hold like an anaconda.

That is, until she didn’t.

As quickly as the woman’s bony fingers had closed over my throat, the pressure let up, and when the supernovas stopped bursting, I saw a burly guy with a shaved head and stretched earlobes holding on to the shoulders of a woman with wild dark hair and wilder eyes.

“Karmen!” The name barely made it out of my sore-as-heck throat, and while I considered what it meant and hoped that the big guy had the presence of mind to keep the crazy woman away, I slumped back against a wall that was sticky with a substance I didn’t want to consider and hauled in a breath that scraped against my poor, bruised windpipe.

While I was at it, I stared in wonder at the woman who’d blown through the Showdown the day before and trashed our spice display. “Who the hell are you?” I would have liked to scream the question, but it came out as more of a rasp. Even back in my smoking days, I had never sounded this hoarse. “And what the hell . . . ?” I fingered the spot on my neck I was sure would be black-and-blue in short order. “What do you have against me, you crazy bitch?”

Even though she was plenty comfortable using the word herself, Karmen apparently didn’t like to be called names. She twisted out of the big guy’s grasp and shot toward me, her fingers curled into talons and fire shooting from her eyes. Fortunately, he had quick reflexes and before she could get close enough to attack again, he had both his meaty arms wrapped around her waist and lifted her feet off the floor. Not to worry, if he hadn’t been successful in corralling her, I was ready; I’d already set my purse on the floor and planted my feet. I was all set to fight.

“You! You got a lot of nerve.” Karmen didn’t so much say the words as she spit them at me. “How dare you walk in here.”

“Hey, I didn’t start the fight,” I told her because let’s face it, I couldn’t imagine what else she could be talking about. “In fact, I was in the ladies’ room when it started. It was all that big guy.” I glanced at the giant hanging on to Karmen. “The other big guy. The one who was in here Wednesday night. The dude with the beard. It was all because of him and Roberto and—”

“Roberto!” Just like that, the starch went out of Karmen’s shoulders and at the same time she wailed the name, she sagged in the big guy’s arms like a rag doll. “Roberto! Roberto! Roberto!” she cried, great big tears flowing down her cheeks and messing up the mascara she’d put on too heavy anyway.

“You knew Roberto?” I didn’t have to ask. The way Karmen carried on pretty much told me all I needed to know. I signaled to the big guy that he could let her go, and though he looked unsure of what was going to happen, he did, and retreated around to the back of the bar.

“Roberto!” Karmen dropped her face in her hands and her shoulders shook so hard, I thought she’d flop right to the floor.

Before she could, I pulled out the nearest chair and guided her into it.

I grabbed the chair next to hers and sat down. “You were a friend of Roberto’s.”

“A friend?” Her head shot up and I thought she was going to come at me again, so I put my purse in my lap and hung on to it with both hands. If worse came to worse, I wouldn’t hesitate to use it as a shield. Or a battering ram. “How can you sit there and pretend to be so stupid?” she demanded. “How can you have the nerve to ask me about Roberto when you—” When she pointed at me, her hand trembled. “You are the one who killed him!”

Okay, so laughing was probably not the best way to respond, but it’s not like I could help myself. Good thing the big bartender came over with an ice pack for the outside of my neck and a glass of water for the inside. I sipped carefully, and after the initial feeling of fire in my throat, the water cooled and soothed it. I set down the glass and winced when I put the ice pack against my skin.

“Number one,” I told Karmen, “I didn’t kill Roberto. And number two—” She opened her mouth to talk and I held up my free hand to stop her. “You were mad at me even before he was dead. So don’t pretend you’re on some holy mission to avenge his death, missy. You were at the Showdown before Roberto was murdered. Something’s going on here. And since you just about killed me . . .” I fingered my throat, grateful that the ice had numbed the pain. “. . . you owe me an explanation.”

Karmen grabbed a paper napkin from the metal holder in the center of the table and blew her nose. “You . . . you didn’t kill Roberto?”

“I hardly knew the guy.”

“But you were jealous. Horribly jealous! You must have been. Roberto, I know he told you that he was dumping you and coming back to me.”

I had to play it diplomatic here or risk Karmen going up like a rocket again. Which means it probably wasn’t smart to mention that far from dumping me, Roberto had actually asked me out again before he’d been whacked. While I weighed my options and chose my words, I dared another sip of water.

“You came gunning for me at the Showdown yesterday because you thought I was going to steal Roberto from you?” I asked her when I was done.

Her shoulders shot back. “Well, I know you were going to try. But let’s face it, he could never be hot for you the way he was for me.”

I was not about to debate this. In fact, I hoped it was true. “So let me guess, you saw me and Roberto here together the other night—”

She sat up like a shot. “You bet your ass I did. And I know Roberto, he didn’t see me. I was over there.” She pointed to a booth in the shadows of the far corner of the bar. “I watched you two together.”

“Then you knew we didn’t do anything.”

“You were with him.” Apparently to Karmen, this was enough. She was not an attractive woman to begin with—sallow complexion, crooked teeth, stringy hair—and when her expression hardened, I realized she was older than I’d thought at first. Older than Roberto, that was for sure. Which might have explained why she was obsessed to the point of mayhem. “You were in love with him,” she said. “You must have been. Every woman who met Roberto fell under his spell.”

What’s that they say about love being blind? In Karmen’s case, I think it was fair to throw dumb into the mix, too.

“Here’s the deal . . .” I leaned forward, the better to make it look like I was sharing a confidence when truth be told, all I was trying to do was get this woman not to go off on me again. Long before, I’d learned that sometimes the only way to do that was to throw out a good line of bullshit. “I could see from the start that Roberto, he didn’t really like me. I’m thinking maybe he was just trying to make you jealous. You know, that’s why he asked me out in the first place.”

She tried to play it cool, but Karmen couldn’t quite keep a smile from twitching around her thin lips. “Jealous? You think so?”

“I’m sure that’s what happened. And I know that’s why he asked me out. So you see, it wasn’t because he liked me—”

“And you?” She narrowed her eyes and studied me, like she was some kind of human lie detector and if she looked hard enough, she’d know if I was telling the truth. “You weren’t nuts about him?”

“I thought I was.” Apparently, either her Spidey Senses were off or I was a pretty darned good liar, because the way she nodded, I knew she believed me from the start. “But then . . . well, it didn’t take me long to realize his mind was a million miles away. You know, he was with me, but he was thinking about someone else. The whole time we were together. Well, that pretty much made me see the light. As much as I wanted to, I knew I was never going to get anywhere with Roberto.”

“Someone else?” Her dark eyes filled with tears. “Me?”

I patted Karmen’s hand. “I don’t doubt it for a minute. So you see, you don’t have any reason to be jealous of me. And I didn’t have any reason to kill Roberto.”

As if the effort of thinking was a slow and painful process, she blinked a few times. “Then why are you here?” she asked.

“To find out who really did kill him,” I told her.

At that moment, the bartender showed up with another glass of ice water and I figured it was time to get down to business. “Hey,” I accepted the water and gave him as much of a smile as I could manage with an ice bag on my throat. “Have you found a phone around here? Roberto told me he put his in my purse. You know, before the fight broke out the other night. But I don’t have it.”

The big guy shook his head. “Nobody’s turned it in. Probably got smashed to smithereens. You know . . .” He poked his chin toward the front of the bar. “Like my window.”

I thanked him and turned back to Karmen, who was still watching me with something very much like suspicion gleaming in her eyes. “Why do you care so much?” she asked.

“About Roberto’s phone? I don’t. Not really. Except that he mentioned it to me when I saw him yesterday morning and I was wondering if there were any calls or any messages, you know, that would tell us something about what happened to him.”

“Not about the phone.” She made a face. “About who killed Roberto. If you didn’t love him, why do you want to find out who did this to my Roberto?”

“It’s my sister,” I said because really, it didn’t seem worth the effort to make up some hogwash when it was just simpler to tell the truth. “Well, actually, it’s my half sister, Sylvia. She’s the one they arrested for the murder.”

Karmen nodded. “And you’re worried about her. You want to help her. You and your sister, you must love each other very much. Yes, I understand.”

I didn’t. Not completely, anyway, but rather than get into it, I said, “I don’t think she did it. Not that Sylvia doesn’t have a dark side. She can be meaner than a rattlesnake, but she’s usually just mean to me. And as nasty and vindictive and terrible as she is—” I softened the statement with a smile; the cops were sure to talk to Karmen somewhere along the line and there was no use giving them any hearsay ammunition against Sylvia.

“Well, Sylvia might not be perfect,” I said, “but I can’t imagine she’d ever actually kill anyone. And if she didn’t do it—”

“You don’t want her to suffer. You’re a good sister.”

“Half sister,” I corrected her. “And it’s not really that. It’s more like . . .” I thought about it while I took another drink of water. I’d asked myself the same question the whole time I trudged around Taos looking for El Rancho. Why did I want to help Sylvia, anyway? Had the tables been turned, I was pretty sure she wouldn’t be sitting in a dive bar trying to find out the truth so she could clear my name. In fact, I was pretty sure she’d show up at the local jail, camera in hand. Just so she could snap a picture and hang an eight by ten of me in an orange jumpsuit in a place of honor in the RV.