Revenge of the Chili Queens (14 page)

Speaking of redheads, Eleanor looked mighty swanky herself that day in a sleeveless dress with a slightly flared skirt. She waved a hand, and the overhead lights caught the honkin’ big sapphire ring on her left hand. The ginormous gem was the same color as her silk dress.

“Before we get started,” Eleanor said, “let’s have some fun. Let’s start by shaking out the jitters!”

Like she’d had too many cups of coffee (if there is such a thing), Eleanor jiggled her arms and shook her legs, and that sapphire winked and blinked at me in the glare of the lights. Once they were over their surprise at seeing elegant Eleanor acting like a darned jumping jack, the beauty
queens joined in. They shook, rattled, and rolled, and pretty soon, the auditorium was filled with the sounds of their laughter.

“That’s a good beginning,” Eleanor told them when she finally stopped gyrating. She put a hand to her heart and hauled in a breath. “Now let’s do a little practicing. What are you going to do . . . ?” She let her gaze roam slowly over the assembled beauty queens. “What are you going to do when the girl next to you wins?”

A couple of the queens gasped. Somebody called out, “I’m going to cry, that’s what I’m going to do.”

Somebody else said, “Demand a recount!” and everyone laughed.

I, of course, was more interested in Tiffany’s part in all this than in anything else. I sidled into the row of theater seats in front of the stage, picked one that would allow me to keep Tiffany in my sights, and plunked down.

“What you’re going to do is what you always do,” Eleanor told them. “Not just in beauty pageants, but in life. Because I know, ladies, that you have it all. You’re young. You’re gorgeous. You’ve all accomplished something difficult and special, or y’all wouldn’t be standing here today vying for the job of Tri-C spokeswoman. But I’ve got to tell you, life isn’t always easy. I know this from experience. Oh, sure, plenty of people look at me and they see the glamour and that famous Alvarez fortune!” She didn’t so much laugh as she smiled knowingly.

“From the outside, my life looks ideal, but it came with a price. My dear husband, Jacob . . .” Eleanor turned away from the girls just long enough to compose herself. “Yes,
I’ve got it all. But I’ve also lost a great deal. Like my poor, dear Jacob. He was a wonderful man, and yes, I know what you’ve heard—he was older and I was just a starry-eyed twenty-year-old. He taught me so much! Jacob cared about this city and the institutions that make it great. When he met me, I was just a girl from a Podunk town who didn’t know just how wonderful and satisfying it is to give back to my community. Then one day, he was gone.” She breathed in deep, a hand pressed to her heart.

“That might not be the kind of sadness you ever experience in your life. In fact, I hope it’s not. But one of these days, you’re also going to find out that no matter how beautiful you are, no matter how talented you are, and no matter how you never have a bad hair day . . .” More laughter, but this time, it sounded a little uncomfortable, like the queens couldn’t believe that was actually a possibility.

“No matter,” Eleanor drawled in that wonderfully cultured Texas accent of hers. “Someday things aren’t going to go your way. The sun isn’t going to shine and you . . .” She pointed to one of the girls. “And you and you and you and you . . .” She went down the line, indicating each of the girls in turn. “There’s going to be a time when you’re not going to win. Oh, it might not be a title. It might be a man you think you love.” There were a couple grumbles in response. “Or it might be a job you want. Or it might be something as small as a smile from a person you’d wish would notice you. It’s going to happen, ladies. I can tell you this from experience. Life isn’t always a bowl of cherries, and there will come the time when you’re going to feel like the pits.”

As crazy as this seems, I think this was news to many of the women up there onstage. A couple of them actually looked like they might burst into tears. Tiffany, it should be noted, was not one of them. Her chin was high, her shoulders were steady in a brave-little-soldier pose, and I wondered if she was trying to convince Eleanor, or herself.

“So what are you going to do?” Eleanor asked no one in particular. “You’re going to be gracious, that’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to be grateful, too. You are all winners and you know it. And you’re going to act like winners. No matter what. Now, let me see you be winners. What are you going to do when that girl standing right there next to you is named Miss Consolidated Chili?”

Miss Hotter than a Chili Pepper down at the end of the row clapped. It was a slow, tentative sort of sound that picked up steam when one beauty queen after another joined in.

From my vantage point, I watched smiles that started out just as tentative blossom on every single face as the women put their hands together and applauded for all they were worth.

Well, except for Tiffany.

Eyes narrowed, I studied the odd way Miss Texas Chili Pepper applauded. She didn’t bring both her hands above her waist the way everyone else did. She kept her left arm at her side and brought her right hand to it down near her hip.

If anyone else noticed or if anyone else cared, no one pointed it out. I wasn’t sure I cared, either, but I did think it was a little odd.

Odd got odder when Eleanor had the girls do the next role-playing exercise.

“Now,” she said, “let’s see what y’all are going to do if you win!”

A couple of the women squealed. One put a hand to her forehead like she was going to faint. Another one jumped up and down.

Eleanor shook her head. “Well, that’s all well and good, but it’s going to be mighty distracting for the people down in the seats,” she said. “So watch me, and do what I do.”

Eleanor stepped back, sucked in a breath like she was plenty surprised, and put her hands on either side of her open mouth.

The beauty queens followed suit.

Except for Tiffany, who brought only her right hand to her face.

The pieces fell into place, and my mouth fell open, too, but not because I was surprised or because I’d been named Miss Consolidated Chili.

More like I’d just realized how stupid I’d been.

“Darn!”

I plunked back in the plush theater seat and gave myself a figurative kick in the pants.

I’d been blind and oh, so wrong about the one person I wanted to be oh, so right about.

•   •   •

The rehearsal lasted another hour and a half, but believe me when I say I didn’t pay a whole lot of attention. Walk this way. Move this way. Next will come the talent competition.

I heard all the instructions that came from the middle-
aged women who took over for Eleanor and whose job it was to direct the logistics of the show; I just didn’t care.

My one and only theory of the crime had been shot down in flames, and I was a little busy stewing.

And trying to figure out how I could prove if I was right. Even though I knew I was. And didn’t want to prove it.

By the time the beauty queens cleared the stage so they could freshen up before their evening duties back at Alamo Plaza, I knew what I had to do. I trailed backstage, keeping an eye out for Tiffany when I cruised past the dressing rooms where female chatter oozed from every nook and cranny.

She didn’t leave with the first group of queens.

Or the second.

Fine by me. That gave me a chance to look around. The main auditorium of the fairgrounds is used for concerts and shows of all kinds, and like most theaters, there were things lying around backstage like ropes and ladders and miles of wires. There were a couple beanbag-sized sandbags anchoring the ropes near the red velvet curtains, and I grabbed one and hefted it in one hand.

Perfect!

I stepped back in the shadows and waited.

Lucky for me, Tiffany was the last one out of the dressing room, and she was all alone when she walked out with her right hand looped around the handle of that rolling purple makeup case of hers. I had plenty of elbow room to step forward, call out her name, and lob the sandbag at Miss Texas Chili Pepper.

It hit her in the left side and plunked on the floor.

“Darn!” I stomped one sneaker-clad foot. “Darn, darn, darn!”

Maybe Tiffany wasn’t as dopey as I thought she was, because she looked at the sandbag on the floor and went as pale as a ghost. “What are you doing?” she demanded. That is, right before she looked around to make sure there wasn’t anyone near to overhear us, and then hurried over so she could hiss at me. “What’s wrong with you? What are you trying to prove?”

I retrieved the little sandbag and tossed it back where I found it. “I should have seen it right from the start,” I told her. “I can’t believe how stupid I’ve been.”

She swallowed hard, and now that she had a couple seconds to think about it, she lifted her chin and sucked in her bottom lip. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m talking about the way you hand out crappy souvenirs. I’m talking about the way you threw your water bottle into the recycling bin in the motor home yesterday. You set the bottle down on the counter, Tiffany.” A pretend bottle in my hand, I demonstrated. “Then you slid the drawer open, dropped the bottle in and shut the drawer.”

“We all need to be more environmentally conscious,” she said. “We owe it to Mother Nature, and to the generations of children who—”

“Yeah. Right. Whatever.” I stepped back, my weight against one foot, and looked her over. “What does the environment have to do with the way you . . .” I let my mouth drop open and slapped my hands to my face in one big, exaggerated, I’ve-won-the-pageant move.

“You can’t tell me the way you only put one hand to
your face has anything to do with how much of a tree hugger you are.”

Tiffany’s shoulders shot back. “I have my own style.”

“You have a left arm you can’t use.”

She tried to counter my accusation—her eyes squinched and her jaw worked up and down in silent protest. I nearly felt sorry for her. And when she realized there was no story she could make up that would satisfy little ol’ me, Tiffany’s eyes filled with tears.

“What do you want? Do you want money? Is that why you’re doing this to me? Do you want money not to tell?”

Honestly, at that point, I wished I was really as hard-hearted as some people think I am. It would have been fun to toss out a figure—say, five hundred a month—and watch Tiffany squirm. But hey, in spite of what Sylvia might say, I’m not anywhere near that heartless. Well, not most of the time, anyway.

I glanced at Tiffany’s left arm. “What happened?”

Automatically, her right hand went to her left arm in a protective little move. “A riding accident. When I was thirteen. I was already involved in pageants, and my mother and I, we didn’t see any reason not to continue. I mean, why shouldn’t I? I’m still just as beautiful as I ever was, right? I’m still just as talented. And I’m pretty good at covering up. I can compensate. You know? But if anyone finds out . . .” Again, Tiffany looked all around and peered into the backstage shadows, just to make sure we were alone.

“I can’t let anybody find out,” she burbled. “Then they’d know . . .” A single tear slipped down her cheek. “They’d know I’m not perfect!”

For me, the road less traveled is the high road. Since I’d already chosen it, I kept my feet firmly in place. “Your secret is safe with me,” I told her. “But as it turns out, this is really good news for you.”

She sniffled. “It is? How can it be?”

“Don’t you get it? Dom, he was sick the night he died thanks to your chili practical joke. That meant he was weak and shaky and that whoever killed him wouldn’t have had too hard of a time sneaking up on him and overpowering him. But it still took two hands to wrap those guitar strings around his neck.”

Tiffany pouted. “I told you I didn’t do it.”

“And I finally believe you. But darn . . .” I kicked at the nearest coil of heavy black wires. “You know what this means, don’t you? You were my best bet, and since there’s no way you could have killed Dominic, I have to start my investigation all over again.”

CHAPTER 10

“I need your help.”

This was not something I was used to hearing from Nick, so I guess I could be excused when I spun around from the table where I was dishing up chili and gave him an openmouthed look worthy of a beauty pageant winner.

“What?” he asked.

I shook myself out of my temporary paralysis. Or at least I tried. See, this was the first time I’d seen Nick since the day before, when Sylvia admitted that she didn’t have any designs on him. And even if she did, it wasn’t like I was going to back off just because Sylvia wanted to get up close and personal with Nick. I mean, really, there was a time when if I found that out, I would have dated him whether I liked him or not, just to get her goat.

Still, somehow, knowing my half sister had left the door wide open for me to swoop in and make my move on Nick bushwhacked me. It was crazy and pretty ridiculous. It was downright nuts that I suddenly felt nervous and self-conscious and just a little shy with a guy I’d known a couple months and had never been skittish around before.

Or maybe my sudden case of the jitters had something to do with the fact that my best murder suspect had washed down the drain and I might at that very moment be looking into the (really nice blue) eyes of a killer.