Chili Con Carnage (A Chili Cook-Off Mystery)

by Logan, Kylie

  “Well, maybe not these days. But we’ve all got to start somewhere, right? I opened that restaurant six years ago, and believe me, I had plenty of sleepless nights. Not three years ago, I thought I’d have to shut the doors because the money ran out.”

  “You obviously took care of the damage control.”

  “And turned things around completely.” Carter’s shoulders shot back. “Once the restaurant took off, I got the TV show, and once that became a hit, the book contracts. So you see, I believe there’s always a way up. Even for a little guy.”

  “Only this . . .” I put a hand on the Palace. “This is one little guy who isn’t you. So why would you possibly care?”

  Carter laughed. “Hey, in spite of what you might have read in the fine-living magazines . . .” He waited for me to tell him about everything I had read, but since I didn’t read magazines that featured houses I’d never be able to afford, clothes I wouldn’t want to wear even if they didn’t cost way too much, and food nobody in their right mind would ever eat, I had nothing to say and he went right on. “I’m not that much of a perfectionist, and I do have a heart.” As if to prove it, he laid one hand on his chest. “Believe me, I understand the challenges of business ownership.”

  “So you came over to here to help out? Out of the goodness of your heart?”

  “Is that so hard to believe?”

  It was. Which was why I asked him, “And you did all that for the Palace, even though my sister is the one who was arrested for Roberto’s murder?”

  As if he wanted to make sure no rabid fans had followed us, Carter peeked around the corner of the Palace, and I guess the coast was clear because he leaned in nice and close. He smelled like some aftershave I knew I couldn’t afford. Or pronounce the name of, for that matter. “I’ve been asking around, and nobody around here seems to believe she’s guilty,” he said. “And me? I know better than to say anything one way or another. Not until there’s a thorough investigation and a trial. But I will say I’ve seen cops in small towns like this make rush judgments. Why on Earth would your sister have any reason to kill a roadie?”

  I shook my head. “It’s a long story.”

  Carter gave me a careful look. “Are you telling me she did have a reason?”

  “Sort of. Well, yes, kind of, but not really. They knew each other a long time ago, Sylvia and Roberto, and the cops think she was still mad at him for something that happened back then.”

  “Only you don’t agree.”

  “I don’t understand.” It was the first I realized it myself. “I mean, really, ten years and you’re still carrying a grudge? Roberto wasn’t worth it. No guy is.”

  Carter crossed his arms over his chest. Apparently, he owned a boatload of crisp white shirts, because he had another one on that day. His initials were embroidered near the pocket.

  “You’ve been burned.”

  He wasn’t talking cooking.

  And I wasn’t feeling like baring my heart—or my past—to a man I hardly knew. “It only stands to reason,” I said.

  He gave in with good grace and a warm laugh. “I’ll take that as a yes. And since you’re being so honest with me, I’ll be just as up-front with you. I stopped by the Palace today because I knew if I did, the crowds would follow. I just wanted to help.”

  In a mirror image of his gesture, I crossed my arms over my chest, too. “Why?” I asked.

  “I told you. I thought—”

  “Yeah, I know all that. You’re a good guy. You understand. You might even care. But a big shot like you doesn’t usually pay attention to small potatoes like us.”

  I’ll bet when Carter filmed his cooking show, he didn’t need stage lights. His smile was that bright. “Maybe I’d just like to get to know the Chili Chick a little better.”

  It was another bit of blatant schmoozing, and I basked in the glow, even though I didn’t believe it any more than I believed the last compliment he’d given me about my legs.

  “Something tells me I’m not your type,” I told him.

  “Who says? And how do you know what type I like, anyway?”

  “Uptown girls. Plenty of makeup. Nails always done. Purses. Expensive ones. I don’t even know the designers’ names because I don’t pay attention to that kind of bull.”

  “Which might be exactly why you are my type!” He took a couple steps closer and I stood my ground. I hoped my message was loud and clear: Even though he was a star—and a rich, good-looking one—I was not a pushover. I guess he got the message because he laughed. “Truth be told, I’m feeling a little proprietary. I mean about that poor guy who was murdered. He did fall out of my dressing RV, after all.”

  “He did, didn’t he?” It wasn’t like I hadn’t thought of this before. After all, that image of Roberto as he toppled onto me was sure to be etched in my mind for years to come. It’s just that I hadn’t thought about it in exactly this way.

  It was my turn to give Carter a careful look. “Have you asked yourself why?”

  The way he screwed up his mouth told me he didn’t know what I was I was getting at.

  “Why your RV?” I asked, hoping to explain. “Why was Roberto’s body put there? The cops said that wasn’t where he was killed. According to what I heard, the murder happened back around the RV in a spot where nobody would have seen it.” I waved in the general direction. “Then the killer—and you notice I’m not saying it was Sylvia because there’s no way in hell she ever would have had the guts to do anything like that—the killer dragged the body all the way around over here.” The RV wasn’t far away, so I led the way over there.

  “The killer had to haul the body up these steps.” There were two of them, and I demonstrated with an invisible body, careful not to touch the yellow tape. “And put Roberto inside.” I pantomimed my way through this maneuver, too, pretending to open the door, stuff Roberto’s body inside, and slam the door shut.

  “You were the one who was supposed to change before you started filming. So you were the one who was supposed to go in there first.” I stepped back so I could see Carter’s face when I added, “That body should have fallen out on you, not me.”

  Good thing we weren’t ready to roll on an episode of his TV program; Carter would have needed a quick visit from his makeup artist to put the color back in his cheeks. That pretty much told me this was something he hadn’t thought of before. Before he could recover—and maybe pretend like it wasn’t the big deal I knew it was—I pounced.

  “Who would want to scare you like that?” I asked him.

  “Scare? Me?” The man might be God’s gift to the cooking world, but he was one heck of a lousy actor. I guess he knew it. More important, I guess he knew I knew it, because his smile dissolved. “You think . . .” Carter swallowed hard. “You think that poor man’s death could possibly have something to do with me?”

  “I don’t think anything.” I knew there were people—Sylvia came to mind—who believed this to be one of the truths of the universe, and even though my half sister wasn’t around to point it out, old habits die hard; I jumped in to save face. “What I mean is that I don’t think anything about the murder. Because I don’t know anything. But this . . .” I paced a zigzag pattern through the dust. “This opens up a whole new world of possibilities. Nobody could have known I was going to open that door. They thought you were. Which means Roberto’s body should have fallen out on you.”

  Just when I thought Carter couldn’t get any paler, he went and proved me wrong. Hey, I didn’t hold it against him. At least when Roberto and I had gone one-on-one, I had the Chili Chick costume between me and him. If Carter had opened that door . . .

  My stomach soured. “Somebody doesn’t like you,” I told him.

  He seemed honestly surprised. “I don’t know who. I mean, I suppose there are people who are jealous. Plenty of them. I’m successful. I’m wealthy. I’ve got a name and a reputation and a book on the best-seller list. But believe me, I haven’t stomped on any of the little people on my
way to the top.”

  Just the way he said it and the words he used—little people—told me that, of course, he had stomped with both feet, and that he was so completely unaware of it—and of the people who’d taken the stomping—that he was bound to have enemies galore.

  “But why Roberto?” I asked myself more than him. “I kept thinking that him being the victim, that was because someone had it in for him. But maybe that’s not true.”

  “You think someone had it in for me.” I think Carter would have liked to phrase this as a question, but he couldn’t escape the logic. It was only just a theory, but he knew it was a very real possibility. “You think someone killed this Roberto character because of me? I’d hate for that to be true. I’d hate to be responsible for another human being’s death.”

  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.”