by Meg Benjamin
Harris shrugged. “I don’t think there’ll be any trouble about the fire. The problem is, Burke looks like he’s got a one-track mind.”
Darcy frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I mean now he’s decided we’re the enemy, and he’s going to do his damnedest to make us pay.” Harris looked thoughtful. “Of course, given that we’re on a team with Chico and Andy, he’d probably already decided we were the enemy even before we turned his brisket into jerky.”
Darcy sighed. “Can you think of any way to head him off?”
Harris shook his head, grimacing.
“There’s slander,” a voice said behind them.
Darcy turned. Harris’s brother, Gray, stood slightly to the right, looking back at Andy’s ex-husband with a raised eyebrow. He wore jeans for once, along with a crisp knit shirt, but they both looked like the kind that came from a very expensive store. “Or we could go for defamation. We could bring suit on the basis of damage to your professional reputation.”
Harris folded his arms. “How do you figure?”
Gray shrugged. “He said you got him eliminated so that you could win. He was implying your brisket wasn’t good enough to win on its own. That would damage your reputation as a barbecue chef. I’m not up on the case law, but it looks pretty open and shut to me.” His lips spread in a faintly predatory grin. “And of course, I’d really enjoy bringing the suit. I’d get a kick out of hearing him explain himself in court.”
Harris sighed. “Thanks just the same. I’m not up for a lawsuit right now.”
Gray raised his eyebrows. “Well, we could keep the options open. You’ll run across him again if you enter other competitions.”
Darcy frowned. “How do you know that?”
“I asked.” Gray smiled at her. “Everybody knows everything about everybody in these Hill Country towns.”
Darcy felt like shivering. The idea of everybody knowing everything about her was less than reassuring.
“He may let it go after Horace asks around.” Harris shrugged. “His guy was drunk as a skunk and he screwed up. Burke can’t want people talking about it that much.”
“I wish he’d let it go this time myself.” Gray raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure you don’t want to try some legal harassment?”
Harris shook his head. “Forget it, Gray. Let’s see how the competition plays out.”
Gray sighed. “You’ve got no killer instinct, Harris. Are you sure we’re related?”
“Mom always said so.” Harris gave him a slightly lopsided smile.
“So she did.” Gray’s smile faded. “I need to talk to you about that. Well, about associated issues.”
Harris shook his head. “Not today, Gray. Today I’m cooking ’cue. Come on back to the booth and have a beer. You can help us serve the masses.”
Gray sighed again. “I suppose it won’t kill me. Judging from these crowds you may need all the help you can get.”
“We may at that.” Harris’s grin was back. “Come on, big brother. Let me show you what it’s like to be a working stiff.”
Darcy stood for a moment, watching the two men walk back up the row toward the booth, one dressed like a slumming prince and the other like a barbecue pirate. It was the kind of view that made you think about the vagaries of life.
Or it would have been if she hadn’t had several hundred people to feed. She headed up the row after them. At least she knew what they needed to do for once.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Several hundred people turned out to be pretty accurate. They put Gray in charge of collecting the tickets that the crowd had purchased from the ticket booth at the head of the row. Their prices were posted on a board at front: four tickets for a sandwich with potato salad or coleslaw, eight tickets for a plate that included two sides and dessert. Most people took the plate.
Harris kept his concentration on slicing brisket. Fortunately, his best slicing knife had survived the flood, thanks to Darcy’s insistence on taking the knives with them. He and Chico made up a steady stream of plates filled with brisket or pork or sometimes both for people who were willing to kick in a few extra tickets.
Darcy seemed to be in her element, dishing up bowls of cobbler and adding sides to plates alongside Andy. She grinned occasionally when she recognized a face and tried unsuccessfully to convince MG Carmody to come behind the counter to dish slaw.
“It’s okay,” Andy assured her. “We don’t need extra help. I can keep up.”
Chico seemed remarkably calm, considering that Horace Rankin could disqualify both their entries, making the contest a wash. On the other hand, Chico was probably used to keeping his anger in check since letting it run full-bore could well end in devastation.
After a couple of hours of meal service, Harris saw a walrus moustache bristling at the head of the line. “Hey, Chico,” Rankin called.
Chico glanced up and gave him a flat smile. “What’s up, Mr. Mayor?”
Rankin pushed his wire-framed glasses up his nose. “Got any of that pulled pork left? And a place for a man to sit down?”
Chico piled some of his pork on a paper plate, nodding toward the folding table in back. “You can come on back here if you don’t mind being in the middle of the kitchen, such as it is.”
“Don’t mind if I do.” Rankin stepped around the counter, taking the plate from Chico and pausing to let MG and Andy give him some coleslaw and beans.
He pulled up a chair, plopping his plate onto the table. “Need to talk to you both, but I wanted to taste this pork of yours, son. I heard it’s the real thing.”
“Have at it.” Chico wiped his hands on a towel and then turned back to the mayor. “What’s up, Horace?”
“Talked to Burke’s guy. Now I need to hear your version.” He cocked an eyebrow at Harris. “Tell me again—what happened?”
“Darcy and I were keeping an eye on our smoker last night.” That was true. Sort of. He managed not to look at either Chico or the mayor or Darcy as she stepped up beside him to hear what he had to say. “We saw a lot of smoke coming from the end of the row. I headed up there, and it was Burke’s booth. His guy was asleep in his chair and the smoker was running way too hot. I woke him up, but he was too woozy to know what to do. I stopped him from opening the lid or throwing water on it. Then I told him to close down the dampers to smother the fire, but he didn’t understand. So I did it myself.”
Rankin nodded as he chewed his pork sandwich. “Makes sense. The trouble is, the only ones who were there were you and your lady friend and Burke’s guy Shoney.”
Harris’s shoulders tightened. “What does he say?”
“Says it wasn’t that bad. Just a normal fire. Said he could have put it out with a spray bottle.”
Darcy snorted. “He was going to pour his whole water jug over it. On a grease fire. That would have set the whole place off.” She folded her arms across her chest, her serving spoon dangling from her fingers. Harris hoped she had somebody dishing up coleslaw in her absence to keep the line moving.
Rankin nodded again. “Yeah, I heard that too.” He wiped his mouth with a paper napkin, then turned to Harris. “People said you got hit by that flash flood last week. You got much damage?”
Harris sliced off a little more brisket as Andy handed him a plate. “Some.”
Rankin frowned. “You got flood insurance?”
He shook his head. “I took a chance and got nailed. Didn’t expect a flood in the middle of a drought.”
“Right.” Rankin took a final bite of pork. “That’s always the way, I guess. Either too much rain or too little.”
On the line, Gray shifted slightly, frowning in his direction. Harris decided to ignore him. “I’ll see about taking care of that once we get through this.”
Rankin turned back to Chico. “Son, this is some pork you got here.”
Chico shrugged. “Family recipe.”
Rankin nodded. “Just the right amount of bite—not too much to taste the meat. This here’
s superlative.”
“Thanks.” He dished up two more plates and handed them back to Andy.
Rankin pushed himself to his feet. “Got to get back up to the judges’ tent. I’m first alternate on chicken.”
Harris frowned. They still didn’t know whether they were being disqualified. He glanced at Chico. The big man shook his head slightly.
Rankin nodded at Harris and Chico, smiling at Darcy and Andy. “See you all at the judging.”
Darcy frowned. “So what’s the verdict?”
Chico gave her a dry smile. “Who knows? At least he liked the pork.”
Harris watched Rankin stroll up the aisle, stopping to talk to contestants as he went. He hoped having superlative pork would get them through whatever came next, but he was afraid to trust it. Given the way his luck was currently running, Rankin might end up with a serious case of indigestion.
The results of the competition were supposed to be announced in the late afternoon, after the judges had had a chance to tally up their scores and take a couple of antacids. Andy held tight to Chico’s hand as they stood in the crowd of contestants, partly to keep him from searching out Lew and reducing him to a pulp and partly because she just liked to hold his hand.
The Burnside family was in full force around them. Andy had given up trying to remember the names of all the cousins. She thought she had a handle on Chico’s brothers and sisters, but even that was a little shaky. Blanca stood in front of her son, her arm around her husband’s waist. Alfredo Burnside was maybe a head shorter than his wife, but he was built like a fire plug, and most of his upper body looked to be solid muscle. He’d given Andy a robust kiss on the cheek when they’d been introduced and every time he looked her way, his eyes twinkled. Andy figured she’d been accepted into the family. The idea made her a little dizzy, but on the whole she thought she could cope.
She had the feeling the Burnside family would be doing a little mass blocking if Lew was unwise enough to try to take up the fight again with Chico after he won his contests.
And Lew was bound to win. He always did, one way or another.
Darcy and the King stood on the other side of Chico. The King had pulled on a fresh black T-shirt to replace the sweat-stained one he’d been wearing all day. He’d also replaced his battered, black, goat-roper hat with a resplendent Stetson, complete with a concho-studded, peacock-feather hatband. Darcy’s white-blond hair stood defiantly on end. They made a kickass couple.
Although not as kickass as she and Chico, in her humble opinion.
At the stroke of four, Horace Rankin stepped up to the podium, staring at the handheld mike as if it might be venomous. He brandished a stack of papers in his hand, which he placed carefully on the podium. “Okay, y’all, these’re the results. When we read your name, you come on up and get your ribbon or your trophy. Pictures after we read all the names off. Got that?” He glanced around the crowd as if he expected someone to object. Nobody did.
“Okay then, let’s start with the non-professional division and the chickens.”
The non-professional results droned on for what seemed to be a very long time. Several of the judges considered themselves comedians, which made their presentations particularly painful. The crowd began to get restless.
Andy took a quick survey of the people she could see. Lew stood at the far edge, surrounded by his black-clad team. It looked as if he’d added a few more people since she’d seen him last, probably to allow him to enter more categories. He could easily take prizes in more than one. He did, regularly.
She took a deep breath. There was no point in taking this dispute personally. Even though that was the way Lew had meant it.
Horace Rankin made his way back to the podium as the last group of winners shook hands with their judges. “All right,” he said, “that takes care of the nonprofessionals. All of you winners go on and get your pictures taken. You can pick your prizes after that. Got some real nice gift cards over there.”
The nonprofessionals rarely got any prize money, at least in Andy’s experience. The professionals, on the other hand, could pick up some serious cash. She renewed her grip on Chico’s hand.
“Now for the professional prizes. We’ll start with chicken here too.”
Andy didn’t recognize the names of any of the men who won prizes for their chicken recipes. Or for the seafood winners, as far as that went. Lew had always sneered at barbecued fish since so little time on the grill was involved. She suspected it was more a case of Lew not being adept enough to get the fish right.
“All right then,” Horace intoned. “Now we got ribs.”
Andy leaned forward. Ribs were one of Lew’s specialties. It would be an upset if somebody was able to knock him off his throne.
Unfortunately, nobody did. After first place was announced, Lew stood in front of the audience, holding his blue ribbon over his head and smiling smugly. It might have been Andy’s imagination, but she felt as if the Burnside family had leaned a little closer together, a few of them moving in front of Chico, when Lew had walked up front.
Chico’s expression stayed impassive, but he didn’t applaud. Neither did Andy.
When Horace returned to the microphone he didn’t so much as glance Lew’s way. “Pulled pork is next,” he said.
Chico narrowed his eyes. Otherwise, his expression stayed unchanged.
The third-place winner owned a barbecue joint in Marble Falls. Number two was a caterer in New Braunfels.
“And now, number one.” The judge waved the envelope at the crowd, grinning.
Chico’s fingers tightened on hers, but his face stayed impassive. Lew glanced their way, his eyes narrowed.
The judge tore open the envelope, then frowned down at the paper before looking back at the crowd. “Well, this is a first. We got ourselves a tie for first place. Burke’s Barbecue Bandits and Barbecue Royale! Come up here and get your ribbons, y’all.” He grinned back and forth between Chico and Lew.
Andy’s shoulders clenched tight. For a moment neither man moved, then Chico stepped forward. Lew stayed rooted in place, his gaze murderous.
The judge handed Chico a blue ribbon. His smile seemed a little nervous all of a sudden. Chico nodded his thanks, then turned back toward the Burnsides, holding up the ribbon with one of his less terrifying smiles. The crowd applauded lustily as he headed back to the side.
The judge glanced toward Lew, who stared stonily past him at Chico’s retreating back. The judge shrugged. “That concludes pulled pork.”
Chico smiled down at her. “Well, that was a surprise.”
She nodded, tearing her gaze away from Lew. Who cared what he did? She went up on her tiptoes to give Chico a kiss.
Beef ribs were next and they went quickly. Then came brisket.
While Horace introduced the brisket judges, Darcy leaned on the King, wrapping one arm securely around his waist and resting her cheek against his shoulder. Andy wasn’t sure if this was supposed to be moral support, but she followed suit, leaning against Chico’s side. She glanced across the room and caught Lew staring at her.
Go ahead. Stare at us. It doesn’t bother me anymore. She snuggled closer, and Chico put his arm around her shoulders. Lew’s jaw firmed and he looked away, scowling.
“Okay, here’s your winners for brisket—far as I’m concerned that’s Texas meat right there.” The lead brisket judge grinned at the crowd. He got a few yells in response and a smattering of applause.
Just get on with it. Andy’s jaw hurt from holding it taut.
“Third place,” the judge called. “Banzai Barbecue from Mason, Texas.” Someone in the crowd gave a two-fingered whistle while the Banzai group cheered lustily, then sent their captain forward to pick up his yellow ribbon. “Y’all go on over there and get your picture taken,” the judge said, waving toward the side. “Let’s keep this moving now.”
He glanced down at his sheet and Andy’s hand closed convulsively on Chico’s.
“Second place goes to the Barbecu
e Apostles from Plainview, Texas.”
Andy blinked. Not the King. She bit her lip, digging her nails into Chico’s hand.
“Could you ease off a little there?” he said dryly. “You’re about to break the skin.”
“Sorry.” She dropped his hand, clenching her fists in front of her.
“First place. This is worth five hundred bucks, folks.”
Andy blew out a breath. Right. Get on with it.
“First place goes to Barbecue Royale, from right here in Konigsburg.”
The cheers were deafening. Every Burnside relative yelled at full volume and a couple gave two-finger whistles that sounded louder than anybody else’s. Darcy gave the King a slight shove toward the podium, and he glanced back at her, eyes widening.
“It’s yours,” she said softly. “Go get it.”
He stared at her for a moment, then turned and sauntered toward the podium, his grin widening with each step he took. The judge slapped him on the shoulder. “Nice going, son. Nice to see Konigsburg taking the most important trophy.”
The audience laughed, and the King grinned, lifting his hands over his head, Rocky Balboa style.
Andy risked a quick glance at Lew. His face was bright red, his arms folded across his chest, his expression venomous. He cast a furious look in her direction then turned back to the podium again, his hands gathering into fists at his sides.
“All right then, we got one more award.” Rankin was back at the podium, pushing his glasses up his nose. “That’s the grand champion all-around. This one’s for the team that represents the best of ’cue. And it’s five hundred bucks besides. And I’m gonna read this one.” He glared around the room, as if he dared anybody to argue with him.
Andy bit her lip, taking Chico’s hand again. She’d do her best not to dig in her nails this time, but it was close.
At the podium, Rankin unfolded the piece of paper, glaring at the crowd again. “Grand champion at our first Konigsburg Barbecue Cook-Off goes to…Barbecue Royale from right here in Konigsburg.” He looked up at Chico. “Y’all better come pick this one up, son.”
