The Great Chili Kill-Off

by Livia J. Washburn

  They sat down and a harried-looking waitress in a light blue uniform came over to them. “The kitchen’s about to close, folks,” she said, “but I can go check and see what’s left if you want.”

  “How about pie?” Sam asked.

  “Oh, yeah, sure, we have buttermilk and apple.”

  “I’ll take a slice of the buttermilk.”

  “You got it. Ladies?”

  Carolyn said, “Nothing for me, thanks.”

  Phyllis looked at Eve and asked, “Would you like to split a slice of apple pie?”

  “That sounds like a good idea,” Eve agreed.

  The waitress managed a smile and a nod. “I’ll be right back with it. How about some coffee? There’s regular and decaf if you want it.”

  They shook their heads to that offer. The waitress went off to fetch the pie. Phyllis said to Sam, “I thought you were going to get fruit pie because it’s healthy.”

  “Yeah, but I really like buttermilk pie. And since it’s made with buttermilk, it counts as dairy . . . right?”

  While they waited, Carolyn said, “That Hammersmith man seems like he’s trouble. He fools around with other men’s wives, he cheats at cards, he wins every year . . . There’s no telling what else he does to make people angry at him.”

  A man sitting at the table next to him turned his chair halfway around and looked over his shoulder. “Excuse me for buttin’ in,” he said. “Did I just hear you talking about Joe D. Hammersmith?”

  “That’s right,” Phyllis said warily. “Is he a friend of yours?”

  “A friend?” the man repeated. “Joe D. Hammersmith can go straight to hell as far as I’m concerned, the no-good chili cheat!”

  Chapter 6

  The man tipped back the cap he wore and went on, “Sorry if he’s a friend of yours, but I just can’t stand the no-good—”

  The woman sitting at the table with him reached over, put a hand on his arm, and said, “You don’t need to be getting so upset, Roger. Remember what the doctor said about your blood pressure and stress.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” the man muttered. “I just can’t stand that Hammersmith.” He looked at Phyllis and the others. “No offense.”

  “We just met the fella this evenin’, so you’re not offendin’ us,” Sam assured him. “I do seem to remember seein’ his name on the cook-off’s website, but that’s all I ever knew about him until today.”

  “And none of the rest of us had even heard of him,” Phyllis added.

  “But from what we’ve seen of him,” Carolyn put in, “he’s not the sort of man we’d ever be friends with.”

  The man turned his chair halfway around so he could see them better and nodded. “I’m not sure he’s got any real friends except maybe Hiram Boudreau, and Hiram just likes him because he’s turned into the star of the cook-off and that gets publicity.” He stuck his hand out to Sam. “Name’s Roger Glennister. This is my wife Julie.”

  Julie Glennister, a pleasant-looking woman with fluffy blond hair, smiled and nodded while Sam and her husband shook hands. “Hello, folks,” she said. “Which one of you is the chili cook? Or are you all entering the contest?”

  “That’d be me,” Sam said. “Although Carolyn here is gonna enter a couple of the side contests.” He introduced the others, and more pleasantries were exchanged.

  Glennister took his cap off, revealing thinning brown hair. Even though he was dressed in jeans and a khaki shirt and had a cap with a farm implement logo on it, Phyllis thought he looked more like an insurance salesman than a farmer. Of course, there was no reason he couldn’t have an insurance agency and a farm. And those were just wild guesses, so she could be totally wrong about him.

  “Where are you from?” Glennister asked. “Julie and I are in Granbury.”

  “Well, you’re not very far from us, then,” Sam said. “All of us live in Weatherford.”

  “Is that so?” Glennister reached into the pocket of his work shirt. “Let me give you a card. I have clients in Weatherford, and I’m always glad to add another.”

  Phyllis caught a glimpse of the logo on the card and saw that she’d been right. Glennister was an agent for a large insurance company.

  “So tell me about your chili,” he went on as he handed the card to Sam.

  “It’s really good,” Sam said. “How about yours?”

  Glennister laughed. “Not giving away any secrets, are you?”

  Sam grinned and said, “Nope.”

  “Well, mine’s really good, too, and that’s enough said about that, I suppose. We’ll find out in a couple of days, won’t we?”

  Phyllis said, “I’m curious about something. You called Joe D. Hammersmith a chili cheat. How in the world do you go about cheating when it comes to cooking chili?”

  Glennister put his cap back on, pulled it down tight, scowled, and said, “He’s a pre-cooker.”

  “No,” Sam said as his eyes widened.

  “Excuse me,” Eve said. “What am I missing here?”

  Sam turned to her and explained, “You’re not allowed to use any pre-cooked ingredients other than tomato sauce or other commercial stuff like that. Any fresh ingredients have to be cooked in the pot, especially the meat.” He looked at Glennister again. “Are you sayin’ he pre-cooks his meat?”

  “I know good and well he does.” Glennister shrugged. “It’s just that nobody’s been able to catch him at it and prove it. The guy can do sleight-of-hand like a dang magician.”

  With a solemn expression on his face, Sam shook his head slowly. “That’s just not right.”

  “Why not?” Carolyn asked. “I’m sorry, but I don’t see how it could make that much difference.”

  Phyllis said, “I imagine it has to do with being able to make sure the meat you’re using is tender and spiced just the way you want it.”

  “That’s right,” Sam said. “Sometimes you might need more cookin’ time than what you’re allowed. Or you might have some meat where the taste doesn’t turn out exactly like you want it. If you pre-cook, you can throw out anything that’s not perfect and start over until the taste is just right. Then you slip that meat into your chili and nobody knows the difference. It sort of takes the human element out of things. Every cook can foul up a recipe now and then.”

  Carolyn gave an eloquent little sniff that said plainly she didn’t believe she would ever do such a thing.

  Phyllis said, “So this pre-cooking would be a major rules violation, something bad enough for Hammersmith to be disqualified if he was caught at it?”

  “That’s right,” Glennister said. “The trick is catching him at it. So far nobody’s been able to do that. But a lot of us have our suspicions.”

  But without proof, Phyllis thought, that was all they were—suspicions. She wondered if jealousy and frustration caused by Hammersmith’s continued success had anything to do with what the other contestants suspected.

  The waitress brought the slices of pie over to the table. Glennister and his wife had finished what appeared to be a late supper, so they stood up and Glennister picked up the check from the table. He shook hands with Sam again and said, “See you tomorrow. Good luck to you.”

  “Same to you,” Sam said.

  “Good night, ladies,” Julie told Phyllis, Carolyn, and Eve. They returned the sentiment, and the Glennisters left the café.

  “Nice folks,” Sam said.

  “They seem to be,” Phyllis agreed.

  They ate their pie, which in Phyllis’s opinion was quite good. The place was clearing out some now, although the street, as seen through the front window and framed by homey curtains, was still fairly busy with pedestrians and slow-moving vehicle traffic. When the pie was gone, Sam paid the bill, refusing offers from Phyllis and Eve to cover the piece they had split, and the four of them started walking back toward the encampment.

  This time they didn’t run into any trouble along the way. When they reached the large gravel lot where Sam’s pickup was parked, Phyllis told him, “You don
’t have to walk us all the way back to the travel trailer.”

  “That’s all right,” he said. “I’d rather see that you ladies are safe for the night in the War Wagon before I turn in. Besides, we spent enough time sittin’ today that stretchin’ my legs still feels good.”

  “Well, I don’t mind the company,” Phyllis said with a smile.

  When they reached the travel trailer, Carolyn said, “I’m exhausted, and I need to be up early in the morning to see about entering those other contests. You’re sure I didn’t need to sign up for them ahead of time, Sam?”

  “Nope. The actual chili cook-off is the only thing where you have to get your entry in early if you want to have a place.”

  “I’m going to go to bed, then,” Carolyn said. “Good night.”

  “I’ll turn in, too,” Eve announced. “Although I might work a little first.”

  “Are you writin’ another book?” Sam asked. A while back, Eve had written a mystery novel loosely based on the four of them, and she had not only sold it to a publisher, but a film production company had bought the rights to it as well. So far nothing had come of that, but Eve had cautioned them that the wheels in Hollywood ground exceedingly slow.

  “I’ve started another one,” Eve said, “but I haven’t gotten much done so far. I thought it might help jump-start the movie deal if I had another book out. Of course, if it’s a failure that will probably kill the whole thing.”

  “It won’t be a failure,” Phyllis said. “I’m confident of that. Your first book was excellent.”

  “We’ll see.” Eve lifted a hand and added, “Good night, you two,” then stepped up into the trailer.

  Phyllis turned to Sam. He rested his hands lightly on her shoulders, leaned forward, kissed her on the forehead, and then they embraced for a moment. They were more than friends, but neither was comfortable with public displays of affection—and with all the people still wandering around, this was certainly a public place.

  “See you in the mornin’,” Sam said. “Hope you sleep well.”

  “You, too.” She squeezed his arm and they exchanged a smile, then Sam turned and strolled back toward the parking area and his pickup.

  She watched him go for a moment, then climbed into the travel trailer, smiling a little as she thought about how he had dubbed it the War Wagon. A small lamp was lit in the living area, but the rest of the trailer was dark and quiet. Eve must have decided not to try to write after all. She and Carolyn were sharing the queen-size bed that folded down in the rear section, where one of the pop-out sections was located. The other pop-out was toward the front, where the folding sofa bed was.

  Phyllis left the sofa folded for the time being and took her laptop from the technology bag she had stashed with the rest of her things. She was tired but not particularly sleepy, so she had decided to give in to her curiosity and try to find out more about Hiram Boudreau, the mayor and “grand high poobah” of Cactus Bluff.

  She sat on the sofa, opened the computer, and searched for a wireless network. BoudreauNetGuest popped up immediately. Having seen Free WiFi signs posted in many of the businesses, she had expected as much. The password, which came up on the log-in screen, was Boudreau1. Smiling, Phyllis entered it and logged in.

  After checking her email and not finding anything urgent she needed to deal with, she searched for Hiram Boudreau’s name and got several pages worth of hits. The first ones, which all came from various newspaper and TV station websites, had to do with the chili cook-off and showcased those media outlets’ coverage of past events. She found the site Sam had used to sign up for the contest and scrolled on through to the second page of hits.

  Several links down on this page was one that led to an article from a Midland newspaper. The headline read A/B Exploration Sold.

  Phyllis clicked through to it and read the story. According to the newspaper, an oil exploration and drilling company owned by Harlan Anders and Hiram Boudreau had been sold to one of the larger oil companies for an undisclosed price rumored to be in the low eight figures. So at least ten million dollars, Phyllis mused. Only the company hadn’t been sold by both partners, she discovered, but rather by Hiram Boudreau, whose partner in the business, Harlan Anders, had succumbed to cancer six months earlier.

  Boudreau and Anders had started the company in the early Eighties and seen it grow and succeed considerably in the more than thirty years since.

  Boudreau was quoted in the newspaper as saying, “After Harlan passed away, the heart for the oil business sort of went out of me, you know? I never married and had children, but the company was sort of like my baby. It just wasn’t the same with Harlan gone, though. You lose somebody close and it makes you think. So I decided it was time to sell and find something else to do with the time I’ve got left.”

  Phyllis checked the date on the newspaper story. Six and a half years earlier. She searched and found Harlan Anders’ obituary, which also mentioned Boudreau. Anders had been a widower, but he had two adult children, a son and a daughter, both of whom lived in Midland. The photograph of Anders with the obituary showed a mild-looking, gray-haired man with glasses who reminded Phyllis more of a college professor than an oilfield wildcatter—if that was even what they were called anymore.

  She scrolled through the rest of the hits, found a small story about Boudreau buying the mostly abandoned town of Cactus Bluff with plans for revitalizing and developing it. Phyllis wasn’t sure how much revitalizing had gone on around here, except during the weekend of the chili cook-off, but that might be enough. All the other stories she found on various websites, blogs, and social media pages were about the contest itself. She was a little surprised to see how many people wrote about cooking chili, but she supposed she shouldn’t have been. Any subject or activity had its aficionados, and the internet brought them all together.

  There were even true crime websites that talked about her and the murders she had solved.

  But it was her hope they wouldn’t have anything new to write about for a long time, if ever, she thought as she got ready to fold out the sofa bed and turn in.

  Chapter 7

  Phyllis was never one to sleep too late. All those years of getting up and going to school had made her a fairly early riser. Carolyn was the same way, although Eve liked to sleep in. Phyllis had the coffee going in the travel trailer’s small kitchen and dining area when Carolyn came in from the sleeping area in the back.

  “I didn’t think I’d sleep very well last night,” Carolyn said as she sat down at the small table. “I usually don’t in a strange bed. But I guess the trip yesterday made me so tired I went out like a light.”

  “The higher altitude and the cleaner air might have something to do with it, too,” Phyllis said. She poured a cup of coffee and set it in front of her friend, the brew strong and black the way Carolyn liked it.

  She went to the small refrigerator and opened it to get some eggs, in the process reaching around the packages of meat Sam had brought with him for the chili. He was making three batches using cubed tri-tip roast beef. The first one would be a test batch so Carolyn could use it for her leftover chili recipe. Phyllis had eaten Sam’s chili and thought it was delicious. And that wasn’t just because of her feelings for Sam. She didn’t let friendship color her opinion of food.

  She had scrambled eggs, bacon, and biscuits just about ready when a soft knock sounded on the door. Carolyn went over to open it and admit Sam into the trailer.

  “Mornin’, ladies,” he greeted them, then paused and took a deep breath. “Smells mighty good, as usual.”

  “Help yourself to the coffee,” Phyllis told him. “How did you sleep last night?”

  “Just fine. This isn’t the first time I’ve used that old air mattress and sleeping bag in the back of my pickup. I’ve slept out like that everywhere from Padre Island to the high lonesome in the Rockies.”

  “What’s on the agenda for today?” Carolyn asked. “I need to sign up for those other contests, don’t I?”
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  “Yeah, those’ll start around the middle of the day tomorrow, from what I understand, just like the chili preliminaries. The finals for the chili cookin’ are on Sunday and a big fireworks display on Sunday evenin’ for Fourth of July. Then come Monday mornin’, everybody’ll be headin’ out. It’ll be a busy time until then.”

  “Will you be cooking the chili here?” Phyllis asked.

  “Tomorrow, yeah. I’ll set my grill up right outside, if that’s all right with you, and will do a practice run today so Carolyn'll have some chili to work with for her leftover chili recipe. On Sunday all the cookin’ will move into the tent for the finals. That’s the big day for the spectators.”

  Carolyn shook her head. “I’m still not sure I understand how watching a bunch of people cook chili is a spectator sport. But then, I don’t understand the appeal of watching men drive their cars around and around in a circle, either, and there seem to be millions of people who enjoy that.”

  Sam chuckled and said, “How can you call yourself a Texan if you’re not a NASCAR fan?”

  “I don’t have a problem with that at all,” Carolyn said.

  The smell of the food cooking must have drifted to Eve and roused her from sleep. She came into the dining area wearing silk pajamas. Phyllis was already dressed in cropped jeans and a short-sleeved t-shirt, while Carolyn wore a simple sleeveless cotton dress that sported big pockets, in one of which she put her cell phone.

  “I hope I didn’t disturb you during the night,” she said to Carolyn. “I know neither of us is used to sharing a bed these days.”

  “No, you didn’t bother me,” Carolyn assured her.

  Eve veered toward the counter where the coffeemaker sat. She got a cup and was filling it when a loud boom suddenly came from somewhere outside. The explosion was loud enough that Phyllis thought she felt the trailer shiver a little under her feet.