The Great Chili Kill-Off

by Livia J. Washburn

“Oh, it’ll have to simmer for a good long while yet. The meat needs to be good and tender. We can try it out this afternoon, I reckon.”

  “Meanwhile,” Carolyn said from the trailer’s open door, “my cornbread is ready, and I have a pot of beans cooking. We can have that for lunch.”

  Eve asked, “Are you going to save some of the beans to put in the chili?”

  Sam stared at her, completely aghast.

  “What?” Eve said. “Did I say something wrong?”

  “Real chili cooks don’t put beans in their red. That’s another way to get disqualified. You can have a side of beans, if you want to. Especially if you put chow-chow on the beans and eat ‘em with cornbread.” Sam looked at Carolyn. “You got chow-chow, don’t you?”

  “Of course,” she said.

  Eve shook her head. “I’ve lived in Texas most of my life, and some things are just still beyond me, I suppose, especially when it comes to food.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Phyllis told her. “Evidently chili aficionados have their own rules and customs.”

  Sam said, “And you should be thankful for that, because it makes for mighty good chili.”

  “Not to change the subject,” Eve went on, “but the Texas Rangers have arrived and taken over the Hammersmith case.”

  “It’s an actual case now?” Carolyn asked.

  “And they know it was Hammersmith who was killed?” Sam added.

  Phyllis nodded in answer to both of those questions. “They haven’t ruled the death either a homicide or an accident yet, but they seem sure Hammersmith was the victim.”

  Eve said, “Yes, Phyllis got one of the Rangers to admit that. A very good-looking Ranger, I might add.”

  Sam cocked an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

  “He wasn’t that good-looking,” Phyllis said. She considered. “Ruggedly handsome, maybe.”

  “No maybe about it,” Eve said.

  “Well, why don’t you go after him, then, and quit harassing Phyllis about it?” Carolyn asked.

  “She knows I’m not serious. Don’t you, dear?”

  Phyllis had had enough of the conversation, so she said, “Of course,” and stepped up into the trailer. Even though the explosion that had claimed Joe D. Hammersmith’s life had been quite a distraction, she had learned quite a bit about the chili cook-off and how it was set up and run. She thought it might be a good idea to go ahead and get some notes down for her magazine article while everything was still fresh in her mind.

  She got out her laptop and worked on that for the next hour. The smells that filled the air were pretty distracting, but she forced herself to buckle down and work. She was more than ready for a break, though, when Carolyn announced that lunch was ready.

  The beans were well-cooked, Carolyn having put them on to soak the night before, and there was a bowl of lightly sweetened pickled cabbage, onion, green tomatoes, chopped green and red bell peppers on the counter—Sam’s “chow-chow”—to add to them according to each person’s taste. Phyllis had found the chow-chow in a country convenience store and bought several jars. Carolyn had cut and buttered thick squares of cornbread.

  It was as simple and old-fashioned—and good—a meal as anyone could find, Phyllis thought as she, Carolyn, and Eve ate around the little table. Sam hadn’t come inside. He wasn’t going to leave his chili unattended, so Phyllis had fixed a plate for him and taken it outside, along with a big plastic glass of iced tea. He ate his lunch sitting in one of the folding lawn chairs he had set up beside the grill.

  “Mighty good cornbread, Carolyn,” Sam called through the open door. “Is this more of that gluten-free stuff?”

  “Yes, it is,” she said. “It’s fairly easy to make gluten-free cornbread, and it turns out well. Just like gluten-free pasta.” Carolyn shook her head. “It’s just a shame that no one seems to be able to make a decent gluten-free sandwich bread. All of it that I’ve tried has ranged from mediocre to terrible.”

  “Don’t you miss pies and cakes?” Eve asked.

  “Certainly. But I don’t miss my joints hurting so bad I want to cry. And that’s what rheumatoid arthritis does when gluten causes it to flare up.”

  Phyllis didn’t know how valid the medical science of Carolyn’s claim was, but as far as she was concerned, if her friend felt better, that was all that mattered. And as Carolyn had said, many of the gluten-free foods were quite good. It was just a matter of avoiding the ones that weren’t.

  They were cleaning up after the meal when Sam said, “Hey, Phyllis, here come Felicity and Josh.”

  She stepped into the doorway and saw the TV reporter and producer walking along the open space between the rows of motor homes and travel trailers. Felicity’s hair was down now and she wore a stylish top instead of the t-shirt she’d had on earlier.

  “The county sheriff’s office just issued a statement,” Felicity said as she and Josh came up to the War Wagon. “The Rangers may be in charge of the case, but they’re letting the sheriff talk to the press. I guess so they won’t be bothered as much. Anyway, they’ve officially identified Hammersmith as the victim and confirmed that the blast originated with the propane grill he was going to use to cook his chili.”

  “The Hammersmith Deluxe,” Josh put in. “That’s what he called his chili.”

  “We know that, Josh,” Felicity said. She turned her attention back to Phyllis and Sam. “The propane cylinder on the grill exploded, then the propane tank attached to the motor home exploded, and then the gas tank blew.”

  Sam nodded and said, “That’s the way we had it figured. Three separate explosions, but so close together it almost sounded like one.”

  “But here’s the interesting part . . . the spokesman for the sheriff’s department said that the cause of the first explosion is undetermined at this time.” Felicity smirked. “You know what that means, don’t you?”

  “That they haven’t determined what caused it?” Phyllis said.

  “That it was murder! If it was an accident, they would have said so.”

  Sam said, “I think you’re jumpin’ the gun there a little. The authorities don’t like to announce anything, one way or the other, until they’re sure. So it makes more sense that they’re not sure.”

  “Oh, come on,” Felicity scoffed. “Hammersmith was a son of a . . . he was not a nice man. I only had one drink with him, and I could tell that.”

  “And yet you came to his defense during that brawl at the tavern,” Phyllis said.

  “Of course. Just because I thought the guy was a sleaze didn’t mean I was going to stand by and let him get knocked out of the competition. He was the defending champ! I still needed to get an on-camera interview with him. But that doesn’t change the fact that nobody liked him and a lot of people had grudges against him. Every one of those grudges is a motive for murder.”

  Sam raked a thumbnail along his jawline, frowned, and asked, “You really think somebody could have rigged up that explosion?”

  “Let’s ask the expert on murder,” Felicity said. “Phyllis, do you think that’s possible?”

  Phyllis didn’t waste her breath trying to disabuse Felicity of the notion that she was an expert on murder. Already the wheels of her brain had been turning over while the young woman was talking, and now she said, “I don’t really know much about those grills, but it seems plausible that someone who uses them all the time might know a way to make one blow up.”

  “Yeah, I was just thinkin’ the same thing,” Sam admitted. “I hate to think a fellow chili cook would stoop so low as to do such a thing, though.”

  “So we’ve established motive and means. That leaves opportunity.” Felicity gave a brittle laugh and waved a perfectly manicured hand. “Just look around. In this madhouse, somebody could do all sorts of things without anyone else noticing.”

  She was right about that, too, Phyllis thought. Any other time of the year, Cactus Bluff was sleepy and mostly deserted, so any kind of troublemaker would stand out. But on this weekend, a k
iller would have no trouble blending into the crowd.

  “I can see it on your face,” Felicity went on. “You know as well as I do that Joe D. Hammersmith was murdered. That just leaves one question.”

  “Who killed him?” Phyllis asked.

  “No.” Felicity smiled. “How are you going to track down the killer so that we can follow you every step of the way?”

  Chapter 11

  “I never said I was going to try to find the killer,” Phyllis pointed out.

  “No, but everybody here is well aware of what you’ve done in the past. You can’t resist the challenge of a good murder to solve, Mrs. Newsom.”

  “A good murder?” Carolyn repeated. “Isn’t that an oxymoron?”

  “You know what I mean,” Felicity said. “You’ve got a despicable victim and all these suspects who might have wanted him dead. This case reminds me of what happened at that elementary school carnival a few years ago. I read about that one. In fact, I read about all the murders you’ve solved, Mrs. Newsom. Don’t you want to see the killer brought to justice?”

  Phyllis didn’t say anything for a moment. Then she told Felicity, “The Rangers have warned me to stay out of it. I’ve already been arrested once for getting mixed up in an open investigation when I was told not to. I’d just as soon not repeat the experience.”

  “They can’t lock you up if you’re working for Inside Beat,” Felicity argued. “Freedom of the press.”

  “Journalists get put in jail all the time,” Carolyn said. “Not often enough to suit some of us.”

  Felicity ignored that comment and went on, “I’ll call the executive producer and get him to hire you as a consultant, Mrs. Newsom. Mr. Fletcher, too, if you’d like. That way you’ll have the constitutional right to ask questions, whether the authorities like it or not.” She paused. “There are half a dozen other media outlets here covering the chili cook-off, and now they’re covering the murder, too. But if you work with us, we’ll be the only ones who have you on our side, and you’ll be part of the story, too.”

  “What if I don’t want to be part of the story?” Phyllis asked.

  Felicity scoffed and shook her head. “Too late for that. You’re well-known in the true crime community, and you’re here on the scene of a spectacular murder. We’ll be playing up that angle, and so will all the other media once they get wind of it. But if you’re working exclusively with us, we can shield you from being harassed by them, at least to a certain extent.”

  Eve said, “That sounds suspiciously like blackmail, dear.”

  “I think it’s more like extortion,” Felicity said calmly, “but call it whatever you want to. It just makes sense for you to throw in with us, Phyllis.”

  She hated to admit it, but Felicity might have a point. On the other hand . . .

  “It’s going to knock the props right out from under your argument if it turns out the explosion really was an accident,” Phyllis said.

  “I’m willing to take that chance,” Felicity replied with a smile. “What do you say?”

  “I’ll have to think about it. And you’ll have to call your boss and make sure he’ll even go along with the idea.”

  “He will.” Felicity’s smile became a confident smirk. “I can be very persuasive.”

  “That’s true,” Josh said with a nod. “She can be.”

  The idea of working for one of those lurid, celebrity-obsessed tabloid TV shows rubbed Phyllis the wrong way. But she supposed it wouldn’t hurt to at least consider it. In the meantime, the whole thing might become moot. So in a way she was just stalling to give that a chance to happen when she told Felicity, “Check with your boss and then get back to me.”

  “Fair enough. But I know when you think about it, you’ll see that I’m right.” Felicity motioned curtly at her companion as she turned away from the trailer. “Come on, Josh.”

  As the two of them walked off, Carolyn said quietly, “There he goes again, following her like a little puppy dog. Doesn’t he realize that sooner or later she’s just going to kick him again?”

  Eve said, “A man has to come to that realization in his own time. Josh is smart enough to figure it out sooner or later.”

  “Or else he’ll pine after her futilely for the rest of his life.”

  “Then that’s his business, isn’t it, dear?”

  Carolyn just grunted, then said, “I need to put up the rest of that cornbread.”

  Phyllis sat down in the lawn chair next to Sam’s and asked him, “What do you think I should do?”

  “You mean about workin’ with Felicity and Josh?”

  “That’s right.”

  He shrugged. “I reckon she’s probably overestimatin’ the amount of leeway that would get you with the sheriff and the Rangers. But at the same time, it can’t hurt to have the press on your side.” A grin stretched across his rugged face. “Who knows, it might lead to a whole new career for you. You might wind up hostin’ one of those shows, like that fella from that old high school sitcom. Then you could spend all your time talkin’ about Kardashians and stuff like that.”

  A shudder went through Phyllis. “Don’t even think that. Anyway, it would never happen. Felicity has her eye set on that job, and she’d stab anybody who got in her way in the back.”

  “More than likely,” Sam agreed. He stood up to stir his chili and check on its progress.

  They sat there chatting idly for a while. Carolyn and Eve came out of the trailer to join them. People walking by stopped to talk to Sam about his chili. The subject of the explosion often came up, too, and the rumor that Joe D. Hammersmith was the victim had gone through the entire encampment and seemingly been accepted as fact.

  However, with the cook-off going on, most people tended to turn their attention away from what had happened and toward the contest itself. Murder was tragic and sensational, of course, but chili was chili and they had their priorities straight.

  Phyllis didn’t mind the lull. It gave her time to think, and more importantly it gave the law time to settle the case so that she didn’t need to become involved.

  Sam broke into the reverie that settled over her by drawling, “Looks like a star packer comin’.”

  She had heard him talk about Western novels enough to understand what he meant. She looked the same way he was looking and saw Ranger Sergeant Martin Culbertson walking toward them. He wasn’t just strolling along, either. He struck her as the sort who always had some distinct purpose in whatever he did.

  He came up to them, nodded, and pinched his hat brim. “Mrs. Newsom,” he said.

  “Sergeant Culbertson,” Phyllis said. “What can I do for you?”

  “Nothing right now, ma’am. I came to talk to your friend here.” The Ranger turned to Sam. “You’re Sam Fletcher, sir?”

  “I am.” Sam stood up and extended his hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Sergeant.”

  “I’d like to ask you a few questions, Mr. Fletcher, if you don’t mind.”

  Sam shrugged and said, “Sure.”

  “Wait a minute,” Carolyn said. “Is this an interrogation? Are you questioning Sam in an official capacity, Sergeant?”

  Culbertson smiled, but Phyllis thought she could see in his eyes that he was a little irritated by Carolyn’s question. “I’m just talking to him, ma’am. And you are . . .?”

  “Carolyn Wilbarger,” she said. “And if you want to ask me anything more than that, I’ll have to have a lawyer present. And I think Sam should, too, before you interrogate him.”

  “Nobody said this was an interrogation—”

  “A law enforcement officer asking questions can’t very well be anything else, can it?” Carolyn shot back.

  Carolyn had always been skeptical of the authorities, to say the least. She had a skeptical nature, period. And some previous experiences with the law had only strengthened that tendency in her.

  Sam half-turned and held out a hand toward Carolyn in a placating gesture as he said, “It’s all right, I don’t mind talkin�
�� to the sergeant. It’s not like I’ve got anything to hide, after all.” He smiled. “Unless it’s my chili recipe you’re after, Sergeant, and if it is, I might have to stand on my right not to share that.”

  “I’m not sure you have that right,” Culbertson said.

  “Oh, I think there’s somethin’ in the Constitution about chili. At least in Texas there is.”

  Phyllis thought she saw a flicker of amusement on Culbertson’s face, but then it went away and was replaced by a much more serious expression. He said, “I came to talk to you about Joe D. Hammersmith, Mr. Fletcher.”

  “I’m not sure what I can tell you. I met the man for the first time yesterday. I’d seen his name on the cook-off’s website because he’s won for the past few years, but that’s all I ever knew about him.”

  “Then what were you doing at his motor home last night?”

  Phyllis had to work hard not to show her surprise at Culbertson’s sharply voiced question. She managed to control her reaction, but Carolyn didn’t.

  “That’s it,” Carolyn said as she stood up. “Don’t say another word to this man, Sam. If he wants to know anything else, he can question you officially, with a lawyer present. Don’t let him get away with this folksy ‘just talking’ business.”

  “My lawyer’s hundreds of miles away in Weatherford,” Sam said, referring to Jimmy D’Angelo. “I don’t figure he could get here until tomorrow, if he was able to come at all.”

  “The Rangers can just wait, then,” Carolyn declared.

  Phyllis understood why her friend was so adamant. A part of her agreed with Carolyn. Culbertson had definitely had a suspicious edge in his voice when he asked that question. But he had also sounded sure of his footing. Did he have a witness claiming that Sam had been at Hammersmith’s motor home the previous night? Sam had been with her, Carolyn, and Eve all evening, so the only time he could have visited Hammersmith was after he left the three of them here at the travel trailer. Phyllis couldn’t conceive of any reason for him to have done that . . . and even if he had, wouldn’t he have said something about it this morning, especially after the explosion that killed Hammersmith?