The Great Chili Kill-Off

by Livia J. Washburn

  Now he said, “Look, McKayla, this is all wrong. You need to go on back to the concert. You shouldn’t have followed me out here—”

  “Why not? Why shouldn’t the two of us be together if that’s what we want?”

  “Because I’m ten years older than you! And your dad—”

  “Are you afraid of him? I’ll make him understand how this is the right thing for both of us.”

  “But it’s not,” Chuck argued. “You need to find some guy your own age—”

  “In Cactus Bluff?” McKayla’s tone made it obvious how unlikely she considered that possibility to be. “Except for this one weekend out of the year, you and I are the only people around here under the age of fifty!” Anger crept into her voice as she went on, “Or maybe you want me to fool around with one of those old geezers like Mr. Hammersmith. He didn’t care how old I am!”

  Before Chuck could react to that, someone not too far away called, “McKayla! McKayla, are you out here?”

  Phyllis recognized the voice of Wendell Carson, the girl’s father. Chuck obviously did, too, because she heard an obvious gulp come from him.

  McKayla called sweetly, “Over here, Daddy.”

  With a note of desperation in his voice, Chuck said, “Please, Mrs. Newsom, Mr. Fletcher, don’t say anything. We can work all this out—”

  “Goes a little against the grain, son,” Sam said, “but I suppose I can give you the benefit of the doubt . . . for now.”

  “So can I,” Phyllis said.

  Wendell Carson strode up out of the shadows. With the four of them standing there, apparently talking, the situation looked a lot more innocent than it had a few minutes earlier. Carson peered at Sam and Phyllis and said, “Who’s there?”

  “Sam Fletcher, Mr. Carson.” Sam stuck his hand out. “We met earlier today. I’m one of the contestants.”

  “Oh, yeah, sure.” Carson shook hands with him. “Good to see you again.” He turned to his daughter. “McKayla, what are you doing out here. I missed you at the concert.”

  “Mrs. Newsom and Mr. Fletcher were going back to their trailer,” McKayla replied without missing a beat. “I thought I’d walk with them and make sure they got there all right. You know how easy it is to get turned around out here, Daddy, especially in the dark. We ran into Constable Snyder along the way.”

  “Oh. Well, that was nice of you to help these folks.”

  Carson had swallowed his daughter’s lie completely, Phyllis thought. And that falsehood had sprung to McKayla’s lips quite easily. Clearly, she wasn’t the sweet, innocent teenager she had seemed to be at first.

  But then, Phyllis had taught junior high long enough to know that most teenagers weren’t all that sweet and innocent.

  Carson went on, “When I saw you, Constable, I was afraid there’d been some more trouble. After what happened this morning, everybody’s a little nervous, I guess. I’ll feel better about things once the Rangers decide that explosion was just an accident. Shoot, that’s bad enough all by itself.”

  “Yeah, you’re right,” Chuck said. “It was a real tragedy.”

  “Well, I don’t know that I’d go so far as to say that—” Carson stopped what he was saying with a shake of his head. “Shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, I suppose. I don’t mind admitting, though, that Joe D. Hammersmith always rubbed me the wrong way. Still, I wouldn’t wish for anybody to blow up like that.”

  Carson knew that Hammersmith had made a pass at McKayla, Phyllis recalled. And Carson, though now a judge in the competition, had been one of the contestants in the past, so he had to know quite a bit about propane grills. Enough to sabotage one and cause it to explode? A doting father might feel justified in doing that if he thought he was protecting his daughter.

  Something else was stirring in Phyllis’s mind, though. Although Hammersmith had been the only victim of the explosion, a blast like that easily could have injured or even killed someone else. All it would have taken was for somebody to be in the wrong place at the wrong time . . . A killer would have to be pretty callous to risk that, and somehow, Wendell Carson just didn’t strike Phyllis as that type.

  Still, there was no evidence to let her rule him out entirely as a suspect. Since no one knew exactly when the sabotage had taken place—although almost certainly sometime during the night—it would be difficult for anyone to pin down an alibi.

  Carson put a hand on McKayla’s shoulder and continued, “Why don’t you come on back to the concert with me? I’m sure the constable can help these folks get where they’re going, if they need a hand.”

  “Actually, we’re fine,” Phyllis said. “Aren’t we, Sam?”

  “Yep,” he said. He pointed and added, “The War Wagon’s right over there.”

  “Is that what you call your trailer?” Carson asked. “I remember that movie! It’s a good one.”

  “You bet.”

  Carson had hold of McKayla’s arm by now. “Come on, honey,” he said as he steered her away from the others. “Good night, folks. See you tomorrow.”

  McKayla cast a glance toward Chuck, who just smiled weakly and then turned his head away. Phyllis could see the girl’s face well enough to read the angry expression that passed briefly over it. McKayla had been waiting for Chuck to speak up and declare their love for each other. She was going to have a long wait for that, Phyllis thought.

  When the Carsons were gone, Chuck leaned back against the fender of his Jeep and heaved a shaky sigh. “Thank you for not saying anything,” he told Phyllis and Sam. “I swear to you I never intended for that to happen—”

  “You don’t have to explain,” Sam said. “Both of us used to teach school. I’ve seen plenty of teenage girls who flirted with their male teachers. Sometimes they even got serious about it. I’m sure some of those fellas were tempted, too, but a man’s got to know there are some lines he can’t cross.”

  “I do, I promise you I do. She just took me by surprise . . .” Chuck’s voice trailed off as he shook his head. “But that’s no excuse, is it? You’re right, I, uh, didn’t react as quickly as I should have . . .”

  Phyllis said, “If I were you, I’d be careful about being alone around that young woman in the future.”

  “I intend to, Mrs. Newsom. I can promise you that.” Chuck paused, then went on, “I can count on both of you not to spread any rumors . . .?”

  “We’re not gossips,” Sam said. “You take care of your business, and we’ll take care of ours.”

  “And speaking of business,” Phyllis said, “have the Rangers talked to you about how their investigation is going?”

  Chuck didn’t say anything for a moment. When he did, Phyllis could almost see his forehead creasing in a frown, even though the gloom obscured such details. “Are you asking me about an official investigation, Mrs. Newsom?”

  “I just thought Sergeant Culbertson or the other Ranger might have mentioned whether Mr. Hammersmith’s death has been ruled a homicide.”

  “And you want to know because . . .?”

  “Curiosity.”

  Again Chuck hesitated before answering, “As a matter of fact, I can’t tell you anything official because I don’t know anything. The Rangers talk to the sheriff’s department, not me. I’m just a local constable. I guess it didn’t occur to them to keep me in the loop. From the way they’re acting, though, it seems to me like they’re treating it as a murder.”

  Phyllis thought the same thing. She said, “It seems to me that they ought to be asking for your help. They may have the forensic resources, but you know these people. You must have grown up around here.”

  “My dad has a ranch south of here,” Chuck admitted. “But how did you know that?”

  “Usually, young people don’t move into an area like this. When they move, they move out to a bigger town. I figured you must have ties in the area, or you wouldn’t still be here.”

  “I like it here,” Chuck said. “I still help out some on the ranch, but I wasn’t cut out for doing that all the ti
me like my brothers are. I was always more interested in law enforcement. It just seemed like the right thing to me, you know.”

  “My son is a deputy for the sheriff’s department back home,” Phyllis said. “So I know exactly what you mean.”

  “I’d like to do that, too, someday, or even be a Ranger. So you can understand why I don’t want this McKayla thing to get blown all out of proportion.”

  Sam said, “How it gets regarded is up to you, son. Keep your distance from her and I reckon you don’t have to worry.”

  “That’s exactly what I plan on doing. But you don’t know how stubborn she can be.”

  “Doesn’t matter. You’re the grown-up here.”

  Chuck nodded, then said, “I was making a regular patrol when McKayla followed me out here, but now I’d better get back over to the concert. There’s been enough drinking going on today that things could get out of hand. Although to be honest, they’re less likely to tonight.”

  “Because Joe D. Hammersmith is dead?” Phyllis said.

  “Well, yeah. Trouble seemed to follow that guy around. But what happened to him, that’s got folks sobered up, at least a little compared to the way it usually is.”

  Chuck told them good night and walked off toward the big tent. Phyllis didn’t try to stop him, and neither did Sam. Once the constable was gone, however, Sam chuckled and said, “I thought you were about to blackmail that poor young fella into helpin’ you investigate Hammersmith’s murder.”

  “Do you really think I’d do that?”

  “Once you get on the trail of something, it’s sort of hard to get you off of it.”

  “Like a bloodhound, you mean?”

  Sam laughed again and said, “Don’t go puttin’ words in my mouth.” His tone grew more solemn as they started walking toward the trailer. “Maybe I was a little too hard on ol’ Chuck. You’ve got to admit, that girl looks like she’s of age. When we first met her, we all figured she was in her twenties.”

  “Did any of your students ever have a crush on you?”

  “I couldn’t tell you. I don’t know. I never thought about things like that. I just concentrated on doin’ my job.”

  “I’m sure they did,” Phyllis said.

  “Maybe so, but you couldn’t prove it by me.”

  After a moment, she said, “What do you think about Wendell Carson?”

  “You mean, would he blow up Hammersmith because the fella got fresh with McKayla?” Sam shook his head. “I don’t think so. He might punch the son of a gun—in fact, I’d bet on it—but riggin’ up an explosion like that doesn’t seem like somethin’ he would do.”

  “I agree,” Phyllis said. “And yet, I’m sure he’s been around a lot of propane grills in the past. He would have had the knowledge to do it. That’s means, motive, and considering that we don’t know when the sabotage was carried out, he could have had the opportunity, too.”

  “If he was involved with the blast, I reckon the Rangers will figure it out.”

  “Will they? Or are they going to be too busy trying to come up with the evidence to convict someone else?”

  “Like me? We both know I didn’t kill Hammersmith. They can’t convict an innocent man.”

  Phyllis said, “It happens all the time, Sam. You know that as well as I do. You’ve seen how some of those cases we’ve been mixed up in have almost resulted in a great injustice.”

  “But they didn’t . . . thanks to you.” Sam stopped and nodded to the trailer. “Here we are. Want me to come in with you for a minute to make sure everything’s all right?”

  “Why wouldn’t it be?”

  “Can’t ever tell,” Sam said. “There’s a killer on the loose, and if he knows that you’re after him, he might think it’d be better not to let you get on his trail in the first place.”

  “You don’t think . . . surely not . . . but I guess if you don’t mind . . .”

  “Let me go in and take a look around first. Won’t take long. The War Wagon’s not big enough to hide much.”

  Phyllis gave Sam the key. He unlocked the trailer’s door and went inside, turning on the lights as he did so. After a surprisingly tense few seconds, he reappeared and told Phyllis, “All clear. Everything looks just like it did when we left.”

  “When you turned the lights on, it occurred to me that the killer might have arranged another explosion tied somehow to that switch. I was a little nervous.”

  “Huh,” Sam said. “I’m sort of glad I didn’t think of that, or I might have been worried, too. Well, you know what they say about the triumph of the uncluttered mind.” He drew Phyllis into his arms, held her for a moment, and kissed the top of her head. “I’ll see you in the mornin’. Get a good night’s sleep.”

  “You, too,” she told him. “Tomorrow’s going to be a big day.”

  Chapter 15

  Saturday, the first day of the competition, dawned bright and clear, which was no surprise because in this part of Texas it was almost always bright and clear. The temperature would be brutally hot before the day was over because the thin, dry atmosphere warmed quickly and easily.

  The smell of smoked meat filled the air as Phyllis, Carolyn, and Eve stepped out of the trailer. Sam was already there with a pot of chili just starting to simmer on his grill. He smiled and said, “Mornin’, ladies. Everything quiet last night?”

  “Hardly,” Carolyn said. “We could hear that music coming from the tent until the wee hours of the morning. I was beginning to think it would never stop and let us get some sleep.”

  “It didn’t bother me,” Eve said. “But I was worn out from dancing, I suppose.”

  “You should have been. It made me tired just watching the way those old men kept flocking around you.”

  “I can’t help it if I’m just naturally vivacious. Men respond to that.” Eve laughed. “Hiram certainly did.”

  “You danced with Mr. Boudreau?” Phyllis asked.

  “He’s quite a charming gentleman. And my, does he love to dance. He has bad knees, but you’d never know it from watching him.”

  Sam said, “Yeah, I’ve never seen a fella break into a jig quite as easy as he does.”

  “Yes, but I was close enough to him to see him wince every now and then when he took a step,” Eve said. “However, that didn’t slow him down.”

  Carolyn stepped over to the grill and looked into the pot of chili. “This is starting to smell good,” she told Sam. “I appreciate you letting me use your leftovers from yesterday for my recipes.”

  “Glad to do it,” Sam told her.

  “How does the judging work?” Phyllis asked.

  “The judges will come around this afternoon and sample everybody’s chili,” Sam explained. “Then they’ll pick the top twenty to compete again tomorrow, in the big tent. I’m hopin’ I’ll be one of ‘em.”

  “I’m sure you will be,” Phyllis said.

  “Somebody’ll be by in a little while to check the cookin’ set-up and make sure everything’s legal,” Sam went on. “Other than that, it won’t be very excitin’. Won’t be much goin’ on except for me stirrin’ the pot and tastin’ the chili every now and then and addin’ spices. I’ll have to keep an eye on the pot all day, though, to make sure nobody messes with it.” He shook his head. “Chili cookin’ is a cutthroat game.”

  “We can give you a hand if need be,” Phyllis said. “In the meantime, I’ll bring you some coffee and something to eat. I have muffins cooking right now.”

  A grin appeared on Sam’s face. “Now that sounds mighty good,” he said. “I can’t let you take over for me. I’d get disqualified if someone else was mindin’ the pot, but the food and coffee will be much appreciated. I’m gonna need fortifyin’ throughout the day.”

  “We’ll see to it that you don’t starve,” Phyllis said dryly.

  When Phyllis took Sam’s breakfast outside, she brought along a small plate of mini muffins and a cup of coffee for herself, too, and sat in the other lawn chair to eat with him. While they were
doing that, Sam nodded toward town and said, “Here come our young friends.”

  He was talking about Felicity and Josh, Phyllis saw. Felicity looked ready to go on camera, as usual, and there was a good reason for that. She already had been.

  “The sheriff’s department just held a press briefing,” Felicity announced without any greeting. “Joe D. Hammersmith’s death has been ruled a homicide. Federal investigators from the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms, and Explosives will be coming in later today. If this wasn’t a big story before, it is now. You know what that means. There’s going to be a lot of pressure for an arrest, and the sooner the better.”

  Phyllis thought about that fingerprint the Rangers had gotten from the piece of Hammersmith’s grill they had recovered. Sergeant Culbertson didn’t seem like the sort of man who would be stampeded into anything, but Phyllis also knew about the inherent rivalry between law enforcement agencies. That attitude was just made worse when federal authorities were involved. In a state as independent-minded as Texas, the Rangers wouldn’t take kindly to the Feds sticking their noses in.

  One way to forestall that would be to make an arrest before the BATFE even arrived on the scene.

  That thought made Phyllis glance at Sam. He didn’t seem concerned, but she certainly felt some unease stirring inside her.

  The feeling was accompanied by a nagging sense that she had seen or heard something significant, something that hadn’t quite lodged in her brain. At least, not where she could drag it into the open, examine it, and figure out what it meant. And even if she did, there were still too many things she didn’t know. She needed more facts in order to move them around, piece them together, and form them into a picture that made sense.

  Today might be a good day to ferret out some of those facts, she decided, since it didn’t appear that much else would be going on.