The Great Chili Kill-Off

by Livia J. Washburn

  Constable Chuck Snyder’s Jeep was parked at the sidewalk up ahead, in front of the market, but the young lawman wasn’t in the vehicle. He came out of the building as Phyllis and Eve approached, though, and saw them walking toward him.

  Phyllis saw alarm leap into Chuck’s eyes, and for a moment he looked like he wanted to turn around and retreat back into the market rather than face them. With a visible squaring of his shoulders, though, he took a deep breath and continued striding toward the Jeep.

  “Good morning, Constable,” Phyllis greeted him as they all came to a stop on the sidewalk beside the Jeep.

  “Morning, Mrs. Newsom,” Chuck replied. He managed a smile and nod, then glanced at Eve. “Mrs. Turner, isn’t it?”

  “That’s right,” Eve said. “Hello, Deputy. I mean Constable.” She returned the smile and shook her head. “I’m afraid I’ve always had a hard time keeping those things straight.”

  “That’s all right. I’m definitely one rung lower than a deputy sheriff, though. At least.”

  Phyllis said, “The Rangers and the sheriff’s department still aren’t sharing any information about the case with you?”

  Chuck had been casting wary glances toward Phyllis, as if he were worried that she was going to bring up his encounter with McKayla she had witnessed the night before. Now her question made it appear that she didn’t intend to embarrass him, and she saw him relax slightly.

  Not too much, though, because the threat was still there, and he knew it. The fact that it was likely to make him more cooperative hadn’t escaped Phyllis, either.

  “Rangers don’t share much information with anybody,” Chuck said. “They’re used to handling everything themselves when they’re called in. The sheriff probably doesn’t like that, but there’s not much he can do about it.”

  Eve said, “They should be taking advantage of your skills, too. The important thing is solving the case, not who gets credit for it.”

  “That’s the way it should work,” Chuck said, “but we’re not naïve enough to believe that it does, are we?”

  Eve laughed and shook her head. “Not in the real world.”

  Phyllis said, “I’ve been thinking about how things were set up around Mr. Hammersmith’s motor home. It seems to me—”

  Before she could go on, someone behind her called, “Phyllis!” She turned and saw Felicity Prosper hurrying toward her, followed by Josh as usual and this time by Nick Baker as well. Nick had his camera, as always.

  Felicity was a little out of breath as she came up, but she recovered almost instantly and despite the heat, which was rising even though it was still a couple of hours until midday, she looked cool and elegant. She looked at Chuck and said, “Felicity Prosper from Inside Beat.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I know who you are,” Chuck said.

  “I’d like to get an official statement from you regarding the murder of Joe D. Hammersmith, Constable Snyder.”

  Chuck shook his head. “I’m afraid I can’t make any such statement. I don’t know any more than you do, Ms. Prosper.”

  “But you’re a law enforcement officer—”

  “I break up drunken fights and tell the people mixed up in them to cool off,” Chuck interrupted her. Phyllis heard the frustration in his voice. “Normally I enforce the speed limit here in town, too, but with so many people in the road all the time, nobody driving can go any faster than a crawl.”

  “So you have no insights to offer into the murder?”

  “None,” Chuck said flatly.

  Felicity glanced at Josh, who gestured for Nick to stop recording. She turned to Phyllis and said in an accusatory tone, “You were supposed to let me know before you did any investigating.”

  “I wasn’t investigating,” Phyllis said, even though that was exactly what she’d been doing. “Eve and I were just taking a walk and ran into Constable Snyder. We were chatting, that’s all.”

  Felicity rolled her eyes as if she didn’t believe that for a second. She said, “I need coffee.”

  “I’ll go get some for you,” Josh offered without hesitation.

  Chuck pointed with a thumb toward the market. “You can get some in there. It’s good, and it’s a little closer than the café. But let’s face it, nothing is very far away in Cactus Bluff. No matter where you are, you can turn around in a circle and see the whole town.”

  “I don’t see how you stand to live here,” Felicity said. “I’ll get my own coffee. You didn’t fix it right last time, Josh.”

  She walked across the parking lot toward the building, trailed by an apologizing Josh and the always impassive Nick. Chuck watched them go and shook his head a little.

  “Is she always like that?”

  “She has a good heart . . . I think,” Phyllis said. “But she’s beautiful and she’s used to having the spotlight on her all the time. That has to have an affect on someone. Although I certainly wouldn’t know from experience.”

  Chuck directed a curious frown toward her. “Why did she ask if you were investigating the murder? You’re just . . . I mean, no offense, but . . .”

  “Just a retired schoolteacher?” Eve said.

  “Hey, I didn’t even know that much,” Chuck replied with a shrug.

  “You won’t ever get Phyllis to brag, but she’s solved several murders in the past. She’s famous back where we live.”

  “Notorious may be more like it,” Phyllis said. “The local police and sheriff’s department aren’t too fond of me getting involved in their cases, and I’m sure it’s the same here.”

  “But you’re trying to find out who’s responsible for the explosion that killed Hammersmith?”

  “Well . . . the Rangers seem to have some idea that my friend Sam is involved, and I know that’s not true.”

  “And the best way to prove that is to expose the real killer,” Chuck mused. “That’s . . . interesting.”

  “I’ll say it is,” Eve put in. “The two of you should work together.”

  Phyllis and Chuck looked at each other, and Phyllis knew they had both realized that wasn’t such a bad idea.

  Chapter 17

  “The sheriff’s department conducted the forensic investigation before the Rangers got here, didn’t they?” Phyllis asked.

  “That’s right,” Chuck replied with a nod.

  “Is there any way you could get a look at it? Someone in the department who owes you a favor?”

  For a moment, Chuck didn’t answer as he gave Phyllis an intent look. Then he said, “You really are a detective, aren’t you? You don’t mind playing hardball.”

  “I told you,” Eve said.

  Unspoken between Phyllis and Chuck was the knowledge she and Sam held over his head. If Chuck had been telling the truth about the encounter with McKayla Carson, he hadn’t really done much wrong. It wasn’t his fault the girl had a crush on him. He could have reacted a little differently when she got aggressive with him, but he hadn’t broken any laws.

  Still, if people started gossiping about him and McKayla, it would be embarrassing and not good for his future as a law enforcement officer. More than likely, Phyllis would never go so far as to reveal what she knew about him . . . but he didn’t know that.

  “Sam and I have done some investigative work for a defense lawyer in Weatherford,” Phyllis explained. “We’ve learned how to do what’s necessary to protect our client.”

  “You don’t have a client,” Chuck pointed out.

  “No, but Sam’s the one in jeopardy this time, which makes me even more determined to find out the truth.”

  Chuck drew in a deep breath, sighed, and nodded. “I’ll see what I can do,” he said. “I have a few buddies in the department, guys I used to rodeo with when we were in school. I can’t guarantee any of them will be willing to risk helping me, but they might. I’m going to need something in return, though.”

  Phyllis cocked an eyebrow. She had thought that keeping quiet about McKayla would be enough repayment for the favor.

 
“What do you mean, Constable?” she asked.

  “If you figure out who caused that explosion, you tell me, not the Rangers or the sheriff’s department.”

  Eve said, “You want the collar.” When Chuck looked at her, she smiled and added, “I wrote a mystery novel.”

  He shrugged, turned back to Phyllis, and said, “Yes, I’d like to make the arrest if it’s possible.”

  “I’ll do what I can,” she told him. “As you said, it’s difficult to guarantee anything in a situation like this.”

  He shook his head, muttered, “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” and climbed into the Jeep. He promised Phyllis, “I’ll talk to you later if I find out anything.”

  “So will I,” she said.

  Carefully, he pulled the Jeep away from the sidewalk and made a U-turn through the road, going slow to avoid the people crossing to the other side. As Eve watched him drive away, she said, “This could be just the break you need to crack the case wide-open.”

  “We’ll see about that,” Phyllis said. “I just hope the constable doesn’t double-cross me.”

  “He won’t. He strikes me as a trustworthy young man, and he needs your help as much as you need his.”

  They walked the rest of the way up one side of the street, then crossed over and went back down the other side. In a town the size of Cactus Bluff, that didn’t take long, in spite of the crowds on the sidewalks and in the road itself. They didn’t encounter anyone else Phyllis needed to talk to about the case, so they headed back toward the rows of motor homes and travel trailers. Phyllis wanted to talk to Sam about the idea that had occurred to her earlier.

  What little breeze there was came from the direction of the encampment, and it carried with it the smell of dozens of pots of chili. That was indeed a mouth-watering blend of aromas. The hour was approaching noon, so Phyllis didn’t know if she was getting hungry because of the time or if that sensation came from all the tempting smells in the air.

  When they reached the War Wagon, Sam was sitting in one of the lawn chairs near the grill with his right ankle cocked on his left knee. He had a Western paperback in his hand. He grinned at Phyllis and Eve and said, “The chili’s not ready yet. Of course, I figure you knew that.”

  From the open door of the travel trailer, Carolyn said, “Lunch just about is, though. I made chili with spicy cornbread waffles and some chili lasagna . There are still plenty of beans left over from yesterday, too, so I refried them, mixed them with leftover chili, and made chili topped hashbrown potato cakes. We won’t go hungry as long as there’s leftover chili!”

  “And it’s gonna last a while, I can promise you that,” Sam added. “We’ll be takin’ quite a bit home with us.”

  Phyllis and Eve went inside, and Phyllis came back out a few minutes later with a glass of iced ginger citrus tea for herself and a glass for Sam. She handed it to him and sat down in the other lawn chair.

  Sam took a big sip of the tea. “Oh, this is mighty good.”

  “It’s a ginger citrus tea. I thought the ginger would give it a nice kick, and ginger is so healthy.”

  “It does have a nice taste to it.”

  “I did a little poking around while Eve and I were taking our walk,” she said quietly. “We ran into Constable Snyder, and he’s going to see if he can get his hands on a copy of the forensics report from the sheriff’s department.”

  “Why would he do somethin’ that risky?” Sam asked.

  “Oh, he might have gotten the idea that it would be a good thing to help us, since we know about him and McKayla.”

  Sam laughed. “You’ve been around Jimmy D’Angelo too much. He’s like ol’ Perry Mason. Doesn’t mind bendin’ the rules a little in order to see justice done.”

  “I’m not responsible for whatever ideas the constable might get in his head.” Phyllis smiled. “But once Eve told him about those other cases I worked on, he didn’t mind too much. I promised him that if I figured out this one, I’d share it with him first.”

  Sam nodded and said, “Sounds like a good deal to me. Both of you get something out of it. But what do you figure you’ll find in that forensics report?”

  Phyllis took a drink of her iced tea. In this heat, it tasted awfully good.

  “I’m hoping it will say for sure whether the propane cylinder attached to Hammersmith’s grill was the first thing to explode, the way we’ve assumed since it happened.”

  Sam frowned. “Why wouldn’t it have been?”

  Phyllis gestured at Sam’s grill, then swept her hand toward the trailer. “You’ve allowed some distance between the grill and the trailer just in case of a fire, haven’t you? And the grill is also positioned well away from the propane tank attached to the trailer.”

  “You been doin’ research?”

  “I happened to talk to Kurt Middleton about propane safety.”

  “Middleton? The fella who punched out Hammersmith because he thought he was tryin’ to steal his wife?”

  “Yes, but we didn’t discuss that today,” Phyllis said.

  “Well, you’re right. I’ve got a twenty-pound cylinder on this grill, and if it was to blow up, it’d make a big old fireball and wreck the grill, for sure.”

  “But it wouldn’t destroy the trailer, too.”

  Sam tugged at his earlobe, then scraped a thumbnail along his jaw as he considered what Phyllis had said. “Probably not.”

  “Would it set off the propane tank attached to the trailer?”

  “I hope not. That’s why I’ve got things set up like they are.”

  “And how was Hammersmith’s grill set up?”

  Sam leaned forward in his chair, everything else forgotten for the moment as he cast his mind back to the few minutes he had spent examining and admiring Joe D. Hammersmith’s grill.

  “Hammersmith was runnin’ a Lydecker 6500,” he said.

  “That doesn’t mean anything to me.”

  “It’s top of the line,” Sam explained. “Just a three-burner outfit, instead of a six, but with a computer in it so you can control the temperature down to a fraction of a degree.”

  “What size cylinder would he have in it?”

  “Twenty, like mine, more than likely. That would be enough to last him through the competition unless somethin’ unusual happened.”

  “And the one on his motor home? The ASME tank?”

  That drew a chuckle from Sam. “You really have been studyin’ this stuff, haven’t you? That would be eighty or a hundred pounds, maybe even bigger.”

  “So if it blew up first, that would cause a large enough explosion to set off the motor home’s gas tank, as well as the propane cylinder in the grill outside.”

  “It could sure work out that way,” Sam allowed. “You think somebody sabotaged the tank on the motor home instead of on the grill?”

  “I’m not sure what I think at this point,” Phyllis said. “But the sequence of events everyone just assumed happened started seeming a little off to me. But as far as what actual difference it makes . . .” She shook her head. “I have no idea.”

  ◄♦►

  Lunch was wonderful. Phyllis tried all three of Carolyn’s recipes using Sam’s chili left over from the day before and found them all to be delicious. By the time she finished, her mouth burned a little from all the spices, but more iced tea took care of that.

  As she and Sam were eating outside, she told him about the conversation with Julie Glennister. “She’s a little different when she’s away from her husband,” Phyllis concluded. “She doesn’t seem to care much for Royce’s chili cooking hobby, and she was almost sympathetic to Hammersmith.”

  “You think she was messin’ around with him?”

  Phyllis thought about the question for a moment, then shook her head. “Honestly, I doubt it. But she might have been tempted, and Royce might have found out about it.”

  “I don’t know. He doesn’t seem like the type to blow somebody up.”

  “I agree. But we know from experience that
you can never be absolutely certain how someone else is going to react.”

  “Shoot,” Sam said, “half the time folks can’t be sure how they’re gonna react themselves until they find themselves in a bad situation. Everybody’s capable of makin’ a wrong decision.”

  Phyllis couldn’t disagree with that. And murder was just about the worst decision of them all.

  ◄♦►

  Carolyn had prepared samples of all the dishes she had cooked so that the judges could taste them, and after lunch she, Phyllis, and Eve carried the containers over to the big tent for the first round of the contest. Tables were set up for the food with numbered places for each entry on them. Carolyn found her spot and set out the containers, leaving them closed until the judges came around. Phyllis could tell that her friend was nervous, so she and Eve stayed with Carolyn for moral support.

  “I don’t really care about winning, of course,” Carolyn said. “I know I’ve done a good job.”

  “Of course you have, dear,” Eve said. “But a blue ribbon would be nice, wouldn’t it? Or whatever they give out here.”

  “It certainly would. I’m fine without it, though.”

  Phyllis tried not to smile. Carolyn’s competitive nature would never go away. At least, Phyllis hoped that it never would, because Carolyn wouldn’t be Carolyn without it.

  Quite a few spectators were milling around in the tent. Some of them followed the judges from place to place. Three men and two women would determine who moved on to the final round of competition the next day, and one of those men was Hiram Boudreau, Phyllis saw as the group of judges came up to the table.

  “Howdy, ladies,” Boudreau greeted them with a whiskery grin. “Now, you know I got to be impartial here, even though it’s one of your friends who’s the contestant, Evie.”

  “Of course, Hiram,” Eve told him. “Carolyn wouldn’t want it any other way, would you, dear?”

  Carolyn was removing the lids from the containers. “Just taste what I’ve prepared,” she said. “My food stands or falls on its own.”