“You’re sayin’ that I murdered my old partner Harlan?” Boudreau laughed. “That’s crazy!”
“Is it? Then why did you give his children eighty per cent of the money from the sale? I think it was because they were suspicious, and you paid them off to keep them from looking too closely at their father’s death. You still got a nice chunk of money . . . or you would have if you hadn’t been sued by the corporation that bought A/B Exploration for fraud because you falsified the company’s records and overvalued it. You had to settle with them, and that took most of what you had left. You thought you’d recoup those losses by buying this town and developing it as a resort and retirement community, but that didn’t work out, either. I’ve seen the property tax records, as well as the roads and other work you had put in on housing developments that never panned out because you ran out of money. Then you got the idea of staging this chili cook-off and that’s kept you afloat, but you’re not doing well enough to pay blackmail to Joe D. Hammersmith from now on. Did he find out you were responsible for Anders’ death? Maybe promised to help Anders’ children bleed you for what little you have left?”
“You . . . you don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” Boudreau sputtered. “This is all just some crazy notion you dreamed up. There’s not one thing in the world to back up what you’ve been sayin’!”
“What about that?” Phyllis asked, pointing.
Boudreau looked down. “My knees? What about ‘em?”
“You scraped them crawling under Hammersmith’s motor home on Thursday night. I saw you dancing to the Lavaca River Boys’ music at their motor home on Thursday night, remember? Your knees were fine then. A little on the knobby side, but unmarked. The next day, they were red and raw. They’ve scabbed up some since then, but you can still tell what happened to them.”
“Scraped knees?” Boudreau said, trying to sound astounded. “You think scraped knees makes a man guilty of murder?”
“That’s just what got me wondering what you’d done to them,” Phyllis said. “Nobody ever considered you a suspect, Mr. Boudreau, but once I started thinking about it and seeing what else I could find, I was able to put together a theory.”
Boudreau snorted. “A theory,” he repeated. “That’s all it is. You don’t have any proof.”
“I’ll bet the Rangers can come up with some,” Phyllis said, “once I’ve talked to Sergeant Culbertson and convinced him to take a nice, long look at your financial history . . . and Hammersmith’s. The things you’ve done will have left a paper trail. There might even be withdrawals from your account that match deposits in his.”
“Maybe back in March,” Chuck said, finally speaking up and causing Boudreau to give a startled jump. As Boudreau turned to look at the constable, Chuck held up a piece of paper and went on, “That’s when Ken gave Hammersmith a speeding ticket.”
Phyllis nodded. “That proves Hammersmith was here other times besides the chili cook-off.”
“You . . . you’re tryin’ to frame me,” Boudreau stammered. “None o’ this is true—”
“Then you don’t have anything to worry about when Mrs. Newsom and I talk to the Rangers. But for now, Mayor, you’d better come with me—”
A snarl twisted Boudreau’s face. “That’s right, I’m the mayor!” he said. “Cactus Bluff is my town, damn it! Nobody’s gonna take it away from me, it or anything else I’ve ever worked for! Harlan and I had a chance to clean up, and he wasn’t gonna ruin it for me—”
He stopped short, perhaps realizing that he was about to say too much . . . or that he already had.
“We’ll go over to the office,” Chuck said, taking a step toward Boudreau and lifting his hand. “We can wait there while I call Ken and have him find the Rangers—”
“Mrs. Newsom! Hey! Phyllis!”
At the sound of that insistent shouting, Phyllis and Chuck both turned their heads to look across the street. Felicity Prosper stood there, along with Josh and Nick. Felicity went on, “We found a Lydecker 6500—”
Boudreau lunged at Chuck. Phyllis saw sunlight reflect on metal as Chuck let out a pained yelp. He stumbled back a couple of steps and pressed his hand to his side as blood welled between his fingers.
“Get outta my way, damn it!” Boudreau cried. He turned as Phyllis took an instinctive step toward him and slashed at her with the knife he had taken from a pocket of his cut-off jeans. She jerked back. “Nobody’s gonna take my town away from me!”
Chuck was fumbling with his other hand at the stun gun, but he wasn’t able to get it free of the holster as Boudreau came at him again with the bloody knife. Before Boudreau could stab the constable again, long, tanned legs flashed as McKayla Carson leaped through the open window. She thrust out both arms and rammed her hands against Boudreau’s chest as she shouted, “Leave him alone!”
Boudreau didn’t weigh a great deal. The shove made him reel backward toward the railing at the edge of the balcony. McKayla charged after him and hit him again. The railing cracked under the impact, and with a terrified wail, Boudreau fell through it and plummeted toward the street below.
Phyllis had caught up to McKayla by now and grabbed her to keep her from falling, too. She pulled the girl back from the broken railing. McKayla seemed to recover her senses after the attack and rushed to Chuck’s side. The constable had sagged to the floor of the balcony and was sitting there with his face pale and drawn.
“Chuck! Darling!”
“It’s not that bad,” Chuck said in a strained voice. “It’s just a deep cut in my side. I’ve taken first aid classes. I’ll be all right—”
He swayed and passed out, falling over on his side.
Phyllis looked over the balcony railing. An even bigger crowd had gathered and surrounded Hiram Boudreau, who lay on the pavement moaning. From the looks of it, one or both of his legs were broken, but he didn’t appear to have any other serious injuries. He must have landed on some of the pedestrians clogging the street, Phyllis thought, and they had broken his fall.
“Phyllis! Hey, Phyllis!”
She looked up and saw Felicity on the far sidewalk, giving her two thumbs-up. Beside her, Nick was recording, and Josh just looked a little stunned. Phyllis knew what the lead story on the next edition of Inside Beat was going to be.
America’s Crime-Busting Grandma had struck again, and this time Felicity had it all on tape . . . or whatever they used these days.
Chapter 22
Sam held up the yellow ribbon and said, “With all the excitement goin’ on around here today, third place doesn’t seem like such a big deal.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Phyllis told him. “Winning third place in a major chili cook-off on your first try is a huge achievement.”
“Certainly better than the honorable mention I got,” Carolyn added. “However, I’ll take that, and if we come back next year, I’ll do better.” She frowned. “Oh, wait. With Mr. Boudreau in jail, will the cook-off even continue?”
“I guess we’ll have to wait and see,” Phyllis said. She looked over at Eve, who was sitting with them in lawn chairs in front of the War Wagon as darkness settled down. “Are you all right?”
“Why would you ask?” Eve said. “Because Hiram turned out to be a cold-blooded murderer? Dear, I was just flirting with the man. There was nothing serious about it. I’m well past the point of ever getting serious again.”
Phyllis wasn’t sure she believed that, but Eve did seem to be taking what had happened in stride. She had known Boudreau only a few days, hadn’t done anything more than dance and flirt with him, and besides . . . as it turned out, he wasn’t an oil millionaire after all.
With a rumble of gravel under its wheels, Chuck’s Jeep came along the aisle between rows of parked travel trailers and motor homes. The young constable brought the vehicle to a halt in front of the War Wagon. He climbed out, moving a little stiffly from the bandages wrapped around his torso.
He nodded to Phyllis and the others and said, “I wanted to make sure
you folks were doing all right after all the excitement this morning.”
“You’re the one who was injured, Chuck,” Phyllis said. “The rest of us are fine.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear it.”
Sam said, “You’re lucky that girl McKayla had a crush on you and was followin’ you around, Constable. If she hadn’t seen Boudreau about to go after you again with that knife, things might’ve been a lot worse.”
“Yes, that . . . certainly came in handy, didn’t it?” Chuck looked like this part of the conversation made him uncomfortable, and well it should, Phyllis thought. He had promised to keep his distance from McKayla, even it meant resigning his constable’s position, moving to the county seat, and trying to get a job with the sheriff’s department. Phyllis thought Sergeant Culbertson might put in a good word for him.
Chuck went on, “I guess you’ll be heading home in the morning?”
“That’s right,” Phyllis said.
“If you need anything between now and then, let me know, okay?” Chuck smiled, climbed back into the Jeep, and drove off, waving farewell as he went.
“Nice young fella,” Sam commented. “Hope he gets all his problems worked out.”
“He just needs to be patient,” Phyllis said. Sam looked at her and nodded in understanding. McKayla would be of age in a few years. If she still felt the same way then, she and Chuck might turn out to have something real.
“Uh-oh,” Sam said then as he glanced past Phyllis. “Look who’s comin’.”
Texas Ranger Sergeant Martin Culbertson walked along the row of travel trailers and motor homes, and as always, his stride was purposeful. He was headed right toward them, too, Phyllis noted.
“Evening, ladies,” Culbertson greeted them. He took his hat off this time. “Mr. Fletcher.”
“We don’t have an extra chair,” Sam said, “or I’d tell you to pull up a seat, Sergeant. Be glad to get you a beer . . . or a bowl of chili.”
Culbertson smiled and shook his head. “No, thanks. I just thought I’d stop by and let you know that we’ve gotten a full statement from Hiram Boudreau admitting that he sabotaged the propane tank on Hammersmith’s motor home. He confessed to killing Harlan Anders, too, but he’s insisting that Anders’ children were in on it with him. He even said it was their idea, but I’m not sure if I believe that.” The Ranger’s broad shoulders rose and fell in a shrug. “But it’ll be up to the courts to hash all that out. The important thing as far as I’m concerned is that the Hammersmith case is cleared.” He cocked his head at Phyllis. “You can chalk up another one.”
“I’m not keeping score,” she said.
“But if she was, she’d be undefeated,” Carolyn added.
Phyllis said, “I suppose Boudreau confessed because Nick shot that footage of him trying to kill Constable Snyder. With evidence like that, and with everything he’d already said, he must have thought there was no point in denying the rest of it.”
“We’ll build a good case against him, don’t worry about that,” Culbertson said. “And that TV lady will get some good ratings out of the whole deal.”
“And that’s what’s most important . . . to her.”
Sam said, “The most important thing to me is that I’m not gonna be hauled off to jail, so I get to keep on spendin’ my time with my friends and family.” He looked at Phyllis, Carolyn, and Eve. “With this bunch, it’s pretty much one and the same.”
Culbertson turned his hat over in his hands and said, “I’d wish you luck, Mr. Fletcher . . . but from what I can see, you’ve already got plenty of it.”
He smiled at Phyllis, and she felt her face warming in a way that had nothing to do with the heat of the day still lingering in the air. She was glad when there was a boom nearby that made everyone look around.
It was no explosion this time, but rather a rocket that rose gracefully into the air and then burst in a brilliant panoply of light. More fireworks arched into the heavens above Cactus Bluff and lit them up, and Phyllis sat and watched them with a smile on her face.
◄♦►
“It’s gonna be mighty good to see Buck again,” Sam said as he steered the pickup along the tree-lined street in Weatherford. It was late the next day, and another long, wearying drive was behind them. But all four of them were looking forward to being home.
Sam hadn’t wanted to board his beloved Dalmatian, so one of the neighbors had agreed to come in and feed Buck every day. He had a good doghouse on the back porch, plenty of shade in the back yard, and a multitude of squirrels to chase for exercise and excitement. The neighbor's son was happy to come over every day and throw a ball for Buck to chase, too. Still, this was the first time he and Sam had been apart, so Sam had worried about him.
Now the house was in sight, nestled among the tall old trees, and Phyllis felt a surge of warmth go through her. There was nothing quite like coming home again.
Sam pulled into the driveway and hit the remote to raise the garage door. It rumbled up as he stopped the pickup and the four travelers climbed out.
“My own bed is going to feel wonderful tonight!” Carolyn said.
Phyllis went through the garage to the door that opened into the kitchen. She stuck her key in the lock and turned it, then stiffened as she realized something.
“Sam,” she called quietly as she turned to him, “this door was unlocked.”
Sam frowned. “Maybe Mrs. Duncan left it that way when she came over to feed Buck.”
“She wouldn’t have had any reason to come out here. Anyway, she’s very reliable and responsible. That just doesn’t seem like something she’d do.”
Sam reached for the knob. “Best let me go in first.”
“I can call Mike—”
“No need for that,” Sam said. “You don’t want to worry the boy for no reason.” He turned the knob, eased the door open, and stepped quietly into the kitchen.
If there was a problem inside, Phyllis wasn’t going to let him face it alone. She was close behind him as he started through the kitchen. Carolyn and Eve trailed her, a little farther back where they could still reach the door in a hurry.
Then, completely unexpectedly, a female voice called from the living room, “Hey, we’re in here! I saw the pickup pull in.”
Sam’s back straightened. He turned his head and glanced at Phyllis, and she could tell that he was utterly surprised. But he hesitated only a second before he strode on into the living room and then stopped with Phyllis at his heels. She looked past him and saw a young woman with bright blue hair sitting on the sofa with Buck, who barked happily and rushed to his master as soon as he saw Sam. He jumped up to rest his paws on Sam’s chest, and seemingly without thinking, Sam rubbed and scratched the dog’s ears as Buck squirmed joyously.
The blue-haired girl stood up, grinned, and said to Sam, “What’s the matter, Gramps? Aren’t you glad to see your favorite granddaughter?”
Recipes
Sam’s Smokin’ Red
Ingredients
3 lbs. cubed trimmed tri-tip roast, 1/4 inch cubes
2 tablespoon of beef fat
1 cup chopped white onion
4 - 6 cloves garlic, minced
1 cup Bare Bones Classic Beef Bone broth
1 cup Bare Bones Classic Chicken Bone broth
1 16-ounce Can-Muir Glen organic tomato sauce
1st Spices
1 teaspoon Mexican oregano
1 tablespoon American paprika
1 1/2 teaspoons onion powder
1 teaspoon garlic powder
2 teaspoon beef granules
1 teaspoon chicken granules
1/2 teaspoon seasoned salt
1/2 tablespoon New Mexico chili powder
2nd Spices
3 teaspoons ground cumin
1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
1/2 teaspoon seasoned salt
1 1/2 tablespoon Gebhardt chili powder
1 1/2 tablespoons Texas style chili powder
1/2 tablespoon New Mex
ico hot ground chili pepper
1/2 tablespoon New Mexico light chili powder
3rd Spices
2 teaspoons Texas style chili powder
1 teaspoon ground cumin
1/4 teaspoon garlic powder
Tabasco sauce (as needed for heat)
Directions
Brown meat in 2 tablespoons of beef fat. Place meat in colander and drain off oil. Rinse meat with water and return meat to pot.
Add broths, tomato sauce, and 1st spices. Cook approximately 2 hours, add water if necessary, stirring occasionally. Chili has a tendency to burn on the bottom if not stirred enough. It depends on the thickness of your pot how often you will need to stir, a thicker pot can sit a little longer between stirs. (I stir mine every 10-15 minutes.) Cook longer if meat is not tender.
30 minutes before finished, add 2nd spices.
15 minutes before finished, add 3rd spices.
Add seasoned salt for taste. For heat, add Tabasco to taste.
Cooking Time – 3 Hours
Gluten Free Oat Muffins
Ingredients
1 1/2 cups old-fashioned oats
1 teaspoon. baking powder
1/4 teaspoon. baking soda
1 cup mashed ripe bananas (about 2)
2 eggs
2 tablespoons. room-temp natural almond butter (no salt or sugar added)
The Great Chili Kill-Off Page 17
