Hungry Heart: Konigsburg, Texas, Book 8

by Meg Benjamin

  “What?” Darcy muttered sleepily.

  “Nothing.” He pushed himself up quickly, zipping his jeans. His own smoker was drawing fine, just the way it should be, a slight dribble of smoke from the stack. He checked the smoker next door, but he couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary. A man dozed in a lawn chair next to it.

  He stepped to the front of the booth. Behind him, he could hear Darcy stirring. “What’s going on?”

  “There’s smoke,” he murmured.

  She stepped beside him, retying her halter. “There’s barbecue. Don’t the two sort of go together?”

  He shook his head. “There’s more smoke than there should be.” He narrowed his eyes, zeroing in on a booth at the end of the row. A column of smoke was rising from the inside. “Shit.”

  “Should I call 911?” Darcy squinted down the aisle.

  He shook his head. “Not yet. Not until we know what’s going on.” He began sprinting toward the booth, with Darcy running behind him.

  The booth was draped in dark bunting, maybe black although it was hard to tell. Burke’s Barbecue Bandits, the banner read.

  Well, fuck all.

  He pushed through the opening at the side and into the space behind. Three smokers stood in a row. Smoke belched from the one nearest the counter. The drunken Bandit, Shoney, snored in a lawn chair at the side.

  Harris grabbed his shoulder. “Shoney. Wake up, goddamn it! Your smoker’s on fire.”

  Shoney jerked upright, blinking. He stared at Harris as if he didn’t exactly understand what he was saying.

  “Your smoker’s on fire. You’ve got to put it out. Now. Before it catches any of the others.”

  Shoney jumped to his feet, blindly, then stumbled toward the smoker, reaching for the handle with his bare hand.

  “No!” Harris and Darcy yelled in unison. Harris pushed Shoney’s hand away from the handle. “If you open that thing, the whole damn place is likely to go up. Plus you’ll burn the hell out of your hand.”

  Shoney stared at them open mouthed, then grabbed the water jug at the side.

  Harris pushed him backward. “No, not that either! You’ve got a grease fire.”

  Shoney stared at him blankly, then fumbled at the side of the booth. “Got a fire extinguisher here somewhere.”

  “Oh for Christ’s sake no—you’ll contaminate the smoker.” Harris leaned down and grabbed a pair of leather gauntlets from the ground next to the smoker. He reached around the side, flipping both the dampers shut. “That’ll kill the fire without destroying the smoker.”

  Shoney stood blinking. He still didn’t seem to be all the way awake. Given his probable condition when he’d passed out, that wasn’t too surprising. “You closed the dampers?”

  Harris nodded. “It’ll smother the fire.”

  “What about the brisket?”

  Harris shrugged. “Your brisket was already history, judging from the amount of smoke pouring out the top of the smoker.”

  “Says who?” Shoney’s eyes narrowed. Apparently, he was waking up. “You ruined my brisket, goddamn it.”

  Harris ignored him. Anyone dumb enough to think he could salvage a brisket from a superheated smoker didn’t deserve an answer.

  “Goddamn it. Y’all ruined that brisket. Burke’s gonna shit a brick.” Shoney was almost dancing with rage, his face contorted in fury. “And I’m gonna tell the judges you ruined our brisket on purpose. You’re gonna be disqualified.”

  “Shut the fuck up, Shoney.” The voice came from behind them. Harris turned to see four or five men, two of them with fire extinguishers. “You’re lucky the other two smokers didn’t catch.” One of the men shook his head. “My guess is you put too much wood on and then passed out. Right?”

  Shoney stared back and forth between them, his mouth drawn into a tight line. “Y’all did this on purpose. You knew you couldn’t beat us any other way.”

  “Aw, give it a rest,” one of the other men muttered. “Come on, everybody. Leave the pissant to clean up his own mess.”

  Darcy stepped in front, heading toward the aisle. Harris turned to follow her.

  “I’m gonna tell Burke about this,” Shoney snarled. “I know who y’all are. You and Chico Rodriguez.”

  Harris thought of all the things he could say to that. All the things he wouldn’t say. “If your boss wants to talk about this, he knows where to find us.” He put his hand on Darcy’s elbow, guiding her back up the aisle toward their booth.

  Darcy sighed. “Gee, that was exciting. Quite a cap to the evening.”

  Harris felt like sighing himself. Of all the ways he’d wanted this evening to end, putting out a fire and being cursed for it had not been high on the list. “Glad to oblige. Thrills are my specialty.”

  “Also brisket.”

  He nodded. “That too.”

  “Speaking of which, isn’t it time to put some more wood on the fire?”

  Harris groaned. “Yes, ma’am. And barbecue…”

  “…waits for no man,” Darcy finished. But at least she smiled when she said it.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chico surveyed the fairgrounds, breathing in the combination of smoke, cooking meat, and hot air. Texas on the Fourth was a treat for a carnivore, although he was fairly sure vegans would enjoy it too—but probably in a different venue.

  He took a quick sip from the cold coffee in the Thermos Andy had sent with him. He hadn’t let her come along when he’d headed back to the fairgrounds at three in the morning, but he’d taken the Thermos. He had a feeling he’d probably crash tonight, given how little sleep he’d had the night before, but it had definitely been worth it, both the sleeping and the not sleeping part. They’d celebrated their engagement the way it should have been celebrated, by god.

  Now, he checked the timer. He was keeping a careful watch on the temperature in the smokers, particularly the King’s since he was doing the competition brisket without wrapping it in foil so he could get the right kind of smoke ring. And that meant making sure the fire never got too hot and the meat was turned regularly. He also had five pork loins on currently, one for the competition and four for the crowd.

  He was feeling particularly superstitious about fire right now, given what the King had told him about the events of the previous night. He was also keeping his eyes open for Burke or his representatives. He figured sooner or later they’d have a confrontation, but he hoped the SOB would wait until after the competition.

  Some of the other competitors seemed to be moving a bit slowly today. The price of staying up late and drinking each other under the smoker.

  “Hi, hon, I brought you some hot coffee.”

  He wheeled around in shock. Not even his mother called him hon.

  Andy smiled up calmly, handing him a cup of coffee from Deirdre’s shop. “Cream, no sugar. I got you a muffin too. Blueberry. Is that okay?”

  “Sure. Great.” He managed to swallow through the huge lump that had suddenly formed in his throat.

  She sank down on one of the lawn chairs, placing the bag with the muffins on a portable table. “I brought the beans over so we can put them on one of the smokers. I’ll have to go back and get the potato salad later. I don’t trust these coolers to keep it at the right temperature for several hours, and giving people food poisoning isn’t likely to enhance our rep.”

  “No. Probably not.” He sank down beside her, watching her in the morning sunlight, the way it seemed to catch the gold in her hair. Jesus. What did I do to deserve this? How will I live up to it?

  “Have some coffee,” she said serenely. “You look a little tired.”

  “Right.” He took a large swallow of coffee, hoping the caffeine would do something to jump start his brain again. He’d figure out how to live up to Andy later. Right now he had barbecue to worry about.

  The rest of the morning moved in a series of vignettes. The King arrived with Darcy around eight-thirty and immediately took over the brisket preparation, using the instant read the
rmometer to keep the temperature at the right level. Andy and Darcy brought the salads, doubling the amount of blue ice in the coolers designated for the cold stuff, while the King put a couple of foil-wrapped briskets into the others that they could serve to the crowds—those didn’t need the perfect smoke ring. At ten, Chico began to take off the first of the pork roasts, pulling them into shreds and moistening it with a little of his reserved mop sauce.

  “What time do we go up and get the containers for the contest?” the King called.

  Chico checked the schedule. They still had to pick up some numbered foam containers for their entries that would be delivered to the judges anonymously. Everything was due by eleven. “About now. You want me to go get them? I’ve got some down time.”

  The King shrugged. “I’ll go with you. I need to check a couple of things.”

  They headed down the row, passing booth after booth where cooks were pulling pork and butterflying chickens. Smokers of all sizes and descriptions smoldered in the background. Chico shook his head. “Temperature in here is ripe.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  The sun beat down while the rows of booths cut off any breeze that might have worked its way in. Most of the cooks had electric fans set up in the back to keep the temperature from climbing into the red zone.

  They passed Burke’s booth, full of men in black shirts moving with grim efficiency. The burned smoker from the previous night was nowhere in sight.

  The judges’ tent was at the end of the main aisle, a massive, white canvas structure that look a little like something out of a circus. Red pennants snapped overhead in the suddenly strong breeze, offering some relief to the people standing in line outside. Apparently, they weren’t the only ones who’d come by to pick up their competition containers.

  They worked their way to the front, where a couple of harassed-looking women were checking lists while someone else handed out the numbered boxes.

  Chico leaned forward on the table, checking the list in one woman’s hand. “Barbecue Royale.” He pointed over her shoulder. “Right there.”

  “Yeah, yeah, Chico.” She turned to the woman beside her. “I need 45A, Madge. Professional.”

  “I need 36C.” The voice came from beside them.

  Chico half turned. Lew Burke stood at the head of the other line. Chico turned back to the table. “Two boxes, Madge.”

  “Two boxes it is.” She handed them two foam boxes, around the size they used at the Faro for leftovers. Both were marked #45A on the top with bright purple marker. “Good luck, Chico.”

  “Thanks.” He turned to hand one to the King.

  Burke stepped toward them, his jaw tight. Sun flashed off his mirrored glasses.

  Chico gave him a half smile. “Morning.”

  Burke’s jaw worked. “You ruined my brisket.”

  The King shrugged. “Your smoker was on fire. It was close down the dampers and let it smother or run the risk of having it catch everybody else’s stuff too.”

  “That’s not the way Shoney tells it.”

  The King stared back. “If I were Shoney, I might be trying to come up with another version myself.”

  Burke went on staring for another moment, then turned and stalked back up the aisle.

  The King glanced at Chico. “You think he’s going to make trouble?”

  Chico grimaced. “He may try. I don’t see him succeeding, though.”

  “We need to get back.” The King sighed.

  “We do.” Chico turned and headed back up the row toward their booth.

  Darcy held the battery-powered fan in front of her face, letting it blow back her perspiration-soaked hair. The temperature in the row of booths must be over a hundred, but she really didn’t want to know just how much. Knowing how hot they were would only make it worse. “So when do we start serving?”

  Andy shrugged. “After they take the entries up to the judges’ tent. That’s what everybody’s concentrating on right now. Once the judging’s underway, the party starts again, only the general public gets to join in.”

  She turned back to where Harris and Chico were carefully placing their entries in the numbered foam boxes.

  Darcy frowned. “They need some garnish on that. Presentation-wise it sucks.”

  Andy shook her head. “Bite your tongue. No garnish allowed. If the judges see as much as a sprig of parsley, they’ll throw the entry out. Even the sauce has to be on the side.”

  Darcy rolled her eyes. “Hell, barbecue’s as bad as a Bordeaux tasting. Purists are a pain in the butt.”

  “Maybe, but they’re the ones who run the competitions. And they’ve got a bunch of rules that make the tax code seem simple.” Andy glanced at Chico again and grinned. “Fortunately, we’re only doing two entries and they’re in two of the more straight-forward categories. You ready to go there, hon?”

  Amazingly enough, Chico’s ears turned pink. Darcy could have sworn he was blushing. “Yeah, almost.” He glanced at Harris. “How about you?”

  Harris placed his container of brisket on the kitchen scale, checking the weight. “Ready here.”

  Chico nodded. “Let’s do it.”

  Darcy pulled off her apron, dropping it on one of the lawn chairs as Andy did the same. Other teams were marching up the row in front of them, matching T-shirts and costume pieces in place. Darcy was just as glad nobody had suggested she wear a pig-shaped baseball cap. There would have been violence involved.

  A crowd milled around the front of the judges’ tent, teams dropping off their entries along with spectators coming in to watch. A group of exasperated men in bright blue T-shirts tried to clear away the non-contestants.

  “Come on, folks,” one man called. “These teams have to get their entries in before the time limit runs out.”

  Some people moved back fractionally. Then suddenly the crowd seemed to part like the Red Sea in front of them. Darcy glanced back to see Chico glaring straight ahead. Yeah, she would have gotten out of his way too.

  She dropped back beside Andy as Chico and the King approached the judging table. “Team 45A,” Harris said, placing his foam container carefully on the table in front of him. “Barbecue Royale.”

  “Hey, Chico.” The woman checking the list grinned up at him.

  “Hey, Doreen.” Chico’s smile was more like a baring of teeth, but Doreen seemed unintimidated. She took the two containers from Chico and Harris and checked off something on her list.

  “Okay, you’re set.”

  “I want that man disqualified.”

  Heads turned up and down the line as people craned to see who was talking.

  “That man deliberately sabotaged my entry. I want him disqualified.” A husky man dressed in a black T-shirt and ball cap stepped forward, his arms folded across his chest.

  On a guess Darcy figured he was Lew Burke. She turned to Andy. “Your ex?”

  Andy grimaced. “What can I say? I was young and stupid.”

  The woman at the table, Doreen, peered up at him. “Mister, I can’t disqualify anybody and neither can you. And you’re holding up the line.”

  Chico and Harris moved hastily to the side, letting the next contestants through. Lew Burke scowled at them. “You’re not getting away with ruining my brisket, asshole. If my brisket doesn’t get entered, neither does yours.”

  “What the hell is going on here?” The man who stepped up beside them was shorter than any of the three barbecue cooks, but he didn’t look like he was willing to take much crap. His walrus moustache bristled. He narrowed his eyes behind his wire-frame glasses, glancing between the three.

  Chico nodded, his expression suddenly bland. “Mr. Mayor.”

  The mayor nodded back, still scowling. “Chico. What’s up?”

  “I’ll tell you what’s up.” Burke stepped forward, his arms folded across his beefy chest. “This man—” he nodded toward Harris, “—deliberately ruined my brisket so that I couldn’t enter it. I want him disqualified. Hell, I want him kicked off the c
ircuit permanently.”

  The mayor scowled as he turned toward their team. “What’s your version?”

  Harris shook his head. “Mr. Burke’s rig was close to catching on fire last night—I could see the smoke from my booth. I closed down the dampers before the fire could spread to any of the other rigs, including Mr. Burke’s.”

  “Anybody else there?” The mayor’s eyebrow went up. “Did you see it, Chico?”

  Chico shook his head. “I was home in bed.” He seemed to be deliberately not looking at Andy.

  “Ms. Cunningham was there.” Harris nodded at her.

  The mayor turned in her direction, then gave her a brief, appreciative smile. For once, Darcy was glad she’d worn the short shorts. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am. You cook out at the Rose, correct?”

  Darcy nodded. “Correct.”

  He nodded toward Harris. “He telling the truth?”

  “Yep.” Darcy folded her arms across her chest, giving Burke the death stare.

  “All right then.” The mayor turned back to Burke, Chico and Harris. “I’ll ask around, see if anybody else can tell me anything.”

  “One of my boys was there at the time,” Burke cut in. “Lou Shoney. He can tell you what happened.”

  The mayor gave him a steely glance. “I’ll talk to him. And the other people on that row. Anyway, I’ll get back to you before the judging.”

  “That man should not be allowed in this contest,” Burke snapped.

  The mayor narrowed his eyes. “Nobody’s getting kicked out of this contest yet, Burke. Now everybody go off and cook your barbecue. Probably got customers waiting by now.”

  Andy took hold of Chico’s arm, drawing him quickly away from her ex, who stared after them with burning eyes.

  Darcy turned down the row toward their booth. So did a lot of other people in the crowd. She heard muttering, accompanied by a few narrow-eyed looks toward Andy’s ex-husband.

  “So that’s the mayor of Konigsburg?” she asked.

  Harris nodded. “Horace Rankin. Known for not putting up with bullshit.”

  “So he’ll find out Burke is lying and everything will work out, right?” Darcy wasn’t sure why she felt uneasy, but she did.