The sun was still hanging just above the mountains to the west when the pickup went through a saddle in some rolling hills and the road dropped down a long slope into a broad valley.
“There it is,” Sam said. “Cactus Bluff.”
“Oh, my,” Phyllis said.
Chapter 2
The business district of the settlement consisted of only a dozen permanent buildings, plus the abandoned ruins of several others, Phyllis saw as Sam started the pickup down the slope into the valley. A couple of those unpaved roads he had mentioned came in at angles and crossed the road they were on, showing that at one time Cactus Bluff had been the center of whatever traffic there was in this area. Some old frame houses were on those smaller roads.
Still standing along the paved road were a couple of fairly substantial-looking brick buildings, several weathered frame structures, and a couple that appeared to be old-fashioned adobe. Slightly off to one side was a small mobile home park with a dozen of what Phyllis had grown up hearing referred to as trailer houses, all of them with skirting around the bottom and small yards that made them look like they were there to stay.
At the moment, however, the town of Cactus Bluff’s most dominant feature was a huge open-sided tent with broad stripes of red, white, and blue on its canvas top, just on the other side of what passed for the downtown area. It was almost the size of a football field, Phyllis estimated as she studied it.
“Is that tent where they have the cook-off?” Carolyn asked.
“I reckon it must be,” Sam said. “The judgin’ and the show parts, anyway. I think most of the cookin’ takes place outside, where the contestants are parked. You know, like tailgatin’ at a football game or NASCAR race.”
Smaller tents were set up around the larger one. Phyllis didn’t know what their purpose was, but she supposed she would find out. There was also a long row of portable toilets, as well as more of the distinctively green, phone-booth-shaped contraptions placed here and there.
Dozens of motor homes and travel trailers were parked in several rows that formed a semi-circle around the tents. Parking spaces for the recreational vehicles had been marked off with stakes and ropes. Plenty of pickups, SUVs, vans, and cars were wedged into a large gravel-surfaced parking area, as well. Once Sam’s pickup had emerged from the hills so that Phyllis had a good view of the valley where Cactus Bluff was located, she was able to see four or five more vehicles ahead of them on the old road, obviously bound for the same destination she and her friends were.
“It looks like a boomtown again,” she said.
Sam nodded. “Yeah. It will be for the next few days. But then, come Monday mornin’, the place’ll be mostly deserted again.”
Carolyn said, “This place is so far off the beaten path, how does anyone who lives here make a living?”
“From what I’ve read, many of them are retirees, so they don’t have to,” Phyllis said. “There’s a little grocery store and a gas station, and a hotel for tourists who stop here on their way to the Big Bend, so there’s some business going on. Also, there’s a small clinic. People come seventy or eighty or even a hundred miles for medical attention.”
“What do they do for internet service?” Eve asked.
“Satellite dishes,” Sam said. “That’s the only thing that would work this far out.”
“It’s strange, isn’t it,” Phyllis said, “how for more than half of our lives, that question wouldn’t have even existed, and now it seems vitally important.”
“It is important,” Sam said. “Folks got to stay connected.”
Carolyn blew out a slightly contemptuous breath. She knew how to use the internet but had never really succumbed to its temptations. “They used to stay connected with letters and the telephone.”
“Like we were talkin’ about earlier, times change.”
There was no red light in Cactus Bluff, not even a stop sign, but as the road leveled out and approached the town, Phyllis saw a sign advising motorists that the speed limit was 30 miles per hour.
“Better be careful,” she told Sam with a smile. “This might be a speed trap up ahead.”
They passed a boxy Jeep with lights mounted on its roof and a sign on the door that read CONSTABLE. Sam had already slowed down to the speed limit.
The parking lot at Boudreau’s Market was full. People were waiting in line at the gas pumps on one side of the lot. Men in Hawaiian shirts and women in t-shirts and shorts walked in and out of the Boudreau Hotel and strolled on both sides of the street. Plenty of gimme caps and cowboy hats were in evidence. Nearly everyone wore sunglasses, despite the fact that the sun was almost down. Traffic on the road moved at a crawl because of all the pedestrians cutting between the vehicles. Phyllis saw a few kids and dogs but was surprised there weren’t more. She supposed that the chili cook-off wasn’t really that much of a family activity.
“There’s a mob of people here,” Carolyn said. “I don’t like mobs.”
“Once we get where we’re goin’ and get parked, it won’t be so bad,” Sam told her. “You can always hide out in the War Wagon any time you want to.”
“Needing some privacy isn’t the same as hiding out. Are we going to have electricity and plumbing?”
Sam shook his head and said, “There’s a central dump station, but no hookups at each space. We’ve got a generator for electricity, though, and the water tanks are full, plus I can take the trailer and fill ‘em up again if I need to. We’ll have all the conveniences of home, just not as much room.”
Carolyn muttered something. Phyllis couldn’t make out the words, but she knew that her old friend was just blowing off steam. If it had been anything important, Carolyn would have made sure that they all understood quite clearly.
They had to drive all the way through town, what there was of it, to reach the gravel road that led past the big tent to the parking areas. A sign was posted with arrows painted on it pointing to various sections of reserved spaces designated by numbers.
“You reserved a space for us, didn’t you?” Carolyn asked.
“You betcha,” Sam said. “Did that the same time I signed up for the contest.”
“I still say we can all pitch in to cover the costs of this trip,” Phyllis said.
“Nope. This was my idea. The whole thing is my treat.”
“Well, I know you’re too stubborn to argue with . . . so all right. I won’t bring it up again.”
Sam was driving slowly through the parking area. He said, “Here we go,” and turned at another sign indicating which spaces were on this row. The rows were set far enough apart so people could pull through the spaces and not have to back their motor homes or travel trailers into them. Skillfully, Sam maneuvered into the space he had reserved, which was marked with yet another sign, this one bearing the number 457, and slowed to a stop.
He turned to Phyllis and said, “You mind seein’ if I’m lined up good?”
“Of course,” she said. She opened her door and got out of the pickup. A quick look told her that Sam had brought the travel trailer to a halt in the very center of the space. Through the door she had left open, she called, “Perfect.”
Sam put the pickup in park and turned off the engine. “Here we are, ladies,” he said. “Our home for the next few days.”
“Don’t expect me to say home sweet home,” Carolyn said.
“Oh, I wasn’t.”
Phyllis closed her door as Sam got out on the other side of the cab. Both of them went to the back of the pickup to start unhooking the travel trailer and getting it leveled and set up. They had practiced that several times before leaving Weatherford, so they knew what they were doing. Carolyn and Eve got out and stretched. To the west, the sun was an orange ball that had just touched the tops of the highest peaks in that direction.
Phyllis and Sam had been working for only a couple of minutes when a young, friendly voice said, “Hi, folks.” Phyllis straightened from what she was doing and looked over her shoulder to see a young woma
n standing there with a clipboard.
The newcomer wore cowboy boots, but above them her long legs were bare up to an extremely short pair of cut-off jeans. She also wore a white button-up shirt with no sleeves and the tails tied up to reveal her belly. A straw cowboy hat rested on honey-colored hair that hung halfway down her back. The deep tan on her face and arms and legs testified that she spent most of her time outdoors.
The woman glanced at her clipboard and said to Sam, “Are you Mr. Fletcher?”
“That’s right,” Sam said. Phyllis gave him credit. He didn’t seem to be paying too much attention to the fact that the top two buttons on the young woman’s shirt were unfastened.
“Welcome to Cactus Bluff,” she said. “I have a little bit of paperwork I need you to sign. It’s just a standard liability waiver and a notice that you’re responsible for your own belongings—and your behavior—while you’re here.”
“We promise not to act up too much,” Sam said as he took the clipboard and pen she held out to him.
“I’m McKayla Carson. That’s M-C-K-A-Y-L-A.” She glanced at Phyllis, Carolyn, and Eve. “Is one of these ladies Mrs. Fletcher?”
Sam had scrawled his signature on each of the sheets of paper where they were marked with an X. He handed the clipboard back and said, “No, they’re . . . friends of mine.”
“Oh. Okay.”
Sam went on, “This is, uh, Phyllis . . . and Carolyn . . . and Eve.”
McKayla smiled brightly at them. “Hello, ladies. I hope you and Sam enjoy your visit to Cactus Bluff. Remember, everybody is here to have a good time. Now, there are no officially scheduled activities tonight, although there’ll probably be some music later on. But I’m sure the four of you can come up with your own fun.” She handed Sam another paper. “Here’s a map of the grounds. If you need anything, the office is over by the main tent. You won’t have any trouble finding it. See you later!”
She turned and walked off.
Carolyn waited until McKayla was out of earshot before saying in a low, outraged voice, “Why, that shameless little hussy! She thinks that we’re your . . . your harem or something, Sam!”
“Oh, I don’t reckon she meant that,” Sam said.
“Then why are you blushing, dear?” Eve asked.
“I’m not. I’m just, uh, gettin’ a start on the sunburn I’ll probably have before this weekend is over.”
“And did you see the brazen way she was dressed?” Carolyn went on.
Phyllis said, “She’s just a healthy, friendly young woman, from the looks of it. We really shouldn’t judge people.”
“You don’t have to judge them if you don’t want to,” Carolyn said. “I’m quite comfortable with it, myself.”
“What are we going to do for the rest of the evening?” Eve asked.
“After riding for so long, I’m tired. I may just go on to bed,” Carolyn said.
Sam said, “I thought I might take a walk, have a look around. It’ll feel good to move a little after sittin’ all day.”
“That sounds like a good idea to me,” Phyllis said.
“I’ll come with you,” Eve added.
“Then I’ll hold down the fort here,” Carolyn said. “The place probably shouldn’t be left unattended, anyway. There’s no telling what kinds of people might be here in this crowd.”
Sam sniffed the air. “The kind that like to cook chili, I’m thinkin’, unless my nose is lyin’ to me. Why don’t you come with us, Carolyn? I’m sure it’ll be all right.”
Carolyn hesitated, then said, “Well . . . I suppose it would feel good to move around some more. As long as we’re not out too late.”
Phyllis and Sam finished setting up the travel trailer, then he drove the pickup out of the area for recreational vehicles and parked it in the gravel lot about a hundred yards away. By the time he had walked back to the travel trailer, Phyllis, Carolyn, and Eve were waiting for him.
“Shall we go, ladies?” he asked with a mock half-bow. The four of them walked toward the big tent. A lot of people were out and about as dusk settled down over the valley, bringing with it a hint of coolness after the heat of the day. The sun was behind the mountains now, but a majestic arch of red and gold rose over the peaks, shading to deep blue, then purple, then black the farther one looked to the east. It wouldn’t be long before it was dark enough for the stars to start popping into view, Phyllis thought. She’d heard that night fell quickly out here, and she was about to see proof of that for herself.
Their route took them past a large, squarish truck with a couple of whip antennas and a satellite dish mounted on it. In the fading light, Phyllis saw the logo embellished on the side of the truck in garishly painted letters. INSIDE BEAT, it read, and as Phyllis realized what she was looking at, she caught her breath a little. Surely it wasn’t possible—
“Mrs. Newsom!” someone exclaimed. “I had no idea you were going to be here.”
Phyllis and the others stopped as a heavyset young man with thick glasses and a mop of dark hair hurried up to them. He went on, “When the boss decided to send us out here, I never dreamed we’d run into somebody we know.”
“Howdy, Josh,” Sam said. “Good to see you again, son. You still an intern for that TV show?”
A look of pride appeared on Josh Green’s broad face. “Shoot, no,” he said. “I’m a producer now. Well, an associate producer, but still, you know, I get paid and everything. And I get to make some of the decisions.”
“Well, good for you,” Sam told him. “I know that’s what you had your sights set on.”
“You said we,” Phyllis said. “Does that mean—”
A door on the side of the truck opened and a woman in high heels, tight jeans, and a silk shirt descended a set of fold-down steps. She stopped short at the bottom of them, and while she was too self-possessed to stare, she did look a little surprised as she said, “Well, what do you know. If it isn’t America’s favorite cookie-baking, crime-busting grandma.” Felicity Prosper brushed back her long brown hair and then couldn’t stop her eyes from widening slightly as if something had just occurred to her. “OMG, are you here to solve another murder, Mrs. Newsom?”
Chapter 3
A year and a half earlier, a crew from the tabloid TV show Inside Beat had gotten mixed up in Phyllis’s efforts to solve a murder committed during Weatherford’s annual Christmas parade. Reporter Felicity Prosper, intern Josh Green, and cameraman/driver Nick Baker had all been in danger from the killer, as had Phyllis herself, before that case was wrapped up.
Phyllis hadn’t seen any of them since the aftermath of that investigation, except for catching a glimpse of Felicity on the TV show every now and then, but since she wasn’t a regular viewer of Inside Beat, that was rare.
She had to stop herself from wincing now at Felicity’s eager question. She said, “No, there hasn’t been any murder. We’re just here so Sam can enter his chili recipe in the competition.”
“You’re going to be in the contest, Mr. Fletcher? It’s nice to see you, by the way.”
“Good to see you, too, Ms. Prosper,” Sam said. “Yep, I’m gonna try to impress the judges with the way I cook up a bowl of good ol’ Texas red.”
“You don’t cook chili, Mrs. Newsom?” Josh asked.
“Well, I can, of course,” Phyllis said, “but that’s more in Sam’s line. Carolyn, though, is going to enter a couple of the other contests that they’re holding in conjunction with the main one.”
“That’s right,” Carolyn said. “I have a recipe for gluten-free cornbread that’s excellent, and I think I’m going to enter the competition for dishes made with left-over chili—”
Felicity interrupted her, bringing a scowl to Carolyn’s face. “I thought for a minute there we might have stumbled on some real excitement,” she said. “You have to admit, it was a reasonable assumption when I saw you, Mrs. Newsom. Murder does seem to follow you around.”
“Oh, I think that’s overstating the case—” Phyllis began.
“Well, if you’ll just give me a minute—”
“That’s all right, I can have Josh look it up. It won’t take him long. He’s good at things like that. And I’ll probably need the number for the story I’m going to do—”
This time it was Phyllis who did the interrupting. “There isn’t any story,” she said firmly. “We’re just here for the chili cook-off and the other contests, as well as a little vacation. That’s all.”
“Just our way of celebratin’ the Fourth of July this year,” Sam put in.
“Yes, but something else could happen,” Felicity insisted. “You never know.”
“Oh, I don’t think that’s likely,” Phyllis said. “Everybody is here to have a good time. No one is looking for trouble—”
An angry shout erupted from somewhere close by. Phyllis heard a thud that sounded like a fist striking flesh and bone, and as she turned to look toward the direction of the sound, she saw a man stumble backward from behind a motor home parked three or four spaces away.
From the looks of it, he was the one who had gotten punched. His feet tangled together and he lost his balance, falling heavily on his backside. As he lay there, another man rushed out from behind the motor home and came after him.
The second man drew back his foot to launch a vicious kick, but the first man rolled out of the way of it. Before the attacker could do anything else, a couple of men hurried up behind him and grabbed his arms.
“Take it easy, Kurt,” one of them urged. “Hammersmith ain’t worth it. You don’t want to get yourself kicked outta the contest when you got a good chance of beatin’ him this year.”
The Great Chili Kill-Off Page 2