The Great Chili Kill-Off

by Livia J. Washburn

  Carson started to turn away, but Phyllis stopped him by asking, “Do you know what Mr. Hammersmith did when he wasn’t entering this contest?”

  “You mean his business?” Carson frowned. “I’m pretty sure he owned several new car dealerships. He was well-to-do, I know that. He didn’t really need the prize money he won every year. Anyway, it’s more about bragging rights than anything else. And Hammersmith could brag, that’s for sure.”

  Carson nodded to them and went on his way. As Phyllis and Sam turned away from the door and Sam closed it, Phyllis saw Carolyn and Eve watching them intently. Carolyn said, “I know that look on your face, Phyllis, and I heard the way you were asking questions.”

  “You think Hammersmith was murdered,” Eve added. “That someone caused the explosion that killed him.”

  Phyllis said, “I don’t have any reason to think that. I was just curious, that’s all.”

  “Curiosity leads to a murder investigation,” Carolyn said.

  “Only if there actually was a murder. Really, it’s a lot more likely the whole thing was an accident. Anyway, if there’s anything suspicious about what happened, I’m sure the local authorities will call in the Texas Rangers or the BATF, like Mr. Carson said.”

  Sam grinned and said, “Ol’ Josh and Felicity will be disappointed if there’s a murder case and you’re not mixed up in it right up to your neck.”

  “Then they’ll just have to be disappointed,” Phyllis said. “Don’t you have some chili to cook?”

  Chapter 9

  All of Sam’s cooking gear was stored in the back of his pickup, under the camper top. He went to fetch it, driving back over from the parking area and then setting up next to the travel trailer.

  By mid-morning, the air all over the encampment was full of mouth-watering aromas. Not only the spicy tang of chili cooking as contestants practiced for the competition, fine-tuning their recipes one last time, but also beans, fresh bread, even the sweet smells of cookies, pies, and cakes. Carolyn’s gluten-free cornbread was in the small oven in the trailer, but the windows were open, allowing the smell of it cooking to drift out and mingle with all the other tantalizing scents.

  Unfortunately, a faint whiff of ashes hung in the air, too, and Phyllis knew it came from Joe D. Hammersmith’s destroyed motor home.

  At the order of the sheriff’s department, some of the other motor homes and trailers close to the scene of the explosion had been moved farther out in the encampment to clear the area around the blast. A couple of patrol cruisers had arrived within an hour of the explosion, followed a short time later by crime scene SUVs and a pickup belonging to the county fire marshal. A volunteer fire department truck was on hand, too, in case the blaze flared back up.

  It seemed to be completely out, however, by the time Phyllis and Eve strolled over there later in the morning. Sam and Carolyn were still busy with their culinary efforts, but while Phyllis enjoyed cooking and baking as long as she was doing it, she agreed with Carolyn’s assessment that it wasn’t much of a spectator sport. She was also wondering if the authorities had determined anything about the blast yet.

  Of course, she couldn’t just waltz up and start asking questions. She and Sam worked part-time as investigators for an attorney back in Weatherford, which didn’t exactly make them private detectives—although Sam liked to think that it did—but at least that gave them some semi-official status when they were looking into a case on behalf of Jimmy D’Angelo and one of his clients.

  Out here in far West Texas, though, they were just civilians like anybody else. She was sure the representatives of the sheriff’s department wouldn’t even talk to her.

  But they would have to talk to the press, at least to a certain extent, and Phyllis wasn’t the least bit surprised to find Felicity, Josh, and Nick keeping tabs on the site of the explosion, although they had to stay behind the yellow crime scene tape the deputies had strung around.

  “So they’re calling it a crime scene now,” Phyllis commented as she came up to the trio from Inside Beat.

  Josh turned to her and said, “That’s how they’re treating it until they determine what caused the blast. Strictly standard procedure, they claim, but I’m not so sure.”

  Felicity said sharply, “Do you think this was murder, Mrs. Newsom? Do you believe someone set off the explosion on purpose? Have you picked up any clues yet?”

  Phyllis noticed that Nick, who had been shooting footage of the investigation going on around the burned-out motor home, had turned and pointed the camera toward her as Felicity shot out those rapid-fire questions.

  “The last I heard, they hadn’t even determined if anyone was hurt yet, let alone killed,” she said.

  Josh grimaced and said, “Well, you can stop wondering about that. Arson investigators from the sheriff’s department were able to get in there in special suits a little while ago, and they found a body under what was left of the awning Hammersmith had set up over his grill. They’ve already turned it over to the coroner’s office.”

  “They wouldn’t let Nick get a shot of it, either,” Felicity said with a note of disappointment in her voice.

  “Goodness, that would have been . . . gruesome . . . wouldn’t it?” Eve said.

  “‘S’okay,” Nick put in. “I’ve seen dead bodies before.”

  “Actually, I meant for your viewers.”

  “Are you kidding?” Felicity said. “They eat that stuff up. The grosser, the better. Things aren’t like they used to be.”

  “You’re not telling us anything we don’t already know,” Phyllis said. After a moment, she went on, “Did anyone happen to mention if the body had been identified as being Mr. Hammersmith’s?”

  Josh shook his head. “One of the deputies gave us a brief statement and just said there was one fatality. No identification or indication of when we might expect to get one.”

  “But we’ll stay on top of this breaking news,” Felicity said. “They can stonewall all they want, but they won’t be able to stop Inside Beat from getting the story.”

  From the dramatic tone her voice had taken on, and the way she glanced at Nick after she spoke, Phyllis had a hunch Felicity was checking to see if he had gotten her on camera while she was making that declaration.

  A few more minutes went by and Phyllis was thinking about going back to the War Wagon, when a dark SUV drove into the encampment and stopped near Hammersmith’s motor home. Two men got out, both wearing dark trousers, white shirts, ties, and white Stetsons. Each man had a clip-on holster with what looked like a nine-millimeter semi-automatic pistol secured in it. Phyllis didn’t know a lot about guns, but she could tell that the weapons were similar to the one her son Mike carried in his work as a Parker County sheriff’s deputy.

  She also recognized the men by their clothing. The simple garb, not even looking much like a uniform at first glance, told her they were Texas Rangers. Their SUV was unmarked but had government plates on it.

  One of the sheriff’s department men came to meet them. The officers stood there talking, and Felicity asked, “Who are those guys?”

  “Texas Rangers,” Phyllis said. “I’m not surprised the local authorities requested their help. State or federal investigators, or both, nearly always look into any explosion.”

  That perked up Felicity’s interest. “Have you ever solved a murder case where something blew up like this?”

  “No, but my son is a deputy, remember, and he’s talked a lot about law enforcement procedures over the years.”

  “I’ll bet you wish he was here. He could find out what’s going on for you.”

  “It’s none of my business,” Phyllis said, but she felt a little hypocritical as soon as the words were out of her mouth. Somehow she had become like one of those old fire horses people used to talk about. One whiff of smoke—or in her case, one whiff of murder—and she was ready to gallop into action. Carolyn liked to make comments about how murder seemed to pop up everywhere Phyllis went, but there was some truth to t
hat and there was no point in denying it.

  The deputy spent several minutes talking to the Rangers. Quite a few people had gathered on the other side of the crime scene tape to stare at the burned-out motor home in macabre fascination. Phyllis supposed that description would apply to her just as much as it did to anybody else. She was about to turn away and suggest to Eve that they return to the travel trailer when she sensed someone looking at her. She turned her head and locked eyes with one of the white-hatted lawmen.

  She wasn’t sure why the Ranger was looking at her, but she met his gaze steadily. She thought that if she glanced away too abruptly, she would look guilty—even though she didn’t know if there was anything to be guilty of.

  The Ranger turned away first and said something to the deputy, but then he started walking toward Phyllis and the others. He had a slight limp, she noticed, but it didn’t seem to impede him any. He covered the distance briskly, ducked under the crime scene tape—not an easy task since he was several inches above six feet in height—and nodded to them.

  “I’m told you folks are part of the press,” he said with a nod to Felicity, Josh, and Nick. “Which one of you is the producer?”

  “That would be me,” Josh said, but Felicity brushed past him and faced the tall Ranger.

  “Felicity Prosper from Inside Beat,” she introduced herself. “If you have anything to say, you can talk to me.” She motioned for Nick to keep shooting. “On the record.”

  “Ma’am,” the Ranger said with a nod. “I just wanted to tell you that the Rangers are now in charge of this crime scene, and we won’t be issuing any statements in the near future. So you might as well go on about your business of covering the chili cook-off. I assume that’s why you’re here in the first place.”

  Felicity pretty much ignored everything he had just said and continued, “You just referred to this as a crime scene, Ranger . . . What is your name, if you don’t mind my asking.”

  It was clear from her tone and expression that she didn’t really care if he minded, she expected an answer anyway.

  “Culbertson, ma’am. Sergeant Martin Culbertson.”

  “You referred to this as a crime scene, Sergeant Culbertson. Does that mean Joe D. Hammersmith was murdered?”

  “We’re not issuing any statements at the moment regarding the identity of the deceased or the cause of death, other than obviously he was killed in the explosion and resulting fire. Any other determination will be made in due time.”

  “That sounds very much like you think it was foul play, Sergeant.”

  Culbertson shook his head. “Nope. All I’m saying . . . is that we’re not saying. But when and if we announce anything, I’m sure you’ll hear about it. In the meantime—”

  “You’re not going to scare us off, Ranger,” Felicity interrupted him. “We’re within our rights being here, as members of the press.”

  “As long as you stay behind that tape, you’re within your rights even as citizens. Just be responsible in what you broadcast, that’s all I’m asking.”

  “As journalists, we’re always responsible,” Felicity snapped.

  “In a lot of ways, I would agree with you,” Culbertson drawled. “The press is responsible for a lot of things. Always glad to see ‘em owning up to it.”

  It was all Phyllis could do not to laugh. Felicity looked like she was seething at the Ranger’s sly dig, but she didn’t say anything else as Culbertson turned and walked back to join the other law officers. Phyllis caught Eve’s eye and motioned with her head, and they started back toward the travel trailer, leaving the TV crew filling up the digital memory in Nick’s camera.

  “My,” Eve said, “you’d have to go to Central Casting to find someone who looked more like a Texas Ranger than Sergeant Culbertson!”

  “You think so?” Phyllis said.

  “Goodness, the man is tall and rangy and looks like he stepped out of one of those cigarette ads they used to have!”

  “I didn’t notice.”

  Eve laughed. “No offense, but I’m not sure I believe you, dear. You and Sam may have settled down comfortably into whatever sort of relationship it is you have, but you’ve still got eyes in your head. If Mr. Hammersmith really was murdered, someone’s going to have to get to the bottom of it, and I don’t see any reason why it shouldn’t be you!”

  Phyllis was about to argue with her, but just then someone behind her called, “Ma’am?”

  She stopped and turned and saw Sergeant Martin Culbertson walking toward them.

  Chapter 10

  “He can’t be talking to us,” Phyllis said.

  “No, he’s talking to you,” Eve said with a smile. “I just wish that big, handsome Ranger was striding purposefully toward me.”

  Phyllis cast a quick glare in her direction, then moved forward to meet Sergeant Culbertson, who, judging by his face and actions, was indeed bent on talking to her.

  As they came up to each other and stopped, Culbertson lifted his right hand and tapped a finger against his hat brim in a polite greeting. “Ma’am,” he said again. “Excuse me for bothering you.”

  “You’re not bothering me,” Phyllis said honestly.

  “You were with those TV folks, weren’t you? Do you work with them?”

  She shook her head and said, “No, we’re just acquainted, that’s all.”

  “I thought when I saw you standing there in the crowd that you looked familiar. It took me a few minutes to remember where I’d seen you before. Actually, I’ve only seen pictures of you.” He paused. “You’re Phyllis Newsom, aren’t you?”

  She was flustered for a moment by the idea that this Texas Ranger had recognized her, but then she thought she didn’t have any reason to let it bother her. She hadn’t done anything wrong.

  “That’s right, I am,” she said. “This is my friend Eve Turner.”

  Sergeant Culbertson nodded and ticked a finger against his hat brim to Eve, too. “Miz Turner.”

  “Hello, Sergeant,” Eve said with the brilliant smile that appeared by habit any time she was talking to a handsome, possibly eligible male over the age of fifty.

  The wattage seemed to be wasted on Culbertson, though, who turned his attention back to Phyllis and went on, “I’ve read quite a bit about your career.”

  “As a junior high school history teacher, you mean?”

  A smile tugged at Culbertson’s mouth under the neatly trimmed mustache. “I think you know that’s not what I’m talking about, ma’am. When it comes to clearing homicides, you’ve got a record I and a lot of my fellow Rangers would envy.”

  Phyllis shook her head and said, “The authorities have cleared those crimes. I’ve just helped out a little now and then.”

  “If you call figuring out who the killer is and finding the evidence to convict helping out, then yeah, I’d say you have. Every murderer you’ve gone after has been brought to justice. And don’t say you’ve been lucky. That would be false modesty.”

  “I seem to have a knack for what I do,” Phyllis said. “What exactly did you want to talk to me about, Sergeant?”

  Culbertson pointed with a thumb toward the burned-out motor home behind him. “This is an open case with the circumstances yet to be determined. Like I told the press, the Rangers are in charge of it. And we don’t need any help.”

  “So you’re warning me to keep my nose out, is that it?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t put it quite that bluntly,” Culbertson said with a shrug. “But I suppose that’s what it amounts to. Poking around in an official investigation as a civilian will only get you in trouble.”

  “I probably shouldn’t say this,” Eve spoke up, “but Phyllis has heard that before!”

  “Yeah, I know. What is they call you on TV, Mrs. Newsom? The crime-busting grandma?”

  “So you have seen Felicity’s stories on Inside Beat,” Phyllis said.

  Culbertson shrugged again. “I’m just trying to do the right thing here,” he said. “I don’t want you causing a bunc
h of trouble for yourself.”

  “Or for you.”

  “You won’t be causing any trouble for me. I do my job either way, no matter what comes.”

  “Yes, I expect you do,” Phyllis said. “Well, you don’t have to worry, Sergeant. I have no personal stake in this case, no reason to get involved. I met Mr. Hammersmith a couple of times, that’s all. And I didn’t like him.” She smiled. “Does that make me a suspect?”

  “Not likely,” the Ranger said. “If it did, practically everybody who’s in Cactus Bluff this weekend would—” He stopped short and took a deep breath. “Just remember what I said, that’s all.”

  Culbertson turned and walked away, his limp noticeable but just barely.

  “Am I mistaken,” Eve said to Phyllis, “or did you just trick him into admitting that the victim was Joe D. Hammersmith?”

  “It’s not much of an admission,” Phyllis said. “Everything we’d seen and heard so far this morning pointed to the fact that Hammersmith was killed in the explosion. And the sergeant is right about there not being any shortage of suspects. I can think of several without really trying, and I’m sure you can, too.”

  “Such as everyone who took a punch at him?”

  “That’s where I’d start . . . if his death turns out to be murder. There’s still a better than average chance it was an accident.”

  “Yes, of course,” Eve said, but she didn’t sound convinced of that.

  When they got back to the travel trailer, they found Sam outside stirring a pot of chili as it simmered on the propane-fueled grill he had set up earlier. He bent over it, inhaled the aroma coming from it, and then grinned at Phyllis.

  “You gotta come smell this,” he said.

  “That sounds like the set-up for a joke,” Eve said. “At least he didn’t ask you to pull his finger.”

  “No joke,” Sam said. “Just good chili.”

  Phyllis drew in a good whiff of the chili and nodded. “It does smell good,” she said. “How soon can we have a taste?”