“How about it, Mr. Fletcher?” Culbertson asked. “You can clear the whole thing up right now, and we won’t have to worry about it anymore.”
“Not a word, Sam,” Carolyn repeated.
Sam took a deep breath, then said, “Carolyn, I know you’re just tryin’ to look out for me, but I really don’t see any reason to drag lawyers into this.” He turned to Culbertson. “Sergeant, I’m not stayin’ here in the War Wagon with the ladies. I’ve got a pickup with a camper on it, over in the parkin’ area. After I left Phyllis, Carolyn, and Eve here yesterday evenin’, I walked back over there to turn in. That’s why I went past Hammersmith’s motor home.”
“I’ve been told you didn’t just walk past it,” Culbertson said. “A witness told me you stopped there for five or ten minutes and were messing around with the set-up he was going to use to cook his chili today.”
“Who told you that?” Carolyn demanded.
“I can’t say, ma’am.”
Carolyn waved a hand dismissively. “Then such a claim is worthless. The person’s lying, whoever it is.”
Phyllis was watching Sam’s face, though, and she knew in that moment that Culbertson’s witness wasn’t lying. She could tell by the way Sam grimaced slightly.
He didn’t look away from the Ranger, though. He met Culbertson’s challenging stare squarely and said, “I was there, all right, but you’ve got a couple of things wrong, Sergeant. First off, I had no idea that motor home belonged to Hammersmith. I didn’t know whose it was. And I wasn’t there for any ten minutes, or even five. Three, maybe four at the outside, I’d say. But I really don’t think it was even that long.”
“Then why did you stop?”
“The simplest reason in the world,” Sam said with a shrug. “I was lookin’ at his set-up. It was a dang nice grill. A lot fancier than this one.” He poked a thumb at his own grill with the pot of chili simmering on it. “But I’m willin’ to bet what I’m cookin’ up on this one will taste just as good or better.”
Culbertson shook his head and said, “That’s not my area of expertise. Did you touch Hammersmith’s grill or anything else around there?”
“Not that I recall. If I did, it was just so I could take a better look. I didn’t hurt anything.”
Phyllis said, “You’ve found evidence of sabotage, haven’t you, Sergeant? Otherwise you wouldn’t be asking these particular questions.”
“I’m not at liberty to answer that, Mrs. Newsom.”
Eve said, “But Phyllis is right, or else you’d be able to say so, wouldn’t you, Sergeant?”
Culbertson just set his jaw a little tighter and didn’t say anything for a moment. Then he turned back to Sam and went on, “You were in the crowd around the scene of the explosion this morning. Why didn’t you come forward and tell anyone that you’d been there last night?”
Carolyn snorted and said, “Your crude attempt to railroad him is answer enough for that, I think.”
“Nobody’s bein’ railroaded,” Sam said. “When we walked over there after the blast this mornin’, the idea that it could’ve been the same motor home where I stopped last night didn’t even occur to me. For one thing, it was dark last night. I didn’t pay that much attention to the other RVs around. But there was a light set up to shine on the grill, I guess to keep people from messin’ with it. Like I told you, I took a look for a minute or two and then walked on. Didn’t think any more about it.”
“Not even when you saw the motor home on fire this morning?”
“Things look different in the daylight,” Sam said. “Now, I’ll admit that after we came back over here and I started cookin’ up this batch of chili, I had time to think and I wondered if it was the same motor home. But I knew I hadn’t done anything wrong, so I didn’t really worry about it.”
Culbertson nodded slowly. “Those are good answers, Mr. Fletcher. The sort of answers that an honest man would give.”
“That’s what I’ve always tried to be.”
“You’re going to be here all weekend for the cook-off, right?”
“I plan on makin’ it to the finals,” Sam said. “Heck, I plan on winnin’, but I guess time will tell about that.”
“Time will tell about most things,” Culbertson said. He nodded to Phyllis, Carolyn, and Eve, added, “Ladies,” and then walked off.
“Sam, that man believes you killed Hammersmith!” Carolyn said when the Ranger was out of earshot.
“Now, he didn’t say that—”
“But we could all tell that’s what he was thinking. Isn’t that right, Phyllis?”
She hesitated for a second, then answered, “He did seem pretty suspicious of you, Sam.”
“We believe you’re completely innocent, though, dear,” Eve said.
“Of course we do,” Carolyn said. “Hammersmith may have been a jackass in general, but you didn’t have any particular trouble with him, Sam. Other than maybe wanting to beat him in the cook-off. And nobody would resort to murder to win a chili cook-off!”
Phyllis wanted to believe that was true, but the more time she spent around some of the people in Cactus Bluff this weekend, the less sure she was of that. The idea was far-fetched, without a doubt, but could it be ruled out? She didn’t know.
“Yeah, but they got a witness puttin’ me on the scene of the crime,” Sam said. “Things like that carry a lot of weight with the law. And they can prove I at least met Hammersmith, because plenty of folks must’ve seen us talkin’ to him yesterday evenin’. The way the Rangers’ll look at it, me and Hammersmith might’ve argued about something and caused enough hard feelin’s for me to go after him.”
“That’s insane,” Carolyn insisted.
Insane it might be, Phyllis thought, but more than once she had seen people she knew to be innocent accused of murder and arrested. It seemed unlikely that the Rangers could make more than the thinnest of cases against Sam . . . but even that slight possibility was worrisome.
A new voice broke into her thoughts. Felicity was approaching and had called her name. Josh hurried along beside the leggy reporter.
“I’ve talked to the executive producer,” Felicity said. “He’s willing to hire both of you as special correspondents, Phyllis. All you and Sam have to do is say yes, and you’ll have all the power of Inside Beat behind you.”
Phyllis wasn’t sure how much actual power that would amount to, but it had to be more than what they would wield as civilians. She looked at Sam, who shrugged and said, “It’s up to you.”
She didn’t want that cloud of unjust suspicion hanging over him. That wasn’t right or fair, and she knew the quickest and best way to dispel that cloud would be to uncover the truth.
“All right,” she said. “If it turns out to be murder”—and the way Sergeant Culbertson had been acting when he questioned Sam, how could it be anything but?—”we’ll do what we can to find the killer.”
“And Inside Beat gets the exclusive story?” Felicity asked eagerly.
Phyllis nodded. “Inside Beat gets the story.”
Chapter 12
Later that afternoon, Phyllis and Sam walked over to the scene of the explosion again. The burned debris, all that was left of the motor home, had cooled enough that the investigators didn’t have to wear special suits to poke around in it. Phyllis noted, however, that they still had on thick-soled boots to protect their feet, as well as thick gloves on their hands. Of course, crime scene investigators always wore gloves of some sort to protect any evidence they might find.
People still stood behind the yellow crime scene tape looking on curiously. Phyllis spotted a familiar face and drifted over toward a rawboned man with reddish-brown hair. She nodded to him and said with an air of pleasant but idle curiosity, “That motor home belonged to Joe D. Hammersmith, didn’t it?”
“Yeah,” the man said. “I hear he got burned up in it.” He shrugged. “Wish I could say I was sorry, but I’d be lyin’.”
“He wasn’t a friend of yours?”
“Not hardly. Fella won eight hundred bucks from me in a poker game at last year’s cook-off, and I’m convinced he cheated.”
“That’s terrible.”
“Yeah, I thought so.” The man glanced at her curiously. “You in the chili competition?”
“No, but a friend of mine is. My name’s Phyllis Newsom.”
“Jeff Porter,” the man supplied his name, a natural reaction when someone else has just introduced themselves, as Phyllis knew quite well.
“Have you been competing in the cook-off for long?”
“Five years. Ever since the first one.”
“How have you done?”
“Finished fourth one year.” Porter shrugged. “That’s the highest I’ve ever placed . . . although I think I deserved to win a time or two.”
Phyllis smiled. “I’m sure all the contestants feel that way.”
The grim lines on Porter’s face relaxed a little as he said, “Yeah, I guess. Who’s your friend who’s in the contest?”
“Sam Fletcher. That’s him over there.”
Porter looked at Sam and nodded. “Fella looks familiar. He been in the cook-off before?”
“No, this is his first year.”
“Well, I’d wish him luck, but I plan to win this year, so I won’t. Maybe I’ll actually have a chance, now that Hammersmith’s not gonna be in it.”
“Wouldn’t everyone have a chance anyway?”
Porter hesitated, then said, “There have been rumors that not everything’s on the up and up when it comes to the judging.”
Phyllis managed to look shocked. “Are you saying that the cook-off might be rigged?”
“Nobody knows that for sure. Hammersmith and Hiram Boudreau have always been good buddies, though. And there’s no denying that Hammersmith winning was good publicity for the contest. He was always the loud, flashy sort, quick to mouth off about how good he was. The press likes that, you know. Controversy always gets a lot of attention.”
“That’s true,” Phyllis said, nodding as if that had never occurred to her.
“But now the competition is wide open, for sure. May the best man win.” Porter laughed. “And that’s gonna be me.”
“Best man,” Phyllis repeated. “Don’t any women enter the contest?”
“Well, sure, there are a few. But cooking chili . . . that’s sort of a manly thing, you know.”
Phyllis certainly could have argued that point, but she didn’t really see any point in it at this particular time. She was more interested in what Porter had said about the possibility that Hammersmith won the cook-off every year through nefarious means. Royce Glennister had already accused Hammersmith of cheating. It seemed to be a widespread belief that the man hadn’t won his championships fair and square.
That still didn’t strike Phyllis as a reasonable motive for murder . . . but a motive didn’t have to seem reasonable to an outsider.
Only to a murderer.
Porter nodded to Phyllis and then walked off, evidently having seen enough of the explosion site. Sam joined her a minute later and said, “That’s the fella who punched Hammersmith at the tavern last night, wasn’t it?”
“Yes. His name is Jeff Porter.”
“I figured you might be tryin’ to snooker a little information out of him. That’s why I kept my distance and didn’t interrupt y’all. Did you find out anything?”
“Only that some of the contestants suspect that the cook-off is rigged.”
Sam’s eyebrows rose. “Really? Just because Hammersmith won for three years in a row? Sounds a little like sour grapes to me. Of course, any time somebody dominates a sport for a while, folks start to think they’ve been cheatin’. You heard what Royce said last night about Hammersmith pre-cookin’.”
“Mr. Porter seems confident that his chili is going to win, now that Hammersmith is gone.”
“So you’re thinkin’ Porter rigged that explosion to get rid of him?”
Phyllis shook her head. “It’s too early to think anything like that. But it’s one more thing to consider, too.”
◄♦►
The rest of the afternoon passed uneventfully, if you didn’t count tasting the chili Sam had cooked. It was delicious, just as Phyllis expected. Carolyn praised the results, too, but then said, “We’re going to get awfully tired of eating chili before this weekend is over, aren’t we?”
“Not just the weekend,” Sam replied with a smile. “I’m gonna freeze all the leftovers. We’ll be havin’ chili casseroles and Frito pie and chili on our hot dogs for a good long spell.”
“I can’t wait,” Carolyn said dryly. “Although if not for all those uses for leftover chili, I wouldn’t have recipes to enter in the other contests, would I?”
They made supper on the chili and the leftover cornbread and beans from lunch, then got ready to attend the opening ceremonies and concert that evening. Sam returned to his pickup and camper to put on a nicer shirt, while Phyllis, Carolyn, and Eve dressed up more, too. Phyllis matched a black shell with some white slacks and slipped on some black and white strappy sandals. Carolyn changed into a blue skirt with a matching top. She put on some silver low-healed shoes and added a chunky silver necklace. Eve embraced color. She put on a Hawaiian print fitted dress and completed it with a short-sleeved fitted jacket. As the three women left the travel trailer, Felicity, Josh, and Nick walked up, with Nick carrying his camera as usual. Felicity was on at least her third outfit of the day, a Western shirt and skirt that Dale Evans might have worn, except that the skirt was a lot shorter than anything the Queen of the Cowgirls would have considered decent.
“I thought we’d all go to the opening ceremonies together,” Felicity said. “Where’s Sam?”
“He should be back any minute,” Phyllis said.
“You haven’t solved the murder yet, have you?”
“What? No.”
“Be sure to call me as soon as you do, if we’re not around already. Remember, you’re working for Inside Beat now.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Phyllis said. She was starting to have a few regrets about agreeing to Felicity’s suggestion.
A few more minutes went by, and Sam didn’t show up. Phyllis wasn’t actually worried about him, but she did wonder where he was. Felicity was impatient to get to the big tent, so after a little longer, Phyllis said, “Why don’t all of you go ahead? I’ll check at Sam’s pickup and make sure there’s nothing wrong, then we’ll meet you there.”
“I can come with you,” Carolyn said. “I’m not sure you should be wandering around this place by yourself, Phyllis.”
“I’ll be perfectly fine,” Phyllis insisted. “You and Eve go on with Felicity and Josh and Nick.”
“Well, if you’re sure . . .”
“I am,” Phyllis said.
The others headed toward the big tent, Carolyn still with some visible reluctance, while Phyllis went the other way toward the parking area where she hoped to find Sam. He might have had trouble deciding what to wear, she mused, although that wasn’t like him. He never worried much about such things.
She was passing one of the travel trailers when she heard angry voices coming from inside. Something was familiar about one of them. A man and woman were arguing, and Phyllis thought the man’s voice belonged to Kurt Middleton.
That was confirmed when she heard him say, “Damn it, Lindy, I knew you were playing around with Hammersmith again!”
“That’s not true,” Middleton’s wife replied. She was trying to sound indignant, Phyllis thought as she slowed, but she didn’t quite pull it off. There was a hint of defensiveness in her tone. Phyllis had no idea if Lindy Middleton had been having an affair with Hammersmith, but she wasn’t exactly being honest with her husband, either, Phyllis sensed.
She straightened her back and moved on at a quicker pace. She hadn’t yet been reduced to eavesdropping on wrangling couples, and since there didn’t seem to be any violence going on other than verbal, she wasn’t going to lurk around outside the Middl
etons’ trailer.
She wondered, however, what had happened to make Kurt Middleton even more convinced that he was right about his wife and Joe D. Hammersmith. Middleton had sounded like he’d discovered something he considered to be proof . . .
Those thoughts disappeared from her brain as she spotted the figures of two tall men up ahead. Sam was one of them, Ranger Sergeant Martin Culbertson the other. Phyllis’s heart started to beat a little faster. But Sam wasn’t in handcuffs, she noted, and the two men didn’t seem to be upset, so she cautioned herself not to overreact.
When they saw her coming, they stopped talking to each other and waited for her. Phyllis came up to them, managed to smile, and said, “I wondered what was keeping you, Sam. Now I see it was who, not what.”
“Oh, I’m not keeping him,” Culbertson said. “Mr. Fletcher’s not in custody. We were just talking.”
“That’s right,” Sam said.
“New developments on the case?” Phyllis asked.
Culbertson smiled and said, “I’m afraid I can’t discuss that.”
“But you can with Sam?”
“I never said that’s what we were talking about.”
“The sergeant was askin’ me about my chili recipe,” Sam said. “I think he’s givin’ some thought to enterin’ the cook-off next year.”
Phyllis said, “Is that so?”
“I’ve been known to cook up a decent pot of red,” Culbertson said. “Are you folks headed to the opening ceremonies and the concert?”
“That’s right.”
“I believe I’ll head that way myself. Mind if I walk along with you?”
Phyllis did mind. She wanted to ask Sam what was going on, because she didn’t believe for a second that they had been discussing chili recipes. If Culbertson accompanied them, she couldn’t find out what the real scoop was.
On the other hand, she couldn’t see any way to refuse what he had phrased as a friendly request without seeming hostile or suspicious, so she said, “That’s fine.”
They started toward the big tent with Sam on one side of her and Culbertson on the other. Phyllis was glad that Eve wasn’t here. If her friend had seen that, she would have been bound to make some sort of comment.
The Great Chili Kill-Off Page 9