She didn’t want Felicity and Josh tagging along, though, but as Felicity asked, “What are you going to do about this, Mrs. Newsom?”, she knew it might be difficult to shake them.
“Nothing right now,” Phyllis answered. “Between the Rangers and the Federal agents, I’m not sure there’s anything I can do. They’ll have the investigation locked up tight.”
“What sort of attitude is that?” Felicity demanded. “You’ve never hesitated to get right in there and mix it up with the law on those other cases.”
“That’s caused problems more than once, too,” Phyllis pointed out.
“Don’t tell me you’re scared. You’ve never backed down from going after a killer before. Anyway . . . you’re working for Inside Beat, remember?”
“I don’t recall us ever negotiatin’ a salary,” Sam said. “I sort of had the feelin’ we were unpaid interns, like ol’ Josh here used to be.”
“It was valuable experience,” Josh said. “I wouldn’t be where I am today without it.”
Carolyn looked like she wanted to say something, Phyllis noticed, probably about how Josh’s current position as Felicity’s “producer” wasn’t really that enviable, but she held it in.
“Well, if you’re not going to get to the bottom of this, I may have to,” Felicity said. “I’ll go talk to those Rangers. I’m sure I can get something out of them.”
Phyllis suspected that Felicity’s charms wouldn’t be worth much against Sergeant Culbertson’s discretion and devotion to duty, but she didn’t say anything. Briefly, she considered suggesting that the reporter talk to Constable Chuck Snyder instead, since Chuck seemed to be vulnerable to attractive young women, but she wasn’t one to stir up unnecessary trouble.
“If I do think of anything that might be helpful, I’ll let you know,” she promised.
“All right,” Felicity said with grudging acceptance. “You’ve got Josh’s number?”
“Yes, I do.”
“All right.” Felicity gestured to Josh. “Come on, let’s find those Rangers.”
As the two of them walked off, Sam said quietly, “She’s not gonna have any luck pryin’ anything out of those fellas. Might as well butt up against a stone wall.”
“She’s determined, though.” Phyllis smiled. “And it’ll keep her busy.”
“So that she won’t get in your hair while you’re trying to find the truth,” Carolyn said. “I knew what you were doing.”
Phyllis just shrugged a little. “I thought I might walk around and ask some questions here and there.”
Sam leaned forward in his chair and said, “Dang it, you shouldn’t be doin’ that without me along. If you start closin’ in on whoever killed Hammersmith, it could get dangerous. And I have to stay here and watch my chili!”
“I think I’m a long way from closing in on anybody,” Phyllis said. “Anyway, it’s broad daylight, and there are hundreds of people around. Nobody’s going to try anything in a situation like that.”
“Not unless they’re desperate enough.”
“Why don’t I go with Phyllis?” Eve suggested. “I think we’d make a pretty formidable team. “Carolyn has to stay here to mess with her recipes, and she can make sure Sam doesn’t need anything.”
Carolyn frowned. Phyllis knew she didn’t care for the way Eve had phrased that about “messing with her recipes”, but Carolyn must have decided it wasn’t worth arguing about because she didn’t say anything—other than a faint “Hmmph.”
“That sounds like a good idea,” Phyllis agreed. “Let me finish my coffee and put on some better shoes for walking around.”
“And I’ll go get ready,” Eve said. “I want to look my best, you know. There’s no telling who we’ll be talking to.”
In other words, she wanted to impress any eligible bachelors they came across, Phyllis thought. Eve was definitely back to her old self, although Phyllis knew some of that was just an act, a way of protecting herself from brooding about her terrible track record with men.
Or as Eve might put it . . . fifth time’s the charm.
◄♦►
The encampment seemed slightly subdued this morning, even though all the chili cooks were up and about and had their pots of red simmering. The concert, the drinking and dancing and celebrating, and the late hours of the previous night all combined to take a toll. Hangovers were bound to be running rampant this morning, Phyllis thought as she and Eve strolled along, and anyone who could sleep in probably was doing so.
They passed Kurt Middleton’s motor home and found the man bending over a pot of chili, studying it as intently as if he could see whether it was good or not. Dark beard stubble covered his lean jaws, and his eyes were sunken more than usual in their sockets. They were a little bloodshot, too, Phyllis noticed.
“Good morning, Mr. Middleton,” she said as she and Eve paused.
He straightened up from his scrutiny of the chili in the pot. “Do I know you?” he asked with a frown.
“I don’t think we’ve been introduced. My name is Phyllis Newsom. This is my friend Eve Turner.”
Middleton just grunted, clearly not impressed. “You’re not in the contest, are you?” His tone implied that anyone who wasn’t cooking chili today wasn’t worth talking to.
“No, but my friend is. Sam Fletcher.” Phyllis pointed. “Back over there.”
“Yeah, I’ve seen him around.” Middleton’s frown deepened. “You were here the other night when I tangled with Hammersmith.”
“That’s right.”
“He had it coming, you know,” Middleton said. “They tell you not to speak ill of the dead, but sometimes that’s what they deserve. Hammersmith broke up more than one marriage. He did his best to break up mine . . . and then he would have dumped Lindy and laughed about it. I don’t know why she can’t see that.”
“So you’re not upset about him being killed in that explosion?”
“I didn’t say that,” Middleton replied quickly. “There’s talk that he was murdered, that somebody deliberately caused that blast. Let’s be honest, I don’t care all that much about Hammersmith, but with an explosion like that, somebody else could have been hurt.”
Phyllis nodded solemnly and said, “I’ve thought the same thing.”
Middleton rubbed at his nose with the back of his hand. “Propane’s nothing to mess with if you don’t know what you’re doing. All it takes is a little leak, you know? The stuff’s heavier than air, so if it’s leaking it’ll settle down on the ground, almost like a pool of water, you know. Then all it takes is a spark to set it off. I’ve seen grills blow up more than once because of something like that. Saw a guy killed once because of it, too.”
“You mean it was a big explosion like the one that killed Mr. Hammersmith?”
“Well, actually, no, it wasn’t that big. But it blew a meat fork right into a guy’s throat. Speared him just like gigging a frog.” Middleton shook his head. “Hell of a thing.”
Eve shuddered a little and said, “How horrible.”
“Yeah, it was. Hammersmith was lucky in a way. At least he went quick.”
Phyllis didn’t think Hammersmith would have regarded that as lucky. Either way, he wound up dead.
Nobody could count on a meat fork to fly in just the right direction to spear the intended victim. So the blast had to be big enough to kill Hammersmith by itself, she thought. She frowned slightly as she looked at Kurt Middleton’s cooking set-up.
“You’re several yards away from your motor home,” she said. Now that she thought about it, Sam had placed his grill so that there was some distance between it and the War Wagon.
“Safety precaution. I’m around on the other side from where the ASME tank is located, too.”
Eve said, “The what?”
“The propane tank that’s built into the frame of the motor home. The letters stand for American Society of Mechanical Engineers.” Middleton’s tone was a little scornful as he added, “You’re not an experienced RVer, are you?”<
br />
“This is the first time I’ve ever stayed in one,” Eve admitted.
Middleton lost some of his truculent attitude. Like most men, he enjoyed explaining things. He pointed and said, “The tank’s around on the other side. It holds 100 pounds of propane, and I’ll use just about all of it this weekend.”
Phyllis said, “But you set up your grill on this side so in case there’s a fire or something, it won’t set off the gas in the tank attached to the motor home.”
“You got it, lady. It’s just common sense.”
“Yes, I can see that,” Phyllis said, nodding. “Thank you, Mr. Middleton. I’d wish you luck in the contest, but since my friend is competing . . .”
“That’s all right. I don’t need luck. All I need is the best chili, and I’ve got that.”
As Phyllis and Eve walked on, Phyllis recalled the things Jeff Porter had said to her the night before. Porter had been supremely confident that his chili was going to win the cook-off, too. Maybe that confidence, bordering on arrogance, was a requirement for such contests. If that was the case, Sam might not stand a chance, since he didn’t have an arrogant bone in his body.
“That man thought you were just chatting with him,” Eve said, “but those questions about the propane tank, there was a reason for those, wasn’t there?”
“Something’s not right about the set-up,” Phyllis said. “The theory was that something caused Hammersmith’s grill to explode, which set off the propane tank on his motor home, which made the gasoline tank explode as well. But Hammersmith had been entering these chili cook-offs for years. Would he have set up his grill in a place where that could happen?”
“I’m sure I don’t know. And since it’s all burned up, how would you ever find out?”
“I can think of someone who might know,” Phyllis replied, remembering how Sam had admitted to looking at Joe D. Hammersmith’s grill two nights earlier. She would have to talk to him later and find out just how many details he recalled.
“If it wasn’t the grill that caused the explosion, what do you believe did?”
Phyllis shook her head and said, “I don’t know enough at this point to have any sort of theory. But something’s been bothering me, and I just can’t figure out what it is.”
“You’ll figure it out. You always—”
Eve stopped short and let out a surprised little yelp. Someone had come up silently behind her and grabbed her.
Chapter 16
“Good mornin’, darlin’,” Hiram Boudreau said. “Is it too early for some more dancin’?”
Eve laughed and said, “Let go of me, you crazy man. Didn’t you get enough dancing last night?”
“How could any man ever get enough of cavortin’ around with a pretty girl in his arms?” Boudreau asked as a grin stretched across his bearded face. He let go of Eve and stepped back. “But say, where are you ladies headed on this fine, beautiful mornin’?”
“No place in particular,” Phyllis said. “We’re just taking a walk.”
“I’ll invite myself along, then.” Boudreau chuckled. “It’s my town, after all.”
“I’ve been wondering about that. How in the world did you wind up owning an entire town?”
Phyllis already knew some of the answer to that, but she wanted to find out what Boudreau would say.
“Oh, I reckon it was just a whim. I’ve always been a mite on the impulsive side. Used to be an oil wildcatter, you know, and in that game, you learn to follow your hunches.”
Eve said, “You were an oilman?”
“Yes’m, I sure was, for a whole heap of years. Tramped all over every square foot of West Texas, so I’d been in these parts before and remembered that I liked it here. After I retired, it was natural to start thinkin’ about movin’ here. When I drove in and saw that practically every piece of property in town was for sale, that gave me the idea of buyin’ the whole town. The folks who weren’t already tryin’ to sell their places jumped at my offers. So I wound up bein’—”
“The Grand High Poobah of Cactus Bluff,” Phyllis finished for him, which brought a bray of laughter from Boudreau.
“Yes, ma’am, that’s exactly what I am,” he said.
“What made you think of having a chili cook-off?” Eve asked.
“Well, my first thought was to turn this place into a retirement and resort community. Even though I’d sold my oil company, when I got down here I found that I wasn’t ready to just put my feet up and do nothin’ all day. The real estate deals didn’t go as well as I’d hoped, so I started lookin’ around for something else to do. I saw how successful that other chili contest had been and thought I might like to do somethin’ like that. I’ve always liked chili.” Boudreau chuckled. “I started off the very first year callin’ it the world’s biggest and best chili cook-off. Figured it would be a good idea to stake my claim right off the bat.”
Phyllis said, “Even though it wasn’t the biggest and best.”
“Yet,” Boudreau said. “But if you say somethin’ long enough and loud enough, folks start to believe it, and then it comes true.” He waved his skinny arms to take in their surroundings as they reached the main road at the edge of downtown. “You can see for yourself how well that worked. This weekend, Cactus Bluff is the center of the chili world.”
“You should certainly be proud,” Eve said.
“Oh, I am, darlin’, I am. This town and this contest, they’re my babies.” He took Eve’s hand. “You sure I can’t interest you in another dance?”
“But there’s no music.”
Boudreau put his hand on his chest and said, “I got the music right here in my heart.”
Eve laughed and shook her head. “Go on with you. Maybe tonight. There’ll be more performances then, won’t there?”
“Yeah, folks’ll be jammin’ all over the camp. I’ll look you up.”
“It’s a date,” Eve agreed.
Boudreau smiled, waved, and shuffled off along the street, greeting pedestrians, shaking hands, slapping backs, and laughing.
“He’s quite the colorful character, isn’t he?” Eve said.
“He certainly is,” Phyllis said. “Like a cross between Gabby Hayes and J.R. Ewing.”
“And a former oilman, to boot. How much money do you think he made from selling his company?”
Phyllis had an idea about that from the research she had done, but she just shook her head and said, “I don’t know.” There was no point in egging Eve on by telling her that Boudreau had collected at least five million dollars from the sale of A/B Exploration. Maybe more than that, depending on what sort of partnership agreement he’d had with Harlan Anders.
Eve would never be happy living in an isolated place like Cactus Bluff, though, Phyllis knew, so it was better if she didn’t even start thinking about marriage where Hiram Boudreau was concerned.
Up ahead, a blond woman was looking at the Indian jewelry displayed at one of the stands set up for the weekend. She glanced around at Phyllis and Eve, smiled, and Phyllis recognized her as Julie Glennister.
“Good morning,” Phyllis said. “I suppose your husband is hard at work cooking his chili right now.”
Julie laughed and said, “Of course. Why else would we drive hundreds of miles out here in the middle of nowhere, all the way from Granbury? What could be more important than chili?”
Despite the laugh and the light tone of the woman’s words, Phyllis heard a trace of resentment in Julie’s response. She said, “It is a long way.”
“It’s all right, I suppose. Royce works hard, and cooking chili is really his only hobby. You wouldn’t think it would be so time-consuming, though. And expensive. He has to have the newest, fanciest grill every year.”
“Well, that probably helps in the contest,” Phyllis said.
“You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But he still couldn’t manage to beat Joe D.”
Phyllis said, “But Mr. Hammersmith cheated in the contest and pre-cooked his meat. At least that’s what you
r husband said the other night.”
“Hmmph. Royce always claimed that, but I think he was just trying to make himself feel better because Joe D. always came out ahead of him. It’s easier to believe the other fellow is cheating than it is to accept that you’re just not good enough.” Julie paused, then added hastily, “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. Royce is a fine man.”
“I’m sure he is.”
“Anyway, with what he spends on this contest, I don’t mind buying myself a few pretty things while we’re here each year.” Julie picked up the turquoise and silver bracelet she’d been looking at. “Like this.”
Eve said, “It’s beautiful.”
Julie slipped the bracelet onto her wrist and nodded. “And it’s going to be mine. Royce may not ever notice it, but I will.”
Phyllis nodded. She and Eve moved on down the street while Julie went to pay for the bracelet.
“That woman is primed and ready to cheat on her husband,” Eve commented quietly. “I recognize the signs.”
Phyllis said, “I thought the same thing. There’s no reason to think she actually would . . .”
“But the thought has crossed her mind. You know it has. You could tell she resents the time and money her husband spends on this contest, and she doesn’t like being dragged out here every year. And she thinks that after going to that much trouble, the least he could do is win.”
“Instead he always lost to Hammersmith.”
“Did you hear how she called him Joe D.?” Eve asked. “She didn’t sound like she hated him, the way her husband does.”
“Just because she didn’t hate him doesn’t mean she was involved with him.”
“You’re the detective, dear,” Eve said. “Aren’t you supposed to be suspicious of everybody?”
That was the problem. All the other cook-off contestants Phyllis had talked to since arriving in Cactus Bluff had had valid reasons to dislike Joe D. Hammersmith. There were scores of other contestants she hadn’t talked to. Did all of them have motives for murder as well? How could she ever sort through them? That was a job for the authorities, but with the Rangers concentrating on Sam because of that fingerprint, would they take the time and trouble to canvass everyone else in town? Phyllis thought that was pretty unlikely, since they already had a piece of physical evidence.
The Great Chili Kill-Off Page 12