by Kylie Logan
I shook my head. “I was in the bedroom looking around, and someone else walked in. That’s why I was—”
“Under the bed.” Nick actually looked relieved that this particular part of my story made sense. “Who was it?”
I leaned forward so I could look at him hard. “Hello! I was under the bed.”
“Man or woman?”
I closed my eyes and relived the scene. “There weren’t any lights on,” I told him. “But . . .” A couple more moments of thinking and I was sure of myself. “He had a flashlight and when it slid over the rug, I could see a little. It was a man. It had to be. He was wearing work boots and they were big. Not like a woman’s would be.”
“Good. Then that tells us something at least. Did he say anything?”
Again, I took the time to think about it. “There was this music playing from the apartment next door, and it was loud, so even if he did, I probably wouldn’t have heard it. But there was only one person. I’m sure of that. I would have heard someone else. You know, walking around. Or I would have seen their shoes. Or the light of their flashlight. So I’m going to say no. He didn’t say anything. There wasn’t anyone there to talk to.”
“And what did he do?”
“He was looking for something, I guess.”
“You?”
My stomach went cold. “There was no way he could have known I was there.” I said this mostly to make myself feel better, but I didn’t sound nearly as sure as I would have liked to. I glanced up at Nick. “Could he?”
His shrug didn’t exactly fill me with confidence.
I got back to filling him in on what happened at Roberto’s, partly so I could make sense of it and mostly because it kept me from thinking that someone might have followed me. That someone was watching me.
“He walked around the apartment. He came into the bedroom and looked in the closet. When he walked back into the living room, that’s when Roberto’s phone vibrated, and I thought he was going to hear it for sure.” At the time, I’d been so wrapped up in making sure the man in the apartment didn’t hear the phone, I hadn’t given in to the panic or fear. Now, both emotions collided somewhere between my heart and my stomach and I wrapped my arms around myself. “If he found me—”
“He didn’t.” I was so freakin’ scared, I didn’t even realize Nick had come back to the couch and sat next to me. Not until he put a hand on my arm. “You’re here and you’re safe and whoever it was, he either found what he was looking for and left the apartment with it. Or . . .”
He didn’t have to say it. I saw Nick’s gaze slide to Roberto’s phone on the coffee table and I sat up like a shot.
“It was Puff!” Even I couldn’t believe it, but I knew it had to be true. “Roberto had a video of Puff doing some kind of drug buy. And Puff must have known it because he wanted to get his hands on Roberto’s phone. That’s why he was in the apartment. He must have called the phone from out in the living room. He didn’t hear it ring, so he figured it wasn’t there, but if he’d been listening more closely . . .”
Icy fingers touched my insides. “I borrowed Puff’s bike,” I told Nick. “So he knew I was headed somewhere. It would have been easy for him to follow me.”
I didn’t like to think that the twitch at the corners of Nick’s mouth was actually the beginnings of a smile. “You came here on a bicycle?”
This time when I wrapped my arms around myself, it wasn’t as much about being scared as it was about being defensive. “It made more sense than bringing the RV. Besides, when I asked Puff for his bike—”
“I get it. Really.” Nick turned away and I had a funny feeling it was to hide his expression. “So let’s ask ourselves the next logical question,” he said once he was sure he could keep the smirk off his face. “How would Puff know about the video?”
“Well, if he had Roberto’s phone, then I wouldn’t have Roberto’s phone.”
I guess that was the right answer because Nick nodded.
“So Puff didn’t have Roberto’s phone and that means . . .” The truth came down on me like a ton of bricks. “Roberto must have shown Puff the video. Or at least told him about it. Maybe he was blackmailing Puff.”
I thought Nick would tell me I’d been watching too much TV, but he nodded. “It’s certainly compelling evidence. Hard for Puff to deny with there being a video. Unless there was nothing more to that exchange we saw on the video than Puff picking up some Girl Scout cookies.”
“You don’t believe that, and I don’t, either.” I thought back to the video. “All those shelves in that room. It must have been a drug distribution place somewhere.”
“And it looked as if Puff was a regular customer.”
The Puff–drug connection didn’t actually surprise me. I mean . . . Puff was Puff, and Puff was a hippie throwback if ever there was one. Puff as buyer . . . I could see that. Puff as distributor . . . well, maybe that was true, too, considering that Roberto and Puff had talked about loading a van with product and that must mean Puff had rented a van because there were a lot of boxes. Puff as murderer . . .
I didn’t realize I was shaking until it was too late to stop it. “You think . . .” I slid Nick a look. “You think Puff killed Roberto?”
“I can’t think anything until I know all the facts. But if what we think is true—that Puff knew Roberto had this video—than I’d say it’s a very real possibility.”
“But Puff is . . . well, he’s odd. And kind of weird. And a little slimy. But I’ve known him since I was a kid. He parks his trailer next to our RV at every Showdown. He’s not my best buddy or anything, but he is a friend.”
Something told me Nick had heard this sort of pitiful statement before from any number of witnesses and victims. He slipped an arm around my shoulders. “We don’t know it’s true. Not about the drug deal and certainly not about the murder. We don’t know anything for sure yet. And even if it does turn out to be true, you can’t feel bad. We’re not infallible, Maxie. None of us. If Puff is a murderer, there’s no way you could have known it.”
Even though I was on the edge, I refused to cry. I sniffed, and ran my hands over my cheeks. “It’s a terrible thing to think a person is a murderer.”
“Murder is a terrible thing.”
It wasn’t until Nick got up (thus obviously removing his arm from around my shoulders) that I realized how warm and safe I’d felt when he was sitting beside me. Stupid, huh? And a dangerous way to think, especially for a girl with my track record when it comes to guys. Rather than deal, I got my head back in the game. There was only one logical question.
“What next?”
Nick was already slipping a hoodie over his head, so I thought I knew the answer. When he reached for a gun and tucked it in the waistband of his jeans, I was sure.
I popped to my feet. “We’re going to go pick up Puff!”
I guess he thought his look said everything, but when I didn’t respond to the steady stare and the slightly thinned mouth, he clicked his tongue with annoyance. “It’s not my job to go pick up anybody,” he said. “And it’s certainly not your job. What we’re going to do is take Roberto’s phone to the police. And you’re going to tell them why you have it and about the video. Just for the record, you might want to leave out the stuff about how you were in Roberto’s apartment.”
“Except it’s important, isn’t it? I mean, they should know that Puff was at the apartment, too. If it was Puff. They should know that Puff called the phone. If Puff was the one who did that.”
“They’ll make their own inferences.” Nick grabbed his wallet and stuck it in his pocket and yes, it was on the tip of my tongue to ask why it was out in the first place and mention Tiffany and maybe comment on how much she must charge per hour and how I bet it was more than a spice purveyor at a chili cook-off made in an entire day.
I kept my mouth shut. After all, Nick didn’t need the reminder of how I’d spoiled his fun for the night, and besides, he was the one who suggested I keep my mouth
shut about breaking into Roberto’s apartment and really, it was good advice.
He opened the door and let me step out into the hallway ahead of him. “The police station is just on the other side of the fairgrounds,” he said, leading the way. “We can be over there in just a couple minutes.”
As it turned out, Nick’s just a couple minutes comment didn’t exactly come true. But then, I couldn’t hold that against him. No one was a good enough fortune-teller to predict that we’d be driving along and getting close to the fairgrounds when— “Nick.” The leather seats of his car were cushy, and when I sat down, I realized I was bone tired. That didn’t keep me from sitting up and hitting the button that rolled down the window. I pulled in a deep breath of the still New Mexico night air. “Do you smell smoke?”
He didn’t take a whiff. But then, Nick didn’t have to. His gaze was riveted to the windshield and the dull orange glow in the sky above the fairgrounds.
Both our attentions were snapped away from the sickening sight by the sound of a pulsing siren behind us. Nick pulled over to let the fire truck get by, then stepped on the gas and followed it into the fairgrounds.
By this time, every single one of my fellow vendors was out of their campers and following the truck, and Nick had no choice but to park his car in an out-of-the-way spot that wouldn’t interfere with the fire department. We hopped out of the car and fell into step behind the others. Even from so far away, I could feel the heat of the flames. A breeze pushed it past us along with the combined aromas that were usually commonplace at any cook-off: beans at the boil and meat simmering in pots. Spices. The simmering air was filled with the combined scents of chili powders and herbs, boiling together and wrapping around us like a scented cloud.
In spite of the heat, I froze and for the first time realized the crowds were headed to a spot right near where Carter Donnelly’s motorhome was parked.
“The Palace!” My hands flew to my mouth, but I wasn’t sure if that was because I was trying to control a scream or to keep myself from throwing up. Nick was three feet ahead of me and when he turned, I found I couldn’t do either. I was rooted to the spot, my eyes filled with tears. “The Palace. Nick, is it—”
He looked toward the fire. “I can’t tell. Not from here.” He grabbed my hand. “Come on. Let’s see.”
My legs were wood. My heart was in my throat. The closer we got to the fire, the harder it was to push through the crowd, but Nick managed. But then, he’s got a reputation with the Showdown, and the other vendors gathered around were nearly as stunned as I was. They moved aside and let us pass. As we made our way to where the fire trucks were parked and a couple cops stood guard to make sure no one got too close, I saw the shock registered on so many familiar faces and the crackling orange flames reflected in their wide eyes. By the time we got to the front of the crowd, my heart was hitting my ribs so loud, I swear there wasn’t a person in Taos who couldn’t hear it.
“Maxie.” Nick’s voice was gentle and close to my ear. It was that or scream over the sounds of gushing water and staticky two-way radios. “Maxie, it’s okay. You can look.”
I shook myself out of my daze and my knees buckled. “The Palace!” I pointed to the sign and the picture of Jack smiling down on me and I hate to admit it, but it’s true, I cried like a baby. “The Palace is okay. The Palace isn’t burning.”
Nick’s arm went around my waist. I’m pretty sure it was because he knew if he didn’t hold me up, I was going to hit the pavement and then the cops and firefighters there would have even more to worry about, but I wasn’t about to argue. I buried my face against his chest. “The Palace is okay. The Palace is safe. It isn’t on fire. It’s—”
“It’s okay. Really, Maxie. It’s okay.” Nick’s voice was as soft as the touch of his hand when he ran it over my back to calm me down. “Come on.” He slipped his hand away from my shoulders and looped his arm through mine. “Let’s get out of the way.”
“But Nick, just because the Palace is all right . . .” In the state I was in, it was nearly impossible to explain myself and make sense. I hiccuped, and when I drew in a mouthful of smoke, I coughed. “Something else is burning. Somebody else needs our help.”
Nick must have known what I was thinking because he tried to turn me in the other direction, but I would have none of it. At the same time I thought about the RV and my heart skipped a beat. I glanced over and saw that my home-on-wheels was fine, too.
That only left Donnelly’s RV, which looked to be just fine, and—
Maybe we were too close to the flames, because the words melted in my mouth. I dared a step forward, closer to the orange and yellow tongues of fire that licked Puff’s trailer. Already, the metal was buckled and burned to the color of charcoal. Fire thrashed against the insides of the windows.
I wanted to make a run for it and get even closer, but Nick clamped both his hands on my shoulders. “It’s too dangerous,” he said.
“But it’s Puff’s trailer.” As if Nick couldn’t see that. “We need to tell them, Nick. We need to tell the cops that he’s the one who might have killed Roberto. They need to go in there and see if he’s in there. Except maybe he’s not, right? Because if he was at Roberto’s, maybe he’s not home yet. Right?”
It made sense, and I actually might have fooled myself into believing it if I didn’t see Puff’s motorcycle leaning against the far side of the trailer. I guess the firefighters realized it was there at the same time I did because one of them raced over there to wheel the bike away from the flames. At the same time, two other firefighters suited up in spaceman-looking gear hacked down the door and made their way into the inferno. It was a small trailer, and they weren’t in there long. Good thing, because I held my breath the entire time, and by the time they staggered out again, I felt as if my lungs would burst.
The air rushed out in an astounded “Oh!” when I saw that one of the firefighters had a person slung over his shoulder.
“Puff!” I squirmed away from Nick’s hold and darted forward and around the nearest fire truck. I got over to where an ambulance was parked just in time to see the firefighter lay the person on the ground.
Even though the body was charred, I’d recognize the ponytail and what was left of the mustache anywhere. It was Puff.
It looked like I wasn’t going to have to worry about returning his bicycle.
CHAPTER 15
When Nick found me the next morning, I was just finishing sticking a sign to the front of the Palace with masking tape.
“Smoked chili?” He raised his eyebrows as he read the words I’d scribbled on a piece of poster board with a big, fat Sharpie. “You’re kidding me, right?”
“Why not?” I stepped back to admire my sign. It wasn’t exactly a work of art, I mean what with the letters being a little shaky and traveling downhill, but if nothing else, I’ve learned that people who attend chili cook-offs are a forgiving bunch. They’re there for the food. They’re there for the beer. They’re there to share their love of chili with other aficionados and to debate things like if chili really originated in Texas or Mexico or California, or if chili can really be chili if it contains beans. They don’t sweat the small stuff except when it comes to their recipes, then all bets are off. Chili people are serious about their meat, their spices, and yes, sometimes their beans.
They are not serious about things like signs.
“I made up a batch of chili this morning,” I told Nick, “and I might as well try and sell as much of it as I can. There’s no use ignoring the smoke.” As if he hadn’t picked up on it on his own, I took a deep breath to demonstrate. The air throughout the Showdown was still heavy with the smell of last night’s fire and here at the Palace—so close to the scene of the destruction—it carried the scent of overcooked beans along with the metallic, acrid whiff of melted aluminum siding.
I suspected the something else I was smelling—something sweet and coppery tinged with a hint of gas station odor—had more than a little to do with Puff�
�s charred body.
Rather than think about it and get as creeped out as I’d been in the small hours of the morning when the cops and the fire fighters were still busy outside my window, I stuck to what I knew best—chili. Or more specifically, how to sell chili spices.
“It’s the last day of the Showdown,” I reminded Nick, though I was sure he didn’t need it. “I need to sell as much as I can, and that means I need to show people how amazing Jack’s spices taste. They’ll eat my chili. Then they’ll buy my spices. Then I’ll maximize my profits.”
He nodded, but not like he really understood—more like he was just trying to humor me.
“What?” I turned away from my sign so I could look Nick in the eye. “You don’t believe a girl like me knows anything about maximizing profits? You should have asked Tiffany. I bet she knows plenty.”
His smile was cold. “I’m not here to talk about Tiffany.”
I wasn’t, either, and I could have kicked myself for letting the name slip past my lips. What Nick did on his personal time was his business. For that matter, so was what he did during work hours. I barely knew the man, and from what I did know of him . . . well, aside from the killer body, the dazzling (and very rare) smile, and the face that launched a thousand fantasies, I had to admit it, I didn’t like him very much.
“What are you here to talk about?” I asked him, sticking to the subject because it wasn’t as gray an area as all this like/don’t like.
“Murder.”
“You mean Roberto.”
“I mean Puff.”
I sucked in a quick breath and ended up coughing. I’d left a cup of coffee on the front counter of the Palace and went over and got it and finished it off. There was more in the pot, and I offered a cup to Nick and when he said yes, I went inside the Palace, refilled mine, poured one for him, and brought it outside with me. Back at the Taos Inn, I’d noticed he took his coffee black, no sugar, and when he realized I’d been paying attention and that I delivered his coffee just the way he liked it, what was almost a smile of appreciation touched his lips. At least before he took a drink and made a face. Ah, he’d just learned the true meaning of the words strong coffee!