Chili Con Carnage

Never So Glad to Be Dressed as a Giant Red Chili Pepper . . .

“Where’s that bitch, Maxie Pierce?”

Call me paranoid. When I heard the shriek that echoed up and down the midway, I froze mid–dance step, and not just because whoever was screaming sounded as mad as a stuck pig and spit out my name like a mouthful of vinegar. From behind the red mesh insert at the front of the chili costume, I watched—half curious, half terrified—as a woman with wild dark hair and wilder eyes marched into the center of the wide walkway that separated the vendor booths on one side of the fairgrounds from the other. She was dressed in cutoff shorts that did nothing for her skinny legs, and a tank top that showed off the tattoo of a bright red firecracker on her upper right arm.

Fists on bony hips, she glanced around. “I’m looking for Maxie.”

As fate would have it, the folks who traveled the Showdown circuit were busy with setup, and in spite of the fact that she sounded as demanding as she did pissed, they didn’t exactly come running. Then again, chili cook-off people have a whole lot in common with carnies (minus the creepiness and the missing teeth). They mind their own business, keep their noses (mostly) out of trouble, and when it’s smart, they keep their mouths shut, too.

Her eyes spewing fire, the woman looked around, and when nobody showed up, her gaze landed on the only other living person in sight.

Me.

Berkley Prime Crime titles by Kylie Logan

Button Box Mysteries

BUTTON HOLED

HOT BUTTON

PANIC BUTTON

League of Literary Ladies Mysteries

MAYHEM AT THE ORIENT EXPRESS

Chili Cook-off Mysteries

CHILI CON CARNAGE

THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

Published by the Penguin Group

Penguin Group (USA)

375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

USA | Canada | UK | Ireland | Australia | New Zealand | India | South Africa | China Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England For more information about the Penguin Group, visit penguin.com.

CHILI CON CARNAGE

A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the author Copyright © 2013 by Connie Laux.

Excerpt from
A Tale of Two Biddies
by Kylie Logan copyright © 2013 by Connie Laux.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

Berkley Prime Crime Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group.

BERKLEY
®
PRIME CRIME and the PRIME CRIME logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA).

For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Group (USA),

375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / October 2013

Cover illustration by Miles Hyman.

Cover design by Diana Kolsky.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

PUBLISHER’S NOTE: The recipes contained in this book are to be followed exactly as written. The publisher is not responsible for your specific health or allergy needs that may require medical supervision. The publisher is not responsible for any adverse reactions to the recipes contained in this book.

No one makes better chili than my husband, David Laux. Of course this book is dedicated to him!
Thanks for cookin’!

Acknowledgments

It’s funny how books spring to life. Sometimes, it’s a bit of conversation an author hears that leads her to creating a story. Other times, it might be something she sees in the newspaper or on TV. In the case of the Chili Cook-off Mysteries, the series sprang to life thanks to a conversation I had with my agent, Gail Fortune.

“My husband just won a chili cook-off,” I told her one day when we were chatting.

And the rest is history.

In addition to giving me a new cast of characters to play with, the Chili Cook-off Mysteries give me a chance in indulge in all things chili, from the spices to the peppers to the age-old argument about if “real” chili should include beans or not.

My special thanks to Gail for taking that bit of our conversation, running with it, and suggesting this series. As always, the folks at Berkley Prime Crime have been great. Thanks to Tom Colgan and Amanda Ng for all their help. And of course, to my husband, David, who truly is the world’s best chili cook. The recipe included in the book is his. When most folks hear “pickles” and “chili” in the same sentence, they automatically turn up their noses, but I’ll tell you what . . . give it a try. It’s surprisingly delicious!

“Who died and left you boss?”

It was one of those what-do-you-call-its, a rhetorical question, so really, Sylvia shouldn’t have given me that know-it-all look of hers. Eyes scrunched, head tilted slightly forward, she looked me up and down, and her top lip curled when she said, “Since when does the giant chili pepper get to ask the questions?”

Okay, so I hadn’t picked the best of all possible moments to confront her, I mean, what with her wearing crisp khakis and a jalapeño-colored polo shirt with the Texas Jack logo over her heart and me in a giant red chili pepper costume that covered my head and body all the way down past my hips.

She looked neat and professional—as always—with her honey-colored hair pulled back in a ponytail, and far cooler than I was feeling with the sun of a New Mexico September beating down on me. But hey, Sylvia might be a neatnik and taller than me by a head, but no way was she ever going to look as good as I do in fishnet stockings and stilettos.

Just so she wouldn’t forget it, I shuffled said stilettos against the blacktop of the parking lot behind where we’d set up Texas Jack Pierce’s Hot-Cha Chili Seasoning Palace. It was the day before the opening of the Taos Chili Showdown and though technically I didn’t need the practice, I did need an excuse not to have to help Sylvia stick labels on spice jars. Rehearsing the routine I’d use to attract the crowds that would begin arriving the next morning was as good an excuse as any. While I was showing off my dancing talents (not as artistic as they were enthusiastic), I gave Sylvia the I-have-better-legs-than-you grin. Too bad she couldn’t see it, what with my face being covered and all.

“The Chili Chick gets to ask the questions,” I reminded her, stopping to catch my breath, “because the Chili Chick is equal partners with you in this little venture. Which means the Chili Chick has equal say. Which means my original question stands. Who died and left you boss?”

Sylvia rolled those sky-blue eyes of hers like she always does when I get the best of her and she refuses to admit it. Which is all the time. “All I did was change the prices on a couple of our most popular products,” she said. “All-Purpose Chili Cha-Cha, Global Warming, and—”

“Thermal Conversion. Yeah, I know. You changed the prices. And I didn’t know anything about it until I showed up this morning and started setting up the stand. You have an awful short memory, Sylvia. When we took over, we agreed—”

“To make all decisions jointly. Yes, I remember.” I guess that didn’t mean she had to like it, because those perfectly bowed lips of hers puckered. “I decided to make the change last night because I was going through the books and realized we were missing out on a gold mine. Those are our biggest-selling items, and by jacking the price up just a tad, we can increase our profit margin by—”

Since she couldn’t see me yawn, I made enough noise to let her know what was going on inside my Chili Chick costume.

“See?” She tossed her head. “I knew you wouldn’t be interested. Which is exactly why I didn’t bother to tell you. Besides, you weren’t even here last night.” Her lips thinned. “You knew there were seasonings to mix last night, Maxie. Tomorrow’s the first day of the cook-off and we always do our best business in the first few hours. But instead of helping, you ran off. With that loser, Roberto, right? You left me high and dry and I had to stay up well past midnight. I had to do everything. All by myself.”

She was right. I’d bailed. And truth be told, Roberto hadn’t been worth it. Not that he wasn’t cute. And marginally sexy. It’s just that any guy who thinks drinking überquantities of tequila is the way to a girl’s heart isn’t exactly my type.

I was actually all set to apologize until Sylvia added a little singsong, “And you didn’t come in until what was it, three this morning?”

Apology forgotten, I propped my fists on my hips. Well, not exactly on my hips since my hips were camouflaged by the red chili. “So in addition to being the one who makes the decisions and doesn’t tell me, now you’re my mother?”

Oh, that stung her. Just like I hoped it would. I knew it for sure because Sylvia’s slim shoulders shot back a fraction of an inch and her chin came up. The word
mother
always does that to Sylvia. But then, talking about mothers makes her think of my mother. And thinking about my mother makes her think about how my mother stole her father from her mother.

Got that?

Sylvia and I, see, are half sisters. We share the same father, the aforementioned Texas Jack Pierce, and we have mothers who are as different as . . . well, as Sylvia and I are.

“Not that it’s any of your business,” I reminded her, “but I happened to have a date last night.”

“With Roberto.” No one could do a tongue click quite like Sylvia. But then, she had a lot of practice. “I told you when he signed on, that roadie’s up to no good. Honestly, I thought you’d be smarter about men. I mean, after All You’ve Been Through.”

The capital letters are my addition, though I swear, if it was humanly possible to speak in upper case, Sylvia would have mastered the skill by now. Like she didn’t like talk of mothers in general and mine in particular, I was not exactly thrilled when she dropped the whole All You’ve Been Through thing.

Which is, of course, exactly why she mentioned it.

“We were talking about you raising prices,” I said, and since my teeth were clenched, I hoped she could hear me from behind the red mesh that covered my face so I could see out of the chili and customers couldn’t easily see in. “We weren’t talking about Edik and what happened back in Chicago.”

“No, but maybe we should.”

Uh-oh. There is was. That sympathetic look. The tender, understanding voice. Before I could back away, Sylvia grabbed my hand and dragged me closer. She liked to do this when she was playing big sister. Well, big half sister. I liked to resist because, let’s face it, she didn’t really care. All Sylvia wanted to do was remind me what a mess I’d made of my life back in Chicago. That, and the fact that she’d never in a million years be stupid enough to make the same mistakes I had.

“You’ve got to work through this problem of yours, Maxie,” she insisted, and then before I could point out the obvious fact that there was no problem and, therefore, no chance of working through it, she went right on. “You keep getting involved with guys who are all wrong for you. Obviously Edik—”

“Was hotter than a habanero and great in bed.” I knew she’d get all pinch-faced on me when I said this.

Which is exactly why I did.

Sylvia is an attractive woman. When she’s not as puckered as a prune. “He also stole how much from you? Fifty thousand dollars? And left your credit rating a shambles. Honestly, Maxie, if you can’t see that Roberto’s going to do the same thing—”

“He’s not. Because I’m not going to give him a chance.” This much was true. Rather than admit I’d already decided I was never going out with Roberto again, I added, “Roberto’s good for a few laughs. Nothing else.”

“Like the nothing else you were doing until three o’clock this morning?”

“Like I said, a few laughs.” It was easier than explaining about the tequila and the bar and the fight and the cops. It was also easier than even trying to begin to explain what I knew in my heart: With Edik, I’d learned my lesson. Oh yeah, he was firecracker hot, and as drop-dead delicious as any rock band lead guitarist in the western hemisphere. But Edik was a creep who thought of Edik first, last, and always. I’d caught on a little too late, but believe me, I wasn’t going to let it happen again. Because there was no way, no how, I was ever going to let myself fall in love again. Not madly, completely and totally in love. Not like I’d been with Edik.

“Listen . . .” If I wasn’t wearing the Chili Chick costume, I would have scraped a hand through my dark, spiky hair. The way it was, all I could do was pat the side of the giant chili pepper. Something told me it didn’t have the same effect, and no way did it express the sort of frustration I always felt when Sylvia pretended that she was the loving big sister (okay, half sister) and I needed her guidance to find my way through the minefield that is my love life. “I can take care of myself,” I reminded her.

Her smile was so brittle, I waited to hear the crack. “Yes, and you proved that back in Chicago, didn’t you?”

I bit the inside of my mouth. It was that or the long line of vendors around us who were getting their booths ready for the next day’s opening festivities would hear a string of profanity hotter than any chili mix in the great state of New Mexico.

“What happened in Chicago was a mistake,” I said.

“You admit it?”

“Of course I admit it.” My arms stuck out the side of the costume (the better to wave folks toward Texas Jack’s stand), and I threw my hands in the air. “What, you want me to say it wasn’t? That I liked being taken to the cleaners by the man I loved?”

Sylvia’s golden eyebrows dipped over her eyes. “Did you? Love him?” There was that annoying note of compassion again. Like Sylvia might actually know what it’s like to get her heart broken. Thirty-two years old and honest, I was pretty sure she was still a virgin. It was the only thing that could possibly explain how tightly wound she was. “I’m sorry, Maxie. I never thought—”

“Whatever.” The perfect all-purpose response, and delivered at the right moment, too. The PA system that had been set up in the parking lot of the fairgrounds hosting the cook-off buzzed and crackled, and Bob Tumbleweed Ballew, our organizer and emcee, announced that there would be a vendor meeting that evening precisely at six o’clock. Since there was a vendor meeting precisely at six o’clock the night before every Showdown, it pretty much went without saying, but hey, there wasn’t one of us among the couple dozen vendors following the chili circuit who would ever mention it. Tumbleweed liked making announcements and listening to him was way better than listening to Sylvia. I guess she knew it. She huffed into the Palace.

I decide to practice a little more.

Arms waving, hands beckoning, feet moving to the only routine I remembered from a long-ago tap class that thankfully proved to my mother once and for all that I was not made for the stage, I dance-stepped my way to the front of our booth just the way I would do the next day when the Showdown opened.

“Lookin’ good, Chili Chick!” This from Tumbleweed, who came out of the trailer where he and his wife, Ruth Ann, handled all the admin work that went into the Showdown. He stopped long enough to beam a smile at me. “Just you wait until tomorrow. There’s not a cowboy in New Mexico who will be able to resist you, sweetheart!”

I didn’t take offense. After all, Tumbleweed was at least seventy and I’d known him since back when I was a kid and I spent my summers traveling the chili circuit with Jack (and, unfortunately, with Sylvia, too). In fact, Tumbleweed was Jack’s best friend, the one who’d called me when—

Even inside the clumsy costume and standing in the blazing sun, I shivered.

“Hey, not losing heart, are you?” Like I said, Tumbleweed and I had been friends a long time; he knew exactly what I was thinking. He pressed my hand. “We’re going to find him, honey.”

“I know.” I did. Deep down in my heart I knew we were going to locate Jack, who’d been missing for nearly six weeks now. Tell that to the lump of emotion that blocked my throat and made it impossible for me to swallow. “But no one’s seen him, Tumbleweed, and—”

He chuckled and waved away my worries as if they were nothing more annoying than the brown ambush bug that flew out of the flowering shrubs near where we were standing and did a flyby between us. “I know Texas Jack and you know Texas Jack.” He grinned and winked. “We both know he’s got an eye for the ladies and a taste for adventure. He’ll be back, honey. And when he is, he’s gonna be as happy as a hornet in honey to see what you two girls have done to keep the business going.” Tumbleweed slid a look over to the stand where Sylvia was putting the last-minute touches on the catering trailer we hauled around behind our RV.

Not that there was a whole lot to do. The Palace was only seven by fourteen—smaller than a lot of the trailers the other vendors and chili cook-off contestants used. It had a wide concession window at one end and inside, a stove, fridge, worktable, and shelves where we displayed our wares. Jack being Jack, he didn’t allow the trailer’s small size to stymie business. The Palace was painted chili pepper red and the sign above it—the one that featured Jack’s smiling face—was impossible-to-miss yellow with alligator-green lettering. The Palace was flashy. Some people said it was trashy. I thought it was beautiful, and I loved it like no other thing on Earth.

It looked like mind reading went both ways, because as I watched Tumbleweed look over the Palace and Sylvia working away like a busy little beaver inside it, I knew what was on his mind. When I shook my head, the chili costume swayed from side to side. “I just don’t get it, Tumbleweed. I know why I’m here.”

“Yup.” He nodded. “To look for that wandering daddy of yours. And to help forget All You’ve Been Through, of course.”

Did everyone on the cook-off circuit know the pitiful story of my love life?

Tumbleweed ignored my groan. “Hey, I get it. I’ve fallen in love with the wrong sort a couple times myself.” Another chuckle jiggled his ample belly inside the blue Taos T-shirt he was wearing. “Nothing like Texas Jack, of course! It sounds cruel to say he’s the type to love ’em and leave ’em, ’cept he really is. When Jack falls in love with a woman . . .” Tumbleweed sighed. “Well, I suppose you’ve heard it from your mama. When Jack falls in love, that woman becomes his whole, entire world. He really does devote himself to her, body and soul.”