Keeping my arms in close to my body, I began to rub my icy hands together. “I had to close Milagro last night, and then get up at the crack of dawn for this shindig. Nothing extraordinary.”
For a moment, he merely studied my face. Then he reached out and touched my hands. “Your hands are like blocks of ice.”
“It’s a nervous thing. They’ll warm up soon.”
“Stick your hands in your armpits.”
I made a face. “Thanks? I think.”
“Don’t be such a girl.” His expression remained stoic, but there was a glint in his eye.
With an eye roll, I did what he suggested, crossing my arms and then sticking my hands in my armpits. My hands began to warm almost immediately.
“Come on.” He led me across the grass to where he’d parked his SUV, far enough away from Lucky’s tent that I couldn’t hear what was going on inside, but not so far that he couldn’t watch the comings and goings of the other officers.
“Take a load off.” He gestured to the hood. “What’d you see when you arrived? Was Eddie with you?”
Gratefully, I leaned back against the SUV, allowing the Suburban to take my weight. “I was alone when I arrived . . . except for Lenny. Uncle Eddie came later, but I’m not sure when.”
“That’s okay, I’ll talk to him soon.”
I shivered.
“You need a blanket? I have one in the trunk.”
“Who do you think you’re dealing with? Kim Kardashian?” This new touchy-feely side of Lightfoot was freaking me out. Did he think I was going into shock?
“Who?” He frowned. “Never mind. Go on.” He bent his head, and I caught the ghost of a smile.
“Contestants aren’t supposed to prepare anything ahead of time, so it was my job to inspect the tents for contraband. I found a half-dozen tents with coolers and supplies stored in them—chili preparations, I guess you’d call them—but I wasn’t about to police the contents, if you know what I mean. Actually, Uncle Eddie had asked me to inspect the tents to make sure the water and electricity were working because we didn’t want any hiccups this first time out. You know what I mean?”
With his mouth open to respond, I had another thought. “You see, it’s like this: if we didn’t have everything working exactly right, the town council would come down on Uncle Eddie like a brick. And—”
“I get the picture.” He leveled me with his best stoic expression. “You finished?”
I nodded slowly.
He waited a moment to make sure my chatter had run down. “You didn’t see anyone?”
“No.” I filled my lungs slowly. Trying to relax, I thought back, hoping something worth remembering would float to the surface of my overwhelmed brain. “A couple of RVs and trucks had pulled behind their cooking sites and camped overnight . . . I said that already, didn’t I?”
He reread the notes he had taken. “Did you enter Lucky’s tent as soon as you arrived?”
Closing my eyes, I thought back to those first moments out of the Prius. “No. We started on the other end of the fairgrounds.”
With a nod, he made a note and underlined it. “You willing to take a second look at the body?” His eyes held neither sympathy nor frustration.
If he could function in the face of death, then so could I. Didn’t I have experience? Hadn’t I proved my ability to handle a crime scene without losing my objectivity?
“I got this,” I said, pushing myself up to a standing position.
“He stays out here.”
“Yip.” Lenny gave me a look of disbelief.
“Don’t hate me. It’s just for a bit.” I unlocked the Prius, cracked the windows, and placed him on the passenger seat.
• • •
We returned to Lucky’s tent as more cars and trucks fought to find parking spots, indifferent to the deputy cruisers and unaware of the officers’ gruesome tasks.
“Detective.” From the entrance, Pleasant gave me a sympathetic smile as she stepped aside to allow us room to enter around her statuesque frame.
I forced myself to turn away from the chaos inside the tent for a minute more. Over the fairgrounds, golden beams of morning light embraced the distant hills and awakening desert, etching their beauty into my very soul. It was perfect weather, exactly what we prayed for. Would that we had prayed for a perfect day instead.
From inside the tent, I heard Lightfoot’s voice. “What’s the story?”
“Heart attack if I had to guess . . . which I don’t.” The quiet tenor belonged to Ellis, the JP. In Texas, a justice of the peace could issue warrants, conduct preliminary hearings, administer oaths, conduct inquests, and perform the usual weddings. He could also serve as medical examiner in counties without a coroner. If he and Lightfoot saw an indication of foul play, Ellis would be sending the body to El Paso for an autopsy. Strangled by budget cuts, the autopsy could take weeks, even in a case of murder.
“Do you have your camera equipment?” Lightfoot asked.
“Keep it in the car. Why, you not up to it?”
Lightfoot chuckled low. “Not up to speed on all the lenses and gadgets you insisted on buying.”
“By gadget, you mean a tripod and a video camera?”
“If you say so.”
Ellis continued nonchalantly. “You lucked out this time.” Silence. “What’d you say this guy’s name was?”
“Lucky Straw.”
“Geez.”
“Get your camera, Ellis.”
He was around thirty, with glasses, jeans, and a plaid shirt. My eyes followed him to his black minivan and watched as with graceful movements he unloaded a black camera bag and tripod. “Ms. Martinez.” He gave me a smile on his return.
“Callahan. Same as last time,” I murmured. Ellis wasn’t the first person to assume my last name was Martinez, like the rest of my family. But I was Aunt Linda’s niece, plain and simple. Why some folks couldn’t keep it straight was beyond me.
He stepped into the tent opening, wearing a slight scowl of concentration. “It’s a bit cramped in there, what with all Lucky’s things.” Outside the tent, he assembled his camera, added batteries, set up the tripod, and began to take pictures of the body
