“Darn right,” Whip said. A quiet exuberance floated throughout the crowd.
Bridget Peck stepped up, clipboard in hand. “The official start time will be in one hour.” She held up her official rules and regulations binder. “As most of you know, it is at the discretion of each local organization to decide whether you have three or four hours to cook your chili. Due to all the hoopla this morning, you’ll have only three hours.”
The crowd murmured.
She held up a red air horn. “When the horn blows, you start. And not a second before.”
“My ingredients can’t just set by for an hour. They’ll turn.” It was the O’Neal woman with the red glasses.
“Some of us need more time,” yelled a voice from the back.
“That’s not my problem.” Bridget’s stance was more Calamity Jane than Annie Oakley, which had me wondering if she was packing.
“What if we have to share our site?” Whip demanded.
Eddie stuck his fingers in his mouth and whistled, loud and long, finally gaining their attention. “Some share, some don’t. Everybody’s going to start in one hour. End of story.”
The O’Neal woman cleared her throat as if she would spit like a cowboy chewing tobacco. “Rank-amateur event. If this is the last time I lay eyes on this sinkhole, it’s one time too many.”
My uncle stared her down. “If you don’t like it,” he drew a breath, “then you can pack up your gear and go home.”
Chapter 6
Questions Asked
An hour later, after everyone pulled out their pots, pans, and country music—except for one guy practicing yoga while Mozart wafted through the open window of his expensive sports car—Bridget Peck blasted her air horn.
And they were off. They had a big job ahead of them because the ICA rules were clear. All chili had to be prepared on-site during the competition. I had no idea why any of these would-be pioneers would want to murder Lucky Straw with a blow to the head. And why was a stun gun discovered in Lucky’s prize-winning chili? Had he been trying to stun his attacker and dropped it?
A heart attack would have been unlucky enough. But no. Someone decided our humble fairgrounds was the perfect location for a grisly murder. So much for the name Lucky that he’d worn like a badge of honor. How about Unlucky, Luckless, or even Wretched Straw? I immediately asked for forgiveness for my callous thoughts. The poor man’s body wasn’t even stone cold. It wasn’t his fault being murdered was the epitome of bad luck.
“Come on, Lenny. Let’s help where we can.” We smoothed the waters by helping folks lug their stuff to a new site, saying a comforting word to those daunted by Lucky’s death, and sharing a smile and a howdy with strangers.
We stumbled upon Dani O’Neal’s campsite. She stood over her cook pot, studying the concoction inside.
“Mm. That smells like awesome.”
She ignored me. “Don’t bring that dog any closer.” Her eyes remained riveted to her chili. “Don’t want him to contaminate my culinary offering.”
“I get it. No doggie germs.” I kept my voice light, determined to remain positive. I backed up a few steps and then a few more for good measure. The word offering made me think of witches, Mayan priests, and Baptist ministers. “Can I help you with anything?”
“Yip.” Lenny was always ready to help, though most folks suspected he was in it merely for the spoils.
“That would be illegal.” She continued to stir, adding in canned tomatoes, a bag of shredded fat-free cheddar, and diced onions.
I didn’t bother to tell her that my only concern was whether or not she had running water and electricity. I was too shocked by the sight of her stirring fat-free shreds and raw onions into her chili. “Uh, right.” My gaze fell to a naked Barbie and an abandoned water pistol. “Where’re your kids?”
At the mention of her children, her eyes narrowed. “What do you know about them?”
“Well.” I took a deep breath. “I was the one who led you and your daughter to the bathroom last night. Remember?” The little hairs along my arms rose. Something about Dani O’Neal was a bit off. Her ponytail, robe, and gown were long gone. In their place, she wore a tight librarian’s bun, a Laura Ashley flowered prairie dress, and black combat boots.
After a long pregnant pause, she slowly nodded. “Okay, then.” She stepped out from beneath her canopy and raised a hand to shield her eyes from the bright desert sun. “They’re at the taco stand, bringing us back some breakfast.”
Though I looked in the same direction, I couldn’t make out anyone shorter than five feet.
“The judging will take place at twelve thirty.” I looked at Lenny, and he looked at me. I hated to be the bearer of bad news, but adding in those last-minute items, which wouldn’t have time to marinate, had killed her chances for a prize.
She etched a smile on her face. “So I heard.”
“Well, then, best of luck!” As we walked away toward the next contestant, my canine companion made a run for the back of Dani’s canopy, barking as if a herd of cats were hiding inside.
Behind the canopy, an iguana the size of my bathtub lounged inside a huge cage. “Yip, yip, yip.” Lenny pulled at his leash, longing for a game of chase.
O’Neal hurried over, metal spoon held high. “Keep that long-haired rat away from Elliot.”
“Calm down, Danielle.” Whip strutted into view.
I gathered Lenny into my arms and held his trembling body close. “He’s only trying to protect me.”
“Well, he’s ruining Elliot’s nerves.”
Whip cleaned his frameless glasses with the hem of his shirt and gave me a tired smile. “She’s always going on about that reptile’s nerves. Personally, I think he’s got a brain the size of
