“I didn’t know you two knew each other.”
Dani’s expression turned stony. “We’ve met a time or two.”
He threw an arm around her shoulder. “You could say I taught her everything she knows about how to make a decent chili.”
Cheeks flushed, Dani pushed him away. “She doesn’t want to hear you putting on airs. You big blowhard.” There was a silent, furtive exchange between them.
“Uh, she’s right.” Whip tucked a lock of lank hair behind his ear. “We don’t know each other half as well as I wish we did.” He forced a laugh.
If Whip was still carrying a torch for Lucky’s fiancée, what was going on between him and Dani? The possibilities made me long for a hot shower.
I cleared my throat. “Anyone who eats your chili could get salmonella from that thing if you’re not careful,” I said. “You work in the medical field, right? I would think you’d know.”
With a look of disgust, she raised her chin. “My field is medicine, not zoology.” She lowered herself to one knee, reached inside the cage, and ran a finger down the iguana’s scaly back. “There, there,” she murmured as Elliot promptly scurried under a fake branch.
“Plus, iguanas are an invasive species. He has to go.”
For a good ten seconds, she tried to stare me down. “But we’re miles from home.”
“Lock him in your RV. I don’t care, but get him out of here. And for God’s sake, wash your hands and everything he came in contact with.”
“Yip, yip,” Lenny said.
I agreed with my long-haired Chi. Dani didn’t seem to be much of a cook, and Elliot’s slithering tongue had turned my stomach.
“Why don’t I put his cage in the minivan?” Whip knelt down beside her. “I’ll open the windows for a bit of cross ventilation. All that shade? Why, he’ll think he’s died and gone to reptile heaven.” He found a stray piece of lettuce on the ground and poked it into the cage, waving it slowly before Elliot’s fixed gaze.
As I turned to make a getaway, Dani quickly stood and made her way back to her chili. “What did the police find out about Lucky?” she asked in a voice loud enough to turn Whip’s head.
“Nothing definite.” I frowned as she stirred her chili without first washing her hands. Bridget Peck was going to get a full report.
“Come on. They suspect it was murder, don’t they?” She studied me like an owl inspecting a field mouse.
I shrugged. “Why would someone want him dead?” I pitched her a softball, but would she swing?
Biting her bottom lip, she made a sucking sound. “He was a cantankerous, selfish, old coot.” She glanced over at Whip, who was attempting to feed Elliot with a piece of lettuce. In a whisper, she continued, “He was a bully, but he didn’t deserve to die.”
“No? Even though he shoved you and your kids into welfare?”
Spoon frozen in midair, her eyes widened. “How did . . .” She visibly relaxed. “Oh. I can’t believe I told you that.” She licked her lips. “I didn’t deserve what happened to me, but that doesn’t mean I’d commit murder. Forget it.”
“Didn’t you mention something about him sabotaging your chances at another event?”
She pushed her heavy-framed glasses higher on her nose. “He wouldn’t share the water hookup with me.”
“And?”
“And I had to walk the length of a football field to wash my produce and get the water I needed for my recipe.”
I was immediately suspicious. Why hadn’t she brought her own water, like many other contestants? “Did you tell the officials?”
Once again, she frowned at Lenny. “I most certainly did, but they merely issued a warning.” She threw the spoon onto a folding table covered with chip bags and candy wrappers. “What is taking those kids so blasted long?” Without a backwards glance, she marched off, her flowered skirt billowing behind her.
“The iguana goes!” She didn’t halt or slow though she clearly heard me. “Immediately!” Without turning around, she lifted a hand above her head and waved.
“She’s not so bad.” Whip washed his hands at the water faucet and added some antibacterial soap. “Just a bit desperate.”
“If you say so.”
Elliot’s tongue slithered through a hole in his cage.
“Yip, yip.” The Lenster wriggled with excitement.
“By all means, Lenny, say adios to the salmonella-spreading dragon.” I lowered myself until the reptile and I were eye to eye. “If you’re here when we get back, my friend, it’s the SPCA or the Taxidermy Brothers for you.”
I checked my watch. Another hour and a half left until chili cooks, young and old, ready or not, would bring their thirty-two ounces of chili to the officials’ tent for judging. Most folks would compete in the official ICA categories: traditional red chili, chili verde, and salsa. Plus the one we’d added with Bridget Peck’s approval: people’s choice.
Without delay, we hustled to the Prius, where I recovered my notebook, favorite gel pen, and a protein bar from my book bag. I tossed Lenny into the shotgun seat and slid behind the wheel. I checked my watch again just to be safe and proceeded to make notes on everything that had happened: Lucky’s body, tripping over electrical wires, who’d said what outside of his tent, and the mixed signals I’d received from Dani O’Neal, from her out-of-date outfit to her obvious lack of chili-cooking skills. A few minutes later, Lenny and I exited the four-door and continued on our hospitality tour of cooking tents and chili cooks.
A glance at Lucky’s tent showed the ME and the sheriff’s officers still hard at work collecting evidence. There would be a singular moment to share my astute observations with Detective Lightfoot. Until then pots needed stirring and cooks needed calming.
After six more tents of rattled but persistent chili cooks, a growl like that of an angry bear cub sprang to life from my canine companion. Russell, the huge man with the long wavy hair from the cook-off reception, was headed our way with two calico cats on leashes.
“Watch that dog.”
“That’s inventive.” I pulled out