Lightfoot dipped into the salsa. “No. Checked twice, but no sign of the skillet or any other pan, not even a boiler.”
When Ellis paused to check his phone, I caught Lightfoot’s eye. “Ask about the pacemaker,” I mouthed silently.
He shook his head in unbelief, grinned—which was unexpected—and ratted me out. “Is that for us?”
“From Senora Mari, Our Lady of Tamales.”
Ellis perked up immediately. “Is that a good thing?”
“Oh yes. It’s a very generous thing for her to do as well.” I placed the beans and queso on the table. “She is also known as Our Tightfisted Lady of Tamales to her family and friends.”
At Ellis’s look of confusion, Lightfoot chimed in. “Senora Marisol Martinez started this restaurant out of a tamale truck.”
“And her recipes are featured on the menu, no one else’s—and she won’t let you forget it.”
The JP chuckled. “I noticed.” He flicked his napkin over his lap. “Tell her thanks for us.”
“Did you ever hear back from the surgeon who implanted Lucky Straw’s pacemaker?” Lightfoot asked.
“Yes. We should have the electronic detail of the pacemaker data by tomorrow morning.” Ellis glanced my way as he chewed a spoonful of drunken beans. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”
I shot a quick look-see at my tables.
“Nope,” Lightfoot said.
I ignored his quip and locked eyes with Lightfoot. “I sure do. Thanks for reminding me,” I replied, careful to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.
“Detective Lightfoot?” I needed to convey information to Lightfoot without Ellis picking up on its importance.
“Yes?”
“I left you a voice mail a few minutes ago about a certain problem we were having with one of our customers.”
His eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “Did you get it settled?”
“Yes, yes, I did.” I was thinking so fast, my brain was skidding from one gear to the other. “I don’t want to disturb your dinner,” I said, widening my eyes, “but I sure would appreciate it if you would give it a listen when you have a minute.” Ellis was watching our exchange with unwarranted interest. “It’s a pressing issue that needs to be discussed.” I couldn’t be certain, but I thought I saw in his gaze that he understood the importance of my message.
I pasted on a bright smile. “Okeydokey, then. Your entrées should be out in a few minutes.”
I wanted to slap myself upside the head. If I’d only kept Dani O’Neal at the bar a bit longer, she would’ve sobered up and Lightfoot could’ve questioned her. For that matter, had Lightfoot already questioned her? As Senora Mari wasn’t at her post, I darted outside and looked toward the Cogburn Hotel. Truth was, my conscience was bothering me. I should’ve never let Dani leave without help or at least a few cups of coffee inside her.
Suddenly I heard a voice behind me. “What was so important?” Lightfoot’s deep voice nearly made me jump out of my apron.
“I can’t believe the lab didn’t find anything else on Lucky’s pacemaker.”
“Calm down.” He lowered his voice. “After you walked away, Ellis said the guy at the lab told him unofficially over the phone that it appeared as if the pacemaker had been interrupted—”
“That’s old news.”
He raised a hand, crossing-guard style. “The pacemaker interruption was caused by a programming error. The coding suggested the device had been configured incorrectly in the factory.”
“This guy on the phone was one hundred percent sure?”
With a sigh, he lowered his hand. “He didn’t use those exact words, but that’s the idea.”
“But what if the error occurred after Lucky’s pacemaker left the factory? What if the programming glitch happened after it was implanted in his chest?”
I could see his gears turning. “After, huh?”
“Watch out.” My heart started two-stepping inside my chest. Maybe I was finally on the right path. “I’m about to start whistling ‘The Yellow Rose of Texas.’”
With a frown, he said, “Spit it out. What’s going on inside that head of yours?”
“That chili cook, Dani O’Neal?”
Slowly he shook his head. “Go on.”
“Well, she had an ax to grind with Lucky Straw.”
“I remember; he laid her off from Texas Power.”
“But did you know she’s a pacemaker tech?”
He pushed back the brim of his hat. “You don’t say.”
“Which means she has access to her patients’ pacemaker codes.”
“We covered this. Ninety-nine percent of the time, it’s not a pacemaker failure.”
Aunt Linda appeared at the entrance. “Nelson, party of two. Your table’s ready.” A young couple dropped their cigarettes into an ashcan as my aunt held the door.
“What if the killer used the stun gun on Lucky and it made his pacemaker go kaput?”
From the darkness, a man approached from the parking lot. It was Whip, lanky dark hair in his face. “Have you seen Dani?”
“She was at the bar inside earlier,” I said, refusing to look at Lightfoot. “Bartender said she headed for the hotel, but I can’t be sure.”
“Why?” Lightfoot asked.
“No reason.” Whip’s gaze swung from the front door to the Cogburn Hotel. “The hotel, you say?”
“That’s what she told the bartender.”
He tipped his fancy cowboy hat and hurried off toward the hotel, a worried look on his face.
“Josefina Callahan.” Aunt Linda’s glare could skin a buffalo. “You’re gonna see kaput if you don’t get back to your tables.” She could scare the bejesus out of me when she set her mind to it.
Lightfoot leaned in close. “I’ll ask Ellis to double-check the body for unusual marks that could’ve been made by a stun gun.” He took my arm and escorted me back to the door. “All yours, Mrs. Martinez.”
Aunt Linda smiled. “Thank you kindly. Didn’t want your food to get cold.” She held the door for us and hurried away.
“Do you think that O’Neal woman made it to the hotel?” Lightfoot asked under his breath.
“Beats me, but someone should check on those kids. They shouldn’t be on their own.”
His brow lowered. “Is that what she said?”
“No.” I shrugged. “She said they were with their mother, but at one time or another, she’s claimed to be their mother.” The
