She left Barnes beside the cruiser, reading a handcuffed Fillmore his rights. Lightfoot had managed to open his door.
“Hey, Detective, you don’t look so good,” Pleasant said. She studied the pain etched across his face and the way he held tightly to his leg with one arm. “You need to drive over to Marfa to the emergency room and let them check out that leg.”
“He’s not driving anywhere tonight.” She and I exchanged a look of bemusement.
“Yes, I am.” He collapsed back against the seat. “If I were a cursing man, I’d curse.”
“And you’d be more than entitled.” I gave Pleasant a smile. “But don’t you worry. I’ll get you there safe and sound.” I grimaced. “Well, maybe not sound, seeing as how you’re in pain.”
“No. Way.”
Pleasant shrugged. “Sorry, Lightfoot. The only seat we have is in the back with that Fillmore character. You don’t want that?”
“No.” Lightfoot and I said in unison.
“Yip.”
“We’ll stop by the station as soon as they’ve finished with me in Marfa.” Lightfoot sat up straight and tipped his hat.
Lenny jumped onto the surprised detective’s legs, raised his front paws onto his chest, and gave him a spectacular doggie kiss.
“Get him out of here.” Lightfoot spluttered and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
I burst out laughing.
“Take your time.” Deputy Pleasant smiled and waved.
“See you later.” I retrieved my warmhearted canine friend. “You’re a good boy. Yes, sir.”
“Yip.”
Lenny and I cruised back around to the driver’s seat. “Oh, he is a very scary detective,” I whispered. My long-haired Chi’s bright eyes shone with mischief. “But you were very brave to kiss him.”
“Yip, yip.”
“And so was I.”
Chapter 22
Monday, Monday
The chili cook-off had come and gone. Was it a huge hit? It was a thrill for those fortunate enough to win. It was a decent start to a tradition that I hoped would gain traction, growing and improving in years to come. A new tradition for citizens, tourists, and all who loved the high-plain desert and the simple folks who lived here.
Okay, so the publicity we received had more to do with Lucky’s death and Frank Fillmore’s capture than the chili cook-off itself. Still, it was something we could build on. Dani and her family, Whip and his Apache camper, and the rest of the tourists from the cook-off had packed up their knives and gone home. And frankly, if I ever ate another bowl of chili, pigs would fly across the Rio Grande on the back of a parasail.
“Where are the chile rellenos?” Uncle Eddie took off his hat and hung it on the coatrack near the front door. He found a place next to Ryan Prescott. At first, I had made a point not to invite Ryan—too afraid he’d act all weird and possessive. But Senora Mari insisted. And that was that.
“Yip,” Lenny said.
“What, Lenster?” Ryan asked. “You’ve eaten the chile rellenos? Man, what’s come over you?”
“Yip.”
“See you later.” Ryan said to the dog at his feet. “I’ll hook you up with something for heartburn.”
“Today, no chiles!” I opened the kitchen door with a flourish. “For Aunt Linda, something delicious and healthy.” Senora Mari entered with a large tray bearing two platters of grilled snapper and peppers and onions.
Ryan’s mouth dropped open. “Senora Mari, you’ve outdone yourself.” He sniffed the air like a fox in a chicken coop. “What can I ever do to repay you?”
“Wash dishes, senor.” The group laughed. “It’s no joke,” Senora Mari said. “I had to fire a dishwasher today. Now we’re shorthanded.
“Woo-wee.” He grinned. “What a treat.” Ryan was acting up a storm, being kind to my abuela. He had a genuine and thorough disgust for any seafood that wasn’t fried, except for raw oysters—he thought eating the slimy boogers a way to prove his manliness.
“I’m here. Don’t count me out.” Aunt Linda took her place at the end of the table. For our family’s big event postmortem luncheon, we’d pushed a few tables together and invited our friends. Anthony and Lily were serving, but as soon as we all had our meals they would sit at the end table and enjoy the fruits of their labors.
“Don’t start without me.” My abuela pointed at each of us sitting around the table. “Or you will have nightmares until the apocalypse.” She lifted her finger into the air, issuing a proclamation, and then hurried back to the kitchen.
“Is she kidding?” Patti asked. With one of her long black fingernails, she hooked a piece of onion from the snapper platter and tossed it in her mouth.
“Nice manners, Perez.” Ryan shook his head in mock disgust.
“In your dreams, Prescott.”
“Who knows?” I asked everyone at the table. “Kidding or not, we should all be on our best behavior. What if, in addition to having prophetic dreams, she can control what each of us dreams about?”
“That would be a nightmare in itself,” Uncle Eddie muttered.
“Nightmares about onions and smelly feet.” Suddenly Patti looked worried.
The cowbell over the front door rang. Aunt Linda stood, ready to take control. “Sorry, we’re not—”
“Am I early?” It was Lightfoot, and he was not what I expected. He wore a pair of slacks with one leg cut off above a startling white cast. A Western shirt of a fancy fabric was tucked into an exquisite tribal belt. But what really made me gawk was the fact he wore no hat over his dark braid.
I smiled and tried not to ogle. “No, no. Right this way.” I gestured toward a seat at the end of the table.
“Detective, ignore my granddaughter, she is being impolite.” Senora Mari set two heavy platters of shrimp fajitas on the tables.
“She comes by it honest,” Uncle Eddie muttered.
Lightfoot shifted his crutches so the door could close and started clumsily for the seat at the far end.
“I was just about to switch seats when you walked in.” Aunt Linda
