Chili Con Carnage (12 page)

I actually took a step toward the auditorium to talk to Nick when a big dose of harsh reality washed over me. Yeah, like Nick was going to give me a peek at confidential files.

I stepped back and thought and it didn’t take long. Nick might not be much in the cooperation department, but I knew someone who was, and I headed over to the trailer where (luckily) Tumbleweed was away from his desk. Ruth Ann, as it turns out, was not.

“Hey, sweetie!” She popped out of her chair the moment she saw me. “What’s shaking?”

“Well . . .” It wasn’t far from the auditorium to the office where Tumbleweed and Ruth Ann worked, so I hadn’t exactly had a lot of time to plan what I was going to say. Not sure I could come up with an elaborate story that would be believable, I stuck with the tried and true. “I just saw Tumbleweed outside,” I told her. “I don’t want to worry you. And believe me, he said he didn’t want to worry you, either, but—”

Ruth Ann was around the desk in a flash. “Oh my, I knew all this talk of murder was too much for him. It’s not his ticker, is it? Did he say anything about chest pains?”

I am not completely heartless, and Ruth Ann was no spring chicken. I couldn’t let her rush out onto the fairgrounds with her own heart racing a mile a minute and her stomach in knots.

“No, that’s not it. Not at all.” I stopped her at the door. “Actually, he said he did a little too much sampling this morning when Lonnie Earnhardt was mixing up a pot of his dilly of a chili. He said if you could just bring a bottle of antacids—”

“Antacids. Got it.” Ruth Ann whirled around and ducked into the tiny bathroom of the trailer and I heard her rummage through the medicine cabinet. She came back with a bottle of Tums clutched in one hand and zipped right to the door. “And where did you say you saw him last?” she asked.

“Near the front gate.” It didn’t exactly count as a lie because my fingers were crossed behind my back. “He said he’d wait for you over there.”

“Thanks, honey,” she said, and I would have been perfectly happy if she’d just left it at that. Instead, she kicked my guilt up a notch when she put a hand on my arm. “You’re a real doll to come all the way over here and get me.”

Without waiting for me to answer, Ruth Ann raced out the door and was gone.

With any luck, it would take her a while to find Tumbleweed, but really, I couldn’t count on that. If I was going to find out what I could about Roberto from the Showdown’s files, I’d have to do it fast. No doubt the cops had already looked for the same information. I only hoped they’d made copies and not absconded with the originals.

There were three file cabinets across from Ruth Ann’s desk, and I checked the index cards taped to the front of each drawer.

Yearly records.

Fairground contracts.

Vendor information.

Employee files.

“Bingo!” I pulled open the first drawer of the employee files and got to work. It didn’t take me long to find what I was looking for. The man who had once been Robert Lasky was using the name of Roberto Larko, and I flipped through the alphabetized file folders, found his name, and drew out the thin file.

“Please let the paperwork be in here,” I whispered at the same time I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and flipped the folder open.

Roberto’s employment application was right where it belonged.

I nearly did a few dance steps worthy of the Chili Chick, but I knew I didn’t have time. Before I hotfooted it over to the copy machine, I glanced out the window. No sign of Ruth Ann.

Though I was itching to know more, I didn’t bother to read the application. I copied both sides, stuck the original back in its folder, and tucked the whole package into the file cabinet. I already had my hand on the door to leave when it popped open.

“Hey, kiddo, fancy seeing you here!” Tumbleweed beamed up at me from his spot on the first step. “You visiting with my missus?”

“I was. But she left.” I stepped back so he could climb the stairs and step inside and while I was at it, I folded the copy of the application behind my back and tucked the paper in my pocket. “As a matter of fact, she said something about trying to find you. She said she knew you were sampling chili this morning and she was afraid you might need something to settle your stomach.”

“That woman!” Tumbleweed laughed. “If she’d just get on her walkie . . .” There was a recharging unit over on a gray metal credenza and a walkie-talkie in the cradle, a twin of the one clipped to Tumbleweed’s belt. “She never remembers,” he said, and call me an ol’ softie, but the way he said it . . . well, I could tell he didn’t hold it against her. In fact, it was one of the things he loved about Ruth Ann.

“So now that you’re back, I won’t get in your way.” I scooted to the door. “I’ll see you around, Tumbleweed.”

“You got it, kid!” I heard him call out, but I was already outside.

I hurried away from Tumbleweed’s trailer and headed around the back side of the nearest vendor booths. There was a maze of electrical cords and whirring fans back there, and I stepped over them and ducked between a trailer I knew belonged to the guy who sold funnel cakes, and another one with an airbrushed picture of a bearded man on its side and looping script that proclaimed him
King of Chili!

Away from the crowd and safely out of sight, I pulled the application out of my pocket.

An address.

I nearly crowed with joy.

If I wanted to learn more about Roberto, I couldn’t think of a better place to start than the place he called home.

I glanced over the rest of the application. The lines dedicated to work history were left blank. So were the ones where an applicant was supposed to include his education. That didn’t really surprise me. Roberto had been hired as a roadie to set up and tear down booths and signs. In a job like that, previous experience might be helpful. Some big fancy degree, not so much.

I flipped the application over and glanced at the other side, but again, there was nothing all that interesting to see.

That is, until I got to the very bottom of the page.

I’d recognize Ruth Ann’s handwriting anywhere. It was loopy and elaborate and she dotted her
i
’s with little circles. When I was back in Chicago and she sent me cards and letters, she sometimes ringed those little circles with stars or flower petals.

Highly recommended
for a job with the Showdown
, Ruth Ann’s handwriting said. Knowing Roberto, that in itself was pretty surprising.

But nothing could have shocked me more than the rest of what was written there.

Highly recommended for a job with the Showdown by
—I sucked in a breath of hot air and astonishment, folded up the application, put it back in my pocket, and headed right out.

I wanted to learn more about Roberto? Well, I couldn’t think of a better way to do it than to talk to the person who’d recommended him for the job.

I guess famous TV chefs have better things to do than hang around spice booths all day, because by the time I got back to the Palace, Carter was nowhere to be seen. I wasn’t too worried. He wasn’t exactly a shrinking violet, so I knew I could catch up to him some other time. And hey, we’d probably sold more spices in the couple hours when he’d been hanging around than we would have in an entire normal Showdown weekend. All in all, it was a win-win situation.

I slipped into the side door just as Gert was restocking.

“Let me help.” I grabbed a box of Global Warming bottles from her and held it so she could unload it and put the bottles on the shelves near the front counter. “I’m sorry I was gone so long.”

“No worries!” She laughed. “I had a great time, and thanks to Carter Donnelly, I got to meet a lot of new people. Believe me, when they bought your spices, I made sure to tell them they could stop in at my place for glassware and accessories. I wasn’t about to miss out on a marketing opportunity like that!”

She finished with the Global Warming and I broke down the box and tucked it into the spot where we put recyclables.

I saw that we needed dried chili peppers, too, and I pulled the box from the shelf near the door, grabbed a box cutter to open it, and put the bags on the table. When I was done, I priced them and handed them, two at a time, to Gert. “I talked to Carter,” I told her. “About Roberto’s murder.”

She dropped a bag of chili ancho, picked it up, and carefully put it on the shelf where it belonged. “I can’t imagine he knows anything,” she said, and I didn’t see that anything looked messy, but she took the bag down, straightened the ones around it, then put the new one back again. “I mean, not anything that will be useful when it comes to the questions you’re asking. After all, Carter’s a big-time celebrity. He’s not familiar with the Showdown, and he’s never been here before. Until the other day, there’s no way he could have known any of the people who work here. And surely, a big star like him . . . well, I don’t mean to sound disrespectful, but you know what I mean. A somebody like Carter wouldn’t hang around with a nobody like Roberto.”

“You’re right. Carter apparently didn’t know Roberto.” I set that empty box aside. “But I found out there might be someone else around here who did.”

“That’s terrific.” Gert’s smile came and went. That is, right before she sidled between me and the counter to get to the door. “And you know I can’t wait to hear all about it. But for now, I’d better get back and relieve Nicole. Even a kid who loves jewelry as much as she does can only rearrange my earrings and bracelets so many times. She’s probably bored to tears, poor thing. We’ll talk later, okay?”

“Sure. That would be fine.” I waited until her hand was already on the doorknob, because let’s face it, there’s no better time to bushwhack somebody than when they’re feeling like they’ve just dodged a bullet. “I’ll see you later, Gert,” I said. “Then maybe you can explain how you knew Roberto Larko well enough to recommend him for his job here at the Showdown.”

Gert’s hand fell to her side and she turned away from the door, her chin high and her shoulders steady. “I don’t know Roberto Larko,” she said, her ramrod posture in direct contrast to the trembling in her voice. “I never did. I did, however, know Robert Lasky.”

“And you’re the one who gave your personal recommendation for him to get his job under the name of Roberto Larko. That’s pretty important, don’t you think? And maybe something you should have mentioned when you realized I was asking questions about his murder.”

There were two high stools, like the kind in bars, pushed up against the wall. We used them when we worked at the table filling spice jars.
Easier on the back
. That’s what Jack always said when he pulled up a stool and settled in with his scale, his funnel, and his scoops. But then, Jack was a tall man, and the table was too low for him. If he filled jars standing up, his shoulders always ended up aching like a son of a gun.

Gert didn’t so much go sit on one of the stools as she leaned against it, the table between us. “You’ll recall that I wasn’t with the Showdown for its last few stops,” she said. “I was in Arizona with my aunt who was sick. Aunt Helen died and . . . well, you know that, too. She died, and after she was buried, it was too late to meet up with the Showdown at its last stop in Santa Fe, so I came on ahead to Taos and waited here for the rest of you. That was a few weeks ago, and honestly, I thought I died and went to hog heaven. All the art here in Taos! All the weaving and the wonderful hand-spun yarn! I pictured myself spending a couple weeks doing what I haven’t done since I joined the Showdown, just plain relaxing, my knitting needles in hand and a nice, cold margarita sitting on the table beside me.”

“But that’s not what happened.”

She shot me a look. “You picked up on that, huh? Maybe because you care about people, about how they feel, and you can sense their vibes. Or maybe you’re just smart.” Gert sighed. “You know there wouldn’t be much to this story of mine if all I was going to say was that I visited a pueblo, hiked in the park, and got to sit and knit socks.”

“And maybe that something has something to do with Roberto.”

Another sigh, and this one was deeper than the last, as if it had been drawn out of Gert by an invisible hand. “Robert was . . .” Gert looked away. She cleared her throat, and her gaze met mine again, sure and steady. “Believe it or not, Robert was no dummy. He was certainly smart enough to do his homework, because he knew I’d left my corporate job in Atlanta and started my own business. He knew I was traveling with the Showdown, and he knew Taos was where our next cook-off was scheduled. How he found out I got here ahead of the rest of you, I don’t know. I also don’t know how he discovered where I was staying. All I do know is that one morning I walked out of my hotel room and there he was, waiting for me.”

Something about the way she said it made a chill shoot up my spine. “Roberto was some kind of stalker?”

“No, no. It was nothing like that. Not really.” Gert thought about it for a minute. “Robert was . . . well, it’s hard to explain.”

“So let’s start with what should be easy to explain. Your name . . .” I took the copied paper out of my pocket, unfolded it, and smoothed it out on the counter so I could point. “Your name is right here. In Ruth Ann’s writing. That means you went to her and put in a good word for your ol’ buddy Robert. Even though you knew he was using a phony name. Why?”

“Why did I put in a good word? Or why was he using an alias?” Thinking about both the questions, Gert picked up the box cutter I’d left on the table. When I was done with it, I had slid the blade back down into the gizmo, and she flicked her finger over the little roller switch. The blade peeked out, then went back inside. Peeked out. Went back inside.

“There’s no easy answer,” she admitted, but she didn’t say which question she was talking about. “It all started because when Robert showed up, he was looking for what he was always looking for.”

I hoped she wasn’t going to say they were long-lost lovers and Robert was trying to rekindle the old flame, because really, I didn’t want to think about a middle-aged woman getting it on with a way younger man. Especially one who’d claimed he’d been attracted to me.

I got rid of the thought with a shake of my head. “He was looking for a job, right?”

Gert barked out a laugh. “Not hardly. Robert was looking for a handout. He didn’t want to work. He just wanted the money that goes along with working for a living.”

She was telling the truth, but not all of it. Don’t ask me how I knew, because Gert kept her expression blank, but I could tell. I guess it was because there were emotions simmering beneath her calm exterior. Ugly ones. She watched that little blade play hide-and-seek with the metal box cutter, and I could see the emotions flare in her eyes like those blobs of lava that a volcano burps up right before it erupts.

“You obviously had . . .” I was about to say
history
and stopped myself. I was sick of the word, mostly because it said a lot without saying anything at all. “You knew each other.” Gert didn’t need to respond so I went right on. “Why did he think you’d give him money?”

She stopped messing with the knife blade. Fine by me. I hadn’t realize how much the clicking was getting on my nerves until the Palace was perfectly quiet and I was able to let go of the breath I didn’t realize I was holding in the first place. “Like I said, Robert was no dummy, and we had established a pattern. We’d always given him money before. It had been years since we saw him last and I thought . . .” She almost sighed, thought better of it, and merely shrugged. “I thought maybe Robert was dead. Truth be told . . .” She clicked the blade open again and looked at me, waiting to see how I’d react. “I hoped he was.”

This was what I wanted, wasn’t it? A statement from someone—anyone—that would make that person look guilty and prove Sylvia’s innocence? Still, Gert’s words crashed over me like an icy wave and my stomach wobbled. Gert was a nice woman. A sweet woman. Could she possibly have . . . ?

I hated myself for it, but I automatically checked my position—and Gert’s—in relation to the door. A murderer about to confess to a murder might not want the person asking about the murder to know the truth about the murder, which could (at least in my mind) result in another murder. Hoping it looked as casual as can be, I glanced at that knife blade in her hand and took one small step to my left, closer to the only way out of the Palace. At the same time, I couldn’t help but wonder how fast a middle-aged woman could move.

“You said
we
.” Yeah, I was avoiding the obvious part about how much Gert hated Roberto, but to me, this seemed a better way to approach the subject. An end run, isn’t that what it’s called? Backing up a little and taking it slow and steady seemed a better way to get answers than pouncing. In the short run, that would have provided some instant gratification, and I’m all about instant gratification. It was why I’d been a smoker for twelve years. But in the end, it would get me nowhere. Not if Gert clammed up. Or panicked. Or decided she’d already said too much and needed to shut me up—permanently.

I forced myself to look at her face—and not at the box cutter. “Who was it who Robert used to hit up for money?”

“Me,” Gert said, as simple as that. “And his mother, of course. She was always . . .” Her voice clogged and her fingers tightened around the knife. “Julia had a tender heart. Robert didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve her. They say blood is thicker than water, and I suppose that’s right. Julia knew she was doing nothing but enabling Robert, but when he came around with his hand out, he always had a good story to go with it. He just needed a few hundred bucks to tide him over. He just needed help with a couple months’ rent. He just . . .” She tapped out a tempo against the countertop with the butt end of the box cutter. “Robert was a con artist with a silver tongue, and for a while both of us were taken in, me and Julia.” Her gaze flickered to mine. “She was my sister.”

“So you were Roberto’s—”

“Aunt. Yes.” Gert wasn’t especially proud of the fact. Her lips folded in on themselves. “I came to my senses about six years ago, long before Julia ever did. I realized Robert was nothing but a shiftless liar. But you know how that is, Maxie, when you see the world as it really is and someone you love is looking through what you swear must be funhouse mirrors. You’re seeing the same things. You’re just not seeing them the same way.”

A customer stepped up to the window, and much as I hated to interrupt Gert’s story, it wasn’t like I could hide. I helped the woman decide between black and green cumin, and honestly, when she was done and I turned away from the front window, I expected Gert to be gone.

I told her exactly that.

“There’s no use running from the truth,” she said. “The cops are going to ask me all the same questions you’re asking. So I guess this is something of a dress rehearsal for me.” Color shot through her cheeks. “You have figured that part out, haven’t you? You know I’m not the wonderful, kindly fellow vendor you think I am? You know that’s why I’m here in the Palace today?”

I didn’t, at least not until that moment. My mouth fell open. “You’re dodging the cops! You know they saw Roberto’s employment application, just like I did. And you know they’re going to show up to talk to you. You can’t lie to them, Gert!”

“I’m not planning on it.” As if she’d forgotten it was there, she hefted the box cutter in her hand. “I just wasn’t sure what I was going to say. Thanks to you . . .” Gert smiled. “You’ve helped me out, Maxie. You’ve made me realize that if someone like you could figure out I had a connection with Robert—”

I didn’t have a chance to be offended; Gert jumped right it with an apology. “I didn’t mean that the way it came out,” she said and groaned. “What I meant is that if an amateur could come up with the information, the professionals are sure to, too. I’m sure they’re going to want to talk to me, so really, Maxie, I owe you my thanks. You’re giving me a chance to get it all straight so it doesn’t come out sounding . . .”

“Wrong?” I suggested.