Kill 'Em with Cayenne (2 page)

“Tex happens to be a champion pitmaster,” Wally told her. “Quite by chance, we both happened to arrive in town early for a little relaxation before the festivities begin in earnest.”

I removed the items from Maybelle's basket—juniper berries, star anise, and Szechuan peppercorns. “Have you found a place to stay yet?” I asked the men. “If not, I can recommend a nice bed-and-breakfast.”

“The Turner-Driscoll House?” Wally unfastened the lid on a jar of Grenadian nutmeg, sniffed, then nodded his approval. “Tex and I just checked in. Mrs. Driscoll—Felicity—said she was expecting her final guest to arrive shortly.”

Maybelle handed me her credit card. As I started to run it through my machine, I noticed she was staring at a figure in the doorway. Maybelle's features contorted with dismay. I followed the direction of her gaze. A woman dressed head-to-toe in pink had her hand on the knob about to enter Spice It Up!

Uh-oh,
I groaned silently.
Here comes trouble.

 

C
HAPTER
2

B
ECCA
D
APKINS, PRETTY
in pink, breezed through the door. “Hey, Piper.”

“Hey there, Becca,” I said, pinning on a smile.

Wally's and Tex's heads swiveled to view the new arrival. Both men drew themselves taller and did the gut-sucking thing males often do when around an attractive female. And though it grieved me to admit, Becca was attractive. That is, if one harbored a soft spot for barracudas. As usual, every dark hair on Becca's head was in place, her makeup artfully applied. While Maybelle's shape resembled that of an ironing board, Becca's was soft and curvy beneath the frilly blouse and flowing skirt.

Maybelle remained silent, choosing to glare at the woman she'd known since high school. Can't say I blamed Maybelle, considering their history. Becca Dapkins had stolen Maybelle's man. That would be enough to rile any red-blooded woman.

Becca turned the full wattage of her smile on the two men watching her with interest. “You gentlemen must be new in town. I'd remember you if you'd dropped by my office at the water department. I never forget a face. A God-given talent, according to my grannie.”

“Wally Porter, senior barbecue judge.” Wally inclined his bald head. “I'm looking forward to spending some time in your quaint little town.”

Not to be outdone in the gallantry department, Tex stepped up to the plate. He tipped an imaginary Stetson. “Tex Mahoney at your service, ma'am. Like Wally, I'm here for a little R and R before it's time to fire up the grill.”

“Better be prepared for some stiff competition, Tex.” Becca wagged a finger with a nail lacquered Pucker Up Pink. I recognized the shade instantly 'cause my toes were painted with the same bright color.

“What category are you enterin', Miss Becca?” Tex asked.

“Taster's Choice,” she replied without hesitation. “It's the one where pro or amateur, all contestants are equal. The public gets to decide the best of the best.”

Wally rocked back on the heels of his polished loafers. “That's quite an ambitious plan. The winner of Taster's Choice walks away with not only a trophy but a sizeable check.”

“Oh, come off it, Becca,” Maybelle snapped. “That's the most ridiculous thing ever to come out of your mouth. Unless a recipe calls for cream of mushroom soup, you can't cook well enough to keep a sparrow alive.”

“Cream of mushroom soup…?” Tex looked horrified at the notion.

Becca whirled to confront Maybelle. “No, not soup. I happen to have a secret weapon that will put my brisket head and shoulders above the rest. Just you wait and see.”

I didn't like where this conversation was heading. Attempting to divert open warfare, I slid a charge slip across the counter. “Um, sign at the bottom.”

Ignoring the hint, Maybelle planted her hands on her narrow hips. “Mr. Porter,” she said, her tone clipped. “I advise you to keep an eye on this woman. She's got a whole bag of tricks up her sleeve. No telling what she might do. She's entirely without scruples.”

“What…!” Becca slammed a knockoff designer bag on the counter with enough force to make her charm bracelet jangle. Her red face clashed with her frilly pink blouse. “Maybelle Humphries, what the devil are you implying?”

“Here's a pen.” I offered Maybelle a ballpoint, trying to hurry her out of the shop and avert bloodshed.

My suggestion went unheeded. Maybelle was too incensed to back down. “I'm not
implying
anything,” she said. “I'm simply telling it like it is. You're a sneaky, conniving bitch.”

Wally and Tex followed the confrontation between the women like spectators at Wimbledon. Venus and Serena—change that to Becca and Maybelle—continued to lob insults with ease and precision.

“Admit it, Maybelle.” Becca moved into Maybelle's space. “You're jealous Buzz picked me, not you.”

Maybelle blanched as the barb hit home. “We'd still be engaged if you hadn't set your sights on him. He'll come around once he's wise to your ways.”

“Over my dead body,” Becca sneered.

“Ladies, please…,” I tried again. Soon I'd be dialing 911 to report an assault and battery.

“You deliberately lured Buzz away from me,” Maybelle charged.

“So what if I did?” Becca fired back. “If you can't get a man to marry you after twelve years, then you don't deserve him.”

“Thirteen,” I corrected.

“Thirteen?” Tex and Wally chorused.

I nodded confirmation. “Maybelle and Buzz dated eight years and were engaged for another five before he broke it off.”

“I'd like to meet this Buzz,” Tex commented to no one in particular. “He must be quite a guy.”

“We were making wedding plans when this homewrecker showed her true colors.” Maybelle made a supplicating gesture and addressed first Wally, then Tex, as though they were the judges in her personal court of appeals. “Day and night, this brazen hussy started calling the pest control business where Buzz works. Always asking the boss to send Buzz. First, it was to check for termites. Then, she wanted him to spray for spiders. After that, she claimed she found a wasp's nest. Before I knew what was happening, she was feeding him pork chops cooked in cream of mushroom soup and Tater Tot casserole.”

“Hmph!” Becca snorted. “Buzz is a grown man. He needs a real woman in his life—not a mother.”

Maybelle's scrawny hands bunched into fists. “So help me, Becca Dapkins, I've half a mind to slap you upside the head.”

“Lay one finger on me, Maybelle Humphries, and I'll have you arrested so fast it'll make your head spin.”

Rounding the counter, I wedged myself between the two women.
Sheesh!
I felt I'd blundered into a taping of
The Real Housewives of Brandywine Creek,
albeit neither Becca nor Maybelle was a housewife. I handed Maybelle her purchases. “Here,” I said. “Go deliver those flyers you brought along.”

Maybelle snatched the sack from my hand, then grabbed the brochures from the counter. “I meant every word I said,” she flung at Becca as she stormed out.

An excruciating loud silence followed her departure. At last, Tex cleared his throat. “I'll see if I can find Miss Maybelle and calm her down,” he said, and headed out the door after her.

Unperturbed, Becca glanced at her watch with its pink leather wristband. “My break's nearly over. Unless I hurry, I'll be late getting back to work. I'll come another time, Piper, to pick up the things I need.”

“Sure thing,” I said. Next time she came, I'd take great pains to make sure Maybelle was occupied elsewhere.

Becca shot Wally a coy smile and pivoted on her pink high heel—and stopped dead in her tracks.

Curious, Wally and I glanced over to see a late-model white Cadillac Escalade cruise to a stop in front of Spice It Up! A drop-dead gorgeous woman with platinum-blond hair emerged. As the three of us gawked, the woman shoved a pair of movie star–size sunglasses to the top of her head.

Becca exhaled a long sigh. “As I live and breathe. My day just keeps getting better and better.”

“Who is she?” I inched forward straining for a better look.

“Barbara Bunker,” Becca said, never taking her eyes off the blonde. “I never thought I'd live to see the day she'd show her face again.”

Giving her long hair a careless toss, the blonde hoisted a designer tote over her shoulder and strode across the sidewalk toward us. With the self-assurance of a diva, Barbara Bunker sailed into Spice It Up!

 

C
HAPTER
3

W
AS THE CURTAIN
going up on Act Two of
The Real Housewives
? I wondered. Next to me, I sensed Wally Porter's avid interest in the statuesque blonde. I could practically see the man's antennae twitch. Once again I witnessed the gut sucking and posture straightening. If Wally had hair, he'd have run a comb through it.

Becca deliberately stepped into the woman's path. “What brings you here?”

The bombshell's shoulders rose and fell in a nonchalant shrug. “Let's just say I felt nostalgic for the old hometown and leave it at that.”

Becca's eyes, dark as burnt toast, glittered with malice. “What have you been doing all these years? Working as a stripper?”

“Becca,” I gasped. “I've about had it with you. I'm going to have to ask you to leave.”

No one budged. No one even blinked. I might as well have been invisible.

“Some folks never change,” Barbara said coolly, addressing her comments to Becca. “You're still the same vicious person I remember. And Becca—I think I'm entitled to call you that since we're both adults—I'm Barbara Quinlan now. Most people refer to me as Barbie Q.”

I watched, puzzled, as Wally smacked himself in the forehead with the heel of his hand. “Duh!” he exclaimed. “So you're Barbie Q!”

Totally out of the loop, I glanced from Barbie to Wally, then back at Barbie. “Will one of you kindly fill me in?”

“Barbara Bunker Quinlan.” Wally gave me a look as if to ask what planet I was from. “Barb-B-Q. She's the gal set to host
Some Like It Hot,
the new show on the Cooking Network.”

Barbie graciously inclined her head, pleased there was one less moron in the group. She held out a manicured hand to Wally, and the two shook. I couldn't help but notice the rock on the third finger of her right hand. The stone was so large I questioned whether it was real or cubic zirconium.

Wally seemed oddly reluctant to release her hand. “I'm Wally Porter, master barbecue judge, here in Brandywine Creek for the festival.”

“And I'm here to film it,” Barbie drawled. A trace of pure Georgia lingered in her low, sultry voice.

“So, you have a TV show. Big deal,” Becca sneered. “You've certainly come a long way since your trailer trash days.”

Becca Dapkins was a vindictive woman. Mean as a wild hog. “Becca,” I said, my voice sharper than usual, “don't you have to get back to the water department?”

Becca darted a look at her watch and frowned. “Now I'm really late,” she said as she hurried off, leaving a trail of overly sweet perfume in her wake.

“I'm sorry Becca was so rude,” I said to Barbie. “I hope that won't prevent you from visiting my shop in the future.”

Barbie turned and studied me for flaws. All her inspection lacked was a jeweler's loupe. As long as she was taking my measure, I felt free to take hers. The blonde was Reba Mae's height, maybe an inch taller, and equally well endowed. While Reba Mae's cleavage was part of the original package, I had the sneaky suspicion Barbie's was an after-market addition. Eyes a clear blue-green aquamarine were the most outstanding feature in a face just shy of being beautiful. Her ivory slacks and lightweight ivory cardigan worn over an aquamarine silk blouse were obviously expensive. She'd come a long way, baby, from a “trailer trash” background.

“Allow me to introduce myself,” I said, breaking the stalemate. “I'm Piper Prescott.”

“Prescott…?” Barbie's penciled brows drew together. “I recall a CJ Prescott from high school. I heard he's a hotshot lawyer now. I've seen his face plastered on billboards up and down the interstate. He your husband?”

I'm not in the habit of discussing my marital status with strangers. In a town the size of Brandywine Creek, however, all anyone had to do was ask the butcher, baker, or undertaker and they'd tell you. “CJ's my ex,” I said on a sigh.

“Hmm.”

Hmm?
Maybe I'm persnickety, but I prefer words with vowels. “Hmm” can be hard to interpret. It can run the gamut from “that's mighty interesting” to “that's the most boring drivel I've ever heard.”

Wally took the pause in our conversation as his cue to exit. “I'll leave you ladies to get better acquainted.”

After he'd gone, I reverted to shopkeeper mode. “Are you looking for anything special?”

“I just want to take a look around. If I like what I see, I might decide to shoot a segment here. Use it as a focal point, since the name of your shop segues nicely with the title of my show.”

The prospect of free publicity made me want to flip cartwheels. Instead, I tried to act as though an offer like this came my way every day. “Go right ahead,” I said. “If you have any questions just ask.”

I busied myself behind the counter but watched Barbie out of the corner of my eye. She seemed to wander aimlessly among the shelves, pausing here or there to pick up a jar of this or that. I saw her open a jar of ancho chili powder, sniff, then set it back on the shelf. Moving on, she repeated the smell test with coarsely ground chipotle peppers. When she disappeared behind a row of shelves, I forced myself to concentrate on placing an order with a supplier in the Southwest.