The Red-Hot Chili Cook-Off (13 page)

“A lamb to the slaughter,” Alma Grace said.

“Exactly. It might take a year but that's okay. Floy needs to suffer that long and she will come close to a heart attack when she sees me with him.” Kim smiled.

Alma Grace barely got the story told in the beading room when the doorbell declared that there was another customer. When she saw Violet Prescott standing there with a scowl on her face, she yelled for Patrice.

***

“Good mornin', Miz Prescott. I've been expecting you. Alma Grace said that you had some money to invest in the chili cook-off?” Patrice's tone dripped with sugary sweetness.

She held out an envelope. “The money and the names are all in here.”

“Well, then you just follow me back to my office,” Patrice said.

“Why? I just want you to take it and put it on our side.”

“Because we will count it together with Alma Grace as a witness. We will both sign a waiver stating the amount each party involved donated and Alma Grace will witness it for us so there are no future problems. We can't have it said that we cheated anyone with the party money,” Patrice explained.

Violet's high heels clomped on the hardwood floors and her huffs left no doubt that she was steaming. “Did you make Agnes and her cohorts do this? Ah, ah, ah-choo!” Violet sneezed.

Josie was coming out of the ladies' room and stepped back in, rolled off a fist full of toilet paper, and handed it to Violet on her way across the foyer. “Bless you.”

“Excuse me. Place smells like plumeria and I'm allergic to it. Answer me, Patrice; did Agnes have to sign her name?”

“Yes, ma'am. We made her sign in blood.”

“Don't you make fun of me.” Violet's eyes disappeared when she squinted.

It took several minutes to count the money and then they were a dollar short of the amount written on the envelope.

“See, that's why we have to count it together,” Patrice said.

Violet took out her wallet and handed Patrice a dollar bill. “Now does that make everyone happy?”

Patrice sounded like she was explaining the process to a six-year-old. “You might want to go over it one more time just to be sure about what you are signing.”

“It's a donation list, not a court document,” Violet fussed.

“Hey, Carlene, would you take care of that?” Alma Grace yelled across the room when the bell rang on the door.

***

Carlene laid her needle down and found Agnes sitting on the staircase. “Well, good mornin', Miz Agnes. What can I do for you today?”

“Why does this whole place smell like a flower shop?”

Carlene sat down beside her. “Because Alma Grace is afraid the chili smell will linger.”

“I came to tell y'all that I've told everyone in town that as soon as the shop closes tonight to line up at the back door for a chili tasting. Patrice can give everyone a little comment card and we'll write on it,” she said.”

“I'm sure Mama will be glad for all y'all to have a bowl of their chili but I got to warn you, they never have cooked much.”

“They've got your Granny's recipes and any blind fool can follow directions. And they're usin' your grandpa's cooker so they can't go wrong. I told everyone that they'd better come early because there was only one cooker full. So tell them to get it heated up. Startin' at five o'clock, they can pass it out the back door as long as it lasts every evening,” Agnes said. “And folks can leave their comment cards in a coffee can on the porch.”

As soon as Agnes was gone, Carlene headed to the shed at the back of the lot, grabbed a shovel and a big black garbage bag, and cleaned up the chili that had been dumped. Her nose ran. Her sinuses were wide open and her mascara was running down her face by the time she got the bag into the dumpster. She just hoped that it didn't burn a hole plumb through the plastic before the garbage collector came the next day.

She'd barely locked the front door that evening when the cars started lining up at the curb. The Fannin sisters were ready with their first cooker of chicken chili and Agnes got the first bowl, carried it to the back porch, and leaned against the post. Everyone that got in line heard her ranting about what wonderful chili it was and that it was just the first attempt. Tomorrow's batch would be even better.

Gigi smiled at her sisters. “I'm glad I laid in a stock of red plastic bowls.”

People were everywhere. Some of them were sitting on the back porch, some on the park bench, and some ate standing up. The front porch soon filled up and in forty-five minutes the chili was all gone.

“Am I too late, darlin's?” a big booming masculine voice called out at the back door.

Gigi stuck her head out of the kitchen and squealed. “Tip Gordon! Yes, you are too late for a bowl of chili. But I've got a glass of sweet tea left and we'll be making chili again tomorrow. I'll save you some if you'll come back. Tonight we're making pork chili instead of chicken.”

“Just my luck. Hank Carmichael steals the prettiest girl in all of Texas right out from under my nose and now I can't even get a bowl of chili. That's too bad but I came for two reasons. One to get a bowl of chili and the other to donate some money to the cause.” He handed her a folded check. “Put some black lace on your tent and frill it up all fancy. When Lenny goes down, I want it to be hard.”

“Why?” Carlene slipped out into the foyer.

“It's that damned Carson Culpepper. He's struttin' around like a banty rooster tellin' everyone that he whipped me in a big settlement divorce. I can't say a word because if I do, Lenny might come after your shop, so I'll pluck a few feathers out of his tail this way. I hear there's going to be an after-party when y'all win this thing. Why don't you have it at the Denison Country Club? I keep a membership there. The girls at Clawdy's can cater it and we'll have a grand old time.”

Gigi smiled. “You are a politician, Tip. What's in all this for you?”

“I get a lot of people to see that I backed the right team. I get to do a little stumping for that judge's nomination that's coming up and Carson Culpepper gets to eat a little bit of dirt,” Tip grinned.

He was a handsome man at sixty with thick white, wavy hair that he combed straight back. He was Texan from his expensive eel boots to his big belt buckle and Stetson hat that he held in his hands.

“Sounds fair to me,” Gigi said. “Miz Agnes wants to have the party at Clawdy's but nothing says you can't do some stumpin' over there and there'll be more people come if it's locally held.”

He settled his hat back on his head, tipped it toward the ladies, and swaggered back outside, making sure to stop and talk to the last of the chili tasters on the way.

***

Patrice was on her way out of the shop when Kim stepped up on the porch. She wore a white sundress that looked good against a dark tan. Her dark hair was held back with a pearl clip, and pink toenails peeked out from the ends of her white sandals.

“Did the corset not fit after all?” Patrice asked.

“Oh, no, it's perfect and I love it. I've got something I thought Carlene would want to know.”

Patrice wasn't sure Carlene could stand knowing much more in one day's time but she called her to the front. Alma Grace left straightening a rack of bras to see what Kim wanted. They all met in front of the cash register and looked at Kim.

“It's about Lenny,” Kim said.

“Please don't tell us someone really burned down his house,” Alma Grace said.

“What?” Kim asked.

“Rumor has it that he took out a restraining order on all of us because I threatened to burn down his house. I'd feel terrible if someone really did it,” Carlene said.

“It's even worse than burning down his house.”

The color left Carlene's face. “Is he dead?”

“No, he's alive and kicking and trying to talk his way around a catfight that went on in his office this afternoon. Viselle, who owns that little flower shop up on Main Street in Sherman, is my friend. I stopped in there today and she told me the story. Lenny's secretary called this morning and told her to send that big bouquet that she advertised in the paper at Valentine's. Remember it? Well, it has a dozen roses in it and all that pretty baby's breath and ribbons and all and it's more than three feet tall. I wanted someone to send it to me but I didn't even get a single rose.” Kim paused.

“And?” Carlene asked.

“The secretary said for Viselle, who admits that she's sent dozens and dozens of flowers to women for Lenny and even has his business credit card numbers on something like speed dial in her computer, to send them to Macy Bardeen who works in the office at the dealership. She was to sign the card with a big open heart and Lenny's name. I guess Macy was so flattered that she ran straight into Lenny's office. He was sitting in his chair so she threw herself into his lap, wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed him smack on the lips. That's when Bridget snuck over to her office and found the card, and when she got to Lenny's office, there they were all tangled up together.” Kim grinned.

Carlene giggled.

Patrice roared.

Alma Grace asked, “And what happened then?”

“Well, the secretary swears to God that she didn't send it and Bridget jerked Macy out of Lenny's lap and the catfight was on. What is it they say about hell hath no fury like a woman scorned?”

Alma Grace sighed. “I'd hoped he was ready to repent.”

“Repent, hell. He's worse than ever. Just thought y'all might like to know that before you go home. Lenny's pretty mad and since everything is Carlene's fault, he might be throwin' a fit at you. Now, I'm off to cry on Isaac's shoulder. Wish me luck.” Kim was gone before they could gather their thoughts into a coherent sentence.

“Whoever did that deserves a medal,” Josie said.

“Agnes?” Carlene asked.

Patrice made the sign of a phone receiver, putting her thumb in her ear and her pinky near her mouth. “Hello, Viselle, darlin'. This is Fay Ann at the car dealership. How are you today? Well, that's so nice. We're havin' such lovely weather for spring, aren't we? Yes, ma'am, I'm so ready for Easter. Now honey, could you please fix up that big old flower arrangement you advertised in the paper and take it to Macy Bardeen? Sign the card with an open heart and Lenny's name. I know, honey, he does have a way with the women but then it's good for the flower business, isn't it? And could that delivery go out today? Just charge it to Lenny's credit card.”

She hung up the make-believe phone.

Carlene's mouth dropped. “You sounded just like her.”

“I went to school with her and she's got this nasal twang that's easy to mimic,” Patrice said.

“But why?”

“Because Macy Bardeen has Alma Grace's wings and halo and she's going to sing Alma Grace's part at the Easter program. And even though I'm mad at her for the way she's acting toward you, she's still kin. And because we said we were declaring war, I started the fire. And I did not break the restraining order's rules about how close we can get before we start setting him on fire,” she said with a shrug.

Alma Grace dropped her head and her mouth moved in silent prayer.

Patrice touched Alma Grace on the shoulder and whispered, “God is telling you no! Listen to Him. Even He doesn't want Lenny in our family anymore.”

“How do you know what I'm praying for? Don't judge the book by the cover or the back blurb,” Alma Grace snapped.

Carlene hated this bickering. Patrice shot looks toward Alma Grace that should have knocked her to her knees but somehow she caught them midair and sent them back with enough force that Carlene could feel the chill.

If she prayed as much as Alma Grace, she'd ask that they could have a three-way hug like they used to do before the divorce. She missed that so much.

***

The lighting was perfect. The weather wasn't so hot that it would melt her makeup but it wasn't raining, which was a good sign. She hated doing off-site interviews and stories in the rain. It wasn't a big story but it would give her some real television time. She nodded for the camera operator to flip on the recording light and started.

“The Red-Hot Chili Cook-Off brings about lots of competition but this year it's gone up a notch here in Cadillac, Texas. I'm standing on the church lawn and behind me are twenty cookers all lined up in a row. Wait a minute, turn off the cameras. There's a skunk sniffing around the last cooker,” the reporter said.

“Makes for good footage.” The camera operator grinned.

“If it sprays we'll be in trouble,” she said. “Give it a minute to leave and we'll reshoot.”

Besides, she had an audience. At first it was just Police Chief Jack Landry leaning on his patrol car and then a pickup pulled up behind it, talked to him for a minute, and pulled a cell phone from his hip pocket. Now there were no less than fifty people standing out there pointing and laughing. Evidently, they knew something she didn't and she intended to find out what it was before she did the thirty-second news story the second time.

She talked to several men and one red-haired elderly woman while the skunk crawled up in the last cooker in the long row like he was riding in the last car in a parade.

“Okay, I've got it,” she whispered to the camera operator. “If I stand right there beside the church sign, will the skunk be in every second of the footage?”

He nodded and zeroed in on the church sign that gave the times for services, and in small letters across the bottom were the words “Free chili samples at Bless My Bloomers every evening after five. Comments appreciated.”

She fluffed up her blond hair and nodded. “The famous chili cook-off in Cadillac is coming up soon and the competition has begun. As you can see, one contestant is giving away free samples.” She did a sweeping motion toward the church billboard. “But it appears that this year someone has taken it a step further and has stolen every single contestant's cooker along with the trophies won by Lenny Lovelle for the past five years. Is it a statement that his cooker is the last in the row? We only know that it's his because his trophies, filled with what appears to be fresh bull manure, are in the cooker along with a skunk that has joined us for this interview. Antics will happen when there are this many contestants. What will happen next in Cadillac, Texas?”