Murder and a Texas Brisket Page 4

  Mr. Spudson adjusted his bowtie. “She’ll be subject to Picante laws if she does.”

  “Which are?” I asked.

  “Made up by him,” the beauty queen spoke up for the first time with a hint of a slur. She pointed to Mr. Spudson. “My dear husband is judge, jury, mayor and whatever else he wants to be.”

  Husband. Wow, I’d have guessed father or grandfather. Not for me to judge, I reminded myself. “What about the local sheriff’s department?”

  “They don’t get involved unless we ask them to,” Craig answered. “Usually, after we’ve dealt with the matter in-house.”

  The words “in-house” left a brick in the pit of my stomach. I glanced at Marlin to see if the severity of the situation had hit home yet. My breathing increased, and I imagined we were in one of those post-apocalyptic 80s films where they fought over the remaining water and Tina Turner and Mel Gibson sang about a dome or something like that.

  I snapped my fingers at Craig. “How many miles to the Picante limits?”

  “Ten. That way.” He gestured through an empty field.

  Ten miles. I could run…who was I kidding, I could fast-walk a mile in thirteen minutes. In these boots, maybe fifteen minutes. Ten times fifteen was one hundred and fifty. So, one hundred and fifty minutes to get out of here if I took off through that field right now. Was that right? I wanted to be at home with my babies.

  Marlin smacked a hand against my upper arm. “Hon, you’re mumbling numbers again.”

  The rest of the contestants joined us in the royalty tent except for beer guy. He didn’t seem interested in much of anything other than finishing his drink.

  I turned to Marlin. “It could be a non-issue if you don’t win.”

  Her eyes widened. “Shut your mouth, Beanie O’Rourke.”

  Mr. Spudson stood and held out his arm. “Now if you don’t mind, my wife and I need to enter the judges’ tent so we can eat the entries before they go cold.”

  The drunken Mrs. Spudson gave her husband a nasty glare, but stood and looped her arm through his.

  A series of screams came from the judges’ tent. “He’s choking! He’s choking!”

  Craig bolted to the tent, his Stetson flying off and through the flaps while a woman in a red polka-dot dress dashed out. The band stopped playing on a screech and a weird noise came over the microphone before the quiet.

  “Call 9-1-1!” The woman screamed and promptly fainted, her skirts lifting above her legs and showing off her matching polka-dot underwear.

  Marlin and I rushed over to the fallen woman. I pulled her skirts down while Marlin slapped her cheeks.

  “She’s out like a light,” Marlin said. “A polka-dotted light.”

  Poor woman. I used the collar of her dress to dab away barbeque sauce from her chin.

  Craig came out of the tent and spoke on his walkie-talkie.

  “Stay here,” I said to Marlin. I picked up Craig’s hat and walked it to him. “What’s going on in there?”

  The iciness of his blue eyes took on a colder glaze if that were even possible. “Our medic is on the way. I need to inform Mr. Spudson of the situation.”

  I grabbed his forearm, the worst assumptions already forming. “What is the situation?”

  He sighed and patted the top of my hand before removing it. “We have a dead contest judge.”

  5

  Mr. Spudson followed Craig into the tent. I glanced down the road wondering how long it would take the county ambulance to arrive. Ten or fifteen minutes? I multiplied to get the seconds, needing the focus on specific numbers—six hundred seconds.

  The rest of the contestants milled around the royal tent.

  “She’s coming ‘round.” Marlin helped the lady in polka dots sit up. “Hon? You with us?”

  I sat down on the ground beside her when she didn’t respond. “Hi, there. I’m Beatrice. What’s your name?”

  She rubbed the side of her face, now decorated with Marlin’s handprint. Her eyes darted around. “Karen.”

  I pulled her focus back on me by leaning closer to her face. “Do you know where you are, Karen?”

  “Mr. Spudson’s house?” She clutched her chest and appeared to feel for a heartbeat. “Whew, my heart is beating ninety to nothing.”

  “You fainted.” Marlin smacked and rubbed Karen’s back. “Probably knocked the sense out of your head when you hit the ground.”

  The confusion stayed with Karen. “Why does my cheek hurt? Did I fall on my face?”

  “I slapped you a few times,” Marlin answered, proud as could be. “It didn’t work like it does in the movies. Maybe I didn’t do it hard enough.”

  I grabbed Karen’s hand and squeezed it. “Karen, what happened in the judges’ tent?”

  “Oh,” she sucked in a sharp breath as if the reason for her fainting finally made sense. “One minute Charles is eating like a pig at the slop trough off of every plate in front of him, and then he started choking and foaming at the mouth. He was breathing all funny, and I didn’t know what to do.”

  “Did you try to perform the Heimlich?” Marlin inched me over to get more face-time with Karen. “You know you have to ask if they’re choking first, hon or you’ll make it worse.”

  I nodded in agreement with Marlin. “People rarely breathe or make sounds when they choke, they don’t make any sound at all because the air passage is blocked. Are you sure he was breathing funny and foaming at the mouth?”

  The foaming part bothered me.

  Karen rubbed her arms and sniffled. “I pulled on his waist a few times but when he clawed at my wrists, I came running out.” She held up her wrists to show off a few scratches.

  Once the paramedics arrived, they could give more information. Where were the sirens? I tilted my head toward the front of the house. Nothing.

  “I’m going in there.” I stood and wiped the grass and dirt from my jeans. “We need our cellphones back.”

  “My phone, hon,” Marlin reminded me. “Yours is back in Georgia with Alicia.”

  “Not helpful, Marlin.” Even with the tension around recent events, I couldn’t add a bite to my tone.

  Before I could make it to the closed tent, a truck with a wailing siren and one red flashing light blew through the backyard. The young driver barely had the truck in park before he jumped from the driver’s seat. He ran full sprint past me carrying a large red medical backpack. The guard let him pass through the flap.

  I walked to the edge of the house and stood on my tip-toes to see past all the decorative bushes. Was that the only medical response for Picante? Surely, that couldn’t be so. Common sense concluded that the county ambulance called this guy to precede their arrival. As I walked back, I wrung my hands together and began counting the polka dots on Karen’s skirt.

  I got to twenty before the medic exited the tent and strolled over to Karen. He looked like a young George Clooney with hair that fell over his brow the same way. Marlin made a few “mm mm mm” noises before he crouched down to the ground and opened his bag.

  “Ma’am, I need to check your vitals.” He picked up Karen’s wrist and pressed his fingers to her pulse.

  The flap of the judges’ tent rustled, and I rushed forward to meet Craig. “When is the ambulance coming? And when can we get our phones back?”

  “Everything is privatized in Picante. That includes our medical. Doc is as good as any ambulance at pronouncing a man dead.”

  I placed my hand over my heart, my empathy great for anyone who lost a member of their family tragically. They’d be added to my prayers later that night. “God rest his soul.”

  Craig grunted in response.

  I watched Marlin inch closer and closer to the doctor. “Doc seems a little young. Is he a general practitioner for the town?”

  “Doc’s a former Army medic. He’s working on his nursing degree.”

  I let my head fall back and take in the blue Texas sky. Did things work so different in a privatized town that real-world course of actions
like calling 9-1-1 could be ignored? “At least tell me you’ve contacted the county sheriff’s department?”

  He placed a hand on the small of my back and guided me over to Marlin and Karen. “I need all y’all to go to Mr. Spudson’s main tent and wait for further instructions.”

  I stepped away from him. “I don’t like the sound of that. Why can’t we have our cell phones back?”

  Marlin joined me and thrust a hand on her hip. “Yeah, why can’t we have my phone back?”

  Marlin’s cousin and her boyfriend joined our little semi-circle. Ricky Lynn gave Marlin her version of stink eye but she addressed Craig too. “What’s going on?”

  The aggressiveness in her voice must have set off warning bells with the armed guard. He walked up behind Craig, the show of force obvious in each step.

  Craig opened his arms wide. “Y’all are making Stoney nervous. Mr. Spudson will explain in a few minutes. I need everyone to return to the main tent and have a seat.”

  No one wanted to make the man with the rifle nervous. Doc finished his assessment of Karen and helped her to her feet. He nodded to Craig. “I’ll be back in a few to escort the body to the county morgue. Need anything else, boss?”

  Craig waved him off. “We’ll call you if we do.”

  I trudged along behind Marlin to the main tent. The wonder and excitement of the mansion’s backyard dimmed and reminded me more of a carnival funhouse than before. The scary funhouses that forgot to include the fun. My stomach churned with nerves but I sat down as Craig instructed. When Marlin didn’t say anything, I knew she struggled with the same anxiety as me. Rarely was there a situation that shut her mouth for long.

  I reached across the table for a pitcher of iced water and poured both Marlin and myself a glass.

  Mrs. Spudson snapped her fingers and the waiter Gérard brought her another glass of champagne. She drank it down with such ease I imagined she had a history of inebriation.

  “I don’t like this,” I whispered to Marlin.

  Craig returned to the judges’ tent and held the flap open for Mr. Spudson. As soon as the older man waddled into the main tent, several of us stood, me included, and bombarded him with questions.

  “What is going on?” I asked.

  “Who is the winner?” the man with the patch asked.

  “Did that man choke on Marlin’s nasty burnt barbeque?” Ricky Lynn asked.

  Marlin stood, her hands clenched by her sides. Her lips quivered like a volcano on the brink of erupting. “Don’t you say my name, you low down rotten thief.”

  Ricky Lynn raised an eyebrow and smiled. “The only thing rotten is your fishy breath, Marlin.”

  Marlin pushed me aside and dove at her cousin, locking onto her hair. Ricky Lynn squealed and swung her arms wildly, connecting with Marlin’s midsection three or four times. Marlin responded with a few oomphs but didn’t let go.

  Craig latched onto her wrists and the waiter whose name I didn’t know circled his arms around Ricky Lynn’s waist. When they still couldn’t wrestle the women apart, I grabbed the large pitcher of iced water and tossed it into Marlin’s face. She’d have to forgive me later. Just like I’d eventually forgive her for bringing me into this mess.

  She released Ricky Lynn’s hair and sucked in a loud, gasping breath. Craig’s mustache twitched but if it was from held back laughter or anger, I couldn’t tell. He’d received part of the cold bath along with the two women and the waiter.

  Mr. Spudson waved his arms up and down a few times, drawing our attention back to him. “Now, everyone calm down. Y’all women are acting meaner than a sheep-killing dog.”

  “Mr. Spudson,” I interjected. “Please tell us what’s going on.”

  He twisted the edge of his mustache, his expression somber. “Our friend and judge, Charles, had an episode and our medic could not revive him.”

  The contestant who’d been glued to his seat finally stood and moseyed over to the main tent. He tilted the top of his beer toward the judges’ tent. “The contest is off then?”

  “Well…” Mr. Spudson eyed his wife. “I don’t see any reason why we can’t try again if y’all can get your brisket entries warmed for another try.”

  “I see a big reason,” I said, setting the water pitcher on the table with more force than intended. “It’s disrespectful to the deceased.”

  Mr. Spudson shrugged. “Or, it could be an honor to the deceased by carrying on and naming the new brisket recipe after him.”

  I glanced around. The couple beside me nodded as if an agreement. Ricky Lynn and her pirate didn’t look as if they had any objections either.

  “However,” he said still addressing me. “You and Ms. Marlin are welcome to leave now. I’ll release you from the agreement as long as you understand the confidentiality clause still applies. I have no doubts the other contestants like their odds of winning a million dollars going up with your absence.”

  Marlin stepped in front of me as if blocking me from view would make Mr. Spudson forget I existed. “We’re staying.”

  I moved around her. “We’re leaving.”

  “Side bar.” She grabbed my wrist and pulled me out of earshot of the rest of the tent.

  I tugged my wrist from her grasp and settled my hands on my hips. “I thought you weren’t going to give up the recipe?”

  “I’m not, hon.” She talked out the side of her mouth while keeping an eye on the main tent. “But I will not allow Ricky Lynn to hand over Memaw’s recipe either.”

  I glanced over at Marlin’s cousin and her mean-looking partner. “How do you plan to get it back?”

  Her eyes twinkled. “We’re gonna take it back.”

  “You mean steal?”

  “Can you steal something that belonged to you in the first place, sweetums?” Her voice took on a merry excitement that made me nervous.

  Righteous or not, I needed to get off the Marlin roller coaster. “I’m going to ask Craig to take me and Austin to the airport. This is over.”

  “Austin can’t fly because I don’t have his papers. You’d have to leave him here with me.” She grabbed my hands and pulled them tight to her chest. “Beanie, my dearest and probably only real friend. I promise that the minute we retrieve Memaw’s recipe, I will drive us straight out of Texas.”

  I didn’t want to leave Austin behind. I didn’t want to help Marlin steal a recipe from her cousin either. I pushed down a few divots in the grass while I considered my options.

  “How would we go about getting the recipe? She could have it written down on several pieces of paper.”

  “She’s not smart enough for that. I bet my favorite rhinestone earrings she only has the one original recipe card.”

  “I still don’t see how we can steal it from her before the competition is over.”

  Before she could answer with her version of a plan, Doc pulled through past the trucks and main tent to park in front of the judges’ tent. Another truck with men sitting in the truck bed pulled in behind him. They jumped over the side and reached back in for their rifles. More Picante security.

  Craig joined them and gave orders in a hushed tone. Doc removed a folded black vinyl bag from behind the front cab seat. A body bag.

  My heart sank for the man they’d put inside the bag. I’d never met the contest judge Charles but I couldn’t imagine this is the way he wanted to leave this world. “This is the beginnings of a bad horror movie. The ones where no one cares what happened to the prior victims as long as they aren’t next.”

  Marlin snapped her fingers. “You are a genius, lil’ momma.” She pulled me back toward the main tent. “Now I’ve got a plan.”

  6

  Marlin dragged me by the wrist to Mr. Spudson’s throne. “We’re back in the competition but first, we believe there should be a memorial of sorts led by Beanie.”

  I tugged on my arm. “What?”

  She squeezed tighter, refusing to let go. “I think by the fountain in front of the house would be an amazing place to s
ay some nice words. Then the black cloud that’s settled over the competition would be lifted. It’s only right that Mr. Charles goes out on a high note. Maybe a hymn could be sung?”

  I closed my eyes and waited for the laughter. No way would Mr. Spudson fall for something as harebrained as a memorial to lift bad barbeque vibes.

  “Well, as long as we keep it short,” he answered. “It’ll be like one of those New Orleans funeral marches.”

  My eyes popped open, and I blinked a few times. Marlin let go of my wrist and I rubbed the skin she’d clung to. I needed to get out of Picante before their disrespect infected me.

  The pageant queen snickered. “I’m gonna need another glass of bubbly, Gérard.”

  The waiter rushed forward to refill her glass.

  To the side of us, Doc and a few of the guards brought out the body bag. I turned my head not wanting to gawk. “This will never work.”

  Mr. Spudson climbed down from his throne and extended his arm. “I’ll lead the procession to the front fountain while the boys take care of Charles.”

  If anyone thought a procession to a memorial at a mansion’s fountain seemed odd, they didn’t speak up. I wondered if a million dollars wasn’t on the line if people would check their moral compasses and find them to be pointing south.

  Marlin and I trailed the other contestants and followed the Spudsons on the brick path. Karen joined in too. Those in the country band who could carry their instruments followed behind us.

  I leaned in close to Marlin. “How are you going to get back to search Ricky Lynn’s truck with all the guards watching?”

  She fluffed the front of her hair but it still sank toward her forehead thanks to the water from earlier. “The less you know of this plan, the better, hon. But don’t you worry. I know exactly where Ricky Lynn keeps her important stuff.”

  Her reassurance did nothing for my spiked anxiety. I eyed the two guards with rifles who followed behind the band. “What am I supposed to do?”