Cinco de Mayhem by Ann Myers Page A

my to-do lists seem like nothing. She’d made four batches of cookies for a school bake sale and all the juices for today. She helped with homework and read bedtime stories and packed lunches for all family members including herself. “Burritos with avocado, rice, beans, and cheese,” she said. “Really healthy.”
    â€œAnd your husband was there all night?” I asked.
    â€œWhat does that mean?” Crystal demanded. “Where else would Chago be?”
    One of his two jobs perhaps? I hardly dared ask Crystal, who was getting testier than me on too much maple syrup.
    â€œChago gets home for the kids’ bedtime and reads them books,” she said. “He’s a good man. We have a good marriage, stronger than ever. I love him.”
    I sighed, thinking I could have used a good man around the house when I’d been married. I risked getting Don prickly too and asked about his activities.
    Don was less clear than Crystal. Actually, he was downright fuzzy. He was, as he put it, “here or there” and “out and about.” He tipped back his hat and rubbed his forehead, as if this might scour out some more details. “I’ll admit, I rambledaround and had a few drinks,” he said. “I feel a mite bad. Turns out that Linda had left me a message ’round dinnertime asking me to turn off her warmer tray in her cart if I was down at the Plaza. I didn’t check my phone till this morning.” He glanced toward the crime scene. “No getting there now. It probably ran out of fuel on its own anyhow.”
    â€œSo you were on the Plaza?” I asked.
    â€œI was out selling hot dogs until about eight, I’d guess,” Don said. “After that, I figured I’d done enough business, so I packed the cart up. Had a few beers with the boys afterward. I’m sorry now I didn’t pay attention to my phone. I’m not a phone guy.”
    Manny had claimed to not be a phone guy too. Funny how he’d become one when he got a smart phone for texting his girlfriends.
    I tried again. “We really need a witness to help out Linda,” I said, giving up the ruse that the police were the only ones asking. “Maybe you walked by the Plaza and saw something or someone or Napoleon? Anything could help.”
    Don rubbed his goatee thoughtfully. “Well, can’t say that I recall. I chatted with some folks. Didn’t see Napoleon, not that he went to the bars I go to these days. I saw your ex, though. We had a beer at the Cantina. I suppose he’s my alibi, if that’s what you’re feeling around for. Ha! A policeman. That’s a pretty good alibi, now isn’t it?”
    Yeah, good for him. Bad for Linda, and for me, since the Cantina was the site of my Bloody-Mary-throwing incident. I wouldn’t be going in there or questioning Manny. Like that would get me anywhere .
    â€œSo who do you think killed Napoleon?” I asked the twosome.
    â€œLind—” Crystal started to say.
    â€œIf it wasn’t Linda,” I said, cutting her off.
    She shrugged, her dark curls tumbling over her shoulders.
    â€œCould have been anyone,” Don suggested, also unhelpfully. “A random killer like you see on TV. Some dude, a psycho type, comes by with a knife and that’s that.”
    Crystal said she didn’t like that idea.
    I didn’t either. How could the police locate a random stranger? How could I? But I doubted Don’s theory. What were the chances that an unknown murderer came across Napoleon, worked up the ambition to stab him, and then took the extra step of covering his body with a tamale cart? No, this crime suggested a personal grudge. More than that. Intense hatred or a burst of anger.
    â€œWhat about the health inspector?” I suggested. “The guy who shut down Linda’s cart? Do you know anything about him? What if he and Napoleon were involved in dirty business together and the deal