Cinco de Mayhem by Ann Myers Page B

went bad?”
    Crystal clamped her red lips shut and busied herself rearranging the juices.
    Don laid his hand on my shoulder. It felt like a steel baseball mitt. “Rita, I know about you and Flori and your sleuthing. You girls have to be careful. Asking questions about killers and food inspectors—especially that one—is dangerous business. Real dangerous. Linda will be fine. She’s innocent.” He squeezed my shoulder and then patted the donation jug. “We’ve got her back.”
    â€œFree Linda!” Crystal yelled, raising a wooden spoon high. Heads turned our way.
    I turned to go. As I did, Don’s iron grip latched onto my arm. “I mean it, Rita,” he said in a low voice. His friendly grin was gone and his eyes dark under the brim of his hat. A shiver ran up the side he gripped. “Stay away for your own sake, and for Flori’s and Linda’s too.”
    He released me and I hurried off. Free Linda rang through my confused head. Was I imagining it, or had I just been threatened by a nice guy?

Chapter 8
    B y the time I reached the other side of the Plaza, I’d convinced myself—mostly—that Don had issued a friendly caution. What nice guy doesn’t warn a single woman to take care around a killer? Or warn a fellow food professional about a potentially dirty health inspector? I probably misread the hard edge in his voice. And his eyes, maybe he was squinting against the sun. Except that his hat shaded his eyes. Maybe my initial impression was right and Don was warning me off his murderous business. Don definitely had the strength to overpower Napoleon. He also had a beef.
    But why now, when his hot dog cart was thriving and he claimed to be happy? Had Napoleon sicced the health inspector on Don? Restaurants fell afoul of inspectors all the time. Besides, a failing grade wasn’t always bad. Problems could be fixed, and some fanatic foodies even considered infractions a sign of greasy-spoon gems.
    Engrossed in these thoughts, I didn’t notice the TV crew until I stepped into their shot.
    â€œCut!” a man’s voice boomed in my ear.
    I jumped backward, apologizing.
    â€œGood one, Rita,” a grouchier male voice said. Manny stood a few feet away getting his nose powdered.
    Just what I didn’t need, Manny, and in front of a camera no less. My vain ex would be puffed up like a law-enforcing prairie chicken.
    The woman holding a News 6 microphone waved off the disruption. “Doesn’t matter,” she said breezily. “I didn’t like my lead in. Let’s do it over. This time, can we get more of that crime scene van in the background? What if it was open?”
    I recognized her from a nightly news program out of Albuquerque. Her name was Milan Lujan, and she was as exquisite as I imagined her namesake city to be. Exactly Manny’s type. Shorter than him, with long black hair and dark, almond-shaped eyes hovering far across her cheekbones, like a sexy space alien.
    Manny turned on his charm. “I’ll handle that,” he said, waving down the lounging crime tech.
    I might hate confrontation, but I couldn’t stop myself. I stepped up to my ex. “Manny, you know Linda’s innocent. Anyone is innocent until proven guilty.”
    Milan stepped away to have her makeup adjusted. Manny flashed me his pearly whites. “Spending too much time with that criminal-chaser lawyer, are you Rita? I’m sorry about Linda. I’ll miss her tamales, and she’s a nice lady. But even nice ladies can snap.”
    The crime tech moved the van closer. His partner flung open the back door, revealing the imprisoned cart. I could see the red and orange flowers painted along one side and the word TÍA. Anyone local could fill in the rest, if they hadn’t heard already.
    Manny was right about one thing. Nice women can snap. I wanted to push him aside and slam the van doors shut. Fortunately, I didn’t have a