Revenge of the Chili Queens by Kylie Logan Page A

teensiest bit red. So were her eyes. Me? Jump to conclusions? All the time! I jumped for all I was worth.
    “Hey, too bad about that murder that happened here last night, huh?”
    Whatever she was expecting from the woman in the cheap wig and the long black skirt, it wasn’t this. She actually flinched before she could hand me a red pen that said Consolidated Chili on it in bright yellow lettering.
    I tucked my hands behind my back, the better to send the message that I could not be bought with Consolidated’s pieces of silver. “You knew him?” I asked her.
    “Him?” Nobody does I-don’t-know-what-you’re-talking-about quite as well as a beauty queen. Not that I knew that many beauty queens, of course, but they aren’t all that different from those oh-so-cool girls back in high school who had all of Daddy’s money, Mommy’s credit cards to use at the mall, and every boy in school after them because there’s no guy in the world who can resist a conquest, especially when it comes along with perky breasts, a perfect smile, and a don’t-touch attitude.
    Phony eyelashes batting, Miss Texas Chili Pepper mustered up all the attitude she was able. “Who on earth are you talking about?”
    “The guy who was murdered about fifty yards from here last night? Over near the porta-potties? Don’t tell me you don’t know about it, because if you don’t, you’re the only one in San Antonio who hasn’t heard the news. It’s all anybody around here can talk about.”
    Right hand to cheek. “Oh, that man.”
    Like she thought that lame gesture was enough todistract me? News flash: that sort of tactic didn’t work on an old pro like me; I’d used it myself plenty of times.
    I kept my eyes on her face to better gauge her reaction. “You were talking to him here in your tent last night. You handed him a sample of chili.”
    She had green eyes, like a cat’s, and she rolled them ever so innocently, her Texas drawl suddenly as heavy as the muggy night air. “I talked to a whole lot of folks last night. It’s my job. My duty. You know, as Miss Texas Chili Pepper.”
    “How did you know him?”
    “A dead person?” Her eyes went wide. “I didn’t. I mean, I may have spoken to him. After all—”
    “It’s your duty. Yeah. Whatever. So some guy you didn’t know but talked to once got killed and you’ve spent the day crying?”
    Her shake of the head might have been more convincing if she didn’t sniffle at the same time. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
    “Your image, for one thing. What are people going to think if they see Miss Texas Chili Pepper has a red nose?”
    “Is it? Red?” Don’t asked me where she stashed anything in a dress that formfitting, but she reached into a pocket, pulled out a compact, and took at gander at herself in the little mirror. She winced, set the compact down on the nearest table, and bent closer so she could peer into the mirror at the same time she powdered her nose.
    “I’m allergic,” she said once she was done. “You know, to cats and dogs and such. And with so many animals here tonight . . . well, what’s a poor girl going to do?”
    “Not attend animal fund-raisers?”
    Her smile was tight. Oh, how she pitied me! “We all have a duty to our world and the poor, innocent creatures that inhabit it,” she said. “Even if it’s sometimes painful. Allergies or no allergies, my own needs aren’t as important as those of the poor animals that suffer out on the streets of cities all across this great country. They need to be housed and fed. They need medicine, and most importantly, they need plenty of love. I can’t help deliver that message if I’m home and avoiding my duty.”
    “Looks to me like all you’re delivering is pens with the Consolidated Chili name on them.”
    “Would you like one?” When she held out a pen to me, her smile was as wide as the dome of stars above our heads.
    “I’ll pass,” I told her. “Besides, rather than a