Holy Guacamole! (32 page)

“ ‘I wasn’t really thinking that clearly,’ says the doctor.”

Luz was doing quite a good imitation of both men.

“‘How long would you say that you held the pillow over his face?’ asks Matalisse.

“ ‘I couldn’t say,’ says the doctor. ‘But you can see that it was a tragic mistake.’

“ ‘No, sir, I can’t,’ says the lieutenant. ‘First, you lied about where you were that night. Then you tell me that he called you, but there were no calls from his house that night, so you obviously went there of your own accord. You had motive—the lawsuits he threatened. So you put the pillow over his face and killed him. Of course, the district attorney will have to decide, but I’d say you’re guilty of murder, sir.’

“All the time Matalisse is so polite. You should have seen it. I felt like cheering. And Guevara. His face kept getting redder and redder because every word they said screwed his line of investigation right into the ground. They ought to send the frigging numskull to Traffic or somewhere he can’t do any harm.”

“More sangria?” I asked.

“You bet,” she replied enthusiastically. “This has been the best week I’ve had in I don’t know when, and I’d never have believed it when you showed up at my door last Monday, all prissy and earnest.”

“I may be earnest, Luz, but I am
not
prissy.” And I passed her the guacamole.

He Said, She Said

O
nce I finished
telling Carolyn about the interrogation of Peter Brockman, the two of us sat there talking, laughing, and drinking more of her great sangria. We were pretty pleased with ourselves. “Here’s to catching the arrogant doctor who snuffed out Vladik Gubenko, small loss there, but justice did prevail!” I said. We clinked sangria glasses.

Giggling, Carolyn then said, “Here’s to the bounty hunters of the year—us—who kidnapped the evil drug lord. His only redeeming feature was a good voice.”

“Hey, give the man credit,” I protested. “He would have got the prize for the most disgusting interior decoration if he’d entered the contest.” We howled with laughter and drank the toast. “Did I tell you about the rewards? Should come to about forty thousand with the money for catching three alien smugglers. Gubenko counts even if he is dead. Twenty thou is yours if you want it.”

“That’s a lot of money,” said Carolyn, awed. “On the other hand, the whole thing isn’t much more than two years of your medication.” She gave the matter some deep thought, if the frown on her face was any indication. “I think, on consideration, that you should have it, Luz. I’d never have dreamed of kidnapping Mr. Barrientos if you hadn’t engineered it. And it
was
fun. I’ll tell you what: You pay for cleaning my trunk and vacuuming Smack hair off my upholstery, and we’ll call it even.”

“I’ll give you a chance to change your mind when you’re not full of sangria,” I offered, but I hoped she wouldn’t; two years of medication wasn’t something to pass up.

“I’m not drunk, you know,” she protested. “I’m perfectly capable of renouncing twenty thousand dollars.” Then she giggled. “Of course, Jason might not like it, but he won’t know, will he? So let’s have another toast.”

“Okay,” I agreed. “Here’s to bringing down Boris, the white-slaving ghoul. Hey, did you know your eye is turning a very becoming yellow and lavender?”

“I don’t want to hear about it,” said Carolyn, and raised her glass. “To Boris the ghoul.”

We drank and filled our plates with more chips and canapés. “You put on a good lunch, Caro,” I said.

She nodded solemnly. “And
al fresco
too.”

“What?”

“We’re out doors. Look at that sunset. Do I have the best view in town or what?”

We studied a sky glowing red, streaked purple and even green, high clouds hanging over the sun’s disappearance like ominous canopies. “I think it’s going to rain,” I said.

“That’s not at all likely,” Carolyn retorted. “I predict that we won’t see rain until spring. Here’s to El Paso and its beautiful sunsets.”

“El Paso!” I agreed, and we clinked glasses.

“And here’s to the rescue of the two fair maidens in distress,” said Carolyn. “May they enjoy their new dorm rooms, their new used car, their donated clothes, their cans of soup, and their respectable jobs—and become great opera singers, who will mention us kindly in their memoirs.” Since she’d drunk the last of her sangria, she raised a tostado dripping with chile con queso.

“Hey, I don’t want runny cheese on my sangria glass,” I protested. “And you were the one who saved the fair maidens in distress, if they are maidens. Doesn’t seem likely after their career in exotic dancing.”

“They’re lesbians,” said Carolyn. “But you may be right about maidenhood. I think Polya slept with at least one customer at Brazen Babes, and Irina was sexually abused by her father, so she’s probably not a maiden either.”

“Death to sexual abusers!” I said and poured more sangria into her glass so that she could drink the toast.

“To sexual abusers,” said Carolyn, and raised the glass.

“Carolyn?” exclaimed a shocked voice.

She turned around and said, “Hi, Jason. What are you doing here?”

“My God, what happened to your eye?”

“I was punched by an evil ghoul.” She grinned. “From Russia. Want some sangria? I think he’s being deported.”

“You’ve obviously been drinking quite a lot of that sangria.”

“I have indeed. This is Luz Vallejo. We are El Paso’s cutest crime fighters, aren’t we, Luz? Luz, my husband, Jason.”

“Hi, Jason.” He was kinda cute himself, nice beard, but he didn’t look very glad to see me. Maybe he was still obsessing about her eye. “Her eye looks a lot better today,” I told him. “Yesterday it was black and purple.”

“It’s a comfort to know that,” he said dryly. “Carolyn, maybe you’d like to tell me exactly what you’ve been doing while I was away?”

Oops,
I thought.
Controlling husband rears ugly head.

“What have I been doing?” Carolyn straightened up from her comfortable sprawl, put her glass down on the table, and said, “Well, I have saved the university from embarrassment by getting those two girls—excuse me, young women—out of the strip club and into a dormitory with new clothes, cans of soup, meals in the Commons, free tuition, and respectable part-time work provided by members of our ad hoc ladies’ Opera at the Pass charitable committee. Then Luz and I found out who killed Vladik, and he
was
murdered—by Peter Brockman. We also kidnapped a drug dealer from Juarez and turned him in for a nifty reward, which I can have half of if I want, but I don’t, and then we got Boris Stepanovich Ignatenko, owner of Brazen Babes, jailed for various crimes, among them my black eye.”

She gave her husband a bright smile and said, “And what have you been doing this week, Jason, other than gamboling around Austin with a girl half your age.”

“Oops,” I said. “Maybe I ought to go home.”

“I was not gamboling around Austin,” said Jason, looking insulted. “We were consulting on research into—”

“Goodness, don’t leave, Luz,” said Carolyn. “Have some more sangria. You promised that I could tell you about Aztec uses, aside from nutritional uses, for chiles. Jason, sit down and have some sangria. It’s amazing how much it cheers one up.”

“Here’s to the Aztecs,” I said, raising my glass. “What else did they do with chiles? I’m all ears.”

“Not at all,” said Carolyn. “Your ears are quite unobtrusive. And it wasn’t just the Aztecs. The Incas and Mayas also used chiles—for torture. We could have resorted to jalapenos on Mr. Barrientos instead of just threatening his genitalia with your cane.”

Her husband choked on his sangria.

“They also used it to poison their arrow tips. They dusted it on food they were afraid might have spoiled and fumigated rooms with it. Do you think chiles could kill cockroaches, Jason? Maybe we should think about that as an earth-friendly substitute for insecticide. The next time I see a scorpion, I’ll just shake some cayenne pepper on it.”

“Scorpions are pretty fast,” I pointed out. “That’s kind of like trying to pour salt on a bird’s tail. I tried that when I was a kid. Never had any luck at all, but it did piss my mother off. She liked birds and didn’t want me wasting salt.”

Carolyn nodded. “The Salt War,” she said, whatever the hell she meant by that. “The Indians also thought that chiles were a cure for diarrhea. How silly is that?”

“Not silly,” I protested. “My aunt says so too.”

“There is a much higher rate of stomach cancer in countries that eat a lot of spicy food,” said her husband.

“Exactly,” Carolyn agreed, “and most interesting, they used to poison small bodies of water in order to kill the fish, which floated to the top, dead and well spiced for the pot.”

“Interesting,” said her husband.

“Sneaky,” I said. “Here’s to spicy fish,” and we all clinked our sangria glasses.

Adela’s Guacamole
11

Recipe provided by W. Park Kerr and Norma Kerr from the
El Paso Chile Company’s Texas Border Cookbook

 

Carolyn’s Easy Eggs Ranchero
28

 

Tortilla Soup
65

 

Salpicon
(Shredded beef salad with chipotle dressing)
85

Recipe reprinted from the
El Paso Chile Company’s Texas
Border Cookbook
with permission of authors W. Park Kerr and Norma Kerr

 

Green Enchiladas
a la Hacienda
101

Recipe reprinted from the
El Paso Chile Company’s Texas
Border Cookbook
with permission of the authors

 

Enchiladas de Calebacitas
(Mexican Squash Enchiladas)
246

 

Pescado al Mojo de Ajo
(Fish Filet in Butter-Garlic Sauce)
250

 

Mexican Crepes
251

Recipe reprinted from the
El Paso Chile Company’s Texas
Border Cookbook
with permission from the authors

 

Professorial Sangria
265