Mayhem at the Orient Express (22 page)

“Until the next woman comes along.” I was long past judging so I was just reporting
facts.

Another laugh out of Tumbleweed. “Your mama never held it against him, though, did
she?” He didn’t wait for me to answer. He didn’t need to. Tumbleweed spit a long stream
of tobacco juice on the ground. “Nope, none of them ever did except maybe Norma, Sylvia’s
mama.” He glanced toward where Sylvia was setting out a pile of shopping bags with
Texas Jack’s face on them. “Always thought Norma was too high strung to be the Chili
Chick. After all, Chick . . .” He gave me a friendly pat on the . . . er . . . chile.
“The Chili Chick is a legend on the cook-off circuit. Has been since your daddy thought
of her as a way to attract attention and bring in customers. Sylvia’s mom . . . the
way I remember it, Norma was a last-minute fill-in when the Chick before her found
out she was pregnant. Oh, Norma, she could dance passably well. But she never had
that right spark. Then when your mama came along . . .” Tumbleweed whistled low under
his breath, and I understood why.

In many ways, my mom and I are a lot alike. Except that instead of being cute (oh,
how I hate that word!) like me, my mother is drop-dead gorgeous. The story says that
Jack took one look at her in those fishnet stockings and lost his heart right on the
spot. Too bad he was married to Norma at the time, who was back home in Seattle and
heard the news long distance that he wanted out.

They’d been divorced for more than twenty years, but I thought about the way my mom
still looked when Jack’s name came up in conversation. Wistful. And about the way
Sylvia’s mom had looked the one time Jack and I showed up at her door to pick up Sylvia
and take her on the road.

To say hell hath no fury was putting it mildly.

I turned to Tumbleweed. “You don’t think Norma’s still so angry that she might have—”

“Stop that right this instant.” He tried for a stern look, but with Tumbleweed, that’s
always a long shot. I blame his flapping jowls, his too-big ears, and that mile-wide
grin that erupts at the most inconvenient times. “You remember what the cops in Abilene
said, honey, when I first realized Jack was gone. No sign of foul play. And nothing
missing from the stand, so they didn’t figure on a robbery. And Jack’s things weren’t
left behind. Wherever he went, he went willingly.”

It was what I’d told myself a thousand times since I got the call. Years before, Jack
had given Tumbleweed an order: if anything ever happened to him, he was to get in
contact with Sylvia and me so we could take over the business.

Take over, we did. Me, because I was convinced if I stayed on the circuit long enough,
I’d find out what happened to Jack. And besides, it didn’t hurt that the call came
right at the time I needed to get far, far away from Chicago, my broken heart, and
the debt collectors who were calling at all hours.

Sylvia . . .

From inside the Chili Chick, I slid her another look, and even though I was sure she
couldn’t hear me, I leaned closer to Tumbleweed, my voice lowered to a conspiratorial
whisper. “Why do you suppose she’s really here?”

He sucked on his bottom lip. “I’d like to say it’s because she’s just as interested
in finding Jack as you are.”

“Except you know that’s not true.”

Tumbleweed rocked back on his heels. “Well, she did mention something the other day.
Told me she was thinking of writing a cookbook.”

This is not as odd as it sounds, since before she got the call about Jack and how
we needed to take over the Palace until he returned, Sylvia was a writer for a foodie
magazine back in Seattle. “I thought she only ate tofu and weeds.”

“And chili apparently.” When he looked Sylvia’s way, Tumbleweed’s eyes were beady.
“Said she’s even preparing a special recipe. You know, so that she can enter the contests.”

Suddenly, Sylvia mixing up spices the night before made more sense. “Well, that explains
why she was mixing up a batch of chili to bring to the meeting tonight. She’s going
to use us as guinea pigs, perfect a couple recipes, then when she gets a few wins
under her belt, I bet a publisher would pay more attention to her cookbook. Opportunistic
little b—”

“Now, now, Chili Chick.” Tumbleweed wagged a finger at me. “Don’t you go and let that
famous temper of yours get out of control. You ain’t gonna find Jack if you’re so
busy fightin’ with your sister—”

“Half sister.”

He didn’t dignify this with a response. In fact, all Tumbleweed did was pull one corner
of his mouth into a humorless smile. “Ain’t gonna get you nowhere if you two kill
each other first.”

Murder? One look at Sylvia behind the counter all cool and composed and not sweating
from standing in the sun, and I considered the suggestion. But honestly, only for
a second. Then again, I saw that she had a case of spice jars to unload, so I got
my own little bit of revenge by pretending to be busy practicing my little heart out.

I wonder if I’d have kept right on dancing if I knew that within twenty-four hours,
talk of murder would be as impossible to escape as a dose of heartburn after a great
big bowl of Texas Red.