Cinco de Mayhem (30 page)

What I recorded was my best friend apologizing. “Sorry!” Cass said from the bandstand stage. Although the stage was only a few feet off the ground, she seemed to tower above me. I felt foolish and very glad it was her.

Cass looked down with concern. “What are you doing?”

I avoided her question by asking my own. “What are
you
doing? How did you know I was here?”

“I didn't. I was walking home from another dreadful late event, and I spotted Flori with her binoculars. She said you were over here. She told me to sneak up and see if you were ‘aware' of your full perimeter. What's she mean?”

“Ancient Chinese war tactics,” I said, checking my watch. It was ten minutes to midnight, and I didn't want our mystery prey spooked. I quickly explained to Cass what we were doing. Then, as much as I hated to do it, I told my best friend to leave.

“Rita, this is insane!” she said. “No! I'm not going.”

“Will you wait with Flori? She shouldn't be
alone. I'm okay. Addie's watching from over there.” I pointed toward the dark corner of the Palace, where I hoped Addie was okay too.

Cass hesitated, warned me to be “aware,” and then left, walking quickly toward Flori's car. I resumed my scanning of the Plaza, vowing to up my awareness. At a few minutes to midnight, movement caught my eye. The silhouette of a woman, petite with long, bouncy curls, passed by a streetlamp down the block on Palace Avenue. Was that Crystal? My heartbeat sped up and my phone vibrated. I glanced down and saw that Addie had sent a text, warning me about the woman, who was now looking around as if lost or indecisive. What was she doing? Was she getting up her nerve? I was about to lose mine. I inched a few steps around the bandstand, trying to get a better view. I was so fixated on the figure that I forgot to watch my back.

“Rita? Is it you?”

This time I jumped so far I banged my already bruised elbow on the bandstand railing. So much for enhanced awareness.

“Oh, Brigitte!” I said, vexed at the interruption, as well as my nerves. “Please, get into the shadows.” I looked back toward Palace Avenue and cursed under my breath. The shadowy figure with bouncy hair was gone, and the church bells were two chimes into counting out midnight.

“I was leaving OhLaLa late,” Brigitte was saying. “And here you are, in the dark, by yourself. What are you doing, Rita?”

“You have to go,” I told her, ignoring my vibrating phone. “I'm waiting for someone and . . .”

Brigitte was staring at me intently, her face serene yet with a hard, expectant edge.

“You are waiting?” she prompted. “You have an appointment? Here? At midnight?”

Why would she ask that?
Adrenaline spiked through my brain. Brigitte had an alibi for Napoleon's death, didn't she? Jake and Cass both said so. She couldn't be the killer. Still, something nagged at my memory. Something about tamales. I attempted to cover my confusion by babbling. “It's Crystal. I may have seen her over by that streetlamp. I think she's the murderer. Like you said, she probably had an affair with Napoleon and he ditched her and she got mad. Then Don, he knew, didn't he? Bartenders—and hot dog guys—they know everything about everybody and he was here on the Plaza that night. He blackmailed her and she had to kill him. Probably she framed Linda because it was convenient or maybe she was jealous of Linda's fabulous tamales. All this could be about tamales. Tragic, isn't it?” I stopped to gulp air. Did she know all too well? She seemed to know what I was thinking.

“Tamales,” she said, her tone flat. “Your friend Linda should be proud. Napoleon, he loved those
mole
tamales Linda made for Cinco de Mayo. He even wanted the recipe.”

“Yep, she sure makes great tamales!” I said, inching away.

Brigitte stepped in front of me, blocking my path. “Do you know I begged to cook at Crepe Empire?” She waved a finger a fraction from my face. I leaned back until my back hit the bandstand.

She leaned closer. “Napoleon, he said no, I had no talent. The last we spoke, he crowed like a rooster. Even a tamale was a work of art compared to my cooking, he said. A tamale!”

“Horrible man,” I said, trying to quell the tremble in my voice. “Your crepes are delicious. Perfect.”

Brigitte stared at me. In a creepily steady but louder monotone, she said, “Of course they are. I am a Frenchwoman. Napoleon said I was a mere accountant, a number pusher. He never appreciated me.”

“Awful!” I squeaked. “Well, it looks like Crystal's not showing. I better go get my backup.” I emphasized
backup.

Brigitte grabbed my coat sleeve. “Backup? But we are okay here together,
non
? We are friends, Rita?”

“Of course we're friends,” I said, inching away. “And my other friends are waiting for me nearby, helping watch for Crystal.”

She pulled me back into the shadows. “You will signal to your other friends that you're okay. Then, as you say, ‘we make a deal.'”

Addie's words, the phrase she used on the phone to the spooky silent listener. A chill froze my body, and something sharp jabbed my ribs. I looked down. The knife Brigitte held could filet a side of beef, or me. Knees wobbling, I managed to whimper, “Brigitte, I need to go.”

“
Désolé,
Rita. Identifying Don as my blackmailer, that was very helpful. But then you call and try to trap me?” She jabbed my ribs. “Wave to your friends.”

Brigitte and I stepped out as one. I waved stiffly. Brigitte waved too, with the arm looped around my shoulders. Some boisterous college-boy types walked by. If they noticed us at all, they probably took us for revelers like themselves.

“Now for our deal,” she said, drawing me back toward the bandstand.

A mouthful of Addie's salt cookies couldn't have dried my tongue more. “What kind of deal?”

“One where you go away and all is as it should be. Me, with my restaurant and crepes and Jake Strong. He loves me. I can tell. We are perfect together.”

Fear tingled through every nerve, along with anger, mostly at myself. I should have told Celia where I kept my will. I should have taken tai chi with Flori or wrestling with Addie's cousin. I should have listened to Jake. I blinked hard, confused by what had to be a mirage formed from sheer terror. A cowboy was approaching across the Plaza, hands on his belt where six-shooters would be, boots clonking on the pavement.

“Ladies,” Jake said, and tipped his hat.

J
ake sauntered closer, relaxed as if out for a stroll with Winston. I tried to warn him without moving my body. Eyes wide, I stared in the direction of the blade, which I feared was mostly covered by the sleeve of Brigitte's coat.

“Well, I am a fortunate man tonight,” Jake said slowly, approaching within arm's reach. “It's not often I happen across lovely ladies.”

I willed him to yank me away. He, however, was waxing folksy about the pale hazy ring around the moon and some saying about cattle.
Cattle?
Didn't he notice the tension? The knife? If nothing else, couldn't he sense that Brigitte was way off her rocker?

He caught my eye and nodded ever so slightly, raising my spirits that he understood. To Brigitte, he said, “Brigitte, I surely did enjoy our dance the other night.” He reached a hand toward her, as if inviting her to two-step.

She loosened her hold on my arm and gushed that she'd enjoyed their dance too.

Jake continued, sounding like a lonely cowboy. “Here I was, out wandering, looking for a special lady to celebrate Cinco de Mayo with after Rita turned me down.” He twisted his lips into a sad smile. “Seeing you, Brigitte, makes me yearn for a dance out here under the moonlight.”

Brigitte jabbed me. “You turned him down?” she said, her low voice coming out as a hiss. “Fool.”

“Stupid of me,” I said, meaning it.

“Where?” she demanded, addressing Jake. “Where would we dance? It's past midnight. You know this town. No nightlife.”

I'd had just about enough nightlife. I said I'd get out of their way.

“No you won't,” she said in a hissing whisper. “You're still in my way. In everything!”

Holding out his hand, Jake moved closer. “I sure could use that dance, Brigitte. How about a waltz, right here on the Plaza, holding each other close.” His brow wrinkled. “Rita, sorry, but I have a new leading lady.”

Brigitte's loosening grasp suggested that she was tempted but not taking the bait completely. She stepped backward, dragging me with her. “Rita and I have some business first. A deal to make. Meet me up on this stage in fifteen minutes and I'm all yours, Jake.”

And I'd be out of the way. How? Stabbed? Smacked on the back of the head? A quick poisoning? I decided I might as well clear up some questions. “Did you try to run me over?” I asked
as she and I backed down the sidewalk. Jake followed, keeping a few steps back.

Brigitte kept moving. “Try?” she said in a harsh whisper. “It is not my fault that you fell off the street. I am glad, however. You were correct to direct my attention from the health inspector to Don Busco. Very clever. Too clever.”

Not that clever or I wouldn't be in this mess. To keep her talking, I said, “What about Napoleon? How did you kill him when everyone thought you were dancing with Jake?”

Brigitte's face was so close to mine, I could feel the heat of her cheek and breath. “People are foolish about numbers,” she said, voice dripping disdain. “Idiots. Everyone believed that broken watch on his wrist. Did you never think that the time could easily be changed before smashing it? Napoleon called me, like I always told you. What I didn't say was how cruel he was, insulting me.”

“Terrible,” I said shakily.

“It was unforgivable,” she agreed. “I realized then, why do I have to endure such a man, holding me back? Less than twenty minutes, that is all I needed, and then I returned to dance with Jake . . .” She sighed. “He is so kind. We are meant for each other. I saw that immediately. Then I learn that you are in the way.” She loosened her grip slightly to wave her fingers at the man of her psychotic dreams. Jake, still a few steps away, reached out his hand again.

“No!” Brigitte snapped. “You must wait, Jake. By the statue.”

Jake wasn't following her instructions. In fact,
his pace was increasing, bringing him closer to us with each step. I tore my eyes from his seemingly calm face and scanned the Plaza. In an inky shadow along the Palace of the Governors, I thought I saw a movement. Addie? Cass? Somewhere behind me, I heard a soft gobble.

Brigitte and I reached a truck parked near the northeast corner of the Plaza. The vehicle was red with vintage curves and the silver grill of my nightmarish flashbacks, as well as something else. I'd seen this truck even before on Napoleon's office wall of hubris, in the photo of him and comedian Jay Leno. I mentally kicked myself. Brigitte had access to Napoleon's keys. We'd driven to Don's in one of Napoleon's cars. Now she fumbled with the keys, holding the knife on me with one hand while inserting the key with the other.

“Stop that!” she demanded as I tried to pull away. She emphasized her point by pressing the knife harder into my side.

Jake stepped forward and in one swift movement reached out to Brigitte. “One dance before you go, Brigitte. I won't take no for an answer.”

Brigitte tensed and yanked back from him. “Liar,” she said, and I felt her trembling, not with fear like me, but a boiling rage. She seemed to hesitate before pushing me away, hard. My hand scraped pavement, and when I scrambled to my feet my first thought was to sprint for Flori's car and safety. But I couldn't. Brigitte wasn't dancing with Jake. She thrust the knife at him, slashing. “You are no better than the rest. Trying to trick me? Trap me! For her? You'll both pay!” She swung the knife wildly.

Jake tore off his jacket and swung it at the knife,
tangling the blade, but only momentarily. Brigitte yanked it back and lunged again.

“Run, Rita!” he yelled.

I ran. Charging at Brigitte's back, I tried desperately to pin her flailing arms. Her strength, fueled by fury, almost overwhelmed me, but I wasn't alone. Jake grabbed her stabbing arm. I clutched a leg, and Flori coming around the bandstand landed a fast-motion tai-chi kick to her shin. Brigitte cursed in French, English, and guttural gibberish as Addie and Cass joined in and managed to wrestle her to the ground. In the distance, I heard the beautiful sound of sirens.

“About time,” Flori said. “Cass and I called 911 as soon as we saw you wave.”

“I caught that too,” Addie said. “You were waving like a beauty queen, Rita, or the Queen Mum herself. Cupped palm, stiff, unnatural for you. I sneaked over to Miss Flori, and she said we should wait to pounce until Jake gave us the sign.” Beneath her, Brigitte squirmed and cursed. Flori, threatening more tai chi, pulled out her pink, fluffy handcuffs.

I turned to Jake, who stood a few steps back, wrapping his right arm in his torn coat.

“Are you okay?” I asked. My voice was as shaky as my legs and hands.

“Fine,” he said. “A little scratch.”

The way he clutched his wounded arm suggested more than a scratch. “What were you doing here?” I asked.

His laugh lines, the ones that made my knees wobbly for much nicer reasons, fanned upward. “You ask me that a lot, don't you?”

I grinned back. “Well, you keep showing up to rescue me.”

He looked over at my team guarding Brigitte. “Those are your real rescuers. I was almost too late, as usual. I confess, I was worried about you so I did a little tailing of my own. Guess I wasn't very good because Flori spotted me and sent Cass over to let me know you might be in trouble. When I saw you and Brigitte, I knew Flori was right.”

Flori joined us and said with a chuckle, “You did pretty good with your tailing, Mr. Strong, although I made you back on Galisteo Street. I'm still giving you free meals for the rest of the month for your bravery. Just say ‘hot pursuit' and we'll know.”

Jake made a scoffing sound and lifted his wounded arm. “Some bravery. I'm the only one who couldn't fend her off.”

“Yes, you did,” I said, and leaned in to kiss him. The kiss was sweet and all too brief, interrupted by Manny's police car, skidding to a stop beside us.

T
hat Friday, Flori, Addie, Cass, and I were again on the Plaza, this time in a line a dozen people deep. The female mariachis harmonized in the background, and red and yellow balloons floated on the park benches and trees. Crystal, apologetic, was throwing Linda a welcome back party, and every tamale-lover in town was invited. The other food cart operators had all joined in.

“I hope she'll still have some of those
mole
tama
les by the time we get to the front,” Cass said. “I never did get any of those.”

“
Mole
tamales. That was a clue. I should have figured it out earlier,” I said, moving another inch forward in line. “Brigitte practically gave herself away, and I let it slip right past.”

“I should have questioned her alibi too,” Flori said. She shook her head. “How easily she tricked us with that watch. And we call ourselves masters of the art of spying.”

Cass grinned. “I thought it was the
Art of War
and tai chi, and I'd say you two solved the case. If it hadn't been for your persistence, we wouldn't be standing in this endless line.” My crowdphobic friend added a groan I knew she didn't mean. We were all overjoyed to have Linda exonerated and back at her cart.

After a moment, Cass turned to us again. “Wait . . . why were
mole
tamales a clue?”

Flori bowed her head, graciously indicating that I could explain.

“It was right here on the Plaza,” I said, setting the stage. “I was with Celia and Linda, and Brigitte was pretending to be my friend.”

Cass snorted. “A friend until she stabs you in the back!” Seeing me flinch, she said, “Oops, sorry, that was a bit too real, wasn't it?”

It certainly was. “She was pretending to be Linda's friend too,” I said. “All while using her as the scapegoat. But here's what we—I—missed. Brigitte told Linda that even Napoleon loved her tamales. Her
mole
tamales, which Linda only began serving the day of the cockroach incident. Napoleon planted that cockroach, so he knew that Linda's
tamales were safe to eat. I'm guessing he went to Linda's cart late that night and tried one. Linda had left the warmer on, so the tamales would still have been good. That tamale was Napoleon's last meal.”

“But why did Brigitte kill him right then?” Cass asked. “I mean, that benefit we were at was dull, but it didn't make me want to rush out and stab someone.”

“Napoleon loved those tamales. Being a mean bully, he turned that on Brigitte. He called and told her how great they were—how much better than anything she could cook. It must have been one of many insults. She slipped away from the benefit. When they met, I bet he insulted her some more and that was that. The creepiest thing is that she had the presence of mind to cover up her crime by changing his watch, turning it to a later time when she knew she'd be back at the benefit and have an alibi.”

“Definitely creepy,” Cass said. “To think she was dancing and making small talk immediately after stabbing her boss. But what about Don's murder and the paint from Linda's truck on his wall?”

“The paint was luck,” Flori said. “Lucky for Brigitte because it threw more suspicion on Linda. Like Linda said, she scraped Don's wall a while back while helping Don.”

Despite the festive mood, and Linda's vindication, a cloud hung over me. “Brigitte befriended me to get close to the investigation,” I said. “She knew someone had spotted her the night of the murder and was blackmailing her. She initially thought it was Jenkins the food inspector. That's why she poisoned him. Word is, she slipped the
poison into his coffee thermos when he wasn't looking, just like Jenkins Senior thought, only he suspected Don. She probably would have tried again, but then I convinced her that Don was involved. When we broke into his house and she found that voice distorter—like the one on the blackmail calls she'd been getting—she knew for sure. I feel bad about that.”

“Don knew the hornet's nest he was poking,” Flori said. “I do feel a little sorry for him too, though. I think he would have told the police about Brigitte, eventually, if he had to save Linda from jail.”

We had finally made it to the front of the line. “
Mole
tamales, please,” Cass said.

Our order came with hugs from a grateful Linda.

Cass took her tamales back to her studio. Flori headed toward Tres Amigas to clean up the lunch dishes we'd left to come see Linda. I started to go with her until she ordered me home. “Don't you have a date to get ready for? Be sure to bat your eyelashes.”

I was several yards away when I heard, “And pinch that handsome lawyer on the tush, Rita!”

“I made magic chocoflan,” I called back to her and laughed as her “Woohoo!” echoed across the Plaza.