Chili Con Carnage Read Online Free PDF Page B

ever had a last name, or a real first name for that matter, none of us knew it. Puff was the once and future hippie who’d been traveling the Showdown circuit for as long as I could remember. In all those years, he had barely changed one iota.
    Puff had always been as thin as a green bean and as serene as a Buddhist monk in mid-meditation. These days, the long, dark hair he wore pulled back in a ponytail was streaked with silver. He had a wispy mustache—also striped with silver—and eyes that were perpetually red. Between that telling sign and the sweet smell of the smoke that frequently wafted out of his trailer . . . well, it was easy to see how he’d gotten his nickname.
    He was a genuine loner who had the tendency to try and impress people (mostly women) with tales of a glorious past, real or imagined. But then, Puff’s specialty was the dried beans he sold from a trailer with a bicycle strapped to the back and a battered motorcycle he had hitched behind. Something told me that when he walked up to women in bars and introduced himself as the bean man . . . well, I guess he needed all the tales of glory he could imagine to help out.
    “He buys my beans, you know.” Since we were both staring at mega chef Carter Donnelly, there was no doubt who Puff was talking about. “Orders them for that restaurant of his in LA. My hutterite beans, he loves ’em. Won’t use anything else in some fancy stew he makes.”
    “That’s nice.” What else could I say that wasn’t, “Give me a break, Puff, you lying sack of dried beans,” or something very like that?
    “He’ll probably stop by for a drink later,” Puff informed me as we watched Carter put his well-coifed head together with a frazzled-looking woman with long blonde hair who was probably his producer or director or whoever it was who was in charge of the filming. “Or at least to say hello. Sure, yeah, I bet he’s going to stop by later to say hello.”
    “Give him my best.” I wondered if sarcasm could be detected from inside the chili, then decided it really didn’t matter. Even if he could hear it, Puff wouldn’t get it. And he wouldn’t take offense if he did. He was that laid-back.
    Carter Donnelly, not so much.
    Whatever the blonde had told him, he obviously wasn’t happy about it. Chest out and chin up, he stared at the woman and she stared back—until she broke off eye contact.
    “I don’t care what your production schedule says, Amanda.” Carter softened the statement with a smile as sweet as a pimento and the stiffness melted out of Amanda’s shoulders. “I’ve got dinner plans early this evening, and I’m not changing them. Not for you. Not for anybody.”
    “But, Carter . . .” Amanda glanced at that big ol’ RV parked next to the Palace. “It’s only going to take a minute for you to change. Remember? That’s why we went through the extra expense of leasing the RV. We talked about all this in the production meeting. We decided you look great in red. If you’d just dash into the RV and change into that red shirt—”
    “What’s wrong with this shirt?” He looked down at the crisp white shirt that fit as if it had been made for him. No doubt, it had been, and he made the most of the fact by showing just enough skin to leave us all (well, me, anyway, and can anyone blame me?) guessing at the perfection of the body underneath. His shirt was unbuttoned at the neck and his sleeves were rolled over his elbows. “We’re in New Mexico. People are going to expect to see me in light colors.”
    “There’s nothing wrong with the shirt. You look wonderful. You always look wonderful.” Whatever she was going to say next, Amanda did her best to cushion it with a smile that wasn’t nearly as brilliant as Carter’s. “But I was just thinking—”
    “That is your problem.” Carter had his own way of taking their little tiff down a notch, and he did it with a wink and a kiss on the cheek that sent color shooting through Amanda’s