Death by Devil's Breath Read Online Free Page A

things hot (the aforementioned Edik being the perfect example), I understood people who liked less fire with their chili. I would never want to be one of them, but I understood. Honest.
    “There’s baking soda,” I told Yancy. “You can mix a teaspoonful of that into the chili to tone down the heat. I’m pretty sure I don’t have any of that in the RV, but there are limes!” I’d already taken a few steps toward the exit (disguised as a livery stable door) that led to the parking lot and the RV where Sylvia and I lived on the road when I remembered this surefire remedy. “I know I’ve got some limes in the fridge. A couple squeezes of that ought to help.”
    A smile made Yancy’s face fold into a thousand crinkles. “Much obliged,” he said and added a little bow. “You don’t think this will get us in trouble, do you? I mean, I understand these cook-off contestants are a serious bunch. If they think I’m messin’ with the flavors of their chili—”
    I waved away his objection with one hand, then grumbled to myself. The man was blind. I had to be more aware and more considerate. “It’s not like this is a part of the official contest,” I told Yancy. “This Devil’s Breath championship is pretty much just for bragging rights, not some big prize. And besides, a squirt of lime juice isn’t going to change the taste of any of the entries all that much. It’s just going to tone down the heat.”
    I promised Yancy I’d meet him back in the auditorium, and a few minutes before the judging was scheduled to start, I had a tiny Tupperware container of lime juice in my pocket, and I squeezed (pun intended because that’s what I’d just done with the limes) my way through the throng of spicy-chili lovers who waited outside for a chance to watch the judging and grab a bowl of fiery goodness.
    The air inside the auditorium wasn’t just filled with anticipation; it was peppery and perfect. Inside the door, I paused so I could take a moment to bask in the spiciness, my gaze roving over the stage. To my left was the long table where the judges would taste and score the entries. To my right and directly opposite, the four regional winners were busy cooking.
    See, that’s how the chili categories of cook-offs work. In the salsa category, contestants can make their mixtures and bring them along to the contest finished. But for the chili categories, everything has to be cooked on-site. Oh, not things like canned tomatoes or tomato sauce or pepper sauce or the beer that many competitors use in their chilies. But the meat and anything else they throw in, yup. That has to be prepared at the event, and contestants usually have between three and four hours to do it all. Which means these contestants had been here chopping and mixing and working their magic since before the sun came up.
    Curious as to how it was going, I watched the first contestant stir his pot. I have to admit, it was a little strange to see a man in monk’s robes at a chili cook-off, but from what I’d heard, Brother William had all the right reasons. His monastery back in Minnesota was looking to make some extra cash, and they’d decided a chili mix was just the ticket. In fact, I’d heard they’d already chosen a name for their mix: Devil’s Breath with an Angel’s Touch. Cute marketing. We’d see if his recipe lived up to it.
    The second man at the table was Karl Sinclair, he of the giant touring motor home with his picture painted on the side of it. Karl was a perennial Showdown contestant, and he’d won a few titles in his day. My opinion? The hype got him further than his cooking ever would. But then, Karl was pretty good at hype.
    The third man was someone I didn’t recognize from the circuit, a young guy with golden hair that gleamed in the stage lights. In fact, everything about this guy was shiny, from his perfect setup to his glistening chili pot. He wore khakis and a pristine white shirt, the sleeves rolled above the elbows, all