Revenge of the Chili Queens Read Online Free Page A

breath that was all about praying for patience was just a heartbeat after he realized that I was still hanging around.
    “You want to tell me what you’re doing here?” he asked me.
    My shrug should have said it all, but in case he missed it, I told him. “I figured you might need my help.”
    His smile was tight and not the least bit friendly.
    Which was the only reason I was forced to remind him, “You know, the way you needed my help back in Taos when that Showdown roadie was killed. Or like back in Vegas when we were having the Devil’s Breath chili contest and—”
    “I probably don’t need your help this time,” Nick said.
    “But you might.” As if to prove it, I stepped into the tent where Rosa and Martha were still shooting death ray looks at each other. “If this has something to do with chili, let’s face it, Nick, I’m probably the only one who can help. So ladies . . .” I glanced from Rosa to Martha and back again to Rosa. “What’s shaking?”
    Nick’s grumble echoed back at us from the walls of the Alamo just beyond the perimeter of this particular tent. Even though I’m not much for history and don’t know the exact story—I mean, not all the facts and all the details and the whole blow-by-blow the way a lot of people I’d already met in San Antonio did—I still recognized the iconic building made of creamy-colored stone. It was smaller than it looked in the pictures I’d seen online, and spookierlooking, too. But then, the way I heard it, the famous battle that happened here in 1836 lasted thirteen days and killed something like eight hundred people.
    Spooky went with the territory.
    While I was studying the building with its arched facade and distinctive columns on either side of the main doorway, Nick was concentrating on the matter at hand.
    “You’re causing a commotion.” I didn’t think he could possibly be referring to me, so I let him keep talking. “Someone want to tell me what’s going on?”
    “This gringo here,” Rosa began.
    “She thinks she’s God’s gift,” Martha spat out.
    And Nick held up both his hands again.
    “One at a time. Or we’re never going to get anywhere. I was over there,” he said, “at the Consolidated Chili tent, and—”
    “You’re kidding me, right?” Disgusted, I threw my hands in the air. “Don’t you know what those people are? Who they are? Purveyors of cheap chili. Cheap canned chili. You call that authentic? You call that in keeping with the traditions of the San Antonio Chili Queens?”
    “This little girl, she’s right,” Rosa said, and just like I did, she shot a look back toward the tent. Even as we spoke, a woman with very big blond hair in a very short and tight black dress, a very sparkly tiara, and a banner across her chest was handing out bottle openers and chili samples to everyone who walked by—including, I noticed, the hunky guitar player I’d met earlier. Rosa’s top lip curled and left a smudge of ruby red lipstick on her teeth. “They have no business here.”
    “They shouldn’t even be allowed in this sacred place,” Martha said, and for one moment, I actually thought the two women had found common ground and could put their differences aside.
    That is, until Martha added, “Not this close to the Alamo where my ancestors—”
    “Oh, here we go again!” Rosa groaned. “Now she’s going to make us listen to the list. Davy Crockett and Jim Bowie and William Travis. Yeah, yeah. Whatever! If I hear her say one more word about—”
    “Oh, like we should listen to you?” Martha screeched. “What would you . . .” She pointed her chili ladle at Rosa. “What would you tell us about, Rosa? Your ancestors? The ones who fought for Santa Anna?”
    “At least my ancestors lived to tell their story. And while they were at it, they taught their families the right way to make chili, too. That’s why my great-grandmother was the greatest of the Chili Queens.”
    “Ha!” This from Martha, and I