Chapter One
Skeeter Bite, Arkansas – Home of the 27th Annual Southern Arkansas Chili Cook-off
Valene Grey, along with the rest of the assembled chili cook-off crowd, waited with barely contained anticipation to hear the judge declare the big winner.
“And the winner of the blue ribbon—and bragging rights—for the best chili creation this year is…Southern Fried Chili from Skeeter Bite’s very own Critters Café, and owner and operator Daphne Charlene Dumont.” The judge clapped heartily along with a smattering of applause from the other judges and the crowd, most of it from the Critters Café staff over by their chili stand.
Daphne Charlene squealed with joy and raced up the handful of stairs to join the judges. “Thank you all so much! I’m honored, of course, since this is my first time even entering a contest.”
She accepted the blue ribbon and a sizeable winnings envelope with another squeal, waiting with a huge grin on her face for the photographer to get a shot of her with the judges and her prize. While she seemed sincere, her acceptance speech did not go over well with the other contestants.
A hush fell over the crowd…for about three seconds after her exuberant acceptance speech. The flash of the local newspaper’s photographer taking the picture seemed to light up the crowd. Until then, Valene thought they all looked like they were in shock over the stunning announcement. One camera flash and their true feelings came out with a vengeance.
“There is no way that slop is the best chili this year,” came a cranky yet familiar voice from the center of the assembled group.Do I know that voice?Valene Grey contemplated who it could be, or rather, who it probablywas, but didn’t have time to fully evaluate that notion before the restless mob of participants and chili lovers devolved into an accusatory shouting match.
The lead judge frowned. “Itisthe best one. All five of us judges agreed. It was unanimous.” Behind him, looking nervous, the other four judges nodded in agreement, their eyes on the audience with clearly growing concern.
“No! You’re dead wrong! My creation is the best one,” shouted a nearby participant. “I’ve never lost with my secret recipe.”
“You’re crazy. I should be the winner. My chili is best!” screamed another angry chili contestant, flinging a filled sample bowl at the first guy.
A gloppy spatter of Hoe Down’s Best Hot Chili sprayed the front of Valene’s pink T-shirt en route to its intended target, the owner of Chuckle Charlie’s Chili Shed. Looking down at the mess dripping down her chest and already soaking though to the skin in several places, Valene knew her favorite top was about to become a rag-bag candidate.
Chili stains were forever.
Valene looked up just in time to duck as Chuckle Charlie himself hurled a bowl of chili that arced through the air toward the initiator of the battle. Valene shot a glance behind her, and watched as another innocent victim of the now crazed chili vendetta—an older gentlemen wearing thick glasses—was splattered in the face. He took his glasses off, revealing blinking eyes and the wrinkled bridge of his nose as the only parts of his face not covered in sauce. A large glob of chili slid from his forehead down his nose.
Aunt Dixie—right in the middle of the pandemonium, because where else would she be—tried to help calm the savage crowd, but her quiet voice went unheard in the general melee. Her ever-present partner in crime and helper, Miss Penny, also tried to soothe the mob. That lasted for all of two seconds before the elderly ladies exchanged knowing smiles and joined the fray, chucking tasting cup after tasting cup of Maxwell the Martian’s Favorite Chili at the combatants.
It was a sad fate for Alienn, Arkansas’s signature chili recipe, courtesy of the Cosmos Café, which advertised it as, “Chili worth traveling the cosmos for a single taste.” The tagline was even emblazoned on the menu board above the café’s pass-through window to the kitchen.
Valene could only stare in disbelief. Sure, the rivalries inspired by the annual chili contest were legendary, and the competitors could be downright scary. But this was something else. The contestants seemed more unhappy than usual with the judges’ choice of blue-ribbon winner.
Was it because Daphne Charlene was young? Really pretty? Any man’s dream come true? Perhaps those factors contributed to the sour grapes on such flagrant display, but more than likely it was because it was the new business owner’s first time entering a contest up against a wide field of cooks who were more seasoned in local contest circles. Perhaps having a newbie come in and steal the show was a pill too bitter to swallow. Whatever the reason, the discussion wouldn’t be settled by hurling bowls of chili at one another.
Daphne Charlene Dumont, first-time chili cook-off contestant, had won over the judges with her southern-fried chili bowl fair and square, Valene figured. Basically, she took small pieces of pork and beef deep-fried in a corn bread batter and added them to her chili, putting extra pieces on top for garnish. Valene had tried a blind taste test sample earlier and thought it was delicious, but she didn’t dare admit that to any of the incensed contest losers.
Daphne Charlene’s chili caused an uproar almost the instant the scent of hot peppers and savory meat hit the air. All twenty-nine of her opponents cried foul over Daphne Charlene’s methods, saying that adding fried corn bread was cheating. The lead judge disagreed. “I’m the deciding judge here and I not only choose the winner, I choose the contestants.”
He was trying to repeat his bold statement now, shouting as best he could to be heard over the din as kidney beans and scarlet sauce flew through the air in a display more gruesome than any war zone. “This chili is the best one for this year’s contest. And if you don’t like it, too bad! My judgment is final.”
“Food fight!” shrieked the familiar voice in the crowd and things went from bad to worse. Valene had a moment to be thankful there were only thirty booths set up for the event. The sponsors had put a cap on the number of participants due to the space available for public parking. Otherwise, there would be quite a few more than thirty booths to snatch tasty chili missiles from. Well, twenty-nine booths.
A battalion’s worth of projectiles in the form of bowls, cups and other containers of chili went airborne for another volley into the scattering crowd.
Anarchy ruled.
Valene stared at the senseless chili warfare display and wondered how she got here. It wasn’t like she hadn’t sort of expected things to erupt into chaos. Admittedly, she hadn’t expected a chili bowl food fight, but bad luck and trouble often seemed to follow her these days.
That didn’t used to be true. She’d had regular, average luck her whole life. Lately, not so much.
Perhaps her new sister-in-law’s parents had put an Alpha alien curse on her because of what had happened at Axel’s wedding several months back. Even though Axel and his new wife were completely delighted. What else could Valene have done? It wasn’t like she could stand by while her brother was forced to marry the sister of the woman he loved. Axel and Lucy were much more suited to each other, and Francine insisted she was better off, too, though she’d paid a very high price for refusing to marry Axel. Axel’s in-laws eventually warmed to the idea, somewhat—because they basically had to—but seeing as how Valene had been instrumental in how things had turned out during that whole wedding affair, it was feasible someone in the universe wasn’t very happy with her.
She had no regrets.
A column of warm chili slammed into her shoulder and dripped down her arm, pulling her out of her stroll down memory lane and into the present. She shook most of it off, took a deep breath, walked boldly into the middle of the chaos and roared, “Enough! Stop throwing chili right now, this second!”
