Free Cinco de Mayhem by Ann Myers Page B

the jugs emerged. Strawberry with mint. Mango sweetened with honey. Pineapple and lime. And, one of my favorites, tamarind. The tamarind wouldn’t win any beauty contests with its color of wet adobe, yet thinking of its tart tang made my mouth water. So did the last jug that Crystal retrieved from her passenger seat, a milky white horchata made from rice and almonds that had been soaked, blended, and strained. Spiced with cinnamon and nutmeg, the beverage reminded me of my grandmother’s rice pudding and could be just the medicine my rolling stomach needed.
    Crystal offered me a beverage, free except for more guilt. Here was another nice person for my suspect list. I considered declining to maintain my investigative integrity. On the other hand, I didn’t want to tip her off with unusual behavior. I ended up sipping soothing horchata and dancing around the question of when Crystal and Don had last seen Napoleon.
    Crystal had last seen the crepe bully when he chased her off the Plaza. Her sunny disposition turned dark, and was I imagining it or were tears welling in her eyes? She ducked behind her cart to retrieve some cups. By the time she straightened again, her expression had turned hard. “He was a bad man, that Napoleon. Cruel. Slippery. Deceitful.”
    Don agreed and said he’d seen Napoleon later on, after the fight with Linda. “Napoleon was strutting around like a rooster,” he said. “I thought about setting my dog stand up on another corner of the Plaza, but decided to go somewhere with less aggravation.”
    Crystal nodded. “He got in everybody’s business. I showed him. He thought he could get rid of me? I got my permit settled and now I’m back.” She held up a wooden spoon in triumph. Don raised some tongs and they knocked the utensils together.
    â€œSo you weren’t that worried when Napoleon questioned your permit?” I asked Crystal.
    Crystal shrugged. “I sorted out that paperwork right away. A lost form, they said. I bet it got lost on purpose. I told the clerk, ‘I have three kids and this cart to run and my husband’s working two jobs. I don’t have time to waste.’”
    Don said, “I hear you.”
    â€œI won’t say I’m glad a man’s dead,” Crystal continued. “That would be wrong. But am I happy he and his health inspector won’t be bothering me?”
    It was a rhetorical question, one Don answered with a robust grunt. “If that inspector comes around, we’ll show him what for. You run a spotless cart, Crystal, and so does—did—Linda.”
    Crystal thanked Don and praised his hot dogcart. The big man blushed under the slew of compliments from the attractive juice maker.
    â€œAbout this health inspector,” I said, interrupting their compliment fest. “Don’t you think it was odd that he was right here when that redheaded guy found the cockroach?”
    Don and Crystal agreed. “Too convenient for my liking,” Don said. “We know Napoleon’s dirty ways, though, don’t we, Crystal?”
    She sniffed. “Yeah, we sure do. Don’s right. Linda ran a clean operation. We know she didn’t have bugs. Not such a big bug anyway. You’d notice that putting together a tamale. Imagine you are folding the fillings into the masa , you’d see a bug like that.” She curled her lip in disgust.
    â€œYou’d notice all right,” Don said. “Rita, you tell Linda I’d be honored to sell her tamales from my cart if she wants.” He grinned, his teeth bright under the shade of his hat. “Tell her I need only tamales as payment. I never did get to try her mole special before she ran off yesterday.”
    I thanked them both and promised I’d tell Linda. “That’ll cheer her up. She needs all the support she can get.”
    Don agreed. “That’s why we made this. Might be premature, but if the police