1 Target of Death Read Free Page A

my.
Whatever did that man have to say about me?”
    “We need a place to stay in town. There’s
been a murder hereabouts, and he seems to think we’re involved just because I
have arrows with the same color feathers as they found in the victim.”
    “The man was killed with an arrow,” Dixie
informed her.”
    Margarita’s eyes were wide, taking all of
it in. “Oh, my, that sure is dreadful news. I hope that won’t hurt business in
town. In Bear Paw we depend on the business during the winter extravaganza
festival. I’m barely hanging on as it is. I just won’t make another season if
things don’t do better soon.”
    “And about a place to stay?”
    “Save that talk for later. What would you
girls like to eat? My chili is the specialty.” Without waiting for an answer,
she whisked away and returned with bowls of the said chili, setting them down.
She hovered close by, much to my chagrin. Was
she that concerned if we liked her chili? I wondered.
    I lifted my spoon and sunk it into the
bowl, coming back with a spoonful. I blew slightly on it and tried it. I forced
myself not to react, but I couldn’t help myself. I dove into my purse, coming
back with my spices. I shook some into my bowl and stirred the chili, then
handed over the bottle to Dixie, who did the same.
    “Oh, my. You don’t care for my chili?”
    “It’s not that, exactly. We’re just used to
our food tasting a little more flavorful.”
    “She means spicy,” Dixie corrected me with
a raised brow. “It’s not spicy enough. I don’t suppose you have any Louisiana
hot sauce?”
    “Oh, no. I’m sorry you don’t like the
chili,” she said with a frown. “I suppose there isn’t anything on my menu that
you girls would like.”
    “Don’t worry. I mean no disrespect, truly.
We are used to Cajun food, is all. I don’t suppose you have any gumbo?” I
asked.
    “Well, no. Is that good?”
    Before I had a chance to say a word, an old
man at another table said, “I’d sure love me some gumbo. That’s the thing, we
just don’t have that much variety in Michigan. When I lived down south, I got
so used to the cooking down there. You just can’t get any food like that up
north.”
    “Up north?” I asked, perplexed.
    “It’s a Michigan term,” Margarita explained.
“I don’t believe any other state uses that terminology.”
    “Of course, up north could be a mile
north,” the man added. “It’s funny, actually. Maybe you should let these gals
teach you how to make some real Cajun food. It might be a great thing to do
during the winter festival.” He blew his nose with a tissue. “Just a thought.
Don’t mind me for interrupting you, ladies. I’m Bud Haskel, by the way. I sure
hope you give that Daniel a run for his money. I’m all for rooting for the
underdog.”
    “I hardly consider myself an underdog. I
was an archery state champ for Louisiana and I also won the Rolling Hills Bayou
Classic, but that was when I was younger. For the last ten years I have only
practiced in my backyard, but you could say that archery is something that I’m
passionate about. Well, that and Cajun cooking.”
    “I can’t wait to taste it,” Bud said. “How
about it, Margarita? Are you going to give the girl a go at it? It might even
help draw in more business.”
    “She never said she was interested, Bud,”
Margarita said. “And besides, she has herself a competition to win,” Margarita
added with a wink. “It’s sad to hear about that murder. I sure hope it’s not
anyone I know.”
    “What’s that about a murder?” asked Bud.
    “I’m not sure, but we were told the victim
was shot with an arrow and the sheriff said we couldn’t leave town,” I said.
    “That’s awful presumptuous of him,” Margarita
said. “I wonder what Simon has up his sleeve.”
    “Oh, do you know him personally?” I asked.
“Boyfriend, perhaps?”
    Margarita fanned herself. “Why, no. He’s
ten years my junior, but he sure is a handsome man, don’t you