Read Cinco de Mayhem for Free Online Page B

least of my worries.
    â€œDon’t touch him!” I commanded Linda. She knelt near the body, one hand reaching out as though to heal him. At my harsh words, she jerked her hand back.
    â€œWhat if there’s a pulse?” she asked, reaching again. “I couldn’t make myself check before.”
    I took her by both arms and pulled her up gently. “I’ll do it,” I said, regretting this noble offer the moment I said it. I held my breath and flinched when my hand touched Napoleon’s cool wrist. There was no pulse, no movement. I forced myself to look closer. A red stain marred the side of his chef’s coat and something viscous had oozed intoa crack in the sidewalk. It wasn’t red chile. Blood . Blood whooshed through my head, and I feared I’d be the next one on the ground. Fainting wouldn’t help Linda or Napoleon. I turned my eyes to his twisted hand and the watch. Beneath shattered glass, the gold hands had stopped at eleven-fifty. Is that when the man stopped too?
    A few feet away, Linda paced. “I woke up early with a terrible feeling. A panic. I thought it was because the tamale warmer in my cart was still left on. Yesterday I called a friend, Don the hotdog vendor, and asked him to shut it off for me, but when I woke up, I thought, ‘What if he didn’t? It could start a fire!’ Or what if he did turn it off, and someone ate a chicken mole tamale that had been sitting out all night? People die from food poisoning . . .”
    People die from murder too . Food poisoning hadn’t caused the blood. It hadn’t rolled a tamale cart over Napoleon’s lifeless body either. “Linda,” I said gently, “I don’t think a bad tamale killed him.”
    â€œMy cart,” Linda said, her voice cracking. “It’s a hazard. I think the tank’s out of fuel, so the warmer’s off and it won’t start a fire. It’s crushing Napoleon, though. How do I get it off him? What do I do, Rita? Can you help me lift it? If we lift it, maybe he’ll be okay . . .”
    There was no way Napoleon could be okay. I led her to the green wrought-iron bench where Cass and I had eaten the day before. The last of Napoleon’s crepes I’d ever have. Sorrow for their maker struck me, followed by dread. Linda’s cart hadn’t moved itself, and Napoleon, I was sure, hadn’tdied a natural death. A man whom Linda publicly fought with and threatened lay dead, murdered. I wished I could whisk her cart away and shield it and her from the scene of the crime.
    I couldn’t. I’d been married to a cop, and I’d been involved in murder and crime before. I knew what I had to do. Sitting on the chilly bench next to Linda, I dialed 911 and listened for the wail of sirens.

Chapter 4
    Y up, he’s dead.” My ex, Detective Manny Martin, stepped back and scowled down at Napoleon.
    I resisted a snarky, No kidding, Sherlock. Antagonizing Manny wouldn’t do anyone any good, least of all me. Manny already looked grumpy. He doesn’t do morning well, unless he’s stayed up all night to get there.
    Bunny, Manny’s body-building partner, yawned and rolled her neck and shoulders.
    â€œOne hour,” Manny complained. “We were off call in one lousy hour and then this.” He glared at me as if I’d found a dead guy simply to wreck his day.
    Bunny stretched each elbow across her chest, her eyes scanning the scene.
    I practiced an exercise I’d gotten pretty good at in the last year. Ignoring Manny. His sniping still rankled me, though. I’d like to be back in bed too,and it’s not like I enjoyed finding corpses in the morning, or any other time of day.
    Bunny, limbered up, waved over a waiting crime tech with a camera around his neck. “Shoot it all. Everything,” she instructed. “When the medical examiner gets here, tell her I want temperatures of the body, the scene, and those