Tex-Mex waitress and part-time reporter Josie Callahan is about to serve up some Lone Star justice in this spicy Taste of Texas Mystery from the author of Here Today, Gone Tamale. Tourists are pouring into the town of Broken Boot for the annual Homestead Days Music Festival. Opening the celebration at Two Boots dance hall is smooth-talking country singer Jeff Clark, the ex-boyfriend of Josie’s best friend, Patti Perez. When the charming Clark woos Patti onstage in an attempt to rekindle some sparks with his old flame, Josie fears her friend will end up as just one more notch on the singer’s guitar strap.   To impress her editor at the Broken Boot Bugle , Josie and her Chihuahua, Lenny, pursue the singer to Patti’s house, hoping for an interview. Instead, they discover Clark facedown in a bowl of guacamole with a bloodied guitar at his side. With Patti suddenly a murder suspect, Josie must use her reporter skills to find out who had a chip on their shoulder—before the killer double dips.... INCLUDES TEX-MEX RECIPES! Praise for Here Today, Gone Tamale   “This southwestern cozy comes with a spicy, Tex-Mex flair. Its delightful characters and clever mystery will have you stomping your boots for more.”—Mary Ellen Hughes, national bestselling author of the Pickled and Preserved Mysteries   “Adler’s debut sizzles with West Texas flavor and a mystery as satisfying as a plate of fresh tamales. Slip on a pair of cowboy boots, pour yourself a margarita, and kick back to enjoy this Texas-sized delight.”—Annie Knox, national bestselling author of the Pet Boutique Mysteries   “Rebecca Adler’s Here Today, Gone Tamale is a much needed addition to the cozy mystery genre. Terrifically tantalizing…and as addictive as a bowl of chips and salsa. Settle in for a mystery fiesta you won’t soon forget.”—Melissa Bourbon, national bestselling author of the Magical Dressmaking Mysteries Rebecca Adler is the author of the Taste of Texas Mystery series, including Here Today, Gone Tamale and The Good, the Bad and the Guacamole . Chapter 1 “Ride ’em cowgirl!” Diablo lurched, twirled a half turn, bucked his rider, and reeled the opposite way. “Shut your mouth before I jump off this contraption and belt you one across the kisser,” hollered Patti Perez, her jet-black hair flying in all directions. We might not be real cowgirls, but living in far West Texas meant we could play the part when the occasion warranted. And there was no better time to talk like characters from an old Western than when riding the mechanical bull at Two Boots on the first night of Broken Boot’s Homestead Days Music Festival. Patti is the sole proprietor of the Feed and Supply, the only Goth princess in our town of three thousand–plus, and my best friend. With dark-lined eyes wide open, she rode that bull as if she planned to ride it all the way to the weekly livestock show in San Angelo. Without warning, Diablo shuddered to a halt, causing Patti to slide from the saddle to her feet in the blink of an eye. The crowd near the padded arena burst into applause with a few appreciative whoops from the menfolk. I joined in, though I couldn’t miss the fact she’d barely escaped hitting the mat face-first. “Come along, Grace,” I said, raising my voice above the wail of an electric guitar. “You don’t want to show up the band.” The festival’s first act was in full swing. “Just you wait,” she muttered. “You’re up next.” Ever since a murderous restaurateur tried to put bullet holes in the two of us, Patti and I had forged an unbreakable bond. Tonight, like every other Thursday night, we vented our frustrations with the vagaries of small-town life on the back of Diablo at my family’s dance hall. “Tall, blond, and handsome at two o’clock.” I gestured with my thumb to a fence post–thin dude in a pioneer costume, sporting a droopy mustache and a scruffy goatee. When she laughed, the piercings up and down her ears jingled. “Maybe at two o’clock in the morning.” We sat at our elevated table and immediately dove for the basket of buffalo wings, which had arrived during our excursion to the bull riding arena. After our brush with eternity, a strange thing happened. Patti, my not-in-the-least-bit-romantic friend, began longing for a mate. And not just a mate. A husband. Our weekly excursion to Two Boots was my way of helping her beat the small-town dating blues. In our postage-­sized town on the Chihuahuan Desert, if you brought all of the eligible men together in one place, half of them would be older than Methuselah and the other half would look as if they crawled out from under a rock. I backed away from the wings and wiped my fingers. “When does this Jeff Clark play?” If tonight’s headliner would get his boots onstage, I would avoid giving the enthusiastic tourists the added thrill of watching me tossed through the air onto the seat of my britches. I was looking forward to meeting Jeff Clark. He and Patti had dated for a spell while I was liv