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Connie, Lula, and Grandma set off power-walking across the field. I tried to follow, but I walked into a trash can and fell over.
“Oops,” I said.
Morelli looked down at me. “Are you okay?”
“I can’t see in this stupid suit.”
Morelli picked me up. “Would you like me to get you out of this thing?”
“Yes!”
He worked at the zipper in the back and finally peeled me out of the hot dog suit. “You’re soaking wet,” he said.
“It was hot in the suit.”
Morelli wrapped an arm around me and shuffled me off to a booth selling cook-off gear. He bought me a T-shirt, a hat, and a sweatshirt, stuffed the hot dog suit into a bag, and sent me to the ladies’ room to change.
“This feels much better,” I said to him when I came out. “Thanks.”
“You look better, too.”
“Out of Rangeman black?”
“Yeah.” Morelli wrapped his arms around me. “I miss you. Bob misses you. My grandmother misses you.”
“Your grandmother hates me.”
“True. She misses hating you.” Morelli straightened the hat on my head. “Maybe I could learn to like peanut butter.”
“You don’t have to like peanut butter. Just stop yelling at me.”
“That’s the way my family communicates.”
“Find another way to communicate. And why are we arguing all the time? We argue over everything.”
“I think it’s because we aren’t having enough sex.”
“And that’s another thing. Why are you so obsessed with sex?”
“Because I don’t get any?”
I tried not to laugh, but I couldn’t help myself. “I guess that could do it.”
I saw flames shoot into the sky and then black smoke.
“It looks like Lula fired up the grill,” I said to Morelli. “I should get back to them.”
We made our way through the crowd, back to the Flamin’ kitchen. The guy from the kitchen next to us was standing with the fire extinguisher in his hand, shaking his head.
“Unbelievable,” he said. “You moved the canopy back, and then you set your ribs on fire and torched your hat.”
Lula still had the hat on her head, but the top was all black and smoking, and foam dripped off the hat onto Lula’s white chef coat.
“Looks to me like the ribs are done,” Grandma said, peering over the grill at the charred bones. “You think they need more sauce?”
“I think they need a decent burial,” Connie said.
The rusted bottom of the grill gave way, and everything fell out onto the ground.
