Publisher Description

In this all-new culinary cozy mystery series, reporter turned Tex-Mex waitress Josie Callahan is about to go from serving queso to solving cases...After losing her newspaper job in Austin and having her former fiance unfriend her on Facebook, Josie Callahan scoops up her Chihuahua, Lenny, and slinks back to Broken Boot, Texas. Maybe working as head waitress at Milagro-her aunt and uncle's Tex-Mex restaurant-isn't exactly living the dream, but it is a fresh start.And business is booming as tourists pour into Broken Boot for its famous Wild West Festival. But when a local jewelry designer is found strangled outside Milagro after a tamale-making party, Josie's reporter instincts kick in. As suspects pile up and alibis crack faster than taco shells, Josie needs to wrap up this case tighter than her tia's tortillas-before another victim calls for the check...INCLUDES TEX-MEX RECIPES!

Author Biography

Rebecca Adler lives in Dallas, Texas. Here Today, Gone Tamale is her first novel and first in the Taste of Texas Mystery series.

Review

"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 Scene of the Brine
 
"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
 
"What a tasty idea for a new series! In Here Today Gone Tamale, Rebecca Adler merges the warm and vibrant West Texas town of Broken Boot with a clever murder mystery that kept me guessing until the exciting finale. Josie is an engaging hero who must solve the mystery while helping her delightfully quirky family and balancing trays of steaming tamales!"—Kathy Aarons, author of the Chocolate-Covered Mysteries

 

Review Quote

"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 Scene of the Brine

Excerpt from Book

Acknowledgments Praise for Here Today, Gone Tamale Title Page Copyright Dedication Acknowledgments Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Recipes Chapter 1 "Josie!" Aunt Linda''s high-pitched drawl soared like a heat-seeking missile up the wooden stairs from our restaurant below, through my quaint living room, and into my sweet but tiny bedroom. There are three things Aunt Linda and Uncle Eddie have in common with tamales: they''re unpretentious, comforting, and fattening when consumed in excess. "Be right there," I bellowed. "I''ll believe it when I see it, monkey." I groaned, but it was all for show. Long gone were the days of hiding beneath the warm cocoon of my quilts. I was no longer that grieving twelve-year-old orphan, yanked from the concrete glamor of Dallas and plopped into the dust bowl of the West Texas desert. Back then, Aunt Linda forced me to partake in what she knew best, the banality of folding napkins and the comfort of tamales. Now I craved the nostalgic aromas and chaotic chatter that would soothe my eviscerated heart and humiliated pride. And it was time to boogie downstairs to set up for tonight''s festivities before the stink of self-pity started oozing from my pores. I scrunched up my nose at my reflection. "You may not be a waitress, but you can toss plates with the best of them." My dog, Lenny, barked from the doorway in disbelief, his bright button eyes and long, silky coat trembling with excitement. "Little man, watch and see." With a sigh, I smoothed the red bandana at my neck and yanked up the neckline of my peasant blouse so as not to inspire a lecture on modesty from the matriarch of our clan, Aunt Linda''s mother-in-law, Senora Mari. I tightened my ponytail and turned to my four-legged confidante. "Where is your bandana?" "Yip." Wagging his shaggy, miniscule tail a million times a minute, Lenny trotted to his doggie bed. The bed''s designer had gone to a lot of trouble to create a sophisticated bed for beloved canine companions, and I''m sure in her mind it was a thing of beauty. Unfortunately, it reminded me of a crunchy taco with a golden outside and a brown lumpy cushion. It even emitted the faint fragrance of meaty dog bones and beefsteak with just a hint of flea powder. Lenny nosed around under the cushion until he found his own neckwear, wet from drool. "You are the smartest Chihuahua in all Broken Boot," I said, tying his bandana so as not to pull his long black-and-white coat. I scratched behind his ears. "Yes, sirree." I know what you''re thinking: Another Latina with a Chihuahua . Ah, but I am Irish, and Lenny is a Jewish Chihuahua, or so his previous owner told me. And how many of those do you come across? My Irish-American father, Galen Thomas Callahan, had planned on naming me Joseph, but after my petite mother survived the rigors of her first, and last, childbirth, he was devastated to find that a girl''s name was needed. It was Aunt Linda''s new husband, the young Eddie Martinez, who suggested Josefina . Scooping Lenny into my arms, I headed downstairs into an aromatic cloud of mouthwatering possibilities. "Don''t bring that dog down here," Linda said as she stole him from me only to cradle him in her arms. "You know you don''t belong at our tamalada ," she said in a baby voice reserved for Lenny. "But you are the cutest doggie in all of Texas, so you can stay." On Monday nights we closed to refuel after a busy weekend of takeout tamales and endless tables of fajitas and enchiladas. Lenny and I would plop on the couch, prop up our feet, and haze the cheesy TV dating shows. Or if we happened to be in the mood to eat dinner at Casa Martinez, otherwise known as the home of Aunt Linda and Uncle Eddie, we would join my family for burgers and brats while we argued over the culinary choices of the contestants on MasterChef . But tonight was special. Milagro, our family''s restaurant, was hosting a tamale-making party . Though a tamalada was typically a Christmas holiday tradition in our family, a night of sharing stories and reminiscing about the past year''s events, this year, the Wild Wild West Festival committee decided to celebrate the arrival of their annual weekend shindig by gathering to make tamales. While partaking of yummy Tex-Mex and margaritas, the committee would also be contributing fodder for the festival''s kickoff event, The Broken Boot Tamale Eating Contest, which raised a healthy sum each year for the Big Bend County Children''s Home. Our staff could have easily made the tamales on their own, but we were more than happy to oblige the community movers and shakers who served on the committee. "That dog should be roasted on a spit and fed to the hogs," Senora Mari said, more from habit than any actual aversion to Lenny. Shoot, we didn''t even own hogs. She emerged from the restaurant kitchen with her hands on her hips, wearing her usual uniform of a peasant blouse and a red flower in her hair. She had added the apron we gave her for her seventieth birthday that read Get It Yourself . "Hola , abuelita . " I ran to give her a kiss on her soft, wrinkled cheek. She wasn''t truly my grandmother, but she had invited me to use the endearment. If she was displeased with me, like when Lenny ran into the kitchen to sniff at her ankles and break several health code violations, I was expected to call her Senora Mari--same as her daughter-in-law, Aunt Linda. "Don''t abuelita me." She pointed her finger at the trembling dog. "He''s not going to get under my feet and trip me up tonight." "Of course not." " Of course not ." A slim young man with dark expressive eyes stepped from behind Senora Mari. I tried hard not to grin at his cheekiness. "You do realize you have tonight off, right?" Our newest busboy and fill-in dishwasher, Anthony Ramirez, was a cutie pie of charming efficiency. If our newly laid plans for expansion panned out, he''d soon be promoted to waitstaff. When that happened, his pockets would overflow with tips from our female customers. "Yes, Miss Josie." Anthony dropped his chin and gazed up at me through his inky lashes. "But with all these people coming tonight, I thought you might need an extra pair of hands." Linda slung Lenny under her arm and gave Anthony a motherly pat on the back. "Come on." And with a patient smile she started for the office. "You can pick up your paycheck." As they left the room, Senora Mari raised her eyebrows. "Why didn''t she ask me? I could have used the help." "You''re not fooling me." I gave her a smile. "You''d rather die than have anyone help you tonight." "Humph," she grunted, wiping down the already clean counters. While her back was turned, I slipped into the office. Amber Rose, my favorite country band, was playing in Odessa in July, and I was in need of someone to take my shift so I could satisfy my craving for their howling blend of Southern rock and Texas blues. It would be the perfect opportunity for our newest employee to gain more experience, if Aunt Linda would agree. My aunt was planted in her monstrous wooden swivel chair, flipping through one of the many stacks of papers on her desk. "Anthony, I promise," she said, not looking up, "if we get slammed during the festival, I''ll give you some tables." "I''m ready." He cast a glance my way. "Tell her, Miss Josie. I can handle waiting tables." "Absolutely." Shooting a look of exasperation my way, Aunt Linda handed Lenny back to me. "He could be the best waiter in Big Bend County, but he doesn''t have seniority. And I''m not going to take a shift from Camille. She has mouths to feed." He fisted his hand, crumpling his paycheck. "My brothers and sisters need me. They couldn''t support themselves if they wanted to--they''re too young." Aunt Linda''s voice rose. "I''ll give you some tables when we bring in more customers. "If we want to keep our doors open," she continued in a quiet voice, "we''d better pray for a stampede of tourists during the festival." He looked at me in surprise, and I nodded. We''d tried to keep it quiet, but Milagro was limping along from payday to payday. After a moment of awkward silence, Anthony relaxed his hand and smoothed out his crumpled paycheck on the edge of the desk. "Thank you, Miss Linda. You treat me fairly. I''m sorry." My aunt pushed back her swivel chair, stood, and held out her hand. "No hard feelings?" "No, ma''am." I flashed a grin at Anthony. "Uh, Aunt Linda," I began in my most beguiling tone of voice, "when I go to Odessa in a few weeks--" "Absolutely not. Everyone works the week of the Fourth." My best smile flew out the window with my patience. "Don''t worry. I''m not talking about the Fourth of July. And I have an excellent replacement standing right here." I placed my arm around Anthony''s shoulders. In a flash, a "no" formed in her eyes. I held up a hand. "It''s not as if I''m leaving tomorrow." With a nod at Anthony, I headed for the door. "You can think about it while we entertain the committee." With me leading the way, we filed into the kitchen. "See you tomorrow night, Senora Mari," Anthony said, slipping his paycheck into his pocket. "Wait, wait," she called as he reached

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