Patrice Lyle - Health Nut 01 - Killer Kung Pao (10 page)

Convenient. But I still planned to confront the lying vegan.

"Is there anything else, Dr. Meadows?" She sounded like an exasperated mother.

I tapped my fingers against my lips. An image of Tattoo Tex's handsome face popped into my mind, and I knew one thing for sure. He was way too cute for prison. Plus he only worked at a peanut oil plant, and I doubted he knew Mystic Ming was coming to the Body, Mind & Spirit Expo. Or did he? That was definitely a question for follow up.

A few more seconds passed while my inner PI battled my crush on Tattoo Tex.

Detective Fifi cleared her throat. "Dr. Meadows? Is there something else you'd like to tell me?"

The crush won out. "Nope," I said. "Good night."

Incense and Bulk Nuts

Forty-five minutes later, I parked Pinky at the Manatee Inn and gathered my PI flashcards. The magenta glossy paper gleamed in the moonlight as I dropped them into my purse next to a bottle of anti-frizz hairspray that I'd bought at a pharmacy near the office store. I hurried toward the hotel, surprised to find a sizeable crowd huddled around the hotel's entrance.

A poster-sized cardboard photo of Mystic Ming had been propped against the bushes. Several white candles surrounded the image of the deceased. A dragon figurine with glowing red eyes and several sticks of incense emerging from its head sat on a stone. And the scent of sage filled the air.

What a tacky shrine.
My gaze landed on some three-by-five notecards taped around the edge of the deceased psychic's photo. The words had been scrawled in black felt pen and weren't sentimental, but did pay homage to Mystic Ming's life.

I won't die alone. My unborn child won't be deformed. I won't work until the day I drop dead. I won't be homeless forever.

Mystic Ming certainly had a PhD in rude-i-tude.

"There's room for more," someone said.

"Good because Norman has one." Babette's bubbly voice competed with the atmosphere-saturating incense. "Go on, hon."

A heavyset man in khaki shorts and a peach-and-white-striped polo shirt ambled to the shrine and stuck a post-it-note beside Mystic Ming's picture. It read,
I won't die bigger than the Goodyear blimp.

I cringed. No wonder people were acting out.

A half-smile appeared on the lumpy man's face as he slipped his arm around Babette. "Think we can still take that pizza cruise?"

"Norman." Babette's sugary southern accent transformed into a vinegary tone. "You know I need to lose some weight."

"I do too, but couldn't it be our last hurrah? Just think about a week of unlimited pizza buffets. Mmm." He hugged her tightly and kissed her cheek. Then he released her, along with a blast of wind that sounded like a string of firecrackers exploding in a fireproof box.

"Stormy Normy, we're in public." Babette narrowed her eyes and fanned her hand in front of her nose. "I told you not to order extra pepperoni on your calzone."

A hundred possible causes of Norman's poor digestion hurdled through my mind. Wheat was a notorious offender for causing gastrointestinal issues. So was dairy. Or he could be dehydrated or have an acidic pH. Should I offer a piece of unsolicited advice?

Why not? I edged toward them, prepared to help the poor guy when Garnett cut me off.

"All Mystic Ming's curses are broken so we're free." Garnett stepped to the front of the group and glared at the dead psychic's photo. "What goes around comes around."

The twitch of Garnett's cheek told me she was still infuriated, despite her proclamation of being curse-free. Why would she be so angry now? I eyed her tight jaw and moved her to the top of my budding suspect list.

"Community séance tonight." Babette shot the mourners an enthusiastic grin. "Eleven forty-five in the exhibit hall."

"I thought the police closed that area?" Garnett asked.

"Nope," Babette said. "Wilbur just told me they were done. I'm glad because we have a good chance of contacting Mystic Ming in the place where he dropped dead."

"Good," Garnett said. "Then we can ask him how he likes living in hell."

A chill ran through me. Babette sounded callous about the way Mystic Ming had died, and Garnett all but wished him a scorching fate. Had anyone liked the pink-haired psychic? Despite the balmy night air, I wrapped my arms around myself. Please let Aunt Alfa be home in time for the séance. The event could be a chocolate fountain of clues.

My cell phone chirped, announcing a new text. Several people turned toward me and frowned. I smiled, as if to say,
Sorry, no one told me to silence my phone
. I retrieved my cell, hoping it was Aunt Alfa because she frequently texted me when I thought about her.

But it wasn't.

Tell Babette that Mystic Ming want her to drop dead. Only not near pool because she would cause tidal wave. And tell Garnett she uglier than dragon near my picture.

I gasped, and the yellow-turbaned psychic glared at me.

"Sorry. It's, uh, an emergency." I hurried toward the hotel. Was Mystic Ming really sending these texts?

My stomach flipped as I rushed through the lobby.
This is crazy.
I hit the elevator button, and my phone chirped again.
Oh, no.
I turned my phone over in my hand and read the newest message.

Ask that blimp Norman about check he give Mystic Ming.

A check? I blinked and reread the text. No matter how nutty this was getting—and my life was rapidly resembling a bulk bin of nuts—a clue was a clue. And as a PI, I had to follow up.

I blew out a breath and removed the vendor list from my purse. Vesta was on the tenth floor. Time to pay her a visit. Then I'd go to the séance and ask Norman about the check. And observe Babette and Garnett. The elevator arrived, and I hopped on.

A few minutes later, I knocked on Vesta's door.

"Who is it?" she asked.

Would it kill her to look through the peephole?

"Dr. Piper Meadows."

Nothing. I wouldn't be deterred, however. Especially after one of the PI cards had advised interviewing all persons who knew the victim. That included Vesta. Plus I'd caught her in a whopper.

I knocked again. "It's your fellow Sparkle O addict." Now she had to let me in.

The deadbolt flipped, and she pulled the door open. "What do you want?" Her hands were perched on her hips, and her snide tone told me she wasn't excited to see me after our discussion at the Mexican restaurant.

I leaned against the doorframe and peered inside her room. It looked the same as mine, minus the Tinker Bell swimming pool. My gaze landed on the table where I spotted my target.

The burrito bag.

I pointed at the crumpled take-out remains, cringing as I thought of Brownie. "Wilbur didn't eat that pork burrito."

She puffed up. "Says who?"

"Wilbur. I asked him a little while ago."
Gotcha.

She deflated and gestured me inside. "Please don't tell anyone, Dr. Meadows." Her voice was filled with nasally desperation.

I strode into her room and snapped a photo of the evidence (per the cards). "Now I have proof you're not a vegan. Plus real vegans wouldn't cook kung pao shrimp for their boyfriends, now would they?"

Vesta gulped.

"I think Mystic Ming had something on you," I said. "Figuring out what isn't exactly orthopedic surgery."

Memorizing all those tiny bones in the foot was much harder than brain anatomy.

Vesta sank onto her bed and covered her face with her beautifully manicured hands. "If this gets out, it will ruin me."

I sat beside her. "I won't tell anyone as long as you tell me everything you know."

She sniffed. "About what?"

"About Mystic Ming and who could have wanted him dead."

She let out a hardened laugh. "How long do you have?"

"As long you need." Aunt Alfa's senior years were on the line. Not to mention my future with Tattoo Tex.

If he wasn't the killer, of course. Then I wondered if he would look hot in an orange jumpsuit? Probably not. But cowboy hats weren't standard prison attire.

That sounded promising.

"Mystic Ming found out I wasn't a vegan last year." She stood up and paced, nibbling on her nails. "We took a cruise to the Bahamas, and he caught me at a late night Mexican happy hour, scarfing a pork burrito. He was supposed to be asleep."

"What'd he do?"

"Took a picture of me with pork juice running down my chin and threatened to tweet it." Her eyes darkened, and her jaw tightened. "Such a betrayal."

I refrained from pointing out the betrayal to her vegan fans. Her flashing eyes made me wonder if she'd been mad enough to kill him. Plus she knew about his peanut problem.

I decided to test the sparkling waters. "You knew about his allergy."

She rolled her eyes. "I'd never off him that way. Too obvious." Then she must have realized how terrible that sounded because she lifted her hands in surrender. "Not that I'd do anything to hurt him. I don't support killing anything."

I arched my eyebrows and slowly moved my gaze toward the bag, which had recently contained shredded pork until she'd scarfed the burrito. "I'm not convinced."

"Look, I have a huge following on my blog talk radio show, and I couldn't disappoint my loyal fans." She crossed her legs, her gaze lingering on her glossy pedicure for a moment. "They love my tips on living a vegan lifestyle."

"But why be dishonest? I don't lie to my patients about eating chocolate. Life's about choices."

"Choices?" She sounded like a snippy prosecutor interrogating an accused murderer. "I have eighty thousand followers. If this got out, I'd tank professionally."

I considered her statement. "True, and it'd be embarrassing."

"Humiliating. And Mystic Ming wouldn't let me forget it."

"Why'd you date him?" Had he seemed as nice as Floyd once had?

"Simple. His position furthered my career, which was why I held on for as long as I did."

"Pretty ruthless for a fake vegan."

She shrugged. "It was business."

Her shrewd tone surprised me. She was a Sparkle O girl, so I'd expected more from her. One of our core beliefs was being
awesomely honest
. But I shouldn't let the shimmering sheen of her eye shadow blind me.

"Unfortunately, blackmail's always a motive." I rose to my feet, hoping to sound tough. "How can I rule you out as a suspect?"

"Rule me out?" She smirked. "You're not the police. You're a Sparkle O exec and a naturopathic doctor."

I lifted my chin. "True, but I have a personal stake in this investigation, and I need to clear you."

"What personal stake?"

"Some people think my auntie didn't like Mystic Ming."

"Who did?"

"Apparently you didn't. Like I said, I want to rule you out so I can move on."

A defiant look settled on her pretty features as she held my gaze. I tapped my foot, but I wouldn't relent. Our stare-down spanned several intense seconds. Then her shoulders sank, and she pouted.

"Fine," she said. "If I show you something, will you swear on Sparkle O to leave me alone and not tell anyone my secret?"

"Yes." I was dying to see what she had.

Vesta leaned across her bed and retrieved a pink journal from beneath her pillow. She handed it to me. "It's Ming's journal of his readings. You'll find plenty of suspects in there. Four weeks ago, his spirit guide told him to take me with him to a huge psychic show in London. It's bookmarked with a yellow sticky note."

I flipped through the pink journal. The silver glittery ink was cute, even if it was difficult to read. I stopped at the entry she referred to and read Ming's words aloud. "Spirit Guide say to take Vesta to International Psychic show next month in London. Don't want to take Porker with me, but Ming follow SG. SG also say to endorse Porker's book."

I cringed. "He called you
porker
?" Nice.

"He thought it was funny after the pork burrito."

"What's your book about?" As an author, I loved hearing about other authors' projects.

"About using a vegan diet to enhance your psychic abilities. Ming's endorsement would've made me attractive to publishers."

"Most definitely." I closed Ming's journal, certain she had every reason to want him alive. Didn't make sense to ax her ticket into the fancy psychic fair or the elusive publishing world.

"I had no motive to murder him," she said. "The London show is by invitation only, so why would I ruin my opportunity?"

I couldn't see one. To be thorough, however, I had another question. "Detective Fifi said you had an alibi."

She fluffed her hair. "When the food was picked up and delivered, I was with Wilbur selecting dates for next year's expo. And I also called the restaurant to remind them about Ming's allergy. Check out my story with Wilbur."

"I will."

She pointed at the journal. "Ming kept a record of everyone he read. And he gave all the Body, Mind & Spirit vendors a free phone reading last week."

"That was unusually nice of him."

A smirk spread across her glittery face. "He was checking out the competition. It wasn't a social call."

That figured. I held the journal up. "Looking forward to reading this."

She approached me, hand extended. A pot of Sparkle O shimmer eye shadow in
Pewter Perfection
(one of my favorite evening colors) rested in her palm. "Swear on our favorite makeup you won't tell anyone about, well, you know." She glanced at the burrito bag.

I hesitated. Should I make such a grave promise? Vesta had lied to her fans, so why wouldn't she lie to me? But the London psychic show and Ming's endorsement on her book supported her innocence.