Patrice Lyle - Health Nut 01 - Killer Kung Pao (7 page)

I refused to concur. "My aunt didn't do anything wrong. She's an aromatherapist in her nineties."

"Age makes no difference when it comes to criminals."

I replayed her list of allegations. "What death threat?"

"She told an older gentleman that she wished the deceased would drop dead."

My chest tightened. I was really starting to dislike this woman. "She wasn't serious, detective. People say stuff they don't mean."

"True, but people also say things they do mean." Detective Fifi shifted in her seat and shot me a somber look. "I don't think Mystic Ming's death was an accident."

My pulse took off like someone was chasing me with a vat of carob frosting. "How can you make that assumption without the medical examiner's report?" I'd seen enough crime television to know her speculation didn't translate into evidence.

"I talked to the restaurant folks, and they assured me Mystic Ming's meal was peanut free."

"It's not like they're going to readily admit it. They don't want to be sued." Even I knew that, and I wasn't a law enforcement professional. "You can't blame Aunt Alfa if one of the restaurant cooks negligently added peanuts."

"I didn't say it was negligence, Dr. Meadows."

Her proclamation hung in the air like a bad omen.

"What are you saying, Detective Fifi?"

"I think someone intentionally added peanut oil to the victim's meal." She leveled a narrow eyed gaze on me. "Someone who had access to the food, like the person who picked up the take-out order."

She couldn't seriously consider Aunt Alfa a suspect?

"My aunt would never hurt anyone or anything. She volunteers at our local no-kill shelter." I placed extra emphasis on the
no-kill
part. "Plus she showers my pet potbellied pig, Brownie, with expensive gluten-free cupcakes."

"Funny you should mention that." Her lips tightened into a thin line. "We found a gluten-free cupcake wrapper, a so-called Cosmic Cake, in the bag containing the deceased's lunch."

A pang of fear hit me. If I remembered right, Aunt Alfa had been eating a Cosmic Cake when she'd walked into the expo. Then what?
That's right. She tossed it into the trashcan.
Was someone trying to set Aunt Alfa up?

"We're going to fingerprint the lunch stuff, and if we find your aunt's prints on the container then we've got physical evidence against her. For now, the circumstantial evidence is mounting. She had an altercation with the deceased," she said, counting off on her fingers. "She made a death threat, she had knowledge of the deceased's peanut allergy, and she had access to both peanut oil and the food."

"Of course she has peanut oil."
Sherlock
, I wanted to add. "She uses it as the base for her aromatherapy products."

She dropped her pen onto the desk, and it rolled to a stop near the edge. "Aromatherapy. Psychic surgeons. Tarot readers." There she went finger-counting again. "This place is filled with paranormal stuff for desperate people searching for hope."

Sadly, that sounded a lot like me right now. Her accusations against Aunt Alfa were making my pulse skyrocket. I needed a dark chocolate almond cluster to calm my nerves, but would that make me look desperate?

She leaned back and pulled up one of her suit coat sleeves, revealing a series of coin-shaped red splotches on her skin. Nummular eczema. I'd seen it many times with my patients. I scanned her desk for any food products and spotted the culprit sitting by her purse.

A liquid yogurt drink.

Food allergies—and dairy was a very common one—were the most frequent cause of nummular eczema, which was why topical steroids weren't an effective treatment. But should I tell her?

"Psychic stuff's entertaining, but I don't really believe in it," she announced in a bored tone as she scratched her arm.

I was going to ask her why she wanted a reading from Mystic Ming when my cell phone chirped again. A creepy feeling flooded me, but I resisted checking the message.

"Go ahead," she said.

"Thanks, but I can wait."

"No, I insist."

Was she somehow orchestrating these weird texts? To amuse her, I retrieved my cell phone and read the message that flashed on the screen.

Find killer and Mystic Ming will remove you-die-alone curse.

Holy chocolate babka.
This had to be a joke. My pulse catapulted while the detective stared me down.

"Anything you want to share?"

I considered her question. Someone could be joking, but what if it were the killer? And the texts were clues that could help solve the murder? I handed her my phone. "Somebody's texting me claiming to be Mystic Ming."

Her eyebrows arched, and she quickly scrolled through the messages. "Who else knew about the 'dung beetle next' comment?"

"Just Mystic Ming." Then I remembered Ming's rude dig about Floyd dumping me and my dung beetle hair after Garnett had gotten onto the elevator. "And another vendor at the expo named Garnett. He repeated the comment in front of her."

Detective Fifi scribbled a few notes and handed my phone back. "Can you send those messages to me?"

"Sure."

She rattled off her number, and I obliged.

"I'll be working this case night and day until I figure out how Mystic Ming was killed." She scratched her arm again and handed me a business card. "If you think of anything you want to tell me, you've got my number."

The naturopathic doctor in me couldn't stay quiet about her condition. Not when I knew I could help. "How long have you had that rash?"

"I already have a doctor." She narrowed her eyes and shot me a look that told me to back off. "A real doctor."

I was going to say
all righty then,
but my cell phone chirped again.
Oh, no.
Had I received another text message from beyond the grave?

Early Bird Gets the Pork

I darted into the bathroom and headed into the closest stall. My heart rate was on overdrive as I leaned against the metal wall, which felt cool and soothing against my cheek.

Someone was playing games, but who?

I grabbed my extra emergency dark chocolate crisp bar (a girl never knows) and took a bite. I let it melt in my mouth before I read the latest message.

Help Mystic Ming, and I tell my spirit guides to be your spirit guides
.

A few seconds passed while I digested whatever-it-was that I was seeing. A new digital kind of psychic phenomena? Wi-Fi mediumship?

With shaky fingers, I typed a response,
Who is this?

It wasn't until I hit send that a thought occurred to me. Hadn't Garnett said curses were nullified upon the cursor's death? I remembered how upset she'd gotten when Mystic Ming sentenced her to die alone. Was she so upset she would do anything to free herself from Ming's prophecy?

Holy chocolate babka.
What if Garnett was the killer?

My mind was reeling with ideas about how to approach Garnett when the door swung open and footsteps slapped loudly on the tile. I peeked under the door to see a pair of large pedicured feet crammed into a pair of bling flip-flops.

"Can you believe it?" Babette's southern voice drawled.

Was I supposed to answer?

"Mmm hmm."

Water gushed from the faucet, and I peered through the crack in the stall. She was sidled up to the sink with her phone wedged between her ear and shoulder.

"Someone poisoned him with peanuts." A pause. "I know."

Pure speculation, I wanted to say. The police didn't have a medical report yet.

She cranked the faucet knob shut and ripped a paper towel from the dispenser. "That happened ages ago so nobody will make the connection. And it's not like I'm going to advertise it to the Manatee Police."

A chill crept up my neck. What was Babette talking about?

"Don't worry, Ma. No one will find out." Her
ma
must have kept talking for a few seconds longer because she nodded several times while finger-styling her hair with one hand. "Sure thing. Love you." She hung up, blew a kiss at her reflection in the mirror, and strolled out.

What had she and Ma cooked up?

I released a breath and glanced at my phone. No reply from Mystic Ming, or whoever it was. How could it really be him? He was dead. However, no one knew about the
dung beetle
comment except him, Garnett, and me.

And Detective Fifi.

But why would the detective engage in such a stunt? She was trying to solve a murder, not play a prank. My skin tingled with creepiness as I thought about Babette's conversation with Ma. That was definitely an item for follow up. And so was Garnett.

Feeling a little OCD, I glanced at my phone once more, but no message. Figured. The texts were coming in nonstop when I wasn't expecting them.

I slipped out of the stall and checked myself in the mirror. My hair looked a little better, thanks to the earlier attention I'd paid it. But I felt all kinds of freaked out.

What kind of psychic expo was this?

Aunt Alfa was loitering in the hallway when I emerged. I was so relieved to see her that I engulfed her in a hug.

"Something weird's going on around here." I pulled her into a quiet corner and clasped my hands on her shoulder. "Don't freak, but I have to tell you something."

"You wish you'd accepted that pear-shaped ring?"

The universe was punishing me for lying. I'd never told her about the stye breakup, so she had no idea I was avoiding a repeat, and I didn't want to worry her. So I'd blamed the marriage proposal rejection on the
wrong ring, wrong man
theory.

"It's not too late." She fixed me with a motherly smile. "I'll call Floyd right now and tell him how crazy that silly body-shape test made you."

"No need, but thanks for the offer." I didn't want her nosing into my personal affairs.

"That's why I hate those magazine tests." She removed a tube of herbal lip gloss from her purse and slathered some on her lips, puckering them for her finale. "Those tests are too generic, and they always get you in a twirl. I'm sure he'd understand if I explain everything."

"You're not calling Floyd." I needed to come clean at some point. Why not now? "I…I'm not sure he's right for me, Aunt Alfa."

"Really? He seems nice." She twisted the lid back on her lip gloss and dropped it into her purse.

"Yeah, but nice doesn't always cut it."

"Isn't that the truth? My last ex was nice," she said, lifting her hands to make air quotes. "But he was as boring as a documentary on cement making. So don't worry, Pipe. There are other herbs in the garden."

So much for her fretting.

She patted me on the shoulder. "And I know a great place to start. Tattoo Tex. Doesn't he have the cutest butt?"

"Thank you, ma'am." Tattoo Tex appeared with a grin on his Greek-God-of-Texas face. "I work out a lot, so it's nice to know someone noticed my efforts."

Aunt Alfa giggled. "It was Pipe who pointed it out."

"Hi, Tattoo Tex." My face heated, and I regretted mentioning his derriere to my auntie earlier. "You're in great shape, but that's not what I wanted to talk to Aunt Alfa about."

Tattoo Tex stepped back, his hands lifted. "Is this a private conversation?"

I'd love nothing more than to have a
very
private conversation with him someday, but right now I had other pressing matters.

Like a possible murder and texts from beyond the grave.

"No." I motioned them both to follow me to an area beside a potted palm tree. Once they did, I lit into the details. "Aunt Alfa's a suspect. Detective Fifi said she's got circumstantial evidence against her." I rattled off Fifi's list of reasons why Aunt Alfa could have orchestrated Mystic Ming's death.

"Who does Fifi think she is?" Aunt Alfa scanned the hallway with a pinched look on her face. "The guy who talked to me didn't accuse me of murder."

Right to my next point. "What did he ask you?"

"If I knew Mystic Ming, and I don't. If I'd done anything to his food, and I didn't." She pressed her lips together for a moment and then tapped her curlers. "And he asked what I'd meant when I told Mystic Ming his kung pao was killer."

That didn't sound good. "And what'd you say?"

She tossed a hand. "That it was killer spicy."

"What did he say?"

"He was just a kid. He took notes and then dismissed me."

I didn't want to tell her he was probably playing
good cop
, so I looked at Tattoo Tex. "What'd they ask you?"

"Not a lot," he said. "They just asked if I knew anybody who wanted to harm Mystic Ming and if I'd seen anyone tamper with the food."

"What'd you say?"

"No on both accounts."

"Good to know." I whipped out my cell phone, prepared to look like a total loon. But I had to tell someone. "I know this sounds crazy, but while I was in with the detective, I received a couple of texts."

Aunt Alfa elbowed me. "From Mr. Pear-Shaped-Ring?"

Holy chocolate babka. Please don't bring up my reason for hating that dreadful ring in front of Tattoo Tex. I don't want to call attention to my pear shape.

I shook my head. "Guess again?"

"I reckon I don't have a guess, ma'am."

A tingle of excitement shot through me. He was
so
hot. And I couldn't believe I was attracted to a man who sounded like he belonged at a dude ranch.

What a bizarre day. But back to business.

"Mystic Ming texted me."

Aunt Alfa laughed. "You expect me to believe a dead psychic texted you?"

"It's no joke." I gave her my serious face, which was effective on my clients. I used it whenever I had to emphasize a suggested lifestyle change.

She quieted, and the three of us huddled together. A hint of Jock Cowboy's cologne wafted my way, sending a romantic thrill straight to my toes. But I persevered and scrolled through the mysterious texts.

"A dung beetle nest? Wow, that was harsh." Tattoo Tex's sentiment touched me.

"The typhoon comment wasn't much better."

He eyed my blonde mop and locked eyes with me. "He doesn't know what he's talking about. Your hair looks great."

I displayed my gratitude with a smile and a serious surge in my pulse.

"What's the 'die-alone' part?" Aunt Alfa asked. "How rude."

"It was. He told me and Garnett that we would never get married or have a boyfriend." As the words rolled off my tongue, I became hyperaware of Tattoo Tex.

His tan. His muscles. His scent.

Super luscious to the max.

"If you don't mind me being frank, ma'am, that psychic was an idiot." A sexy grin broke across his face. "No way a woman like you will end up alone."

Aw.
His overwhelming masculinity filled my peripheral vision, and I nearly melted into a puddle of chocolate goo.

And then Aunt Alfa broke the spell.

"You're a smart girl, Pipe. Too smart to believe a dead psychic is texting you."

I turned toward her, tearing my focus from Tattoo Tex's ripped body. "He's the only one who knew about the dung beetle comment, aside from Garnett and the detective. The detective wouldn't have had time to send the text, and Garnett doesn't have my number. It has to be Mystic Ming."

"How would Mystic Ming get your number?" Aunt Alfa asked.

"Maybe another ghost helped him out?" Tattoo Tex offered.

Aunt Alfa shot us both a look. Then she grasped her rollers and shook her head, her signature move whenever she was confronted with an absurd notion. Like the one time I contemplated going into traditional medicine.

She'd nearly shredded the foam on her rollers.

Tattoo Tex tapped my phone with his finger. "Interesting that Mystic Ming said he was murdered."

"I know." I loved that Tattoo Tex wasn't questioning the texts because even though I was skeptical about other worldly stuff, I didn't dismiss it like Aunt Alfa.

"This is ridiculous." More curler clenching.

"For someone who believes in alternative therapies, you're awfully judgmental about psychic phenomena." That was the only thing that had ever frustrated me about her. "You always dismiss ghostly stuff, like the time I saw my guinea pig after he died."

"That wasn't Beanie, hon. It was a rodent." She cast me the kind of endearing smile usually reserved for kids who miss their mamas.

"I can't believe you'd disregard anything otherworldly after dragging me to that psycho séance."

Her sweet smile dissolved. "Please don't bring up that scam-artist medium. I was just trying it out, and she irked me."

"At least she didn't bill you three hundred dollars for her burnt-up drapes."

"I told you not to pay it. She didn't even have our social security numbers so she couldn't have sent us to collection."

"That's not the point." My blood pressure increased, so I took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I think we're getting ruffled because we're stressed. I'm worried the police might seriously think you had something to do with Mystic Ming's death."

Or possibly have had the
only
thing to do with his demise.

"You really think Detective Fifi suspects I did it?"

Yes
, I wanted to scream. But I decided on a gentler approach. "Possibly."

She swallowed, fear etched onto her face. "I don't want to spend my golden years in the slammer. Not when I'm rolling with my Granny Panties ad."

"We'll talk about that later, but for now we've got a murder to solve."

"And I could lose my certification." Her eyes welled with tears. "Babette must have looked me up online after seeing my oils, because she threatened to call the American Aromatherapy Certification Board and tell them I poured peanut oil into the killer kung pao."

"What a rotten thing to do." Especially when she and her ma were trying to hide something. I was definitely going to confront that feather-headed psychic later.

"I don't want to lose my Clinical Aromatherapist designation."

"You won't."

"They could kick me out if they believe her."

I pulled my auntie into a tight hug. "That's not going to happen."

"I've been certified for more than fifty years." Her words were muffled in my hair, but I understood her desperation. She'd dedicated her life to helping her clients use aromatherapy to improve their emotional well-being.

Her life would be meaningless without it.

A protective feeling overwhelmed me. Aunt Alfa had always been there for me, so I couldn't let her go down for Mystic Ming's killer kung pao. But how could I figure out who had spiked his lunch with peanuts?