Patrice Lyle - Health Nut 01 - Killer Kung Pao (14 page)

A Shocking Break in the Case

The hallway outside the exhibit hall was abuzz with activity. Journalists with notepads and media guys hoisting cameras on their shoulders eagerly waited. Spectators flowed into the space, talking excitedly amongst themselves.

Tattoo Tex elbowed me in the side and gestured across the hall. "Look thar. That guy's jacket says
National Enquirer
."

What? I followed his direction and sure enough a reporter from Aunt Alfa's favorite newspaper hovered nearby. "I didn't realize Mystic Ming was this big of a deal."

The vibration of my cell phone blasted through the sequins on my purse. I rolled my eyes because I knew who it was. To be sure, I opened my purse and retrieved my phone.

Mystic Ming a huge freaking deal in psychic world.

Only he didn't say freaking. He said another word that starts with an
f
and ends with
ing
.

I showed Tattoo Tex the message, dropped my phone back into my purse, and laughed. "What a character."

Tattoo Tex adjusted his cowboy hat and eyed my purse like it might eat him. "I'm new to psychic stuff and natural health." His gaze swept across the frenzied commotion surrounding us. "My family refers to all of this as voodoo."

Oh no.
Instinct kicked in, and I wagged a finger at him. "Please don't confuse psychic phenomena with what I do. I believe in the possibility of supernatural stuff, but my profession's based in science." I hated to be lumped under the label of
voodoo
, the way the skeptics loved to do. Didn't do a thing to help my cause of educating people about natural health.

Poor guy must have noticed my annoyance because his cheeks reddened. "Sorry, doc."

"No, I'm sorry." I'd overreacted. "I hate that word. I just get worked—"

But before I could finish my apology, a whistle screeched, and bubbly Babette burst through the double doors leading to the Manatee Conference room. Bedazzled with sequins from head to toe, including a blue-and-purple-feathered headpiece and matching sequined gown, she anchored her hands onto her ample waist.

"Welcome to what promises to be the most incredible séance of all time." Her tone reminded me of a circus commercial.
Step up right up, folks, and meet the ghost of Mystic Ming.
"Ya'll are in for the night of your life. Tonight we're going to make contact with the spirit of a legendary psychic, Mystic Ming. Without further ado, I invite everyone into the sacred space."

She shoved the doors open, and the crowd of thrill seekers, journalists, and psychics hustled inside. The newly minted PI in me hoped to unearth a few clues, so Tattoo Tex and I followed the throng of people into the room. The overhead lights were dimmed, and the soft glow of flickering candles along the edge of the room lit the space, along with the haze of salt lamps.

"Everyone please find a space to sit on the floor." Babette flung her arms out. "And I'll need six volunteers to join me inside the sacred circle."

Said sacred circle included a round table and chairs, surrounded by river rocks and anchored with the picture of Mystic Ming from the outdoor shrine. The angry notes hadn't been removed.

How crass.

"Hey," Tattoo Tex said as he slid his arm around my waist. "Isn't that Babette's husband? I saw him in her booth earlier today."

I followed his finger toward the man I'd seen outside at the shrine. Stormy Normy was headed our way, carrying a bale of purple fabric.

"Hi, Norm." I stepped in front of him, expertly blocking his escape. "I need to ask you something."

"Sure." He stopped and adjusted the mound of purple velvet. "And you are?"

"Dr. Piper Meadows." I flashed him my most professional ND smile. Didn't want him to know I was trying to solve the killer-kung-pao case. "I'm a naturopathic doctor, and I spoke to your wife, Babette, earlier."

"Oh, yeah." He eyed me warily. "She told me about you. I'm just not into health. I have no interest in going gluten-free and eating kale. I'll never give up dairy either. Or pizza."

"One step at a time."

He gave me a frown that told me he wasn't interested in taking
any
steps. "What do you need? If you want to know what Babette's going to ask Mystic Ming, the answer is I don't know."

Up close he looked unhealthier than I'd first noticed. Dark circles hung like half moons beneath his eyes—which could be allergy shine, classic sign of food allergies—and a grayish hue colored his face.
This guy needs my wellness program, but I have to be a PI first and a naturopathic doctor second.

"I'm not asking about Babette," I said. "I understand you gave Mystic Ming a check to urge your wife to take a pizza cruise?"

He shifted, and his gaze dipped to his feet. "I don't know anything about that."

I glanced at Tattoo Tex. Jock Cowboy's scrunched face showed his surprise about Norman's obvious lie. Had Norman found out about Mystic Ming's plan to keep the money without fulfilling his end of the agreement?

"Mystic Ming stated in his journal about the receipt of a check from you." My tone was all business as I considered waving the check in Norm's face. But I didn't want him to know I'd gone into the deceased's room. "Does Babette know you bribed him to make a false reading?"

"Look, I don't know what you're trying to pull, but I didn't give anything to Mystic Ming." A deep cranberry-color appeared on his neck and rose onto his cheeks. He glanced at his wife, and cleared his throat. "I have to go. Babette needs me to shake this out before she starts the séance."

He shot me a dirty look and ambled toward the doorway. It didn't take twenty years of PI experience to know the man was lying. But why? Was he embarrassed I knew about his desire to pig out on pizza at sea?

I turned to Tattoo Tex to ask his opinion and spotted the psychic surgeon. After his argument with the Sparkle O sandals girl in the parking lot, I had a few questions for him too.

I grasped Tattoo Tex's arm. "Follow me."

I made a beeline for the psychic surgeon. He stood at the edge of the room with his gaze fixed on Babette. The look on his face grossed me out, because I'd seen that expression before. Usually from creepy tourist guys wearing shorts and Hawaiian print shirts while strutting along the boardwalk in Sea Spray. Creepy guys whose gaze told me what perverts they were.

Ick.

"Excuse me," I said loudly, interrupting his ogle-fest. "You're Charles, right? The psychic surgeon?"

He turned his beady eyes on me. His black hair was unevenly cut, yet clean and shiny. "You were spying on me in the parking lot."

"No, I was only looking at your friend's shoes." Like he was anything to spy on. "I'm Dr. Piper Meadows, a vendor at the show."

Charles's gaze trailed down toward my feet and back up, lingering on my chest. Weird
creepy-guy
vibes emanated from him. I shuddered.
Gross.
Tattoo Tex stiffened and tightened his arm around me.

"She's with me." Tattoo Tex's tone made Charles lift his gaze.

I smiled at the Jock Cowboy's protective nature and was glad for his presence. "I need to ask you something."

"Better make it quick because Babette's about to get started."

No problem, creepo.
"I understand you and Mystic Ming grew up together?"

His eyes squinted into snake-like slits. "So?"

"You two had a competitive relationship?"

"Why's that your business?" He shoved a lock of glossy black hair behind his ear.

Tattoo Tex stepped forward. "A lady asks you a question, you answer it."

Charles frowned at Tattoo Tex but stepped back. "Fine." Then he looked at me. "We grew up in the same hood in Jersey and got on each other's nerves sometimes. Okay, a lot of the times. It that a crime?"

No, but murder sure was. I was surprised, however, that he admitted having known Mystic Ming. Another angle was needed.

"What were you arguing about with that woman in the yellow sundress in the hotel parking lot earlier tonight?"

He stiffened and glared at me. "You were spying on me."

"It was her shoes that caught my eye." I still wish I'd gotten a pair. "But I saw you get into a car with her and drive off. Then I saw her pounding on Babette's door, asking for money."

"Sounds suspicious to me," Tattoo Tex said, "in light of the murder."

"She seemed really upset with you," I added. "What was going on?"

Charles shrugged. "I don't know who she is. Just some woman who needed a ride, so I nicely obliged her. That's all." He slipped his hands into the pockets of his white scrubs, but I didn't buy his cool stance. Not with the hint of panic glittering in his rodent-like eyes.

First Babette didn't recall the mystery woman, and now Charles claimed he didn't know her.
Just gave her a ride. Yeah, right.
Something was up, but how was I going to find out? I thought back to an interrogation card.

Ask direct questions, but try to misdirect to catch suspect in a lie.

"Where'd you take her?" I asked.

Charles blinked. "What do you mean?"

"You said she needed a ride. So I'm assuming that means you drove her somewhere?" I looked to Tattoo Tex for reinforcement.

He caught on fast. "Good point, doc." Then he turned his don't-mess-with-me gaze toward Charles. "Where'd you take the lady?"

Charles burst out laughing. "Don't know if I'd call her that, but I dropped her off downtown."

What an odd reaction. And his vagueness certainly was convenient. "Do you have any idea why that woman would be asking Babette for money?"

He turned a cold gaze on me and crammed his hands into the pockets of his scrubs. "No. I don't even know Babette."

I was about to ask him about dating Vesta, but Babette cut me off.

"Everyone please be seated for the séance," she commanded. "I have two important announcements to share before we begin."

The room hushed, and Tattoo Tex loosened his arm around me. Most people were sitting cross-legged but a few lay flat on the floor. Charles took the opportunity to skedaddle and found a last seat inside the circle.

Funny that spot wasn't taken.

Babette fanned her arms out like a magician about to perform a complicated act. "My husband's friend works for the Manatee Police Department, and I just found out the expo will go on tomorrow. That's the good news." Her gaze swept the audience as the anticipation built. "The bad news is Mystic Ming's death has been ruled a homicide."

Gasps rang out like kernels of corn popping, followed by murmurs and whispers. A twinge of unease raced down my spine. Babette's news had upped the seriousness factor of my case.

"There's been a shocking break in the case because a new witness has come forward." Babette smoothed an errant feather on her headpiece and sashayed toward the center of the circle. "The delivery boy who works for China King has provided the police with compelling evidence about the food pick-up today by that geriatric aromatherapist."

A Sham in Sequined Clothing

Oh, for the love of Mississippi Mud Pie.
How dare she implicate Aunt Alfa.
An eerie hush fell over the room, but I wanted to be anything but quiet.

"The witness has to be lying," I whispered to Tattoo Tex. "Aunt Alfa didn't touch Mystic Ming's lunch except for delivering it to him." Or make that tossing it to him. But whatever.

He tugged me closer, his cheek brushing mine. His lust-inducing cologne made my pulse race. "Don't worry, doc. We'll figure this out."

I smiled inwardly. Another
we
. My Jock-Cowboy glow was short-lived, however, when Babette's remark replayed in my head. If the China King delivery kid had said something to implicate Aunt Alfa in the killer kung pao, Detective Fifi would be all over it like soy sauce on brown rice.

The solution was obvious, and I wasted no time in sharing it with Tattoo Tex.

"Looks like we need to interrogate this guy tomorrow." Not that I was an expert at interrogation, but I was an expert at winging it. "After my morning beach walk."

"Am I invited on this beach walk?" He shot me an adorable half-smile. "I've never worked out with a doctor before."

And I've never worked out with a guy as hot as you before. Sorry, Floyd.

I stared at the rich brown hair poking out of his cowboy hat and at the masculine angle of his tan jaw line, stunned at fate. Who would have thought I'd find the man of my dreams—not trying to get ahead of myself, but Tattoo Tex was a spectacularly awesome catch—at a psychic fair while in the midst of a murder investigation?

"Of course you're invited. In my opinion, walking daily is a must for living a healthy lifestyle." I was going to add more about the importance of walking, but Babette cleared her throat so loudly I wondered if the Heimlich was in order.

The feathered psychic glared at me, the coldness in her eyes unmistakable. "Will the folks in the back of the room please be quiet? This is a sacred space, and I need to concentrate so I can successfully contact the spirit world."

A few people swiveled their heads toward us, disgust at our lack of regard for proper psychic etiquette etched onto their faces.
Ooops.
So much for blending in and conducting surveillance. My gaze landed on the psychic surgeon, who crossed his arms and shot me a look that practically screamed,
na na na na na.

Oh, please. Like I care that I've been scolded by a feather-brained psychic.

"Mystic Ming's story needs to be told." Babette turned her head side-to-side, reminding me of an aerobics instructor during a post-workout cool down. "I want justice for his murder. The police are following up on this new lead, which sounds promising."

People murmured in agreement, but she didn't shush them. She picked up a silver orb suspended on a thick gold chain and swung it inside the sacred circle. White smoke billowed from the tiny holes in the orb, and soon the scent of sage incense filled the room.

"We can't do anything about the investigation because that's a matter for this sphere." Babette's voice had lost its circus mannerism. "But what we can do is contact the spirit world and ask Mystic Ming about the identity of his killer."

Her last word lingered, gaining a sinister hold on the crowd. People fidgeted, and the buzz of frenzied energy in the room spiked. My chest tightened, and I grasped my KLCS pendant, certain this séance was going to be a diet buster. Luckily I had the perfect remedy.

Turn a calorie consumed into a calorie burned
.

The overhead lights flicked off, and the candles' dancing flames formed creepy shadows against the walls. Norman strolled to the edge of the sacred circle and handed Babette the heap of fabric. She gave him the incense orb and carefully draped the purple fabric over the table. Her super long eyelashes (were those fake?) flapped shut while she chanted gibberish. Then she sat on a folding chair that didn't look equipped to hold her.

I flinched, but the chair didn't collapse.

"Will the people inside the sacred circle join hands around me to form a protective shield?" Once they were assembled, Babette turned her hands palms up and shut her eyes again. She lowered her head and said, "Mystic Ming. Are you out there? We seek your wise guidance in solving your murder."

Silence hung in the room like a cloud about to pelt us with a tropical storm. Tattoo Tex leaned against the wall and pulled me close. I rested against him, hoping the rhythm of his heart would calm me.

But it didn't.

Apprehension oozed through me. I opened my purse, grabbed a dark chocolate almond cluster, and popped it into my mouth.
Mmm
. Heavenly.

I offered one to Tattoo Tex, and he accepted.

"Thanks, doc," he whispered.

Finally, a man who loves chocolate.

"Mystic Ming, are you there?" Babette's voice boomed like an auctioneer. "I'm sending out a call to the spirit world. Mystic Ming, please answer us."

Seconds passed, and nothing happened. The room was so quiet you could have heard a sequin drop. But just when I thought the show was doomed, Babette's head popped upright so fast that her feathered headpiece wobbled. Her eyes widened and rolled upward, making her look as if she had boiled eggs for eyes.

"This is getting weird." Tattoo Tex clutched my arm. "I'm pretty sure nothing like this happens in Texas."

I giggled, thankful for the comic relief.

"Think some more chocolate would help a cowboy cope with a séance?"

Aw.
"Of course." I retrieved three clusters and handed him two. I opened one and popped it into my mouth.

He looked freaked as he tore open a wrapper. "Thanks."

I smiled and resisted the urge to cup his face in my hands and tell him
everything will be all right
because I didn't want to renege on a promise. Who knew what Babette would do next?

"Maybe this is as weird as things will get." He didn't sound convinced.

Whispers danced through the quiet space while Babette shifted side to side, her boiled egg eyeballs still. Suddenly, the silence was broken.

"Aaaaaaahhhhh! Aaaaawwwwwaaahhhhhhhhh!" Babette's body jerked around, as if she were in the throes of a voodoo trance. Her moans emanated deep inside and echoed throughout the room, making the fine hairs on my arms leap to attention.

"Tighten the protective shield." Norman hurried as fast as his pizza-loving body would allow him toward the sacred circle. "Get closer, everyone."

Charles scooted toward Babette as commanded, tugging his circle mates along. Panic marred his face, and he glanced at Norman. "Is she okay? We can't lose her."

What? Hadn't he just said he didn't know Babette?

Norman looked panicked. "She gets like this when contact's being made and the spirits are gaining ground."

"I thought Luther talked to the spirits for her?" Charles asked.

"Not always. Sometimes they take over her body."

"Why can't Luther stop this abduction?" Charles tightened his mouth while he watched Babette's continued seizure. I wanted to look away, but she was the MINI Cooper wreck of the millennium. Her wobbling skull reminded me of a Halloween bobblehead.

Not an appealing sight. I glanced at Tattoo Tex. His eyes were wide, and his lips were pinched.
Poor guy.

"I think Luther's spirit energy is worn out." Norman's jaw quivered when he looked at Babette. "He was pretty old when he was killed."

Killed?
That caught my sparkle-shadowed eye. I recalled Babette mentioning her deceased husband, Luther, when we first met. But she never mentioned him being murdered. Hmm. I'd be sure to search the Internet later. One never knew where a juicy tidbit might lead.

"Everyone be berry quiet. Mystic Ming in da house," Babette's mouth said. But it wasn't Babette's sassy southern voice. Her phony accent was worse than Mystic Ming's. She sounded like an actor in a cheesy horror flick. "And I no deserve to die. I repeat—I no deserve to die."

"Mystic Ming, is that you?" A reporter with a pen and notepad yelled out. "Can you tell us who wanted to kill you?"

Babette turned her head slowly to address the reporter. "Mystic Ming get in fight with old lady who make business with essential oil. She the one who put peanut oil in Mystic Ming's kung pao. Crazy old health nut kill me."

Wait a minute. Mystic Ming had just told me he wasn't allowed to interfere in this sphere. Babette was a hoax.

My cell buzzed and sure enough, Mystic Ming confirmed my thoughts.

I not say that. That not me. Fat whale with porker husband a fraud.

I struggled with what to do. Should I broadcast Mystic Ming's message and in the process proclaim Aunt Alfa's innocence? I turned to Tattoo Tex. The poor guy's face was paler than vanilla coconut ice cream.

"Maybe it's my conservative upbringing," he said. "But I don't like this."

"Me neither." I showed him Ming's message. "She's a fake."

"My grandma was right. All this psychic stuff's bogus."

"Sounds like your grandma and Aunt Alfa would get along."

That got a small smile out of him. He released a long breath and said, "What should we do? Out her?"

I mulled it over. "I'm not sure saying Mystic Ming is texting me from beyond the grave is a good idea. Might make me sound like a loon, and I'm supposed to be a naturopathic doctor." The last thing I wanted to do was cast doubt on the field of natural health.

"Maybe we should just leave?" he asked.

I looked at Babette, who was performing another round of vertical convulsions.

"Mystic Ming no deserve to die," she shrieked in her fake Asian voice. "Old lady had no right to kill me."

Cameras snapped, pens clicked open, and cell phone videos were taken. Barbs of anger ran through me. She was purposely implicating Aunt Alfa. But why? I watched another one of her fake seizures.

I'd seen enough. I gestured toward the door. "You're right. Let's go."

As we hurried out of the
Late Night Babette Show
, one thing was as clear as my skin. Babette was a total fake. She'd lied to everyone about her contact with Mystic Ming, which gave rise to another question quite pertinent to my investigation.

What else was she lying about?

*   *   *

Jock Cowboy looked exhausted after his inaugural bogus séance, but ever the Texas gentleman, he walked me to my room before retiring for the evening.

He stopped outside my door and pulled me in for a lingering kiss. "You mind if we call it a night, doc? I'm wore out worse than a double shift at the peanut plant."

I smiled. "No worries. I'm tired too." All this PI work was exhausting, but I had a few things to do before obtaining my beauty sleep.

He retrieved his cell phone from his pocket and held his finger above the keys. "What's your number?"

I recited it, and he rang me so his number was stored in my phone and vice versa. Something about the gesture felt intimate, as was the look of happiness on his face when he stored me in his contacts.

I could
so
get used to having him in my life.

"Want to meet here tomorrow morning?" He brushed a lock of my hair behind my shoulder. "For our beach walk?"

I flashed him a grin. "I'd love to. Six AM okay?"

"Sure thang. I'm an early riser, doc." He eyed me and stepped back. "You sure you're going to get a good night's rest?"

"Yep." Just as soon as I texted Aunt Alfa and did a wee bit of research about Babette's former husband, Luther. Her psychic theatrics had me in a twirl.

He focused his gaze on me. "You look like you're contemplatin' something."

Jock Cowboy was more perceptive than I realized. "Did you hear Norman's comment about Luther being killed?"

"When he was talking to that psychic surgeon numbnuts about his convulsing wife?"

An image of Babette's performance popped into my mind, and I laughed. "You summed up the event perfectly."

"Thanks, doc." He gave me a sweet, albeit tired, smile.

"Don't you think it's interesting that Babette's husband was killed?"

"I reckon so."

Amazing how his cowboyisms were suddenly endearing. "I'm going to see if there's anything online about it."

"Good
idear
." He planted a kiss on my lips that curled my toes, which was hard to do in my narrow sandals. "If you find anything, text me."

"Will do."

"'Night, doc."

"'Night."

"Lock up," he instructed me. "And call me if you need anything."

I smiled. "Thanks." I closed the door and flipped all the locks. Happiness radiated through every cell. Meeting him was the one good thing that had happened at this stupid psychic fair.

Oh, and the break up with Floyd. Two good things and counting.