Patrice Lyle - Health Nut 01 - Killer Kung Pao (15 page)

I checked on my precious Brownie, who was sleeping like an angelic piglet. After I pressed a light kiss on his snout with my fingers, I retrieved my cell phone.
I wouldn't come
back to the hotel tonight if I were you
, I texted to Aunt Alfa.
Stay with Mervyn.
The last thing I wanted was for my poor aunt to be blindsided by a crowd frenzied by Babette's bogus accusation.

I sat down at the table. Reaching for the New Beginnings vendor list, I realized something about Luther felt off. Maybe I was having my first PI instinct? How exciting would that be? I scanned the document until I stopped at the entry for
Babette
,
Preferred Psychic to the Greater Miami Area
.

She hadn't been lying about her self-proclaimed title.

I reviewed her information and discovered her real name was Barbara Gillette Gage. Where had she gotten the name Babette? Her office was in a strip mall, or at least 101A Ocean Breeze Way sounded like a strip mall. And she lived in Dolphin Heights, which the maps program on my phone quickly told me was a Miami suburb.

I opened my laptop and brought up a browser. I typed in Babette's real name, along with Luther's, and hit
search
. The little pink lipstick icon (compliments of the friendly IT folks at Sparkle O) spun while cyberspace hunted for my request. The search returned several links. I clicked on the first one, which led me to a newspaper article about the death of Luther Gillette of Dolphin Heights.

The article was short, sweet, and to the point. Unfortunately it wasn't a very sweet point. Quite the opposite, actually. My gaze stuck to a sentence near the beginning of the story.

Luther Gillette died of anaphylactic shock due to accidental consumption of a peanut butter cookie.

Holy chocolate schnitzel
. Had I just found the murderer?

Trifecta of Murder

I read the shocking line again. No way was this a coincidence. I recalled Babette's earlier phone call in the bathroom with her ma about what had happened ages ago. The incident she'd been referring to had to be Luther's murder-by-peanut-butter-cookie. Suspicion would undoubtedly fall upon Babette if the police knew. No wonder the bogus psychic had reassured her worried ma that no one would find out.

Sorry thar, Babette. But someone's on to you.

My heart seized. Now
I
was thinking cowboyisms?

Back to PI business. I tapped my pink-painted nails on the table while my mind reeled. Had Babette cast suspicion on Aunt Alfa merely to keep the police off the Luther trail? Or had she killed Mystic Ming?

The PI flashcards beckoned me like glittery eyeliner on a half-off sale. I thumbed through them, arriving at a card entitled
Motive, Means, and Opportunity.
The trifecta of murder.

Every murderer had a motive. Why would Babette want to kill Mystic Ming?
Hmm. He wanted her feathered hat? Doubtful. He didn't seem to be the hat-wearing type.
On to the next suspect.
I scanned through the vendor list again, stopping at the psychic surgeon. The man's full name was Charles Wu, and his work address was 101C Ocean Breeze Way.

A very familiar address.

In the name of certainty, I tapped the location into my maps program and discovered his office was two doors down from Babette's…in the same Miami strip mall. So much for them not knowing each other. What a couple of liars. I wondered if Charles could have killed Mystic Ming to protect Babette.

Then the never-ending question came to mind.
Why?

This PI business was a lot harder than being a naturopathic doctor. At least in my line of work patients were usually honest.

Suspects were lying to save themselves from going to jail.

I decided a distraction was in order. And I knew the perfect one. Washing off my makeup would free my mind to ponder the suspects. My soft cotton nightgown was a welcome change of attire. I hung up my work clothes and strolled into the bathroom to perform my nightly anti-aging ritual. A close look at the light lines around my eyes made me shudder. If I kept up this PI gig too much longer, I was going to need a different skin routine.

In my opinion, stress was the ultimate anti-youth-retention factor.

After brushing my teeth with my favorite ginger mint toothpaste—a holdover from Floyd that would remain—I doused an organic cotton ball with Sparkle O eye makeup remover. A few swipes turned the cotton ball a pretty iridescent mix of black, silver, and lilac. Then I squirted some Sparkle O Anti-Aging Sensitive Skin Cleanser into my hands and swished the liquid onto my face.

Tiny circles first, then bigger sweeping motions. The scent of grapefruit filled my senses, allowing my mind to relax. Swirl, cleanse, repeat.

Who has the most compelling reason to kill Mystic Ming?

Norman had written a check for services he didn't receive. Was a botched pizza pig-out at sea enough to kill someone? I didn't think so, however, I wasn't a pizza fanatic. Maybe being denied unlimited pepperoni and mozzarella was an offense worthy of a felony?

Next up was Charles, the psychic surgeon who had claimed not to know Babette, which was clearly a lie. And he'd fibbed about the woman wearing the yellow sandals in the parking lot. Definitely an item for additional review.

I cleansed the pesky area on either side of my nostrils as I considered Garnett. She'd certainly been incensed over Mystic Ming's
die-alone
curse, so much that she'd stated death would nullify it. Plus she'd planted a voodoo doll in his jacket, physical evidence of her rage. I rinsed my face and blotted it dry, happy my PI mind was on fire.

I applied my four nightly layers of anti-wrinkle defense, all SO, of course, and hurried back to my laptop. After creating a new file called
Suspicious Peeps
, I captured my earlier thoughts on Norman, Charles, and Garnett. Then I tackled the Vegan Vixen.

Living a lie
, I typed.
Has every reason to want to protect her future and reputation by
killing Mystic Ming.
An image of the take-out bag marked with the words "
large pork burrito with x-tra cheese
" flooded my mind. Anyone who could chastise Norman over a pork burrito in public while scarfing one in private would have no problem lying about murder.

She deserves another look. But she did give me Mystic Ming's journal. Hmm.

Then I arrived at Babette. I recapped her lie about not knowing Charles, as well as the conversation with her mother and the disturbing information about Luther's death. As well as her theatrical psychic performance designed to implicate Aunt Alfa.
Definitely need to follow up. She could have killed Luther and Mystic Ming.

I tipped my head back. Who else was a suspect? Think.

The hotel manager, Wilbur.
What if his performance rating is tied to bookings? He stated the hotel was sold out now because of Mystic Ming's death. Could he have orchestrated the killer kung pao to get a bigger Thanksgiving turkey or Christmas ham?

Who else? I bit the inside of my cheek as my mind whirled on the events of the last day. The psychic phenomena I'd encountered. The new faces I'd seen. The people I'd met.

Uh-oh.

A trickle of dread slid down my spine. As much as I hated to consider him, a good PI had to review anyone with a tie to the victim or murder weapon. Unfortunately that meant Tattoo Tex. He'd admitted to having a run-in with the victim and working at a peanut plant.

Two definite connections I couldn't ignore.

I pushed back from my laptop. Even though I knew Jock Cowboy couldn't really be the killer, in the name of fairness, I had to add him. I begrudgingly set my fingers on the keys and began typing.
He had access to the murder weapon and the victim told him he hated his cowboy ha…but he kisses too well to be a murderer. Plus he's totally hot,
the girly part of me noted.
Yeah, but that doesn't
mean he isn't trying to woo you into overlooking him
, the PI in me countered.

I stared at the laptop, shocked at myself. As an ND I had lots of experience being objective and clinical, but was I going too far? I reread the entry about Tattoo Tex, and a new question popped into my mind.

Was I really prepared to let my dislike of Western things go? Holding Tattoo Tex's Western lifestyle against him seemed wrong, yet I hated rodeos. They were cruel and, if I had my way, should be outlawed.

But I'd never thought cowboys were sexy before now.

A sick feeling flooded me. I typed furiously,
Must find out if Jock Cowboy has a history of frequenting rodeos. I hope not. If he does, do I really want to be in a serious relationship with a cowboy? I wish he didn't wear a stupid cowboy hat.

When I started giggling, I knew it was time to stop. I'd never been a night owl, and late nights tended to turn me into a giddy mess. Exhaustion was settling in, and I glanced at the clock.
Oh no.
It was almost two o'clock in the morning, and I'd forgotten to call Aunt Alfa.

I saved the document and retrieved my cell phone. I dialed her number and heard the familiar melody of her
Sex and the City
ring tone outside the door.

I hurried toward the peephole and peered into the hallway. A gray-haired lady wearing a floral muumuu was leaning against a walker outside my room. She stared at her orthopedic shoes while clutching Aunt Alfa's teal-colored cell phone in her gloved hands.

Holy sequins. Some crazy old lady from the séance must have jumped Aunt Alfa and stolen her phone to obtain murder evidence.

My heart pounded as I yanked the door open and grabbed the woman's surprisingly toned arm. "Why do you have my auntie's phone?"

Aunt Alfa's familiar chuckle emerged from the lady's mouth as she lifted her chin. She patted her curly-haired gray wig. "Great disguise, huh? I borrowed Mervyn's dead mom's clothes and his extra walker."

When I could breathe again, I let out a nervous laugh. "I thought something bad had happened to you. Didn't you get my text to stay away?"

She gestured at her hilarious get-up. "Why else would I be wearin' these hideous old bat shoes?"

"What a relief that you're all right."

She pushed the walker inside our room and tossed it into the closet. "Relief is what I gave Mervyn with my herbal movement mix. He'll see what a good bowel movement is first thing tomorrow morning."

As a natural health practitioner, I know the importance of elimination. But
eeww
.

She stepped up to me and swooshed a lock of hair behind my ear. "I thought you'd be fast asleep by now, dreaming of that hot jock cowboy."

As long as he's not a murderer.

I turned and peeked into the hallway, cranking my head in both directions. "Where's Mervyn?"

"He's got his RV hooked up at a nearby park." She headed for her suitcase on her bed and unzipped it.

I closed the door, flipped the locks shut, and leaned against the door.
Thank goodness, my
auntie's okay.

"You all right, Pipe? Sorry if I scared you."

"I'm fine." It certainly wasn't the first time Aunt Alfa had almost caused me to stroke out. Probably wouldn't be the last either.

"Mervyn's RV park is real nice."

"I thought he was driving that Caprice Classic?"

"He tows it behind his RV." She dug out her leopard print pajama shorts and matching top. "He's got a real nice diesel pusher. Lots of room for action."

I
so
didn't want to know what kind of action. "After you get dressed, I'll brief you on the case."

Never one to be self-conscious, Aunt Alfa peeled off her wig and old lady dress in front of me. I looked the other way and headed for the computer. No sense in reminding her—yet again—that the bathroom was a better place to get dressed. At ninety-one, she was stuck in her ways.

"Think these jammies match my thong?"

I stared at my laptop. "Sure."

"You didn't even look, Pipe." She sounded hurt.

Fine.
I turned and reviewed her clothing choice. "Yes, the cherry red and leopard print are a perfect match."

For her age, she had a rockin' awesome figure. For any age, actually. Aunt Alfa was my nonagenarian inspiration that stellar nutrition and consistent exercise could pay off. Her sleek frame looked years younger, and it wasn't because she was a skinny old lady.

She was a
toned
old lady. Way more toned than me.

"Thanks. I was hoping they looked nice. Wouldn't want to disappoint Mervyn." Thankfully my auntie pulled on her shorts and top. "Not that he can see very well. I'm going to have to work on his eyesight herbally."

At least she wasn't working on his
Miracle Wood Work
.

Happy to have appeased her, I returned to my important PI work. I pointed at my
Suspicious Peeps
file on the laptop. "Listen to this." I read the entry about Babette aloud and briefed my auntie on Babette's late-night show, as well as Luther's death-by-peanut-butter-cookie.

Aunt Alfa shrugged. "Her former hubby could have deserved it."

"What? No one deserves to be killed." Not even Floyd.

"Never know."

I was too tired to argue. "Regardless, it's curious that her first husband was killed by a peanut-related item." Now to the hard part. "Aunt Alfa, I have to tell you something."

Her jaw tightened. "I'm too old to wear a thong?"

My heart melted. "You're not too old to do anything."

"Good 'cause I'm a granny panty wearer in name only, Pipe. I only joined that dating website for fun."

If only
Wanna Get In My Granny Panties
was all was we had to talk about. But it wasn't. "This is serious." I drew in a breath. "Babette implicated you during the séance."

She made her famous lemon-sucking face. "How?"

The story flowed from my lips, sparing no details. "She faked the séance, Aunt Alfa. You should have seen it. Her accent was worse than Mystic Ming's."

"Of all the lowdown tricks." She opened a container of face wipes, turned to the mirror, and swiped one across her cheeks. "I'm going to teach that bogus psychic a lesson. Maybe I'll spike her coffee with an herbal laxative?"

I think my heart stopped. What a crazy thing to suggest. "No, you're not. You can't be caught spiking anything. That would make you look suspect."

She looked genuinely surprised. "Suspect on what?"

Did I have to spell it out for her? "Like you go around tampering with people's food and drink? Like Mystic Ming's killer kung pao?"
Duh.

"That fake psychic doesn't scare me. If you ask me, she deserves a case of the runs."