Patrice Lyle - Health Nut 01 - Killer Kung Pao (6 page)

Ding Dong, the Psychic's Dead

I stared at Mystic Ming, uncertain what to do next. How could he be dead? I checked his pulse again. Yep, there was no denying it. He was officially expired. Gone.
Sayonara
.

"Somebody call 9-1-1." A somber feeling settled over me. Could I have done more to save him? And what had killed him?

The white plastic fork covered in brown sauce clutched in Mystic Ming's hand was a clue. As was the Styrofoam container on his table, filled with kung pao shrimp.

The lunch. The restaurant must have forgotten the
no peanut
mandate.

"You okay, Doc Meadows?" Tattoo Tex reached into the booth and set his hand on my arm, a gesture I found most reassuring.

"I think the Chinese restaurant made a mistake and put peanuts in his meal." I peered into the container, in search of the little brown offenders.

But I didn't see any.

"I told them no peanuts," Aunt Alfa piped up. She tapped Mervyn on his shoulder. "Isn't that right?"

He nodded. "She reminded the guy at the restaurant, and he assured us that the kung pao shrimp was peanut free."

"Are you positive about that?" Babette's accusatory tone surprised me. "I recall Alfa telling you that she wished the psychic who started the brouhaha would drop dead."

Murmurs erupted from the crowd, and a few expo attendees pointed at my aunt and whispered.
Uh-oh.
My chest tightened. I didn't like where this was headed.

"She wasn't serious," I said. "People say stuff all the time that they don't really mean."

"And sometimes they say stuff they do mean." Babette's former glittery friendliness was gone. "The universe listens to our words. If you project negative desires into the cosmos, they can manifest."

"The Law of Attraction is alive and well." Garnett's gemstone earrings twinkled in the overhead lighting as she strolled past Mystic Ming's booth and appraised the scene. "You have to be careful what you wish for."

Was it my imagination, or did Garnett have a look of glee on her face? I glanced at the others who stood on the sidelines, peering at Mystic Ming's corpse. No eyes were being wiped, and no noses were being blown.

"But Aunt Alfa didn't wish Mystic Ming dead." The hairs on my arms leapt up, and I backed out of Mystic Ming's booth.

Right into Tattoo Tex.

"Steady thar, ma'am."

The firmness of Jock Cowboy's chest against my back was just the distraction I needed. No disrespect to the deceased, and I knew this was highly inappropriate, but tingles of desire shot from my waist down.

"Did anyone call the police?" Tattoo Tex asked in a manly
take-charge
tone.

"Yes, I'm Detective Fifi Franks of the Manatee Police Department," a serious-sounding woman's voice said. "I just arrived to check out the expo, but it looks like I'm here to investigate the psychic's death."

With a name like that, I expected a petite blonde who had a white poodle for a police dog. But that wasn't the case. A six-foot plus woman with the body of a pro-wrestler and wearing a khaki suit strode toward Mystic Ming's booth. Her dark brown bob reminded me of a pageboy.

She gazed at Mystic Ming's body and shook her head. "Shouldn't have waited to book a psychic reading."

"I can help you." Bubbly Babette was back, and she had a new target. "I've been a psychic for over twenty years, and I regularly commune with the other side."

"I'm an intuitive too, and I have a blog talk radio show,
The Vegan Vixen
. It's got a huge following." Vesta handed a shiny pink business card (totally cute) to Detective Fifi. "I can do a tarot spread for you and tell you exactly what's going to happen in your work and love life over the next decade."

Charles stepped forward in his bizarre white scrubs. "I can operate on your spiritual self and cut out all negative experiences that are clouding your aura."

How crass. These people are vying for Mystic Ming's business.

"Thanks." Detective Fifi slid Vesta's card into her pants pocket. "I'll consider the show's other psychic offerings, but first I need to do my job and figure out how Mystic Ming died. The investigation team will arrive soon. You're all potential witnesses so we need to speak to each one of you about what happened before you leave. Please be patient."

*   *   *

An hour later, they called Aunt Alfa. I sat in a folding chair in the hallway, outside a makeshift interrogation room that had been set up in the hotel manager's office. My gut was in a twirl. How had Mystic Ming died? Did someone orchestrate his death? And what in the world was Aunt Alfa saying to the police? The only brush she'd had with the law was the not-so-occasional speeding ticket.

But surely that wouldn't cast her in a suspicious light?

"Dr. Piper Meadows?" A policeman with a tan that suggested he either spent all day in the sun or was in possession of the most awesome bronzer in the universe, which could only be Sparkle O, appeared with a clipboard.

I raised my hand. "Here."

He motioned me to follow him to the pseudo-interrogation room. Once I reached the doorway, he hurried off.

"Have a seat." Detective Fifi gestured at two folding chairs across from a desk piled with crumpled
Manatee Burgers
bags and a nametag that read,
Wilbur Harrison, Hotel Manager
.

"Thanks." I sat down and realized this was the first time I'd been involved with a police investigation. A hint of panic spiraled through me as images of crime television whirled through my mind. Would I be required to offer a DNA sample? Would I be frisked? What about a polygraph?

"What's your name and contact info?" she asked.

So far so good.

"Dr. Piper Meadows, ND. I live in Sea Spray, Maryland."

After I rattled off the exact address, Detective Fifi fixed me with a no-nonsense gaze. "You're the one who discovered the victim was dead, correct?"

"Yes, I was on stage giving my new
Health Nuts Rock
talk when Mystic Ming screamed from his booth." I recounted his exact words and how they related to the
L
part of my acronym about the lymphatic system and foreign invaders.

She didn't seem impressed with my account. "How'd you assess he was dead?"

"I checked for a pulse."

"Did he have one?"

"No." Wasn't that obvious?

She glanced at her notebook and furrowed her dark brown eyebrows. "You're a naturopathic doctor?"

"Yes. I have my own practice."

"Are you like a medical doctor?"

"Sort of." Once again, I prepared to defend my profession. "The first two years of naturopathic medical school are essentially the same as traditional medical school, but during the last two years we study natural methods to treat disease and improve health, as opposed to the predominant use of prescription drugs and surgery."

She leaned back in Wilbur's chair and considered my statement. "Are you medically qualified to assess death?"

"Yes." I knew I wasn't wrong in my assessment. He'd definitely been dead.

She anchored her elbows on the table and steepled her fingers beneath her chin. "What's your relationship to the deceased?"

I hesitated. I was pretty sure spouting out,
he called my hair a dung beetle nest
,
did not qualify as a relationship. Plus would that make me appear to have a motive?

So I said, "I only met the man today."

"Where?"

"Here. At the expo."

"I figured that." She rolled her eyes. "Could you be more specific?"

"In the elevator. I was headed down to the exhibit hall when he got in."

"And?"

"And what?" Aside from making me look like I had a proverbial ax to grind, it suddenly felt wrong to tell her about the dung beetle comment. Like I was talking ill of the dead.

"Did you and he speak?"

"Yes."

"What about?"

There was no way out of it. "He made an unsolicited comment about my hair."

A serious look spread across her face. "What'd he say?"

"That my hair looked like a dung beetle nest. Or that I'd been caught in a typhoon. But it was all very tongue-in-cheek, I assure you."

"Tongue-in-cheek?"

"Yeah. I don't think he really meant it." My cell phone chirped twice in my purse, signaling the receipt of a new text. Should I check the message? What it if was Aunt Alfa making her one text?

Did they allow those? I mean, I knew about the one call.

Detective Fifi nodded at my purse, as if sensing my internal debate. "Go ahead."

"Thanks." I extracted my phone and stifled a gasp as I read the words on the tiny screen.

Mystic Ming meant it. Mystic Ming still think your hair look like dung beetle nest. Look worse actually
.

The fine blonde hairs on my arm arched, and I swallowed. My throat was dry and my stomach trembled. Could it really be Mystic Ming texting from the other side? Did cell phones even work in the afterlife? What about roaming charges?

"Is there a problem?" she asked.

"No." My phone chirped again.
Oh, no.

I quickly read the message.

Mystic Ming has huge problem, Dr. Meadows. Mystic Ming dead! You find out who kill me
.

A chill raced down my neck, and I dropped my phone back into my purse. "Thanks for allowing me to check that."

"Anything pertinent?"

My pulse hastened, and I considered showing her the text, but it had to be a joke. I forced a smile. "No."

Suspicion hovered on her face for a moment. "Back to your story. The deceased made a comment to you?"

"Yes, but it wasn't a big deal."

She eyed my mop. "A man tells you your hair looks like a dung beetle nest, and it's no big deal?"

Okay, she had me there. She didn't wear much makeup, but her hair was shinier than freshly painted nails so she had to know that rude hair remarks were uncool.

"It was a little annoying, but I didn't freak out about it."

She made a few notes. "Did you have an altercation with the deceased earlier today?"

"No."

"You sure about that?"

My mind raced, still tied up in fits of confusion about the text.
Think.
What altercation?
Then I realized what she was getting at.

"Are you referring to when my aunt brought my potbellied pig, Brownie, to our booth and Mystic Ming collapsed?"

She nodded. "Tell me what happened."

I recounted the story while she scribbled on her notepad, turning the page every few seconds.
Hmm.
Why was she so interested in this?

"Did the deceased inform your Aunt Alfa that he had a peanut allergy during this altercation?"

I thought back to the scene. "Yes, I guess he did."

More notes. "Did your aunt have a relationship to the deceased?"

I swallowed. "No."

"Are you aware that the deceased didn't want any doctors at the New Beginnings Psychic show?"

"I learned that today."

"I've obtained a copy of your application to the expo, which I understand your aunt filled out." She handed me the document in question. "Is your information correct?"

I recognized my aunt's handwriting and scanned the page for the professional designation. As Aunt Alfa had confirmed earlier, the word
aromatherapist
appeared after my name.

"Everything's right except my title."

"Have you ever been an aromatherapist?"

"No."

"So that's a lie?"

"Detective Fifi, my aunt is ninety-one years old and an aromatherapist. She probably had a senior moment and listed her own title." Sometimes it pays to play the
age card
.

"Keep reading." She pointed at the paper in my hands. "There's more."

I followed her instructions and zoomed past my name, address, phone number, credit card information, and the items I planned on selling at the expo. All standard stuff. Then I saw what she must have been referring to.

At the very bottom of the page, in pretty italics, the expo's mandate was spelled out.
Please, no doctors except for those healers with spiritual doctorate degrees. New Beginnings wants to focus specifically on the psychic and spiritual realm of health.

Okay, so they wanted a psychic fair. What was the big deal?

I handed the paper back to her. "I'm not sure what you're implying?"

A
know-it-all
smile crept across her face. "Your aunt appears to have lied on the form so you'd be admitted to the fair. Add that to her argument with the deceased, which was witnessed by several expo attendees, her knowledge of his allergy, and the death threat she made about the deceased. It paints an ugly picture, don't you agree?"