Patrice Lyle - Health Nut 01 - Killer Kung Pao (9 page)

The man was designing a tattoo after me.

"That's the nicest thing anyone has ever said." I suddenly blinked back tears. Again. That was twice in one night.

Tattoo Tex was a keeper.

The elevator dinged on my floor, and he followed me into the hallway. Our energy merged, intense with anticipation but also laced with a level of peace I'd never felt with anyone before. Not even Aunt Alfa. Is this what people meant by love at first sight?

Although I doubt most people shared their first sparkle over a platter of shredded lettuce.

The question fluttered in my heart as I inserted the key and pushed the door open. We walked inside in a comfortable silence except for Brownie.

Wwweeee. Wwweee.

"Think he has to go to the bathroom?" Tattoo Tex removed the bag from his shoulder and placed it on the carpet.

I pointed to the plastic Tinker Bell wading pool filled with pine shavings near the television. "He's litter-box trained."

He unzipped the bag and Brownie toddled out. Sniffed Tattoo Tex's pants and shoes. And then headed for the pool.

"That's amazing you've house trained him." Tattoo Tex adjusted his hat and rocked back on his boots, surveying the room like he was at a rodeo checking out the livestock.

Boxes of quinoa crackers and Cosmic Cupcakes lined the dresser. Several bags of unopened dark chocolate almond clusters filled the small area of a nightstand. A giant bag of organic piglet feed took up the table near the couch. And a huge bottle of organic Hawaiian spirulina tablets sat beside the telephone.

He walked toward the spirulina, picked it up, and sat on the bed. "This the pond stuff?" He looked interested as he scanned the label. "Packed with phyto-nutrients. Not sure what those are, but they sound good."

I sat beside him—innocently prepared to educate him on the wonders of spirulina—and a whiff of his manly scent hit me, sending tingles down my legs.
Should I forget the doctor talk and pull an Aunt Alfa tonight?

"Spirulina's awesome." I edged closer to him under the guise of explaining the product and inhaled his sexy lingering cologne. "It's a complete source of nutrition and easy for the body to absorb. See?" I pointed to the
Supplement Facts.
"It's loaded with vitamins, trace minerals, and antioxidants. A superfood."

He turned the bottle and read the front. "You don't say?"

"I love it. Gives me tons of energy and endurance for a busy day."

"I could certainly use more energy." He set the bottle on the table. "I'm not real fond of coffee, and I need something to make it through my day job."

"Day job? I thought you were a tattoo artist?"

"Sure am, ma'am, but I don't make enough yet to support myself off just my tattoo artistry. So I work two jobs."

Hot, hard working, and a lover of extra peanut and celery kung pao? Male perfection. "What kind of work do you do?"

"I'm a foreman at a peanut plant in Texas."

"Organic peanuts?" Aunt Alfa loved peanuts in the shell, but only organic. Maybe he could get me a deal?

He shook his head. "Sorry, ma'am. We produce nonorganic peanut butter and peanut oil. Peanut oil is real popular at Thai restaurants."

I liked Thai food, but my mind was stuck on two words.
Peanut oil?

My chest tightened and my heart screamed
No
.
He can't have access to the ingredient that allegedly gave Mystic Ming's kung pao a deadly kick. Plus he mentioned having met Mystic Ming in Dallas, where the rude psychic insulted his cowboy hat.

He must have picked up on my inner turmoil because he lifted his hands in mock surrender. "Don't you go getting your pretty blonde head in a twirl. I already told the police where I worked."

"Really?" I feigned nonchalance as I grabbed the spirulina and poured some into my hand. I walked to my suitcase, retrieved a plastic baggie, and dumped the green tablets inside. "How long have you worked there?"

"Ten years."

My mind fumbled through the figures—I did my best mathematics with a calculator—and determined he'd had access to a heck of a lot of peanut oil.

Why couldn't I find a cute guy without issues? Floyd had the
stye complication
, and now Tattoo Tex had
peanut-oil access issues
. Had Mystic Ming been right?

Was I doomed to life alone?

He rose from the bed and gestured at the baggie of spirulina in my hand. "For me?"

"Yes." I gave him the bag. My heart was pounding liked a woodpecker on a tree trunk.

"Thank you, doc. Can't wait to try it."

"You're welcome." Was it my imagination, or was guilt hovering in his sensuous brown eyes?

He strolled toward the door and pointed at my hot pink running suit trimmed with rhinestones laid across my pillow. "You a runner?"

"Not really," I said, following him. "I do occasional sprints, but mostly I love walking on the beach."

"You going tomorrow?"

"Yep. Bright and early." I was disappointed our night hadn't heated up like Aunt Alfa's, but his peanut-plant employment was startling news. Especially with my new PI status.

He set his one hand on the door and offered me his other. Total gentleman move. I gave him my hand, and he kissed my fingers with such tenderness that he almost erased my suspicions. But any good detective had to question everyone.

Especially someone with easy access to the murder weapon and a past altercation with the victim.

"A Texas gentleman always bids a beautiful lady farewell." He released my hand and opened the door.

I gave him my best
I-swear-I-don't-think-you're-a-killer
smile. "Good night."

But as I locked up behind him, two questions nagged at me. Was Tattoo Tex a Texas gentleman?

Or a Texas killer?

A Major Vegan Felony

Time to consult the cards.

And I wasn't talking about tarot cards. I needed my PI flashcards to rule Tattoo Tex out as a ruthless, peanut-oil-wielding killer.

I grabbed my Kindle, logged onto my email, and downloaded the new flashcards. I scrolled through hundreds of tips about how to better my detective skills.
Awesome. Lot of fab tidbits.
Couldn't wait to print them out at the hotel business center.

After that I would compile a list of suspects.

The hallway was deserted, so I took the stairs. It was only a few floors, and a little extra lymphatic exercise was an added bonus. I wound down to ground level and headed for the front desk.

Yoga Girl glanced up from her phone, looking annoyed that I'd interrupted her. "Can I help you?"

I held up my Kindle, concealed in its hot pink iridescent case. "I need to print some stuff out. Where's the business center?"

She yawned. "The hotel doesn't have one."

A pang of panic hit me. I needed to clear Tattoo Tex as a suspect. And pronto. But Yoga Girl didn't fall into the
need-to-know
category of my investigation. "Is there an office computer available? It's important."

A potentially life-changing level of importance.

No reaction from her.

Then I remembered Wilbur, the hotel manager. The alleged recipient of the pork burrito. "Is Wilbur around?"

She turned and cupped her hands around her mouth. "Wilbur, a guest needs you."

"Thanks."

She resumed texting, happy to be free of me. Seconds later, a potbelly rounded the corner—not the piglet variety—followed by a red-haired, red-faced man.

"Who needs me, Molly?"

Aunt Alfa would be bummed to know Yoga Girl's real name. She had mentored a young herbalist named Molly, who had gone on to create a best-selling herbal blend to heighten male arousal.
Miracle Wood Work
, she'd named it.

Hmm.
Would Mervyn need the potent blend? But I quickly shook my head. I didn't need to know.

"Is there something I can help you with?" he asked.

"Yes." I flashed him a cheery smile. "I need to print something out, and Molly informed me that there are no computer facilities available."

"Are you staying here?"

"Yes. My name's Dr. Piper Meadows, and I'm here for the expo."

His forehead wrinkled like a shar-pei, and he sighed. "I've been fielding a ton of calls about Mystic Ming's death. Psychics coming out of the woodwork."

Ironic, given Molly's herbal triumph. "It's such a tragedy."

"It is, but it's driving up our bookings. We're sold out tomorrow with people who want to pay homage to Mystic Ming, and those who want to try to commune with him."

I eyed him with new curiosity and considered adding him to my suspect list. Was his bonus tied to bookings?

He sniffed. "I can let you use my office if you'll make it quick."

"Thanks." I pointed to the swinging half-door that led to Molly's inner sanctum. "Should I go that way?"

He stepped to the door and pulled it open. "Follow me, Dr. Meadows."

I trailed him around the corner and into the office I'd spoken to Fifi in. A quick scan of his desk and trashcan didn't turn up the burrito bag.

"You must be working so hard with Mystic Ming's death." I needed a segue into a dinner discussion.

He wiggled his mouse and typed something into the keyboard. A password no doubt. "Do you need to access your email to print?"

"Yes."

He rose, tugged his chair away from his desk, and gestured at me to sit down. "Here you go, Dr. Meadows. I'm going to get a quick bite to eat while you're in here."

Perfect opening. "We had dinner at Fiesta Grande tonight. It was really good."

He rubbed his thick hand in circles across his stomach. "I love a good burrito, but Mexican gives me major indigestion."

Before I could stop myself I said, "There are natural remedies that can help."

"Natural as in organic beef?" He chuckled.

"Beef, pork, tacos, burritos, whatever," I said with a toss of my hand. "Digestion can be improved."

"I'm sure it can, but nothing spicy for me. I haven't eaten Mexican in years." He picked up the heap of burger bags on his desk and crumpled them into a giant wad. "I'm a plain cheeseburger kind of guy."

"Nothing wrong with that." But there was something wrong with Vesta's story.

He exited the office, and I sat at his desk. An icon on the right side of his desktop grabbed my attention faster than a Sparkle O sale flyer.

New Beginnings Vendors Info.

Since I was officially investigating Mystic Ming's untimely death and trying to clear Aunt Alfa's name, this file couldn't be ignored. I opened the spreadsheet and scrolled through the data. Every vendor's name, address, and business information was listed. I knew a chocolate-mine when I saw one.

Acting on instinct, I hit print.

But I didn't hear a printer working, or even warming up. I checked the printer settings and fear snaked up my neck when I saw the document was printing at
Molly 1.

Oh, no.

I closed the vendor listing spreadsheet and hurried toward the front desk. Luckily for me, Molly wasn't present. Papers were piling up on the printer. I rushed over, wishing I had checked the length.

Warm pages—with the word
confidential
stamped across each one in shadow blocks—spewed from the squeaky printer. How long was this report? I tapped my foot and looked over my shoulders. No Molly.

Yet.

I scooped up the pages and prayed the print job would end.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Prayer answered, but be careful what you wish for.

Load paper
blinked in red across the screen, mocking me.

Oh, for the love of chocolate mousse.

No paper in sight, however. I rifled through a few nearby drawers. Nothing. If I were Molly, where would I keep the paper?
Hmm.
The girl was addicted to texting so she probably never printed an email. But she had to print out guest receipts, and she wouldn't want to interrupt her texting by walking any farther than necessary.

A cabinet sat near Molly's chair. I darted to it and flung open the doors.
Yes.
The unopened ream of paper was a lovelier sight than a brand new bag of dark chocolate almond clusters.

I ripped the ream open, stacked the printer drawer full, and closed the drawer. With a press of the
OK
button, the rest of the vendor report was printing. Almost done.

"Did you open my cabinet?" Molly asked, behind me.

Darn. Should have closed it. Bad PI move.

I feigned nonchalance as my heart pounded. "Yes. The printer was out of paper."

She peered at the pages printing out. "What's that?"

I grabbed the last sheet. "A new chapter of my book."

"Your book's confidential?"

She isn't familiar with the report. Awesome. The sequins are shining my way.

"Extremely confidential." I used my serious doctor tone.

"Looked more like a spreadsheet than a word document."

Molly was more observant than I thought. "It's a chart on essential oils."

"Cool." She didn't sound enthused, however.

I grabbed the last page and pulled the report against my chest. "Thanks so much."

She nodded and resumed texting, as I hurried toward the lobby. I'd planned to return to my room, but I still needed to print out my flashcards.
There has to be an office store nearby
. I hurried through the double doors into the balmy air in search of my car. I headed to the right end of the parking lot first. Then I backtracked to where I started. Where was my ride?

Thank goodness I was better at natural health than directions.

I doubled back once more, and my gaze landed on a little scrumptious piece of divinity.
Pinky.
Her rhinestone wiper blades pulled my lips into a grin.

I hopped into my hot pink MINI Cooper, rolled down the window, and used my cell phone to search for an office store. A 24-hour facility was less than three miles away. Perfect. I was about to start Pinky when an angry voice interrupted me. Slinking into my seat, I peered above the dashboard.

A man in white scrubs stood next to an older model Toyota. The psychic surgeon.

"I told you not to come here." He sounded perturbed.

"You promised me." A woman with an inky black ponytail snaking from a yellow floppy hat that matched her sundress cowered next to him. "I can't go on like this."

"All in good time."

His girlfriend wasn't pacified. "I'm sick of waiting. I want it now."

What intrigued me more than her sharp masculine jaw was the yellow bling on her feet. I craned my neck. Her shoes looked so familiar. I squinted hard until I identified the glittery sandals.

Last year's Sparkle O summer purchase-with-purchase. As a pink-a-holic, I hadn't been interested. But Aunt Alfa loved them, claiming yellow reminded her of the Florida sun. Interesting that the psychic surgeon's friend wore them.

I leaned over the wheel to admire the sandals and regretted not getting myself a pair. They were so pretty. I inched my arm toward the dashboard and accidentally planted my elbow on the horn.
Eeeeeee.
Pinky's high-pitched horn blared, totally blowing my cover.

Not that I actually had one.

Charles jerked his head in my direction and frowned. He cupped his hands to his mouth. "Why don't you mind your own business?"

I flicked my wrist as if to say,
no worries
, and put Pinky in gear.

Charles hurried toward me with short clipped strides. Splotches of red marred his smooth skin. "I don't like being spied on."

"Sorry," I yelped through the open window. "I wasn't spying on you. Just her gorgeous yellow sandals."

He gripped Pinky's roof and shot me an eyeliner-melting gaze. "You're lucky you're blonde, otherwise you'd be sorry."

What did that mean? But I didn't want to stick around to find out.

"Sorry for the hassle." I inched my car back, hoping he'd release Pinky. He finally did, and I rolled out of the parking lot.

In my rearview mirror, I watched Charles return to his car and motion to the woman to follow suit. He didn't open the door for her, of course. What a jerk. The poor woman had looked upset. I hoped she'd be okay.

My breathing returned to normal as I headed for the office store. The girl at the counter took my order and politely assisted me while I debated between magenta and pale pink paper for the flashcards. Once the monumental decision was made, she got started. While I was waiting, I scanned through the electronic version of my flashcards. One instantly caught my attention.

Be sure to apprise the police about any discoveries your investigation uncovers.

Hmm. I had information all right, like the pork burrito. But what about Tattoo Tex's peanut oil and past altercation with Mystic Ming? I didn't want to rat him out.

As long as he was innocent anyway.

I retrieved my phone and the detective's card. I took a deep breath and called her.

She answered on the first ring. "Yeah?"

Did she always sound so enthused? "Hi, Detective Fifi. It's Dr. Piper Meadows. From the psychic show?"

"What can I do for you,
doctor
?" Her sarcasm bounced off the cell tower.

Whatever. I had better things to do than defend my profession, like solve Mystic Ming's murder.

"I have some information about the case." I relayed the story about Vesta and the gigantic pork burrito.

She laughed. "What am I supposed to do?"

"Question her for possession."
Duh.

"Of what?"

"A pork burrito. That's a major vegan felony."

Silence filled the line. Apparently she didn't find my deductions riveting.

"Why don't you leave the detective work to the professionals?" Her condescending tone irked me.

Little did she know. I decided against telling her about my new flashcards, however. "But this could provide motivation."

She blew out a breath. "It's motive, not motivation. Now please get back to whatever it is you do at night and let me do my job."

"But detective, think about it. Mystic Ming could have been blackmailing Vesta. And if she's lying about being a vegan, she probably lied to you too."

"Your theories are certainly interesting, but we already cleared Vesta."

"What do you mean?"

"She has an alibi covering her for the time when the food was picked up and delivered to the Manatee Hotel."