Patrice Lyle - Health Nut 01 - Killer Kung Pao (12 page)

I gestured at the sign pointing the way to rooms 1200-1218. "Mystic Ming's room is number twelve-sixteen."

He gently directed me toward our destination. "Think the room number means anythang?"

The thought hadn't occurred to me. "I don't know."

"I went to the front desk to get a paper and saw some people from the show. One of them was Babette, that large psychic with a booth by yours. She was telling someone about, um, not sure how you say it. Maybe number-ala-ology?"

I smiled. How seriously cute was that? "You mean numerology?"

He nodded, looking a bit sheepish. "Guess I never aced English."

Aw.
"Don't feel bad. I never aced psychic stuff."

"We have something in common." He winked, his voice sounding chipper. "Babette said the date of Ming's death could mean something."

"Seems unlikely, but I don't know anything about numerology. She could be trying to throw suspicion off herself." I told him about her phone conversation with her ma in the bathroom earlier today. "Babette said, 'They'll never find out.'"

"What do you think she meant?"

"I have no idea, but we need to get to the bottom of it."
Uh-oh.
I was amazed how easy the word
we
slipped from my mouth. Wonder if he noticed?

If he did, he didn't develop that wild-eyed, uncomfortable look most men get at the first mention of anything even remotely related to a
relationship
.

He squeezed my hand and flashed me a Texas-sized smile. "Babette's secret with her mama could be important to our case."

How cute. He
our
'ed me. If hearts had legs, mine
so
would have done cartwheels down the hall. And a couple of back flips too.

He pulled us to a stop outside room twelve-sixteen. "Here we are."

A wave of unease swept through me when I looked at the doorway. I'd never done anything illegal before. Was breaking into a dead psychic's room a good idea? "Think it's okay to go in?"

We stared at each other for a moment. Questions flickered across his face, and I wondered how many were related to the case. Or us.

"It'd be fine if we had a key." He was the voice of reason.

"I know." In the safety of my room, breaking and entering hadn't seemed like such a bad idea. But the reality of crossing into a crime scene made me nervous. What if Detective Fifi found out?

Tattoo Tex wiggled the doorknob, but it was locked. "Would have been cool if it'd been open."

I laughed. "That would've been too easy." My mind reeled with ideas. I needed to find that check. It was possible the police had discovered it already. But would Detective Fifi have thought to peek into Mystic Ming's hot pink boots?

Hot pink and me were like moth and flames, obviously. But the police? Doubtful.

I had to get into that room.
Think, Piper.
I could use a paper clip to bust in, but that would be illegal. I could find a housekeeper and tell her I lost my key, but that would be lying.

Then it hit me.

Vesta and Mystic Ming were in a relationship, however rocky it was, and I bet she had a key. I could tell her to give it to me as part of my keeping her pork burrito addiction a secret.

"I know what to do. Wait here and make sure no one gets in, Tattoo Tex. I'll be right back." I didn't want him to see the pushy blackmailing side of me.

"No problem, Doc Meadows." He released my hand and stood guard in front of the door.

I hustled toward the stairs and jogged down two flights. A few seconds later, I entered the tenth floor, and my gaze landed on someone loitering in the hallway. The woman from the parking lot, wearing the yellow dress and Sparkle O sandals. Was she here to see Ching?

"I know you're in there, Babette. Open up." She banged on a guest room door with both of her bony fists. "I want my money." Her freakishly angry tone made my arm hairs arch.

Why's she mad at the bejeweled psychic? And what money?

"Hey," I called out, striding down the hall. "Can I talk to you for a second? I love those sandals you're wearing." That was a ploy, but maybe it would work. I'd fall for it.

The woman whirled around, saw me, and clutched her chest. Her eyes went as wide as dark chocolate almond clusters, and her square-ish jaw tightened. She took a few steps backward and spun around as fast as her Sparkle O sandals would let her.

Then she ran away from me.

WTF? (Piper-speak for
what the fennel
.)

Mini Ming

"Wait," I called out to the fleeing woman, but she wouldn't stop. She yanked open the exit door and disappeared. I rushed after her, but once I entered the stairwell, the only trace of her was the sound of the yellow Sparkle O sandals pounding on concrete.

How bizarre.
Why would she bolt when she saw me? Only one person would be able to answer my question.

Babette.

I returned to the room where the mysterious woman had been loitering moments earlier and knocked on the door. "It's Dr. Piper Meadows. Are you in there, Babette?"

Locks clacked, and the door swung open. Babette appeared, adorned in a green-feathered headpiece and matching sequined muumuu. "Can I help you?" She radiated southern hospitality.

"There was a woman out here, pounding on your door a second ago."

She tilted her head. "Really? I don't recall." Her southern accent sounded sweet, but the coldness in her eyes didn't fool me.

"You sure about that? She was wearing a yellow sundress and sandals," I said. "I saw her fighting with the psychic surgeon in the parking lot earlier tonight."

Her unfriendly gaze affixed to my face. "I'm sorry, Dr. Meadows. But I don't recall."

Oh, for the love of chocolate ganache.
"You don't
recall
someone banging on your hotel room door, hollering your name, and demanding money?"

She shook her head. "I've been on the phone doing readings, so I must have been too distracted. I get that way when Spirit speaks to me."

"Why'd you open the door just now?"

She blinked and gripped the edge of the door. "I hung up and happened to hear you. Besides, I wondered if you could talk some healthy sense into Norman. I'm sick of his pizza cruise plans."

I peered into the room. No sign of Norman, but I spotted a book I recognized. A
Weight
Watchers
hardcover leaned against the television. "Where is he?"

Her face flashed with annoyance, and she lifted one of her ringed hands. "Out picking up another family-sized pizza with extra cheese and pepperoni. It's so hard to lose weight when I'm constantly exposed to all that dough and mozzarella."

"Forgive me for intruding," I said, pointing to the book near the TV. "But is pizza allowed on the
Weight Watchers
diet?" I would never recommend it to my patients desiring weight loss.

"Normy's not doing the program." She anchored one hand on her hip and squished her shiny peachy lips together. "He's a serious hindrance to my personal goals."

Should I give her my spiel on the Swindoll quote and how her reaction to life events was more important than the events themselves? The irritation in her voice made me think she might not appreciate it.

She gave me a fake half-smile. "I'll tell Normy you'll be talking to him, Dr. Meadows. Thank you ever so much."

I knew a blow-off when I heard one. "You're sure you didn't hear anything outside your door?"

Her eyes narrowed into unfriendly slits. "Not a thing."

"Do you owe a woman with dark hair and yellow bling sandals any money?"

"No," she snapped, scooting the door shut.

I stopped it from closing with the palm of my hand. "How do you think she knew your name?"

"I'm a very well-known psychic. Lots of people know me." The sharpness in her tone indicated
end of discussion
.

"Thanks." I removed my hand, and she slammed the door. I may not have been in the PI business for long, but I recognized dishonesty when I encountered it. Part of my job as a naturopathic doctor was ferreting out the truth from my patients. Getting them to open up wasn't always easy, but I usually triumphed.

I certainly hadn't gotten Babette to open up, however.
Hhmm.

I pondered the implications as I strolled to Vesta's room and knocked. Fortunately, the Vegan Poser quickly agreed to give me Mystic Ming's key after I reminded her, politely, about the importance of keeping her pork burrito secret. I slipped the key into my pocket and rejoined Tattoo Tex.

"Glad to see you. I was getting lonely without you, ma'am." He flashed me a smile that made my cheeks flush. The Jock Cowboy was making me want to be a very naughty girl.

But I didn't tell him that.

"You all right, doc? Your face turned a pretty shade of pink."

I waived my hand, as if to say,
No biggie
. "Must be the excitement of being a PI." I held up Mystic Ming's key to change the subject. "Shall we?"

He agreed, so I slid the key into the lock, and the door clicked open. We walked inside, and a twinge of all-out thrill ride hit me. I wasn't sure if it was because I was in major PI mode or major lust mode.

Regardless, my pulse raced as I scanned the place.

Mystic Ming's room was an elaborate mess. Clothes littered the lumpy bed and draped across the worn chair, TV, and dresser. An opened box of tofu sat on one of the nightstands.
Eeww.
The scent of patchouli drifted past my nostrils. Lovely. I hated patchouli because it irritated my sinuses, and the odor reminded me of a flea market. I sniffed, and my gaze landed on a mound of tiny shoes in front of the closet. One particular pair caught my attention.

The hot pink boots that Mystic Ming had mentioned in his diary. The boots where he'd hidden the check from Norman.

I rushed over and picked one up, angling the shiny magenta leather for Tattoo Tex's inspection. "Mystic Ming wrote in his journal about these boots. The check might be in here."

He squinted. "Excuse me, doc?"

Duh. I didn't tell him.
Some PI I am for not informing my partner about major case intel.
I quickly filled him in on Vesta's pork burrito addiction admission and the triumphant receipt of Mystic Ming's journal for my silence.

The twinkle in his eyes and the way he slowly nodded told me he was impressed. "Norman's check could be in thar?"

"Yep." I peered into the fine leather boot and pulled on the insole. It came out easily, and I turned the boot over. But nothing fell out. "Okay, let me try the other one."

Same thing. No check.

I furrowed my eyebrows into a deep V, hoping to look like a real PI in the midst of a serious investigative thought. "I'm surprised Detective Fifi thought to look here."

"Maybe someone else took the check before the police found it?"

"Of course." He was turning out to be a better PI than I was. "Someone with reason to be scared could have taken the check to implicate Norman. But there has to be another clue in this room, don't you think?"

Tattoo Tex's gaze swept corner-to-corner, before landing on the bed. "In the movies, people like to hide stuff under the bed or between the mattresses."

"Great idea." I hustled behind him and waited while he bent down and lifted the bed. The entire bed. He hoisted it up effortlessly, as though he was picking up a bag of popcorn.

I gulped. His sculpted arm muscles almost made me drool. My lust-i-tude cranked up to an explosive level. Tattoo Tex was the hottest guy I'd ever seen.

"You see anythang?"

I see a man I want to do very sexy things with and wake up next to in the morning.

"Doc Meadows?"

"Sorry."
Quit acting like the teenybopper Floyd accused you of being
. I peered at the open space. "Nothing."

He lowered the bed onto the carpet and then lifted the mattress off the box spring. "Anythang?"

"Nope. Nothing."

"Let's keep looking. It'd be interesting to find his cell phone."

"Agreed. Then we could see his text history." I surveyed the room and didn't see a phone. But I discovered a purple makeup case with gold edges. Cute, but not cuter than my Sparkle O makeup case. "What about this?" I strode toward the dresser and picked up the case. Excitement pulsed through me when Tattoo Tex sidled up next to me and his cologne drifted past my nose.

Holy chocolate babka, he smells good. Totally hot and masculine.
The only scent Floyd had ever worn was all-natural herbal cologne he'd found at the health food store. I never liked the smell because it reminded me of my favorite herbal toothpaste. Ginger mint was great for keeping my teeth clean, but not for sparking romance.

Tattoo Tex pointed to the makeup case. "Strange thang for a man to have."

A flash of Mystic Ming's pink hair popped in my mind. Maybe he kept Easter egg dye in here? Then I remembered his bad breath. Maybe he kept his garlic pills in here? The latch sprung open the instant I touched it.
Nice mechanics.
But nothing inside except for several tubes of natural lip balm, a few organic soaps, and a razor.
Annoying.

"What next?" Tattoo Tex asked.

"Good question." My gaze landed on the closet doors. "Maybe he moved the check from the boot after he wrote in his journal and slipped it into a coat pocket?"

"Great
idear
."

I was amazed how his cowboy-isms weren't causing massive levels of vein-pulsating irritation. One day with the Jock Cowboy had cured me of my anti-Western sentiments.

A feat I'd never thought possible.

I scooted the sliding closet door open and searched Mystic Ming's wardrobe. Quickly I developed a system of pat garment, search pockets, done. It wasn't until the seventh jacket—Ming had actually brought more clothes than I did for a three-day weekend—that I found something. A squishy item bulged in the lining of Mystic Ming's purple velvet blazer.

I ran my fingers across it again, but couldn't tell what it was.

"I'm going to have to rip open the lining." I removed the jacket from the hanger and carried it to the bed. I inspected the seams of the coat, and they were tight. No way to tug the thread open by hand. Darn. I didn't carry scissors on me.

But fortunately for
our
investigation, Tattoo Tex carried a little pocketknife.

He hit a button, and a tiny silver blade popped up. "Allow me, doc."

I handed him the garment, and he sliced open the seam with the ease of a seasoned seamstress. Was there
anythang
he couldn't do?

Oh, for the love of chocolate frosting.
Did I just think a cowboy-ism?

"Here you go, ma'am."

Aw. He's letting me dig out the item when he totally could have had dibs on it.

I slipped my hand inside and searched for the squishy thing. My fingers finally found the mysterious item, and I pulled it out. I angled it under the overhead light and gasped.

A voodoo doll. A three-inch tall replica of Mystic Ming—complete with pink hair and a tiny matching chopstick—lay in my hand. The doll had a strange binding around its knees and a black X over its mouth.

"Why, it's a Mini-Ming," Tattoo Tex said.

"I saw these at Garnett's booth. She sells these dolls."

"That's mighty suspect, don't you think?"

"Absolutely." I turned the voodoo doll over and looked at the backside, where a small knife had been appliqued. "Looks like Garnett didn't wish Mystic Ming well."

"Not at all." He plucked the voodoo doll from my hand and inspected the details. "Wonder what the leg ties mean?"

"I don't know, but I intend to ask Garnett."

My cell phone buzzed, alerting me to a new text. I opened my silver sequined bag, deposited the voodoo doll inside, and retrieved my phone. A new message appeared on my screen.

No wonder Mystic Ming trip in that coat. Garnett is real witch.

Only he didn't write
witch
. He wrote a word that rhymes and starts with a
B
.

"Look." I showed the message to Tattoo Tex. "Is this really Mystic Ming, or is someone messing with me?"

"I've never heard of texting from beyond the grave."

"Me either." And, frankly, it creeped me out. My mind raced with ideas…maybe Garnett was the killer? "Garnett was awfully bitter at the outdoor shrine, saying Mystic Ming was in hell. And she was furious in the elevator this morning." I quickly recounted their exchange.

"She actually said death cancels a curse?"

"Yes." A chill ran up my spine. "Add her behavior to this voodoo doll, and I think she's our number one suspect."

He nodded, but then his jaw dropped, and he tapped me on the arm. "Wait a second. Why don't we just ask Mystic Ming who did it? If it's really him texting, shouldn't he know who killed him? Or at least who wanted him dead?"

Duh. Why hadn't I thought of that?

"What a great idea." I pounded out a quick text that said,
Do you know who killed you?
I sent the message, and we huddled together. My heart raced when Tattoo Tex stood right beside me, his spicy scent making my hormones do a happy dance. The man was ultra mega hot.