Killer Kale Chips

by Patrice Lyle

  "Hi." I glanced at the shiny-faced, forty-something guy with his dark eyebrows furrowed behind his black glasses sitting across from Aunt Alfa.

  "It's Loyola." He acknowledged me politely and turned his taut gaze toward my auntie. "Are you sure you see me in a nursing home?"

  Nursing home? Loyola looked like he was in his forties. I shot my auntie a serious WTF (what the fennel) look.

  Aunt Alfa ignored Loyola's question and shut her eyes before lowering her face toward her lap. "Close your eyes, Lola. I can connect to your energy better, and that allows me to get into my trance faster." She let out a few oms and then said, "Will Lola be stuck in a nursing home? Will Lola be stuck in a nursing home?"

  Loyola scrunched his face. "Are you talking to me?"

  Aunt Alfa shook her head. "Nope."

  "You asking me, Aunt Alfa?"

  "Nope."

  Glad we cleared that up because I was hardly psychic. But wait. If she wasn't asking Loyola or me, who was she asking? Then it hit me like a ton of dark chocolate bricks. Oh no.

  My stomach tightened at the thought, but hopefully I was wrong.

  Several seconds ticked by before my auntie cracked open one eye and tapped at something on her lap. I leaned over and saw her smartphone, which must have been on quiet mode because a text silently appeared on the screen.

  A text from Mystic Ming! I was right!

  Aunt Alfa was in cahoots with the rude psychic we'd met a few months ago, before he'd been murdered. After his untimely demise, he'd started hanging around us in spirit form and had somehow learned to text from beyond the grave.

  Oh, for the love of dark chocolate fudge.

  Aunt Alfa squinted to read the text as she delivered Loyola's prophecy. "Lola get run over by burrito truck and become vegetable at age fifty. Lola get sent to nursing home where he die alone after brief hot relationship with Betty Sue, a stroke victim who fall into coma."

  I shook my head. The afterlife still hadn't changed Mystic Ming's verbal crimes toward humanity. However, sadly, his harsh prophecies usually came true. Poor Loyola.

  "Fifty?" Loyola's face reddened. "But I'm already forty. That's only ten years away."

  "Sorry, Lola, but it looks like this burrito truck's gonna nail you."

  He scooted back, tears welling in his eyes. "I haven't bought a burrito from one of those trucks since last month."

  "If you want a chance at not being locked up in an old fogey home—and take it from an older lady," she said, gesturing at herself, "you don't want to go there—forget the burritos. Wheat's not good for you anyway. Do you eat 'em for breakfast? Or lunch and dinner?"

  He narrowed his eyes. "You can't tell what kind of burrito I like? Aren't you supposed to be psychic?"

  "Geez, we're just getting started. Lighten up, Lola."

  "How can I? I'll be a vegetable in ten years." He pressed his lips together and pulled his arms across his chest. "This is so unfair. My life's sucked since my fiancée cheated on me and dumped me. And now I find out she's at this show."

  Aunt Alfa and I cast a gaze around the crowded expo hall. Numerous women were in eyesight. All contenders for heartbreaker status.

  Loyola sniffed and asked Aunt Alfa for a tissue. She handed him one, and he blew his nose loudly enough for Mystic Ming to hear.

  "Look, Lola. I'm real sorry about the old-fogey-home news, but I can't help what my psychic guide tells me."

  That was for sure.

  "My guide's telling me once more," Aunt Alfa said, "that, quote, you get run over by burrito truck."

  He blew his nose again. "Is your guide international? His or her grammar seems a little off."

  "Something like that." Aunt Alfa set her hands on the crystal ball and gazed into it. From my angle, all she could see was her reflection. "Who's the girl who broke your heart, Lola? Maybe my guide can see something about her."

  "That'd be great. Maybe your guide can use psychic energy to make my ex be the vegetable instead of me." He sniffled and pushed his glasses against the bridge of his nose. "Her name's Veronica Forks."

  I gasped. "You were engaged to Veronica Forks?" Mr. Pocket-Protector Loyola looked way too docile for barracuda-like Veronica.

  Loyola shot a WTF look at me, but I don't think he meant what the fennel.

  "Why do you sound so shocked?" Loyola demanded.

  "Don't take that tone with my niece, Lola. Or I'll finish this reading right now." Aunt Alfa's mystical voice had morphed into a bridezilla who had just found out that the country club she wanted for her reception was booked. But what scared me more was when she pushed up the sleeves of her gypsy shirt.

  Holy chocolate babka. Geriatric Ninja Auntie did not need to appear so early in the expo. We still had three days to go. The twitch of her crepe-paper cheeks told me she needed to calm down.

  "Where's your lavender essential oil spray, Aunt Alfa?" I asked.

  "I didn't bring it, Pipe, because I'm doing my psychic gig this time."

  Loyola gulped. "Sorry. I just get riled up about anything related to Veronica. She dumped me for an idiot, married lawyer named Oscar." Loyola glanced at his lap and took a deep breath. "I wish he'd turn into the vegetable so Veronica would take me back."

  Aunt Alfa swiped at her phone on her lap. "Let's get back to your psychic reading, Lola, and see what we can find out."

  They returned to the session, and I scooted away to give them privacy. I was relieved to have avoided Aunt Alfa karate-chopping poor unsuspecting Loyola. I reached for a dark chocolate-covered almond, long a source of joy in my life. If it weren't for oodles of fine dark chocolate and my fiancé, Tattoo Tex, Aunt Alfa would have driven me nuttier than a health nut.

  I retrieved my cell phone to send a message to Tex, who had agreed to situate my potbellied pig, Brownie, in our room while we set up Aunt Alfa's booth. Tex was a saint to sweetly welcome my potbellied piglet and crazy auntie into his life.

  Talk about true love.

  I typed out a quick text. Hi. Does Brownie like his new digs? When r u coming down? Xoxo.

  Seconds later, true to form, my sexy cowboy responded.

  Hey, Doc. I'm just walking out the door. Brownie's napping on his Batman cushion after scarfing some kale chips. He loves them! Not as much as I love you though.

  :) Are you talking about Ken's Killer Kale Chips? I texted back.

  He replied in a flash. Aunt Alfa dropped a couple of sample bags off. Is that okay?

  I typed in another smiley face and the words, Of course. Brownie didn't have thyroid issues.

  He replied with, Awesome. I'll grab a bag of dark chocolate almonds and be on my way. C ya soon, gorgeous.

  Chocolate and compliments. Was there any better combination?

  A storm of bouncy butterflies somersaulted in my stomach. Tex was male perfection to the nth degree, and I couldn't wait to be Mrs. Tattoo Tex. Images of our future together—long beach walks, candle-lit dinners, oodles of dark chocolate almonds in bed—flowed through my mind, until someone's cell phone belted out "Hound Dog" by Elvis.

  "Well, I'll swanny. It's Dr. Piper."

  I turned to see Elvis standing near Aunt Alfa's booth. He gulped down the last bite of a Hot Pocket.

  "Thanks for stickin' up for me with that rude fork lady."

  "No problem." I glanced at his smartphone, which was playing one of Aunt Alfa's favorite songs. "Don't you need to answer that?"

  "Nope, it's just singin' a tune." He offered me his hand. "My real name's Cooter Jones, EP."

  I shook his hand and furrowed my brows. "What does EP stand for?"

  "Elvis 'Personator."

  "Makes sense." I was used to Aunt Alfa's frequent mispronunciations, so I was able to keep from giggling.

  "I like how you told me the truth about the dark side to them kale chips. Honesty's a good thing."

  I smiled. "I do my best, but Veronica wasn't happy."

  "That fork woman's raisin' Cain in the hallway right now." He jabbed his thumb at the expo entrance. "She
darn near got into a brawl with some chick in a Japanese getup. She was screaming for the Japanese chick to drop dead."

  "How rude." But hardly a surprise.

  "You ain't kidding." Cooter peered at Aunt Alfa and Loyola. "You here with that there sexy fortune teller?"

  "That's my great-aunt Alfa, and she's not exactly a fortune teller." Or at least she hadn't been last week.

  "Sure looks like one of them fortune tellers to me with that prophecy ball she's got on her table and that there hot outfit."

  He had a point, but he didn't know that Aunt Alfa changed jobs more often than Cooter probably changed his bejeweled spandex pants.

  "Hi, Doc," a sexy man's voice said.

  My heart did the Snoopy dance. Tattoo Tex, my fiancé, had arrived. I turned to see six foot plus of male perfection. A cowboy hat was perched on his dark cocoa hair, and his hard-as-a-wedge-of-pecorino chest filled out a crisp, long-sleeve, white shirt that was in the delightful range of not-too-tight but not-too-loose. Jeans clung to his fit frame with the denim stopping at his cowboy boots.

  Jock Cowboy had arrived. Hello, Luscious Man.

  I beamed at Tattoo Tex and wondered if I'd ever be able to look at him without butterflies twirling in my stomach even after twenty, thirty, forty years of marriage.

  With his looks, I doubted it.

  "Hi." I leaned toward him and dotted his cheek with a kiss.

  Tex grinned and returned the favor. Then he glanced at Aunt Alfa. "Alfa Answers All? I reckon that's her new service."

  I laughed. "Apparently she and Mystic Ming are in business."

  "Doing what?" Tex looked confused.

  "Don't freak." While my fiancé found Mystic Ming's antics somewhat amusing, he wasn't a big fan of otherworldly stuff. "She's giving psychic readings with information that Mystic Ming texts her."

  He nodded while he considered the arrangement. "That actually might work, Doc."

  "Stranger things have happened." Especially when my auntie was around.

  Cooter cleared his throat, apparently annoyed at Tattoo Tex's intrusion into our conversation about Aunt Alfa. "I'll be on my way. Glad to see a nice lady like you's taken."

  "You're darn right the lady's taken." Tattoo Tex stiffened. "And I'm taking her all the way to the altar."

  Aw. I kissed his cheek again.

  "Congrats, then. You's a lucky fella." Cooter winked at me. "If you's two want to drop into the Elvis expo across the hallway, I'll be arm wrastling later today. You could bring your aunt."

  "Thanks. I'll see if we can fit that in." I smiled politely, even though I did not intend to watch him, or any of the other Elvis 'personators, arm wrestle.

  Or at least I assumed "wrastling" meant wrestling.

  "Do you have to be dressed like the King to arm wrestle thar?" Tattoo Tex sounded interested.

  I pressed my lips together and prayed a dark chocolate tidal wave would wash over us and erase Cooter's offer. Tattoo Tex's interest shouldn't have been a surprise, however, after he'd regaled me with tales about his mechanical-bull riding victories.

  That was during his LBP—Life Before Piper—days, of course.

  Cooter sized up his competition and wedged his hands into the rim of his bling belt. "Anyone can enter, but only a king can win."

  "We'll see about that." Tattoo Tex stood a little taller and rolled his shoulders back. "What time?"

  "Three."

  Tattoo Tex nodded. "I'll be there." He glanced at me and added, "If my fiancée doesn't mind."

  "Good. See ya, Dr. Piper, and thanks again for stickin' up for me," Cooter said as he ambled off.

  Tattoo Tex furrowed his brow. "Sticking up for him?"

  I filled him in on the altercation at the Killer Kale Chips booth, Veronica's obnoxious behavior, and Ken's troubling, albeit understandable, comment.

  A look of worry crossed Tex's handsome face. "I was hoping for smooth sailing this time. We've had too much murder and mayhem at past expos."

  Our last two health conventions had wracked up four dead bodies, which certainly wasn't the best advertisement for longevity.

  "There won't be any murders at this expo." At least, I hoped not. "Nothing bad can happen here. There are too many people in the Big Apple." I gestured around at the throng of people who had filled the expo hall. "See? No way will anything go wrong."

  He didn't look convinced. I was about to give him some words of reassurance when Veronica Forks appeared at the edge of Aunt Alfa's booth, looking angrier than she had with Ken.

  Veronica clasped one hand on her hip and pointed at Loyola with the other. Then she pirouetted on her stilettos and shot PMS-daggers at a nervous-looking, younger redheaded girl standing beside her.

  "What's Loyola doing here?" Veronica asked the girl in a snotty voice. "I pay you to make my life easier. Not to make it deathly difficult."

  CHAPTER THREE

  Veronica and the Chipmunk

  "I didn't know he was going to be here, Veronica. I swear." The redhead's squeaky voice sounded like she OD'd on helium.

  Aw, the poor girl.

  Veronica's forehead bunched. "How many times do I have to tell you that I don't want to be in the vicinity of my ex? It's bad for my juju."

  The girl glanced around the expo hall. "I can ask if we can get our money back."

  "What a stupid suggestion." Veronica shook her head in disgust. "I'm the keynote speaker, Ruby. I can't bail now."

  Veronica slunk behind Loyola, who was too deep in conversation with Aunt Alfa to notice. Ruby adjusted a duffel bag on her shoulder and lugged two rolling suitcases behind her. She probably weighed less than the cargo, which I'd bet my entire Sparkle O glitter cosmetic collection wasn't for her.

  Unfortunately, they stopped at the booth adjacent to Aunt Alfa's. Veronica set her purse on the table, which was draped in red fabric and covered in tuning forks. A few metallic gold helium balloons—no doubt designed to match Veronica's dress—were tied to the table legs.

  Oh, for the love of chocolate ganache. What rotten luck to be stuck next to Veronica.

  Ruby shot a nervous look at Loyola. "I'm sure he won't be long, Veronica. Looks like he's just getting a reading."

  The poor girl's voice was squeakier than Aunt Alfa's manual wheatgrass juicer. My heart clenched for her.

  "Looks like he's just getting a reading." Veronica's imitation of Ruby's squeaky voice was, sadly, a perfect match. "Why don't you try out for a role on the next Chipmunks movie?"

  Ruby's face tightened along with her jaw line, but she didn't say anything. She unzipped the duffel bag and pulled out a plastic baggie filled with orange-colored chips. Then she removed a bag of Ken's Killer Kale Chips and presented it to Veronica. "Here's the honey-mustard flavor you wanted."

  Veronica's nostrils flared. "I ordered you to get plain honey kale chips, Ruby. Not honey mustard. And if I have to watch you eat those stupid dehydrated peach chips again," she said, pointing at the baggie in Ruby's hands, "I'll lose it."

  "Sorry, boss." Ruby started stuffing the snacks back into the duffel bag, when Veronica screeched.

  "Alvin, what're you doing? Don't put the kale chips away. Leave them out for advertising. I want to start marketing my new business."

  Alvin? I couldn't take it anymore. Even though I shouldn't get involved, I had to stick up for poor Ruby. I strode toward Veronica's booth.

  "Would it kill you to be kind to people?" I gestured toward poor Ruby, who surprisingly didn't look upset. Maybe she was used to the bullying, but I wasn't. "The way you treat people is appalling."

  "Well, I happen to think naturopathic doctors who spread idiotic lies about kale are appalling." Veronica smirked.

  "That wasn't a lie, Veronica. Goitrogens can cause serious problems for some people."

  Tattoo Tex joined me and slipped an arm around my waist. "Everything okay, Doc?"

  Veronica sized Tattoo Tex up and down and then some. A predatory look filled her reptilian eyes. "Wowza. Aren't you are a fine-looking mal
e?"

  I slipped my arm around Tex and was about to tell Veronica to bug off when a commotion broke out behind us.

  Apparently, Cooter couldn't wait until the afternoon arm-wrastling match. He sat at a table near the stage, across from another senior Elvis impersonator. Their hands were clasped, and their faces were redder than Aunt Alfa's favorite Strawberry Surprise lip balm. Sweat glistened on Cooter's forehead, and his opponent's eyes were as buggy as a black goldfish.

  "Look thar," Tex said.

  "I see." I could sense my fiancé's blooming interest. Men and arm wrestling were like women and cute shoes.

  Some things in life were just must-sees.

  Tex scooted me toward the action, where a crowd was quickly gathering. Poor Ruby would have to deal with Veronica for now, but I wasn't done. As we approached the spectacle, a woman clad in a kimono with her brown hair pulled into a bun shuffled past us. Her face was flushed, and she muttered, "Veronica's going to be sorry."

  Was that the woman Cooter had seen fighting with Veronica earlier?

  There wasn't time to wonder, because Tex pulled me into a circle of onlookers gathered around the two Elvis competitors.

  "Come on, Elvis!" someone yelled. "You can do it!"

  "What a dumb thing to say," someone responded. "They're both Elvis."

  "My bet's on that Cooter dude." Tex's eyes were glued to the ensuing struggle. "He's got a grip. Check it out, Doc."

  Cooter's cheeks quivered as he pressed his competitor's arm down. He was making progress until the other guy gritted his teeth and pushed back. Their fists wavered in the middle.

  Aunt Alfa sidled beside us. "This is a doozy of a choice. How do you pick sides when it's the King versus the King?"

  I laughed. My auntie loved Elvis as much as I loved dark chocolate.

  "I finished my first reading of the show, Pipe. It went really well. I even got a tip." Aunt Alfa showed me a twenty-dollar bill, but her gaze didn't falter from the arm-wrestling spectacle.

  "Really? Loyola didn't seem too happy about your burrito-truck, nursing-home prophecy." I'd ask her about her new business venture later, when she wasn't preoccupied.