Killer Kale Chips

by Patrice Lyle

  Aunt Alfa left the bathroom door open as she cranked her manual wheatgrass press. She loved that thing almost as much as I loved my manual facial exfoliator.

  "Here's what I don't understand, Pipe," Aunt Alfa said as she turned the handle. "Why would Ken admit to murder in a letter by identifying himself as the killer? That seems awfully dumb for a mafioso."

  I shot a glance at Tex. "See? I don't think he did it either."

  Tex shrugged. "I'm not taking any chances when it comes to my bride. A man's job is to protect the woman he loves."

  I blinked back tears. Okay, so his mafia logic was flawed, but his heart wasn't.

  "Speaking of protecting you," Tex said. "I think we should let this investigation go and focus on the wellness expo and finding you a wedding dress."

  I blinked back more tears. "I thought you wanted me to wear the knee-length shredded gown with your knee-length tux?" Picturing us like that, I burst into laughter.

  Tex kneeled by my side and took my hands in his. "Can you see us looking at our knee-length wedding album fifty years from now?"

  I laughed again, and so did Tex. The silliness was a welcome relief from the stress of the Manhattan trip, Veronica's murder, and now the killer love-note.

  "What's so funny?" Aunt Alfa appeared and handed us both shots of bright green liquid. "Bottoms up."

  Someone knocked on the door and called out, "Police."

  "Hold on," Aunt Alfa hollered. "We're doing a couple of shots in here."

  I nearly choked on mine. "Don't tell the police that."

  Tex chugged his and hurried toward the door to let the police in. Two plainclothes detectives barged in and asked for the note.

  I retrieved it and handed it to the older guy. He had nondescript brown hair graying at the temples and wore black slacks and a matching jacket. He read the note without a flicker of emotion on his face. I couldn't tell if it was years on the force that kept him so stoic or if it was just too darn early in the morning.

  "Thank you, ma'am," he said. "We'll take this for evidence."

  "When will Detective Malone be here?" I asked. "I want her take on the killer love-note. She said it was a major break on the case, but how so? Did she say that because the note implicates Ken or she wants fingerprints?"

  The detective shrugged. "We can't talk about ongoing investigations."

  Unless you're trading health tips for crime scene tips, that was. I decided to keep that tidbit between Malone and me though.

  "We'll need to interview each of you." He glanced around the room.

  "I slept through the whole thing, officer." Aunt Alfa bent into a Tai Chi pose. "Same for Brownie."

  "Who's Brownie?" the younger detective asked. His hair was a dull shade of blond that would have brightened right up with a few highlights.

  "The pig." All three of us pointed at the bed.

  Wwwweeee! Brownie lifted his head from the pillow. Then he rose and circled a few times until he found a comfortable spot.

  "Glad we cleared that up." The older detective removed a small notebook from his jacket and turned toward me. "Tell me what happened."

  I relayed my story, and Tex told the other detective his account. Soon the detectives had gotten their eyewitness accounts and bagged the evidence. By the time they left, it was nearly five AM.

  Aunt Alfa performed her daily crunches on the floor. "Think they'll find out who's trying to frame Ken?"

  "Or they'll collar Ken. For all we know, Ken could have written that note." Tex sat in front of my laptop, surfing the web. "Found another bridal salon, Doc. It's a short cab ride away."

  Now that the NYC cabbies weren't avoiding us, that was a possibility. "What time does the place open?"

  Tex wiggled the mouse and clicked a few times. "Seven."

  "That's early," I said.

  "Maybe they cater to professional women who work bankers' hours," Aunt Alfa said amidst a grueling round of ab crunches. No one could ever accuse her of laziness.

  "I reckon I could use a big breakfast." Tex reached for the room service book and perused the options. "Nothing I like on here. You hungry yet, Doc?"

  The quiet hope glimmering in Tex's eyes tugged at my heart. My daily breakfast of a green drink didn't interest him, but I was sure I could find something light on the menu while he scarfed down a huge omelet. Followed by bacon, sausage, hash browns, and whatever else sparked the love of my life's greasy interest.

  I turned toward Aunt Alfa. "You want to join us? Maybe we could bring Brownie back something."

  "Naw," she said from her plank position. "That wheatgrass will do me for a while. Plus, I want to stay here for the dehydrator delivery. Got to get those kale chips cooking. Mr. B needs to eat."

  Brownie lifted his snout from comforter. Wwwweeee!

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Curse of the Canned Mushrooms

  An hour later, Tex and I sat beside each other in a U-shaped restaurant booth. The eatery seemed to be a mix between McDonald's and Denny's. Some patrons dined in, including a few EPs. Others eagerly walked inside and grabbed white to-go bags discolored with grease splotches.

  Eeww.

  "Glad I found that thar coupon in our room." Tex sat with his hands clasped on top of his closed menu. "It's nice of the hotel to give twenty-percent discounts."

  "Yes, it was." But I wasn't sure I wanted anything here.

  I perused the menu and vowed to find something non-hideous for breakfast. My gaze landed on an egg-white omelet. Yes, that might work. Perhaps I could add some fresh spinach and roma tomatoes, and ensure it was nondairy?

  "What can I get you folks?" A waitress appeared at our table wearing a faded blue polo shirt and jeans. She flipped back a page on her small notebook. "Special today's a ground beef, four-egg omelet with extra cheese and loaded with extra mushrooms and onions."

  I fought the urge to flinch when Tex's face lit up. Luckily my phone dinged, saving me. I reached into my purse.

  The text was from Ming.

  Why you at such disgusting place? You natural doctor! What a scam! Ming shaking his head in Hell.

  Well, that was a surprise. Not Ming being a drama queen, but that was his first mention of being in Hell. All he'd said before was that he was on the other side and had been forbidden to go to the light until he shaped up.

  As much as I wanted to be kind, I couldn't help myself. I laughed as I typed a quick response and hit send before I could change my mind.

  He fired back instantly.

  How dare you ask Ming about temperature here! You remember from Florida expo where Ming get whacked that Ming hate heat. I predict you get tsunami-force stomach trouble from your breakfast. Have fun, Dr. Piper. Hahahahahaha.

  I gasped.

  "Everythang okay, Doc?"

  I looked up to see Tex and the waitress staring at me like I'd suddenly sprouted a Big Bird beak. Unfortunately, explaining the truth was not an option for either party.

  But fear knotted in my stomach. Was the breakfast really going to make us sick? Should I tell Tex? I glanced at the scribble that filled the top page of the order pad in the waitress's hands and couldn't face disappointing him. Tex had been so open to my lifestyle that it didn't seem fair to let Mystic Ming's prophecy ruffle his breakfast plans. I mean, Ming wasn't always right.

  I smiled at the waitress. "I'd like an egg white omelet with only fresh spinach and roma tomatoes. No cheese or onions, please."

  "Not sure what a roma tomato is, but we have some regular tomatoes. Kind of pale red ones," she said. "We don't have any more frozen spinach, but we got lots of iceberg lettuce. Will that work?"

  Um, no! But instead of reacting over my dislike of iceberg lettuce, I zenned out and said, "You mentioned mushrooms. Are they fresh?"

  She shook her head. "We got them little canned ones."

  A twinge of fright traced up my spine. What if the can contained botulism? Or some other hideous contaminant? Was that what Ming was talking about?

  My phone dinged a
gain. Sure enough, Ming had texted again.

  You stupid to eat those mushrooms.

  "Change of plans," I said. "I'd like a slice of dry whole wheat toast." I glanced at Tex. "Do you want canned mushrooms on your omelet? Don't you normally prefer fresh?"

  "Any kind of mushroom is fine by me." He adjusted his cowboy hat and gave a what's-going-on look.

  "Maybe you should forgo the mushrooms, Tex."

  "Why? Because they aren't organic?"

  "No, um, well, because Ming said not to eat them."

  Tex rolled his eyes and turned toward the waitress. "I'll go light on the mushrooms on my omelet."

  "You got it," she said.

  "May I also get a cup of tea?" I asked the waitress. "No cream or sugar, please. Thank you."

  The waitress furrowed her brow as she scribbled on her pad. "You skinny girls are all the same."

  I wanted to tell her about the half-pan of dark chocolate brownies I'd recently scarfed back home and the bag of dark chocolate covered almonds I'd inhaled since we'd been in New York, but she was already gone.

  Tex slipped his arm around my waist. "You all right? You look spooked."

  I was spooked. "What if Ming's right about the mushrooms? I wish you wouldn't have ordered any."

  He gave me his super-cute-Tex look, where his eyes smiled brighter than his mouth. "I think Ming was just bugging you, Doc. I'll be fine."

  I leaned into him and reveled in our close proximity. "I hope so."

  * * *

  A while later, we headed for the bridal shop on foot. The dry toast had been better than expected. I was surprised when the waitress set down whole grain bread sprinkled with seeds and oats. The orange pekoe tea hadn't been bad either. Tex had luxuriated in every bite of his hash browns, biscuits, and omelet, which was light on the mushrooms.

  I'd been silly to think Ming's prophecy was right. The rude psychic was full of it.

  "I feel like this shop might be the one." Excitement brewed inside me. Going with the flow applied to being a PI and to my personal life. "I bet they'll have the perfect dress."

  Tex released my hand from his and rubbed his stomach. "Maybe I shouldn't have eaten so much, Doc. That omelet's not settling too well."

  Or it could be the mushrooms. But I didn't want to be the kind of fiancée to say, I told you so.

  "It could be the volume of food you ate or the high fat content. Sometimes that's hard to digest." The naturopath in me searched for reasons, but the girlfriend in me wanted to give him a big hug. "I'm sorry, Tex. You want to turn around and go back to the hotel? We can skip the bridal shop."

  His jaw set sternly as he steered me forward. Tex was a cowboy on a wedding gown mission, and nothing was going to stop him.

  I rifled through my purse and searched for a bottle of homeopathic pellets for indigestion. "Darn, I don't have my upset-stomach remedy with me."

  "I'll be fine." The grimace on his face contradicted his statement, however.

  A wooden sign sat on the sidewalk about ten feet away. Modern Bridal Salon beckoned us into bridal bliss. I glanced at Tex and instantly felt a stab of anxiety.

  "Tex, your face is pale." I removed a tissue from my purse and blotted his forehead. "You're sweating a bit."

  "I'm all right, Doc. We're shopping for your dress, and that's final." He waved me away. "I'm no wuss."

  Aw. What could I do but proceed? We arrived at the salon and strolled inside. The scent of orange filled the sizeable Manhattan shop. Racks of dresses lined the perimeter of the store, and several round racks dominated the center. A fabulously mind-blowing collection of beads, sequins, and bling.

  I was in bridal heaven.

  A creamy satin gown dotted with appliquéd crystals caught my eye. It was everything I'd dreamed. Fitted bodice, A-lined skirt, and high neckline.

  I gave Tex's firm bicep a friendly squeeze. "Tex. That might be the one." I pointed at the dreamy gown, excited to see his expression. Then I remembered. Wait. He wasn't supposed to see the dress. I turned to tell him he had to go outside.

  Holy chocolate babka! Poor Tex clutched his gut while his frantic eyes darted around the salon. His gaze affixed onto a door in the far right corner marked Employees Only.

  He pointed to the door. "I reckon I need the bathroom in thar."

  "It says it's only for employees, but let's go ask a salesperson." I didn't see any sales staff on the floor so we headed toward the register.

  A twenty-something girl wearing taupe slacks and an ivory sweater-set stood behind the counter toying with her pearl necklace. Her short blonde hair and height reminded me of Princess Diana.

  "Excuse me," I said when I arrived at the counter. "I'm terribly sorry, but my fiancé needs to, um, use the restroom. Would that be possible?"

  Tex appeared at my side, paler than the girl's sweater. "Mighty sorry for the hassle, ma'am, but this is an emergency."

  She eyed us up and down and then gave an apologetic smile. "Forgive me, but the restroom is for employees only. No customers allowed."

  Tex's stomach let out a ten-second gurgle.

  "Please make an exception," I pleaded. "Can't he just use the restroom while I shop for a wedding dress?" I held up my engagement ring, hoping to connect in a language she would understand.

  Tex's stomach gurgled again. "Ma'am, I'm mighty sorry, but I just ate a beef, cheese, and mushroom omelet not long too ago, and I need to use your facilities. Now."

  He ambled slightly bow-legged toward the door while clutching his stomach. Once he reached the door, he grasped the handle. "It's locked." His voice pleaded for mercy.

  I gazed at the girl and lowered my voice. "Please don't embarrass the man anymore. He never asks for favors."

  The salesgirl stared at him. "Fine, it looks like he's in pain." She grabbed the key ring and went to unlock the door.

  Now that Tex was taken care of, hopefully, I went to check out the dream dress. I got goose bumps when I set my hand on the skirt. The crystals added a sheen of bling like no other. Tears stung my eyes when I imagined standing before Tex. Being his bride.

  I could barely breathe as dreams of our future flooded my mind. Marriage, honeymoon, and a possible sister for Brownie. I was so lucky. I reached for a tissue to blot my eyes and was annoyed when my phone tinged.

  No way was I allowing Mystic Ming to ruin my Mrs. Tattoo Tex fantasy.

  The tag confirmed the dress was a four. Perfect. I wasn't even going to look at the price tag. Even if this gown cost more than ten single-wides, I didn't care. I lifted the hanger off the rack, and my phone buzzed again. Ming was so pushy.

  I carried the dress toward the register. "Where are the dressing rooms?"

  She pointed toward the far left corner of the store. "How much longer do you think your fiancé is going to be in there?"

  I shrugged. "Until he comes out?" I wasn't sure what her frown meant, but I didn't want to know. I hustled to the dressing room. My purse tinged like five more times. I ignored it and went into the first room. I hurriedly put on the dress and was admiring the amazing skill of the designer when my phone rang.

  What? That couldn't be Ming.

  I plucked my phone from my purse. Tex. Why would he be calling from the restroom? And none of the texts were from Ming.

  They were from Tex.

  I answered while checking the view of the back in the mirror. The crystals and train shot glimmers of delight through me. This was the dress!

  "You there, Doc?"

  "Yes." I turned from the mirror to avoid any further dress-distraction. "Are you okay?"

  "I've got a major problem." His tone sounded as serious as the time he apologized for offering to buy Aunt Alfa a ninja warrior set for her birthday. Whatever was going on, it wasn't a joke.

  I clutched the phone, feeling bad for ogling my dress when he clearly needed help. "What's wrong?"

  "This is real embarrassing, Doc." He paused and cleared his throat. "But this restroom's out of toilet paper."

  CHAPTE
R TWENTY

  Charmin and Kidnapping

  I blinked, taking in my shocked-bride expression in the mirror. "What was that, Tex?" He had to be kidding.

  "I'm out of TP. Didn't you get my texts?"

  "No, I thought it might have been Ming texting me." I mentally kicked myself for not having forced Tex to take Ming's mushroom prophecy seriously. How stupid! I glanced at my phone. Several messages about the shortage, in increasing urgency, lined the screen of my phone.

  "Doc? You there?"

  "Yes, sorry. Let me get out of this dress, and then I'll bring you my purse packet of tissues. I think—"

  "No, that tiny little pack won't do. I need a whole roll. Maybe two." He let out an exasperated breath. "That stupid omelet. Or whatever it is."

  "Right. Let me change back into my clothes and go ask that salesgirl to bring you some additional, um, toilet paper."

  "No, Doc. You bring it in here because there aren't any stalls. It's a single room." His voice rose for the first time ever. "This is way too embarrassing. Please."

  "Of course." It was the least I could do after not urging him to adhere to the mushroom warning.

  "Hurry, Doc."

  With that, he hung up for the first time ever without saying he loved me. Whoa. Crisis alert.

  I flung open the dressing room, grabbed my purse, and headed for what was sure to be an awkward conversation. When I reached the register, the salesgirl was talking to someone on her cell phone. My phone tinged.

  Where's the TP?

  I'd already failed my fiancé by keeping too quiet earlier. "Excuse me," I said to the salesgirl in my toughest doctor voice. "I need help."

  She flashed a thumbs-up at me but kept talking on her cell phone. "He's so cute. I hope he asks me out."

  "I'm not asking about the dress." Honestly. "I need your full attention, please."

  Her response was to turn away from me. Anger heated my cheeks. I was the customer. Her job was to help me.

  "Excuse me, miss, but my fiancé needs some toilet paper," I all but yelled at the girl.

  She ended her phone call and whirled around, her face scrunched in disgust. "Is that why he's been in there for, like, a year?"