by Patrice Lyle
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KILLER CARAT CREAM
by
PATRICE LYLE
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Copyright © 2015 by Patrice Lyle
Cover design by Janet Holmes
Gemma Halliday Publishing
http://www.gemmahallidaypublishing.com
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners. This is a work of fiction and is not intended as medical advice nor a substitute for the medical advice of physicians. The reader should regularly consult a physician in matters relating to his/her health and particularly with respect to any symptoms that may require diagnosis or medical attention.
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CHAPTER ONE
A Chocolate-Covered Funeral Parlor
"I'm wearin' a red thong and a leopard print brassiere. I'm a size two, a 30 B, and I'm hotter than a parked car in the Sahara desert."
I spun around from the conference table where I was busy stuffing pink tissue paper into a gazillion silver gift bags. "Who are you talking to?" I shot a curious look at my ninety-one-year-old auntie who had just returned from taking her third break in the last half hour.
We'd checked into the Annabelle Island Inn earlier in the day to prepare for tonight's Carat Cream launch party. My auntie was usually the first one to roll up her curlers to help me out with whatever I needed, so her frequent departures were odd. When Aunt Alfa repeated her intimate personal details to the caller, a pang of unease hit me.
"Who is that?" I asked.
Aunt Alfa shushed me with her hand and sat in an overstuffed chair in the corner. "Look here, Carl," she said, clutching her new smartphone covered in an Elvis Lives case. "You're not going to hook up with anyone more sizzling than me, I promise. So pay up."
Pay up? She told me she'd cancelled her account on Wanna Get in My Granny Panties.
I lifted my hands. "What's going on? You promised me you were done with that dating website for seniors."
She shifted in the chair, and all I saw were the teal foam rollers that decorated the back of her head. What was she up to? I wanted my auntie to enjoy her golden years, but ever since her debut on Granny Panties, she'd acted crazier than a teenage girl.
Late night phone calls, secret video chat sessions, a walker stalker—who'd strolled past our house with a walker—and several overnight Fed Ex charges for her breakup letters had me scarfing more dark chocolate almond clusters than usual.
When Aunt Alfa started whispering into the phone, I picked up a dark chocolate-covered cashew from a dish I'd filled for tonight's guests. Mmm. Delish. I edged closer to my auntie and was about to interrupt her call again when a snotty voice from behind startled me.
"This place looks like a chocolate-covered funeral parlor!" Aaaccchhhooo. "Heavens, who ordered all these freaking flowers?" Followed by another loud aaaccchhooo.
I turned to see a thirty-something woman wearing a beige mink cape barge into the conference room. Her burgundy hair was wrapped in a bulging French twist that reminded me of a Chipotle burrito, and she clutched a cup marked sugar-free skinny vanilla latte.
"What's with all the flowers and chocolate?" She took a dainty sip of her latte and added another layer of red lipstick to the rim. "Talk about overkill."
"If you ask me, a girl can't have too many flowers or too much chocolate." I glanced around the conference room, happy with what I saw.
Ten floral arrangements (eight from my boyfriend and two from Sparkle O, maker of Carat Cream) filled the space, and six enormous gift baskets (three from my boyfriend, two from me, and one from the Annabelle Island Inn) overflowed with chocolate delights for every appetite. Dark, milk, white, mint, caramel, to name a few.
Looked like heaven to me.
"Most of the flowers are from my boyfriend." I loved to brag about Tattoo Tex. An image of the six-foot-plus Dallas-based tattoo artist with maple-syrup-colored hair and a chest-as-hard-as-a-wedge-of-Parmesan popped into my mind. Tattoo Tex's luscious looks could seriously make me melt faster than a pan of dark chocolate chips on the stove.
The slight flaring of the woman's nostrils told me she wasn't impressed.
"Is this where the Carat Cream event's being held?" An arrogant tone edged the woman's voice.
"Yes," I said. "And you are?"
"Dr. Jasmine, but you can call me Dr. J."
"You're that famous doctor from CSN, Couch Shopping Network." Aunt Alfa ended her secret phone call and jumped up from the chair. "I always thought your station name was cheesy, but you guys really know how to sell snake oil."
I cringed. My plan was to impress Dr. J, so she'd want to sell Carat Cream on air, which could lead to mega publicity. But that probably wouldn't happen with my aunt around.
"Aunt Alfa," I said. "Wasn't there something you needed from the front desk?"
My auntie scrunched her face, accentuating her teal eye makeup that matched her teal velour pantsuit. "Like what?"
Darn. What errand could I send her on? "Um, didn't you want to follow up with the coffee shop about adding nondairy milk options?"
"Why? We're on an island, Pipe. Where're they going to get cashew milk?"
My auntie never could take a hint.
I walked around the long table and offered our guest my hand. "Hi, I'm Dr. Piper Meadows, host of tonight's event, and this is my great-aunt, Alfa. Lovely to meet you."
"It's always nice to meet a fellow physician. I'm a dermatologist." Dr. J took another sip of her skinny latte. "What kind of medicine do you practice?"
"Naturopathic medicine." My white capri pants and hot pink sparkly T-shirt didn't make me look very doctor-like but decorating for an event didn't require my rhinestone-studded stethoscope.
Though it totally would have looked cute.
"A naturopathic doctor?" Dr. J patted her burrito-like French twist and stared at me like I might be contagious with some hideous airborne virus. "I didn't think quacks were allowed to call themselves doctors?"
Before Aunt Alfa could react, I set my hand on her arm. But it was too late. Her arm was flexed, and her little legs had bowed into a geriatric ninja pose.
Holy cocoa beans. I'd never get on CSN if Aunt Alfa karate-chopped Dr. J.
"Did you call Pipe a quack?" Aunt Alfa's cute little old auntie voice transformed into a bridezilla on no sleep.
Dr. J arched an eyebrow but didn't deny it.
I shot Aunt Alfa a look that said let me handle this. I was used to some Western medical professionals criticizing what I did, and it didn't bother me. They practiced their way, and I practiced mine. There was room for both methods in the health field.
"I'm a graduate of Brook University of Natural Health. As a board-certified naturopathic physician I can prescribe some medications and perform minor surgery." Not that I did either.
Dr. J shrugged and then tapped her finger above her lip. "You ha
ve something brown and unsightly up here."
Cute. I reached for a tissue and dabbed. Then I gazed at the results and laughed. "Just a little dark chocolate." That I gladly would have licked off in private.
"It looked like a puffy mole, but at least it's not a wart. I've seen enough of those with my assistant," Dr. J said. "Her wart's so bad I'm embarrassed to be seen with her."
My heart clenched for the poor girl. Skin problems were nothing to be ridiculed. The worst anxiety of my life had been in high school when I'd had acne that wouldn't go away until I went off dairy products.
Good-bye milk chocolate and aloha dark.
Dr. J set her empty coffee cup on the table and tugged her beige mink around her shoulders. "Anyway, I'm early because the ferry service refused to let me rent the whole boat, so I jumped on the 1:00 PM. And my hotel room's not ready yet."
"Rent the whole ferry?" Aunt Alfa sounded perturbed. "What about the other people who need to get to Annabelle Island?"
Aunt Alfa had a point. The residents of the small island off the coast of South Carolina, as well as other tourists, needed transportation too.
"They're not my concern." Dr. J turned toward me with her flawless eyebrows arched. "I'll need a place to primp for tonight."
I glanced at the starfish-shaped clock on the wall. The event didn't start for another four hours. I wasn't a nature girl by any means, but who needed that much primping time? I supposed I should accommodate Dr. J if I wanted her to peddle Carat Cream on CSN.
"You could get ready—"
My response was interrupted by the arrival of a younger woman with straight dark blonde hair who looked like she needed to eat something. The only big thing about her was a wart the size of a chocolate malt ball protruding from her forehead. Aw. The poor girl must be Dr. J's assistant. She balanced three hot-pink suitcases bedazzled with rhinestones.
My pink bling radar went off. Those were seriously cute!
"Where do I take your luggage?" The girl's tone was the antithesis of enthusiastic.
"To wherever this quack says to take it, Winnie." Dr. J turned toward me. "Where can I do my makeup?"
Aunt Alfa transformed back into her crouched-leg geriatric ninja pose. "Look here, Dr. J. One more quack comment and you'll be quacking like a duck being chased by the Loch Ness Monster."
Holy chocolate babka!
"Aunt Alfa, could you do me an incredibly important favor?" Technically my aromatherapist auntie was on my payroll as my assistant, a fact most often forgotten.
Her little face scowled. "Right now, Pipe? I'm about to handle a situation."
That's exactly what worried me.
"I'm going to take them to our room, so I need you to man the fort, okay? It's very important that someone remains here to protect our stuff." I spoke in my soothing doctor voice that I'd perfected over several years of dealing with anxious patients. "I mean, what if someone stole our Carat Cream samples? Or even worse, our chocolate?"
"We can't have that, and heaven knows I'm qualified to stand guard with my karate background." Aunt Alfa shot Dr. J a menacing look.
Well, as menacing a look as a barely five-foot tall, 90-something pound, 91-year-old lady in platform Mary Janes, teal foam rollers, and a matching velour suit could manage.
One problem solved, now on to the next.
"Since your room's not ready yet, would you care to use ours to prepare for tonight?" I asked Dr. J. "It has a lovely bathroom."
So Aunt Alfa's dainties were drying on the shower bar. And her wheatgrass sprouts filled the sink. And her essential oil collection had taken up the entire counter leaving no room for even a tube of lipstick.
But it was a seemingly nice offer.
"I guess that will have to work." Dr. J pointed at her luggage and shot a tight-lipped look at her assistant. "My bags, Winnie."
I gestured toward the conference room door. "Shall we?" Then I took one of the suitcases from Winnie and made my way to our hotel room.
The entourage moved down the hallway toward the corner room Aunt Alfa and I had been lucky enough to check into an hour earlier. I slipped the key into the lock and brought my pointer finger to my lips.
"Let's be quiet because my two-year-old piglet's still sleeping. He was up late last night watching Babe."
"You have a two-year-old piglet?" Dr. J sounded shocked.
I nodded. "I just got full custody from his father. Glad that's over. He was a terrible parent, always worried about stupid stuff like hooves on leather." I tugged open the door, revealing our Aunt-Alfa-brought-enough-stuff-to-stay-for-the-summer room.
Leopard-print spandex pants draped across the back of the couch, a pile of patent-leather Mary Janes in several colors filled the couch, a stack of neatly folded velour pantsuits in every color filled both chairs, and a neon green wheatgrass juicer that looked like an alien zapper sat on Aunt Alfa's nightstand.
I looked for my black-and-white spotted, twenty-pound miniature potbellied pig, Brownie. Hmm. Why wasn't he sleeping on his Batman cushion? I turned toward the balcony and spotted him standing with his snout pressed against the sliding glass door. Aw. The instant I shut the hotel room door, he twisted and lifted his snout toward the ceiling.
Wwwweeeee! His squeal could have broken the sound barrier.
Dr. J's nostrils flared. "That must be your swine."
The way she said swine, as if he were a vile felon, made my stomach flip. She could insult my profession, but she wasn't insulting my adopted offspring.
"Pigs are highly intelligent beings," I fought to keep my voice calm, "and also very sensitive, so please watch your tone and language."
Dr. J raised her eyebrows and placed her hands on her hips.
Brownie twirled around and scurried toward me, clearly startled by the racket. I squatted down and patted his adorable black-and-white head.
"There, there, sweetheart," I said as I rubbed his little ears. "It's okay."
His response was wwwweeee!
Winnie dropped Dr. J's suitcases and crouched down to pet Brownie. "He's so cute." Winnie found Brownie's favorite spot on his snout, and Brownie rubbed against her. "I've always wanted a potbellied pig."
I beamed like a proud mama. "Thanks. My patients love him."
Dr. J cleared her throat. "Winnie, I need another latte, and I need it now."
Winnie stroked Brownie's snout, oblivious to her boss's demands. Her face glowed in apparent potbellied-pig love. "You're so adorable. What a sweet little pig you are."
Brownie dropped down and rolled on his back, hooves in the air. So sweet. I retrieved my cell phone from my pocket and snapped a quick photo.
"Can you send his picture to me?" Winnie asked and then rattled off her number. "He's the cutest thing ever."
No argument from me.
Dr. J, however, didn't appear to share our sentiment over potbellied pigs. She cleared her throat again. "Go get me a latte, Wartnie."
My pulse picked up. Wartnie? How unnecessarily cruel. Surely I hadn't heard right. "What'd you say?"
"Oh, sorry." Dr. J crossed her arms and glared at her assistant. "I meant Winnie."
She wasn't sorry. Not for a second.
Winnie rose, her cheeks redder than Dr. J's crimson lipstick. She glanced at her feet while she picked at the seam of her skirt. "Where's the coffee shop?"
Part of me wanted to throttle Dr. J, but the other part of me wanted the embarrassing moment to pass for Winnie's sake.
"I'll show you," I said. "Let me find Brownie's leash, and we'll go."
No way was I leaving my piglet with Doctor Dearest. I searched for his teal rhinestone leash, but it wasn't on the bed. Or the nightstands. Where did Aunt Alfa put it?
"Don't forget my latte. Sugar-free skinny vanilla." Dr. J stepped into the bathroom and shut the door. The tension diminished immediately, and Brownie toddled over to peer out the window.
I snapped another quick photo of him as he gazed outside. The Annabelle Island Inn had no competition for hotels o
n the island. Our balcony faced the mainland of South Carolina, which looked far from here but was only about two miles away. The sun glistened on the white caps that stretched across the horizon. I hoped Tattoo Tex's ferry wouldn't be too rocky.
But then again, the man had won a mechanical bull-riding championship (before our time), so I imagined he could handle rough seas.
"I found a leash. It's teal with rhinestones." Winnie's voice interrupted my thoughts.
I turned to see her near the dresser, holding up Brownie's leash.
"Can you send me that photo you just took too?" Winnie asked. "He's so cute."
"Sure." I retrieved the leash from her and fired off the picture.
Winnie lifted a full-sized jar of Carat Cream from the dresser and stared at the bejeweled J on the lid. "This is for my boss, right?"
I nodded. "Aunt Alfa loves her glue gun. You should see my dishes at home and my furniture. Oh, and my blow dryer and flat iron." I'd ordered a glue gun cease and desist, however, when she'd approached my sequined purses and shoes.
Those were off limits.
Winnie's face was solemn as she ran her fingers across the sparkly rhinestones. "I should probably get that latte."
I didn't blame her. "Sure."
I hooked Brownie's leash to his bejeweled teal harness (another glue gun work of art), and we walked out of the room. The elevators were nearby, so we rode quietly to the first floor of the coastal inn. Poor Winnie looked so sad, but I didn't want to make things worse by attempting a discussion. Even an encouraging one.
The elevator dinged, and we got out, passing a small alcove before the coffee shop. A mirror confirmed that my favorite hair serum—that I was almost out of but luckily Tattoo Tex was bringing me a new bottle—had pretty much tamed my frizz.
I looked beachy. Not finger in a light socket.
Winnie stopped and turned toward me. "You're one of those natural doctors, right?"
"I'm a naturopathic doctor." I beamed. "I teach people how to live healthier lives using natural methods. I think it works wonders."