by Patrice Lyle
"What a cheesy movie. I can't believe it was marketed as horror. Should have been labeled a comedy. What was it called again?" He furrowed his blondish brows. "Oh, yeah. The Serpent and the Rainbow. The movie that gave puffer fish a bad rap."
"For good reason. Who wants to be a zombie?" Tattoo Tex's tone was ultra-serious.
The bartender smirked. "I'm a military brat, so I've been to Asia. Puffer fish is considered a delicacy over there. There's nothing scary about that."
I stifled a laugh. If only the surfer kid knew the depth of Tex's hokey movie trauma.
Tattoo Tex finished his beer and set the bottle on the bar. "Thanks." Then he pointed toward our earlier destination of Loretta and her ex. Unfortunately, only Loretta remained.
"Wonder where Pervy British Guy went." I glanced around the bar and didn't see Dr. J's husband anywhere. "I guess our drinks cost us an interrogation."
"No, that whipper snapper took up too much time talking about a movie he's obviously never seen. Kids these days."
I pressed my lips together. That was one topic I wanted to avoid. Luckily, I got a reprieve.
"Hey, Pipe," Aunt Alfa said behind us.
I turned around and saw my auntie standing next to a 30-something woman wearing workout gear. Black yoga pants, purple wet-dry top, and tennis shoes. Her shiny blonde hair was pulled into a frizz-free ponytail.
Mental note to scour Annabelle Island for Outfrizz.
"I've been talking to Bridget here." Aunt Alfa gestured toward her new acquaintance. "We bonded over a shared love of wheatgrass."
That's right. I recalled Bridget Bliss's information from the guest list. The blonde fitness guru owned a string of gyms that specialized in the Wheatgrass Belly Diet.
"Your aunt's awesome," Bridget gushed. "We have so much in common. We both love wheatgrass, and we're both size twos."
Aunt Alfa laughed. "Yeah, but I don't think wheatgrass made me this size."
The blonde fitness guru's face lit. "I truly believe I owe my one-hundred-and-fifty-pound weight loss to wheatgrass. The green juice alkalized my system, and once that happened, the weight just fell off. I wanted to tell the world so I started a gym and a diet center."
I wondered why Sparkle O had invited her, but then I remembered her new business venture into the anti-aging industry.
"Why don't you tell Pipe and Tex what you were telling me about Wellness Wonders TV talk show host Dinah?"
I tilted my head. "Didn't you appear on Dinah's show once, talking about anti-aging skin care products?" I was certain I'd read that in the party guest information. Then I remembered Dinah's interest in high-end skin care products, hence her Carat Cream invitation.
Bridget's eyes brightened as she motioned us closer with her hand. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I did appear on her show once, but I wasn't impressed because I found out something very startling."
"What?" I asked.
"Dinah claims to be all natural, but that's a crock."
"How do you mean? Like she dyes her hair a fake color?" Tattoo Tex sounded a wee bit disgusted.
Hmm. Guess I'd better not let him find out about my bimonthly trip to the salon where it took a talented stylist three hours to foil-wrap my head like a pan of brownies to maintain my blonde.
Three different colors of blonde. But when blended they looked real.
"I'm a real blonde, but Dinah's a fake one, obviously. They're easy to spot." Bridget snickered. "But what shocked me most was that her youthful appearance, despite being fifty-eight, isn't due to diet, exercise, and water like she claims it is."
I made a face. "What else is there?" That was how Aunt Alfa stayed negligee-buff.
Bridget made a scissors-cutting motion with her fingers along her jaw line. "A big secret plastic surgery."
"You mean a face-lift?" Tattoo Tex sounded horrified. "You mean she's on TV selling natural stuff when she really went under the knife?"
"Yep," Bridget confirmed. "And Dr. J knew about it."
Aunt Alfa elbowed her new wheatgrass pal. "Tell 'em the best part."
Bridget's face lit up. "Dr. J not only performed the surgery, but she threatened to tell the tabloids if Dinah didn't pay her a million dollars."
Aunt Alfa turned toward me with her teal-lined eyes sparkling brighter than a turquoise sea under a blazing sun. "Blackmail sure fits for a motive, doesn't it, Pipe? We should tell the detective right away."
CHAPTER NINE
Non-Chocolate Tarts and California Kings
"Wow." I didn't know what to say. Aunt Alfa's wheatgrass bond with Bridget had precluded her from questioning the validity of the intel. "A million dollars is certainly a motive."
One I'd be willing to share with the detective if I could confirm it. But how? Then it hit me. Winnie might know about Dr. J's surgery schedule.
"I reckon blackmail's a common motive for murder, Doc." Tattoo Tex turned to scan the bar. "Where's this Dinah? Is she out thar?"
"She stayed in her room," Bridget said. "She claimed she was too sad to come down."
Aunt Alfa made a whatever face. "Yeah, right. She's probably shopping online now that she doesn't have to shell out the million bucks."
"We need to talk to Dinah about her facelift." Tex said. "Do you know where we could find this girl, ma'am?"
"Sure. Room 301. Right by mine. I'm across the hall in 302." Bridget giggled and batted her eyelashes at Tattoo Tex. "You sound like you're fresh from a dude ranch in the Lone Star State. You even have a pig."
I stiffened. Easy, Fitness Girl. That's my boyfriend thar.
"The piglet's ours." My voice had an edge to it.
Bridge ignored me. "I see you like cowboy hats." Her voice bubbled, and her eyes glimmered with pure dude-ranch lust as she stared at Tattoo Tex. "Do you wear cowboy boots too? I have a purple sequined pair."
What a tart! And I wasn't referring to the flourless dark chocolate kind.
Tattoo Tex tipped his cowboy hat and slid his arm around my waist. "My lady here loves the pink bling boots I got her, don't you, Doc?"
Aw. I flashed Bridget a smile that said find your own cowboy, and then I prayed for an abundance of bling-dung-kicker love to fill my soul.
"I not only love the boots," I said. "But I'm wearing them tomorrow."
"Why aren't you wearing them now?" Bridget feigned innocence, but we both knew that she knew I didn't like the boots.
Double time tart.
I tilted my chin. "They didn't match my outfit."
Bridget scanned my dress from top to bottom. "But the cowboy said they're pink, and your dress is pink?" She shot me a smug look.
"If you were a pink girl, you'd understand there are many shades of pink."
"I love all colors." Bridget sneered at me. "Just like I love all cowboys."
You're pushing you're luck, Fitness Girl.
"I don't love all cowboys," I fired back. "Just a certain one." I dotted a kiss on Tattoo Tex's cheek.
Take that.
A silent stand off ensued. Bridget stared at me, and I returned the favor. My pulse raced, and I was shocked at the feelings that Bridget was evoking. I'd never engaged in physical violence before, but maybe I ought to join Aunt Alfa at Tae Kwon Do.
A girl never knew when a tart-takedown might ensue. Best to be prepared.
Aunt Alfa's cell phone belted out the chorus to Elvis Presley's Burning Love, and she glanced at the screen. "Sorry, but I gotta take this call."
My auntie scurried out of the bar, and once again I wondered what she was up to. I vowed to find out before we left Annabelle Island.
Rooting out a possible killer would probably be an easier task, however.
Tattoo Tex turned toward me. "Shall we?"
Yes! I flashed a half smile at Bridget as we turned to leave.
"Can I ask you a quick question about naturopathic medicine?" Bridget's tone sounded genuine. "I've never met an actual ND before."
I paused. Now she had me. I'd never turned away anyone asking about natur
al health. It was my life's calling, after all. I looked at Bridget and tried my best to focus on the person curious about natural health. Not on the cowboy loving—and probably cowboy stealing—tart.
"What can I help you with?" I asked pleasantly.
"Is eating organic food important?"
"I think so. I advise my patients to avoid chemically sprayed food if possible. Organic food isn't doused with pesticides."
"Doc's got me eating organic now, ma'am."
I beamed at my cute boyfriend.
Bridget nodded, as though she understood. "What about other chemicals, like house cleaning supplies and makeup?"
"I definitely recommend natural and organic products for both, which is why I sell the Sparkle O line."
"Makes sense." Bridget flashed me a fake smile. "What about chemical hair stuff, like bleach and perms? I imagine those are unhealthy too?"
I stared at her, debating what to say. If I said yes, she'd probably ask about my blonde locks. I'd never lied to Tattoo Tex about my hair, but I'd never told him either. I hadn't thought he'd care, but his comment about fake hair earlier threw me.
I hemmed and hawed. Finally, I said, "It's hard to escape modern America without some level of chemical exposure." There. Short, sweet, and evasive.
Bridget scrunched her face. "So you recommend bleaching your hair?"
I held her gaze and knew exactly what she was doing. "It all comes down to personal choice, doesn't it, Bridget?"
Bridget pointed a slim finger at my hair. "Is that your real color, Miss Natural Doctor?"
Tattoo Tex gazed at my wavy locks. "Of course Doc's hair's natural, right?"
Holy cocoa beans! I'd already lied about the bling dung kickers, however, so what was one more? "Of course. I don't like bleach."
Thank goodness Xavier wasn't around to hear my whopper. He'd give me away.
Bridget narrowed her eyes and tightened her sleek ponytail. "Looks like we all have secrets around here."
Before I could respond, Bridget spun and hustled away at a speed-walker's pace. I was happy to be rid of her.
"She's a strange one thar, but at least she gave us Dinah's room number. Want to go see what Dinah has to say?"
* * *
Twenty minutes later, after we'd dropped Brownie off with Aunt Alfa (no curler on the doorknob this time), I rapped on Dinah's door. A moment later, it swung open.
I recognized the 50-something lady from Wellness TV. Her blonde hair—glossy and frizz free—flowed past her shoulders and curled at the end. But her smooth locks didn't interest me for once. I stared at her face, looking for any telltale signs of a face-lift.
Eyes at an unnatural angle? No. Cheeks too taut? No. Lips blown up like fish lips? No. Hmm. Either Dr. J was extremely talented with a scalpel, or Dinah hadn't had a facelift. Perhaps Bridget was lying?
And if she were, why?
"You're the natural doctor from the Carat Cream event. I remember you." Dinah tightened the wrap on her white hotel-issued robe.
I offered her my hand. "I'm Dr. Piper, and this is Tattoo Tex." I jabbed my thumb toward him. "My boyfriend."
Dinah cast a pleasant gaze at us. "Good evening."
I flashed her a ladylike smile. "I wanted to stop by and thank you for supporting Carat Cream." Hopefully that sounded genuine.
Dinah bit her bottom lip for a moment. "It's terrible what happened to Dr. J."
I supposed that wasn't an odd way to feel if you liked your plastic surgeon. It was obvious, however, this interviewee wasn't going to budge without a nudge.
That was a Dr. Piper PI tip, by the way. Not from the flash cards.
I craned my neck around her. "You have one of the honeymoon suites. Are they nice?" They'd better be for a thousand dollars a night.
Dinah's well-bred manners precluded my nosiness, and she pulled the door open. "Would you like to come in and look around?"
"Thank you, ma'am. I wouldn't mind checking out a honeymoon suite."
Tex's words made my chest tighten. Waking up next to him in a suite like this, with a ring on my finger, sounded more heavenly than being dipped in dark chocolate ganache and rolled in chocolate chips.
Tattoo Tex removed his hat and held his arm out in an after you, Doc gesture. I wasted no time hustling inside. Honeymoon suite scope-out or not, Dinah's demeanor was subject to change once I started my interrogation.
"Feel free to look around," Dinah offered.
And we did. Her suite was almost triple the size of our room. It had a full-sized kitchen with stainless steel appliances. A huge marble bathroom with a hot tub, two sinks, and a showerhead the size of a dinner plate. A gigantic balcony with a sweeping water view. And a separate bedroom with a canopied California King covered in a red satin comforter.
Tattoo Tex sidled beside me and leaned toward my ear. "I reckon we'd enjoy that bed thar."
Heat rushed through me, filtering into places that had no business heating up on a PI maneuver. I turned toward Tex and the throw-you-down animal look in his cocoa eyes caused my temperature to skyrocket. I lifted the shoulder strap of my dress to allow some AC in.
"You're the sexiest woman on the planet." He leaned in for a kiss.
When our lips touched, I wondered if it would be tacky if we locked the door and dove onto the bed. With the look in Tex's eyes and my soaring body temperature, we wouldn't be long.
"Would you two care for a glass of iced sparkling water?" Dinah called out from the kitchen, interrupting our heated moment.
"Uh, that'd be great, ma'am." Tattoo Tex fanned his face with his hat. "Land sakes alive, I'm burning up."
The chorus from Elvis Presley's Burning Love ran through my mind, and I giggled.
"Doc?"
I'd better save that for later.
"Shall we?" I gestured toward the door, away from the bed. I took one longing last look and headed to the living room.
Tattoo Tex followed beside me. We strode into the living room where Dinah had placed a tray on a marble coffee table. It was filled with three flutes and a bottle of lime-flavored Perrier.
"I'd bought this bottle for Dr. J. She loved Perrier." Despite Dinah's sentiment, her face remained stoic.
Face-lift too tight? Too much Botox? Or was she lying?
Dinah poured us each a glass, and we sat on the navy leather couch. I sipped the Perrier and wondered how to best broach the million-dollar subject. My PI flash cards recommended direct questions and parrot talk.
But Dinah hadn't said anything to mimic.
Oh, wait. What about parrot subjects?
"As I said earlier, I appreciate your support of Carat Cream." I strove for a businesslike tone. "I recommend my patients try products first before taking more extreme measures."
"What do you consider extreme?" Dinah stretched her legs out on a fainting chair, taking care to cross her legs at the knees.
Might as well launch into it. "Things like fillers, Botox, and laser."
Dinah chuckled, but no laugh lines appeared. "Heavens, those aren't extreme."
"The most invasive procedure, obviously, is a face-lift." There. I'd said it. And the words hung in the air like a dark cloud ready to pelt us with heavy rain.
Dinah sipped her Perrier and remained stoic. A minute of silence passed, and I was gearing up to go for the kill. But Tex beat me to it.
"I reckon most successful women on TV have face-lifts." He turned a curious gaze toward our host. "Do I reckon right?"
Dinah tried to arch her eyebrows, but they wouldn't budge. "I'd have more respect for you two if you came right out and asked me if I've had a face-lift."
Okay, fine. "Have you had one?"
Dinah stared at me. "What happens in the honeymoon suite stays in the honeymoon suite?"
She posed a question I wasn't sure I could answer honestly.
I glanced at Tattoo Tex for a moment before I leveled my gaze on our host. "It depends on whether your face came with a million dollar price tag."
Dinah's gaze b
ore into mine, and this time, there was no denying her expression. The pursed lips (without any wrinkles whatsoever) and the dark eyes were answer enough.
So Bridget wasn't lying.
Darn it.
"I take it you've been talking to Ms. Bridget Bliss? Personal trainer to the stars?" Dinah's snarky tone more than made up for her lack of facial expression.
"Why, yes, we have, ma'am."
"Did she tell you about her wheatgrass-induced weight loss?"
I nodded. "Bridget said she lost 150 pounds."
Dinah's jaw went even tauter. "She actually lost over 350 pounds, and she didn't drop the flab with wheatgrass. That's a lie."
I recalled Bridget's comment about having secrets, and my inner gossip awoke. "How'd she lose the weight then?"
"Funny, all this talk about extreme measures, and good old Bridget had the most extreme procedure there is."
It took a minute for me to get it.
"Are you referring to gastric bypass?" I asked.
"Yes." Dinah let out a sharp laugh. "She's got some nerve telling you about my face-lift when she had weight loss surgery."
That piece of intel still didn't answer the million-dollar question. Should I let it go? Then I thought of poor innocent Aunt Alfa—okay, maybe the innocent part was a stretch given her negligee and code name of Sahara (holy chocolate babka…was Aunt Alfa working for the CIA?)—and her fingerprints all over Dr. J's jar. If the Carat Cream had been poisoned and the detective chatted with his friend in the Manatee PD, Aunt Alfa could end up in jail.
And orange so wasn't her color. Plus, who would pig-sit when I went to Texas?
I had no choice.
I shot a hard look at Dinah. "I agree that Bridget wasn't the most forthcoming about her own extreme procedure." I'd have to follow up on that tidbit. "But she told me something else that was rather concerning given the circumstances of Dr. J's possible murder."
"Possible? There's a laugh."
"Ma'am?" Tattoo Tex leaned forward on the couch and planted his elbows on his knees.
"Of course she was killed," Dinah said. "The woman was no Mother Theresa."
Time for a direct question. "Dinah, was Dr. J blackmailing you for a million dollars?"
Dinah picked up her glass and downed her Perrier. Then she unscrewed the bottle and gave herself a refill. "That's a rather tricky question."