by Patrice Lyle
Uh-oh.
Winnie was seated at the end of a couch in front of the registration desk. Her eyes were red and puffy. Poor girl looked really upset.
"I'm going to go talk to Winnie, Tex."
"Okay, I'll wait thar."
I hustled over to Winnie and sat beside her on the couch. I scooted a pillow decorated with palm trees aside. "Are you okay?"
Winnie sniffed and dabbed her eyes with a tissue. "Not really. Apparently the lab results confirmed poison in Dr. J's jar of cream. Her death's officially a murder investigation now."
Even though Detective Franks had said he thought it was murder, the confirmation made my chest tighten. A murderer was among us. And I couldn't help but wonder if Winnie's tears were spurred on by sorrow or fear of getting caught?
"I'm sure the police will be all over the case now," I said.
"They sure are. My prints were on Dr. J's jar so the detective wants me to go to the Annabelle Island Police Department for questioning. On a voluntary basis," she said, making air quotes.
Oh no. Aunt Alfa could be next. Not that she had anything to hide. Well, about Dr. J's murder anyway. She was hiding plenty about her phone calls.
"I'm scared because I can't afford a lawyer." Winnie sniffed.
"I didn't think you needed one for voluntary questioning?"
"The crime TV shows always recommend one."
True. I recalled Dinah's comment about how one "mil" was nothing to her. "Too bad Dinah can't hire an attorney for you. She's apparently loaded."
Winnie shifted toward me. "She'd never hire me a lawyer. In fact, she's probably the one who told the police about the last fight I had with Dr. J."
A stab of guilt hit me. I was sure my comment to the detective hadn't helped either.
"How would Dinah have known about a fight between you and Dr. J? Did they talk often?" I certainly hadn't gotten the impression they were BFFs.
"They weren't friends by any means, but they'd been discussing some sort of a loan that Dinah was giving to Dr. J."
A loan? I thought it was blackmail?
"Winnie, do you remember how much the loan was for?"
"Of course. Dr. J wanted to renovate her Manhattan surgical office, and she needed one million dollars."
My heart raced. That's not a coincidence. "What sort of surgeries did Dr. J do?"
"Some lasers, but mainly face-lifts."
"Do you know if Dr. J gave Dinah a face-lift?"
"Shh!" A look of panic crossed Winnie's face as she looked around the lobby. "No one's supposed to know about the face-lift. Dinah reminded Dr. J about the need for discretion yesterday when she was getting ready for the Carat Cream event in your room."
"In my room?" My jaw dropped. "You mean, my hotel room here at the Annabelle Island Inn?" News to me.
Winnie nodded. "After I came back with the latte, Dinah knocked on the door, so I let her in. She liked the artwork your aunt did on Dr. J's jar of Carat Cream, by the way. She said it brought back memories of her grandma's pre-Parkinson glue-gun days."
As sad as Parkinson's was, my pulse raced at the intel. Dinah saw the Dr. J jar before the event. I clasped Winnie's hands. "Think carefully now. Did you leave the room at any time when Dinah was there with Dr. J?"
"Sure. Dr. J demanded another gluten-free bar before she decided to wash all her makeup off and start over. Dr. J slammed the bathroom door shut, and I ran to the front desk, leaving Dinah behind."
Hmm. Between the blackmail and Dinah's proximity to Dr. J's jar of Carat Cream, it was starting to look like Dinah could be the number one suspect.
"You have to tell the detective everything you just told me about Dinah. It could be critical to the case." And your freedom.
"You're right, Dr. Piper." Winnie straightened her back, and a flicker of anger crossed her face. "Believe me, I'll tell them everything."
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Senior Sweet Talk
I stood beside Tattoo Tex as Winnie went willingly with the detective to the Annabelle Island police station. She gave me a half-smile on her way out.
"I hope she remembers to tell them everything she told me about Dinah." The news had me reeling. "Dinah had access to Dr. J's personal jar, so she could have poisoned the Carat Cream. Maybe Dinah did pay the loan-slash-blackmail, but killed Dr. J to get the money back?"
"If she paid the blackmail at all," Tattoo Tex said.
"True. I hope they find the killer soon so we can go home, and I can buy some Outfrizz." My hair felt like it was growing slimier with each passing second. I wanted to wash the Frizz Out away, but that would remove all traces of Outfrizz. And then what?
"I reckon we move the investigation along. Want to go look at the video?"
"Yes." I wasn't keen on seeing the surfer's jewels, but I needed to know if he was the same guy I'd seen with Sylvia. "But don't you think Dinah's the biggest suspect?"
"You never know. I think we need to check out the Sylvia angle too." Tattoo Tex gestured toward the elevators. "After you, Doc."
We waited for a moment until the elevator doors slid open. Bridget appeared, decked out in a yoga outfit accessorized with purple cowboy boots and a matching hat. She stepped into the lobby, and her eyes rounded when she saw Tattoo Tex.
"Howdy, cowboy. You going up?" Bridget sidled back inside the elevator, taking a corner position with her chest stuck out and her gut sucked in. She grinned at my boyfriend, but made zero eye contact with me.
"Weren't you coming down to the lobby, Bridget?" I asked tersely.
Bridget shot me a fake smile. "I forgot my lasso in my room."
Oh, please.
"Lasso, ma'am?"
"In case I need to rope me a cute cowboy." Bridget threw a lusty-eyed look at Tattoo Tex and giggled. Then she leaned against the elevator wall and splayed her legs.
How dare you! I turned to Tattoo Tex. "In honor of that walking challenge I told you about, why don't we take the steps?"
Tattoo Tex scrunched his eyebrows. "What walking challenge, Doc?"
Oh, for the love of dark chocolate mousse.
"Which challenge, Dr. Piper? As a fitness guru, I'm up to date on all that stuff." Bridget's lips pulled into a sarcastic grin. "Is there a new one I'm not aware of? Some secret holistic walk-a-thon?"
My mind raced for a moment, and then I did what any intelligent woman would do when confronted with a potential cowboy turf war.
Tell another lie.
"It's a challenge being put on by the North American Naturopathic Medical Physicians Association." Whatever that was. "To raise awareness for walking because it's so good for the lymphatic system." There. Try to argue that.
Bridget wasted no time in whipping out her purple cell phone—of course it had to match her cowboy hat and boots—and started tapping at the screen. She scrunched her face at the results. "Funny, but I can't find a website for the organization you just mentioned."
I tilted my head. "It's a start-up. We don't have the funds for an online presence yet."
She held my gaze and narrowed her eyes. The gig was up, but instead of calling me out, she looked at the cowboy hat perched on my head. "You having a bad hair day?"
My chest tightened. The nerve of her! And the worst part was she was right. But I would never admit defeat to the enemy. "I love my cowgirl hat because my boyfriend gave it to me."
"Odd you weren't wearing it yesterday."
Whatever. Luckily for me the elevator dinged, a convenient escape. I glanced at Tattoo Tex. "Shall we?"
"Whatever you say, Doc."
I looped my arm through Tex's and shot a na-na-na-na-na look at Bridget. Then we strode toward the stairwell and ascended the steps. Tattoo Tex stayed close to me, but he looked straight ahead. I laughed to myself. My poor boyfriend. First he had endured the great Outfrizz hunt. Then the failed comforter attempt. And now a near catfight in the elevator.
He's a keeper.
"Hello, loves," a peppy man's voice said. "Fancy meeting you here."
<
br /> I looked up and saw Xavier—aka Zaveer—bounding down the steps. He stopped near us and flicked a piece of lint from his black suit.
"I love the steps, love. So good for the buttocks."
"Very true." Maybe I should take the stairs more often.
"Where's that adorable aunt of yours, love?"
"In our room staying out of trouble." I hoped anyway.
"Did you hear the news thar?"
Xavier's eyebrows arched. "No, but do tell." His tone screeched with excitement.
"Dr. J's jar of Carat Cream was poisoned," I said. "The police know she was officially murdered."
Xavier smoothed the lapel of his suit. "I'm not surprised someone wanted to do her in, love."
"From what you said and what I saw of her, I'm not either." I gazed at Xavier's fancy suit. Was there a gathering we hadn't been notified about? "Where are you off to all dressed up?"
"I'm meeting one of the CSN execs in a few minutes. He's coming out of respect for Dr. J's untimely death."
I brushed a strand of hair over my shoulder and hoped Xavier wouldn't eye my locks. "I thought the police shut down the ferry?"
"He was allowed to come by helicopter."
Tattoo Tex elbowed me. "Wow, the network must have thought a lot of Dr. J."
Xavier snickered. "They thought a lot about her ratings and are trying to milk what they can. That's all. The execs thought she was a hideous diva."
Speaking of hideous divas, we just ran into Bridget.
Only instead of thinking that, I said it. Out loud! Tattoo Tex shot me a questioning look, but didn't say a word.
Xavier laughed. "Bridget's full of herself, love. It's amazing what a 300-plus-pound fat drop will do to a person."
"You're the second person to say she lost over 300 pounds. Bridget said she lost 150." I looked at Tex. "Right?"
Tattoo Tex nodded.
Xavier rolled his eyes. "Did she tell you her happy little wheatgrass story that spurred her to create the Wheatgrass Belly Diet?"
The sparkle in his eyes told me we were about to hit the mother lode of Bridget dirt.
"Yes, she told us all about her wheatgrass inspired-diet last night," I said.
"Her diet should be called the scalpel diet because it wasn't greens that got her thin, it was surgery." Xavier cackled.
"That's what Dinah told us too. That Bridget had gastric bypass." Unfortunately he wasn't telling us anything new.
"Yep, but what a piece of work Dinah is. She also hated Dr. J." Xavier's cell phone rang, and he took the call, turning his back on us. "Yes, I plan to ask him about your old job. Hopefully he'll sign you back, lover boy." He nodded for a few moments and then said, "I'll call you as soon as we're done, I promise. Hugs and kisses to you, Poodle."
Poodle? Was that his friend in Belize?
Xavier ended the call and turned toward me. "Anyway, love, you certainly invited an interesting crew to your party."
"I didn't invite them, actually. The makers of Carat Cream did." They'd set the whole thing up. Hotel and all. My job was to sell the product.
"Did the company arrange that crazy naked surfer? What a stroke of luck that was."
"No, that wasn't Sparkle O." His comment reminded me of Gymnast Boy and Dr. Sylvia's stroll through downtown. "Do you know Dr. Sylvia very well?"
"Does she have any surfing pals?" Tattoo Tex asked.
Xavier made a funny face. "That depends if there are surfers in India, and I honestly don't know the answer to that. I've never been to that country."
"India? Do they have an ocean thar?"
Not a geography buff, I shrugged. "Is that where Dr. Sylvia's from?" She did have black hair and darker skin.
Xavier nodded. "She was born in India, but moved to the US in her teens, but she's got something from India that most people don't know about."
I was dying to know, but first things first. "How do you know so much about everyone here, Xavier?"
He waived his hand. "We all know Dr. J, love. And to know Dr. J was to hate her, and hate draws people near."
Sad but true.
"The only person I don't know is that model, Cassidy. She's got the most gorgeous hair though. Shiny as glass and without a strand of frizz. A hairstylist's dream." His gaze drifted to the slimy locks hanging out of my cowboy hat.
Don't even go there, Zaveer.
Time to change the subject. "You didn't finish your story. What does Dr. Sylvia have from India that no one knows about?" I asked.
"Her medical degree."
"Why would she get a degree in India if she lives here?" Tattoo Tex looked confused as he stared at Xavier.
"The MCAT's not an easy test, love. And not everyone gets accepted into American medical schools."
As Xavier's words sunk in, so did the implications. "Is Dr. Sylvia legally allowed to practice in the US?"
He shook his head. "She operates under the radar."
"She could get in big trouble," I said. "Like jail-time trouble."
"Of course she could, love. She was terrified that Dr. J was going to out her."
"You reckon why Dr. J would do that?"
Xavier laughed. "Because Dr. J was an evil wench." His phone rang again, and he glanced at the screen. "Ooh! It's the exec from CSN! Bye-bye, loves."
He bounded down the steps, chatting away as if a murder hadn't happened only yesterday. "So good to hear from you, sir. I'll be right down to meet you. After I show you around, I have a quick staffing question for you."
Xavier's voice drowned out as we continued climbing the steps to my room.
"Is it just me or does Xavier thar seem awfully content to provide a motive for anyone he can think of?"
Hmm. Tattoo Tex had a point. "You're right. And if he's willingly trying to divert attention onto others then he must have something to hide."
"I reckon so. We should check into him."
"Agreed." I stopped to allow Tattoo Tex to open the hallway door for me. "Xavier could be hiding something about whoever Poodle is."
"I caught that too. Strange name for a guy."
"Yeah, it is." We approached my room, and I was perturbed to see one of Aunt Alfa's curlers hanging on the doorknob.
Not again.
Tattoo Tex tugged my arm. "I don't think we should go in, Doc. She's giving us a sign to stay outside."
Maybe it was my hideous hair day or the failed Outfrizz purchase, but I wasn't playing games with Aunt Alfa anymore.
"No more secrets, Tex. This has to stop." I shoved the key in the lock until the light went green. Then I threw open the door and yanked my boyfriend along with me.
We strode inside and found Aunt Alfa seated on a chair overlooking the balcony. She was talking on the phone and wearing her red negligee over her blue velour pantsuit. Her free hand was perched on her waist. Tattoo Tex shielded his eyes and faced the wall.
"You sound like a hot stud-biscuit." Aunt Alfa scrunched her face while the alleged hot stud-biscuit spoke to her. Then she said, "I already told you my name's Sahara. I'm the hottest gal this agency has ever had."
That's it!
"Aunt Alfa, who is that? And what agency are you talking about? The CIA?" It sounded absurd, but you never know.
Aunt Alfa shifted in her seat and focused her gaze on me. Then she pursed her lips and glared at me. "I gotta go, Stud-biscuit. Call me back in fifteen. I've got a situation to handle."
"You got that right. This is a fess-up situation." I edged toward my beloved auntie. "Who was that? I want the truth. No more lies."
"I hung the curler, Pipe. That was a sign."
"Told you, Doc."
"We're not following any more signs." I turned toward Tex, who was still staring at the wall. "Do you want to face this head-on?"
"Not really, Doc."
I shifted toward Aunt Alfa. "I demand the truth."
Aunt Alfa shot up from her chair. "You can't handle the truth."
Movie reference aside, I feared she was right. But I would persev
ere. "I'm a naturopathic doctor, Aunt Alfa. I can handle anything."
"Not needles."
"That's beside the point, and I know a stall tactic when I hear one."
Aunt Alfa let out an exasperated breath and sat in the chair. "Fine, it's going to come out eventually."
"What's going on, Aunt Alfa?"
"I've started a new career."
"As what? And why does this new career necessitate you hanging a curler on the doorknob of our hotel room?"
"Don't go thar, Doc." Tattoo Tex edged toward the door, like a dog ready to bolt out of an open gate.
"I found a new business that operates a hotline."
A hotline? I glanced at her negligee over her velour pantsuit and the phone clutched in her hand, and wondered if perhaps I didn't want to know. But it was too late. Once Aunt Alfa got on a roll, there was no stopping her.
"I'm just going to lay it on the line, Pipe. I took a job with Senior Sweet Talk."
I blinked. "Um, what?"
"Senior Sweet Talk." She paused a moment. "Get it?"
I blinked again. "No?"
"I'm a Senior Sweet Talk Specialist. I flirt with guys who call into a singles counseling hotline. They love me, Pipe. I'm a big hit."
CHAPTER TWELVE
Pimped-Out Scooters and Sushi Queens
My jaw dropped, and white noise buzzed in my ear. I sank down on the bed, certain I might pass out. "A senior sweet talk specialist? What does that entail?"
"I take phone calls from lonely guys," Aunt Alfa said calmly. "Granny Panties expanded its business and started a singles hotline where I can make money flirting, or sweet talking, with the guys who call in. We pump up their egos and help 'em out with their problems. All the operators are eighty and over."
I'm not sure I like the sound of this. I massaged my forehead with both hands. This was worse than my Outfrizz shortage.
"The company's really progressive and has a great retirement plan."
Retirement plans for a retirement-aged workforce? Instead of a thirty-year mutual fund they had, what, thirty days?
"Want to know the best part, Pipe?"