Killer Carat Cream

by Patrice Lyle

  I dove for my phone and snapped a picture of Aunt Alfa and Brownie on the kiss cam. Tattoo Tex did too. But now the camera had moved to a different section of the arena. Oh no. I'd prepped for this event with oodles of sparkly makeup and tons of Outfrizz (I'd ordered a case online as a backup). My hair was finally back to its beachy state that didn't require a hat.

  Though I'd worn one today because Tex thought I looked hot in it.

  Disappointment flooded through me as I sank into my chair.

  Tattoo Tex elbowed me. "What's wrong, Doc? Did you want to be on the kiss cam?"

  I shrugged. "No biggie." I didn't want to act like a child who hadn't gotten a coconut ice cream cone. How mortifying.

  Tattoo Tex reached for my chin and turned my face toward him. "I want to be on that thar kiss cam, but only if you want to say two important words."

  How odd. "What two words? Kiss cam?"

  Tex shook his head. "How about, I do?"

  Holy chocolate babka to the nth degree! His words sent a thrill down my spine. Did he mean what I thought he meant?

  Tex rose from his chair and planted himself on his knees in front of me. He lifted his hat and waved it a couple of times before setting it back on his head.

  "Hey, Pipe. You guys are on the kiss cam! I'll get a picture!"

  I grinned at him. "You planned this, didn't you?"

  Tex's sexy smile confirmed it. He reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a pink velvet ring box. He took a deep breath and opened it.

  A princess-cut, platinum-setting diamond ring sparkled on a bed of pink velvet.

  "Will you marry me, Doc?"

  Goosebumps erupted on my arms and legs. When I'd first met Tex, he'd shown me a tattoo on his bicep of a princess-cut diamond. My dream ring. I'd hated the pear-shaped diamond that my stupid ex had given me. I mean, who needed a daily reminder of my own pear-shaped body? I'd much rather pretend to be a princess.

  But the shine in Tex's eyes told me there was no pretending. I was now a cowboy's princess. Or I would be once I gave my cowboy the answer.

  Our images hovered on the kiss cam. My eyes misted as I reached for Tex and said the one word that was going to forever change my destiny.

  "Yes!"

  Whoops and hollers broke out, along with a really loud horn. People clapped and the crowd went wild. Tattoo Tex and I merged together in a kiss that would last for eternity in my heart.

  "Check out the arena, Pipe!"

  We came up for air and peered in front of us. A miniature Goodyear Blimp hot air balloon floated across the grounds pulling a sign that said, Doc Said Yes!

  I sniffed back tears. "When did you decide to propose here?"

  "When Bridget mentioned the Monster Truck show. I was like, that thar's where I want to propose to Doc." Tex grinned. "I'd been looking for the right place, and after the murders at the Annabelle Island Inn, I knew that wasn't it."

  I guess that dumb tart wasn't so awful after all.

  "I love you, Doc."

  I sniffed. "I love you, Tex."

  "I can't wait to marry you, Doc."

  "I can't wait to marry you, Tex."

  I felt Aunt Alfa's tiny hands snake around my waist.

  "Congratulations, Pipe! You're getting married!"

  We crushed into a hug that was filled with laughter and tears. Then Brownie, never one to be ignored, let out a loud wwwweeee and bolted toward us. Tattoo Tex picked him up and cradled him in his arms.

  "We're one big happy family now, Doc."

  Aw. "I love our family."

  "We'll find the perfect dress in Manhattan," Aunt Alfa said as she pulled out of our embrace. "Snookums got another job on Wall Street, so I'll ask him to find the best bridal shops in the city."

  I arched an eyebrow. "What are you talking about?"

  "The natural products expo I signed up for next month to sell my aromatherapy line. I have to go because the registration fee cost four hundred bucks."

  I groaned. "I'm not sure I want to do another show. The Carat Cream event almost got me killed. Can't we cancel?"

  Aunt Alfa tightened a teal foam curler. "But I already paid for it, Pipe, and the fee's nonrefundable."

  "How'd you pay for it?"

  "With your credit card." More curler clenching. "I intended to repay you with my earnings from Senior Sweet Talk, but now that's shot."

  I laughed. Funny how the reality part of my life collided with the fantasy part of my life.

  "It'll be all right, Doc. We'll make it a family trip to Manhattan."

  Wwwweeee!

  "See? Brownie's excited, Pipe."

  I rubbed my forehead and sat down. An Aunt Alfa headache was lurking close by. My cell phone buzzed with the receipt of a new text. I retrieved my phone and glanced at the screen. Honestly! Mystic Ming was like a virus that wouldn't go away.

  I angled the screen so we could all read the message.

  Glad cowboy popped question. Congrats! And sorry Mystic Ming wrong about killer, but I buy PI flash cards like you to study. I be better on next expo murder.

  I quickly replied. There's not going to be another expo or murder!

  True to form, Mystic Ming replied immediately. You wrong, Dr. Piper. You take door-kicking-cowboy-fiancé with you to NYC. Big trouble for you in Big Apple!

  Oh, for the love of dark-chocolate-covered diamonds!

  * * * * *

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  A huge merci to the following fabulous people:

  Dan, for helping me with this book during our move and for the numerous beach chats discussing all the possible ways Aunt Alfa could get into trouble this time around.

  My dad, for helping me plot the mystery and for instilling in me the principal of DEQ: Don’t Ever Quit!

  My mom, for adding another book to your growing coffee table stack and for inspiring me by having written your own novel and radio-contest-winning poem.

  My sister, for always being up for a writing chat and having more sisu than anyone I know.

  My stepmother, for loving Mystic Ming and putting my short story, KILLER CONCH SHELL, into the cutest binder ever.

  My mother-in-law, for mentoring me in natural health and inspiring me to follow a holistic path.

  Kat, for being the most incredible beta reader in the galaxy.

  Viola, for truly being the most awesome CP in the galaxy.

  Holly, for always be willing to read and brainstorm.

  Dr. Brookie (may you rest in peace), Bristol, and Snookers, for being the most adorable furry friends in the world.

  And to Gemma Halliday Publishing, for being the most fabulous publisher ever.

  * * * * *

  FREE BOOK OFFER

  Want to get an email alert when the next Health Nut Mystery is available?

  Sign up for our newsletter today

  and as a bonus receive a FREE ebook!

  * * * * *

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Patrice Lyle loves green smoothies, dark chocolate, mysteries, and humor. She wove these elements together when she created the Health Nut Mysteries, a cozy series about a naturopathic doctor who solves mysteries at health expos. Patrice also writes paranormal young adult and middle-grade fiction, as well as holistic medical suspense. She has an MA in Writing Popular Fiction and a PhD in Holistic Nutrition. She's also a Certified Traditional Naturopath. She now lives in Florida with her husband and two kitties and is a firm believer in the theory that laughter is the best medicine.

  To learn more about Patrice, visit her online at: http://www.patricebooks.com

  * * * * *

  BOOKS BY PATRICE LYLE

  Health Nut Mysteries:

  Killer Kung Pao

  Killer Carat Cream

  Killer Conch Shell (short story in the Killer Beach Reads collection)

  Holistic Medical Fiction:

  Glisten

  Teen Fiction:

  Lethally Blonde

  Tween Fiction:

  The Case of the Invisible
Witch

  The Case of the Washed Up Warlock

  Non-fiction:

  Many Genres, One Craft

  * * * * *

  SNEAK PEEK

  If you enjoyed this Health Nut Mystery, check out this sneak peek of another funny, romantic mystery from Gemma Halliday Publishing:

  CHALK LINES & LIPSTICK

  by

  OPHELIA LONDON

  CHAPTER ONE

  I kept my eyes closed during the last leg of the drive. Not sleeping, but not able to face my surroundings either. Besides reading the same copy of The New Yorker and trying not to touch anything, I'd spent most of my journey watching the same five movies on my phone, over and over.

  I'd been in the mid-four hundreds in my most recent counting-backward-from-one-thousand calming ritual, when loud brakes screeched, and the Greyhound came to a stop, rocking up and down on its worn out springs.

  People around me were up and moving, gathering their belongings to disembark, but I remained where I was. Eyes sealed shut, chanting now, instead of counting.

  It's going to be fine, it's going to be fine, it's going to be ffff—

  "Miss?"

  I opened one peeper to find the bus driver standing in the aisle in front of me.

  "Eureka. Your stop, right?"

  It's so not going to be fine. This is one pitiful, heck-of-a homecoming.

  "Thanks," I said, swallowing the sour taste lapping at the back of my mouth. I reached for my purse and hugged it to my chest like a bulletproof vest as I made my way toward the exit, part of my brain happy to be off this four-wheel death trap after the five-day journey from my beloved New York.

  At least I'd have plenty of fodder if I ever wanted to write a travel/horror novel.

  As I stumbled off the bus, my two tartan-plaid suitcases were the only ones left on the sidewalk. Standing guard over them—flanked by fog-covered, sky-high redwoods off in the distance—was a fresh-faced woman, medium height, slight build, long ponytail of blonde hair with two purple streaks. She wore a brick red cotton dress that reached the toes of her combat boots and a long black and white houndstooth peacoat.

  She looked sweetly menacing. Looks could be deceiving.

  "Hey, Maren," she said, her arms spread wide open to me. "Your life sucks the big one, huh?"

  I blew out a long exhale as we hugged. Then I felt like liberating the sob I'd been holding inside since crossing through Ohio. "Stupid, sucky life," I muttered with a teary chuckle.

  After an extra-tight squeeze, I pulled back and gave my baby sister the up-down. Even at five years apart in age, we looked a lot alike. Piper was a few centimeters taller, always thinner, but, especially in photos, we were often mistaken for twins.

  Piper took both my hands and swung them between us. "You look amazing." She beamed, much too enthusiastically, even for an actress.

  "Truly?" I tucked some blonde flyaway frizzies behind my ear. Darn North Coast humidity, I didn't miss you. "I haven't showered in four days, and I think the guy sitting beside me had a flesh-eating bacteria." I arched an eyebrow. "What you meant was I look amazing considering."

  "Considering you were fired, dumped, and evicted in the space of forty-eight hours?" Piper grimaced then twirled the end of her ponytail. "Sorry."

  "No, no, that was a very succinct summary. Except you left out how I lost my favorite knockoff Louboutins in the move."

  "At least you haven't lost your sense of humor." She flashed another too-bright grin. I noticed it wobble as her eyes did a double take on my clothes.

  I thought I looked staggeringly spectacular under the circumstances. At the Nevada border, I'd convinced the bus driver to let me retrieve a fresh outfit from my suitcase. Then I managed to take a sort of bird bath in the tiny bus lavatory less than an hour ago. It was a tight squeeze, and I got more mascara on the wall than on my lashes, but at least I no longer felt like the floor of a movie theater.

  After all, I didn't want to resemble a scene from The Walking Dead the first day at my new job.

  "How's it going with you?" I asked as we towed my bags toward her hatchback, the top already flipped up. "The plays and your research?"

  "Research is way more time consuming that I thought."

  It still astonished me that my sister—the one who used to daydream about starring in Disney princess movies—was working on her PhD dissertation, combining her two big loves—the stage and psychology.

  "Did I tell you?" she continued. "The Repertory is running Earnest and the Light Opera's rehearsals for Starlight Express start next week." She hefted one of my morbidly obese suitcases into the car with one hand.

  "You're starring in both productions, I presume?"

  "When they were casting Starlight, I told them I'd been skating my whole life."

  "You don't even know how to roller-skate, Piper. Remember that summer we both got skates?" I opened the passenger side and got in. My sister was already seated, checking herself out in the visor mirror. "You tried to keep up with me and ended up crashing into old lady Kinsey's bushes. And you're telling me Lie-Oh, the only major musical theatre group in a hundred miles, cast you to roller-skate around stage while singing Andrew Lloyd Webber?"

  "I'm an actor," she said, starting the ignition. "I'll act like I can skate."

  Our sisterly laughs turned into snorts, and for a moment, I forgot to be ashamed about returning home with my figurative tail between my legs. That wasn't like me, anyway. I'd always been the positive influence, the one with high moral fiber, integrity to a fault, a survival instinct to handle anything in a flash—which was why I had taken to the New Yorker lifestyle so easily.

  But now, for a while at least, I'd have to remember how to move at a slower pace.

  "So, Mare, what are you going to do?" Piper asked as we began the drive across town. The bus depot was on Q Street, which crossed the numbers. All of the streets downtown were numbers or letters, which out-of-towners found extremely hilarious. "Now that you're back here for good, I mean."

  "My job at The Standard." I pointed out my window in the general direction where my new office building was located. "Where you're taking me right now, Piper, yes?"

  For once, I didn't feel like vomiting while speaking aloud about my new job. Because, after what happened with my old job at The Book…

  I took in a hard, deep breath and stared through the windshield.

  The Book. Thinking that name actually did make me want to puke. I'd loved working there. Well, not there, specifically, but I loved that I'd finally made it in Manhattan. I'd been a junior-junior copyeditor at one of the most prestigious fashion magazines in the country. So what if it didn't offer the hard-hitting, investigative journalist front-page stories I'd always dreamed would be connected to my byline? It was a job in a skyscraper with a view of Central Park. I'd had dental, a cubicle, and a potted plant. I'd also had a boyfriend who I thought was at least a little supportive and a best friend I'd assumed I could say anything to.

  And now I was back in my rinky-dink hometown. Alone.

  As if to punctuate the dreary situation, a gust of wind shook the car while a few fat raindrops fell from the sky. If I'd been looking for a sign from Mother Nature that I should turn back, this couldn't have been clearer.

  Maybe I should've listened.

  Writing for The Standard felt like two monumental steps backward, but at least it was a job. I hadn't had one of those bad boys for one very long, broke month, even after sending out so many résumés my laptop started to smoke. Rent had been past due, making inevitable eviction from an apartment I couldn't afford alone hang overhead like Madame Guillotine.

  My ex-boss at The Book had been dead right when he'd thrown down the classic threat:" You will never work in this town again!"

  Once you did what I'd done, there was no going back.

  I stared out the window at the passing scenery: wet foliage, bushes of bright rhododendrons, old Victorian homes converted to business fronts, clean streets, Historical Landmark signs on
practically every corner, and the thick, foggy morning sky.

  It's early. The fog might burn off by lunchtime. I smiled reminiscently as I recalled how we used to voice that same hope every morning in high school. If it was just breezy enough, and that wind came from the east past the Sierra Nevadas, and it wasn't too cold, and all the planets were aligned, the fog would lift and the gorgeous California sun would break through.

  But that was a rare phenomenon in Eureka, especially now. Chilly coastal fog just loves March.

  Piper broke into my thoughts. "Sorry, but you had it going on hardcore in New York, and now you're back here in Sucksville, population twenty-eight sucky-thousand."

  My sister had a way with words. Maybe she should be the journalist.

  "Thanks for the reminder." I pinched her arm at the spot I knew tickled more than hurt.

  "We've got another five minutes in the car," she said, arching away from my pinch. "You going to tell me what happened back there?"

  "Hey. How 'bout them Kardashians? How gigantic can one butt be?"

  "You are not dodging the question." Piper hit the all-lock button, trapping me inside the moving car. "I've been waiting a month, very patiently, and you know I'm not a patient person when it comes to other people's private drama. So, what happened in New York? Whatever I conjure up is worse than what really went down."

  "Don't bet on it," I said as we drove past the high school. "This place still resembles a prison. If they're going to paint it every ten years, why not choose a color other than beige?"

  "You're deflecting, Mare. Come on. Spill it."

  I sighed and ran a fist over my mouth. "Okay, the gist of my woeful tale is this: if you want to keep your job, don't continue an assignment your boss tells you to drop, especially when you discover it involves him, and the whole thing is two shakes shy of a federal crime."