by Patrice Lyle
Babette.
I returned to the room where the mysterious woman had been loitering moments earlier and knocked on the door. "It's Dr. Piper Meadows. Are you in there, Babette?"
Locks clacked, and the door swung open. Babette appeared, adorned in a green-feathered headpiece and matching sequined muumuu. "Can I help you?" She radiated southern hospitality.
"There was a woman out here, pounding on your door a second ago."
She tilted her head. "Really? I don't recall." Her southern accent sounded sweet, but the coldness in her eyes didn't fool me.
"You sure about that? She was wearing a yellow sundress and sandals," I said. "I saw her fighting with the psychic surgeon in the parking lot earlier tonight."
Her unfriendly gaze affixed to my face. "I'm sorry, Dr. Meadows. But I don't recall."
Oh, for the love of chocolate ganache. "You don't recall someone banging on your hotel room door, hollering your name, and demanding money?"
She shook her head. "I've been on the phone doing readings, so I must have been too distracted. I get that way when Spirit speaks to me."
"Why'd you open the door just now?"
She blinked and gripped the edge of the door. "I hung up and happened to hear you. Besides, I wondered if you could talk some healthy sense into Norman. I'm sick of his pizza cruise plans."
I peered into the room. No sign of Norman, but I spotted a book I recognized. A Weight Watchers hardcover leaned against the television. "Where is he?"
Her face flashed with annoyance, and she lifted one of her ringed hands. "Out picking up another family-sized pizza with extra cheese and pepperoni. It's so hard to lose weight when I'm constantly exposed to all that dough and mozzarella."
"Forgive me for intruding," I said, pointing to the book near the TV. "But is pizza allowed on the Weight Watchers diet?" I would never recommend it to my patients desiring weight loss.
"Normy's not doing the program." She anchored one hand on her hip and squished her shiny peachy lips together. "He's a serious hindrance to my personal goals."
Should I give her my spiel on the Swindoll quote and how her reaction to life events was more important than the events themselves? The irritation in her voice made me think she might not appreciate it.
She gave me a fake half-smile. "I'll tell Normy you'll be talking to him, Dr. Meadows. Thank you ever so much."
I knew a blow-off when I heard one. "You're sure you didn't hear anything outside your door?"
Her eyes narrowed into unfriendly slits. "Not a thing."
"Do you owe a woman with dark hair and yellow bling sandals any money?"
"No," she snapped, scooting the door shut.
I stopped it from closing with the palm of my hand. "How do you think she knew your name?"
"I'm a very well-known psychic. Lots of people know me." The sharpness in her tone indicated end of discussion.
"Thanks." I removed my hand, and she slammed the door. I may not have been in the PI business for long, but I recognized dishonesty when I encountered it. Part of my job as a naturopathic doctor was ferreting out the truth from my patients. Getting them to open up wasn't always easy, but I usually triumphed.
I certainly hadn't gotten Babette to open up, however. Hhmm.
I pondered the implications as I strolled to Vesta's room and knocked. Fortunately, the Vegan Poser quickly agreed to give me Mystic Ming's key after I reminded her, politely, about the importance of keeping her pork burrito secret. I slipped the key into my pocket and rejoined Tattoo Tex.
"Glad to see you. I was getting lonely without you, ma'am." He flashed me a smile that made my cheeks flush. The Jock Cowboy was making me want to be a very naughty girl.
But I didn't tell him that.
"You all right, doc? Your face turned a pretty shade of pink."
I waived my hand, as if to say, No biggie. "Must be the excitement of being a PI." I held up Mystic Ming's key to change the subject. "Shall we?"
He agreed, so I slid the key into the lock, and the door clicked open. We walked inside, and a twinge of all-out thrill ride hit me. I wasn't sure if it was because I was in major PI mode or major lust mode.
Regardless, my pulse raced as I scanned the place.
Mystic Ming's room was an elaborate mess. Clothes littered the lumpy bed and draped across the worn chair, TV, and dresser. An opened box of tofu sat on one of the nightstands. Eeww. The scent of patchouli drifted past my nostrils. Lovely. I hated patchouli because it irritated my sinuses, and the odor reminded me of a flea market. I sniffed, and my gaze landed on a mound of tiny shoes in front of the closet. One particular pair caught my attention.
The hot pink boots that Mystic Ming had mentioned in his diary. The boots where he'd hidden the check from Norman.
I rushed over and picked one up, angling the shiny magenta leather for Tattoo Tex's inspection. "Mystic Ming wrote in his journal about these boots. The check might be in here."
He squinted. "Excuse me, doc?"
Duh. I didn't tell him. Some PI I am for not informing my partner about major case intel. I quickly filled him in on Vesta's pork burrito addiction admission and the triumphant receipt of Mystic Ming's journal for my silence.
The twinkle in his eyes and the way he slowly nodded told me he was impressed. "Norman's check could be in thar?"
"Yep." I peered into the fine leather boot and pulled on the insole. It came out easily, and I turned the boot over. But nothing fell out. "Okay, let me try the other one."
Same thing. No check.
I furrowed my eyebrows into a deep V, hoping to look like a real PI in the midst of a serious investigative thought. "I'm surprised Detective Fifi thought to look here."
"Maybe someone else took the check before the police found it?"
"Of course." He was turning out to be a better PI than I was. "Someone with reason to be scared could have taken the check to implicate Norman. But there has to be another clue in this room, don't you think?"
Tattoo Tex's gaze swept corner-to-corner, before landing on the bed. "In the movies, people like to hide stuff under the bed or between the mattresses."
"Great idea." I hustled behind him and waited while he bent down and lifted the bed. The entire bed. He hoisted it up effortlessly, as though he was picking up a bag of popcorn.
I gulped. His sculpted arm muscles almost made me drool. My lust-i-tude cranked up to an explosive level. Tattoo Tex was the hottest guy I'd ever seen.
"You see anythang?"
I see a man I want to do very sexy things with and wake up next to in the morning.
"Doc Meadows?"
"Sorry." Quit acting like the teenybopper Floyd accused you of being. I peered at the open space. "Nothing."
He lowered the bed onto the carpet and then lifted the mattress off the box spring. "Anythang?"
"Nope. Nothing."
"Let's keep looking. It'd be interesting to find his cell phone."
"Agreed. Then we could see his text history." I surveyed the room and didn't see a phone. But I discovered a purple makeup case with gold edges. Cute, but not cuter than my Sparkle O makeup case. "What about this?" I strode toward the dresser and picked up the case. Excitement pulsed through me when Tattoo Tex sidled up next to me and his cologne drifted past my nose.
Holy chocolate babka, he smells good. Totally hot and masculine. The only scent Floyd had ever worn was all-natural herbal cologne he'd found at the health food store. I never liked the smell because it reminded me of my favorite herbal toothpaste. Ginger mint was great for keeping my teeth clean, but not for sparking romance.
Tattoo Tex pointed to the makeup case. "Strange thang for a man to have."
A flash of Mystic Ming's pink hair popped in my mind. Maybe he kept Easter egg dye in here? Then I remembered his bad breath. Maybe he kept his garlic pills in here? The latch sprung open the instant I touched it. Nice mechanics. But nothing inside except for several tubes of natural lip balm, a few organic soaps, and a razor. Annoying.
"What next?" Tattoo Tex asked.
"Good question." My gaze landed on the closet doors. "Maybe he moved the check from the boot after he wrote in his journal and slipped it into a coat pocket?"
"Great idear."
I was amazed how his cowboy-isms weren't causing massive levels of vein-pulsating irritation. One day with the Jock Cowboy had cured me of my anti-Western sentiments.
A feat I'd never thought possible.
I scooted the sliding closet door open and searched Mystic Ming's wardrobe. Quickly I developed a system of pat garment, search pockets, done. It wasn't until the seventh jacket—Ming had actually brought more clothes than I did for a three-day weekend—that I found something. A squishy item bulged in the lining of Mystic Ming's purple velvet blazer.
I ran my fingers across it again, but couldn't tell what it was.
"I'm going to have to rip open the lining." I removed the jacket from the hanger and carried it to the bed. I inspected the seams of the coat, and they were tight. No way to tug the thread open by hand. Darn. I didn't carry scissors on me.
But fortunately for our investigation, Tattoo Tex carried a little pocketknife.
He hit a button, and a tiny silver blade popped up. "Allow me, doc."
I handed him the garment, and he sliced open the seam with the ease of a seasoned seamstress. Was there anythang he couldn't do?
Oh, for the love of chocolate frosting. Did I just think a cowboy-ism?
"Here you go, ma'am."
Aw. He's letting me dig out the item when he totally could have had dibs on it.
I slipped my hand inside and searched for the squishy thing. My fingers finally found the mysterious item, and I pulled it out. I angled it under the overhead light and gasped.
A voodoo doll. A three-inch tall replica of Mystic Ming—complete with pink hair and a tiny matching chopstick—lay in my hand. The doll had a strange binding around its knees and a black X over its mouth.
"Why, it's a Mini-Ming," Tattoo Tex said.
"I saw these at Garnett's booth. She sells these dolls."
"That's mighty suspect, don't you think?"
"Absolutely." I turned the voodoo doll over and looked at the backside, where a small knife had been appliqued. "Looks like Garnett didn't wish Mystic Ming well."
"Not at all." He plucked the voodoo doll from my hand and inspected the details. "Wonder what the leg ties mean?"
"I don't know, but I intend to ask Garnett."
My cell phone buzzed, alerting me to a new text. I opened my silver sequined bag, deposited the voodoo doll inside, and retrieved my phone. A new message appeared on my screen.
No wonder Mystic Ming trip in that coat. Garnett is real witch.
Only he didn't write witch. He wrote a word that rhymes and starts with a B.
"Look." I showed the message to Tattoo Tex. "Is this really Mystic Ming, or is someone messing with me?"
"I've never heard of texting from beyond the grave."
"Me either." And, frankly, it creeped me out. My mind raced with ideas…maybe Garnett was the killer? "Garnett was awfully bitter at the outdoor shrine, saying Mystic Ming was in hell. And she was furious in the elevator this morning." I quickly recounted their exchange.
"She actually said death cancels a curse?"
"Yes." A chill ran up my spine. "Add her behavior to this voodoo doll, and I think she's our number one suspect."
He nodded, but then his jaw dropped, and he tapped me on the arm. "Wait a second. Why don't we just ask Mystic Ming who did it? If it's really him texting, shouldn't he know who killed him? Or at least who wanted him dead?"
Duh. Why hadn't I thought of that?
"What a great idea." I pounded out a quick text that said, Do you know who killed you? I sent the message, and we huddled together. My heart raced when Tattoo Tex stood right beside me, his spicy scent making my hormones do a happy dance. The man was ultra mega hot.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.
"You okay, thar, doc?"
"Fine." I fiddled with my diamond earring, trying to appear casual. "Just anticipating what Mystic Ming's going to say."
"Hopefully he'll tell us something we can use."
My heart smiled. A girl could really get used to this we stuff.
"I wonder if I'll hear back," I said, feeling comfortable with Tattoo Tex's proximity and wanting to get closer. "Because last time he didn't answer me."
This time, however, Mystic Ming was on top of it. A ding alerted me to the new text, and I turned the phone so we could read simultaneously.
Mystic Ming can't say anything. Already got in trouble for telling you about Norman's check. Spirit Guide say Mystic Ming cannot influence outcome of justice in your sphere. Stupid rule. But if I say more, I could be stuck here forever. You figure out who kill me.
I read the message a second time. "Interesting." Then I sent Aunt Alfa a quick text telling her about the upcoming séance and placed my cell phone on the nightstand.
Tattoo Tex eyed me from the top of my blonde highlights down to my manicured toes. "Looks like Detective Piper's his only hope."
The intensity in Tattoo Tex's eyes made me feel shy. I glanced down at my feet and distracted myself with my glossy hot pink toenails. I hadn't had time for a manicure before coming to Florida, but thank goodness I'd had a cute pedicure. The rhinestones on each of my toes glittered beneath the light.
Tattoo Tex must have noticed because he elbowed me in the side while pointing at my feet. "Those are pretty, just like you. How'd you get so glittery and gorgeous?"
My breath caught in my throat. Had I finally met a man who would be interested in my conversion into a dark-chocolate-filled, natural health lifestyle? If so, he was the one. The past several years with Floyd had left me feeling trite and ridiculous about the high school story that had put me on the path of my life's work.
I took a brave step. "Do you really want to know?"
He brushed a lock of my highlighted hair behind my shoulder. "I want to know everything about you, doc."
There, under the garish light in Mystic Ming's tacky Manatee Inn room, I prepared to share my soul with the Jock Cowboy.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Pizza-Faced Little Orphan Annie Has Left the Building
I glanced at the door, wondering if it was risky to stay in Mystic Ming's room too much longer. But I was feeling braver than ever, so I decided to expose a piece of my heart to Tattoo Tex. "I've always been caught between my family because my dad's a physician, and Aunt Alfa's a holistic healer. Aunt Alfa came to live with us after my mother abandoned my dad and me by moving to Europe when I was fourteen."
His eyebrows vaulted. "Sorry to hear about your mom."
"Thanks. It was a hard time." One I was happy to put behind me.
"I can only imagine." He looked sad for a moment, and then he said, "Your dad's a regular doctor? Like an MD?"
"Try the chief of cardiology at a hospital in New York City."
He must have computed the implications because questions that had plagued me shone in his eyes. "Does he support your career in natural medicine?"
"That's the triple-fudge question of the millennium." I wasn't ready to delve into my father's thoughts about holistic health, however. My heart was far easier to share.
"Is Aunt Alfa your maternal or paternal aunt?"
I flashed him a smile, once again thankful to have her in my life. She'd guided me through some tough times, such as coping with my mother's unexpected departure. And the complicated conversation I'd had with my father when I'd informed him the only kind of medical school I was interested in was naturopathic.
The memory of that moment still sent me running for dark chocolate.
"Aunt Alfa's on my mom's side. Not my dad's." He'd sooner give up his prestigious title than be related to an aromatherapist.
"Do you get along with your dad?"
"As long as we don't talk about medicine. Either my version or his." I examined the cuticle on my th
umb. Definitely time for a manicure. "Let's just say my dad doesn't agree with what I do. Nor did he ever agree with Aunt Alfa's practices," I said, adding air quotes. "And Aunt Alfa certainly didn't agree with his belief in traditional medicine. They have a difficult time getting along, and it was hard on me because they both wanted me to see things their way." I glanced at him, wondering if I was boring him with my family drama.
But he eyed me appreciatively and nodded for me to keep going. Aw.
"I had a serious acne problem during freshman year in high school. At the time, my hair was finger-in-a-light-socket frizzy, and I was living off milk chocolate. It was all I wanted to eat." I smiled when I realized not much had changed. Only now I was hooked on dark chocolate.
He grinned. "You're not kidding about being a chocolate addict."
"Nope." His cuteness made my heart open even more. "One day in honors biology class, this mean rich kid called me a pizza-faced, little Orphan Annie, and everyone heard him. All the kids laughed at me, and I just lost it. I ran crying out of the lab."
He gave me a sympathetic look. "Sounds awful."
I flinched. It was still a painful story. "I skipped the rest of my classes and came home from school a wreck. I ran to my room, dug out a bag of milk chocolate peanuts from my dresser drawer, and started scarfing them." The images raced through my mind at warp speed. "I cried for hours, while staring at myself the mirror, until my dad and aunt got home. I was scared I'd get in trouble for skipping school, but they were sympathetic when I told them the story. That's when Aunt Alfa said my skin problem could be due to a dairy allergy, and that I should switch to a dairy-free dark chocolate."
"Did stopping the milk chocolate work?"
"Amazingly well. Milk chocolate was the only dairy I ate so when I changed to the dark version, my skin cleared up. I've been addicted ever since." Funny how tragedy could morph into triumph. "Aunt Alfa talked about finding the cause of my skin problem, instead of continuing with medications from the doctor that weren't working. Dad was thrilled when my self-confidence soared after my skin cleared. He urged me to be myself and follow my heart."