The woman held up the latest iPhone before slipping it into the depths of her muumuu. "I do all my distance psychic readings on my phone. Nothing new to me." She braced her back before slowly reaching for my purse. Once she was eye level with me, she said, "I'm Merry, as in Merry Christmas. Not Mary, the mother of Jesus."
Glad she cleared that up. "Nice to meet you. I'm Piper Meadows, and this is my Great-Aunt Alfa."
"Dr. Piper Meadows," Aunt Alfa corrected.
Merry's lips formed an O. "Are you a psychiatrist? My primary care doctor suggested I see one."
I shook my head and wondered what her challenges were. "I'm a naturopathic doctor. I help people get better without drugs and surgery, using natural methods."
Her silver eyebrows bunched. "Huh. I don't know much about that field."
"A lot of people don't," I said. "Please take one of the cards in my purse, and we can chat sometime."
"Thanks." Merry twisted the clasp of my purse without steadying the soft sequined bag in her palm, and one side fell open.
The contents tumbled onto the rug. Including my business cards, iPhone, favorite Sparkle O lipstick, pink glittery comb (that I can only use in the morning with wet hair; otherwise, it would poof my waves into a total 'fro), pink piglet key ring, silver heart mirror, natural zit medication (a girl had to be prepared), and our hotel key, which was attached to a red plastic key ring displaying the number 203 in gold.
"You're in the room next to me," Merry said, plucking up the key and shoving it into my purse. She pocketed a business card and tucked the rest of my stuff away, but she lingered on the zit medicine. "The other side can help with acne. They're very good at clearing up skin problems."
"What helped my skin was getting off dairy products." Not supernatural aid. I shifted because Merry-Not-the-Mother-of-Jesus's psychic skincare suggestion annoyed me, and my hands were going a bit numb.
"Where's that phone?" Aunt Alfa asked.
Merry snatched the phone and handed it to my auntie, who clicked away like she was an honorary member of the paparazzi. When Merry stooped down, I was certain she was going to discuss the dermatological benefits of the other side. What could I say to avoid it?
I noticed Merry's drop-style emerald earrings. Perfect. "Your earrings are lovely. Emeralds?"
Merry lifted her hand, rubbed a stone gently, and let out a little laugh. "Heavens, no. I couldn't afford real stones. My husband's an expert glass cutter so he made these out of green glass for our thirtieth wedding anniversary."
Aw. "That was sweet." Psychic skincare talk averted. Jewelry always worked.
"I'd love to get a look at the shell to see if I can draw some of its energy. Could help my psychic readings." Merry glanced up at Aunt Alfa and back at me. "Since I helped you with the camera phone, think you could give me a boost, too?"
Holy chocolate babka! No way!
To be polite, however, I said, "Sorry, I need to take our luggage to our room. My aunt just wanted to take a quick peek at the shell before we checked in. Plus, Brownie's waiting in the car."
And he would be none too pleased at the delay.
"Thanks, Pipe. What a doll you are," Aunt Alfa said as she stepped down. "Let's go show Brownie the pics of the killer conch shell."
* * *
An hour later, I'd unpacked my Sparkle O normal-to-dry skincare set (creamy cucumber cleanser, rose toner, Vitamin A serum, and frankincense day and night creams). Aunt Alfa had unpacked her essential oil collection (all 72 bottles). Our wheatgrass and almond milk were stored in our mini fridge. Aunt Alfa's wheatgrass juicer was placed on her nightstand. And our clothes hung in the closet, including my pink sequined dress and her leopard print velour suit.
I stacked our four suitcases at the foot of my bed and placed the anniversary invitation (printed on shiny gold parchment paper with drippy black ink) on the dresser. I reread the part about tonight's viewing of the killer conch shell.
After a private exhibition available only to Osprey Inn guests, adoration will ensue, followed by a killer-conch-shell blessing.
So bizarre. What kind of luck could a murder weapon provide?
Wwweee!
Someone wanted my attention. I crouched down to pet my adopted offspring. My adorable two-year-old, twenty-pound, black-and-white potbellied pig, Brownie, looked up at me. His little smile was sweeter than too much stevia in my green tea.
Wwweee!
"What's up, little guy?" I stroked his snout, and he dropped onto his back, hooves up. The white spots on his tummy always made me smile.
"You give Brownie a gluten-free cupcake yet?" Aunt Alfa asked from her tai chi pose near the window where she was watching the other guests arrive.
"Yes, but he only needs one. Too much sugar hypes him up." I didn't want him running amok in the Osprey Inn, squealing at the top of his little lungs and digging up the fancy rugs.
Brownie stood up and scurried to his SpongeBob cushion. After making several decisive twirls, he settled down and lay on his side.
"Good. He could use a nap after the drive." I inspected his mini SpongeBob swimming pool and made sure there were enough pine shavings for his bathroom needs. Then I joined Aunt Alfa at the window. But I didn't care about the people or bumper-to-bumper line up of cars pulling past the gates of the Osprey Inn. I just wanted to gaze at the ocean.
White caps rolled onto the beige shores of the Outer Banks, where sunbathers galore soaked up rays and inhaled the salt air and negative ions. Lucky them. Here I was at the Osprey Inn getting ready to attend a killer-conch-shell blessing.
It might be time to set some boundaries with Aunt Alfa after this trip.
"Look at that." She elbowed me with her bony arm. "That couple's dressed like Alexander Marcus and Penelope Ortiz."
I followed her gaze to a man wearing a navy tuxedo and matching top hat. His ebony-haired companion had donned a fitted navy blue velvet gown. They would have been the perfect choice to grace a celebrity magazine cover had it not been for their skeleton face paint.
"Look at that makeup," I said. "It's like Halloween in June."
"People get into this stuff, Pipe."
"You mean murder?"
Aunt Alfa pointed at a woman dressed in an old-fashioned bridal gown. "That looks like the dress worn by Elizabeth when she and Marcus married."
"The gown's lovely, Aunt Alfa, but the woman has Goth makeup on. I seriously doubt Elizabeth Marcus wore black lipstick on her wedding day." At least, I hoped not.
"The black lipstick was during the trial, and her famous movie, Bite Me, Mon Amour. The vampire love story set in Paris. The movie that made her famous."
I got it now. "Interesting," I said, looking out the window. "Elizabeth started a pre-Twilight vampire mania."
Aunt Alfa shook her head. "No, that Twilight stuff was cutesy, but nothing like Bite Me, Mon Amour. That was real love." Her eyes misted up.
I'd never seen Aunt Alfa get so emotional over a movie before. "Why haven't you ever mentioned Bite Me, Mon Amour? We could have been watching that instead of Sex and the City and How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days."
"It was an incredible movie, but I prefer non-undead love," she said. "I just can't get into fangs. Course, most of the men my age are practically dead anyway, and their false teeth are pretty scary."
I laughed. "I can't get into fangs either. And I also can't get into goth brides and killer movie stars."
"Come on, Pipe. This story's juicer than those Juicy jeans you buy. Two stars meet on a vampire movie set, fall in love, and get married here at the Osprey. Then Marcus stars in Mr. and Mrs. Brown with Penelope, falls in love with her, divorces Elizabeth, and marries Penelope."
"That's all very sad for Elizabeth, I agree, but why resort to murder?"
"How would you feel if your ex was sharing the same bridal suite the two of you had used with his new bride?"
"I'd run to a divorce lawyer, but I certainly wouldn't kill anyone."
"Well, Elizabeth thought differently. She
barged in on them on their wedding night, and a battle ensued," Aunt Alfa said. "The shell was on the mantel, so she settled things the old-fashioned way."
"Since when is bludgeoning two people to death with a conch shell old-fashioned?"
"It did happen a hundred years ago."
I had to give her that. I wasn't sure how to respond, but luckily I didn't have to. A light rap-rap sounded at the door.
"I'll get it." I strode toward the entryway to our room, curious who was visiting us. I twisted the knob and swung the door open.
A thirty-something woman stood before me, dressed in a black-and-white uniform. Her chestnut dreadlocks were gathered neatly into a thick ponytail. She held a stack of plush beige towels and an ivory parchment scroll secured with a gold ribbon.
"Hello, I'm Manouchka," she said, pointing at a nametag with her name spelled out. "Welcome to the Osprey Inn."
"Thank you." Her lovely French accent made me wonder if tea and croissants were next as I glanced at her nametag. "You have a unique name."
She smiled her gratitude and lifted the towels. "May I come in?"
I gestured her inside. "Sure, but I don't think we need any more towels." We already had two stacks beneath the bathroom sink.
"We'll take them," Aunt Alfa said. "I always like extra towels for ab crunches because I hate to lie on the floor. Plus, Brownie will need one after his bubble bath."
For the umpteenth time, I was relieved we'd been allowed to bring Brownie along. After a five hundred dollar deposit, of course. Two hundred of it non-refundable.
The things I do for my child.
"What a lovely little pig," Manouchka said as she sashayed into the bathroom. She crammed the towels in the cupboard beneath the sink and then joined us in the room. She smiled and handed me the scroll. "Here are your tickets for tonight."
I pulled the ribbon free, and it dropped to the floor. I unrolled the tickets, while Aunt Alfa sidled up next to me. A close-up shot of the shell covered in blood took up half the page. The other half contained the details.
Admit One to the 100-year Anniversary of the Killer Conch Shell Murders!
Aunt Alfa elbowed me. "This is going to be so much fun."
For me, the word creepy came to mind.
Manouchka slid her hands into her pockets. "During dinner, we'll have a viewing of Bite Me, Mon Amour."
So much for a fang-free night.
"Then we'll conclude the 100-year anniversary celebration with a renowned psychic, who will conduct a séance in the parlor room."
Uh-oh. My heart broke into a mambo.
"Cool." Aunt Alfa's face lit up. "I want to ask Alexander if he regrets bonking Penelope."
Manouchka's lips rose into a half smile. "Sorry, ma'am, but no questions will be taken tonight. However, the psychic will be taking appointments tomorrow in the parlor."
"Make sure we don't forget, Pipe," Aunt Alfa said. "I want to get on the books first thing tomorrow morning. I need to ask about when I'm going to meet my next boyfriend."
"I thought we were going for an early beach walk." I used my slightly whiny voice, but I had good reason. The last time Aunt Alfa had gone to a psychic, the visit ended up costing me an extra three hundred dollars for burnt velvet drapes. I didn't want a repeat here at the Osprey.
Neither did my bank account.
"I won't get mad and knock candles off the table, Pipe. Those torched drapes were an isolated incident."
I certainly hoped so.
"Will you require anything else from me?" Manouchka asked before stooping down to retrieve the ribbon I'd dropped onto the rug. As she stood up, something fell out of the pocket of her maid's dress.
A claw-like thing dropped onto the floral rug.
I glanced at it and scrunched my face. What is that? Brownie must have wondered too, because he lifted his head, and the whiskers on his snout twitched. Weeeee! He leapt up, shot toward me, and grabbed the strange item with his mouth. Then he scurried into the bathroom.
"Brownie Meadows, that wasn't polite. You give that to me," I said as I followed behind him.
Wwweee! Brownie hunkered on the mat in front of the sink, gnawing on the item. I crouched down and pulled the wet thing out of his mouth.
"I believe that's mine," Manouchka said.
I rose and saw Manouchka's reflection in the mirror. I shivered. Her taut jaw line told me she didn't find Brownie's stunt amusing.
"What is this thing?" I studied the orangey-yellow item. Its claws were mangled but it looked like a dried chicken's foot. "Some kind of bird's foot?"
"It's a toy for my cat, Voodoo." Manouchka's tone was cold.
The intensity in her dark eyes freaked me out, so I decided to lighten the moment. "Your cat's a voodoo priestess?" I asked.
Manouchka blinked but didn't say a word.
Aunt Alfa poked her curler-clad head in the bathroom. "What do you need a chicken foot for? Do they deep fry them here like conch fritters?"
More silence from our maid. Something was definitely up with the chicken foot discovery, but I handed the alleged cat toy to Manouchka and decided to let it go. After all, I was here to have fun.
Not to play PI again.
* * *
A while later, we descended the spiral staircase dressed for the party. Despite my pink sequined dress and matching strappy sandals that normally made me happier than discovering a half-off sale on dark chocolate almond clusters, a ripple of unease tickled me. The image of the gnarled chicken's foot didn't sit right.
"Make sure you hold the rail tightly," I said as I braced Aunt Alfa's other arm. "And stay close to me during the ceremony tonight."
"You're overreacting." Aunt Alfa flicked a clump of Brownie's hair from her leopard-print, velour pantsuit. "It was just a harmless chicken foot."
"A dried chicken foot," I corrected. "For her voodoo priestess cat."
Even though I'd vowed to let Manouchka's weirdness go, I still hadn't recovered. Who named a cat Voodoo? Was the kitty a voodoo priestess?
"Ah, the woman has dreads," Aunt Alfa said, patting her freshly curled and hennaed hair. "Maybe she's a university student majoring in world religions? They say voodoo's a religion, you know. I think dreadlocks are religious too."
That was my auntie. Always seeing the two-hundred-watt vanity bulb side of life.
"I don't know. The look in Manouchka's eyes was off." I rationalized that our maid's pH was probably acidic, and she could be dehydrated. However, that didn't squelch my feeling of unease. Plus, the other hotel guests weren't helping.
We passed a Goth-slash-vampire bride and groom on our way to the parlor. Their plastic teeth held a tinge of neon green, which meant they probably glowed in the dark. And the groom's magic-marker black hair appeared to be the result of a home dye-job. Nice.
Aunt Alfa scrunched her hennaed eyebrows. "Geez, the plastic fangs are overkill."
"I think this whole thing's overkill." I suddenly wished I hadn't agreed to the trip. But I had—of my own accord—so I needed to make the best of it. However, the next weekend voyage destination would be my choice.
"You say that now, Pipe. Bet you'll be singing a different tune after the killer-conch-shell blessing. It'll probably bring us a lot of good luck."
I wasn't so sure about that.
We entered the parlor to see Merry animatedly talking to a slim young man dressed in a button-down blue shirt and gray slacks. His lips were pressed into a grim line while she chatted. Her flailing arms appeared to be doing most of the talking. The poor guy stepped back, out of fingernail firing range.
We neared the glass display case. Several partygoers lingered, staring at the famous shell. Aunt Alfa's little hand tugged me along, and I didn't resist. That was what this trip was all about, after all. Making my auntie happy. Once we were close—as in Aunt Alfa's nose was pressed against the glass, her breath creating a cloud of serious sauna steam—I gazed at what would have been a majestic pink seashell.
Had it not been for all the b
rownish splotches.
I shuddered. "Why didn't anyone ever clean the blood off?"
"That would have erased the curse," Merry said, joining us. "The spell's power's what draws people."
"Makes sense." Aunt Alfa's voice was muffled against the glass. She stepped back and looked at the man Merry had been talking to. "Is that the manager?"
Merry nodded. "Seth's nice, but he's not a big talker."
"As long as he tells me where I can book an appointment with that psychic tomorrow morning, I'm good," Aunt Alfa said. "I'm not really a big talker either."
Yeah, right. My auntie even talked in her sleep, especially when she was formulating a new essential oil. Her recent invention of Chin Hair Be Gone had her chattering for weeks.
"I can help you book a reading." Merry dug into the depths of her muumuu and produced her smart phone. She tapped the screen and scrolled with her thumb a couple of times. "What time do you want?"
"Hey, Pipe." Aunt Alfa elbowed me in the ribs. "Our neighbor Merry here's friends with the psychic. Isn't that cool?"
"Friends with the psychic?" Merry laughed. "I am the psychic."
I considered a last minute attempt at persuading Aunt Alfa against a reading, but I hadn't seen a smile that big on her face since the time she'd finagled the early bird discount on a vegetarian pad thai platter after 6:00 pm.
I'd never win this battle.
Luckily it didn't matter because my cell phone chirped inside my pink sequined purse. Instantly, a flood of giddiness rushed through me. I'd bet my bag of wheatgrass that I'd received a text from Tattoo Tex, talented tattoo artist and boyfriend extraordinaire.
The fact he'd actually gotten me to like his cowboy hats proved his amazingness.
I whipped out my phone and stepped toward the fireplace. Aunt Alfa was deep in psychic-reading-booking mode so she wouldn't miss me. I read his text.
Hey thar. How are things with the most beautiful woman in the universe? Miss you, babe.
Aw. My eyes stung for a second. He still lived in Texas, but we'd recently discussed him moving to Maryland. Our conversation had ended with him worrying about pining away for Texas prime rib and me concerned he wouldn't like my replacement of lower-fat buffalo steaks. But that was a worry for another day. I typed back a response.
Killer Beach Reads Page 61