Eat, Pray, Die (An Eat, Pray, Die Humorous Mystery Book 1)

by Chelsea Field

  I thought about having the quinoa salad to balance out my splurges over the last few days, but two double shot espressos were making me jittery after my recent drought, so I ordered a donut to soak up some of the caffeine. Connor leaned back in his seat with his coffee-flavored swamp water and surveyed the room.

  Josh had ordered a macchiato when he was here, so I inhaled my donut and watched the guy making the coffees behind the counter. I tried not to think of my own days behind the espresso machine. No one had ever held a gun to my head, poisoned me, or threatened to break my bones. Not even once.

  I pushed my mind back to the task at hand. When the barista finished making a coffee, he’d pop it up on the counter so the waitress manning the tables could deliver it as fast as possible. It wouldn’t be too hard for anyone to walk by and sprinkle something in it while it was on the counter or even as the waitress bustled past. The trickiest bit would be making sure you spiked the right cup. That suggested the culprit had been close enough to hear Josh’s order and keep an eye on the coffees being served.

  “Wouldn’t Josh have spotted Albert, Juan, or Colette if they were in here long enough to drug his coffee?” I asked.

  “Yes. Tahlia too. Unless they were disguised.”

  “Disguised how?”

  “Heavy stage makeup, wigs, burkas, headscarves, prosthetics, you name it. It’s all easy enough to get hold of in LA.”

  I wished I’d ordered another donut. “How do you ever solve anything?”

  “The window of opportunity this time is small. We can check the alibis of all our main suspects.”

  “Then why don’t you look happier?”

  “Do I ever look happy?”

  The only times I could recall involved me missing items of clothing. I didn’t want to bring those times up, so I said, “Good point.”

  Connor drained the last of his coffee and set the mug down on the table. “The problem is, I don’t think we’re going to get anywhere with the alibi route. If Colette, Tahlia, or Juan did it the first time, they were hired by someone else because of their ability to access the house. That someone else wouldn’t have hired them to do it here. Likewise, if Albert hired a pro for the first attempt, he’s not stupid enough to risk doing it himself for the second. You get the idea.”

  “So we need to find the hitman?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who’s your top suspect?”

  “Someone with money and motive. Alstrom maybe, or someone who had a lot to lose from the Wholesome Foods boycott.”

  I mulled this over. “Do we have any leads on suspects at Wholesome Foods?”

  “Nothing good. We identified the top ten biggest losers from the boycott and ran background checks on them. None of them have any criminal history on record. Our team is now tackling the problem in reverse—finding stakeholders with criminal records and seeing if they had significant losses.” He stared into his cup as if it might hold the answers. “It’s an imprecise way of generating leads, but we don’t have time for anything better.”

  “So we go after Albert’s hitman,” I said.

  “Forget it. We’re not using you as bait again.”

  “I was thinking we’d use you as bait.”

  He jerked his head up and looked at me. “I’m listening.”

  I was in the middle of outlining my plan when my phone went off. Again. Only a few people had my new number, and as it was around two-thirty in the morning over in Australia, I had a bad feeling about who it was from.

  If flowers don’t get your attention, maybe you’re the bad boy type. I’ve been a bad boy. You might want to check on your cat. A.

  I leapt out of my chair and ran out the door. Where the hell did I park my car? Connor appeared at my elbow.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Again with that damn question. I shoved the phone at him, my throat too constricted to form words. He strode to his SUV, pulling me with him when I didn’t follow immediately.

  “Get in.”

  The minutes passed in a blur of nausea and fear. Connor parked illegally in front of my apartment for the second time that day, and I was off and running before he’d killed the engine. He caught up at the top of the stairs, where I was trying to insert my key into the lock with shaking hands. He tried the handle, and it opened.

  It should’ve been locked. Oliver’s car was gone, which meant so was he.

  “Meow?” I shouted as if expecting an answer. I found her in the kitchen. She walked toward me on wobbly legs, and I knelt down and wrapped her in my arms. On the floor was a pile of puke and a half-eaten bowl of canned cat food. Still holding Meow close, I sniffed the cat food. Minced cod, laced with some kind of poison. My favorite.

  Connor was asking me for the vet’s number, but I tuned him out. The vet might not figure it out in time. I scooped up some of the gelatinous, fishy goo on one finger and popped it into my mouth. It took me a moment to get the dry heaving under control and sort through the gut-churning assortment of flavors. I spat it back in the bowl. “Ethylene glycol.” I spat again. “The vet’s details are on the fridge. Let’s go!”

  We sped to Overland Veterinary Clinic and handed her over. After our hurried explanation, they took her into another room, where I knew they’d do everything they could to minimize her absorption of the poison. The receptionist cleared her throat. “Ms.…?”

  “Ms. Avery. I’m the owner’s roommate.”

  “Can you tell me how she found the ethylene glycol?”

  My mind was blank. How was I supposed to explain this?

  “Was it brake fluid?” she asked. “Or antifreeze?”

  Connor stepped forward. “We found her licking at Ms. Avery’s hand lotion and she vomited shortly afterwards. Ethylene glycol was listed as an ingredient. The name rang a bell, so we looked it up and saw we needed to get her to you as soon as possible.”

  “Well done. Because you caught it so early, she shouldn’t sustain any kidney damage. We’ll monitor her here for a day or two anyway, just to make sure everything’s working as it should be.”

  I nodded in relief. “Thank you so much.”

  “Now who will be paying for this?”

  I pushed my last credit card statement featuring lots of big red letters from my mind and rummaged through my bag. Connor beat me to it. She processed the payment and promised to call me as soon as Meow was out of immediate treatment.

  I would’ve sat in the waiting room all day if Connor hadn’t herded me out the door.

  The sunshine seemed harsh. I hauled myself into the SUV and shut my eyes to help hold back tears. We stopped a few minutes later. “Where are we?”

  “Come with me.” He led me to a bench overlooking a small garden. “You did well. Meow is going to be fine, thanks to you.”

  I did a sob-hiccup. “You mean she almost died thanks to me.”

  He gently grasped my chin and forced me to look at him. “This is not your fault. I’d give you the day off if I could, but I need you somewhere I can protect you.”

  I wiped the tears off my cheeks. “I thought I’m supposed to be protecting you.”

  “Isobel.” His voice was soft, pleading, and a little exasperated. “I’m trying to help here.”

  I gave myself a mental shake. I was no good to anyone like this.

  “Then you don’t know me very well,” I said, gesturing at the garden. “Comfort food beats nature hands down.”

  He grabbed my hand and pulled me to my feet. “What kind of comfort food?”

  I thought about it. “A McDonald’s chocolate sundae?”

  He patted me on the arm as we headed for the car. “Nice to have you back.”

  On the drive there, I realized I needed to call Oliver and let him know about Meow. I’d have to tell him the same story Connor had given the vet. I rubbed my eyes. It seemed wrong to lie about anything important, but how could I explain the truth? Oliver didn’t pick up, so I left a message on his voice mail. Then I told myself sternly there was nothing else I could
do for Meow and steered my thoughts toward ice cream and murderers.

  By the end of my sundae, Connor had given my plan the go-ahead. I texted Albert.

  So sorry I didn’t reply sooner! My boyfriend, Connor Stiles, is super jealous and trying to stop me from having any contact with you… He’s in the bathroom now. Would love to see you again but can’t unless I can figure out how to get rid of him :(. Want to break up but scared he’ll get violent.

  My phone buzzed with a returning message quicker than I thought possible. I’d always imagined being the object of a man’s obsession would be fun. But then I’d never imagined the man as an insecure, drug-wielding lunatic, or becoming the object of his obsession because of a limp dick.

  I showed the message to Connor.

  I might be able to help. Is there any time coming up when he won’t be with you?

  “Tell him I’m meeting someone tomorrow at 11:00 a.m. at Grizzle and Girdles,” Connor said. “The owner’s a friend of mine, and it should be pretty quiet that time of day.”

  We were betting that Albert’s suspicious history of poisoned competitors, combined with his obsession with me and obvious impatience, would lead him to use a hitman he was already in contact with. A hitman who might have been at Morning Glory earlier today.

  I passed the information along. Albert replied with:

  See you tomorrow, sweet cheeks.

  I repressed a shudder and looked back at Connor. “What’s next?”

  “Next we get you pepper spray.” His eyes flicked toward my phone. “And maybe a Taser.”

  16

  A-1 Self-Defense was filled wall-to-wall with “safety” paraphernalia, almost all of it illegal in Australia. Brass knuckles: illegal. Stun guns: illegal. Automatic rifles: illegal. The safety goggles would have been okay, though.

  Connor led me over to the pepper spray display, where I admired the bewildering array of small canisters ranging from Barbie-pink lipsticks to stylish patent leather carry cases. Connor selected a utilitarian black one. “We’ll take two of these.” The range of stun guns was impressive too, but Connor didn’t bother to scan them. “And a TASER C2 with three spare cartridges.”

  “Of course, sir. What color would you like?” He gestured to the six display models.

  Connor looked at me. “Well?”

  I thought about the bad guy’s reaction if I pulled out a pink weapon. “I’ll take the silver.” As a bonus, it’d match my Corvette.

  If Connor hadn’t been standing beside me I might’ve been tempted by the yellow.

  He once again handed over his credit card before I could dig mine out. As soon as we left the store, I turned on him. “You can’t pay for all this stuff.”

  “I didn’t. The company did. I’m authorized to purchase any necessary safety gear for our Shades.”

  “What about Meow?”

  “You know medical costs incurred in the line of duty are covered. That includes the veterinary variety.”

  I opened my mouth and shut it again. “Are you sure?”

  Connor just looked at me.

  “Okay. Well. Thanks.”

  “Let’s teach you how to use your new toys.”

  Twenty minutes later, I was standing in Connor’s backyard with my newly activated TASER C2 and SABRE Red pepper spray canisters, facing a cardboard cutout of Spider-Man. Because everyone has one of those lying around. Connor picked up the pepper spray. “This stuff has a range of up to ten feet. Aim for the face, but move your hand back and forth while spraying to get better coverage. You want to go ear to ear. If your attacker is wearing glasses, try to get some above the frames so it still goes in his eyes. Having said that, sometimes just a bit of this stuff on one cheek can bring the bad guy down.” He handed a canister to me.

  I took it from him like it was a saucepan spitting hot oil. “How does it do that exactly?”

  “It sets their faces on fire, causes temporary blindness by forcing their eyes closed, and makes them cough uncontrollably.”

  I held the canister farther away from my body. “I see.”

  “Don’t use it indoors unless you have no other choice, and beware of the wind. This one has a pretty powerful stream, so it’s not going to reverse direction and come back in your face, but you can still get some blowback.”

  I licked a finger and held it in the air to see if there was any breeze.

  “Don’t lick your fingers or touch your face during or after handling one of those things. Wash your hands with hot water and dishwashing liquid first. Then wash them again. And get rid of the canister, even if it’s only partially empty.”

  I waited for my tongue to explode. Nothing. Thank goodness. “Uh-huh. Good tip.”

  He showed me how to arm the pepper spray by sliding the tab across with my thumb and gestured to Spider-Man. “Now stand ten feet away, and give it a shot.”

  “What’s that in meters again?”

  “Stop stalling.”

  I paced it out and faced my target. “Is it too windy?”

  Connor might have rolled his eyes, but I was looking at Spider-Man so I couldn’t be sure.

  “Do it, Avery.”

  I pushed the tab over and pressed down firmly the way he’d demonstrated. A stream of spray shot out and coated Spider-Man’s face. It felt anticlimactic after all that buildup. Not that I’d expected Spider-Man to fall to the ground coughing and screaming or anything.

  “Is that it?” I asked.

  “That’s it,” Connor said. “It’s just important you’re familiar with it. You don’t want to be working out how hard you need to press it when the Hulk is closing in.” He took the canister from me and replaced it with the unused one. “Keep this on your person at all times until Alstrom and Black have been taken care of. It’s not going to do you any good if you can’t get to it.”

  “I’ll keep it on my keys.”

  “That wouldn’t have helped you this morning. Think again.”

  “In my pocket?”

  “Good.”

  “What if my outfit doesn’t have pockets?”

  “Choose a different outfit. Wear it around your neck. I don’t care, just have it with you.” He stared at me until I conceded.

  “Yessir.” I looked down at my current outfit. No pockets. I considered tucking it in the waistband of my undies, but I didn’t fancy hiking the dress up to my ears to get to the pepper spray. Not that it wouldn’t be a good distraction technique. I settled on tucking it down my cleavage, which was adequate for the purpose thanks to my push-up bra.

  Connor stepped close and tugged at the top of my dress to inspect the canister’s location. My skin turned hot under his touch. I panicked, thinking he had pepper spray on his fingers. Then I realized the warmth was pleasant.

  “Happy?” I asked, pulling away.

  His eyes glinted with amusement or appreciation. As was so often the case, I couldn’t tell.

  “For now.” He picked up the Taser.

  “Uh-uh. That thing is not gonna fit on my person.”

  “You can carry it in your handbag. As long as you take your handbag with you anytime you aren’t with me.”

  I blew out a sigh but nodded. Staying safe was turning out to be a pain in the ass. If I had to lug around this much stuff for the sake of being prepared, I might as well become a mother, or a Girl Scout.

  “The Taser has a few advantages over a gun.” Connor said. “First of all, it doesn’t look dangerous, so it’s unlikely to escalate an attack the way a gun might.”

  Damn. Should’ve gone with the pink one after all.

  “Secondly, because it’s a nonlethal weapon, it should reduce your instinctive reluctance to use it. Remember, a few seconds of indecision can cost you your life.”

  I tucked that fun fact away for something to worry over some night when I couldn’t sleep.

  “At the same time, its neuromuscular incapacitation method causes the person to lose all muscular control, which is better than a bullet, because a person with a gunshot
wound can still shoot you back.” His eyes met mine deliberately. “Last but not least, it’s harder to shoot yourself. And even if you do, you won’t die.”

  I nodded. “All good points. You should sell these things.”

  “It’s also less messy than pepper spray. You can use it inside and in the wind without risk to yourself.”

  “Maybe I should carry that around in my cleavage then.”

  Connor eyed my neckline dubiously.

  I huffed because he was right. My cleavage was not going to conceal the Taser.

  Connor showed me how to load and unload cartridges, operate the safety, and aim using the laser sight. “Aim for the upper torso or thigh. If you hit your target, it will zap them for thirty seconds unless you use the safety to stop it. Drop the Taser, and use the time to get your ass out of there. If you miss and don’t have time to load a second cartridge, you can use it like a stun gun by pushing it firmly against your assailant. Aim for the neck, upper chest, thigh or groin. It’ll hurt like hell but won’t incapacitate your bad guy. It might just piss him off.”

  “So don’t miss?”

  “That would be your best option. The laser sight will help and shows where the top probe will hit. If you have a choice, wait until you’re about seven feet away. That’ll make the probes about a foot apart. The weapon has a top range of fifteen feet, but the farther away you are, the farther apart the probes will be, and so the more likely one will miss. On the other hand, if you shoot when you’re too close and the probes land less than four inches apart, it won’t work properly.”

  “Oh great, now the pepper spray is starting to sound better.”

  “If only one probe hits, you can complete the circuit by using it as a stun gun on a second point, but of course you can’t hold it and get away at the same time. You also have to be wary of very thick or loose clothing.”

  “Am I going to be quizzed on this?” I asked.

  “I suppose you could call it a quiz when Mr. Black comes after you again.”

  I gulped. “Point taken. Um. So what else?”

  He gestured to Spider-Man. “Take a practice shot.”