Killer Kale Chips

by Patrice Lyle

  "Hey kids, guess what?" Aunt Alfa stood up from the bed where she'd been sitting next to Brownie. My piglet was stretched out, napping on his favorite Sponge Bob cushion. "We got the food dehydrator today."

  My gaze followed her tiny beringed finger to a large, dome-shaped plastic unit nestled on the corner of the dresser. "Wow. That's quite the gadget."

  "Looks like a beach cooler, Aunt Alfa." Tex set the Charmin on the desk and then lowered himself onto the couch. He leaned back, closed his eyes, and let out a long sigh.

  Aunt Alfa looked at the TP and turned to me. "Do I want to know?"

  "Probably not, ma'am. It wasn't pretty." Tex placed his hat on the end table and assumed a fetal position. "All I can say is I reckon I'm never eating a four-egg mushroom omelet again."

  Tex and I exchanged glances, but he quickly looked away.

  Aunt Alfa nodded. "You know what's worse than having the runs, Tex?"

  Tex shifted uncomfortably. Bathroom-talk had mortified him since the day we'd met. I was used to it after talking to my patients, but I realized how embarrassed my fiancé must have been to text me with his request at the bridal store.

  Aw. My poor cowboy.

  Tex frowned. "I can't imagine anythang worse right now, ma'am."

  Frankly, I couldn't either.

  "What's worse is when you have a wedgie, and you go to remedy the situation, and you discover it's your own cheek," Aunt Alfa said. "Not that I would know, but Ida sure does. I bet you five hundred bucks Cooter gets the old wrinkle wedgies too."

  Eeww. A pang of nausea hit me square in the gut.

  Tex shut his eyes. "I think I need a nap."

  "And I need a long bubble bath." Pronto.

  "Don't you want to hear about the dehydrator first?" Aunt Alfa sounded let down as she strolled toward the new item. "Me and Brownie are stoked about it."

  "Of course." I joined her beside the dresser to view her purchase. "I need to fill you in on the latest about the case anyway."

  Aunt Alfa lifted the lid and pointed inside to a layer of precisely positioned kale pieces. "All I added was Himalayan sea salt, so these will be just like Ken's Killer Kale Chips original flavor. Those are the ones Brownie loved."

  The mention of Ken's name made my legs weak. He wasn't the killer, but how would I prove it? And were the police so eager to solve the case that they'd jumped all over the stupid letter? I mean, why would anyone be so stupid to incriminate himself or herself?

  "Pipe, you okay?"

  I turned to see Aunt Alfa giving me her concerned-auntie gaze, which reminded me of her famous lemon-wedge-sucking face. Most people only sucked lemon wedges after liquor shots, but she liked lemon wedges after wheatgrass shots.

  My auntie was one in a gazillion.

  I gave her a half-smile. "Sorry, I'm excited about the dehydrator. I really am. I was just a bit distracted by what the detective told me."

  "What?" Aunt Alfa set the lid on the dehydrator and gave me her full attention.

  I gave her a quick rundown of the morning's events, except for Ming's prophecy about the mushrooms. I couldn't bring myself to admit that to anybody. Then I moved on the bridal store, the condiments, the fake gown, and Ruby's gun.

  "Holy cow, you've had quite a morning." Aunt Alfa tugged me along toward the bed where we both sat beside Brownie. "Thank goodness you weren't hurt."

  "Ruby never saw me," I said, recalling the events on the street corner. "She and Callie were definitely fighting about something though. It wasn't a pleasant discussion."

  Then I told her about calling the detective and her news about the arrest.

  "If Ken goes down for this murder, his company could go down the tubes," she said, worry edging into her voice. "I pray these homemade kale chips turn out. Otherwise we're going to have a real problem with Mr. B."

  Wwwweeee!

  I rubbed Brownie's snout. "You're going to love Aunt Alfa's kale chips, sweetie. I promise."

  "It's our only hope, especially now that Ken got busted."

  I glanced at the food dehydrator. "How long does it take to make dehydrated kale chips?"

  "I'm doing the quick method," she said, making air quotes. "So about four to five hours, which is why it was so nice of the delivery guy to send a sample."

  "A sample of what?"

  Aunt Alfa reached for the nightstand and grabbed a sandwich baggie filled with kale chips and some light tan-colored chips. "The guy makes kale and apple chips. Brownie scarfed a few apple chips, but he turned his snout up at the kale chips. The guy said he used sea salt but not Himalayan salt. I'm glad I googled the ingredients of Ken's chips. I'd hate to go to all this trouble and have Brownie hate them."

  I stared at the sandwich baggie filled with chips, and something sparked inside. A sense of déjà vu.

  "You're getting a PI vibe, aren't you, Pipe?"

  I nodded. "Dots need connecting. Something's floating around in my mind, but I can't remember."

  "Do that cross-lateral brain exercise to unstick the brain. It really works." Aunt Alfa set the chips on the nightstand and sat beside me to demonstrate. "Cross your right hand over your body and tap your left knee, and then cross your left hand over your body and tap your right knee. Do it twenty times fast."

  "Great idea." Why hadn't I thought of that?

  "Race you to twenty?"

  I nodded, remembering all the times over the years that we'd done our crossover race. Just one of many lovely memories with my auntie. I started tapping, and by the time I reached eighteen, the PI vibe popped into my head, fully formed. Yes!

  "Ruby had a sandwich baggie filled with peach chips in her luggage that very first day, and she had some with her at the lobby bar when we saw her with Callie." I glanced at the baggie sitting on Aunt Alfa's nightstand. "I'd bet my naturopathic doctor's license that Ruby's chips were dehydrated."

  My mind hurtled through the PI race. The peach chips meant something, but once again, I was stuck.

  Until my gaze landed on the mauled tulle QB gown hanging in the closet.

  Fake labels.

  Fake gowns.

  Fake chips!

  I jumped up. "That's it! Ruby has a dehydrator that she used to make the cyanide-laced kale chips. She made a fake bag and gave them to Veronica."

  But how would I prove it?

  Tex sat up from his nap. "I reckon that's the best theory on this case yet. That makes way more sense that Ken killing her and leaving a self-incriminating note."

  "Maybe Ruby made fake letterhead too?" Ooh, a better idea popped into my head. "What if Ruby somehow forced Callie to give her some of Ken's letterhead? Maybe that's what they were fighting about?"

  The theories hardened faster than my favorite Sparkle O clay mask.

  "Ruby had a motive to kill Veronica after being ridiculed and not getting repaid for the wedding dress deposit for over a year," I said, happy Tex and Aunt Alfa were here to workshop my ideas. "So she makes a batch of dehydrated kale chips, poisons them, and then fashions a bag to look like Ken's Killer Kale Chips."

  "Ruby had to have known that Veronica liked kale chips, Doc. She was around her all the time."

  "Yes, and we need to prove the deadly kale chips bag was a fake." How would we do that? Then it hit me. I remembered people crassly snapping pictures of Veronica's dead body before the police arrived.

  Including Cooter.

  "Cooter took some pictures of Veronica at the crime scene." My pulse raced as I realized I was onto something here. I was going to nail the real killer.

  "Problem solved," Aunt Alfa said, reaching for her cell phone. "I've got his number. Let me shoot him a quick text."

  "Perfect," I said. "The other piece of intel that seems odd is what Helena told us about Ruby using an alias." Something about that story stuck out like spotting a designer purse inside a garbage dumpster.

  It didn't seem right.

  "Ruby said she was using her middle name as her first name. Remember, Doc?"

  "Yes, she had an ex
planation, but I don't buy it. Innocent people don't use aliases."

  "Hey, everyone," Aunt Alfa said. "Cooter sent the pictures."

  We huddled around her phone and gazed at a few photographs. Most of them showcased Veronica's deceased body, but we got lucky on one.

  "Right there." I pointed at a small image of the deadly kale chip bag near Veronica's feet. "Can you zoom in on the bag?"

  Aunt Alfa slid her fingers across the screen and a moment later, the kale chip bag filled the viewing area.

  I noticed the anomaly right away.

  "Look!" I said. "That bag has a sea turtle with four flippers, and we all know Ken's bag features Tripod." This was huge.

  Aunt Alfa peered at the picture. "Way to go, Pipe."

  "Good work, Doc."

  "Thanks," I said as I retrieved my cell phone from my purse. "I'm going to call the detective."

  I dialed Detective Malone's number, and she answered on the first ring.

  "We haven't located Callie yet." Detective Malone's tone held a hint of exasperation. "I promise I'll call you once we find her."

  "Thanks, but I'm actually calling about something else." I spilled the discovery about the four-flippered turtle printed on the kale chip bag found at the crime scene, as well as my observation of Ruby's homemade peach chips. "The deadly chips were fake, just like my dress. And I bet you Ruby has a dehydrator," I gushed. "I mean, she's probably a vegan."

  Detective Malone cleared her voice. "I don't care if Ruby's a vegan because the suspect we have in custody for the murder happens to be a vegan who also happens to have a food dehydrator in his hotel room."

  My excitement dwindled. Of course surfer-hippie-dude Ken was a vegan.

  "And we already know the bag was cloned to look like the real thing," the detective continued.

  "With all due respect, Detective Malone, Ken wouldn't put the wrong turtle on the deadly bag. He designed the Tripod bag." I felt liked adding, duh. But I refrained.

  "With all due respect, doctor, the evidence in this case doesn't concern you. The case of Veronica Forks' murder is closed, Dr. Piper."

  She may have ended the call, but she didn't end my desire to prove her wrong. The theory that Ken made the fake bag didn't sit well with me. I relayed the conversation to Aunt Alfa and Tex.

  Tex mulled the news over. "I disagree with her logic, Doc, but what else can we do? They've got Ken in custody, and the evidence of the letterhead and dehydrator is going to convince the jury."

  "True, but our piglet loves Ken's Killer Kale Chips. We don't even know if he'll like Aunt Alfa's kale chips." I glanced at Brownie.

  Aunt Alfa sniffed. "If Ken goes to prison, Brownie will be totally depressed."

  We all glanced at our precious piglet, who let out a loud wwwweeee!

  I had to take action. I'd do anything for my piglet.

  "Let's see if we can locate Callie," I said. "And see if we can get something out of her about the fight on the street corner and where they went in the taxi. Then we can talk to Ruby again."

  The agreement was unanimous. Aunt Alfa obtained Callie and Ruby's room numbers from the front-desk girl in exchange for a quick reading. Ming pulled through again by providing Aunt Alfa with enough accurate information during her psychic reading.

  Aunt Alfa stayed with Brownie and flipped all the locks on the door to ensure their safety when Tex and I departed.

  Tex slid his arm around my waist when we stepped in the hallway. "You think Callie will talk to us, Doc?"

  "I don't know, but we have to try." I adjusted my sparkly pink hobo bag on my shoulder as an image of Callie's terrified face in the rearview window of the cab filled my mind. "If she's even still alive."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Death by Juana Burrito

  The hallway outside Callie's room was quieter than my wellness-center waiting room on a Sunday morning. Not a person in sight. I rapped lightly on Callie's door, but no one answered. I tried the doorknob, but it was locked.

  "I reckon there's only one thing to do now, Doc." Tex winked.

  I knew exactly what he was talking about, and the thought made a buzz of excitement shoot through my body. The sight of Tex kicking in a door got me hotter than the ceramic panels of my flat iron. I'd only seen him do it once before on another murder investigation, but I was happy to go a second round.

  "I can't wait for this." I gulped and wished we were anywhere but the hallway outside the room of a suspected-kidnapping victim.

  The bedroom would have worked just fine.

  "Stand back, Doc."

  The masculinity in his order sent another racy thrill to my toes. I followed his command as Tex pulled his cowboy boot back and readied himself for action. I bit my lip when his toe made contact.

  Whack! Whack! Whack!

  The wood splintered, and he gave it another strong kick. The door relented and flew open with a bang against the wall.

  I stared my cowboy up and down. How seriously hot was that?

  Tex nudged me inside. "Don't go getting any crazy idears, Doc. We're on a case here, and we need to hustle in thar before anyone sees us."

  I hurried into the room, and Tex closed the door behind us. My mind was too stuck on Tex's complete and total hott-i-tude to operate like a PI. The only thing in the room that stood out to me was the bed.

  I slipped my arms around his waist and tugged him toward me. "Tex, you know it's been a stressful day, and you looked so hot kicking that door in."

  Tex pressed a kiss on my nose and pulled back. "Not now, Doc. You can't stir a man up and expect him to solve a case."

  "Who cares about the case?" All I wanted was Tex.

  He strode toward the dresser. "You care, and so do I," he said over his shoulder. "Obviously Callie's not here, so let's see what we can find."

  I sighed. He was right.

  Plus, there'd be time for us later.

  Callie's room was identical to ours. Two beds, a couch, a dresser, and a desk. Callie's suitcases sat on the extra bed, and her organic toiletries—no Sparkle O—filled the counter in the bathroom. I checked the closet in case Callie was tied up inside, but I doubted Ruby would leave a loose end if she were the killer.

  I rooted through Callie's suitcases and found a small pink photo album tucked beneath a set of seriously cute heart-print pajamas. "Check this out." I showed Tex my find.

  I headed toward the bed, but Tex steered me toward the couch. Oh, for the love of dark chocolate covered macaroons. Did he really think I'd jump him while examining what could be a crucial piece of evidence in a murder?

  Obviously, he knew me too well.

  We sat on the couch and flipped through the album. If I had to name a theme for Callie's photo album, it would be I Secretly Heart Ken. At least a couple hundred images of Ken filled the tiny book. Ken at the office. Ken at the warehouse. Ken holding a bag of kale chips.

  "The girl's obsessed." It was a bit creepy. I understood thinking a guy was hot—I mean, I was totally obsessed with Tex, however, we were engaged—but this was overkill.

  Tex nodded. "That kind of obsession could be a motive for her to murder what she perceived as her competition, Doc."

  "You're right. Once Callie found out about the wedding, she could have been desperate to stop the nuptials." Was I wrong thinking Ruby was the killer? "But why were Callie and Ruby arguing? And where is Callie anyway?"

  "I don't know, but she's not in her room." He glanced around. "We probably should head out of here, Doc."

  "Agreed." I flipped through the pages again and stopped at a page near the middle. I rubbed the page between my fingers. "Feel this. It's thicker than the others."

  "It sure is."

  "This page feels like there's more inside than just pictures. Maybe it's a love poem?" I hesitated a moment. Did I really want to read it? What if it gave me nightmares? But what if it was a psychotic note proving Callie was the killer or maybe a confession?

  The plastic-encased page opened slightly between my finge
rs when I gave it a good squeeze. I peered inside. A tiny piece of folded grayish paper was wedged in between the photographs. I removed the paper and unfolded what turned out to be a newspaper article.

  The tabloid article was dated five years ago and titled Death by Juana Burrito Turns into Lawsuit Against Acclaimed Tuning-Fork Diva.

  Esther Dale filed a lawsuit for wrongful death against renowned tuning-fork diva Veronica Forks for allegedly breaking the glasses of her late husband, Wilbur Dale, with a tuning fork during a therapy session. Mrs. Dale alleges that the broken glasses obstructed Mr. Dale's vision, rendering him unable to see a Juana Burrito food truck barreling down the street when he left the appointment. Mr. Dale was struck and killed by the food truck.

  A source quoted the dark-haired, gravelly-voiced widow as saying, "Willy wasn't able to see the truck because of that hideous, overpriced, stuck-up, tuning-fork quack. First, she scammed Willy out of a bundle of money for her stupid 'therapy,' and then she kills him by busting up his glasses."

  A tiny image of a black-haired Ruby filled the corner of the article.

  I looked at Tex. "Wait a second. The change in hair color I get. She dyes her hair, but what about the voice? Veronica called her Alvin?"

  "I reckon that's odd."

  "And remember how I thought her voice sounded less squeaky at the park that night?" The perfect bow to tie this case up was just out of my reach. "How did Ruby change her gravelly voice, according to the article, into one that sounded like Alvin and the Chipmunks?"

  "I don't know, but while you figure that out, I'll google the lawsuit and see if Ruby-slash-Esther won." Tex retrieved his cell phone from his pocket. "Helena was right about the alias."

  I snapped my finger. "And I bet you that Ruby somehow found out that Veronica discovered her alias the night before the expo opened, and she panicked and killed Veronica. The timeline works."

  But what about the voice?

  Duh, why don't I use Aunt Alfa's technique?

  Quick as I could, I did the brain crossover exercise.

  "I love that trick," Tex said as he watched me. "I used it once when I lost my favorite wrench, and it helped me remember stashing it behind the seat in my truck."