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

by Chelsea Field

  She wound herself between my legs again while I took one more mouthful. When I didn’t respond, she moved over to Albert. It was her usual strategy: go from person to person and harass them until food appeared. It’s not like she would have recognized Albert as the one who’d made her sick, so why not him? She started doing her winding routine around his legs and let out another meow. I hoped she’d give up soon, but as the local cockroaches knew, Meow was nothing if not persistent.

  As I finished that thought, Albert shot to his feet. “Ouch! You little bitch.”

  She must have escalated to clawing his legs.

  He reached down and grabbed her.

  “Please don’t hurt her,” I pleaded.

  Albert considered me. Meow purred in his hands, thinking she was about to get fed.

  “It’s funny how you care more for the cat’s feelings than mine,” he said.

  My heart sunk.

  “I won’t hurt her. I’ll just put her outside.” He backed to the door, watching me the whole time, and gave me a cold smile. “I’ve always wondered whether cats really do always land on their feet.”

  I tried frantically to choose between the Taser and the pepper spray. As far as I knew, if Albert was holding Meow when I tasered him, she’d get zapped too. And that’s even giving me the benefit of the doubt and assuming I could hit him without getting her. But the pepper spray had the same problem; she would be hit by it too.

  I wasted precious seconds in thought. I didn’t know if a Taser charge would kill a cat. I was more certain she’d survive the pepper spray. I ripped it from my cleavage just as Albert was opening the door.

  “Put the cat down.”

  Albert’s eyes grew wide at the sight of the canister, or perhaps my gaping neckline, but he didn’t let go of Meow.

  “Ever experienced police strength pepper spray to the face?” I asked. “I’ve used it before. It makes grown men cry. And cough. And go blind.”

  I saw Albert’s eyes dart from the canister to the cat, and back again.

  “It might even do permanent damage to your sense of taste or smell,” I added.

  “Wait,” Albert said. “I’ll put the animal down, if you put down the pepper spray first.”

  Did he think I was stupid? “At the same time, or not at all.”

  We stared across the ten feet that divided us. I hoped he’d read the anger and resolve in my eyes.

  “Okay,” he said, “but you have to roll the pepper spray away from you so you can’t just grab it again.”

  “Fine.”

  “Fine.”

  We both crouched down on the floor, our eyes locked on each other.

  “On the count of three,” I said. “Three, two, one… now.”

  I rolled the canister toward him.

  He released Meow and lunged.

  I snatched the Taser from my waistband and fired it.

  The probes embedded themselves in his naked chest, and he collapsed to the floor, twitching. I dropped the Taser like Connor taught me, spent ten of my precious thirty seconds picking up Meow, and half limped, half hopped out the apartment over to Etta’s. “Call the police,” I said as soon as she opened the door to my pounding.

  She took in my disheveled appearance, Meow clutched to my chest. “You’re not playacting anymore, are you?”

  “Never was. Call the police, please.”

  “Oh, sorry about that.” She rushed to her phone, talking the whole time. “I was so glad to see you finally having a bit of fun. It never occurred to me… Hello? Yes, we need the police. There’s an… intruder.” She spouted off our address while I locked the door behind me. “They’re on their way.”

  I stared out the window, waiting for Albert to run, or stumble, past. I wasn’t sure how long it would take him to recover after the Taser stopped doing its thing.

  “Is he still coming after you? What did you do to him?”

  “Tasered him.”

  “Well, I can do better than that.” Etta rummaged through her handbag and pulled out the Glock. “If he tries to escape before the police get here, I’ll put a bullet in his butt.” She headed for the door.

  I grabbed her arm. “Etta, no.”

  She looked back at me and rolled her eyes. “Oh boy, I was sure you Australians would be made of sterner stuff. Don’t worry about me, dear, I was born with a gun in my hand.” She shook off my grip, opened the door, and leaned casually on the stair rail with her Glock pointing toward my apartment.

  I stayed inside, my heart pounding in my ears, trying to think about how to get her back through the door. “Please come back inside, Etta. The police can track him down if he goes anywhere.”

  “Forget about it. I’m not letting that scoundrel get away.”

  I thought hard. “I’ll eat all your ice cream if you don’t come stop me.”

  “You probably need it.”

  “If you come inside, I’ll bake you some more cookies?”

  She shrugged. “You’ll do that anyway.”

  She was right.

  I sighed and lowered myself on trembling legs to the floor where I could keep an eye on her. Meow stayed in my arms. I didn’t want to risk her running off, and I no longer had the pepper spray or Taser to help Etta anyway. At least because Albert had taken his shirt off, I was pretty sure he didn’t have a gun, and I believed Etta when she said she was a good shot.

  A minute passed. Then another. I heard sirens in the distance.

  Albert must’ve too, because a moment later, Etta put both hands on the gun. “Stop right there, asshole.”

  I clambered awkwardly to my feet, ready to drop Meow and intervene somehow if I had to.

  Albert was swaying on the stair landing, hands in the air. He hadn’t bothered to put his shirt back on, and I could see a few specks of blood where he’d pulled out the probes. I hoped it hurt.

  The sirens grew louder, and a police cruiser raced down the street. “LAPD. Drop your weapons and put your hands in the air.”

  They must have been focused on Etta.

  “Fools,” she muttered. “I hardly look like the dangerous intruder I reported.” But she laid down her gun and raised her arms, gaze never leaving Albert. The police rushed up the stairs and grabbed her, then Albert, then me. Somehow with a bandaged leg, torn top, and cat clutched to my chest, I must’ve seemed the least threatening.

  My policeman agreed to escort me back to my apartment and take my statement there seeing as I had a gunshot wound and all. Hop-hobbling across the landing, Meow still in my arms, I overheard Etta tell her cop that she was a frail old lady who was too shook up to go down the stairs. I tried not to snort lest my officer decide something fishy was going on.

  As I recounted what had happened, I was glad Etta had peered through the window so she could corroborate my story. Now it wasn’t just my word against the celebrity’s. The drugged soup would back up my version of events too, but I didn’t know if I was allowed to mention it since the average person wouldn’t have known. Either the policeman taking my statement was unusually good-looking, or I was starting to feel its effects.

  Connor showed up just as they were leading Albert away in handcuffs.

  “I asked the research team to tell me if this apartment building or someone matching your description came up on the police scanner,” Connor said. “I knew you couldn’t stay out of trouble. Are you okay?”

  There was that question again. “Yes. Thanks.” I sat on my hands to stop me from carrying out the fantasy I was having. “But I have had some GHB-X and belladonna.” The GHB-X must not have been in full force yet, since I wasn’t ripping off his clothes.

  “Why didn’t you call me?”

  “I forgot to charge my phone last night.”

  “Then why didn’t you call our emergency unit?”

  I held up my hand, where my Taste Society ring with its hidden microphone was supposed to be. The nurses in the emergency room had taken it off, along with my nail polish and earrings, just in case I’d needed
surgery. “Um, I think my ring must be at the bottom of my hospital bag. Besides, I didn’t ingest that much.”

  “Did you have enough to get cramps and vomiting?”

  “Probably.”

  “And did you ingest enough that you’re having a hard time not kissing me right now?”

  I blew out a sigh. “Yes.”

  “Then for goodness’ sake, Isobel, you should get treatment.” He pulled out his phone.

  “Is the thought of kissing me that bad?” It was the GHB-X talking.

  “No.” He stepped in close and brushed my cheek. “But when we do sleep together, the chemistry’s going to be all natural.”

  I forced my hands to stay where they were. “You say that like sleeping together is a foregone conclusion.”

  He smiled genuinely for the fourth time since I’d known him. “It is.”

  28

  After having to deal with most-attractive-man-on-the-earth number one (Connor) and number two (Levi) in a drug-induced state of arousal for the second time in a week, I put some serious thought into lodging a complaint with the Taste Society. For the sanity of their Shades, they ought to hire less good-looking investigators and doctors.

  Once Dr. Levi Reyes had given me some concoctions to drink, I began to feel better. Especially when he said one of them would neutralize the belladonna in my system. So, no cramping or vomiting to look forward to.

  I thanked him, and he told me we should stop meeting like this.

  Bed was calling. I swung my way toward it, but came to an abrupt halt at the doorway to my room. Gathered in a pile on the old green carpet were four dead cockroaches. Moisture pooled in my eyes. Meow never put the bodies anywhere but at the front door. The only explanation I could come up with was that she’d missed me.

  Of all the welcomes I’d received since coming home after being shot, this was the sweetest. She followed me into bed, and we curled up together and slept.

  Three days later, I still hadn’t left my apartment, except to hop over to Etta’s every now and then. I wasn’t keen to go up and down all those stairs on crutches. Besides, I figured I’d earned some lazy days of Skype conversations with my loved ones, bad television, and eating my way through several batches of cookies.

  Albert had been officially charged with breaking and entering, possession of GHB-X, and attempted rape. It wasn’t murder, but it would get him off the streets for a good long while.

  Josh had been officially charged with two counts of attempted homicide, and the Taste Society had pulled some serious strings to keep Dana’s and my names out of public records. I suspected they used the truth of the car accident as leverage to ensure Josh’s silence about the Taste Society, since there was no mention of Henry in the news.

  And I had officially become a Shade. My advance pay had come through the day before, and I’d sent it straight on to Platypus Lending to pay off my overdue payments in full.

  I still hadn’t slept with Connor.

  Etta and I were sitting on the couch watching a sappy romance and polishing off a tub of cookies ’n’ cream ice cream, when we heard someone knock on the door. Etta bustled over and looked through the peephole. Before turning the handle, she smoothed out her bun and pinched her cheeks.

  I smirked. Must be Connor if she’s trying that hard to impress.

  Mr. Black filled the doorway.

  I pulled myself upright, grabbed one crutch to lean on, and used my other hand to check my pocket for my Taser.

  Etta beamed. “Why, hello. You must be Mr. Black. Izzy’s told me all about you.”

  I felt bad. Maybe I should have told her all about him. Then she might know how much danger she was in right now.

  I shuffled my way across the room to them, the reassuring weight of the Taser bumping against my leg.

  Mr. Black raised a giant hand to scratch his giant face. “Has she? Good things I hope.”

  “Oh, yes,” said Etta. “Very good things.”

  Mr. Black and I both blushed.

  “Well, er… I’ve come to return the Corvette.” He held out the keys and met my eyes. “Thanks for letting me borrow her for a while.”

  “No problem.”

  “I’ve given her a wash for you, and I changed the oil too since it was looking a little darker than I’d like.”

  “Wow. Thank you.”

  “Would you like to come in for a cup of tea?” Etta asked him.

  “Oh, I’d love to, but I better keep moving.”

  I let out the breath I was holding.

  Etta’s face fell. “Well, that’s a shame. Let me walk you out, seeing as Izzy can’t with her busted leg and all.”

  I said thank you and goodbye again and watched them head outside. I wouldn’t have let Etta go, except somehow I was more worried for Mr. Black than I was for her.

  My heart was still bumping along faster than it should be, so I limped over and put the kettle on. There’s something calming about the routine of making tea.

  When it was ready, I decided to take the steaming mug outside and enjoy it on the “balcony.” Something I hadn’t done since I’d been shot. Using a single crutch to support me, I dragged a dining chair out there and sat down next to my dead cactus.

  For the first time in weeks, I didn’t have to worry about anyone coming for me. Albert and Josh were in jail. My overdue payments were settled. My Corvette sat shiny and waiting for me on the street. And my new salary meant I could pay off the rest of the loan in about two years. Maybe two and a half if I supported my coffee addiction and flew home to visit my family once in a while. I sipped my tea slowly and basked in the California sunshine.

  Twenty minutes later, the door to 3A opened and Mr. Black and Etta came out. His hair was wet and his shirt now buttoned askew. My jaw dropped. I almost dropped the empty mug I was holding too.

  I watched Etta escort Mr. Black to the bottom of the stairs and wave goodbye. When she came back up, I pounced on her. Metaphorically speaking.

  “Did I just see Mr. Black leave your apartment?”

  “Yes.”

  “With wet hair?”

  “Yes.”

  “But he said it was their ten-year anniversary recently. He has a daughter with a Disney princess watch. He’s supposed to be happily married!”

  “I’m sure he is, dear.”

  I gaped at her.

  “Oh, don’t look at me like that. Nothing happened. He was walking away from our building when Mr. Winkle dumped a bucket of water on his head. Turns out Mr. Winkle was cleaning his fish tanks, but his drain was playing up, so he thought he’d toss it outside. I saw what happened and invited Mr. Black to shower and dry his clothes before heading home. No one wants to smell like fish water, you know. That’s it. That’s all that happened.”

  I stared, using every bit of the talent I’d inherited to try to read her. A full minute passed before I resigned myself to it. I, super-detective-extraordinaire, had no idea whether she was telling the truth.

  Want to know the jaw-dropping secret Connor’s been hiding from Izzy since day one? Read this BONUS scene in his perspective and find out!

  Grab your FREE copy at:

  CHELSEAFIELDAUTHOR.COM/UNMASKED

  I hope you enjoyed EAT, PRAY, DIE. That way, I can rub it in my brother’s smug face since he scoffed at me when I first started writing at the tender age of sixteen. If you want to help me get my comeuppance, take a minute to leave me a review, tell a friend, or tell lots of friends on social media. That’ll show him.

  It will also help others find my book, which will help me sell more than three copies (to my nice, supportive family members), which will help me write more books. So if you hated it, you probably shouldn’t do any of the above.

  The next book in the series, THE HUNGER PAINS, is now available for pre-order. While you wait, find out the jaw-dropping secret Connor’s been hiding from Izzy since day one in CONNOR UNMASKED, the exclusive bonus scene written from Connor’s perspective! It’s free, and guaranteed to shock and d
elight*.

  Grab your FREE copy at:

  CHELSEAFIELDAUTHOR.COM/UNMASKED

  *If it doesn’t shock and delight you, I’ll fall off my chair because it really is so fun and scandalous, but I’ll give you your $0.00 back and my personal apology. I might not tell my brother, though, if it’s all the same to you.

  Acknowledgments

  Thanks goes to my number one fan, Rebecca, for cheering me on and stopping me from getting distract—SQUIRREL! What was I saying? Oh yeah, thank you to Tess and Morgan for your expertise in medicine and genetics, respectively, and to all of my beta readers: Tess, Katie, James, Rebecca, Sally, Mumsy, Naomi, Darren, John, Rosie, Melanie Cellier (author of The Princess Companion), Augusta (author of A Dead End under the pen name Keeley Bates), and Alex Brantham (author of One Equal Temper). Your feedback has been invaluable. Unless everyone hates this book, in which case, next time tell me the damn truth!

  To my amazing developmental editor, Angela Brown, thank you for forcing me to add in a billion details (I counted). Because everyone wants to know what they ate for breakfast—since there’s not enough of that sort of thing on social media. A huge thank you also to my line-editor, Julie from Free Range Editorial, who combed through the whole book twice and still pretended to find it funny, my proofreaders, Donna Rich and Leo Bricker, and my final pass editor Crystalle from Victory Editing. Anyone who finds a typo after all of that deserves a medal and a career change. Email me at chelseafieldauthor@gmail.com and I’ll see what I can do about the medal part.

  Finally, thanks to my superhero husband (seriously, he wears his undies on the outside sometimes). And to God, for teaching me You have a sense of humor from an early age—like the day I was trying to impress a boy and borrowed my sister’s T-shirt that read BRAIN DEAD; STILL KICKING, then busted my ankle falling down the stairs so I couldn’t kick anymore. And for blessing my socks off. I assume that’s why they keep disappearing anyway.