Excerpt of Killer Carat Cream by Patrice Lyle

CHAPTER ONE
A Chocolate-Covered Funeral Parlor "I'm wearin' a red thong and a leopard print brassiere. I'm a size two, a 30 B, and I'm hotter than a parked car in the Sahara desert." I spun around from the conference table where I was busy stuffing pink tissue paper into a gazillion silver gift bags. "Who are you talking to?" I shot a curious look at my ninety-one-year-old auntie who had just returned from taking her third break in the last half hour. We'd checked into the Annabelle Island Inn earlier in the day to prepare for tonight's Carat Cream launch party. My auntie was usually the first one to roll up her curlers to help me out with whatever I needed, so her frequent departures were odd. When Aunt Alfa repeated her intimate personal details to the caller, a pang of unease hit me. "Who is that?" I asked. Aunt Alfa shushed me with her hand and sat in an overstuffed chair in the corner. "Look here, Carl," she said, clutching her new smartphone covered in an Elvis Lives case. "You're not going to hook up with anyone more sizzling than me, I promise. So pay up." Pay up? She told me she'd cancelled her account on Wanna Get in My Granny Panties. I lifted my hands. "What's going on? You promised me you were done with that dating website for seniors." She shifted in the chair, and all I saw were the teal foam rollers that decorated the back of her head. What was she up to? I wanted my auntie to enjoy her golden years, but ever since her debut on Granny Panties, she'd acted crazier than a teenage girl. Late night phone calls, secret video chat sessions, a walker stalker—who'd strolled past our house with a walker—and several overnight Fed Ex charges for her breakup letters had me scarfing more dark chocolate almond clusters than usual. When Aunt Alfa started whispering into the phone, I picked up a dark chocolate-covered cashew from a dish I'd filled for tonight's guests. Mmm. Delish. I edged closer to my auntie and was about to interrupt her call again when a snotty voice from behind startled me. "This place looks like a chocolate-covered funeral parlor!" Aaaccchhhooo. "Heavens, who ordered all these freaking flowers?" Followed by another loud aaaccchhooo. I turned to see a thirty-something woman wearing a beige mink cape barge into the conference room. Her burgundy hair was wrapped in a bulging French twist that reminded me of a Chipotle burrito, and she clutched a cup marked sugar-free skinny vanilla latte. "What's with all the flowers and chocolate?" She took a dainty sip of her latte and added another layer of red lipstick to the rim. "Talk about overkill." "If you ask me, a girl can't have too many flowers or too much chocolate." I glanced around the conference room, happy with what I saw. Ten floral arrangements (eight from my boyfriend and two from Sparkle O, maker of Carat Cream) filled the space, and six enormous gift baskets (three from my boyfriend, two from me, and one from the Annabelle Island Inn) overflowed with chocolate delights for every appetite. Dark, milk, white, mint, caramel, to name a few. Looked like heaven to me. "Most of the flowers are from my boyfriend." I loved to brag about Tattoo Tex. An image of the six- foot-plus Dallas-based tattoo artist with maple-syrup- colored hair and a chest-as-hard-as-a-wedge-of- Parmesan popped into my mind. Tattoo Tex's luscious looks could seriously make me melt faster than a pan of dark chocolate chips on the stove. The slight flaring of the woman's nostrils told me she wasn't impressed. "Is this where the Carat Cream event's being held?" An arrogant tone edged the woman's voice. "Yes," I said. "And you are?" "Dr. Jasmine, but you can call me Dr. J." "You're that famous doctor from CSN, Couch Shopping Network." Aunt Alfa ended her secret phone call and jumped up from the chair. "I always thought your station name was cheesy, but you guys really know how to sell snake oil." I cringed. My plan was to impress Dr. J, so she'd want to sell Carat Cream on air, which could lead to mega publicity. But that probably wouldn't happen with my aunt around. "Aunt Alfa," I said. "Wasn't there something you needed from the front desk?" My auntie scrunched her face, accentuating her teal eye makeup that matched her teal velour pantsuit. "Like what?" Darn. What errand could I send her on? "Um, didn't you want to follow up with the coffee shop about adding nondairy milk options?" "Why? We're on an island, Pipe. Where're they going to get cashew milk?" My auntie never could take a hint. I walked around the long table and offered our guest my hand. "Hi, I'm Dr. Piper Meadows, host of tonight's event, and this is my great-aunt, Alfa. Lovely to meet you." "It's always nice to meet a fellow physician. I'm a dermatologist." Dr. J took another sip of her skinny latte. "What kind of medicine do you practice?" "Naturopathic medicine." My white capri pants and hot pink sparkly T-shirt didn't make me look very doctor-like but decorating for an event didn't require my rhinestone-studded stethoscope. Though it totally would have looked cute. "A naturopathic doctor?" Dr. J patted her burrito-like French twist and stared at me like I might be contagious with some hideous airborne virus. "I didn't think quacks were allowed to call themselves doctors?" Before Aunt Alfa could react, I set my hand on her arm. But it was too late. Her arm was flexed, and her little legs had bowed into a geriatric ninja pose. Holy cocoa beans. I'd never get on CSN if Aunt Alfa karate- chopped Dr. J.