by Maria Geraci
I’m about to respond when out of the corner of my eye I notice a police car blocking the alley where I—Rats. A female in uniform is hunched over, scribbling on a pad.
“So sorry! I was just—”
The police officer turns around at the sound of my voice. It’s Grace Cullen. I’m not sure if this is a good thing or a bad thing.
“Lucy,” she says, showing no surprise at seeing me. “Did you realize you’d parked your car in an illegal zone?”
Okay, so it’s a bad thing. It’s clear that she’s already run my plates because from the smug look on her face, she knew darn well who she was ticketing. You’d think she’d cut me some slack since we share a mutual friend in Travis.
“I was only in the bar for a minute,” I say in my defense.
Grace checks Will out. “Friend of yours?”
I introduce them to one another, then she tears a sheet off her ticket pad and hands it to me. “Wish I didn’t have to do this, but rules are rules.”
Liar. Giving me this ticket has just made Grace’s day.
“Sorry. It won’t happen again.”
She nods toward the building. “What were you doing at The Draft House? Playing pool?”
“Dropping off something for the owner,” Will says.
Paco snarls at Grace, startling her. “That’s weird. Dogs usually love me.”
“He’s special,” I say sweetly, patting Paco on the head. Good boy.
“Sorry again about the ticket,” she says, getting back in her squad car, “but you’ll know better next time, right?”
“Right.” I grit my teeth and watch as she takes off.
“Sorry about the ticket,” says Will, “but I told you I’d just be a minute. You should have kept circling the parking lot.”
“Paco had to pee. Besides, now that I know you’re New York Fats—”
Will laughs. “New York Fats?”
“Yeah, you know? The famous pool player?”
“You mean Minnesota Fats?”
“Whatever. Interesting how well they know you in there, huh?”
He shrugs uncomfortably. “I went in there on a lark. Who knew pool was such a good form of stress relief?”
I freeze.
The hairs on the back of my neck tickle. Just a bit. But enough to make me think Will has just lied to me. Which makes no sense. Why would Will lie to me about his reasons for visiting The Draft House?
I must be wrong about this. I don’t ever remember this happening before, but the only explanation I can come up with is that my Spidey sense is having an off day.
16
Two hours, two muffins (apiece) and too much coffee later, Will and I have gone through all the notes multiple times. Paco lies on the floor next to the couch in my living room, watching us intently. It’s times like this I wish he could talk because I have a feeling he has his own theory to add to this case, and I’d very much like to know what that is.
“So basically, all the contestants on the show had a reason to dislike Tara,” says Will.
“Yep.”
“Which means we’re really no better off now than before you stole these papers from her.”
“Steal is such an ugly word. Besides, how can you say that? Of course we’re better off than before.”
“How? Just because Tara planned to show every single restaurant in a bad light doesn’t give someone motive to murder her. Look at you. She kicked you off the show, but that doesn’t mean you’d kill her over it.”
Will is right. Even though these notes show that everyone had a potential beef with Tara, there’s still only one person who had something to gain from her death, as well as the opportunity to do the deed.
“Which brings us back to Gilly,” I say.
“Speaking of Gilly, what’s she going to do when she finds out those papers have been torn from her notebook?”
“Who says she’s going to find out? The notes are worthless since the show isn’t going to film here. She’s on to bigger and better things. Like Tara’s old job.”
“I still can’t believe you read her emails.”
“Her laptop was open. What was I supposed to do, close my eyes? Besides, it’s the proof we need that Gilly had the best motive for getting rid of Tara. Now we just need to get her to admit everything she knows.”
“I say we call Fontaine and hand these notes over to him. Tell him about Gilly’s promotion and let the cops figure it out. You promised, remember?”
“What if Travis asks me how I got the notes?”
“I thought you said it wasn’t breaking and entering if the cleaning lady let you in.”
“Technically, it’s not breaking in, but he’s still not going to be happy that I’m sticking my nose in police business, as he puts it. Like I don’t have some huge stake in all this,” I grumble. “I’m supposed to sit back and let big, strong Travis take care of everything? No, thanks.”
Will goes quiet. The way he’s suddenly looking at me makes me frown.
“What?”
“Lucy, why did Fontaine tell your parents that the two of you were dating?”
“I told you. He made all that up so my mom wouldn’t nag me about the Young Catholic Singles group.”
“And that’s the only reason?”
Now it’s me who goes quiet. I can’t lie to Will. Not about this.
“Travis did ask me out. I think I told you about that, but … well, he also kissed me.”
“He did, huh?” There’s an edge of something there I’ve never heard before. Jealousy? Or big brother-like concern? There’s only one way to find out.
“Will—”
My phone buzzes.
No!
Will puts his hand over the screen. “Ignore it. Now what were you going to say?”
The buzzing continues. I glance down at my phone, but I can’t see who’s calling since Will is covering up my screen. He sees the exasperation on my face and reluctantly removes his hand to check out the number.
“Speak of the devil,” he mutters. “It’s Fontaine.”
“Should I take it?”
“Hell no.”
A pounding knock from downstairs makes me jump. Uh-oh. I’d know that knock anywhere. It’s Travis. It must be important if he’s calling and knocking at the same time.
“I have to get that.”
“I’m going with you.”
Paco gets ahead of us on the stairs, his tail wagging happily. I answer the door to find exactly what I expected. An irate-looking Officer Travis Fontaine.
“To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”
Travis doesn’t bother to wait to be asked inside. He brushes past me, mumbling a hurried greeting in Will’s direction. Paco barks as if to say, Hey! What about me?
Travis bends down to scratch him behind the ear. Once he’s made the appropriate hellos, he stands to his full height. I have to wonder if he practices making that scowly face. “Did you break into Gilly Franklin’s beach rental and steal a notebook from her?” he demands.
I bat my lashes at him. “Sounds like someone needs a muffin.”
“Well?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Gilly Franklin just filed a complaint against you. She said the rental company called and told her that the cleaning ladies let a woman into the house on the pretext of finding a missing purse. Only Gilly says she never gave anyone permission to come inside the home, and now her room has been vandalized.”
Vandalized! That Gilly sure is a big fat liar. But I already knew that.
“Does this woman have a name?”
“No, but they said the thief was wearing a T-shirt that read YOU AIN’T SEEN MUFFIN YET. They also said she went into the house as a thirty-four B and came out looking like Dolly Parton. Are you going to stand there and tell me it wasn’t you?”
Rats. I really need to expand my wardrobe.
“I am most certainly not a thief. I was looking for a purse I left the other day,” I
lie. “And the cleaning ladies were nice enough to let me in. Last time I looked, that wasn’t a crime.”
“Except Gilly said you never called and told her anything about a missing purse, so obviously that was an excuse to search the place. Speaking of breaking the law, what were you doing at The Draft House in Panama City?”
Whoa. The cleaning ladies aren’t the only ones with big mouths. Grace Cullen probably didn’t even wait to get off her shift before calling Travis to tattletale on me. “What do you care if I go to a bar?”
“I don’t. But if it has anything to do with Tara’s death, then—”
“I took Lucy to The Draft House,” says Will. “We were just there a few minutes, and I can promise you it had nothing do with Tara.”
Will and Travis stare each other down. The air is so thick with testosterone that I can practically choke on it.
“If you calm down a minute, I can explain all about the beach house,” I say.
Travis turns his attention back to me. “I’m waiting.”
“First off, I most certainly did not vandalize anything. You should have seen the condition those camera guys left their rooms! You’d think they were in a frat house or something. Since I had permission to enter the house from the cleaning crew, the only thing I’m guilty of is borrowing a few notes that no one needs anymore. So go ahead, lock me up. The ACLU will have a field day with you.”
Travis closes his eyes like he’s resetting. “I don’t know whether to laugh at that or take you up on it and toss your butt in jail. If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times, leave the police work to the professionals. I thought you were going to trust me to handle this.”
I sigh. “Does that mean you don’t want to see the notes I took?”
His green eyes narrow. “Of course I want to see them.”
“First, say pretty please.”
“Don’t push your luck.”
I reluctantly hand him the notes, but it’s all an act because I know once he reads this, he’ll know I’m on the right track and maybe, just maybe he’ll let me help him solve this case. “You can thank me now for doing your job.”
Travis takes about three minutes to peruse the notes. “This is what you risked going to jail for? It’s nothing but a bunch of script prompts.”
“If you read them carefully, you’ll see that almost all the contestants had a reason to highly dislike Tara.”
He tucks the papers under his arm. “I’ll be returning these to Gilly. Along with your apology. Hopefully, that will be enough to satisfy her.”
“Apology? What am I sorry for exactly? I’ve practically solved the case for you!”
“I’ll show these notes to the chief before I hand them back to their rightful owner, but as for solving the case, just because someone had a legitimate reason to dislike Tara doesn’t mean they killed her. You have to have motive and opportunity as well.”
“But—”
“No more breaking into houses. Got it?” Before I can respond, Travis stomps off toward the door. “I’ll be in touch,” he says, nodding curtly on his way out.
“Well, that’s that,” says Will.
I spin around to face him. “You don’t think I’m giving up that easily, do you?”
“Lucy,” he warns, “there’s not anything else we can do. Travis is right. Without motive and opportunity, it’s just a bunch of people who don’t like Tara.”
“You’re forgetting I can find out motive and opportunity.”
“How do you figure?”
“I say we pull an Agatha Christie and gather all the suspects in one place. I’ll question them, and once I know who’s lying and who’s telling the truth, then we can figure this out.”
“And just how do you propose to gather all these suspects?”
“The killer has to be someone involved with the show so we get Gilly and the rest of the contestants together on some pretext, that’s how.”
“And they’re all just going to show up?”
“I’m going to make them an offer they can’t refuse.”
“And you think Travis is going to go along with this?”
“He isn’t going to know. Unless you tell him.”
Will puts his hands up like he’s surrendering. “I’m not telling anyone anything.”
“Leave everything to me. All you have to do is show up and look scary.”
“Why do I have to be there? In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a librarian. I don’t scare anyone, Lucy.”
“You’re a pool-playing librarian. So you’re a little scarier than you think. Besides, you’re my best friend, and I need the moral support.”
Will groans. “I can’t believe I’m going to go along with another one of your hare-brained schemes.”
17
The next morning, I get up at four to make the muffins. Sarah is here by five, and together we prep for the breakfast crowd. The Bistro by the Beach is officially reopened, and everything is back to normal. Sort of. Because today, besides serving the best muffins in town, I plan to catch a killer.
I sent everyone involved with the show a text last night telling them that I need to see them at exactly 3 p.m. at The Bistro. So far, no one’s texted me back, but I’m pretty confident they’ll all show up. Like I told Will, I made them an offer they’re going to find hard to refuse.
By mid-morning, most of our regular customers have stopped by. Not that I was worried, but I wouldn’t want anyone getting too accustomed to Heidi’s donuts. And it’s not because I’m jealous. Knowing what I know now about Heidi’s Bakery, it’s unselfish concern. My customer’s lives are literally at stake.
Betty Jean Collins orders a large coffee and a bran muffin. “I’m so glad The Bistro is open again. I need to get back to my regular routine. If you know what I mean.”
Unfortunately, I do.
“How’s the quest to get J.W. Quicksilver to your book club?” I ask, mostly because I’m curious but also because I want to steer her away from any discussion that might involve the word fiber.
“I’m wearing him down. Mark my words, I’ll have that man at my book club meeting before the year is out.”
My parents come in a few minutes later. Dad looks agreeably pleasant, like he always does, but Mom has a dangerous kind of twinkle in her eyes that immediately makes me put up my guard. “Now that you have a boyfriend, Lucy, we need to get to know his family, so I’ve taken the liberty of inviting Jim Fontaine to dinner this coming Sunday,” she announces.
“You what?”
“You heard me. Travis’s father will be joining us for dinner on Sunday. I was thinking of making your grandmother’s shrimp Newberg recipe. I hope he’s not allergic to shellfish. He’s not, is he?” She turns to my father. “Does that kind of thing run in families? Considering how much we all love to go shrimping, it would be horrible if our own grandchildren were allergic.”
Talk about putting the cart before the horse.
“Mom, Travis and I aren’t really—”
“What Lucy means is that we’re just in the beginning phase of our relationship,” Travis ends smoothly. My face catches on fire. I was so engrossed by my parents’ conversation, I didn’t notice Travis come into the café.
“Thanks again for inviting Dad to dinner. He’s looking forward to getting to know you all. And for the record,” he adds, winking at Mom, “no one in the family is allergic to shrimp.”
“Good to know!” she says, tittering like a schoolgirl.
Travis orders coffee and a breakfast sandwich to eat here and a lemon poppy seed muffin to take back to the police station for Rusty. “I hope you’re staying out of trouble, Lucy,” he says meaningfully before joining my parents at a table facing the gulf.
The three of them quickly engage in a lively conversation. Every once in a while, Travis throws his head back in laughter. What on earth are they talking about? Knowing Mom, she’s regaling him with stories about my childhood that will only be cute to her but horrible to everyone e
lse forced to listen.
How did I ever get myself in this mess?
By lying about being in Young Catholic Singles, that’s how.
I make myself a promise. After I help solve Tara’s murder, I’m never going to lie again.
By one, the lunch crowd has thinned out. I’m hoping things don’t pick up because this is definitely one of those days I’d like to close on time. The door opens, and in walks another customer. It’s Darren Winters. It’s the first time I’ve seen him without Brittany glued to his side.
“Hey, there! Let me guess? You want a blueberry muffin?”
“You got me. Only add a cup of coffee and a turkey sandwich along with it? I’m famished. That’s to go, by the way.”
I punch in his order, then hand him his coffee while we wait for Sarah to bag up the rest of his order. “Where’s Brittany?”
“Working on some line items on the budget. I ducked out to get a bite to eat, hoping that she’s too busy to notice I’m gone. She’s relentless. A real workaholic.”
“I imagine you must be anxious to get back to Catfish Cove.”
“You can say that again. Not that my time here hasn’t been productive, but a week is a long time to be away, especially during a crisis. And, no offense, but Whispering Bay is a little too exciting for my taste.”
“You mean Tara Bell’s murder?”
He lowers his voice. “I hear she was doing drugs.”
“Who told you that?”
“Someone at the chamber of commerce? Sorry, I’ve met so many people in the past few days, it’s hard to put names with faces.”
The hair on my neck prickles. I get the feeling that Darren knows exactly where he heard this.
“Let me guess. You heard it from Gilly Franklin.”
He flushes like he’s embarrassed to have been caught both lying and gossiping. “Did I speak out of turn? I guess it must sound pretty mean-spirited. Talking badly about someone who’s dead.”
“No worries. I think almost everyone in town has heard that rumor.”
He takes a sip of his coffee. “You probably overhear a lot of interesting conversations working behind that counter.”
“I’ll say.”