by Maria Geraci
Through the large glass pane I see a Whispering Bay police cruiser parked in front and Travis Fontaine standing outside. He’s wearing his uniform, and he’s alone.
I unlock the door and swing it wide to face him. “This is twice in one day, Donut Boy. Maybe you can’t read, but we’re closed.”
If he’s offended by my hostility, he doesn’t show it. He looks at Paco and frowns. “What’s the dog doing here? I thought he was at the animal shelter.”
“He ran away.”
“And you found him?”
“More like he found me.”
He looks at my bare feet, then his gaze slowly sweeps up to take in my jeans and T-shirt. I’m sure my hair has flour in it because I’m a little messy that way when I’m baking but it’s better than a dead lizard.
I feel antsy under his perusal. “What are you doing here?”
“Your lights were on, and since I was planning on coming to talk to you first thing in the morning, I figured now was as good a time as any.” He shrugs, and for the first time, he seems uncertain. Or maybe he realizes how late it is and he’s embarrassed.
I usher him into the café. He glances at my empty coffee pot longingly, so I take pity on him and start up a fresh brew.
“Late night patrol?”
“Technically, I’m a rookie on this squad, so yeah, I’m catching all the crap hours.”
He doesn’t say anything else until the coffee is ready. I pour him a cup and make one for myself, and we migrate to a table in the front of the restaurant. Paco jumps on Travis’s lap and instead of shooing him off, he playfully scratches him behind his ear while he takes a long appreciate sip of the coffee. “You remembered I take it black.”
“I remember how all my customers like their coffee. If you’re here about Sebastian, I couldn’t get him to tell me what he was doing in the rec center with Abby.”
“That’s too bad. But that’s only one of the reasons I stopped by. We got a call from the Mexico Beach Police Department to be on the lookout for a possible scam artist. Derrick Delgado called them with a complaint about a woman impersonating a member of the law office handling his sister’s will.”
“Really? Who would do that?” I don’t even blink, I’m that good now. Who knew that lying was one of my many talents?
“He described her as mid-twenties with dark curly hair, big brown eyes, and glasses.” He looks at me over the rim of his cup. “You know anyone who might fit that description?”
“Is that all we have to go on? I mean, that could be anyone.”
“Apparently she’s also afraid of squirrels.”
“It’s called scuirophobia, and it affects over two hundred and fifty thousand Americans.”
He stares at me.
“I must have picked that up playing one of those kinky trivia games.”
He continues to stare.
“Not that I have it! No way. I love squirrels. I’d have one as a pet if it didn’t violate a health code or something.”
“Mr. Delgado was also quite impressed by the way she was able to, as he put it, fill out a pair of jeans.”
I almost choke on my coffee. “Yuck! He must be at least seventy years old!”
“Miss McGuffin, are you seriously going to tell me it wasn’t you?”
There’s no way I can fudge around this, so I confess. “Okay, it was me. And…call me Lucy.” Which is only fair since this morning he asked me to call him by his first name. Plus, Miss McGuffin sounds ridiculous.
“What were you thinking?”
“I thought that I’d offer my condolences.”
“So why lie to him and tell him you were from a law firm?”
“That was an accident.”
“I bet.”
“No, really, he just assumed that I was from the firm.”
“And you didn’t clear it up.” It’s a statement, but he wants to know the reason behind my actions.
The oven timer goes off. Talk about being saved by the bell.
“Hold on.” I run back to the kitchen to pull the muffins out of the oven. When I turn around, Travis is standing in the doorway, which is a little offsetting. This kitchen is my private place, at least, at night it is. Even though it’s a good sized room, he makes it seem small. And warm. Must be the heat from the oven.
“Do you always bake this late at night?”
“It’s a new recipe I’m trying out for Muffin Wars.”
He raises an amused brow.
“Get your mind out of the gutter. It’s a television baking competition on the Cooking Channel. I sent in an audition tape, and I’m waiting to hear back.”
“Whatever that is, it smells good.”
“Too bad you don’t like muffins, or I’d let you try one.”
He leans back against the counter and watches as I putter around the kitchen. Paco raises his nose in the air and sniffs appreciatively.
“You,” I say to Paco, “Can have whatever you want.” He pants in anticipation.
“Weird. It’s like he can understand you,” Travis says.
Exactly. I mentally debate whether or not to tell him about the dog. Travis is a cop, and for whatever reason, Zeke seems to think highly of him. Maybe if I share everything I know he’ll lay off Sebastian.
“Lanie Miller came to see me. The dog’s real name is Cornelius.” I tell him all about Paco’s famous persona and how I think Phoebe Van Cleave is somehow involved too.
“A canine ghost whisperer?” he says incredulously.
“Susan Van Dyke might have willed the dog to Abby after her death. But it doesn’t explain why Abby told me the dog’s name was Paco. Or why she told me he belonged to her brother.” Or why the brother lied to me about it. But I can’t tell him this last part without revealing my gift.
“Maybe Abby changed the dog’s name. A lot of people do that. As for the lie about the brother owning the dog, I have no clue. Unless…”
“Unless the dog wasn’t willed to her and maybe she stole him?” I finish.
“Could be.”
“I’m taking the dog back to the family tomorrow. I guess I’ll find out the truth then.”
He glances at the muffins. “Is that coconut?”
“Mango coconut. But I haven’t worked out all the kinks in the recipe yet.”
I touch the top of a muffin, and it doesn’t feel so hot anymore. Gingerly, I ease one out of the tin then cut it in half, let it cool off a bit, and offer it to Paco, who wolfs it down in two gulps.
“Looks like Cornelius approves.”
“He’s Paco,” I automatically correct him. “At least while he’s here with me. Cornelius is such a stuffy sounding name.”
Travis stares at the other half of the muffin.
Nope. Don’t even think about it. Officer Fontaine sealed his culinary fate when he decreed himself a donut man.
“Any word on the autopsy report yet?” I ask.
“Not yet.”
“But Abby died when she hit her head, right? Do you think someone knocked her down?”
“I can’t discuss that with you.”
“Look, you seriously don’t think my brother had anything to do with her death. He’s a priest, for God’s sake.”
“Your brother is hindering a police investigation by refusing to tell us what he and Abby were doing in the rec center in the middle of the night. There’s also the matter of the unlocked door. Technically they’re both guilty of trespassing.”
“Well, gee, Abby’s dead, so I guess that just leaves Sebastian to arrest. What? Are you trying to fill a quota or something?”
His jaw tightens. I can’t help but feel a teeny bit sorry for him. He’s basically stuck between a rock and a hard place. I begrudgingly hand him the other half of the muffin. “Try this. It’ll make you feel better.”
He eats it almost as fast as Paco did.
“This is really good.”
“Did you think it wouldn’t be?”
“No, I mean, it’s really good.”
“Thanks.” He takes it and says casually, “I told you, call me Travis.”
Travis. It’s a name for a lumberjack. Or an old-time western sheriff. It totally fits him.
“Did you ask Abby’s brother where he was at the time of her death?”
He narrows his eyes.
Rats. I’ve just unwittingly reminded him about my nefarious visit to Derrick Delgado. “As a matter of fact, I did. He was playing cards with friends.”
“And you checked up on that?”
“I have two people who swear Derrick was with them from midnight till two in the morning. Even if the time of death is off by an hour, it’s impossible to make it from Mexico Beach that quickly. It’s just too much of a stretch.”
That all sounds logical enough.
Except I can’t get the niggling feeling that of all people, Derrick had the most to gain by Abby’s death. “I’d like to know why he’s so anxious to get her will resolved.”
“He’s her next of kin. No husband. No kids.”
“That’s what I figured. If Abby has any money, I’m sure Derrick will be appreciative. He looks like he’s pretty much living month to month.”
Travis doesn’t blink. Or say a word.
Which…tells me everything.
Holy wow. His face is an open book. Only, I’m pretty sure he hasn’t moved a muscle. It’s like I just know what he’s thinking. A surge of excitement rushes through me. I’ve never been able to read anyone this easily.
“Abby was loaded, wasn’t she?”
He frowns. “How did you know that?”
“Lucky guess?”
He shakes his head as if to clear it. “I should be getting back on patrol. Thanks for the coffee and the muffin.”
“Right.”
I follow him out of the kitchen and back through The Bistro. He stops at the front door and turns to look at me. Boy, he’s tall. His green eyes still radiate snark, but there’s something else there too. Something that makes me feel even warmer than when we were in the kitchen.
“Even though it was a bust, thanks for talking to Sebastian. But no more pretending to be someone else. Got it?”
“Got it.” I mentally cross my fingers, because how on earth can I make a promise like that?
“And if you don’t mind, can you let me know what happens tomorrow with the dog? I’d really like to know if Abby had a legit claim to him.”
I bat my lashes at him. “Anything else I can do for you?”
Yikes, that sounded kind of flirty too. What’s wrong with me? Maybe Will is right. Maybe I have been inhaling too much batter fume.
“As a matter of fact, there is something you can do,” he says. “Make sure to lock your door.”
“Sure, but you know, that’s not really necessary. Whispering Bay is the safest city in America.”
We both look at each other for a second, and in that tiny iota of time, I’m struck with the eerie realization that neither of us really believe that.
Chapter Twelve
After the morning rush slows down, I call the number Lanie gave me for Susan Van Dyke’s lawyer. He isn’t available, so I give the receptionist my name and information and ask that he call me back as soon as possible. I have to admit, a part of me is relieved because I’m just not ready to give Paco up.
I don’t think he’s ready to give me up either. The little minx seems perfectly content in his new surroundings. Last night he slept in my bed again (I should probably nix that). He happily trots up and down the stairs between my apartment and The Bistro (the customers think he’s adorable), and right now, he’s napping on my living room couch like he doesn’t have a care in the world.
Because I stayed up late baking and then had to take Benadryl to keep from itching, I feel like I’m dragging. Combined with the tension of the last few days, I think some exercise is in order. I decide to go to the new rec center and check out the classes.
It’s the first time I’ve been in the building since the opening day celebration. After Abby’s body was found the indoor facilities were sealed off for the rest of the day and the tours were rescheduled for Sunday with the center going operational on Monday. Today is Tuesday, and the place is packed.
I check in at the front desk and peruse the schedule. I’m an hour too late for Zumba and two hours too early for Brittany’s Pilates class (not in the least bit sorry about that), but there’s a yoga class for active and mature adults taught by Viola that starts in two minutes. It probably won’t be much of a challenge, but it’s better than nothing.
I sneak in through the back door to the room and grab a mat. The rest of the class is made up of the usual suspects—Betty Jean and Gus, Phoebe’s brother Roger who co-owns the local paper and some more of the Gray Flamingos. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Jim Fontaine talking to Gus. I’m glad Jim is making friends.
Everyone looks at me curiously as if I’m in the wrong class. I’ll have to tone it down some so that I don’t stand out.
Viola waves to me from the front of the room. “Lucy! We’re so happy to have you join us this afternoon.”
“Thanks! Happy to be here!”
Viola proceeds to lead a dozen senior citizens and me through an hour of deep breathing, stretching and yoga-ass-kicking positions.
Even though I’m about four decades younger than the average student, I’m the only one who’s wheezing at the end of class.
Viola drapes a towel around her neck. Her skin is glowing with vibrant health. I, on the other hand, am sweating. Not perspiring, but drip-all-the-way-to-the-floor sweating like a construction worker in August.
It’s embarrassing. Who knew that active and mature are really senior citizen code words for really in shape?
“How did you like the class?” Viola asks.
“It was great,” I pant before taking a big swig of my bottled water.
“You’re welcome to come back anytime,” she says with a smile before going around to make small talk with the rest of the students.
Betty Jean slaps me on the back. “Look who’s having a hard time keeping up with the old folks. Ha-Ha!”
I make a mental note to step up my cardio routine.
“Say, now that you’re hanging out with the Geritol crowd, you should join our book club.”
“Oh, well, um…”
“This month we’re reading J.W. Quicksilver’s newest thriller. Four people are assassinated in the opening scene. It’s awesome.”
“J. W. Quicksilver? I’ve never heard of her. Or is it a him?”
“It’s a him, but that’s definitely a pen name. He probably has one of those big top-secret state department jobs because he sure does seem to know a lot of hush hush stuff. And those sex scenes. Whew!” Betty Jean fans herself with her hand. “If he’s done even half the stuff he writes about in his books, Mrs. Quicksilver is one lu-cky lady.”
“Mmm… I’ll think about it.”
A really buff guy wearing a black T-shirt walks through the hallway and is immediately picked up by Betty Jean’s radar. “There goes one of those yummy personal trainers! I need some help with the elliptical machine if you know what I mean. See you later, Lucy. And if you’re interested in the book club, we’re meeting next Thursday at my house. But don’t drag your feet. You need to let me know ASAP because technically, there’s a waiting list. But if you promise to bring muffins, I’ll shoot your name up to the top.” She sprints across the room to catch up to the trainer.
I stuff my water bottle back inside my workout bag and turn to leave when Jim comes over to say hi. “Good class, huh?”
“I’ll be honest, I didn’t think it would be this challenging.”
His gaze lingers on Viola, who’s sti
ll talking to a few of the ladies. “She really knows her stuff.” The way Jim looks at her makes me nervous for him. I hope he realizes that Viola and Gus are an item. “Want to get a smoothie?” he asks. “My treat.”
“Sounds good. Thanks.”
The fresh juice bar is located near the back of the rec center and has an outdoor patio facing the water. Jim hands me my pineapple mango vitamin enhanced smoothie, and we sit at the lone empty table.
“How are you liking retirement?” I ask.
“More than I thought I would. There’s always something that needs doing. And this new center is great. I signed up for a pottery class that Viola recommended.”
I glance back toward the building, and my whole body involuntarily shivers.
He notices my reaction. “Are you all right?”
I don’t have to ask what he means by that. “Will, that’s my best friend, thinks I have PTSD.”
“In my experience as a homicide detective, I’ve seen a lot of people go through a myriad of emotions when they encounter a dead person.”
I tell Jim all about Abby’s connection with Sebastian, the bit about Phoebe and Abby vying for control of the Sunshine Ghost Society, Paco, my visit to Derrick Delgado, everything. He’s so easy to talk to it all just spills out. Every now and then he nods his head encouraging me to continue. I can see why he was such a good detective. He’s the kind of person other people want to tell things.
“So what do you think?” I ask.
“I’m not a psychologist, but I don’t think you have PTSD.”
“Neither do I.” We both smile. “Can I ask how you’d solve this case?”
“Well, like my son, I’d like to know what Abby was doing inside this building late at night. And I’d like to know who she wanted an exorcism performed on and why she lied about the dog. But unless Father Sebastian opens up…” His brow puckers in concern. “I’ll be honest, Lucy, once that autopsy report comes back, I wouldn’t be surprised if your brother is brought down to police headquarters for questioning.”
“But he didn’t do anything wrong!”
“Then he doesn’t have anything to worry about.”
“That’s what he says, but you and I both know that if Abby told him anything in confidence, he won’t reveal it.”