Murder By Muffin, page 12
part #3 of Whispering Bay Mystery Series
In other words, it’s a typical Florida beach bar.
The way Will described it, I was expecting some rat-infested shanty full of bikers sporting swastika tattoos with knives between their teeth.
A server holding a tray of dirty glasses asks me if I need a table. She looks down at Paco and frowns. “Is that a service dog?”
“No, but he’s really well trained,” I say hopefully.
Paco wags his tail and looks up at her with those big brown eyes of his, causing her to do a complete one-eighty. “Isn’t he the cutest!” I swear, it’s like he’s hypnotized her or something. “He’s probably okay. But if Dave asks you to take him out, then he’ll have to go.”
“Dave?”
She points to the bar. “That’s the owner over there.”
I follow her line of vision to see Will talking to a middle-aged bald guy standing behind the bar.
“That’s my friend Will. I was just coming inside to get him. We won’t be long.”
“You’re a friend of Will’s?” She gives me a long look. “Are you his girlfriend?”
“No, we’re just—wait, you know Will?”
“Sure. He’s a regular. When he first started coming here, he could barely hold a stick without smacking someone in the head. Now he can run a rack better than most guys who’ve played all their lives.”
Run a rack?
“I’m sorry, are we talking about the same person? The dark-haired guy with the glasses standing at the bar?”
“Yeah, he’s been coming here every Wednesday night for the past … oh, I don’t know, six months or so.” Her face screws up. “Uh-oh, you’re not his wife, are you? Did I just get Will in big trouble?”
“No trouble. Um, thanks … ”
“Colleen,” she supplies.
Will still hasn’t noticed me, he’s so engrossed in his conversation with this Dave guy. I take the opportunity to ask a few more questions. “Will’s pretty good at pool, huh?”
“He won a tournament last month. Real nice guy, too. Great tipper.”
This is all so bizarre, I don’t know what to make of it.
“So the two of you don’t need a table?” she asks.
“No,” I say, still in a bit of a daze. “We just came by to bring Dave an envelope from a couple of guys who apparently did some damage the other night.”
Her mouth puckers in distaste. “Alan and Pete.”
“You were here when it happened?”
“Unfortunately. They friends of yours?”
“Not exactly. They were camera guys working on a TV cooking show that I was involved with.”
“Battle of the Beach Eats. Yeah, Alan bragged on that hard. What a creep. He not only got drunk and broke a mirror, but he couldn’t keep his hands to himself either, if you know what I mean.”
“Yuck.”
“Tell me about it. He kept hitting on me even though I told him to cut it out. After he and the other guy, Pete, broke the mirror, Dave called them a cab and told them never to come back again. And good riddance. The Florida State football game was just starting on the big screen, and the customers couldn’t hear it because they were making too much of a racket.”
Will spots me talking to Colleen. From the look on his face, he doesn’t seem happy. He immediately makes his way to us. “I thought you were going to stay in the car,” he says. He shoots Colleen a nervous glance. “Hey, Colleen.”
“Good to see you on a Tuesday, Will.”
“Uh, yeah.” He takes me by the elbow. “See you later,” he calls to her.
Before I can say boo, he has me out the door.
“How come I didn’t know you were some kind of pool shark?”
“Is that what Colleen told you?”
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.
Chapter Sixteen
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.”
Chapter Seventeen
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 doughnuts. 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 know his family, so I’ve taken the liberty of inviting Jim Fontaine to dinner this coming Sunday,” she announces.
