Murder By Muffin, page 7
part #3 of Whispering Bay Mystery Series
“Okay, I trust you.”
“Thank you,” he says solemnly.
I walk Travis to the front door, feeling like a zombie. He asks me to thank my mother again for dinner and makes me promise once more to let him handle everything. All I can do is nod.
Holy wow.
Someone poisoned Tara.
And they used my muffins to do it.
Which means someone in Whispering Bay is trying to frame me for murder.
Chapter Eight
After all the dishes have been cleared, Sebastian and Brittany go home, but Will hangs back. “Walk me out?” he asks.
I kiss my mom and dad goodbye, then Paco and I follow Will to his car.
The second we’re outside, he turns to me. “What was all that about? Are you and Fontaine really dating?”
“No. Absolutely not. He only said that to get Mom off my back. But that’s not important now. Nothing is definite yet, but it looks like Tara might have been poisoned. And … ” I can barely say the next part out loud without shuddering. “The muffins I brought her? The cops had them taken to the lab, on account of I told Gilly that I wish I’d poisoned them, and—”
“You what?”
“It was a joke! Like when a person says ‘I could kill you’ or something. Anyway, pay attention. Travis says the preliminary lab report found traces of cyanide in my muffins. In my muffins, Will! And it looks as if she ate two of them. We have to wait for the autopsy report, but if it comes back that Tara did die of cyanide poisoning, I could be making a visit to Ol’ Sparky.”
The corner of Will’s mouth twitches up. “Ol’ Sparky, huh?”
“Brittany thinks it’s a possibility.”
“FYI, Florida doesn’t use the electric chair anymore. It’s death by lethal injection. But you want to know what I think? I think your mother has it all wrong. It’s the Whispering Bay Police Department that’s on drugs, not Tara. You wouldn’t hurt a fly, much less a person.”
“Well, I might hurt a squirrel.”
He grins. “Squirrels don’t count.”
Will and I lock gazes, and I know we’re thinking of the same memory.
When I was seven, a pack of evil squirrels (three to be exact) nearly ruined my birthday party by swooping down out of the trees and going after my birthday cake. On impulse, I grabbed the cake and ran as the squirrels chased me down. Luckily, Will took action. Just as the squirrels were about to overpower me, he spooked them off, saving both me and my cake from a fate worse than death. I remember it all down to the last detail because not only was that the day I acquired sciurophobia, it’s the day I fell in love with Will.
“Seriously, though,” I say. “Someone has it out for me. Because how else did that cyanide get on my muffins? I certainly didn’t put it there.”
“The lab is as incompetent as the cops. Your muffins were probably contaminated from some other source. Right now, this is all just guesswork. Until they have the autopsy results, they don’t even know the official cause of death, do they?”
I have to admit, I’m beginning to feel better. “No, but Travis is pretty certain it’s a cyanide poisoning. He says he’s seen it once before.”
“Oh, so that makes him an expert, huh? Still, I’m going to agree with Fontaine on one thing. Let the cops handle this. Eventually they’ll get it right. Use this time off to relax. Sleep in. Read a good book. I’ll come over tomorrow after work, and we’ll catch up on our show.”
“On a Monday night?”
“Yeah, on a Monday night.”
This is tempting, all right. Usually on Mondays (our busiest day at The Bistro), I collapse into bed too tired to even get into my PJs.
Will is right. I’m going to let the cops take care of this. I’m sure it’s all some kind of freakish misunderstanding. Once Tara’s autopsy results come back with the real cause of death, we’ll all have a good laugh.
“Okay, sounds good,” I say.
“It’s a date,” Will says, emphasizing the last word meaningfully. “Tomorrow night at six. I’ll bring the pizza.”
It’s Monday morning, and I’m so used to getting up at four that my body automatically wakes up then, but I force myself to stay in bed till six. I get dressed and put on my sneakers to take Paco out for his first morning walk. The restaurant is eerily quiet. Plus there’s that yellow crime tape still around the building, making it all seem ominous (the cops put it right back up after Mom took it down).
After walking Paco and having my morning coffee, I make out a to-do list. It goes like this:
Do NOT think about the fact that Will used the word “date” regarding tonight.
Absolutely do NOT attempt to investigate any aspect of Tara’s death. After all, that’s what the police get paid for.
Look up the word “date” in the dictionary.
Experiment with a new version of my coconut mango muffin recipe.
Scratch number four. You’re supposed to be taking it easy, remember?
Since number five cancels number four, and number one and two are things not to do, that only leaves me the option of number three. I open up my computer and go to the online dictionary. There are three definitions for the word date.
Definition number one refers to a fruit.
“So it’s a brown, oblong edible fruit of a palm,” says Will. “Tomorrow night at six. I’ll bring the pizza.”
That sentence is completely illogical, so Will couldn’t have been referring to the fruit.
The second definition is: the time at which an event occurs or the period of time to which something belongs.
No, that’s not right either.
The third definition is the one that I’m most interested in. Date: a social engagement between two persons that often has a romantic character.
This is the only one of the three that makes sense. I think I have a date with Will tonight. Even though pizza and TV are something we do every Friday night, he’s never once used the word “date” when referencing it. I wish I had more experience with this kind of thing, but I don’t, so I’m going to have to go with my gut instinct.
I’m so nervous, I can’t think straight. I need to blow off some energy. I clean out my closet, reorganize The Bistro pantry and try hard not to think of either Will or what’s going on with Tara’s autopsy. You’d think in this day of Netflix and Amazon Prime and all the other forms of instant gratification, they’d find a way to get autopsy results back faster.
In between all this, I reread the contract that Sarah and I signed for the show. It’s gratifying to discover that The Bistro can only be kicked off the show pre-filming if we’re notified in writing. And since we weren’t, technically, we’re still part of the competition. That is, if there still is a competition.
Between worrying about Tara’s investigation and what I’m going to wear tonight, I’m a wreck. It’s been a while since I worked out, and an exercise class will be just the trick to take my mind off things. It’s already three. By the time I get back from the class, I’ll have just enough time to shower and get ready for my date with Will.
I give Paco the same instructions I do whenever I leave him alone in my apartment.
“Okay, Paco, I’m heading out now, so you’re in charge. Be a good boy while Mommy is gone.”
He looks at me and yawns as if to say, Of course I’m in charge, and I’m always a good boy.
Walking inside the Whispering Bay rec center still makes me feel a bit odd. I found my first dead body here, but you wouldn’t know that just a few weeks ago it was a crime scene because the place is packed. When I check the class schedule, the only thing available is a yoga class for fit and active adults, which is code for seniors yoga. I took the class once before and I could barely walk afterward, so it’s right up my alley.
Viola Pantini, who’s a regular at The Bistro, is the instructor. “Lucy, you’re back! Pull up a mat,” she says, welcoming me to her class, which is mostly members of the Gray Flamingos.
“Well, well, well, look who’s a glutton for punishment!” crows Betty Jean. “Ready to get humiliated again by a bunch of geriatrics?”
“Why not?” I mutter, setting my mat down in the only empty space in the room, which just so happens to be next to her.
“Have you given any more thought to coming back to my book club?” she asks.
“I hear that you’ve invited my mother to join,” I counter.
“I was hoping that would nudge you back into the fold.”
“I’m not sure why since I was never actually in the fold. You kicked me out before my first meeting. Remember?”
“I’ve already apologized for that. I thought you’d forgotten about the meeting. How was I supposed to know you’d found a dead body and had been sworn to secrecy by the FBI?”
“Tell me the truth. Is it really me you want or my muffins?”
“The two of you are a package deal, right?”
Okay, so it’s my muffins she’s after. I guess I shouldn’t ask the question if I don’t want to know the answer.
“It’s like I told you before, if you can get J.W. Quicksilver to a meeting, then I’ll rejoin your book club. Otherwise … ” I shrug.
“As a matter of fact, I’ve just heard from him,” she says smugly. “He emailed me this morning.”
“So he’s coming here to Whispering Bay? Really? For a book club meeting? Or he is going to Skype it in?”
“We’re still discussing the details,” she dodges, “but I have every confidence I can convince him to come here in person.”
“Great. Let me know when, and me and my muffins will be there.”
Betty Jean doesn’t respond because what can she say to that? Normally, I would never be so obstinate, but it really chaps me that she’s only after me for free muffins.
The rest of the class members all want to know when The Bistro is going to reopen and if I know anything about the investigation into Tara’s death.
“We’re reopening Wednesday, and sorry, but no, I have no idea how Tara ended up dead in my kitchen.”
“It’s probably all the drugs she was on,” says Betty Jean.
“Drugs?” It sounds as if Betty Jean has been talking to my mother. “Where did you hear that?”
“It’s all over town. I overheard two of the cashiers at The Piggly Wiggly. What else could it be? That is, if you didn’t kill her,” she adds, smirking.
“Maybe Paco can help,” says Victor Marino. “I think it’s time for another séance.” Victor is what I like to call a triple threat. He’s a member of the Gray Flamingos, Betty Jean’s book club and the Sunshine Ghost Society. If there was some other club to belong to in town, I’m sure he’d be a member of that too.
“Fabulous idea, Victor!” says Phoebe Van Cleave, current president of the Sunshine Ghost Society. “You know, Lucy, it’s very selfish of you to keep Paco all to yourself.”
“I promised the cops I wasn’t going to investigate Tara’s death.”
“That’s never stopped you before,” says Phoebe.
True. But I want to keep my promise to Travis this time. Plus, there’s another reason I’m not too keen on the séance idea. Phoebe is right. I do want to keep Paco all to myself. The more people who know about his abilities, the more publicity he gets. What if his original owner gets wind of where he is and wants him back? Yes, it’s completely selfish of me, but I don’t want to risk losing him.
After class, I go to grab a smoothie from the juice bar and I run into Jim Fontaine.
“Lucy, I was just thinking about you,” says Travis’s dad. Like Travis, he’s tall with green eyes, only Jim gives off a much friendlier vibe. We find a table near the window facing the gulf. “How are you doing?”
“You mean considering I’ve just found another dead body and this time in my kitchen?”
“Travis filled me in on what’s happening.” His face scrunches up in concern. “Is there anything I can do?”
“Not really. Travis wants me to let the police handle it. And Will thinks, well, he thinks I shouldn’t get too excited until we actually find out how Tara died.”
“Good advice.”
“Except … ” I lower my voice. “You and I both know I could help the police if they’d let me.”
“Have you told Travis yet? About your special skills?”
“Nope.”
“Why not?”
I take a sip of my smoothie while I consider how much to reveal here. Maybe Victor and Phoebe are right. Maybe I should let Paco help out the police. “There’s something I haven’t told you. You know the dog I rescued? Paco?”
Jim nods. “Cute little fellow.”
“He’s a ghost whisperer.”
“A what?”
“He sees ghosts. Or at least I think he does. The Sunshine Ghost Society is certain of it. Susan Van Dyke, the woman who owned him before me, used to hold séances. Apparently through the use of a human medium, Paco can commune with the dead. It’s the reason I’ve been discovering so many dead bodies. Paco leads me to them.”
Jim ponders this a minute. “As strange as this sounds, it totally makes sense.”
“I’m not sure the extent of his skills, but it’s no coincidence that he’s led me to every single dead body in town. I told Travis about it, but he thinks I’m crazy.”
“He said that?”
“Not exactly. He thinks Paco might have been trained as a cadaver dog.”
Jim chuckles. “I’ve never heard of chihuahuas being trained for that.”
“If Travis doesn’t believe that Paco sees ghosts, I doubt he’s going to believe that I’m a human lie detector.”
“If you prove it to him like you proved it to me, then he’ll have to believe you.”
Maybe Travis will believe me. Or maybe not. But one thing is for certain. He’ll definitely think I’m odd. I wish I didn’t care what he thinks, but I do. If only he hadn’t kissed me, my life would be a lot simpler right now.
“Let me think about it.” I glance at my watch. It’s almost five. I need to get ready for my date. “Sorry, I have to run. I’ll talk to you later.”
Jim and I say our goodbyes and I head out, but before I get to the door, I literally run into Brittany coming out of the director’s office. She’s with Darren Winters from Catfish Cove.
“Lucy! What are you doing here?” asks Brittany.
“Working out.”
“You should sign up for one of my Pilates classes. I can make you my assistant!”
Sounds like great fun. Not.
“Thanks, but I don’t think I’m physically up to speed for that. Great goal, though.” I smile at Darren. “So you’re still in town, huh?”
“Brittany has been kind enough to give me a tour of the facility. Very impressive. I wish we had the funds in Catfish Cove for something like this.”
“How are you holding up? I mean about the Tara situation?” Brittany asks.
“As well as can be expected.”
Darren makes a pained face. “Do the police have any idea what happened to her?”
“Not yet.”
“It must have been quite a shock,” he says, “finding her dead in your restaurant kitchen.”
“Lucy is used to it by now,” says Brittany. “Dead bodies seem to follow her everywhere. But she’s totally innocent. No matter what anyone else is saying.”
I still. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“What? Nothing!”
“Are people saying that I had something to do with Tara’s death?” I demand. “As my best friend, it’s your duty to tell me the truth here.”
“No. Maybe. Yes.” Brittany cringes. “Obviously, it’s people who don’t know you like I do.”
Jeez Louise. I really can’t wait for the police to clear this whole thing up so that my life can get back to normal.
“So sorry, Lucy, but Darren and I have to go or we’ll be late for the big meeting.”
“What big meeting?”
Brittany’s eyes go round. “Oh, um, it’s just … well, a meeting for the show’s participants so that they can be brought up to speed with what’s happening.”
“Why weren’t Sarah and I told about this?”
“Gilly says you weren’t invited. On account of Tara kicking you off the show. She wants to respect Tara’s wishes.”
The back of my eyelids go hot. “Oh, she does, does she? Well, guess what? The Bistro is still part of the competition because we were never officially kicked off the show. So where is this meeting taking place?”
“The Harbor House. But Lucy, I don’t think it’s a good idea—”
I don’t wait for Brittany to finish before I start heading for the door. “Thanks. See you there!” I call on my way out.
Chapter Nine
The Harbor House, which happens to be owned by Brittany’s parents, is Whispering Bay’s fanciest restaurant. It’s located on the gulf and serves premium seafood in an elegant and upscale setting. It’s so “elegant” that you can’t park your own car, so I’m forced to leave my car with the valet. He takes one look at me and automatically points me toward the outdoor seating area.
I’d forgotten I’m wearing my JUST A MUFFIN LOOKING FOR HER STUD T-shirt. My hair is pulled back in a messy bun, and I’m still sweaty from my yoga workout.
“I’m not here to eat,” I tell him. “I’m here for the cooking show meeting.”
He looks at me with renewed interest. “Can I give you my headshots? Like I told that other lady, I’ve been taking acting lessons. Maybe you can find me a spot on one of your shows.”
One of my shows?
“I’m sorry, what?”
“I thought you said you were with the cooking show.”
“As a contestant. I’m not with the network.”
“Oh.” His voice goes flat. “Banquet room office. Straight down the hall and to the left.”
Gilly and the two other members of the production team, Alan and Pete, as well as everyone else involved in the competition are all here. There’s a refreshment table set up on the side of the room with coffee, tea and … doughnuts. Heidi catches my eye and smiles smugly. Show-off.
