by Maria Geraci
With the help of her best friend, Will, and her rescue dog, Paco, Lucy and Travis set out to discover who’s behind all the hits because if they don’t, Whispering Bay may never be the same again. Ba-da-Bing. Ba-da-Boom.
1
The thing about being a human lie detector is that people will surprise you with the strangest fabrications at the oddest times. Take right now. Rusty Newton, one of Whispering Bay’s finest is looking me straight in the eye, and he’s just told me a whopper.
I shift my weight from foot to foot. I’ve been standing behind this counter for over three hours without a break. It’s the busiest morning we’ve had all week. And it’s been a record-breaking week here at The Bistro by the Beach, the café I co-own along with my friend, Sarah Powers. Probably because I’ve become a bit of a celebrity. A small-town celebrity to be sure, but when you’re responsible for nabbing one of America’s most sought-after serial killers, people want to come and gawk at you.
Not that I mind the gawking. It’s been terrific for business.
“You want how many muffins again?” I ask Rusty.
“A dozen.” He pulls a piece of paper from the front pocket of his uniform shirt. Rusty Newton is in his mid-forties and has been a cop here in town forever. He’s super sweet, but not the brightest bulb on the force. “And five lattes, four turkey sandwiches, a tub of Sarah’s mac and cheese and six oatmeal raisin cookies.”
“And this is for the crew back at the police station?”
“Who else would I be getting such a big order for?”
Not for the Whispering Bay police department, that’s for sure. For one thing, Zeke Grant, the chief of police, has already been in this morning for his coffee and muffin fix. And Cindy, the department’s receptionist, is on a diet. She hasn’t caught so much as a whiff of one of my muffins in weeks.
But that’s not what gave Rusty away.
It’s the little hairs on the back of my neck. Whenever I hear a lie, they automatically start to tingle.
Being able to sniff out lies is a gift I’ve had ever since I was old enough to tell a lie myself. A gift I never appreciated until a few days ago when it helped me solve the murder of Abby Delgado, a prominent member of the Sunshine Ghost Society, a local club that claims to commune with the dead. But that’s another story.
I punch Rusty’s order into the computer. “Is this all to go?”
Before he can answer, another one of Whispering Bay’s finest comes up to the counter. Officer Travis Fontaine is the newest member of the force, and he looks almost as yummy as one of my double chocolate chip muffins. I wish I could say it was the uniform, but it’s not.
Travis is six foot three with dark blond hair and fierce green eyes. He spent eight years on the Dallas police force before recently moving here to live near his dad, a retired homicide detective, all of which makes Travis a good son.
He’s also arrogant, and the easiest person I’ve ever read in my life. Not because his face gives anything away. On the contrary. Travis has a poker face that could make him a bundle in Vegas. It’s just that for some reason where he’s concerned my Spidey sense is on ultra-alert.
“Rusty just put in a quite an order,” I say. “Is the police department having a party?”
Travis doesn’t so much as twitch. “No party. Just a bunch of hungry cops.”
Right.
I have to admit, this charade of theirs has me intrigued. What do they want with all this food?
“It’ll take a few minutes to get that order together.”
“No problem.” Travis leans into the counter. “How’s your head?”
“Still sore, but I’ll live, thanks.”
My head met up with the backside of a frying pan a few days ago. I still shudder whenever I think about how close I came to becoming the Angel of Death’s latest victim. Good thing my dog Paco was there to save me.
Speaking of Paco, he has his own unique form of Spidey sense because he runs up to me like he knows I’m thinking about him. “Hey, little guy!”
I inherited the chihuahua terrier mix when I solved the murder of his former owner Susan Van Dyke. His name used to be Cornelius, but that was way too stuffy, so he’s Paco now. The members of the Sunshine Ghost Society think he’s a ghost whisperer. Which, of course, is silly, but like I said, he’s special. It’s almost like he can understand what the humans around him are saying.
I’m allergic to dogs with fur, but after all we’ve been through there’s no way I’m giving him up, so I’m on medication to keep from itching. It’s not supposed to make me drowsy, but it still does sometimes. I consider it a small price to pay for keeping him. I live in the apartment above the café, and Paco spends his days going up and down the stairs between our home and The Bistro’s dining area. The customers love his cute antics, and Sarah finds him adorable as well.
Paco runs around to the other side of the counter to greet Travis. “Hey, boy.” Travis squats down to scratch him behind the ears.
According to Lanie Miller, the manager of the Whispering Bay Animal Shelter, Travis is on the lookout for a dog. I try to imagine what breed would go best with his personality. Probably a rottweiler. Or a pit bull.
Travis rises to his full height and gives Rusty a side look that makes the older cop slink away. It also makes me nervous. I haven’t known Travis long, but like I said, I have a pretty good read on him. He hasn’t asked me out yet, but I have a sinking feeling that’s about to change.
“Are you busy Friday night?”
Oh boy. I’ve been expecting this ever since Travis told me that he’s now become a “muffin man.” To most people that wouldn’t mean a thing, but besides my lie detecting skills, I also make the best muffins in Whispering Bay. Not that I would say that. But everyone else does, so who am I to argue with them?
“Friday night is when Will and I watch America’s Most Vicious Criminals.”
Will Cunningham is my best friend. I’ve been secretly in love with him ever since my seventh birthday party when he saved me from a pack of rabid squirrels. We started our Friday night T.V. and pizza tradition when I moved back to town after graduating from culinary school, and I wouldn’t miss it for anything in the world.
Since moving to town, Travis and Will have become friends too. They even play in the same basketball league. If Travis suspects that I have feelings for Will, he doesn’t let on. “So how about tonight then?”
“How about tonight what?” I hate playing dumb, but I have no experience when it comes to fending guys off.
“How about we grab something to eat?”
“Tonight’s my book club.”
He spears me with a look that makes me squirm. “I guess that’s better than telling me you have to wash your hair.”
“No really. I got invited to Betty Jean’s book club, and I promised to bring muffins. Apparently, there’s a big waiting list to join so I didn’t dare refuse.”
Betty Jean Collins is a regular customer here at The Bistro and a real character. She’s a prominent member of the Gray Flamingos, a local senior citizens activist group. She’s also the eighty-year-old female equivalent of a hound dog. No man under the age of sixty is safe from her.
At the mention of Betty Jean, Travis breaks down and grins. When he smiles like that, his eyes become even greener. He really is quite attractive. But he knows it, so that spoils it a little.
“So you’re busy tonight and tomorrow. How about Saturday night?”
This guy doesn’t give up, does he? I try my hardest to think of a reason to turn him down. But there isn’t one.
“I could maybe possibly be free Saturday night.”
Did I really just say that?
“What would it take to make that a definitely free?”
I’m about to answer when—“Lucy!” Travis and I whip around to see Brittany Kelly rush into the café.
Brittany Kelly and I have a weird history. We both grew up in Whispering Bay and attended school together. Our relationship, however, got
off on the wrong foot way back in kindergarten when she lied about stealing a brand-new set of paintbrushes. Being a naïve five-year-old, I told the teacher about Brittany’s lie which got me labeled as a tattletale and earned me Brittany’s disdain for the next twelve years.
At least, that’s how I saw the situation.
Brittany viewed things differently. Apparently, all this time she’s wanted to be my friend. At least that’s what she says now. She works for the Whispering Bay Chamber of Commerce (a job her rich daddy helped her nab) and came up with our city’s tagline, Whispering Bay, the safest city in America!
Brittany spots Travis, and her brown eyes go wide. I have brown eyes too, but Brittany’s have that extra oomph to them.
“Hello, Travis.” Her voice sounds breathy and strangely seductive. How does she do that?
“Hello, Brittany.” Travis smiles down at her, but it’s a more patient smile than an encouraging one. I admit I’m intrigued that he doesn’t seem to be as wowed by Brittany as every other male on the planet.
She wets her bottom lip. “I hope you don’t mind, but I need to speak to Lucy. It’s super important.”
Travis gives me a meaningful look. “We’ll finish this conversation later.” He politely joins Rusty at the far end of the counter to give us privacy.
“Hey, Brittany, what’s up?” I ask like I’m happy to see her. Which, for once, I am. If she hadn’t interrupted us, I would have said yes to Travis which would have been a big mistake. According to Cindy, in the short time Travis has been in town women have been showing up at police headquarters in droves hoping to get a chance to speak to him.
I have absolutely no intention of becoming a member of the Travis Fontaine fan club. Plus, if Will finds out I went out with Travis, which he would because nothing in this town stays a secret, it might ruin any chance I have with him.
Am I attracted to Travis? Yes.
Am I interested in any sort of long-term relationship with him? That would be a resounding no.
Brittany makes a pained face. “I just spoke to Tara, and she says that the film crew will be here first thing Monday morning. I knew it would be fast, but I’m kind of freaking out here.”
“Relax, it will all be fine.”
“Fine? This is the Cooking Channel! We only get one chance to impress them. We absolutely have to be picked for their new show.”
Battle of the Beach Eats (great name, huh?) is the Cooking Channel’s newest hit show. It’s a reality T.V. competition that pits restaurants in the same town against one another until one by one, each restaurant gets eliminated and the last one standing is crowned the winner. Which means if we get selected, The Bistro by the Beach will be competing with the other eateries in Whispering Bay, including The Harbor House, which is owned by Brittany’s daddy. The prize money is twenty-five thousand dollars, which I could certainly use.
Tara, the show’s producer, is scheduled to come with her film crew to get some local footage. According to Brittany, if they like what they see, then we’re a shoo-in.
“No worries,” I say. “Sarah and I are planning to come in on Sunday to make sure everything looks spic and span. If Whispering Bay isn’t picked to be on Battle of the Beach Eats, it won’t be The Bistro’s fault.”
Brittany looks me over like she’s my commanding officer and I’m a grunt lining up for inspection. “Good to hear. So, about Paco. Do you think it’s a good idea to have him running around the café all day? I mean, I love him to death, but what if Tara gets wigged out by it? Not everyone is a dog person, Lucy.”
She did not just go there.
“Paco stays. End of story.”
Brittany sighs dramatically. “My intel says that it’s down to us and some city named Catfish Cove about a hundred miles east of here. Apparently, they’re super environmentally correct so we have to do everything we can to convince Tara that Whispering Bay is the wholesome American beach town they’re looking for. I’ve ordered the city’s maintenance department to trim all the trees on Main Street, and I’ve got wreaths coming in for all the businesses to hang on their front doors, and…well, I kind went over budget, so we simply have to get picked.”
Wreaths for all the businesses? Yikes. I can’t imagine how much that might have cost.
“You know, Lucy, we have so much more to talk about. Maybe we can do lunch again?”
Brittany and I had lunch yesterday like regular girlfriends. It wasn’t as horrible as I imagined, but I don’t want a repeat anytime soon either. “Okay, sure.”
She pulls out her planner. “When?”
“Um, maybe after the film crew does their thing? I think we’ll both be pretty busy until then.”
“Right! You’re so smart, Lucy. Call me tomorrow so we can make plans!” She blows me a kiss on her way out.
I slump against the counter. Talking to Brittany for five minutes is almost as exhausting as spending the morning serving customers.
Sarah comes out from the kitchen and hands me two big bags. “Funny, I don’t remember the police department ever placing such a large order.”
Neither do I.
Rusty pays in cash, then he and Travis take the bags and leave.
“Whew,” says Sarah. “I’m glad things are slowing down some. Want to take a breather? You haven’t sat down all morning.”
Through the glass pane window, I watch Rusty and Travis get into their squad car and my Spidey sense slaps me up the side of the head. Or maybe its residual ache from the frying pan incident. Whatever. But something tells me to follow them, and if I’ve learned anything in the past week, it’s that I need to listen to myself.
“Do you mind if I take an early lunch break?”
“No problem. Jill and I can handle things for a bit.”
“Thanks!” I grab a sweater and Paco’s leash. He happily jumps into the passenger seat of my VW beetle.
Since Travis and Rusty are in a squad car, it’s not hard to spot them.
I stay in the right-hand lane, three cars behind, going slow but not too slow because I want to keep up.
The Whispering Bay police station is next door to city hall, but instead of turning into the parking lot, Travis keeps on driving.
I knew they were up to something!
Paco sticks his head out the window. “Get back in,” I urge in case either Travis or Rusty are looking. The last thing I want is for one of them to spot me.
The squad car takes a right into Dolphin Isles, a new residential community of cookie-cutter homes. Whispering Bay is a coastal town of about ten thousand year-long residents, mostly young families, and retirees. But there’s also a substantial vacation and snowbird crowd that rent homes in this subdivision.
Travis parks the squad car on the side of the road. I stay half a block down shielding my car behind a big palm tree. I’m confident they can’t see me.
Paco barks like he wants to ask a question.
“Shhh,” I warn. “We’re trying to stay incognito.”
He freezes like he understands, which is actually pretty cute.
I glance back at the squad car, expecting Travis or Rusty or both of them to get out, but nothing happens.
Could they be on a stakeout?
My heart speeds up at the thought. But that makes no sense. All that food for just the two of them?
I make a mental note to buy myself a pair of binoculars when I notice a jogger coming toward them. Male, mid-thirties, lean build, navy blue hoodie. He slows down and approaches the squad car. Travis hands him the two bags of food through the car window, then the man takes off jogging in the opposite direction.
After a couple of minutes, Travis and Rusty drive away.
I make sure they’re gone, then I follow the jogger.
2
I’ve never followed anyone before, but it’s actually kind of fun. No wonder Harriet (Harriet the Spy was one of my favorite movies as a kid) was always writing down observations in that little journal of hers. Besides the binoculars, I should also prob
ably pick up a couple of notebooks. Just in case.
The jogger goes up three streets and into a one-story stucco home on the edge of a cul-de-sac. The garage door is closed, and the driveway is empty.
“What do you think that was about?” I ask Paco.
He turns his head the way dogs do in that quizzical manner that looks so adorable.
Since I’m not as prepared as Harriet, I scribble down the address on the back of a Tiny’s pizza coupon and slip it into my tote. After a couple of minutes of nothing happening, I drive back to The Bistro.
What did I just witness?
On the surface, it all looks pretty benign. Except Rusty lied about the food (which I already knew).
But why?
Who is this mysterious jogger?
And why the sneaky food handoff?
The rest of the work day goes by quickly. The Bistro stops serving food at two p.m. and luckily, Sarah has clean-up duty today because tonight is my first book club meeting and with everything that’s happened in the past week, I haven’t had time to read the book.
Confession: I don’t even have a copy of the book.
Since Betty Jean has already warned me that she can always tell when someone is fudging it, I need to take care of this situation ASAP. The last thing I want is to be kicked out of the book club on my first night.
I download J.W. Quicksilver’s newest espionage thriller onto my Kindle. Book club starts in less than five hours so I won’t have time to finish it, but I figure that if I skip right to all the big scenes (that would be the ones involving either death or sex), no one will be the wiser.
When Betty Jean first invited me to her book club, I made excuses not to join. I’m the only member who isn’t eligible for the AARP, but when you’re facing death in the form of a frying pan to the head, your life flashes before you in ways you’ve never imagined. I need to work on becoming a better person. Which means trying new things.
