Whispering Bay Cozy Mysteries Box Set

by Maria Geraci

  6

  Wouldn’t you know it would be Travis who answers the 911 call? He’s accompanied by Zeke Grant, Whispering Bay’s chief of police, as well as half the force plus a forensics crime team. I recognize the team immediately. It’s the same group who came to the rec center when I discovered my first dead body. Even though it’s only been a few weeks, it seems like that was forever ago. Probably because since then I’ve been hit on the head with a frying pan by a sociopathic serial killer and threatened at gunpoint by a crazy mob hit person.

  So yeah, lots going on in my life.

  The technicians wipe the place down for fingerprints and take pictures. They took Tara’s body out on a stretcher a while ago. How did she die? And what on Earth was she doing in my kitchen?

  “Tell me exactly what happened,” says Travis. He whips out that confounded little notebook of his that he likes to write in so much.

  “First, how’s Gilly?” After Gilly nearly screamed my eardrums off, I managed to calm her down a bit. Not much, though. I get it. Seeing a dead body, especially someone you know, is pretty shocking.

  “She’s in the dining area, talking to Zeke.”

  “I hope she’s okay. Do you think I should make her some tea or something?”

  “No.”

  Something in his voice puts my Spidey sense on alert. He sounds almost … angry. But that doesn’t make sense.

  “Um, let’s see, after I came home from The Burger Barn, I watched some TV, then I fell asleep on the couch. I woke up this morning when Paco started barking. I thought he wanted me to take him for his walk, but he was leading me to Tara’s body.”

  Travis raises a brow. “Because of the barking?”

  “We’ve been through this before. It’s a completely different kind of bark. Very aggressive-like. Then when we get near the body, he becomes quiet.”

  He rubs his chin. “Interesting. I’ve been looking into how they train dogs to sniff out cadavers, but they usually have to be closer to the body before they catch the scent. His sense of smell is remarkable.”

  Not this again. “I’ve already told you. Paco’s not a cadaver dog. He’s a ghost whisperer.”

  “If you say so,” Travis says, humoring me.

  I glance down at Paco, who shakes his head as if to say, When will this guy get a clue?

  “Yep, I say so.”

  Before Travis can ask me any more questions, my mom flies through the kitchen door. “Lucy, are you all right? What happened?” My dad follows her, looking equally worried.

  “It’s okay. I’m fine.”

  She grabs me into a tight hug. I glance over her shoulder and catch Travis’s gaze. He does not look pleased.

  “I’m sorry, Molly, George, but right now this is a crime scene, and I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

  “Leave? Over my dead body!” Mom winces when she realizes what she’s just said. “I can’t believe this. Whispering Bay used to be the safest city in America.”

  “Yeah, well, that ship sailed a while back,” says Dad.

  “How did you know what happened here?” Travis asks.

  “Lucy called us.”

  He whips around to face me. “Zeke specifically told you no phone calls until we gave you the go-ahead.”

  “I wasn’t about to let my parents hear that Paco and I have found another dead body through the Whispering Bay grapevine. Done that. Never want to get lectured again.”

  Dad puts a protective arm around my shoulder. “We’re her parents. We have a right to know if our daughter is in danger.”

  Travis narrows his eyes at me. “I suppose you called your brother too.”

  “Well, yes, but no worries. Since it’s Sunday, he’ll be too busy saying Mass to come over right away.”

  “As long as you didn’t call anyone else—”

  Will comes through the door next. “Lucy, are you all right?”

  “Cunningham,” Travis says wearily. “Doesn’t anyone in this town have any respect for crime tape?”

  Rusty Newton, one of Whispering Bay’s finest, follows Will into the kitchen. Rusty is a good old boy and has been a cop here in town for over twenty years. He’s also one of my best customers. He starts his shift every morning by stopping by to get one of my lemon poppy seed muffins along with a cup of coffee. His hands are full of yellow crime tape. “I found all this on the ground. Don’t know how it fell. I could have sworn I secured the place with it just a couple of hours ago.” He blinks owlishly.

  “Oh, I took all that horrible-looking tape down,” says Mom. “It’s so unattractive.”

  I cringe. “Um, Mom, you probably shouldn’t have done that.”

  “Why not? It’s not like it’s going to stop anyone from crossing over it.”

  Obviously.

  Travis looks as if he’s mentally counting to ten and losing the battle to keep his cool. “Rusty,” he says tightly, “can you please secure the area again?”

  Rusty takes off his police cap and scratches the top of his balding head. “Sure, just hope it works this time,” he mutters before going back outside.

  Zeke comes into the kitchen. He takes one look at my parents and Will, then nods at them begrudgingly. He waves Travis over. The two of them start talking in hushed tones. I wish I could hear what they’re saying.

  “What happened?” Will asks me. I tell them everything I know.

  “Thank God for Paco,” says Mom. She bends over and pats him on the head. “Aren’t you just the most precious thing ever?”

  Paco wags his tail in agreement.

  “What in blazes was that woman doing in your kitchen?” asks Dad. “Do you think she had a heart attack or some kind of seizure?”

  “I have no idea. The last time I saw her, she seemed okay. As a matter of fact, she was eating one of my apple walnut cream cheese muffins.”

  Travis walks back over to our group. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask everyone to leave. Technically, this is a crime scene—”

  “Now that’s just about the silliest thing I’ve ever heard,” says Mom. “Obviously, that poor woman must have had a heart attack.”

  “Mrs. McGuffin,” Travis says, “we can’t make any assumptions. Now please, I need everyone except for Lucy to go home. She can call you when we’re done with her.”

  Will doesn’t look happy, but he urges Mom and Dad to leave with him.

  Once they’re gone, Travis and Zeke walk me out into the dining room. It’s empty except for the technicians. “Where’s Gilly? I thought she was in here answering questions.”

  “We had an officer take her back to the beach house.” Zeke instructs me to take a seat at one of the tables while he and Travis sit opposite me.

  “Is she all right? She was pretty shaken up.”

  They give each other a look. This time, my Spidey sense doesn’t just alert me. It raps its knuckles on my head. “Gilly will be all right,” Zeke says. “We understand that you went to see Tara last night.”

  “That’s right. I brought her some muffins.”

  “Gilly says that you threatened her.”

  I snort. “Gilly says that I threatened her?”

  “Not her, Tara.”

  “What? I did no such thing!”

  “She says that you talked about poisoning the muffins. And that you said Tara was going to get what was coming to her.”

  “Oh, for the love of—that’s ridiculous.”

  “Lucy,” Travis says firmly, “did Tara kick you out of the cooking competition?”

  “Technically, I guess so, but … the whole thing is just so silly. I gave an interview to The Gazette, which apparently is a breach of my contract. But that was just an excuse. She really wanted me off the show because she thinks I’ve become too infamous. Only I think she changed her mind because she called me last night.”

  “What did she want?” Travis asks.

  “I didn’t get to talk to her. She called when I was at The Burger Barn, and she never left a message. I called her b
ack, but it went to voice mail.”

  “Do you know how her car got in your parking lot?”

  “I assume she drove it here?” Now it’s my turn to ask questions. “How did Tara die? And what was she doing in my kitchen?”

  “We were hoping you could give us the answer to that last question,” Zeke says. “There was no sign of forced entry.”

  “No sign of—oh.” Blast. “When I got home last night, my hands were full. I must have forgotten to lock the kitchen door. I don’t know. I’ve just been so tired. But as for what Tara was doing here, I have no clue.”

  Travis mutters something under his breath. He’s always after me to lock my doors at night, which I normally do, but I have to admit, last night I had chocolate milkshake and fries on the brain.

  “So how did Tara die?” I ask again.

  “We’re not certain,” Zeke says. Only the little hairs on my neck begin to tingle. He’s not exactly lying, but he’s not telling me the whole truth either.

  “It looks like she might have had a seizure,” says Travis.

  “Tara had epilepsy?”

  Zeke looks at Travis sideways like he’s warning him, but Travis ignores him and answers me anyway. “Not that anyone was aware of.” He leans forward in his seat. “I’ve seen something similar to this before when I worked in Dallas. In that case, the victim was poisoned. Cyanide,” he adds. “But we won’t know anything for certain until the autopsy.”

  Cyanide?

  “You mean Tara was murdered?” I let that sink in. “But who would want to—oh. No way do you think I had anything to do with this.”

  “Of course not,” Travis says, irritated, only I can’t tell who’s he’s angry at.

  “Lucy, I’ve known you and your family for a long time,” Zeke says. “You’re the last person I’d suspect of doing anyone harm, but as chief of police, I have to treat you just like I’d treat anyone else.”

  “You said you brought Tara muffins. Do you remember how many?” Travis asks.

  “Six jumbo muffins. She loved them, by the way.”

  “We just got a call from a member of the forensics team that went out to the beach house,” says Zeke. “There were four muffins left, so we have to assume she ate two of them. The muffins are being taken to the county lab for analysis.”

  “Analysis? You think I poisoned my muffins? To kill Tara? I wouldn’t even have a clue where to get any cyanide!”

  There’s a full ten seconds of silence before Zeke says, “We found some in your kitchen. In the pantry, to be exact.”

  “That’s impossible. Wait. You’re looking in my pantry?”

  “This is a potential crime scene. We’re looking everywhere.”

  “Well if there’s cyanide in my pantry, then someone put it there, because I’ve never in my life bought any such thing.”

  Any second now, I expect the two of them to start laughing and tell me I’ve been punked. Maybe Tara isn’t even dead. Maybe this is all some sort of crazy scheme on her part to get ratings for her stupid show.

  “Am I being filmed here? Because if this is all some sort of big joke, it’s not funny.”

  Zeke pulls out a plastic bag with a bottle inside. “Do you recognize this?”

  I take a closer look at what’s inside the bag. “That’s the ant killer I bought the other day, only after I used it I decided to toss it out because—” Oh no.

  “It contains cyanide salts,” finishes Travis.

  “I had no idea. But that still doesn’t matter. I didn’t put that in my muffins.”

  “I believe you, Lucy,” says Zeke. “But … and I have to ask this, is there any possibility you might have mistaken this for sugar or something?”

  “Sugar? You think I mistook ant poison for sugar? What kind of idiot do you take me for?

  “You’ve been tired. You admitted that yourself. You and Tara had an argument, and later that evening you brought her muffins, which might have caused her to get sick. You also can’t explain what she was doing in your kitchen.”

  “Believe me, if I wanted to kill Tara, I’d do a heck of a better job at covering my tracks than this.”

  Zeke nods grimly. “I’m sorry, Lucy, but we’re going to have shut down The Bistro for a couple of days until we get everything we need here. I’m sure you understand.”

  7

  I call Sarah with the news.

  “Poor Tara! How awful. The police really don’t know how she died or what she was doing in our kitchen?”

  “Not until the autopsy results come back.” I’m pretty sure Travis wouldn’t want me to spread rumors, but Sarah isn’t just anyone. Not only is she a good friend, she’s half owner of the café, which means she has a right to know what’s going on. “Travis thinks she might have been poisoned. Cyanide, maybe. But like I said, nothing is certain yet.”

  “Cyanide?

  “And … you might as well know this too. Remember the ant poison I bought? The cops confiscated it as evidence. So not only is The Bistro a potential crime scene, we have to stay closed until Wednesday, and your business partner is now public enemy number one.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” she sputters.

  “Zeke says he has to treat me like anyone else. And I can’t blame him, I guess.”

  “Zeke Grant is going to owe you a big fat apology when all this plays out. And … oh, gosh, did you ever get to have that talk with Will?”

  “Nope.”

  Sarah sighs heavily. “I’m just glad you’re okay. You know, it’s weird. Ever since you got Paco, it seems like death follows you around.” She laughs nervously.

  I really need to tell Sarah about Paco’s special skills, but telling her my dog is a ghost whisperer is a face-to-face conversation, not something I break to her over the phone.

  “I guess there’s one good thing to come out of all this,” she says.

  “Oh, yeah? What’s that?”

  “We get a three-day weekend.”

  I wish Sarah’s optimism would rub off on me, but all I can think about is how closing down the café an extra two days this week will ultimately affect my checkbook balance, and it’s not pretty.

  “Are you going to be okay? Do you need some company tonight?”

  “I’ll be fine. It’s Sunday, remember?”

  “I forgot. Try to have fun. And tell your mom and dad I said hello.”

  Sunday night means dinner at the McGuffin homestead.

  My parents are what I like to call reverse snowbirds. A few years ago, they decided they’d had enough of the Florida heat and humidity, so they bought a cabin in North Carolina where they spend the summer months. They come back to Whispering Bay every November and don’t leave again until after Memorial Day weekend. While they’re here, they insist that my brother Sebastian and I come over every Sunday for dinner. It’s a tradition I don’t mind keeping because my mom is a terrific cook, but it’s also her opportunity to grill me on my almost nonexistent love life.

  This evening, however, I’m pretty sure the focus is going to be on the dead body in my restaurant kitchen. I park my VW bug in my parents’ driveway, right behind Will’s car. He has a standing invitation to Sunday dinner, and I’m glad he’s here tonight because I sure can use the backup. Paco and I get out of my car just in time to see Brittany pull up behind me.

  “Lucy!” She dashes out of her car and grabs me into a hug. “I heard about Tara. You must be devastated!” I should have known Brittany already had the 411 on the whole Tara situation. “You know, Lucy, you’re my best friend, which means I would do anything for you.”

  “Okay … thanks. I guess.”

  “If you need an alibi, I’m here for you. I’ll say that there’s no way you had anything to do with Tara’s death because we were together the entire night.”

  “Why would I need an alibi?”

  Brittany glances covertly around the empty driveway. “Lucy, think how bad this looks for you. You quarreled with Tara and then she’s found dead the next morning in your kitc
hen.”

  “Yes, but I didn’t have anything to do with that.”

  “Of course you didn’t! But that doesn’t mean the cops aren’t trying to pin it on you. If you’re convicted, you could get sent straight to Ol’ Sparky.” At my look of confusion, she clarifies, “The electric chair! Haven’t you seen those documentaries where they didn’t use enough electricity the first round and they only partially fried the inmate? It’s horrible!”

  And I thought I watched too much TV.

  “Just out of curiosity, what exactly is this alibi?”

  “We were having a girls’ night, silly. We gave each other mani-pedis and watched Real Housewives all night long. You never once left my sight.”

  “Real Housewives Atlanta or Real Housewives New York?”

  Brittany raises a brow indicating how ridiculous my question is. “Atlanta. Duh.”

  A part of me is touched, but I can’t let her lie for me. Especially when I don’t need it because, after all, I’m innocent.

  “Thanks. Really. But I don’t have anything to hide, and I don’t want you to get in trouble by lying for me. Okay?”

  Mom must have spotted us through the living room window because she comes out to invite Brittany to dinner.

  “Well … if you’re sure I won’t be intruding,” Brittany says demurely.

  “Intruding? You’re practically family! Plus,” Mom adds, her eyes going all sparkly like they do when she’s trying to play matchmaker, “Will is here.”

  Brittany tries to act cool, but I can see through her because it’s the same act I put on whenever anyone mentions Will’s name. My heart slumps into my stomach. It’s just as I suspected. Brittany is totally into Will. And Mom is on a mission to get the two of them together.

  I have no one to blame but myself. Even now I might be able to stop it if I just speak up and tell them how I feel about Will.

  But I can’t.

  I’m not sure why I’m so reluctant to say the words out loud. Part of it is fear of rejection, but I’m not sure that’s totally it. I’ve kept my feelings inside for so long now that it would feel almost foreign to let them out. Plus, there was that kiss with Travis, which still has me confused. Maybe I shouldn’t say anything to anyone until I’m one hundred percent sure what I want.