Whispering Bay Cozy Mysteries Box Set

by Maria Geraci

  “Hold on.” Luis Torres stands up. “My mother spoke out of turn. We have a contract with the network. It’s not our fault that Tara’s dead, so how’s the network going to compensate us for all the time we’ve already spent accommodating the film crew?”

  “Luis!” Juanita hisses. “Sit down. You’re embarrassing me!”

  “Luis is right,” Miguel says to his mother. “We’ve spent a lot of time preparing the restaurant for this filming. We have a right to compensation.”

  “May I say something here?” Brittany stands up. “Let’s not jump to any conclusions. I’m sure we can work something out, right?” she asks Gilly. “Just because there’s been an … incident, the whole town shouldn’t be punished. After this misunderstanding is cleared up, there’s no reason we can’t continue filming.”

  No wonder Brittany is in PR. She makes Tara’s death sound like nothing more than a minor irritation, like someone’s forgotten to put napkins in the takeout bag. Wait. I take that back. I really hate when I order takeout and they forget the napkins. And the ketchup.

  The door to the room opens again, causing everyone to look up. It’s Rusty Newton. “Sorry to interrupt your meeting, but I’m here on urgent police business.”

  Gilly stills. “You mean … you have information on Tara’s death?”

  My Spidey sense wakes up from its nap.

  Gilly is terrified. Which is an unusual emotion when you think you’re going to discover something about your boss’s death. Unless you have something to hide.

  “How did she die?” asks Wendy.

  “Yeah,” Brittany echoes. “What happened to her?”

  The room begins to buzz again. Everyone starts peppering Rusty with questions.

  He puts a hand up to stop them. “I can’t discuss anything with y’all. That’s confidential police information.” He glances around the room. “I’m looking for Lucille McGuffin. Is she here?”

  Lucille McGuffin? I don’t think I’ve ever heard Rusty call me by my full name before.

  “I’m right here, Rusty.”

  He spots me and nods. “I’m going to have to ask you to come with me.”

  “What for?” My heart starts to pound. “Wait. Is everything okay? Are my parents all right?”

  “Your parents—oh, yeah, Lucy, everyone’s okay. No worries. But I still need you to come with me.” He puffs out his chest. “Like I said, this is official business. You’re wanted down at the police station for questioning in the death of Tara Bell. If you want a lawyer, then I suggest you call one now.”

  10

  I’ve been sitting in the interrogation room for a full ten minutes before Travis walks in, which is about nine and half minutes too long for me to be in any kind of forgiving mood. He’s holding a file in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. “Want some?” he asks.

  “It’s about time you showed up. Do you know how embarrassing it was to be dragged out of a meeting and brought down to the police station? By now half the town probably thinks I killed Tara!”

  “I’ll take that as a no on the coffee.” He takes a seat across from me. “I’m sorry I had to get you down here, but like Zeke said, we have to run this strictly by the book. Just because you and I are in a relationship—”

  “In a fake relationship, you mean.”

  “By the way, your mother called. She wants to make sure I don’t miss dinner next Sunday.”

  “She did not.” Although it sounds exactly like something Mom would do.

  He shrugs playfully. “Okay, so she didn’t call. She came over with brownies.”

  “Here? To the police station?”

  He nods. “The whole department was really grateful.”

  I moan. “See what you’ve started?”

  “The brownies were awesome. Now I know where you get your baking skills.”

  “You do know that you accepted those brownies under false pretenses.” He grins like he’s finding the whole thing funny. “Never mind. What did you have me dragged down here for?”

  He goes into cop mode. “Before we start, I have to ask: Do want a lawyer?”

  “Do I need one?”

  “The cop in me says yes, always have a lawyer present when you’re being officially questioned.”

  “What about the non-cop?”

  His eyes go dark. “No, you don’t need a lawyer, because I don’t believe you did anything wrong. But that’s strictly off the record.”

  “Fine, then I don’t want a lawyer.”

  He opens the file and lays it down on the table between us. “The initial autopsy report shows that Tara died of a seizure most likely related to systemic poisoning, but it’ll take about a month to get the official toxicology report.”

  “Is it … do you think it’s cyanide?”

  “My opinion? Yes.”

  I wince. “From my muffins?”

  “Your muffins were laced with cyanide, that’s true. But it was only found sprinkled on top. If the amount we found on the remaining muffins is the same amount on the muffins that Tara ingested, then it’s unlikely there was enough there to kill her.”

  “So she ingested the cyanide some other way?”

  “Looks like it. Plus, the cyanide on the muffins doesn’t match the chemical compound in the ant poison we found in your pantry.”

  “Hello? I could have told you that. Okay, so someone poisoned Tara. Then he or she saw my muffins and decided to sprinkle cyanide on top. For what purpose? Some lame attempt to incriminate me?”

  “Possibly.”

  “So if my muffins weren’t the culprit—” I snap my fingers. “I bet it was the whiskey!”

  “What whiskey?”

  “Tara was drinking whiskey the night I brought her the muffins. She offered me some, but I said no.”

  Travis glances down at his notes and frowns.

  “Well, did you check the whiskey bottle for any traces of cyanide?”

  “There’s no whiskey listed in the inventory at the beach house.”

  “Ha! There you go. So the killer got rid of the evidence.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Maybe? What more proof do you need?”

  “How about some hard facts? Like a completed toxicology report?”

  Right. Talking to Travis is like talking to a brick wall. “At least tell me what Tara was doing in my kitchen.”

  “That part is still unclear. According to Tara’s cell phone record, she called you at eight thirty the night before she died. That matches the time you were at The Burger Barn.”

  “We already went through this the other day. She called me, but she didn’t leave a message.”

  “And you’d just seen her about what, thirty minutes earlier?”

  “Yep. I really think she changed her mind about kicking me off the show.”

  “Let’s go back to your visit to the beach house. You went to see her, and that’s when you brought her the muffins and to apologize for the words you’d had earlier. Who answered the door? Tara?”

  “No, Gilly. She showed me to the den, then she left us alone.”

  “How long did you stay?”

  “About ten minutes, maybe a little longer.”

  “And Paco was with you?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Did Tara seem ill to you?”

  I think back to our conversation. “Now that you mention it, she did look pale. She also said her stomach had been bothering her all day. And she was slurring her words some, but she was drinking whiskey, so I thought she might be a little drunk. Of course, now we know it’s because she was being poisoned.”

  “I can’t speculate on that.” He takes a sip of his coffee. “Have you ever seen Tara in this kind of condition before?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Did you ever suspect that she might be taking drugs?”

  “I thought you said she was poisoned. Where did you hear she was taking drugs? Is that what Gilly said?”

  “Until the toxicology report com
es back I have to explore every angle. Is there anything else you noticed that night? Did she say anything unusual or out of the ordinary?”

  “Not unusual, but she was worried about something.”

  “She told you that?”

  “Not in so many words.”

  “Then how do you know she was worried?”

  “I sensed it.”

  “Sensed it how?”

  How do I explain this to Travis without telling him about my gift? “You know when someone just seems off?”

  “Can you be more specific?”

  “She asked me how I solved the El Tigre case. She also wanted to know if I could tell if someone was bluffing.”

  His gaze turns thoughtful. “Why do you think she asked you that?”

  “I’m not sure, but I sensed she was in a dilemma or maybe even some trouble. I thought she was going to ask me to help her, but she didn’t. Oh God, do you think that’s why she came to The Bistro? To ask me to help her?”

  “Help her with what? What kind of trouble do you think she might have been in?”

  “I have no idea. What do you know about Tara’s background? Could someone she worked with have a reason to hurt her? She wasn’t exactly the nicest person on the planet, you know.”

  “We’re looking into possible motives for foul play,” he says carefully.

  “You want to know what I think?”

  “I’m sure you’ll tell me.”

  “I think Tara burned someone in the past. A co-worker or someone and they wanted revenge.”

  “Not a bad theory.”

  The little hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Ha! Not a bad theory, my bum. This is exactly what Travis thinks too.

  “What about Gilly? She was there when I came to visit Tara, and honestly, I wouldn’t have thought her capable of hurting a fly, but you should have seen her at the meeting this evening. She’s prancing around like the queen bee. From the looks of it, she’s in charge now that Tara is gone.”

  “Like I said, we’re looking into every possibility.”

  “Sounds to me like the cops are doing a lot of looking and not a lot of solving,” I mumble. But something about the way he says possibility puts my Lucy laser on full alert. I decide to take a stab in the dark. “Who else went to see Tara that night besides me?”

  The surprise on Travis’s face is beyond satisfying. “How did you know Tara had other visitors?”

  Visitors as in plural. Now this is getting interesting.

  “Lucky guess? So who else came to see her?”

  Travis snaps his file shut. “What did you promise me last night at your parents’ house?”

  “What? You mean about not sticking my nose into the investigation? But that was—”

  “Lucy, let the police handle this.”

  “Am I supposed to keep chanting that all the way up to when they give me the lethal injection?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. No one is accusing you of anything.”

  “Not yet, maybe. The thing is … I could help you. If you let me.”

  “What can you do that trained members of the police force can’t?”

  Oh, buddy, you’d be surprised.

  “For one, I can keep my eyes and ears open. Do you know how many people come into my café on a daily basis? You’d be shocked at all the stuff I hear when I’m behind the counter and no one thinks I’m listening. Maybe I’ll pick up something important. If I know what to listen for.”

  “Thanks, but no thanks.”

  I decide to tackle this from another angle. “How do the police think Tara ended up on my kitchen floor? You owe me that, at least.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t—”

  “Can you imagine how it feels to know I was upstairs in my apartment watching TV and eating a hamburger when that poor woman was downstairs in my kitchen, dying? I could have helped her if I’d only known.”

  He sighs. “There’s nothing you could have done, Lucy.”

  “How do you know?”

  “We have a witness that says she saw Tara’s car leave the beach house at two in the morning—a nurse on her way home after working a late shift. She reported it because Tara was driving erratically and she thought it was a drunk driver. The cop on duty drove around town but never saw Tara’s car. He didn’t think to look in your parking lot. And why would he? We don’t know why Tara drove to The Bistro that night. Maybe, like you said, she needed your help. She might have knocked on the kitchen door. Who knows? The door was unlocked. She walked inside … ” He shrugs. “The coroner puts the time of death between 2 and 3 a.m. Most likely, she collapsed and was dead on the floor within minutes after arriving.”

  I shudder. “What a horrible way to die.”

  “Like I said, there’s nothing you could have done, Lucy.”

  Even as he says it, I know that’s not completely true.

  “I just remembered something. I fell asleep on my living room couch, but sometime in the middle of the night, Paco began barking. I thought it was a dream, but now I realize he must have heard Tara downstairs. I should have gone down to investigate, but I was just so tired. I must have fallen back asleep.” I cover my face with my hands and groan. “How could I have been so careless?”

  “Lucy,” he says quietly, “did you lace those muffins with cyanide? Did you want to hurt Tara? Did you want to kill her?”

  My head shoots up. “What do you think?”

  “Exactly. You’re no more responsible for Tara’s death than I am. You were exhausted. With the schedule you’ve been keeping, I’d be surprised if a fire alarm would have woken you up.”

  I know Travis means well, but I still feel incredibly guilty. If only I hadn’t fallen asleep so hard. Or paid more attention to Paco’s barking. Maybe I could have found her in time. Tara wasn’t a nice person, but she was a person, and no one deserves to die the way she did.

  I have to help solve her death. It’s the only way I can make amends.

  If only Travis would let me help him …

  Jim is right. If I want Travis to take me seriously, then I’m going to have to tell him the truth about me.

  I take a deep breath.

  “I have something to tell you. Something big.”

  “About this case?”

  “No, it’s more of a personal nature. You see … ” I press my damp palms against my wobbly knees. “You want to know how I was able to solve Abby Delgado’s murder?”

  “Is this about Paco again? About him being some kind of ghost whisperer?”

  “Paco only led me to her body. Although he’s really smart, so he’s helped in other ways too, but no, this isn’t about Paco. It’s about me.”

  He waits for me to continue.

  “Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve been able to tell when someone is lying.”

  Travis leans back in his chair and studies me a moment. “Okay, so you have a knack for reading people. I figured that out within a few minutes of meeting you.”

  “It’s more than that. I’m like a … human lie detector.”

  His expression is completely unreadable.

  How annoying.

  “Okay, I believe you.”

  I snort. “Give me some credit here. Let me prove it to you. Tell me something I couldn’t possibly know. Something that only you would know if it’s true or not.”

  “You sure you want do this?” he asks.

  I nod.

  He glances up at the ceiling like he’s thinking. Then he smiles like he’s got me. “When I was ten, I got a blue bike for Christmas. True or false?”

  The little hairs on my neck practically laugh in his face. “False.”

  “Nope. Ask my dad. I got a bike that year.”

  “Okay, but something in your statement isn’t true. The bike wasn’t blue.”

  “That was too easy.”

  He proceeds to shoot off a series of boring questions that I answer without breaking a sweat.

  Yes, he went to college.

  No,
it wasn’t the University of Texas.

  Yes, he played baseball in high school.

  Yes, he was his class valedictorian.

  Wait. Travis was his high school valedictorian? “Wow. That’s kind of impressive,” I say.

  “What? You didn’t think I was smart? Just because you were able to get all that right doesn’t prove anything, Lucy.”

  “You are the most stubborn—how do you think I was able to figure out who El Tigre was when the FBI couldn’t?”

  For the first time, Travis looks uncertain. “Who else knows about this so-called gift of yours?”

  “My family. And Will. And your dad. I told him, and he believed me.”

  He takes a minute to absorb it all. I know he’s thinking about all those times I told him someone was lying but I couldn’t tell him how I knew it exactly. Maybe it’s finally all coming together.

  “Let’s say I believe that you believe it, but I’m still not going to let you get involved in this case. Or any other case for that matter. If you want to be a cop so bad, then go to the police academy.”

  I might as well be talking to a brick wall.

  “Fine. Is that it? Can I go now?”

  “Sure. Just don’t leave town,” he says with a straight face.

  “Ha ha.”

  He gets up from his seat. “Let me walk you to your car.”

  “Good thing I have my car. For a minute there, I thought Rusty was going to drag me out of that meeting in handcuffs and slap me in the back of a police car with blazing sirens.”

  “I would have given good money to see that,” he quips.

  I roll my eyes. Nice to know someone finds something about this situation funny.

  We walk outside the police station into the dark November night. I get inside my car and buckle up. Travis leans down to stick his head through the open window. “So you can really tell when someone’s lying, huh?”

  “I already told you I can.”

  “Okay, here goes. I have zero romantic interest in Grace Cullen except as a running partner. In case you haven’t figured it out by now, the only woman I’m interested in is you. Got it?”

  I gulp. Travis is telling the truth.

  “Got it,” I manage to squeak.

  “Good night, Lucy. Drive safe. And for God’s sake, lock your doors.”

  And because I have to have the last word, I come back with, “The next time you want to speak to me in an official capacity? Just call. I’m always happy to help the police even when they don’t want my help,” I add in a super sweet tone.