Beach Blanket Homicide (Lucy McGuffin, Psychic Amateur Detective 1)

Phoebe Van Cleave is the head of their group and a real nutcase, but her brother Roger owns the local paper, and he’s a total sweetheart, so I try to be nice to her for his sake. She’s dressed as a hippie, which I must admit is a fun take on the whole sixties thing, even if it doesn’t exactly say beach movie.

I check out the rest of the costumes, then do a double take when my gaze lands on Gloria Hightower. She’s the group medium, and according to Phoebe, she’s the best. Gloria’s naturally blonde hair has lots of gray, but today she’s wearing a black wig because of course, she, too, is dressed as Annette Funicello.

“What a coincidence!” she says. “We’re both Annette!”

I smile wearily. “Yeah, neat, huh? How do you like the festival so far?”

“Oh, everything is just wonderful.” Gloria looks over at the main rec center building with shiny eyes. “I can’t wait till the tours begin. You know the site is haunted, don’t you?”

“If there’s a ghost haunting the new building, then Gloria will feel it right away,” Phoebe says.

Gloria blushes. “Well, not right away. But, I am pretty good, even if I say so myself.”

“Have you heard from the people at Muffin Wars?” asks Victor Marino. He’s in his late sixties and recently retired from a forty-year career at the post office, and yes, he’s dressed as Frankie. He’s an Atlanta Braves fan (me too!), and he always leaves a nice chunk of change in my tip jar.

“Not yet,” I admit.

“You’ll get picked. And when you go on T.V., you need to make your mango coconut muffin. The judges will love it.”

I wish I felt as confident as Victor. The mango coconut muffin project is something I’ve been working on for the past couple of months. Victor was in The Bistro the day I gave out samples of version number three. Everyone raved about it, but it’s still not quite right, and I can’t put it on the menu until it’s perfect.

“We’re all keeping our fingers crossed for you,” says Phoebe eyeing my muffin display. “They all look delicious! Which one should I try?”

“For you? The oat bran.”

The oat bran has been our least popular today, and we need to get rid of them. Plus, I’m sure Phoebe’s diet could use the extra roughage.

Phoebe bites into her muffin and makes the yummy face. I offer the rest of her group muffins and they all jump on the boring blueberry.

The morning goes by quickly. We’re down to just two muffins when an amused male voice asks, “What’s going on with your hair?”

It's Will. And holy wow he looks good.

He’s wearing a striped bathing suit and a white button-down shirt. His dark hair is slicked back, and he’s not wearing his glasses so when he smiles you can see the skin around his blue eyes crinkle, which is completely adorable. He told me a few days ago he’d be dressing as the James Darren character from the Gidget movies and he’s nailed it. Will puts the moon in Moondoggie like no one else.

I try to act very cool. “So, you like my hair, huh?”

He gives it a hard look. “You’re going to need help taking that thing down. You might even need a hammer.”

Sarah sniffs. “I think Lucy looks great.”

“So do I.” This comes from someone I don’t recognize. Except…

Oh no.

I try not to laugh. My brother is decked out from head to toe in leather and has a silly cap on his head. No wonder he didn’t want to talk about his costume.

“Please don’t tell me you’re Eric Von Zipper.”

“I saw the movie too,” Sebastian says dryly.

In Beach Blanket Bingo Eric Von Zipper is the head of the motorcycle gang that doesn’t like the surfers. The fact that my brother, the priest, is going as a sixties beach movie villain is pretty funny.

Sebastian aka Eric takes the last of the apple walnut cream cheese muffins, but I don’t begrudge him that because he’s my brother and I love him. Plus, he didn’t make fun of my hair.

While we’re chatting, an older distinguished looking gentleman joins our group. “Hello, Father,” he says, nodding at Sebastian. Sebastian introduces him as James Fontaine, the new parishioner he’d mentioned yesterday at lunch. He just bought a house on Seville Street near Viola.

“Call me Jim.” He shakes my hand with a firm grip. “Interesting festival. Very, uh, colorful costumes, too.” He’s a big guy, maybe six foot three with a full head of white hair and sparkly green eyes.