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

“Lucy McGuffin. That’s me.”

“I’m Officer Travis Fontaine.” He stares at my hair for a second, blinks, then eyes the rest of the group. “Can I have your names, please?”

Before anyone else can introduce themselves, Brittany begins to whimper. “I thought…that is…” She gasps like she can’t catch her breath. “I think I’m going to faint…” And then in a dramatic swoon, she begins her descent to the ground in slow motion.

Both Travis and Will lunge for her, but Travis is faster.

Even though she’s fainting (or whatever it is she’s doing), Brittany manages to collapse gracefully into Travis’s arms. I have to give her credit. She’s good.

“Miss, are you all right?” Travis looks down at her with concern.

“I’m… Oh, yes! Thank you so much, Officer!” Only Brittany could make a mundane word like “officer” sound sexy.

Travis carefully sets her on her feet like she’s a delicate piece of china he’s afraid will break.

Sarah secures Brittany by the elbow as Will rustles up a folding chair. Her movie star gown is so tight I wonder how she’ll manage to sit without splitting a seam. She folds herself into the chair, and nothing pops or bursts. Go, Brittany!

“Can we get her some juice?” Travis asks Rusty.

Rusty makes a disappointed face like this is beneath him, but he does what Travis asks. Frankly, I don’t blame Rusty. For one thing, I’m sure he doesn’t want to be bossed around by this younger cop, plus, I doubt Brittany need

s the juice.

Travis gets all our names and writes everything down in a notebook. A couple of other people show up and introduce themselves. They’re from the county coroner’s office. One of them takes pictures. The other one scours the area for what, I don’t know, but he’s taking measurements. Occasionally he’ll pick something up off the floor and place it inside a baggie. It occurs to me that they’re making a big production over an accident. It’s like we’ve walked straight into an episode of CSI.

“What made you come inside the building?” Travis asks me. “The tours aren’t supposed to begin for almost another hour.”

“I was in here earlier, well, in the kitchen, that is, to get supplies to make the coffee.”

“And that’s what you were doing? Getting more supplies?”

“At first, yes. That’s how I found Paco.”

“Paco?”

“The dog.” I lift Paco’s paw and move it up and down like he’s waving. “Say hello to Officer Fontaine.”

The officer in question doesn’t crack a smile. Which under the circumstances is probably appropriate, but jeez. Whenever I’m scared or overwhelmed, I find solace in humor, but I can’t imagine this guy ever smiling.

“Paco was in here by himself. At least, I thought he was by himself. He belongs to Derrick, that’s Abby’s brother. She’s dog sitting for him. Or, she was.” It just occurred to me that I can’t use present tense when talking about Abby anymore. I stifle another shudder.

“And that’s when you found Ms. Delgado?”

“Not at first. Paco was pretty skittish, so I picked him up to take him outside, but then he ran away from me. That’s when he led me back inside the building.”

“He led you back?”

I nod.

“How did he do that exactly?”

“He ran this way, and he was barking. You know, like he was talking to me. In dog speak.”

There’s a pause. “Are you some kind of dog expert?”

I don’t like his tone of voice, but since he’s a cop and I was raised to respect authority, I’ll let it go. This time. “Actually, I’m allergic to them.”

“But you’re familiar with this particular dog?”