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

“Can’t have the service till they finish the autopsy,” says Rusty.

“Autopsy?”

“It’s standard procedure whenever the cause of death is yet to be determined. But between you and me, it looks like that knock on the head did her in.”

“What do you think happened? I mean, did she tr

ip or something?”

“Or something might be more like it,” Rusty says ominously.

Travis looks as if he’s about to admonish Rusty when Betty Jean spies him from across the café. Her ability to sniff out testosterone never fails to impress me. She nearly plows down a mother and her toddler in her hurry to get to him. “You must be the new cop in town,” she says breathlessly. “I’m Betty Jean Collins.”

Travis shakes her hand. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Collins.”

“Call me Betty Jean. Or better yet, Sugar Momma. Whichever you prefer. No one told me you were Ryan Reynolds’ doppelganger. Ever see that movie The Proposal? I could have played the Betty White role, except she’s a lot older than me. A lot. My favorite scene is the one where Ryan Reynolds catches Sandra Bullock coming out of the shower, and they end up on the floor naked. You can see his butt, and let me tell you, it’s mighty fine. If you pause it, you can even—”

“I haven’t seen the movie.” Travis looks at me with desperation like he needs to be saved, but I’m enjoying this way too much to help him out here.

Betty Jean looks Travis up and down, then growls. “I guess it’s true what they say about Texas. Is all of you this big?”

“Ah, Betty Jean, cut it out,” says Rusty. “Or he’ll think you’re serious.” Rusty playfully elbows Travis. “Betty Jean is like this with all the cops in town.”

“No, I’m not. Just the good-looking ones I want to schnocker.” She winks and saunters away. Even though I don’t think schnocker is a real word, we all know exactly what Betty Jean means. The mental picture those words create in my head is more than a little disturbing.

Travis is left with his mouth hanging open.

Welcome to Whispering Bay, Officer Fontaine!

He shakes his head as if to clear it (he must have gotten the same picture I did). “Miss McGuffin, can we speak to you please? In private?”

Rusty makes a face. “Now? But I haven’t eaten my muffin yet.”

Travis looks at Rusty for a full three seconds like he’s patiently counting to himself before saying, “Go ahead and have your breakfast. I can talk to Miss McGuffin.”

“Gee, thanks!” Rusty happily takes off for an empty table near the window.

What on earth could Travis Fontaine want to speak to me about? I’m curious, but my Spidey sense warns me that the last thing I should do is go off for a private word with this guy.

“If this has to do with Abby, I told you everything the other day. Plus, I’m kind of busy. Working? You know?”

Sarah, who’s just finished serving table three, overhears the last part of our conversation. “Go ahead, Lucy, Jill’s in the kitchen, and I can handle the counter.” She smiles at Travis who smiles back at her.

It’s the first time I’ve seen him smile and… I hate to admit it, but Betty Jean is right. He does look like Ryan Reynolds. Sarah probably thinks she’s doing me a favor. If only she knew how annoying he is.

It looks as if I have no choice but to talk to him.

“If you want to talk in private, then we should go upstairs.”

Chapter Seven

The upstairs apartment was built by The Bistro’s former owners, and it’s completely awesome. Dark hardwood floors, creamy colored baseboards, and light gray walls give the place an upscale feel not to mention the breathtaking views of the gulf. I’d feel guilty living here, but Sarah and her husband also live on the beach in a renovated cottage, so it only made sense for me to take this place.

I can tell by Travis’s expression that he’s impressed. “Does every room up here have a view like this?”

“Yep. Except for the bathroom. The window in there looks out over the back parking lot, but I’m not complaining.”

He changes gears and gets down to business. “Miss McGuffin,” he says, and I swear I can hear Mrs. Jackson’s voice from all those years ago in kindergarten, “I asked you if Miss Delgado seemed agitated last Friday and you said no, however, witnesses claim that the two of you had some words over a tuna salad sandwich.”