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

I have to hand it to my big brother. He probably graduated top of his class in Guilt Infliction 101.

Our parents are what we call reverse snowbirds. After a lifetime of living in the Florida heat and humidity, they bought a cabin in Maine where they spend the summer months. They’ll be back home in Whispering Bay sometime next week. Probably just in time to see Sebastian arrested.

He gets up from his chair. “Look, neither of us is going to change the other one’s mind, so I suggest we get back to our lives and let our tax money be put to good use. Let the cops take care of it. Now, I have a sermon to work on. See you later, Lucy,” he says back in Ricky Ricardo mode.

I go to leave, because what else can I do?

“By the way,” he says casually in a way that makes me think he doesn’t want to bring this up but feels like he has to, “have you spoken to Will lately?”

“Not since the day of the rec center celebration. Why?”

“It’s just that he and Brittany are going out Friday night. On a date.”

My stomach suddenly turns queasy, like I’ve licked too much raw muffin batter off the spoon (yes, I know it’s not good for me but don’t judge till you’ve tried it). This isn’t exactly a surprise. Will told me he was going to ask Brittany out. But I must have been hoping that she’d turn him down.

And if that’s the case, what kind of friend am I?

I do my best to smile. “That’s great! I hope they have a good time.”

“Lucy,” my brother says gently, “Brittany’s not a bad person.”

Et tu, Sebastian? Those are the exact same words Will used to describe her.

Technically, I suppose it’s true since as far as I know she hasn’t been involved in any criminal activity since kindergarten.

“I’m sure you’re right.” Before he can say anything else, I kiss him goodbye on the cheek.

He gives me a smile meant to reassure me, but it’s strained. Whatever happened between Sebastian and Abby has him troubled. He waits by the door until I get in my car and drive off. I might not be able to save Will from Brittany’s French manicured clutches, but I can certainly do something to help my brother.

Let the cops take care of things?

Poor innocent, gullible Sebastian.

If he won’t help himself out of this mess, then I’ll have to do it for him.

Which means it’s up to me to figure out what really happened to Abby Delgado.

Chapter Nine

Mexico Beach is about an hour away, so it’s after five by the time I get there. Our beautiful cool November weather has fizzled, and it’s back into the upper eighties again. I’m hungry, thirsty and hot, but I’m on a mission.

I’m going to visit Abby’s brother Derrick and offer him my condolences, which is the decent thing to do. Plus, I want to see if he knows anything about Paco. Just because Officer Fontaine says that Derrick denied owning the dog doesn’t mean I should just take his word for it.

Since I’m assuming he’s around the same age Abby was, I keep my fingers crossed that he still has a landline which would mean he’s listed in the phone book. But finding a phone book these days is like coming across a winning lottery ticket just lying around on the floor.

After three gas stations, I find one that still has a pay phone and I’m in luck. There’s only one Derrick Delgado in the directory, and according to the map app on my smartphone, his address is just a few miles away.

Mexico Beach is one of those communities on the gulf with the picturesque pastel houses, but Derrick’s home is nothing like those. His trailer sits on the edge of town on a big isolated lot. The grass is overgrown, and there’s trash strewn all over the place. I carefully make my way through the weeds, lest I accidentally step on a snake, because that would totally ruin my day. I should probably have called first, but my Spidey sense told me not to.

I walk up the wooden steps to the rickety porch and knock on the door. After a couple of minutes of nothing, I ring the doorbell for good measure just in case Derrick is hard of hearing. I wait for another couple of minutes, then give up. He must not be home.

I consider leaving him a note, when a man’s voice says, “Turn around. Nice and slow and keep your hands where I can see ‘em.”

Definitely not words you want to hear when you’re all alone out in the middle of nowhere. I gulp and turn around to find myself looking down the barrel of a shotgun.

But worse than that, sitting on the porch ledge next to the man with the shotgun, is a squirrel. And it’s staring at me with his beady little eyes like he’s ready to attack.

Most people find squirrels adorable, but they’ve been fooled. To me, squirrels are nothing more than aggressive rats with furry tails.