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

“Who the hell are you and what are you doing here?” The man is a little older than Abby was with a gleaming bald head and small brown eyes. His long-sleeved shirt is sweat-stained and stretched against a massive beer belly.

“Please, um, Mr. Delgado? I mean, I assume you must be Mr. Delgado, I don’t mean any harm. Can you…can you tell your squirrel to go away?”

“My what?”

While still keeping my hands up, I gesture to the monster on the ledge. “Chip, Dale, Killer…whatever you call him. He’s kind of freaking me out.”

He snickers, then playfully aims the gun at the squirrel, who immediately takes off running across the lawn.

I breathe a massive sigh of relief. “Thank you!”

He turns the gun back on me. “What are you doing sneaking up on my house? Trying to break in?”

“No, of course not! I’m—”

“You from the bank?” The gun stays firmly aimed at my head, so I keep my hands in the air because I really don’t want this bozo to shoot me.

“The bank? No, no… You have it all wrong. I was a friend of your sister’s.”

He relaxes a little. “If you’re here to ask for something of hers so you can conjure her back up or whatever it is you people do, then you can forget it.”

“You think I’m a member of the Sunshine Ghost Society?”

“If you were a friend of Abby’s then you were definitely in that spook club of hers. Abby didn’t have any other friends.”

“I was more of an… acquaintance. Honest. I don’t even believe in ghosts. As a matter of fact, I laughed all the way through Beetlejuice.”

“So you ain’t one of those wackos?”

“Nope. I’m completely normal.” Sort of.

“Then how did you know my sister?” He inspects me closer. Jeans, T-shirt, sneakers and a ponytail. Not exactly threatening attire.

“She was a customer,” I squeak.

He lowers his gun. Finally!

“Why didn’t you say so?” he grumbles. “I’ve been waiting for you all day.”

“You have?”

“Sure. When the law office said they were sending a courier, I was expectin’ a guy, but I guess these days that’s politically incorrect or whatever bullshit you want to call it.”

Law office?

I know I should identify myself immediately. I came over here today to tell Derrick how sorry I was about his sister, and to see if he knew anything about Paco, but as far as I’m concerned, this little Hee-Haw routine of his changes everything. Plus, I’d really like to find out more about this law firm business.

He walks around me and opens the door. “Let’s get this over with.”

If this were a scene from a movie, I’d definitely have blonde hair and big boobs. Because as foolish as it seems, I’m going to be the too-stupid-to-live heroine and follow a strange man who’ve I’ve just lied to and who seconds ago was pointing a gun at my head into his house.

Derrick Delgado’s home is furnished moderately and is relatively clean compared to the outside. His T.V. is one of those old behemoths encased in a faux wooden box. Either he:

A) doesn’t believe in flat screens.

B) can?

?t afford to update.