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

“Nothing?”

“Well, I did manage to get the brother’s fingerprints without him knowing it.” I can’t help but brag. “They matched a set of prints on the doorknob to the rec center where his sister was found. Travis Fontaine, that’s the police officer in charge of Abby’s case, is bringing him in for questioning. They might not be able to get him for dognapping, but there’s a possibility they could charge him for trespassing, which is better than nothing.”

“How clever you are,” she muses.

“Thanks, not that it will do much good. Even though I think he had something to do with his sister’s death, he has an alibi.”

“The police checked it out?”

“Yep. Derrick was at home in Mexico Beach playing cards till two in the morning. It’s an hour away, so even if he left right at two, he couldn’t have gotten to Whispering Bay till three a.m. earliest, which puts it a little too far off from the time Abby died.”

“Mexico Beach? Anthony and I have been there. It’s an adorable little town.”

“Yeah, well, he lives in the not so adorable part. Almost in the boonies, really.”

“To the east?” she asks.

I still as Aurelia’s words sink in.

Holy wow. Why didn’t I think of this before?

Mexico Beach sits directly on the line between the eastern and central time zones. I’m pretty sure that Derrick’s house lies in what the north Florida natives refer to as “fast time” or Eastern Standard Time. Whispering Bay, on the other hand, sits in “slow time” or Central Standard Time. Which means that two in the morning at Derrick’s place was one in the morning in Whispering Bay, giving him plenty of time to get to the rec center during the time period that the coroner placed her death.

I need to get this information to Travis ASAP.

The Whispering Bay Police Department is located on the gulf right next to the city municipal building. Since there isn’t a sign on the door that explicitly says no dogs allowed, I bring Paco inside. “Better to ask forgiveness than permission.” Paco wags his tail like he agrees.

Cindy, the receptionist, looks up from her computer screen. She and Rusty have been dating for about a year now. She’s another good customer of mine, although she hasn’t been to The Bistro in over a week, which can only mean that she’s dieting again. Her favorite muffin is cranberry raisin. Maybe I can come up with a low-fat version.

“Hey, Cindy. Is there any way I can see Travis Fontaine? It’s kind of an emergency.”

She shakes her head. “You too, Lucy?”

“What do you mean?”

“Just that every single woman under the age of thirty-five has come by in the last week on some pretext or another to see Travis.”

A part of me finds this amusing. Another part finds it…irritating. “I guess there’s no accounting for taste.”

Paco whimpers, drawing attention to himself.

“Oh! I didn’t see your dog.” Cindy leans over her desk and pats him on the head. “When did you get him? What’s his name?”

“I’m watching him temporarily. His name is Paco.”

“Hey little guy,” Cindy croons.

He makes a big show of wagging his tail and looking utterly adorable like he’s trying to win her over, only I’m pretty sure he’s already done that.

“I could just die, you’re so cute!” Cindy reaches into the top drawer of her desk and pulls out a granola bar. “Is it okay if I give him a piece?”

Paco barks as if to say yes, please!

“Sure, why not?”

She ends up giving him the entire granola bar, and even though I fed him just a couple of hours ago, he gobbles it down like he’s starving,

“So, Cindy, Travis told me that he was bringing Derrick Delgado in for questioning. Do you know how that went? Is it still going on?”