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

My mind jolts back to something Gloria said to me the other day while she was here.

I imagine it’s hard to get away from your job what with the restaurant just downstairs. Deliveries at all hours, that kind of thing.

How does Gloria know that we get deliveries after hours?

Sarah said that Tony was here a couple of days ago to make a delivery, but that no one was home. It was the day that Paco got into the Benadryl. Could Gloria have driven by and seen the delivery truck in our parking lot? Or maybe it was just an innocent comment inspired by parking lot view from my apartment window.

Except, the only window from my apartment that looks down on the parking lot is the one in my bathroom, and Gloria was never in my bathroom. Unless…

I didn’t leave the Benadryl out! I didn’t leave the cap off the bottle.

I’m not the worst dog mother ever.

Gloria broke into my apartment (okay, so I made it really easy by leaving the back door unlocked). She then deliberately gave Paco the Benadryl and tried to make it look as if it was due to carelessness on my part.

But why?

My entire body goes cold as the pieces all fall together into a neat little pile.

The first victim was probably someone important to her. A patient or family member she cared about and didn’t want to see suffer anymore, so she slipped them a little extra morphine.

I run down the stairs, grab my car keys off the rack near the kitchen door, and—

Whack!

The back of my head explodes.

The last thing I see before everything goes fuzzy is Gloria standing over me with a syringe in her hand.

Chapter Twenty-Five

I wake up with a massive headache and a mouth that feels like it’s stuffed with cotton.

What am I doing lying on the floor in The Bistro kitchen?

Then I remember that I have to tell Jim about Gloria Hightower. I try to get to my feet, but my hands are bound together tightly at the wrists, making it difficult. I grab the edge of the counter and slowly pull myself up.

“I was beginning to think that frying pan to the head did you in.”

I whirl around. Ugh. Not a good idea. My stomach feels like a volcano that’s about to erupt. Gloria stands just a few feet away, calmly holding a syringe in her hand.

My gaze darts to the kitchen door. I need to make a run for it. Under normal circumstances, I’m pretty confident I could outrun her, but with my hands tied and my head swirling, I’m not so sure.

Does she plan to inject me with that thing?

What’s in it anyway?

“I take it you plan to overdose me with morphine? Or something that will make it look like I’ve had a heart attack?”

“Take a deep breath, Lucy. You’re hyperventilating.” Her tone is smug and condescending.

“And you’re the Angel of Death.”

She raises a brow. “All those fancy FBI people and Dallas detectives. None of them could figure it out. But you did. It really is too bad. I’m going to miss you. But I’m going to miss your muffins more.”

As far as offhanded compliments from psychopathic killers go, I could do worse.

“Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not going anywhere, Gloria.”