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

Whack The Mole

Sneak Peek

The thing about being a human lie detector is that people will surprise you with the strangest fabrications at the oddest times. Take right now. Rusty Newton, one of Whispering Bay’s finest, is looking straight at me, and he’s just told me a whopper.

I shift my weight from foot to foot. I’ve been standing behind this counter for over three hours without a break. It’s the busiest morning we’ve had all week. And it’s been a record-breaking week here at The Bistro by the Beach, the café I own along with my partner, Sarah Powers. Probably because I’ve become a bit of a celebrity. A small-town celebrity to be sure, but when you’re responsible for nabbing one of America’s most sought-after serial killers, people want to come and gawk at you.

Not that I mind the gawking. Like I said, it’s been terrific for business.

“You want how many muffins again?” I ask Rusty.

“A dozen.” He pulls a piece of paper from the front pocket of his uniform shirt. Rusty Newton is in his mid-forties and has been a cop here in town forever. He’s super sweet but not the brightest bulb on the force. “And five lattes, four turkey sandwiches and six of those oatmeal raisin cookies that Sarah makes.”

“And this is for the crew back at the police station?”

“Yeah. Sure. Who else would I be getting such a big order for?”

Not for the Whispering Bay police department, that’s for sure. For one thing, Zeke Grant, the chief-of-police, has already been in this morning for his coffee and muffin fix. And Cindy, the police department receptionist, is on a diet. She hasn’t caught so much as even a whiff of one of my muffins in weeks.

But that’s not what gave Rusty away.

It’s the little hairs on the back of my neck. Whenever I hear a lie, they automatically start to tingle.

Being able to sniff out lies is a gift I’ve had ever since I can remember. A gift I never appreciated until a few days ago, when it helped me solve the murder of Abby Delgado, a prominent member of the Sunshine Ghost Society, a local club that claims to commune with the dead. But that’s another story.

I punch his order into the computer. “Is this all to go?”

He grins in his goofy Rusty way. But before he can answer, another one of Whispering Bay’s finest comes up to the counter. “What’s to go?” asks Travis Fontaine.

Travis is the newest member of the force, and he looks almost as yummy as one of my double chocolate chip muffins. I wish I could say it was the uniform, but it’s not.

Travis is six foot three with dark blond hair and fierce green eyes. The women in town think that he looks a lot like Ryan Reynolds. He spent eight years on the Dallas police force before moving out here to live near his dad, Jim, a retired homicide detective, all of which makes Travis a good son.

He’s also arrogant and the easiest person I’ve ever read in my life. Not because his face gives anything away. On the contrary. Travis has a poker face that could make him a bundle in Vegas. It’s just that for some reason, where he’s concerned, my Spidey sense is on ultra-alert.

“Rusty just put in a quite an order,” I say. “Is the police department having a party?”

Travis doesn’t even twitch. “No party. Just a bunch of hungry cops.”

Right.

I have to admit, this little lie of theirs has me intrigued.

“It’ll take a few minutes to get that order together.”

“No problem.” Travis leans into the counter. “So, how’s your head?”

“Still a little sore, but I’ll live, thanks.”

My head met up with the backside of a frying pan a few days ago. I still shudder whenever I think about how close I came to being the Angel of Death’s latest victim. Good thing my little dog, Paco, was there to save me.

Speaking of Paco, he has his own unique form of Spidey sense, because he runs up to me like he knows I’m thinking about him. “Hey, little guy!”

I inherited the chihuahua terrier mix when I solved the murder of his former owner, Susan Van Dyke. His name used to be Cornelius, but that was way too stuffy, so he’s Paco now. The members of the Sunshine Ghost Society think that he’s a ghost whisperer. Which, of course, is silly, but like I said, he’s special. It’s almost like he can understand what the humans around him are saying.

I’m allergic to dogs with fur, but after all we’ve been through, there’s no way I’m giving him up, so I’m on medication to keep from itching. It’s not supposed to make me drowsy, but it still does sometimes. Still, it’s a small price to pay for being able to keep him. I live in the apartment above the café, and he spends his days going up and down the stairs between our home and The Bistro’s dining area. The customers love his cute antics, and Sarah finds him adorable as well.

Paco runs around to the other side of the counter to greet Travis. “Hey, boy.” Travis squats down to scratch him behind the ears.