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

I stay in the right-hand lane, three cars behind, going slowly but not too slowly because I want to keep up with them.

The Whispering Bay police station is next door to city hall, but instead of turning into the parking lot, Travis keeps on driving.

I knew they were up to something!

Paco sticks his head out the window. “Get back in,” I urge in case either Travis or Rusty are looking. The last thing I want is for one of them to spot me.

The squad car takes a right into Dolphin Isles, a new residential community of cookie-cutter homes. Whispering Bay is a coastal town of about ten thousand year long residents, mostly young families or retirees. But there’s also a substantial vacation and snow bird crowd that rents homes in this subdivision.

Travis parks the squad car on the side of the road. I roll up behind a palm tree and kill the engine. I’m confident they can’t see me.

Paco barks expectantly.

“Shhh,” I warn. “We’re trying to stay incognito.”

He freezes like he understands, which is actually pretty cute.

I glance back at the squad car, but neither Rusty or Travis get out.

Could they be on some kind of a stakeout? My heart speeds up at the thought. But that makes no sense. All that food for just the two of them?

I make a mental note to buy myself a pair of binoculars when I notice a jogger coming toward them. Maybe mid-thirties, lean build, brown hair, navy blue hoodie. He slows down and approaches the squad car. Travis hands him the two bags of food through the car window, then the man takes off jogging in the opposite direction.

After a couple of minutes, Travis and Rusty drive off.

What in the world?

Without thinking, I start my engine and follow the jogger.