Murder By Muffin (Lucy McGuffin, Psychic Amateur Detective 3)

“What did she want?” Travis asks.

“I didn’t get to talk to her. She called when I was at The Burger Barn, and she never left a message. I called her back, but it went to voice mail.”

“Do you know how her car got in your parking lot?”

“I assume she drove it here?” Now it’s my turn to ask questions. “How did Tara die? And what was she doing in my kitchen?”

“We were hoping you could give us the answer to that last question,” Zeke says. “There was no sign of forced entry.”

“No sign of—oh.” Blast. “When I got home last night, my hands were full. I must have forgotten to lock the kitchen door. I don’t know. I’ve just been so tired. But as for what Tara was doing here, I have no clue.”

Travis mutters something under his breath. He’s always after me to lock my doors at night, which I normally do, but I have to admit, last night I had chocolate milkshake and fries on the brain.

“So how did Tara die?” I ask again.

“We’re not certain,” Zeke says. Only the little hairs on my neck begin to tingle. He’s not exactly lying, but he’s not telling me the whole truth either.

“It looks like she might have had a seizure,” says Travis.

“Tara had epilepsy?”

Zeke looks at Travis sideways like he’s warning him, but Travis ignores him and answers me anyway. “Not that anyone was aware of.” He leans forward in his seat. “I’ve seen something similar to this before when I worked in Dallas. In that case, the victim was poisoned. Cyanide,” he adds. “But we won’t know anything for certain until the autopsy.”

Cyanide?

“You mean Tara was murdered?” I let that sink in. “But who would want to—oh. No way do you think I had anything to do with this.”

“Of course not,” Travis says, irritated, only I can’t tell who’s he’s angry at.

“Lucy, I’ve known you and your family for a long time,” Zeke says. “You’re the last person I’d suspect of doing anyone harm, but as chief of police, I have to treat you just like I’d treat anyone else.”

“You said you brought Tara muffins. Do you remember how many?” Travis asks.

“Six jumbo muffins. She loved them, by the way.”

“We just got a call from a member of the forensics team that went out to the beach house,” says Zeke. “There were four muffins left, so we have to assume she ate two of them. The muffins are being taken to the county lab for analysis.”

“Analysis? You think I poisoned my muffins? To kill Tara? I wouldn’t even have a clue where to get any cyanide!”

There’s a full ten seconds of silence before Zeke says, “We found some in your kitchen. In the pantry, to be exact.”

“That’s impossible. Wait. You’re looking in my pantry?”

“This is a potential crime scene. We’re looking everywhere.”

“Well if there’s cyanide in my pantry, then someone put it there, because I’ve never in my life bought any such thing.”

Any second now, I expect the two of them to start laughing and tell me I’ve been punked. Maybe Tara isn’t even dead. Maybe this is all some sort of crazy scheme on her part to get ratings for her stupid show.

“Am I being filmed here? Because if this is all some sort of big joke, it’s not funny.”

Zeke pulls out a plastic bag with a bottle inside. “Do you recognize this?”

I take a closer look at what’s inside the bag. “That’s the ant killer I bought the other day, only after I used it I decided to toss it out because—” Oh no.

“It contains cyanide salts,” finishes Travis.

“I had no idea. But that still doesn’t matter. I didn’t put that in my muffins.”