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

“I believe you, Lucy,” says Zeke. “But … and I have to ask this, is there any possibility you might have mistaken this for sugar or something?”

“Sugar? You think I mistook ant poison for sugar? What kind of idiot do you take me for?

“You’ve been tired. You admitted that yourself. You and Tara had an argument, and later that evening you brought her muffins, which might have caused her to get sick. You also can’t explain what she was doing in your kitchen.”

“Believe me, if I wanted to kill Tara, I’d do a heck of a better job at covering my tracks than this.”

Zeke nods grimly. “I’m sorry, Lucy, but we’re going to have shut down The Bistro for a couple of days until we get everything we need here. I’m sure you understand.”

Chapter Seven

I call Sarah with the news.

> “Poor Tara! How awful. The police really don’t know how she died or what she was doing in our kitchen?”

“Not until the autopsy results come back.” I’m pretty sure Travis wouldn’t want me to spread rumors, but Sarah isn’t just anyone. Not only is she a good friend, she’s half owner of the café, which means she has a right to know what’s going on. “Travis thinks she might have been poisoned. Cyanide, maybe. But like I said, nothing is certain yet.”

“Cyanide?

“And … you might as well know this too. Remember the ant poison I bought? The cops confiscated it as evidence. So not only is The Bistro a potential crime scene, we have to stay closed until Wednesday, and your business partner is now public enemy number one.”

“That’s ridiculous,” she sputters.

“Zeke says he has to treat me like anyone else. And I can’t blame him, I guess.”

“Zeke Grant is going to owe you a big fat apology when all this plays out. And … oh, gosh, did you ever get to have that talk with Will?”

“Nope.”

Sarah sighs heavily. “I’m just glad you’re okay. You know, it’s weird. Ever since you got Paco, it seems like death follows you around.” She laughs nervously.

I really need to tell Sarah about Paco’s special skills, but telling her my dog is a ghost whisperer is a face-to-face conversation, not something I break to her over the phone.

“I guess there’s one good thing to come out of all this,” she says.

“Oh, yeah? What’s that?”

“We get a three-day weekend.”

I wish Sarah’s optimism would rub off on me, but all I can think about is how closing down the café an extra two days this week will ultimately affect my checkbook balance, and it’s not pretty.

“Are you going to be okay? Do you need some company tonight?”

“I’ll be fine. It’s Sunday, remember?”

“I forgot. Try to have fun. And tell your mom and dad I said hello.”

Sunday night means dinner at the McGuffin homestead.

My parents are what I like to call reverse snowbirds. A few years ago, they decided they’d had enough of the Florida heat and humidity, so they bought a cabin in North Carolina where they spend the summer months. They come back to Whispering Bay every November and don’t leave again until after Memorial Day weekend. While they’re here, they insist that my brother Sebastian and I come over every Sunday for dinner. It’s a tradition I don’t mind keeping because my mom is a terrific cook, but it’s also her opportunity to grill me on my almost nonexistent love life.

This evening, however, I’m pretty sure the focus is going to be on the dead body in my restaurant kitchen. I park my VW bug in my parents’ driveway, right behind Will’s car. He has a standing invitation to Sunday dinner, and I’m glad he’s here tonight because I sure can use the backup. Paco and I get out of my car just in time to see Brittany pull up behind me.

“Lucy!” She dashes out of her car and grabs me into a hug. “I heard about Tara. You must be devastated!” I should have known Brittany already had the 411 on the whole Tara situation. “You know, Lucy, you’re my best friend, which means I would do anything for you.”

“Okay … thanks. I guess.”

“If you need an alibi, I’m here for you. I’ll say that there’s no way you had anything to do with Tara’s death because we were together the entire night.”