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

Now it’s my turn to give him a sideways look.

“What?” he says. “I’ve always wanted to play that game.”

Before I can respond, the door opens. Gilly is dressed in sweats, and her long, dark hair looks messy, like we just dragged her out of bed. Good. She’s definitely uncaffeinated. “Lucy, what are you doing here?”

“Can I come in? This is my friend Will Cunningham, and you know Paco.”

“I’m not sure I should speak to you without the police present.”

“Come on. You can’t really think that I had anything to do with Tara’s death.”

“We’ll only be a few minutes,” says Will. He gives her one of his winning smiles, which does the trick.

“All right, but I don’t have much time.”

The three of us settle into the living room, Will and I on the sofa and Paco at my feet.

“So what it is you want exactly?” Gilly takes a seat across from us, rearranging her legs so that her bare feet are tucked beneath her. Streaks of early morning sunlight

filter in through the windows, giving me a better look at her face. Her eyelids are puffy, like she’s been crying.

Crying because she feels guilty? Or crying because she’s saddened by Tara’s death?

“Are you okay?” I ask her.

She stiffens. “I’m fine.”

She doesn’t look fine, but Gilly’s well-being isn’t my concern right now, so I launch into my first question. “Who else came to see Tara besides me that night?”

“How do you know anyone else came to see her?” she asks suspiciously.

This is tricky because I don’t want to get Travis into trouble, so I decide it’s easier to lie. “I saw a car pull up as I was leaving. I assumed it must to be someone coming to speak to Tara.”

“Like I said before, I’m not sure I should discuss this with you.”

“Then how about you tell me what you were doing at The Bistro the morning Tara died? It’s a mighty big coincidence that you just happened to waltz into my kitchen seconds after I found her dead on my floor.”

“I … I woke up and found her bed empty. I figured she’d gone out for a drive. I thought she might be with you.”

The hairs on my neck practically go into cardiac arrest. Now we’re getting somewhere! I’ve just caught Gilly in a huge whopper.

“Why did you think she’d be at my place so early in the morning?”

“Well … you’d been here the night before, and she seemed kind of off after you left. When I spotted her car in your parking lot, it was a huge relief.”

Huh. This is true. Not that it makes any sense.

“Did you usually keep such close tabs on Tara?”

Our conversation is cut off when Alan walks into the living room. A duffel bag hangs off his shoulder, and he’s carrying what looks like his camera equipment. “I’m all packed up,” he tells Gilly.

“You’re leaving?” I ask.

“There’s nothing for me to do here now that filming has been suspended, so yeah, Pete and I just got a gig with a documentary crew up in Alaska. Gotta pay the bills, you know?”

Alaska in November? No, thank you.

“So Pete’s leaving too?”