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

I pull the car over to the side of the road. Will’s theory is more than brilliant. It makes total sense when you take into account the vibe I was getting from Gilly. How did I not think of it before him?

“It would explain why Gilly went looking for Tara Sunday morning,” I say. “Think about it: Gilly puts cyanide in Tara’s food or drink. Maybe even the whiskey she was drinking when I came to see her. Later that night, Tara starts to get sick. Maybe she threw up and Gilly starts to worry that she might have given Tara too much of the poison. They all go bed, and when Gilly wakes up, she goes to check on Tara. Only Tara isn’t in her bed, and her car is gone.”

“Okay,” Will says thoughtfully. “I’m with you so far.”

“Now Gilly’s in a total panic. If Tara went to the hospital, someone would eventually figure out that she’d been poisoned, so to cover her tracks, she laces my muffins with cyanide, putting the potential blame on me. She gets in her car to hunt Tara down and finds it parked in The Bistro parking lot.”

“Which brings up the question: What on earth was Tara doing at The Bistro?”

“I think Tara knew something was up, and she came to me for help.”

“Why you? She’d just kicked you off the show.”

“When I brought her the muffins, she asked me how I’d solved the El Tigre case. Maybe she knew she was being poisoned and she wanted me to figure out who did it.”

Will takes off his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know, Lucy. Do you really think Gilly is capable of poisoning someone? She seems more like a mouse than a lion.”

“In my experience of late, it’s the people you least suspect of murder that surprise you.”

“True,” he muses. “People aren’t always what they seem.”

Speaking of which. “That was nice of you to offer to take Alan’s envelope to that bar. What was it called again? The Draft House?”

Will shrugs like it’s no big deal.

“What’s it like?” I ask, curious, because I’ve never once heard Will mention the place.

“It’s a pool joint over in Panama City.”

“How come we’ve never gone there?”

“You wouldn’t like it. It’s kind of rough,” he says evasively.

Huh. I didn’t know Will played pool. Sometimes I feel like he has this secret life. Of all the people in the world, why is he the only one who can hide something from me?

“They don’t open till four, so there’s no use going before then,” he says.

“Okay, but I want to go with you. I’ve never been in a pool joint before.”

“Does that mean we’re done playing detective for now?”

“Not quite. Just because I think Gilly is the murderer doesn’t mean I’m not going to check everyone else out on that list. I’ve jumped the gun before, remember? No way am I doing that again. Plus, what did Gilly mean by that last cryptic statement of hers? About not being able to film a show unless all the restaurants want to participate? It sounds like I wasn’t the only person in that competition that had a beef with Tara.”

Will grunts in agreement. “So what do we do now?”

“We pay a visit to Whispering Bay’s best beach eats.”

He frowns. “Which ones?”

“All of them.”

Chapter Thirteen

The first place we go to is Heidi’s Bakery. Besides eliminating Heidi as a suspect, I have another motive for coming here. Even though muffins outrank all other forms of baked goods, I’m ashamed to admit that once in a while I get a craving for one of Heidi’s premium crumb cake doughnuts. We walk into the bakery at the same exact time something delicious comes out of the oven. Paco lifts his nose in the air to sniff appreciatively.

Normally when I come here, I do a hit and run. I order at the counter to take back to my place, so I’ve never actually sat at a table or looked at a complete menu. The café section is painted a cheery yellow. Blue and white gingham curtains add to the down-home look. The place is swarming with customers, some of whom I recognize as my regulars. Since The Bistro is currently clos

ed under police order, I suppose they have no recourse but to come here. So I forgive them.