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

Chapter Fifteen

By the time we get to Panama City, it’s after five, and the parking lot for The Draft House is already full. I circle around the building hoping to catch a spot. “Popular place, huh?” I say to Will.

“Just drop me off in front,” he says. “It’ll only take a minute to hand off this envelope.”

“But I want to go inside.” I know I sound whiny, but I really want to see the inside of a pool bar. Especially one that Will considers sketchy.

In my college days, I went to a few off-campus joints, but those were always full of rowdy frat boys who got on my nerves. And in culinary school, I was so busy studying and working, I barely had time to breathe. Now that I own a café, my life consists of work, baking, Sunday morning Mass, family dinners and Friday night TV with Will. With the exception of the recent murders I’ve solved, it’s not the most exciting life for

a twenty-six-year-old. A seedy pool bar sounds deliciously interesting.

“I thought you wanted to get back home and read through Gilly’s notes,” says Will.

“I do, but I just want to take a peek inside.” I drive around the parking lot one more time, but now there are more cars trying to find a spot, so I begrudgingly pull around and let him out.

“I’ll be right back.” He puts the envelope in the back pocket of his jeans.

A middle-aged couple who look as if they’ve just gotten off work follow Will inside the building. From the outside, the place looks like every other building on the block.

A car horn gets my attention, urging me to move along and stop blocking the entrance.

“Sorry!” I wave to them in the rearview mirror and begin circling the building, waiting for Will to come out. I thought he said it would only take a minute to deliver the envelope. What’s taking him so long?

Paco begins to whine. I turn around in my seat. “What is it, boy?”

He gives me his I-have-to-pee-now look.

I turn my car into a side alley where a large NO PARKING sign makes me think twice. But this is a Paco emergency. Besides, Will should be coming out any second, so I’ll only be here a couple of minutes at the most.

I clip on Paco’s leash and take him to a grassy area in front of the building, where he does his doggie duty. A man wearing a suit walks past me. He smiles at Paco and me, then waves to a woman walking toward him. They exchange pleasantries and go inside the bar.

Huh.

I linger near the entrance. Paco looks at the door, then at me, then back at the door again like he’s daring me to do it. Since I’ve never been one to back down from a challenge, I open the door and walk inside.

The Draft House is one big open space with a dining area in front. Rows of pool tables line the back of the room, and a jumbo-size TV hangs above the wall-to-wall bar. The clientele, ranging in age from early twenties all the way up to retirees, are involved in a range of activities, from sipping on their drinks, eating and playing pool to watching what’s on the screen.

In other words, it’s a typical Florida beach bar.

The way Will described it, I was expecting some rat-infested shanty full of bikers sporting swastika tattoos with knives between their teeth.

A server holding a tray of dirty glasses asks me if I need a table. She looks down at Paco and frowns. “Is that a service dog?”

“No, but he’s really well trained,” I say hopefully.

Paco wags his tail and looks up at her with those big brown eyes of his, causing her to do a complete one-eighty. “Isn’t he the cutest!” I swear, it’s like he’s hypnotized her or something. “He’s probably okay. But if Dave asks you to take him out, then he’ll have to go.”

“Dave?”

She points to the bar. “That’s the owner over there.”

I follow her line of vision to see Will talking to a middle-aged bald guy standing behind the bar.

“That’s my friend Will. I was just coming inside to get him. We won’t be long.”

“You’re a friend of Will’s?” She gives me a long look. “Are you his girlfriend?”

“No, we’re just—wait, you know Will?”