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

Travis bends down to scratch him behind the ear. Once he’s made the appropriate hellos, he stands to his full height. I have to wonder if he practices making that scowly face. “Did you break into Gilly Franklin’s beach rental and steal a notebook from her?” he demands.

I bat my lashes at him. “Sounds like someone needs a muffin.”

“Well?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Gilly Franklin just filed a complaint against you. She said the rental company called and told her that the cleaning ladies let a woman into the house on the pretext of finding a missing purse. Only Gilly says she never gave anyone permission to come inside the home, and now her room has been vandalized.”

Vandalized! That Gilly sure is a big fat liar. But I already knew that.

“Does this woman have a name?”

“No, but they said the thief was wearing a T-shirt that read YOU AIN’T SEEN MUFFIN YET. They also said she went into the house as a thirty-four B and came out looking like Dolly Parton. Are you going to stand there and tell me it wasn’t you?”

Rats. I really need to expand my wardrobe.

“I am most certainly not a thief. I was looking for a purse I left the other day,” I lie. “And the cleaning ladies were nice enough to let me in. Last time I looked, that wasn’t a crime.”

“Except Gilly said you never called and told her anything about a missing purse, so obviously that was an excuse to search the place. Speaking of breaking the law, what were you doing at The Draft House in Panama City?”

Whoa. The cleaning ladies aren’t the only ones with big mouths. Grace Cullen probably didn’t even wait to get off her shift before calling Travis to tattletale on me. “What do you care if I go to a bar?”

“I don’t. But if it has anything to do with Tara’s death, then—”

“I took Lucy to The Draft House,” says Will. “We were just there a few minutes, and I can promise you it had nothing do with Tara.”

Will and Travis stare each other down. The air is so thick with testosterone that I can practically choke on it.

“If you calm down a minute, I can explain all about the beach house,” I say.

Travis turns his attention back to me. “I’m waiting.”

“First off, I most certainly did not vandalize anything. You should have seen the condition those camera guys left their rooms! You’d think they were in a frat house or something. Since I had permission to enter the house from the cleaning crew, the only thing I’m guilty of is borrowing a few notes that no one needs anymore. So go ahead, lock me up. The ACLU will have a field day with you.”

Travis closes his eyes like he’s resetting. “I don’t know whether to laugh at that or take you up on it and toss your butt in jail. If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times, leave the police work to the professionals. I thought you were going to trust me to handle this.”

I sigh. “Does that mean you don’t want to see the notes I took?”

His green eyes narrow. “Of course I want to see them.”

“First, say pretty please.”

“Don’t push your luck.”

I reluctantly hand him the notes, but it’s all an act because I know once he reads this, he’ll know I’m on the right track and maybe, just maybe he’ll let me help him solve this case. “You can thank me now for doing your job.”

Travis takes about three minutes to peruse the notes. “This is what you risked going to jail for? It’s nothing but a bunch of script prompts.”

“If you read them carefully, you’ll see that almost all the contestants had a reason to highly dislike Tara.”

He tucks the papers under his arm. “I’ll be returning these to Gilly. Along with your apology. Hopefully, that will be enough to satisfy her.”

“Apology? What am I sorry for exactly? I’ve practically solved the case for you!”

“I’ll show these notes to the chief before I hand them back to their rightful owner, but as for solving the case, just because someone had a legitimate reason to dislike Tara doesn’t mean they killed her. You have to have motive and opportunity as well.”

“But—”