Whack The Mole (Lucy McGuffin, Psychic Amateur Detective 2)

“Do you have time for a cup of coffee?” I ask trying to keep my voice from shaking. When I came up with this plan it seemed so simple, but I didn’t think about the fact that I was going to have to be alone with El Tigre in my kitchen. I need to calm my nerves and act natural.

“Thanks, I’d love one. I haven’t taken my lunch break so I got some time to kill.”

Yeah, among other things.

“How about a sandwich? Turkey okay?”

“I don’t want to put you to any trouble.”

“No trouble at all. Sarah and I appreciate you making a special trip.”

He takes the food and sits on a stool by the counter. “I’m glad I got this chance to see you. I heard things got a little crazy after I left The Harbor House.”

I’ll say.

“You heard about the body in the bathroom?”

He nods. “It was in the Panama City papers.”

The skin on the back of my neck erupts into goosebumps. Mike didn’t find out about Eddie “The Hatchet” O’Leary getting whacked from any newspaper. He knew about it firsthand.

“Paco and I were the ones who found the body.”

He looks up from his sandwich. “Yeah, I heard about that too.”

“You did?”

“The cops came to ask a few questions.” He looks at me.

“Um, yeah, when they questioned me they asked who else had been at my table, so I gave them your name.” I pause. “I hope it didn’t freak you out, seeing a bunch of cops at your door.”

Mike snorts. “Not likely.”

He’s a cool one all right. He probably thinks himself soooo above the local cops.

“You know, this murder at The Harbor House appears similar to the murder of the guy I found in the dumpster.”

Mike doesn’t say anything. Instead, he takes a bite of his sandwich.

“It’s kind of creepy, isn’t it?” I persist, trying to get a rise from him. “We were at The Harbor House eating brunch when some poor guy was getting killed in the bathroom. It’s like I don’t even know what’s going on in Whispering Bay anymore.”

“It’s scary all right.”

“You didn’t see anything when you went to get your truck, did you?”

“Nope.” He continues to munch on his sandwich.

We’re getting nowhere here.

“So how much longer do you think you’ll be doing deliveries? Rocko said he broke his leg. How bad is it?”

“Bad enough to keep him from driving for at least a couple more months.”

“Funny. I thought you told me he was on vacation.” Let’s see how El Tigre lies his way out of this one.

Mike lays down his sandwich. “Yeah, about that… I said that because I felt bad on account of I was the one who gave Rocko the broken leg.”

I gulp. “You did?”