The Squawking Dead: A Cozy Witch Mystery (Magic Market Mysteries Book 7)

by Erin Johnson

  Peter frowned, then looked up at the nondescript stone building we stood in front of. “543 Lower Sea Current Lane. I guess so.”

  Daisy, who stood on his other side, lifted her nose and sniffed the air, then huffed. I think I smell that man you interrogated last night.

  I shot her a flat look and growled. Does he also smell like pizza grease?

  She whipped her head around to look at me, and her mouth split into a toothy grin. “Woof!” Nope—that’s your own unique odor.

  Peter looked at me, eyes twinkling. “What’d she say?”

  I glared at the German shepherd. “Something about needing her glands expressed?”

  She barked. Lies!

  The loud sound reverberated down the narrow, winding cobblestone street we stood on. We appeared to be in a business district of the island. The lane was empty of shoppers, diners, and all the hustle and bustle we passed downtown on our way to this middle tier of the island.

  Peter shot me a knowing grin, then led the way across the lane. As we got closer to the wood door, I noticed the lettering on its glass window.

  WWAAC Headquarters: Witches and Wizards Against Animal Cruelty

  Peter gripped the brass knob, turned it, and pushed the door open. We exchanged surprised looks—despite how quiet it was outside, the place was apparently open for business. We stepped into the lobby of a busy, open-floor-plan office.

  Glossy posters of sad-looking animals lined the walls. I curled my lip at the one behind Peter, which portrayed an especially pathetic-looking lion, its brow pinched, deep black eyes sad.

  My lip twitched toward a grin. Maybe it was a side effect of my ability to speak to animals or just practice, but I’d gotten pretty good at reading any creature’s body language. I nudged Peter as a young, thin man with a clipboard left his desk and sped toward us.

  “I know these are supposed to make you sad for these poor abused animals, but that lion just had gas.”

  Peter raised a fist to his mouth to cover his chuckle.

  “And how can I help you?” The young man blinked at us, then took in Peter’s badge and uniform and plastered on a thin smile.

  “I’m Officer Peter Flint, this is my partner, Daisy, and our consultant, Ms. Hartgrave.” He lifted a palm. “I believe my station manager, Edna, called ahead and booked us an appointment for a tour and a meeting with Zane Perez?”

  The young man shook a curly blond lock out of his eyes and adjusted his square, hip glasses. “Of course. I’m Damian, and I’ll be happy to show you around.”

  Peter nodded. “I appreciate it, thank you.” A manila file folder magically appeared beside him. He opened it and withdrew the photograph of our Jane Doe. “I’m sorry, this might be a bit graphic, but we’re wondering if anyone here recognizes this woman?” He turned the photo around, and Damian cringed.

  “Ew. No.”

  I frowned. “You’re sure you’ve never seen her before? She’s not a volunteer maybe?”

  He shook his head. “I’ve been here two years, and I’ve never seen this woman. She’s not part of WWAAC.”

  Daisy wagged her tail and whined. Truth.

  I bit the inside of my cheek. Not knowing this lady’s mysterious identity was getting annoying. Her presence in the enclosure really only made sense if she was trying to bust the phoenix out. It’d make sense that Malorie would try to stop her while some of her associates maybe smuggled the bird out. If she wasn’t part of WWAAC, then what was she doing there and who’d helped her?

  Peter pulled the photo back. “Would it be alright if we asked around with some of the others, just in case?”

  Damian shot him a flat look. “Whatever. But I’m telling you, she’s not one of us.”

  Peter nodded. “Thank you.”

  He spun on his perfectly white-sneakered heel and led us through the maze of desks. Men and women, mostly in their twenties, but there were some older folks too, wore bright purple shirts sporting the WWAAC logo on the front and Volunteer across the back. They gathered around the desks, speaking on communication devices, folding pamphlets, and engaging in heated discussions.

  “This is where the magic happens,” Damian droned in his nasally voice.

  Peter’s gaze swept over the dozens of people gathered in the front. “Are most people here volunteers?”

  Our guide hugged his clipboard to his chest. “We have over one hundred volunteers, though the number varies at any given time. We also have a full-time paid staff that helps with administration, special projects, and office work, like moi.”

  Peter showed the photo to various groups of volunteers. All of them denied knowing her, and according to Daisy, they were all being truthful.

  Damian rolled his wrist and continued on. We passed a table of about ten people creating picket signs. One read: Shifters Are People, Too! Another read: Sam Snakeman Is Our Man!

  I pointed. “What are these for?”

  Damian huffed and then turned around. “Oh. There’s a rally at the palace next week for shifter rights. Sam Snakeman as well as Prince Harry and Princess Imogen will be making speeches.” He tipped his head side to side. “It’s kind of a gray area for us, as we’re really advocating for animal rights, but since shifters are half animal, WWAAC has officially come out in support of more equal treatment for them.”

  I quirked my lips to the side, thinking it over. I slid closer to Peter and lowered my voice. “Maybe attitudes toward shifters are really shifting. Get it?”

  He rolled his eyes but grinned down at me. “Yeah, I get it.” He grew serious. “And it’s about time. Do you want to go to that?”

  I shrugged. “I’ll think about it.” I wasn’t sure how many shifters would actually attend a rally for their own rights. It was dangerous to even be suspected of being a shifter. Current laws allowed anyone to deny you housing, jobs, loans, or anything if they thought you were a shifter.

  Then again, as far as I knew, nothing like this had ever happened on the island. It might be a turning point. My stomach clenched, my pessimism kicking back in. It’d take a lot to change the way shifters were viewed and treated, and none of it could happen while Ludolf ruled the shifter underground. With the way he was testing potions on me, who even knew if I’d make it to next week?

  “You okay?”

  Peter, Daisy, and our guide, Damian, were staring at me. I shook myself and caught up to them. “Yep.”

  Daisy growled. Likely story.

  Peter’s concerned look lingered on me a moment longer, but I waved it off. “I’m okay. Just… a little pensive.”

  He nodded and slid an arm around my shoulders, hugging me to his side for a quick squeeze. I grinned up at him gratefully.

  We finished showing the photo of our mystery woman to everyone there, and then Damian showed us back to Zane Perez’s office. He knocked and called through the white door, “The police are here to speak to you.”

  “Come in” came the muffled reply.

  Damian held the door open for us, and Peter, Daisy, and I filed into the small office. The young man shut the door behind us.

  24

  ZANE PEREZ

  “Zane Perez?”

  A guy in probably his midforties with short, salt-and-pepper curly hair rose from behind his desk. “That’s me. Please, sit.”

  The office was modest, cramped, and littered with papers, rally signs stacked against the wall, and a ratty couch with a pillow and thin blanket on it. I’d guess Zane often slept at the office after a long night of work,

  He settled behind his desk, and Peter and I took the hard wooden chairs across from him. Daisy settled between us, Peter absentmindedly resting his hand on her head and scratching between her ears.

  Zane wore olive cargo pants and a khaki button up, the sleeves rolled up to reveal tanned forearms. He looked like he’d just come from a shift working a safari, down to the mud-splattered combat boots.

  I pressed my lips together, eyeing Zane as Peter and I sat across the desk from him. Which came firs
t—the aesthetic, or did working with exotic animals just turn you into Ranger Down Under?

  Zane winked at Daisy, who could barely eye him over the top of the desk. “Hey, pup!” She growled in response, and his eyes grew wide. “Dogs usually love me.”

  I thumbed at her. “Yeah, well maybe this one’s a better judge of character than most.”

  He curled his lip, his expression sour, and I grinned wider.

  Peter cleared his throat and covered his mouth to hide his own smile. “In fact, Daisy here has been enchanted to detect lies.” He ruffled the dog’s tawny fur, and she grinned up at him with her pointy white teeth on display. “So please keep that in mind as you answer our questions.”

  Zane gawked as he looked from Peter to Daisy to me. “Am I in trouble?”

  I just raised a brow—yeah, buddy, better believe she’ll call you out.

  Peter cleared his throat. “Were you at the Night of the Phoenix party yesterday evening at the Magical Animal Sanctuary?”

  Zane frowned. “No way.”

  I cocked my head. I mean, he worked for an animal rights organization. Why wouldn’t he attend a party for an animal sanctuary?

  Daisy’s bushy tail wagged as Peter’s hand rested on the back of her neck. True.

  I splayed my hands. “Why not? We heard you infiltrated the sanctuary, undercover, right?”

  Zane looked toward the door and scoffed. “Something like that.”

  Daisy wagged her tail again. True.

  Peter frowned and leaned forward. “Can you explain that to me? Isn’t Witches and Wizards Against Animal Cruelty typically in support of sanctuaries?”

  Zane nodded. “That’s right. I’ve been a passionate supporter of animal rights for the last twenty years with WWAAC, and we here typically do support sanctuaries.” His hands curled into fists. “I went undercover at the Magical Animal Sanctuary because it’s as much a sanctuary as I am a kangaroo.”

  I blinked then shifted my gaze to Daisy, who wagged her tail. True.

  So did that mean he was a kangaroo?

  Zane huffed and rolled his eyes. “It’s not a sanctuary, at least we here at WWAAC suspect as much. It’s just another private zoo, masquerading as a charity, which, frankly—” He shook a finger at Peter. “—which frankly is worse. Animals don’t belong behind bars.”

  I leaned forward. “We can agree on that, but some people do. Wink.”

  Peter licked his lips. “Why don’t you believe it’s a sanctuary? What do you think is going on there?”

  Zane splayed his palms. “Yes, going undercover to undermine a sanctuary is unique for us. For the most part, sanctuaries rescue animals who’ve been mistreated or couldn’t make it on their own in the wild, and often they rehabilitate and release animals that can.” He nodded. “We partner with quite a few of them.” He shook his head. “With the Magical Animal Sanctuary, we suspected something underhanded was going on.”

  Peter leaned forward. “Underhanded?”

  Zane nodded. “It’s rare, but a handful of sanctuaries we’ve come across claim to save animals, but in reality are breeding them themselves or buying them from illegal breeders.”

  “Was that the case with the Rutherfords’ place?” That thinking line appeared between Peter’s brows.

  I licked my lips. Were these animals inbred maybe? Was that why their speech was so stunted?

  Zane shrugged. “I didn’t come across any evidence of breeding going on in house.” He leaned forward and tapped his desk. “But while I was there, we got a new delivery of animals, and I couldn’t help but doubt they came from legitimate sources.”

  Peter’s frown deepened. “Why?”

  Zane shrugged. “Partly just a feeling.” His eyes narrowed. “The guys who delivered them seemed shady.” He looked down, seemed to debate a moment, then looked back up. “I know this isn’t legal, okay, but I snuck into the office one night and looked around in the confidential files.” He lowered his voice so that Peter and I had to lean even farther forward. Even Daisy’s ears pricked.

  Zane’s throat bobbed. “Going back decades, I’d guess 90 percent of the animals at the sanctuary came from the same wildlife rescue, the Underground Animal Rescue.”

  I cocked a brow. “Okay…”

  Zane looked intently between us. “The thing is, I’ve been working with WWAAC for two decades and I’ve never heard of the Underground Animal Rescue. And we’ve heard of every big player in the animal market, from poachers, to zoos, to sanctuaries to breeders. We don’t always have enough evidence to get them shut down, mind you, but we’ve at least heard of them. The kingdoms aren’t that big.”

  Daisy whined. Truth.

  “That’s weird.” I bounced my foot. “Just out of curiosity, what animals got delivered while you were undercover at Malorie’s sanctuary?”

  He frowned and looked down, as if casting back through his memory. “Uh, a few lizards, a bobcat, a sloth, an alligator—”

  I shot my arm out. “Wait. You said a sloth?”

  His eyes tightened with concern. “Yeah… why?”

  “The sloth was new.” I nodded, thinking over our encounter earlier. I turned to Peter and lowered my voice. “It was trying to tell me something… maybe it’s about this underground animal rescue place.”

  Zane leaned forward. “What’s this all about? Is Malorie pressing charges?” His dark eyes darted quickly between Peter and me. “Look, I admit, I snuck into the ‘sanctuary’”—he made air quotes around the last word—“to learn more about it. But they hired me as a zookeeper, and I did my job. It might not have all been the most aboveboard, but it’s not illegal.” He winced. “Except for looking into their records, maybe.”

  I quirked my lips to the side. “No… but murder is.”

  Zane scoffed. “Murder?” His smirk faltered as Peter and I continued to gaze back at him, stone faced. “Who—who got murdered?”

  Peter glanced down at the parchment in front of him, covered in notes and black ink splotches. “Tell me more about what happened when you worked there. As a zookeeper, you said?”

  He shifted in his wooden chair. “Yeah, like I said, I went undercover for WWAAC, but I did work there—cleaning cages, feeding the animals, helping lead tour groups occasionally.” He sighed. “I tried to talk to the head zookeeper, Libbie Brown, and get her to turn over information that would prove that that place is no sanctuary for animals.”

  I raised my brows. “How’d that work out?”

  He dropped his head into one hand and massaged his temples. “It was a mistake, outing myself like that.” He lurched upright. “But I thought it was a sure thing with Libbie. Malorie stole Libbie’s zoo, paid her like dirt, gave her no benefits.” He threw his hands up. “I could tell Libbie was there because she cared about the animals, just like we do at WWAAC.”

  I winced. “But it was a no go?”

  “No!” Zane shook his head, mouth open in disbelief. “Libbie told me she wanted no part of my investigation.” He shrugged. “I was hoping Libbie would have some stories of abuse or putting animals down before their time or unsafe conditions for visitors. We wanted something we could use to get the place to either be more open or to get it shut down and release the animals to more aboveboard facilities.”

  I thought of all those cages, all those strange-acting animals trapped inside them. “Or the wild?”

  He splayed his hands. “Yes, if the animal’s fit to be released.”

  Peter nodded. “What happened after you told Libbie your real motives for being there?”

  Zane pressed his eyes shut and shook his head. “She turned me in to Malorie, who told me to leave and never come back. She said if she got any whiff of WWAAC snooping around in her business again, she’d sic her lawyers on us.”

  Daisy’s tail wagged. All true.

  I was again slightly disappointed that Malorie’s threat hadn’t been juicier—no threats to his life or anything that’d give us a serious motive for murder.

  A manila f
ile magically appeared on the table in front of Peter in a flash of blue light. He opened it and removed a photograph of our Jane Doe, with the gash in her chest and the talon on a chain lying beside her. I looked quickly away, my stomach turning.

  Peter turned the picture to face Zane and slid it across the table. “Do you recognize this woman?”

  Zane leaned forward, eyes narrowed before he suddenly recoiled and shoved his chair back from the table. “Snakes!” He gaped at Peter, then pointed a trembling hand at the photo. “Is that a dead body?”

  I knew how he felt. I could barely look either.

  Peter nodded. “Do you recognize her?”

  Zane darted a glance at the photo, then covered his mouth and averted his eyes. “I’ve never seen her in my life.”

  Daisy whined. True!

  I frowned. “WWAAC couldn’t have sent her to the party last night?”

  “No way!” Zane gulped. “Is that the murder you came here to ask me about? Because I have never seen that woman in my life.”

  I tipped my head from side to side. “Yeah… well, it’s one of them.”

  Zane paled again. “There’s more?”

  Peter licked his lips. “Malorie Rutherford was also killed last night. Do you know anything about that?”

  “Snakes, no! You think I could’ve—?” He blinked and huffed. “No, I respect life—I don’t want to take it.”

  Peter lifted a broad palm. “You respect animal life… would you kill Malorie to free her animals?”

  Zane hesitated. “No.”

  Daisy tipped her head to the side and eyed the curly-haired man. She let out a quiet bark. Partial truth.

  I raised my brows at Zane, who seemed to already understand Daisy had called him out.

  His shoulders slumped. “Okay—I honestly don’t know, but I can tell you I absolutely did not kill Malorie or that other woman in the picture.”

  Daisy whined. True.

  Peter and I exchanged glances. It didn’t seem like Zane was our man. Peter raised a brow, I shrugged one shoulder, and then he turned to Zane. “Alright. Thank you for your cooperation.”

  Zane’s face relaxed.

  Peter pointed at him as we rose and Daisy stretched then got to her feet. “We’ll be in touch.”