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

by Erin Johnson

  Peter and Quincy whirled in my direction, and Daisy barked.

  There she is!

  Quincy gripped the rope railing of the swaying walkway. “What’s she doing in there again?”

  Peter grinned at me, then turned to Quincy. “Please lower the magical barrier so she can get back out.”

  He obliged, begrudgingly, and I stepped forward. The magic rushed back into place as soon as I was free of the enclosure. Peter withdrew his wand and gave me a magical boost back up to the swaying rope bridge.

  I grinned my thanks at Peter and grabbed the lapel of his uniform. “A word, Officer? In private?’ I shot a scathing look at Quincy, who spluttered in response. Typical.

  “Uh, sure.” Peter and I moved a few feet away, and he muttered a silencing spell so we could talk with candor.

  I pointed at him. “You first—what’d you find?” My heart still pounded in my chest. I felt like I could rip a few trees out of the ground.

  He frowned as he looked me over, clearly concerned, but he cleared his throat and spoke. “We found the permits. The phoenix was from the Underground Animal Rescue, the one Zane Perez told us about.”

  My nostrils flared as I huffed. “The mysterious one that no one in the animal rights world knows anything about?”

  Peter nodded. “Just from a cursory glance at the papers, I’d guess they get about 90 percent of their animals from the UAR.”

  I shook my head, jaw tight. If I kept this up, I’d probably grind my molars down to nubs. “It’s Ludolf Caterwaul!” I flashed my eyes at him. “The Underground Animal Rescue is Ludolf! The sloth, the lemurs, probably 90 percent of the animals here—they’re shifters!”

  Peter blanched. “That’s—”

  “Depraved?” I nodded.

  A red flush spread up Peter’s neck and cheeks. He whirled and marched up to Quincy, me right behind him. “Who’s your contact?”

  Quincy frowned and pointed at one of his large ears.

  Peter huffed, irritated, then waved his wand and ended the silencing spell. “Who’s your contact at the Underground Animal Rescue?”

  Quincy scoffed. “I—I don’t know…. It wasn’t my business to handle.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Let me guess— Malorie handled it?”

  Quincy lifted his weak chin. “Actually, I believe Libbie did for a while, until she left us.”

  Peter and I exchanged looks. We’d be paying Libbie a visit soon, I had no doubt. I turned back to Quincy, adrenaline making my hands and voice shake. “Did you know that all your animals are shifters trapped in animal form?”

  “What? What are you talking about?”

  Daisy growled, and I grinned. “You’re lying.”

  Quincy bristled. “These are outrageous claims!”

  Oh. I’d show him outrageous. I balled my trembling hands into fists, ready to attack, but Peter clamped a warm hand down on my shoulder and pulled me toward him. I spun to face him.

  “Come on, Jolene. We need to leave this for now.”

  “What the shell?” I scoffed. “We have to shut this down and free those people!” I threw an arm toward the jungle-like enclosure.

  Peter’s blue eyes bored into mine, his brow pinched, expression pained. “I know. And we will. But we need proof.”

  I gawked at him. “Uh, the sloth told me it’s a shifter!” I threw an arm toward the German shepherd. “Daisy will back me up.”

  Peter sighed. “No offense, but there’s still a lot of skepticism about a pet psychic and a dog who can supposedly smell lies.” He shook his head. “You two are invaluable for getting to the root of things, but we always have to find that concrete proof or get a confession. I’m sorry.” He squeezed my shoulder. “Let’s go talk to Libbie Brown and see if we can find out more about where these an—I mean, shifters came from.”

  I set my jaw, shot one more fiery glare at Quincy, then turned back to Peter and nodded. I’d meant what I’d said to the sloth—there was no way I was letting these people rot in here. One way or another, I was going to see justice for these fellow shifters.

  29

  PHOTO FINISH

  After a call to Edna up at the station, Peter, Daisy and I trekked all the way back down the mountain to a run-down apartment building just a few blocks over from my place. The sky was lightening with the first faint rays of dawn peeking through the thick clouds and mist that hung over the sea. The chill in the air and the walk helped calm my nerves down a bit, but every time I thought of those dozens, maybe hundreds, of shifters trapped in cages, I could feel the heat of anger flare up in my chest again.

  Peter knocked on Libbie’s door, the faded green paint peeling. The hallway was open to the elements, and rain fell behind us in a steady curtain. The open railing looked out over a central courtyard with a green fountain and pots full of dead plants. The door opened a crack, and Libbie peeked out at us. “Officer.”

  “We’d like to come in and have a few words with you, if that’s alright, Ms. Brown?”

  She glared at us. “Is this about Cassie? ’Cause no take backs.”

  I planted a hand on my hip. “Not sure the law works like that, but no, that’s not why we’re here.”

  “Fine.” She grumbled to herself but unlatched the chain and held the door for us as we entered. She hugged Cassie, the wombat, to her with one arm, resting the animal on her hip like a large baby. I nodded my hello at it and settled beside Peter on the shabby couch. Not that I was judging—mine was way shabbier. And not in the chic way.

  The apartment was small and dark, with a short hallway leading to a couple more rooms with closed doors. Libbie grabbed a wooden chair from the dinette table in the kitchen and dragged it over in front of the couch. She sat down and cradled her wombat in her lap.

  “Alright, if you’re not here for Cassie, what do you want?” She wore sweatpants, a hoodie, and her dark hair wrapped up in a silk scarf. She looked like she’d been just about to go to bed. I stifled a yawn behind my hand, suddenly realizing how long a night it’d been for me, too.

  Peter leaned forward and laced his fingers together between his knees. “What do you know about the Underground Animal Rescue?”

  Libbie snorted. “Not much.”

  Cassie sniffed her chin.

  “It was sort of a ‘don’t ask questions’ kind of scenario. As in, Malorie told me not to ask any questions or ask for any paperwork. A wagon from UAR would show up with a cage, usually at night, some animal in there, and we’d just take them.” She shrugged.

  Peter narrowed his eyes. “What questions would you normally ask?”

  She smirked. “Look, when I had my own zoo, if I bought an animal, the breeder would give me paperwork and permits certifying it was legal. And if they didn’t…” She lifted her palms, and Cassie circled in her lap like a dog settling down. “They probably weren’t legal.”

  Peter frowned. “I just came from the Magical Animal Sanctuary. Quincy showed me paperwork.”

  She smirked again. “That’s the sanctuary’s paperwork, just tracking the animal and where it came from. That’s not the same as the animal being registered with the government certifying the animal is legally a rescue or comes from a legal breeding facility.”

  I nodded. “So you’re saying the Underground Animal Rescue is likely supplying the sanctuary with illegally obtained animals?”

  She nodded. “Exactly.”

  Peter and I exchanged looks. Just further evidence to support my theory. If Ludolf was behind this, why was he supplying the sanctuary with shifters? My stomach clenched. Fifty years ago—that was around the time of the Monster Wars. If Ludolf hadn’t banished those activist leaders to Carclaustra—maybe he’d found an entirely different sort of prison for them.

  Libbie frowned at me. “You okay? You look like you’re going to be sick?”

  I waved her off. “Just having an existential crisis, that’s all.”

  Peter shot me a concerned look, but I gave him a reassuring nod. I’d fill him in on my theory
later. He turned back to Libbie. “Who’d you meet when the animals were delivered? Who was your contact?”

  She stroked her wombat’s head. “It varied. We never got names. The guys didn’t seem like they wanted to talk. Not the friendliest.”

  I sighed. Of course Ludolf wasn’t going to do grunt work himself—he’d distance himself, like he did with all of his underhanded dealings. But the more we learned, the more convinced I was that he was behind this.

  Libbie shrugged. “Look, Malorie was up to all kinds of shady stuff—my two merkles? She had it coming. Plus she paid terribly.”

  Peter frowned. “I thought she gave you a big severance payment when you left??”

  Libbie snorted. “I asked for a raise and she said no. Then last week, I found that old photo of Malorie and the gang, and her tune changed.” She looked sheepish. “I, uh—didn’t exactly tell you guys everything the other night.”

  Peter and I exchanged looks. He withdrew his wand and muttered a few words. The manila folder (which I’d given back to him) magically appeared in his free hand. He picked through it and withdrew the old photograph we’d found in the safe in the sanctuary’s office, the one from the first Night of the Phoenix party fifty years ago. He turned it around and showed it to Libbie. “This photo?”

  She smirked and nodded. She leaned forward and pointed. “See here?”

  Peter turned the photo so we could all see. She tapped the glossy print near the top, behind the crowd of smiling men and women in their finest.

  “You have to look really closely, but check it out. That’s Richard Rutherford’s hand sticking out of a carnivorous plant.”

  Peter and I exchanged wide-eyed looks, then scooted closer to the photo. Sure enough, among the lush foliage of the sanctuary was a plant taller than a man that looked a lot like a Venus flytrap. A limp hand hung out of it with a gaudy ruby ring on one finger.

  Peter looked intensely at Libbie. “You’re sure that’s Richard Rutherford’s hand?”

  She shrugged. “It’s his ring. I was cleaning up the office and found all these boxes of old photos. I figured I’d make a photo slide for the Night of the Phoenix event—kind of a look back at the last one. He’s featured in lots of other photos from that night wearing that ring—I remember it stood out to me because it was so over the top.”

  I raised a brow. “And you showed this to Malorie?”

  Libbie looked down at Cassie, who sniffed her cheek. She glanced back up at us. “I’m not proud of it, okay, but yeah, I showed it to Malorie. I figured it was proof that she killed her ex.”

  I smirked. “So you mean you blackmailed her?”

  Libbie rolled her eyes. “I told you she paid like detritus! I figured a little incentive for a raise wouldn’t hurt. Anyway, Malorie’s eyes got all wide and she was really upset. She paid me off but told me to leave.”

  Peter cocked his head. “Let me get this straight—she fired you over the picture?”

  I snorted. “It was probably that or the blackmail.”

  Libbie waved it away with a fluttering of her hand. “It proved she killed him, once and for all. I agreed to leave with a large severance payment. I didn’t want to keep working for a killer anyway.”

  Wow. Well, it wasn’t the information we’d been looking for regarding the Underground Animal Rescue, but it was a whole new angle on the case. The very tangled, messy case. I yawned again, and Peter shot me a look. He turned back to Libbie.

  “Thank you for your help. We’ll be in touch.”

  We rose, Daisy as well, and then Libbie leapt to her feet. “Listen, since you let me keep Cassie and…” She raised her brows. “And maybe as an incentive to not prosecute me for the whole blackmail thing…” She held up a finger then disappeared down the hall. When she came back, she had her wand out and three moving boxes hovered behind her. “When I left and packed up my stuff, I might just have taken the rest of the boxes of photos from the party fifty years ago.”

  The boxes hovered closer to us.

  “Here—just in case you can find more evidence in there. I took them as insurance—Malorie kept the original photo, but I figured there might be more evidence in there.”

  Peter withdrew his wand and spelled the boxes closer.

  I shot her a sassy look. “Thanks for handing over stolen evidence to the police.”

  She had the decency to look sheepish.

  While I wanted nothing more than to literally not rest until those shifters were freed, Peter convinced me I wouldn’t be any good to them as a sleep-deprived zombie. The three of us, plus Libbie’s boxes of photos, hiked back up to Peter’s flat and called it a night.

  30

  THE PHOTOGRAPH

  The next night was technically Peter and Daisy’s night off, so we grabbed ramen for everyone and headed over to Will’s clinic. We all sat around the lobby slurping up the warm, savory dish. I figured bribing them with ramen would do the trick. I wanted to see my friends, of course—but also begged for their help in searching through the boxes of old photographs Libbie had given us from the Night of the Phoenix event fifty years ago.

  Piles of photos lay stacked on the coffee table among old magazines, on Heidi’s desk, and all over empty chairs. We’d been at it for half an hour already, in between bites of food, and found nothing new.

  Will frowned, his bushy brows drawn together, chopsticks hovering over his bowl. “Okay, so you have photo proof that Malorie killed her first husband by feeding him to a carnivorous plant?” He shrugged. “That wraps up one mystery. And now you know that Ludolf’s likely been feeding her a pipeline of trapped shifters for her ‘sanctuary’ for ages. Malorie’s furious stepdaughter pushed her into the phoenix’s sanctuary, where the trapped Maria Begin saw her chance. She attacked Malorie, who snagged her talon necklace into the bird, and Maria somehow managed to kill Malorie.”

  He shoveled some noodles into his mouth and spoke around them. “Case closed.” He pointed at the scattered photos. “I think we can wrap this up.”

  I shot him a flat look. “I got you an extra hardboiled egg—we’re not done working.”

  Will glared at me.

  I shook my head. “Plus, here’s the thing—the photo of the hand sticking out of that plant didn’t exactly prove Malorie killed Richard, right?”

  Will shrugged, and Heidi, who sat on her tall stool behind the front desk, nodded.

  I lifted a palm. “If it didn’t prove she’d killed him, why’d Malorie get so upset? Upset enough to pay off and fire her head zookeeper?”

  Heidi nibbled her wooden chopsticks. “Maybe she finally had an answer as to how her first husband died—the plant ate him. I’d be upset.” Her eyes grew wide. “Plus, I’m pretty sure Will would fire me if I tried to blackmail him, even if he hadn’t killed anyone.”

  My bear shifter friend snorted.

  Peter held his bowl to his lips with one hand and took a sip while he examined a photograph in his other hand. “We’ve got to just keep looking. Maybe we’ll catch an image from earlier in the evening that proves who fed Richard to the plant.”

  Will raised a brow. “Or that it was just a tragic accident.”

  I pressed my lips together. Somehow, I doubted that. These people were wrapped up in so much shady business, I had a strong gut feeling that there was foul play involved in Richard Rutherford ending up as plant food.

  I picked up a picture, but I couldn’t focus. I huffed and tossed it back down on the seat beside me. I rose and stepped over Daisy, who lay at Peter’s feet, to pace. “I’m still freaking out about those trapped shifters at the sanctuary. I’m telling you guys, most—” I raised my brows. “—shell, maybe all of those animals aren’t animals—they’re shifters! And Ludolf’s behind it all.”

  Heidi shook her head sympathetically, but Will scoffed. “How sure are you about all that?”

  I planted my hands on my hips and turned to face him. “The sloth told me so.”

  Will just raised a brow.

  I huffed.
“Well… he literally just said Ludolf Caterwaul… he’s a slow talker.”

  My bear shifter friend crossed his beefy arms. “You’d better be sure before you go around accusing him… and getting us all murdered.”

  I shot him a sassy look. “Or thrown in cages.”

  Will flashed his huge eyes. “Yeah—or that.”

  I sighed. “Fine. Point taken.” I did need to get absolute proof that Ludolf had basically sold fellow shifters to a zoo.

  Heidi clicked her tongue, looking pained. “Why would he throw shifters in cages? Is it like jail for you guys?”

  Will and I spoke at the same time. “No!”

  Peter spoke up. “Bijou Mer’s jail is jail—for everyone.”

  Will and I exchanged disparaging looks, then turned to Peter. I snorted, and Will let out a dry, humorless, “Ha.”

  Even Heidi giggled. “Yeah, right.”

  Peter frowned, and even Daisy lifted her head and looked around the room. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Will crossed his long legs and leaned forward, perching his chin on one hand. “Tell me, Officer, exactly how many people from the upper tiers are in jail?”

  Peter blinked.

  He held up a long finger. “Don’t forget—I was born in an upper tier family. I had no idea the privilege I had until I lost it. Jail is not the same for everyone—it’s meant for people from the Darkmoon District. For people who can’t afford bail or fancy lawyers, like Jolene used to be.”

  I nodded, and Peter’s brows drew together—his deep thinking look. It was true. The justice system favored the rich—it took being rich to afford the insane amounts we used to charge our clients for decent representation. And it wasn’t just the lawyers—every step of the justice system punished the poor more harshly than the rich.

  I bit my lip and remembered the appointment in Malorie’s calendar. She’d been about to see a lawyer about drawing up divorce papers from Quincy. What had spurred her to seek divorce? Quincy had seemed blindsided, but maybe that was more about him being out of touch, than the decision being a sudden one.