by Erin Johnson
I snorted. “Well, if you told us, it must be true.” I shot him a flat look as Peter and I rose to our feet.
Turk glared back at me.
“We may have more questions for the both of you.” Peter tipped his head as we took our leave. “So don’t leave the island.”
I cast one last, longing look back at that scone—could I steal another bite? But my eyes landed on the tabloid beside it. I frowned at the moving photograph of the woman on the page and then backtracked and turned my head so I could view it upright.
I pointed. “Can I have that?”
Millie lifted her face from her hands and glanced down at the table, then back at me, her eyes red and ringed in mascara. “My tabloid?”
I nodded. “Yeah—are you done with it?” I flashed her a big smile. “Please?”
“Uh….” She shook herself, yet her halo of teased blond hair didn’t bob or bounce an inch. She must’ve used a pretty heavy-duty hair setting spell to achieve this physics-defying ’do. “Sure?”
“Thanks!” I snatched up the tabloid and followed Peter through the house, out the front courtyard, and back onto the street. The gilded gate swung closed and clicked shut behind us.
Peter leaned closer and read over my shoulder. “Catching up on your gossip?”
The tabloid had been open to the Bijou Mer society page. The headline read: Lady Amelie LeBec graces the Summer Solstice Ball with Generous Art Donation for Charity Auction.
A magically moving photograph featured a middle-aged woman in a black suit with a white lace shirt and bow tie underneath. She kept her full lips pressed together as she posed for the paparazzi, her much older, bent husband on her arm. With her angular features, blunt-cut bangs, and eccentric outfit, the effect was… severe.
I grinned up at him and tapped the page. “I know her.”
Peter lifted a brow as he read her name from the headline. “Lady Amelie LeBec?”
I nodded, which sent my messy bun bobbing. “She’s this super rich, on-the-scene socialite. The trophy wife of some rich old guy.” I waggled my brows at him. “She goes to all the best parties and socializes with the kingdoms’ most elite. She’s always in the tabloids.”
Peter lifted a brow. “Alright…. Not sure I quite follow.”
I stepped closer to him, my pulse racing with excitement. “Which makes me wonder why I saw her last night—out in the street.”
He blinked. “You did?”
I nodded. “I knew, I knew her from somewhere. She looked up at the sign, saw the police signal, and took off.” I grinned. “Why would a high-falutin’ lady be sneaking around the Darkmoon streets outside a crime scene?”
Peter’s lips slid into a grin. “I think we’re about to find out.”
21
Lady Amelie LeBec
Peter’s chest puffed, then he blew out a breath. We sat on a white leather bench in the front parlor of Lady Amelie LeBec’s mansion on one of the top tiers of Bijou Mer. Where Turk and Millie’s home had been a cheap imitation of grandeur, this place was the real thing.
The butler had lifted a brow at Daisy, but let us in when Peter flashed his badge. I drummed my fingertips on my thighs as we waited for him to fetch the lady of the house. Had anyone ever sat on this no doubt priceless piece of modern furniture in a pair of ratty sweatpants before? I doubted it. Good. I nodded to myself. I liked to be original, if nothing else.
The place was stark, all whites and blacks—the modern interior a striking contrast to the warm stone and plaster outside. And I couldn’t even hear any roaches or rats scurrying around behind the walls—that’s how you knew real class.
Peter leaned closer and lowered his voice. “You’re sure you saw her last night in the street?”
I nodded. “Positive. I just couldn’t place her at the time.”
He worried his lip and laced his hands together between his legs. “We don’t want to anger a rich and powerful person like Amelie LeBec for no reason. My boss will be all over me if we don’t handle this right.”
“Duly noted.” I flashed my eyes at him. “But I’m sure.”
The lady in question strode into the room, her stiletto heels clicking on the polished concrete floor. She sported a pantsuit with an asymmetrically hemmed jacket and a black stone choker that looked like a snake eating its own tail.
With her severe haircut, striking cheekbones, and full lips, I couldn’t have mistaken her for anyone else—even in the rain and the dark.
She lowered her tall, lithe frame into a chair across from us. It appeared to be made of blackened pieces of twisted driftwood. She crossed one knee over the other, arms spread out on the rests, and lifted a thin brow. “Well?”
Well, indeed. Someone was feeling herself.
Peter inclined his head. “Lady Amelie LeBec, thank you for taking the time to meet with us today. I’m Officer Peter Flint, and this is my associate Jolene Hartgrave.”
The woman’s eyes slid to me. “She is an officer?”
I raised a finger and clarified. “Consultant.”
She sneered. “Ah.”
Geez. Someone was adept at throwing shade.
Daisy’s tail swished. I like her.
I sniffed and let out a barely audible whine. You would.
Amelie curled her lip as she eyed the dog. “Oh, lovely. You’ve brought a pet.”
Peter cleared his throat. “Actually—” He ruffled the dog’s head and her tail wagged. “Daisy’s my partner.”
The rich woman’s nostrils flared. “Hm. Most officers I’ve met don’t shed quite so much.”
I smirked and glanced around at the sterile mansion—most of the furniture and walls were white—yet somehow spotless. The lady was a clean freak.
I reached forward with both hands and ruffled Daisy’s fur. “Yeah, I think she’s blowing her coat right now.” Clumps of tawny hair rose into the air, and I grinned at Amelie’s wan expression.
My smile dropped when Daisy growled, low and loud, her whole body vibrating. Remove your hands or lose them.
Well, fine then. I leaned back on the bench and crossed my arms.
Lady Amelie turned her unamused glare on Peter. “Why are you here?”
“There was a murder last night in the Darkmoon District.” He shifted in his seat. “A witness placed you near the scene of the crime shortly after it took place.”
The lady huffed, her lip curled back in a sneer. “Do I look like I’d be skulking around that sinkhole?”
Peter exhaled, slowly. “It seems strange, indeed, but—”
“But your witness was mistaken.” She leaned back in her chair and lifted her eyes to the stories-tall ceiling. “Probably trying to collect an award for information or something. I’m surprised you’d be so easily duped.” She shot him a flat look. “But maybe I shouldn’t be.”
Peter’s throat bobbed, then he dropped his eyes.
Oh, brother. Was he really going to let this self-important trophy wife intimidate him?
I leaned forward, my elbows planted on my wide knees, then raised an arm. “It was me. I was the witness. And I wasn’t mistaken.”
Lady Amelie’s pale blue eyes swiveled to look at me. For just one tiny moment, they widened before she quickly narrowed them into a glare again. But that was all I needed to know I was right—and that she was lying. Why would she have been there in the first place, and why was she trying to hide it?
“I say again, you are mistaken. It wasn’t me.” Her nostrils flared as Daisy growled.
Peter tilted his head, eyes glued to her. “Do you have an alibi?”
“Certainly.” She sniffed. “But I’m summoning our lawyers before I say any more.”
I bit my thumbnail. Bet she was still with Pierre & Sons. The hacks. They’d always taken the most corrupt clients on—not that our firm hadn’t had our share back in the day, but the partners had made it a policy to not represent anyone who wanted us to lie and cheat for them. My stomach sank. I’d almost been one of them—the partners,
that was.
I shook myself. If I didn’t think fast, she’d have her butler summon Pierre Sr. and we’d lose our chance to get information from her. I glanced at Peter, a deep crease between his brows. One of his fellow officers had found that note on the door telling Amelie to come on up to the office, signed by Bim.
I decided to play a hunch and hope the rest fell into place as I talked it through. “You’ve got a lot of money, right?”
Lady Amelie sneered at me. “How uncouth.” She rose and towered over us in those pointy stilettos. “I’m summoning our lawyers.” She spun and strode a few paces toward the back of the house.
“Why go see a nobody photographer in a seedy part of the Darkmoon Night Market? Hm?” I lifted my brows and gestured between Peter and me. “We know you were there to meet Bim.”
Amelie’s brows lowered, and her smirk flattened to a grim line. From somewhere down the hall, an old man with a quavering voice called out.
“Amelie? That you? Do we have guests?”
She balled her hands into fists and looked right, toward the sound of her husband’s voice, then left toward Peter, Daisy, and me. Her chest heaved.
I raised my voice so that it echoed through the stark space. “Maybe you were going to have some seedy photos taken?”
I still had no idea why Bim would be taking photos in the office, or at all, or how Amelie might have gotten mixed up with her, but it was the only thing I could come up with. If a fancy lady like Amelie had gone to a sleazy place, there was a good chance it was for sleazy reasons.
A deep red flush crept up Amelie’s neck and cheeks. She looked toward the hallway and called in a high, soft voice. “Nothing, darling! Don’t trouble yourself about it.”
She stomped back to us and pointed a trembling finger at me. A finger with an enormous onyx geometric ring on it. “I have no idea what you’re insinuating! How dare you—”
Daisy interrupted her. She growled, tail still, ears flattened. She’s lying.
22
Liar Liar
Amelie blinked at the intimidating dog and edged back toward the twisted driftwood chair behind her.
“My partner here says you’re lying.” Peter lifted a brow. “Care to try again?”
I tapped my fingers on my knees. What kind of seedy photos? “Were you there for a little boudoir photography, hm?”
Amelie pressed her lips tight together, her nostrils flaring with each quick breath.
I lifted a shoulder. “Something to spice up the ol’ marriage, perhaps?”
“Leave.” She pointed a long, thin arm toward the front door behind us.
Peter spun to face me, his voice low. “You’re on the right track, but—we’re missing something.”
“Out!” She stomped her foot.
“What’s that, dear?” Her elderly husband’s voice drifted in from down the hall.
Peter and I rose, his eyes still locked on my face. “Why would she go all the way to Darkmoon for boudoir photography?”
A pink blush colored his cheeks, and I bit back a grin. What a good boy.
He scratched his neck, voice still quiet. “I mean, it’s not that racy to give your husband pictures of yourself, right?”
I snapped my fingers, a huge grin on my face. “Peter, that’s it!” I grabbed his hand and gave it a squeeze.
“Leave now!” Amelie’s blazing eyes bored holes through the two of us. “I’ll be speaking with your inspector.”
Peter turned his wide eyes to me, but I just winked back. It was going to be fine—I had this now.
“The pictures weren’t for your husband, were they?” I arched a brow.
The lady’s face slackened.
“That’s why you went to Bim. There are plenty of well-known photographers who could have taken sexy, but tasteful pictures of you, especially with your connections to the art world.” I grimaced. “But people talk. And you didn’t want it getting back to your husband that you were taking pinup pics for your secret lover.”
“Preposterous!” Lady Amelie glanced over her shoulder toward the hallway… and her husband in the back of the house. She turned back to me, teeth bared. “Keep your voice down!”
She lowered herself back into the seat and arched a thin brow. Peter and I did the same, and Daisy plunked her haunches down onto the ground.
“Will you answer our questions truthfully now?” Peter stared her down.
She sneered. “What I’ll do is consider not insisting your inspector fire you immediately based—”
I raised my voice. “A well-to-do socialite spotted in the Darkmoon at night outside a murder scene?” My words echoed through the enormous space. “I’m sure the tabloids would go wild for a story like—”
“Shh!” Her knuckles grew red and splotchy where she gripped the arms of her crazy driftwood chair. “Shush!” Her wild, pale eyes darted between Peter and me. “Fine! Yes, alright. You’re correct.” She gave a jerky shrug. “What do I have to do to get you to leave?”
Peter and I exchanged looks. His eyes danced. He turned back to Lady Amelie. “Give us Bim’s studio address.”
With her fiery eyes glued to Peter, Lady Amelie snapped her fingers. “Manson!” Footsteps sounded from the next room, and then the black-clad butler hurried up beside her chair.
“Madame?” He inclined his bald head.
She turned to him and spoke behind her hand. He nodded and left. Only the ticking of a clock from another room and Daisy’s panting broke the long, tense silence that followed.
I shifted in my seat. “So… how ’bout that weather, huh?”
Amelie rolled her eyes, and Peter’s lips twitched toward a smile.
The butler returned with a small silver handbag, then bowed and took his leave. Lady Amelie dug through the bag and pulled out a black-and-red business card. She rose and offered it to Peter, arm stretched long, the rest of her body angled as far away from us as possible.
“Take it!” She shook the card, her gaze up and away from us.
I leapt to my feet and snatched it, then turned it over in my hands. Peter rose and read over my shoulder.
Bim’s Boudoir
Discreet Photography for the Discerning Lady
The back held the address—I had a pretty good idea where it was. Another spot in the Darkmoon District.
Peter’s brows pinched together. “Why didn’t you meet Bim at this location? Why were you at the office?”
Lady Amelie hissed at us, her voice barely above a whisper. “The woman said there was some issue with her normal place and asked me to meet her there. When I arrived, there was a body in the street and a police signal up. I didn’t even realize it was her under that tarp, I just knew that agreeing to go anywhere near that rotting fish dump had been a mistake and I left.” Her eyes blazed. “End of story.”
Peter inclined his head and pocketed the card. “Thanks very much for your time, Lady LeBec.”
Her nostrils flared, jaw set, and we showed ourselves out.
Daisy led the way back down through Bijou Mer. The afternoon light was already waning. Soon, Darkmoon would be enveloped in dark shadows and a neon glow.
Peter nudged me with his shoulder, and I craned my head to look up at him. “You’ve got some impressive interrogation skills. I didn’t know you had it in you.”
I smirked. “I’ve got many secret talents.” The words soured as soon as they left my lips. Like being a shifter.
Peter’s blue eyes focused on my face, and a rush of energy surged through me, until I had to look away, slightly embarrassed at the effect he had on me.
“You’d make a good cop, for real.” He chuckled. “Or a lawyer… a scary lawyer.”
I gulped, my throat dry. “You have no idea.”
23
Boudoir by Bim
Peter treated me to a quick dinner of gyros at one of my favorite Darkmoon food carts. He claimed it was part of the perks of being a consultant, but I had my suspicions that he’d only done it because he knew I had n
o money.
While I didn’t enjoy pity pitas, I certainly wasn’t going to turn one down when it was placed in front of me. Even Daisy got an order.
After I licked my fingers clean of the salty, tangy tzatziki, Peter cast a locator spell, and we followed the glowing blue light toward the address on Bim’s business card. We wound through the narrow, dirty streets of the night market. The usual suspects flashed wide eyes at the officer beside me and his enormous dog and gave us a wide berth, or took off running up fire escapes and down side streets.
I lifted a brow. Ordinarily, I’d have been one of those crossing to the other side of the street to avoid the cop, but here I was—a police consultant now. It wouldn’t be the weirdest twist my life had taken.
We followed the blue light of the spell under a rickety bridge and past a yard full of shipping barrels. We’d nearly reached the docks when the light stopped and bobbed in front of a four-story brick building.
I pursed my lips and let out a low whistle. “She’s a real charmer.”
Peter smirked, but Daisy just glared at me.
A creaky pirate ship weathervane spun, lopsided, in the sea breeze on the roof, while smoke poured into the dark night sky from several chimneys. Metal fire escapes and pipes crisscrossed the crumbling brick facade at odd angles, and at least a dozen metal trash cans butted up against the wall closest to us, overflowing with garbage and fish bones. Rats scurried among the debris.
I lifted my eyes to Peter. “Shall we?”
He nodded and swept his arms forward. “Ladies first?”
“I’ll let you take the lead on this one.” I gave him a flat look.
He grinned. “I was actually addressing Daisy.”
I gasped and slugged his arm.
“Ow.” He winced and rubbed the spot where I’d hit him.
I glanced down at my right hand. I mean, I hadn’t exercised in years, unless you counted lifting a heavy bowl of ramen to my mouth. But maybe I was stronger than I thought. Geez, now I felt kinda bad.
