by Erin Johnson
I craned my neck to look up at him. “I don’t. It’s a job.” I shrugged and tried to act nonchalant, though my chest grew tight as he neared. “I’m just here for the money.”
“But you’re coming up with theories.” He smirked. “I think you’re enjoying yourself.”
My eyes widened as he looked down at me, his gaze focused on mine. What was happening? I spun partly away from him and hugged my arms tighter around me. “You wish.”
I arched my brows, keeping my gaze pointedly on the photos in front of me, though I couldn’t have told you what any of the women looked like. “I’ll just stick to reading animal minds, then.”
Urg. But I just couldn’t help myself. I spun back to face him. “Just one thing. Maybe someone’s husband or boyfriend… or girlfriend… felt like Bim had exploited their lady.” I tapped a stack of photos on the table in front of me. “Or maybe Amelie LeBec’s husband found out about her secret photo session for her secret lover and decided to take his anger about the affair out on Bim.” I flashed my eyes at Peter. “Come on. We’re clearly onto something here.”
He chuckled. “We can do our best to figure out her clients for the last few months and see if any one of them had issues with her.” He turned and scanned some shelves packed with supplies and file folders. He lifted his chin. “She must have a planner… or a contact list.”
He reached up and lifted a camera from a shelf, then held it to his eye. He spun to face me and pointed the bulky black device with the glowing blue bulb at my face. “Smile.”
“Ah!”
The bright blue flash blinded me. I pressed my eyes shut tight as a burned-out image of Peter and the camera floated across my vision. “Snakes!” I pressed the heels of my hands to my closed eyes.
“Flotsam.” A clunk sounded as Peter set down the camera. Two warm hands cupped my shoulders. “Sorry, Jolene.” He let out a little groan. “I didn’t mean to hit the button.”
I nodded, but didn’t say anything else. If blindness was the price I had to pay to get Peter’s strong hands on me, it might be worth it.
A knock sounded on the metal door from the hallway, and Peter and I stilled.
“Hello?” an unfamiliar male voice called.
I fought to peel a fluttering eyelid open. “Who’s there?” I hissed.
Peter drew his wand and turned his back to me. “Let’s find out.”
26
The Black Envelope
“Hey, Bim.” The man’s voice echoed through the large, open loft as Peter and I crept out of the darkroom closet.
He wore a satchel and flipped through some papers and envelopes stacked high on a table near the door. He didn’t look up as we crept closer. At my side, Daisy stalked toward the man, her lips curled back to reveal white, sharp teeth.
“Hope I’m not interrupting. Just picking up your delivery today since—” He glanced up at us, did a double take, then jumped. He dropped the packets he’d been holding to the floor and they scattered. “Oh!” The whites around his eyes shone against his dark skin. “Who are you guys?” His gaze darted around the space. “Where’s Bim?”
Peter lifted a palm as the man edged backward toward the open door to the hallway. “Wait.”
The guy slipped on an envelope and nearly fell, but caught the doorframe and righted himself.
Peter tucked his wand back into the pocket of his trousers and held up both palms. “I’m Officer Flint; this is my partner, Daisy, and our associate, Jolene.”
The man’s heaving breaths slowed and his shoulders dropped, though he watched us warily as he edged back into Bim’s studio. As he came closer, a gold name tag glinted on his tan button-up uniform: Ronnie Johnston.
I frowned. I’d heard that name before. “Hey—do you courier for Turk Molino’s business, too?” I looked up at Peter. “What’s it—?”
He nodded at me and turned to Ronnie. “Darkmoon Outlet, Inc.?”
“Oh. Heh.” Ronnie ran a hand over his buzz cut and grinned, revealing a bright smile. “Yeah, I do. You know them, too?” He lifted a palm and looked between Peter and me. “I courier for a lot of people in the area.” He grinned down at Daisy, who slowly advanced on him.
“Oh hey, girl. Aren’t you just the cutest—” He reached a hand out to pet Daisy’s head. “Ah!” She barked and he lurched back, eyes huge.
Guess I wasn’t the only one Daisy took issue with. I bit my lip as I looked Ronnie over. He edged away from Daisy, then crouched down and fumbled with gathering up all the large black envelopes he’d dropped when we startled him.
He had access to Turk’s place, where Bim had been killed, and frequented her boudoir studio. He had opportunity and means—but motive? I looked up at Peter, my brows raised in a question and he gave me a slight nod to proceed.
I stepped closer and crouched beside Ronnie. I grabbed a few of the big, flat packets. “Unfortunately, you’ll be doing a little less business in the area now.”
Ronnie lifted his huge eyes to my face. “What do you mean?”
I watched closely for his reaction. “Bim’s dead.”
He gasped and covered his mouth. “Oh my gosh.” His big dark eyes darted to Peter. “That’s terrible. Oh my gosh.” He shook his head, gaze far away. “Poor Bim.” His eyes focused on me. “What happened?”
I rose to my feet and he did the same, though he gripped the table by the door to steady himself.
Peter strolled up to us. “She was murdered.”
“No!” Ronnie covered his mouth with both hands and shook his head. “Oh my sea goddess.”
Peter and I glanced down at Daisy, who whined and wagged her tail. He’s being genuine.
I pulled my lips to the side. There went my “the courier did it” theory. I hiked a brow. Plus, why would he come by the studio to pick up the delivery if he knew she was dead?
With trembling hands, Ronnie went back to gathering envelopes and moved to place some in his satchel.
“No.” Peter lunged forward, palm out, and Ronnie froze. “Thank you for your dedication, but that’s evidence now.”
“Oh, right.” Ronnie blinked and shook himself. “Of course.” He replaced the packets on the table in a messy pile. He nodded a few times. “I just—I just can’t believe this.” He grew still, then jerked his head up, eyes round. “She’s not—her body’s not—she didn’t die in here, did she?”
He edged backward toward the door.
Peter shook his head. “No. We’re just here to learn about her. Anything you can tell us?”
Ronnie paused in the doorframe, clearly freaked out by the idea of being anywhere near a dead body. “I—I didn’t know her well. She was always nice to me.” He shrugged.
Peter nodded. “If you think of anything else.” He slid a hand into the breast of his uniform and withdrew a card, which he handed to the courier.
Ronnie took it and looked it over, then nodded at each of us. “I should—” He hooked a thumb under his messenger bag and jerked his head toward the hallway. “—get back to my rounds.” He flashed a faltering smile, then dashed out. His quick footsteps thudded down the hall and faded.
Peter nodded to himself. “He seemed pretty upset about Bim’s death.”
I grinned. “I think he’s just got a weak stomach for dead bodies.” As I fiddled with the corner of one of the black envelopes, a thought occurred to me. “Hey.” I snatched up the envelope and tore it open. I reached inside and, just as I’d expected, pulled out a thin booklet full of black-and-white boudoir photos.
I flashed a smile at Peter as I shook them. “I’ve seen this same envelope before.”
Daisy’s ears pricked.
“You have?” he cocked a brow.
I nodded and bounced on my toes. “Uh-huh. Under Millie’s pillow.” I’d spotted it during my recon mission to the bathroom.
A grin slowly spread across Peter’s face. “Which means she was lying when she said she didn’t know what Bim was doing at the studio last night.”
I no
dded. “Which means she’s probably lying about something else, too.”
27
Millie
The next morning, Peter and Daisy picked me up bright and early—rude. At least he had a coffee cup in his hands. I thanked him with a grunt as he gave it over, the steam curling into the gray, misty sky as gulls and ravens cawed overhead.
Stay away from my nest!
You stay away from my nest!
“You’re sure you saw the same envelope under Millie’s pillow?”
I nodded as I sipped the black liquid, savoring the earthy aroma.
“Good eye, spotting it.” He grinned. “We make a pretty good team, you know?” He nudged me with his shoulder as we walked side by side through the quiet streets of the Darkmoon District. Rats scuttled through debris in the wet gutters, and nauseating smells wafted up with the steam from the sewer grates.
I shot Peter a side-eyed look as I lowered the cup from my lips. “How are you so chipper?”
He chuckled, a deep sound. “Still on your nocturnal schedule?”
I looked down at my raggedy boots as I stepped over the wet, uneven cobblestones. The click of my heels echoed off the walls of the narrow alley we turned down, laundry strung overhead.
Even though I hadn’t been able to change in years, I was, at my core, still an owl shifter. I doubted I’d ever be anything but nocturnal. Even if I couldn’t spread my wings and soar through the night sky over the island of Bijou Mer, it was still a part of me.
For a while—months, maybe years—after I’d lost it all, I’d had hope that the curse could be reversed. I’d done research, talked to potions experts, but nobody had any solutions. Part of me, I think, hoped I’d just wake up one day with my magic back, along with the ability to shift. That the curse would just sort of… time out.
I shuddered, remembering a particularly bad night. I’d had too much to drink and decided to confront the only person who’d really known what that curse was, and how to break it—my coworker, Eve. The one who’d ruined my life.
It didn’t go well. She hadn’t even had the decency to speak with me—just called the cops on me for entering her front garden. I’d gotten out of there before the police showed up.
I bit my lip. Had it been Peter who’d been summoned to take her statement? I smirked. I’d gotten at least some form of revenge, however petty. Ever since I could speak with animals, I’d made some friends in low places. Wonder how that stink bug infestation was going for her?
“Did I say something wrong?”
I blinked up at Peter, who watched me closely. Wow. I’d really gotten lost in my thoughts, there. I shook my head. “Just half asleep.”
He nodded, but gave me a tight-lipped smile.
I rolled a shoulder as we walked, careful to keep my gaze ahead—not on the handsome and oddly concerned cop beside me. I wasn’t used to anyone looking at me at all, much less like that. It made me all—jittery.
We stopped in front of the gilded fence outside the Molino residence. The gate magically swung open for us after we pulled the bell, and we’d just stepped past the fountain in the little courtyard when Millie opened the front door and stood in the frame. She wore her blond hair teased high and sported pink heels with her jeans and blinged-out tee.
Her eyes widened in surprise as she looked from one of us to the other. “Oh! Turk’s at work actually, not home.” She leaned forward and lifted her chin in the direction of the office, just down the street.
Peter gave a slight bow of his head. “We’re actually here to speak with you, Millie. May we come inside?”
“Uh.” She paled and glanced inside the house. “It’s kind of a mess.” She let out a high-pitched chuckle that sounded more like a whimper. “Been… a lot going on. Maybe you can come back when—”
“We need to speak with you now.” Peter’s throat bobbed. He took a gentler tone as Millie’s chin started to quiver. “I know this has been a hard time, with Bim’s death, but we can either talk here or up at the station.”
She nodded, eyes red and puffy as though she’d been crying just before we showed up, then stepped aside. We moved past her and took seats on the plastic-covered sofa in the parlor, while she perched on the one across the coffee table from us.
She folded her trembling hands on her lap and let out a shaky breath. “What can I help you with, officers?”
Daisy’s tail swished across the white tile floor as she stared the woman down. Millie looked like she was doing her best to keep her gaze high to avoid looking at the massive dog.
I scrubbed roughly at one side of my face and yawned. “Millie.” I lifted a palm. “We know.”
Her face went slack.
Peter cleared his throat and leaned forward. “Why didn’t you tell us about Bim’s side business?”
Millie stared back at us slack-jawed for a few long moments.
I arched a brow. “Uh… anyone home?”
She shook herself, then stared down at her hands. “I—I didn’t know she had one.”
Daisy growled, and I scoffed. “Oh, come on. We know you were a client.”
She jerked and looked up at me, wide-eyed. “How— Where did— I don’t—”
“The black envelope.” I raised my brows and flashed my eyes at her. “We know about the black envelope.”
“Eep.” Millie choked and fell into a coughing fit.
Peter half rose, but she waved him off and, while pressing a hand to her chest, cleared her throat. “I just—” She cleared her throat again. “I couldn’t admit to knowing about the boudoir photos in front of Turk. Plus, I knew you’d think the worst if I told you! You’d think I killed her because of something to do with the photos.”
She sniffled, and her bloodshot eyes grew glassy.
Peter and I exchanged looks, his curious, mine smug. Told ya it had to be the same envelope.
He leaned forward, elbows on thighs. “You didn’t kill her over the photos?”
Millie shook her head as she fought back tears, her bottom lip quivering. “No! I—” She sniffled again. “Bim and I really were friends. She told me about her side job and I asked her to take those photos of me.”
Daisy looked at Peter, a smile on her black lips. She let out a high whine. She’s telling the truth.
I frowned. Huh. Why would she lie about Bim’s business and having boudoir photos taken? Was this another Amelie LeBec situation where the photos were intended for another man and she was afraid Turk would find out?
Tears tracked down Millie’s flushed cheeks.
“Why didn’t you just tell us all this yesterday?” Peter tilted his head as he studied her.
“My and Turk’s anniversary is coming up.” She sniffed. The wall of wedding photos over her head made it evident that this was an important day to at least one of them—the one who did the decorating.
“Things have gotten—stale.” She choked on a sob. “I though this might add a little spark.” Her voice grew so small, I had to lean forward to hear her. She let out a wail, then burst into tears.
Peter and I exchanged alarmed looks. He fished around in his uniform’s breast pocket, pulled out a white kerchief, then handed it to Millie.
I lifted a brow. A kerchief? Really? Who was this guy? Had he walked straight out of an 1800s guide to being a gentleman?
She took it and buried her scrunched-up face in it. Her shoulders shook with her sobs.
I gave her a few moments, then cleared my throat. “Why are you crying, Millie?”
She lifted her pained face from the kerchief and gulped in a trembling breath. “Bim caught Zo and Turk together one night, after work.” Her cheeks glistened wet with tears. “She told me—because we’re friends. And now Bim’s dead, and I wish she was still here!” She buried her face again and wailed.
Daisy’s tail wagged. She’s still telling the truth.
Millie shook her head and sniffled. “I didn’t have the heart to give Turk the photos after that—but I didn’t know what to do with the
m, so…” She gave a jerky shrug. “I just… hid them.”
Peter nodded, expression thoughtful. “Was your husband or Zozanna aware that Bim knew about their affair?”
Millie dabbed at her eyes. “I’m not sure. Bim didn’t think they’d noticed her when she walked in on them but… who knows?”
Peter shifted and leveled Millie a serious look. “You’re positive your husband was home the whole night of the murder?”
Millie lifted her chin. “Yes, I’m sure.”
Daisy whined. Truth.
Peter gave another thoughtful nod, his gaze far away. “Thank you for your time. We’ll be in touch.” We both stood.
Millie sniffled, then glanced down at the kerchief in her hand. “Oh!” She jumped to her feet and tried to hand it back to him.
He gave her a kind, tight-lipped smile. “Go ahead and keep it—I’ve got plenty.”
“Oh.” Millie’s chin quivered. “Thank you.”
Peter, Daisy, and I paused in the street just outside the fence after Millie closed the door behind us.
I swirled my cup, then tipped my head back and polished off the last of my coffee. I let out a sigh—I felt better now that I had caffeine surging through my veins.
“Zo or Turk could have had a motive for killing Bim. If they knew she’d discovered their affair, they might have killed her to keep it quiet.”
That little crease appeared between Peter’s brows again. “And if Millie is sure that Turk was home all night, that just leaves Zozanna as a suspect.”
I grinned. “Let’s go pay the secretary a visit?”
Peter nodded, an eager glint in his eye.
28
The Secretary
Peter called back to the station using the magical gumball-sized device in his ear and got Zozanna’s home address. We followed the glowing blue locator spell through the warren that was the Darkmoon District until we stopped outside a run-down brick duplex.
