Pretty Little Fliers

by Erin Johnson

  He pointed at the right side. “2432B—that’s hers.”

  Uneven stone steps led up to a door with a half moon cutout. Though a huge crack snaked across the front window, a flower box with bright yellow roses underneath and a sisal doormat lent the place a bit of charm.

  I lifted a brow. It was more than I’d done to spruce up my own apartment. Though that beaded curtain was pretty sweet, as far as I was concerned.

  I followed Peter and Daisy up the stairs, then crowded close to Peter on the landing. He knocked and we waited. Nothing, and no one, stirred inside.

  Peter knocked again. “Zozanna? It’s Officer Flint from the other night. I’d like to have a word.”

  Daisy’s ears pricked up. She lowered her dark snout and intensely sniffed the crack under the door. She let out a low woof. Something doesn’t smell right.

  I rolled my eyes. “The police dog thinks something smells fishy? Try to be less clichéd, ’kay, Daisy?”

  She turned and growled at me.

  Peter knocked again. “Everything alright inside?”

  Still, there was no answer. He glanced down at Daisy, then at me. “We need to get a permit to enter her home without permission… unless we have reason to believe there’s an emergency.” He lifted his brows. “What are you getting from Daisy?”

  Uh… besides a whole lot of sass? I shook myself—right. Whole reason I was here. I pressed my fingertips to my temples, and scrunched up my eyes as I pretended to get a psychic download. “Hmm… yes, I see.” I peeled an eye open to look at the dog.

  She tilted her head and growled. What?

  “My goodness.” I made my eyes round. “She thinks we better kick that door down and get in there.” I shrugged at Peter.

  Daisy growled again. What are you telling him?

  Peter drew his wand and concentrated on the door. I leaned behind his back and made quiet dog noises at Daisy. That you’re dying to get a bath and need your anal glands expressed.

  Daisy’s dark eyes widened and her hackles rose. She leapt to her feet, barking. You’re a liar! Nothing but a shady, shifty shifter! Stay away from Peter or I’ll—

  A flash shot from Peter’s wand and the door flew open, banging against the wall behind it. He turned to his barking dog and huffed. “Daisy! What’s gotten into you?”

  Her ears flattened, and I smirked at her behind his back. “I’d have expected a police dog to be more well-behaved.”

  Peter shook his head as he led the way inside. “Sorry about that.” He shot me an apologetic look over his shoulder before stepping over the threshold. “Something in here must have her riled up.”

  I nodded, a gentle grimace on my face. “Must be that.” My eyes slid to the furry beast on my right. She glared up at me, lips peeling back from her teeth. I quietly woofed at her. Didn’t realize dogs could be racists. Today I learned.

  She let out a low growl. I’m not racist! You’re a shifter and you’re lying to Peter, I can smell it!

  I scoffed and shook my head. It was fascinating to me how people, including dog people apparently, could justify their hatred of shifters by claiming we were all liars. As if we had any choice but to conceal our true natures from a society that would despise us if we were open about it? They make you a monster, then have the gall to call you one.

  Daisy and I followed Peter through a dark, narrow entryway. The officer held his wand aloft and took careful, quiet steps. I glanced down at the dog, ready to make some retort, when I suddenly slammed into Peter’s back.

  I rubbed the tip of my nose. “Ow.” I opened my mouth to ask him why he’d stopped, then followed his gaze through the doorway to my left. It led to a small kitchen with a table in the corner. Zozanna sat slumped in one of the chairs, face down on the table, her dark hair scattered everywhere.

  Daisy barked, which made me jump. Then barked again and again, the tawny hair on the back of her neck raised. She’s dead!

  29

  The Tea

  As Peter paced in the entryway and called in backup from the station, I slid past Daisy into the kitchen. A bright pink kettle with a white daisy painted on the side rested on the stovetop. I spun around and pointed at it.

  “Woof grrr.” Look, Daisy, it’s your namesake. Adorable. Just like you. I winked.

  She bared her teeth and snarled, though she didn’t leave the doorway or Peter’s side. I’m going to bite your neck and shake you like a rag doll.

  I raised my brows. Wow, Daisy. Just… wow.

  I walked away, shaking my head, and stood a bit back from the dead Zo. A pink teacup rested on a saucer beside her head, and I curled my lip, grateful I didn’t have to see her face. I shuddered. Even thinking about it gave me the heebie-jeebies.

  I edged a little closer and scrunched my nose. “Ew. Pungent.”

  I plucked off the lid of the teapot beside her and peered down at the liquid inside. Loose, dark green leaves floated on the surface. They smelled… strong. That was probably the kindest descriptor I could think of.

  I pulled my lips to the side and leaned into one hip. Though oddly familiar, too. Where had I smelled this before?

  “Find anything?”

  I glanced behind me as Peter stepped over the threshold into the tight, but tidy kitchen.

  I pointed at the teapot. “Smell that.”

  His lips twitched as though he were about to grin, but he came up beside me, dutifully lowered his face, and inhaled. No steam wafted off the liquid, which meant it’d gone cold a while ago. He made a face as he quickly straightened.

  “Ugh.”

  I nodded. “Right? Where have we smelled that before?”

  “Not sure….” Peter reached past me and lifted a silver tin from the table. He opened the lid and found a small, rolled-up scroll inside on top of the shredded green tea leaves.

  I edged closer and read over his shoulder as he unfurled it.

  Hi sweetums!

  Hope you enjoy the special tea and think of me.

  XOXO Turkie

  I raised a brow. “Sweetums, huh?”

  Peter made a noise in the back of his throat. “How about Turkie?”

  I grinned for a moment, then my smile faded as I looked from the note to the dead brunette facedown on the table. “Zo and Turk were having an affair.” I looked up at Peter and had to crane my neck. “Maybe Turk killed her to keep her from talking?” I shrugged. “He seemed pretty freaked about Millie finding out.”

  “Unless.” Peter tipped his head. “It wasn’t from Turk at all.”

  I arched a brow and swept a hand toward the dead girl. “Uh, I think she’d have noticed if someone else gave it to her.”

  Peter lifted a brown box off the table and turned it over until we found the label. The package had been delivered to Zo, but the return address was for Turk’s home. So a courier had delivered this—Zo wouldn’t have known if someone besides Turk had actually mailed it.

  Peter hiked his brows. “A little too obvious, right? You poison someone and leave a note from yourself with your return address?”

  I had to give him that. “Yeah, I mean, Turk’s stupid but…” I grimaced. “That stupid?”

  He gave the box a little shake. “It could have been from anyone.”

  I tapped the teapot. “Anyone with poison tea?” I snapped my fingers and hopped to face Peter fully. “The tea! I remember where I smelled it!”

  Peter snapped his own fingers, coming to the realization a moment later. “The botanist!”

  I nodded. “I smelled it in his shop.” Though… something else tugged at the back of my mind. Had I smelled it somewhere else, too?

  Peter paced the small kitchen, tossing the empty cardboard box between his hands. “The botanist grows this stuff, has no alibi—maybe he’s just targeting everyone who works at the office, since they’d each turned on the sign at night for their own reasons.”

  I jumped as the front door banged open and several officers strode in, led by a shortish man in the blue Bijou Mer police uni
form. He scowled around at the place, then glared at Peter.

  “Well, Officer Flint, you’ve really done it this time.” He broke into a slow clap, and the officers behind him exchanged looks.

  “Does he want us to join him?” one whispered.

  I bit back a grin.

  “Inspector.” Peter gave a slight bow.

  “Guess who I just spoke with?” The inspector raised his brows and opened his mouth to speak, but Peter cut him off.

  “Amelie LeBec, sir?”

  The inspector’s mouth snapped shut and he pouted, momentarily looking like a disappointed child. Then his lip curled and he marched up to Peter, glaring up into his face. “Amelie LeBec. She says an officer with a dog and a street urchin for partners showed up at her home and harassed her!”

  I huffed. “Street urchin?” Eh. On second thought… I shrugged. “I’ve been called worse.”

  Peter, the inspector, and the two officers turned slowly to face me.

  Oh. Somebody was suddenly the center of attention. I wiggled my fingers and gave a tight-lipped smile.

  Bon’s expression darkened and he turned on Peter, growling. “Who is that?”

  I raised my hand. “Said street urchin.”

  Peter looked like he was fighting back a smile, but kept his tone level and professional. “This is Jolene. She’s a consultant I hired to help with the case, sir. Jolene, Inspector Bon.”

  The inspector glared at me, and I smirked back. Someone’s panties were in a twist.

  “What’s she do?” He balled his hands into tight, blotchy fists.

  “She’s a, uh—” Peter cleared his throat. “Pet psychic, sir. We had a parakeet witness we needed interrogated.”

  I sucked on my lips as a lengthy silence stretched on, broken only by the sound of Daisy panting.

  I let out a quiet whine. Mouth breather.

  Daisy whipped her head around to face me, ears pricked. Before she could say anything, the inspector broke out in a wheezing, barking laugh.

  He paced around the small kitchen, hands on hips, shaking his head. “Oh, oh this is too good!” He forced out another laugh.

  Peter and I exchanged wide-eyed looks, while the same officer again whispered, “Does he want us to join him?”

  “This is rich, Flint.” The inspector came to a stop in front of Peter. “Real, rich. You whip up a sandstorm with one of the police force’s most loyal donors and then waste precinct funds on a—” He threw a hand at me. “A pet psychic.”

  He abruptly stopped laughing. “Tell me Amelie LeBec isn’t your only suspect.”

  Peter shook his head. “Actually, we were just discussing a new theory.”

  Bon lifted his brows and shot Peter an aggressive “I’m waiting” face.

  I stepped to the side, revealing Zo, who’d up till then been hidden behind me. “In light of recent events….” I swept my arms at the dead woman.

  Bon and the other two officers jumped. The inspector curled his lip, eyes wide in horror. “Sea snakes!”

  “We’re thinking the botanist did it.” I gave a little shrug.

  Bon swung his gaze to Peter, who nodded. “The botanist, Martin Shaw, lives across the street from the first crime scene, where we found his muddy footprints.” Peter ticked off the evidence stacking up against ol’ Martin on his fingers. “He had a motive to target employees at Darkmoon Outlet, Inc. because their neon sign has been damaging his plants.”

  I raised a finger. “The guy’s a little too into plants.”

  Bon scowled at me.

  Cool. Cool cool cool.

  Peter continued. “He has no alibi, and now we’ve found Zozanna, the secretary, murdered with what I’m positive will turn out to be poisoned tea. The same kind Martin grows at his dangerous plants store.”

  Bon lifted his palms. “So arrest the guy. Case closed.”

  Peter’s brows drew together. “Right, but we’ll need to establish the cause of death first, and make sure this is indeed the same tea Mr. Shaw grows in his—”

  Bon scoffed. “We’ve got enough circumstantial evidence to arrest the guy now. We’ll sort the details later.” He turned toward the door. “Take him in—now. I need to be able to assure Lady LeBec that this will not be an ongoing issue for her.”

  He sniffed, adjusted his cap, and marched out. “Where’s this guy live?”

  Peter shot a surprised glance at me, then frowned at Bon’s back. “You’re coming, sir?”

  “Yes, I’m coming.” Bon turned and scowled at Peter. “Since you’ve royally screwed this up, I’ve got to personally ensure the rest of this case is handled with delicacy.”

  I snorted, but raised a fist to my mouth and pretended it’d been a cough when Bon shot me a blazing look.

  Yeah, I was sure delicacy was the guy’s strong point.

  30

  The Arrest

  It didn’t take the officers and me long to reach Martin Shaw’s rare plants shop. We stood outside the door, waiting for him to answer. Bon banged on the door again with his fist.

  “Open up, Mr. Shaw!”

  I glanced to my left. The door to my apartment/business was just a couple of shops over, my own Pet Psychic sign dark and off.

  I raised my brows. I could get used to not doing the whole psychic thing. As much as I hated to admit it, I’d gotten kind of caught up in the thrill of solving the case. Not that I’d ever let Peter or Daisy in on that.

  I preferred to preserve my aloof, cool girl reputation. I sniffed at myself. Right—’cause that’s how people saw me.

  The door opened a crack, and a single, wary eye peered out at us from behind a pair of spectacles. “Who is it?”

  Inspector Bon tapped the gold badge on his chest. “The police. We need to have a look around.”

  Martin Shaw spluttered. “B-but I already sp-spoke with another officer and—”

  Bon raised his brows. “Can we come in or do we need to do this the hard way?”

  I rolled my eyes. The hard way just required getting a warrant and was only the “hard” way for the police because it was a hassle. I folded my arms over my chest. I’d had plenty of defendants who’d been intimidated by the cops simply because they didn’t understand their rights.

  Then again, I wasn’t about to stick up for Mr. Shaw at the moment. I was too eager to see this dude arrested—and get the rest of my pay as soon as the case was closed. I ignored the little tinge in my chest that reminded me that once this was over, I’d have to turn my sign back on and go back to my down in the dumps life.

  “I-I suppose you c-can c-come in and look ar—”

  Bon didn’t wait for the man to finish. He shoved the door further open and strode past the botanist, his two officers in tow. Peter glanced at me over his shoulder, his face slightly drawn in concern, then stepped inside with Daisy. I followed last and gave the trembling Martin Shaw a hard look as I moved past him.

  He kept his eyes downcast, still wearing that dumb fisherman’s hat and his thick glasses. He turned a small terra-cotta pot in his hands and cooed at the seedling growing out of it.

  “There, there. These people aren’t here to hurt you.” His gray mustache twitched as he murmured to his plant.

  I lifted a brow. This guy was odd, no doubt, but I still had a hard time picturing him capable of murder.

  Bon held the tin of tea we’d found at Zo’s place in one hand and twirled his wand over it with the other. He murmured a few words, which were lost in the bubble of tanks, the hiss of mist that watered the plants along one wall, and the crunching of carnivorous plants munching on their insect prey. I tucked some tendrils of hair behind my ears, the nape of my neck already sticky, in the warm, humid space.

  After a few long moments, a plant in the corner glowed a neon, poison green.

  “Aha!”

  Bon and his officers shoved down a narrow row, crowded on one side by a vine-covered wall and on the other by a tall table littered with potted plants, clippings, whisks, and shovels. The inspector po
inted at the glowing plant in the corner.

  “Take this as evidence!”

  One of the tall officers lifted the pot, despite Martin Shaw’s protests.

  “W-what are you doing with my p-plants?” His small eyes grew round behind his glasses. “Evidence of w-what?”

  Bon shook the tin at him. “Evidence that you indeed grow the type of plant used to poison your latest victim’s tea.”

  The botanist gripped the edge of the closest table and swayed on his feet. “I-I certainly didn’t p-poison anyone!”

  Daisy looked up at Peter and wagged her tail. He’s telling the truth.

  I frowned, as did Peter.

  He cleared his throat. “Mr. Shaw, did you have anything to do with the death of Zozanna or Bim?”

  The older man shook his head, the loose skin of his thin throat wobbling slightly. “N-no!”

  Daisy whined again. Still telling the truth.

  I raised my brows at Peter. Though I was still skeptical of Daisy’s abilities, Peter seemed to trust her completely. Which meant….

  Peter stepped forward as Bon leveled his wand at the botanist. “Sir, Daisy says he’s telling the truth.”

  Bon sniffed, barely sparing Peter or his dog a glance. “Daisy’s a dog, Flint. I cut you a lot of leeway with that partner of yours, but in this case, there’s just too much evidence stacking up against Mr. Shaw here.”

  “E-evidence?” Shaw’s eyes darted between Bon and Peter. “W-what evidence?”

  Bon shook the tin again. “This tea was used to poison Zozanna and to frame Turk Molino. The same tea you grow in your shop!”

  Shaw shook his head, the pot shaking in his trembling hands. “N-no! I didn’t d-do it. Anyone could have b-bought that k-kind of plant from me.”

  Bon scoffed. “Nice try. But there’s also the little matter of your footprints at the crime scene and your strong motive. You’ve been warring with Mr. Molino and his employees for weeks over that neon sign, and you finally couldn’t take it anymore. You sought revenge!”

  Bon tipped his head at Shaw. “Take him in, boys.”