by Erin Johnson
Peter gestured at his growling German shepherd. If I didn’t know she slept in a fluffy bed embroidered with her name and her favorite toy, a stuffed lobster, I’d have found her as terrifying as Quincy surely did. “I’m Officer Flint, and this is my partner, Daisy. She can smell lies, and her growls tell me you’re not being totally honest about your grief.”
Quincy’s sniffles immediately stopped.
Peter grinned at me, his hard gaze softening for a moment as he took me in. “And this is Jolene Hartgrave, a police consultant and pet psychic.”
Quincy scoffed, but when I leveled him a flat look, the lanky, big-eared man sobered. “Er—sorry.” He wrung the white kerchief between his long-fingered hands. “The truth is, Malorie and I didn’t have the perfect marriage, but I will miss her and was horrified to find her… like that.”
Daisy wagged her tail. True.
He shook his head and tucked the hankie in his breast pocket, then frowned and poked around in it. He withdrew a crumpled cocktail napkin with inky, illegible words scribbled on it. “Ah—the notes for my last-minute speech.” He let out another heavy sigh. “Couldn’t find them when I needed them. I’m always picking things up and misplacing others. Malorie always said my absentmindedness kept her constantly searching for things.” He shook his head. “Malorie was supposed to talk and introduce the phoenix.” He let out a humorless chuckle. “Night didn’t exactly go as planned.”
I glanced at Daisy. If he’d killed his wife and planned it, that’d be an outright lie.
She blinked her big dark eyes up at me and whined. True.
I arched a brow at Peter. At least our suspect was being honest now that he knew Daisy would call him on his bluffs.
Peter shifted on his feet. “You said a moment ago that you and your wife didn’t have a perfect marriage—what did you mean?”
Quincy’s thin shoulders slumped. “Honestly, most of the time things were fine between us and, if not totally close, peaceful. But we’d been fighting more quite recently.”
Daisy wagged her tail. True.
Peter frowned. “I’m sorry for the personal questions, but what were you fighting about?”
“Oh, uh—” Quincy licked his thin lips and glanced at Daisy. “Old wounds. I believe the Night of the Phoenix party brought old memories back for Malorie about her first husband, who disappeared at the last one, fifty years ago.”
I nodded—Heidi had filled me in on that earlier. “Why would you fight about that?”
A pink flush spread over his neck and cheeks. “I, uh—” He used the crumpled cocktail napkin to dab his sweaty forehead, leaving behind ink stains. “I believe Malorie felt I never quite measured up to her first husband.”
He hung his head, and Daisy’s eyes narrowed, the tip of her bushy tail twitching. True… mostly.
Peter and I exchanged suspicious looks.
Quincy groaned and dragged his hands through his thinning white hair. “Like I said, we weren’t perfect, but… I will miss Malorie.” He snuck at quick look at Daisy. “I never saw this coming.”
Daisy lowered her haunches to the wooden platform and glanced up at Peter and whined. True.
I quirked my lips to the side as I studied Quincy. He seemed so awkward and absentminded, and according to Daisy, he would truly miss his wife. If he had killed her, it certainly hadn’t been premeditated. I didn’t get the murderer vibe from him, but he did seem to be hiding something.
Peter’s quill and scroll magically appeared over his shoulder. He grabbed the scroll and looked over his notes. “Do you know why your wife was in the phoenix’s cage or who that other woman is?”
I lifted a finger. “And while we’re on that, any clue where the phoenix is?”
Quincy looked up at us and splayed his long hands. “I have absolutely no idea how my wife ended up in that cage.” He looked from me to Peter. “I’ve never seen that other woman before—though, that talon in her chest”—he shook a long finger—“that was my wife’s necklace. She was wearing it tonight.”
Peter and I exchanged looks. The veterinarian had said the same thing. Initially, I assumed the women had attacked each other. But how would Malorie, hit with a poisoned dart and suffering from a head injury, have killed the other woman?
I supposed the dart might have taken a few moments to take effect, and in that time, Malorie could have attacked using her talon necklace… and then fallen and hit her head? My own head was starting to hurt with all the unanswered questions… and maybe also that champagne I’d nabbed. Oops.
Peter frowned. “Could that other woman and your wife have had an altercation?”
I smirked. That was putting it mildly. If they’d killed each other, then head wounds, poison darts, and murder by necklace to the chest counted as an all-out brawl in my book.
Quincy’s brows pinched together. “No, I don’t think so.” He shook his head. “Malorie was a gentle person—I don’t think she’s capable of hurting someone else like that.”
I scoffed, and three sets of eyes swiveled my way. I raised a palm. “I’ve heard rumors that Malorie killed her first husband fifty years ago at the last phoenix rebirth party.”
Quincy’s frown deepened. “Richard? He disappeared, so we don’t even know that he’s dead.”
Daisy’s hackles rose, and she growled. Lie.
Quincy startled and blinked at the dog before shaking himself and turning to me. “Okay, fine. Personally, yes, I think he’s dead. But I’ve known Malorie a long time, and I truly believe she didn’t kill Richard.”
Peter and I glanced at the dog.
Daisy whined. True.
I shrugged and turned to Peter. I was getting bored—this guy didn’t seem to know that I only wanted the juiciest gossip and clues.
Quincy cleared his throat. “Though you know, now that I’m thinking of Richard, his daughter, Rebecca, from his first marriage, was in attendance tonight.”
Peter cocked his head. “Was that unusual?”
“Indeed.” Quincy raised his brows. “Rebecca couldn’t stand Malorie. When Richard disappeared, almost his entire estate went to Malorie. Rebecca and her mother, Richard’s first wife, were furious and bitter—never got over it.”
“Gee, I wonder why.” I licked my lips. “So why was she here tonight?”
Quincy shrugged. “Rebecca had stopped by the estate a few times—she’d been trying to get ahold of my wife for a week or two. She wanted to talk to Malorie, but Mal wouldn’t see her. Again, they didn’t have a friendly relationship, and Mal was busy preparing for the party tonight. It appears Rebecca crashed the event tonight.”
Daisy wagged her tail. All true.
I crossed my arms and drummed my fingers on my elbow. “Any idea where Rebecca is now?”
He shook his head. “I spotted her earlier this evening across the room. Haven’t seen her since.”
As Peter perused his notes, the lull in questions was filled with odd animal hoots and chilling wails. I curled my lip as I looked around the thick foliage. Aside from Daisy, I couldn’t spot any animals, but the hairs on the back of my neck rose, and I had no doubt we were being watched.
Peter looked up from the scroll. “So you don’t have any idea who our other victim is? Maybe Malorie mentioned her?”
Quincy turned his palms up. “I honestly have no idea who that is.”
Daisy wagged her tail. All true.
He looked down and to the side, brows pinched together. “Though, she’s dressed like a hippie.” He jerked his head up, eyes wide. “Maybe she works with that Zane Perez bottom feeder at WWAAC.” It was the first hint of anger out of Quincy.
I frowned. “Who? And what is WWAAC?”
Quincy narrowed his small eyes. “Witches and Wizards Against Animal Cruelty.” He scoffed. “Maybe she’s one of those wackos, too.” He threw his hands up. “Oh, we can’t cage animals, but we have no problem murdering an innocent woman!” The color rose to his face.
Wow. I blinked. This guy really hated t
hose animal advocates. I’d have thought an animal sanctuary would be pretty buddy-buddy with people who wanted to help animals.
Peter glanced at his notes, then shook his head. “Who is Zane Perez?”
Quincy glared, his cheeks red. “He infiltrated our sanctuary pretending to work as a zookeeper for months.” He pressed his thin lips together. “That is, until our head zookeeper—well, former head zookeeper, Libbie Brown, outed him.”
Peter jerked his head up and leveled him with a sharp look.
“Libbie said Zane approached her, trying to get her to tell him horror stories about all the cruelties that happen here.” Quincy rolled his eyes.
I raised a brow, and Peter stilled.
Quincy spluttered. “And—and of course we’re not cruel to the animals, so there’s nothing to tell.”
I turned to our canine lie detector, who cocked her head and growled. I’m getting mixed signals.
Peter gave Quincy a hard look. “Libbie Brown, you said?”
I glanced at him. “Do you know who that is?”
He raised a thick brow, then turned back to Quincy. “We just apprehended her trying to climb over your estate’s eastern wall with a wombat in her bag.”
I chuckled. “Oh! She’s our wombat thief?” I nodded to myself. “Wow. This just keeps getting juicier.” And here I’d been doubting Quincy would have anything of interest to say.
8
The Plot Thickens
Quincy Rutherford gasped, eyes round in shock, then his flush returned, and he set his jaw. “Well. I expected more of Libbie.”
Interesting. I rested my chin on a fist. “You said Libbie Brown was your former head zookeeper, right? So what’s she doing here tonight?”
Quincy shrugged. “She wasn’t invited.” His expression darkened. “Though she clearly had plans of her own.”
Hm. Was our wombat stealer also a murderer?
Peter jumped in. “How long did Libbie work for you and why doesn’t she anymore?”
Quincy scratched one of his large ears. “Well, er, years, I’d say… not sure how many exactly. But Malorie let her go about a week ago.”
And now Malorie was dead? Peter and I exchanged looks. Seemed to me like being fired after years of employment might be a good motive for murder. Maybe there was more to this wombat prison break than initially washed up on shore.
Quincy answered the question I’d been about to ask. “I, uh—I’m not sure why Malorie let her go. There was a lot of the sanctuary business my wife didn’t discuss with me. But I was under the impression it was a fairly amicable parting of ways—my wife paid her a handsome severance.”
Daisy wagged her tail. True.
Huh. I frowned down at her bushy tail. If Libbie hadn’t left on bad terms, why had she snuck onto the premises and stolen a wombat, of all things? If it were me, I’d have gone after a way cooler creature. I frowned—there was still the matter of the missing phoenix. Was the former head zookeeper involved?
Peter dragged a hand through his hair and roughly scratched the back of his neck. He looked as perplexed by all this information as I was. “Okay. What happened to that Zane Perez fellow from WWAAC that Libbie reported?”
“We fired him, of course.” Quincy glared. “Told him never to come back.” His eyes widened. “Maybe he sent one of his cronies after Malorie.”
Peter nodded. “So to recap, you have no idea how your wife or this mystery woman ended up in the phoenix’s cage or where the phoenix is?”
Quincy blinked. “None.”
Daisy tilted her nose up to look at Peter and whined. True.
Peter’s shoulders slumped, and I made a mental note to rub them for him later. He’d already pulled a double shift the night before so he could get his beat covered for tonight, in order to be able to work security at this fundraiser—all to help me get intel about Ludolf. And now we’d stumbled into a double murder that was getting more tangled by the minute. I bit my lip—and we hadn’t even spotted Ludolf.
“When was the last time you saw your wife? Before finding her in the phoenix enclosure, that is.” Peter watched our suspect closely.
Quincy looked at the shiny black dress shoes on his feet. “Oh, sands, maybe an hour or so earlier? She was busy working the room and chatting with some of our bigger donors. I spotted her across the room.”
Daisy wagged her tail. True.
Peter nodded. “I’m told there were no signs of a break-in to the phoenix enclosure. Who had keys to it?”
Quincy blew out a gust of air. “Well, there’s the way in through the magical forcefield. That was hidden by the curtains, but with the party, anyone would have seen someone entering that way, plus you’d have had to know the spell to lower it—that’s the way I entered.”
Peter nodded. “And it was fully engaged before you entered?”
“Yes.” Quincy tapped a long finger to his lips. “Malorie and the other woman must’ve come in the back door that connects to the rest of the sanctuary. It’s camouflaged like it’s part of the rock wall.” He frowned. “There’s also the viewing platform on the second story.”
Peter shifted on his feet. “Who would have had access to the back door or the viewing platform?”
Quincy’s gaze grew far away, deep in thought. “You need a key to those. Let’s see… there’s me, and Malorie of course. Then our veterinarian, Mark West, too. Libbie would have turned in her keys, but she left recently enough, and we were so busy with preparations for the party, that we haven’t had a chance to change the locks yet.”
I glanced at Peter. “So she could have made copies and still gotten in.”
He nodded.
Quincy went on. “We keep a spare set of keys in the office.” His throat bobbed and he glanced up, wide-eyed. “Which is where the blow dart gun was kept along with the poison darts.”
Peter nodded. “Why do you have those?”
Quincy tipped his head side to side. “Mostly for decoration—we kept the blow gun on the wall. But also in case any of the animals became dangerous and we had to sedate them or, unfortunately, put them down.”
Peter cleared his throat. “You keep the office locked, I presume?”
He winced. “Yes, well, except…” He scratched his ear. “I have a habit of forgetting to lock up. Malorie’s told me time and time again we could get burgled.” He shrugged. “With so many people in and out of the house today to get ready for the evening’s festivities, plus if anyone wandered back there during the party… there’s no telling who might have entered the office and got ahold of the spare keys.”
Peter eyed Quincy, his brow creased. “When you found the blow gun on the wooden walkway, did you touch it or move the weapon at all?”
Quincy’s throat bobbed, and he snuck a glance at Daisy, whose tongue hung half out of her mouth. He spoke slowly, as though choosing his words carefully. “After I spotted the blow gun on the ground, I didn’t touch it or move it. I just—I just stood there, staring at it, and then the officers found me.”
Daisy’s tail swished back and forth over the ground, scattering a few fallen leaves. True.
Peter nodded. “Thank you. I’m sorry for your loss. If you think of anything else that could help us, even if you’re not sure how, please reach out.” He fished a card out of the inside pocket of his uniform jacket and handed it to the bereaved husband, who took it and nodded.
We stepped aside, and Peter leaned around the curve in the walkway. A round mirror hovered slightly above Peter’s head, allowing us to see around the bend. He looked up into it and waved Jones back to stand guard over Quincy.
I pulled my lips to the side. “I think we should go back and talk to the veterinarian again. He came in that back door and was the second person on the scene. Plus, maybe he has more of an inside scoop to this drama with the former head zookeeper and that Zane guy who infiltrated the sanctuary from that animal rights group.”
Peter shot me a grin. “Sounds good.”
I narrowed my eyes
at him. “What?”
His smile broadened. “Nothing, just—you sound like a cop.”
I gave an exaggerated gasp and looked around, then spoke in a stage whisper. “Keep your voice down. I don’t want you ruining my street cred.”
9
Phoenix Nest
When we reentered the phoenix enclosure, it appeared to be empty aside from the rushing waterfall and the small jungle of lush plants. I glanced up toward the railing on the second story, then pushed an enormous fern aside, frowning. Daisy bounded off and disappeared among the foliage.
“Where is everybody?”
Peter’s shoes clicked along the hard volcanic rock as he walked over to where Malorie and the mystery woman’s bodies had been. “The team must’ve gotten the victims’ bodies to the station already.”
I followed him, glancing out the transparent force field to the ballroom full of hundreds of guests clad in animal print. They stood in small groups, being questioned by cops. As I scanned the room, my eyes landed on someone staring back at me.
Ice flooded my stomach as I recognized Ludolf Caterwaul, mob boss of the shifter underground. The skeletal man was flanked by several beefy dudes, no doubt his shifter bodyguards. I wondered with a shudder if the lion shifter was among them—the one who’d almost eaten me.
As much as I hated to admit it, Ludolf held a gravity larger than his physical size and didn’t need the muscle around him to seem intimidating. Still, I forced myself to hold my ground and meet his gaze without flinching. I wanted to reach out for Peter and point Ludolf out to Daisy and tell her to sic him, but I knew that would only be putting my boyfriend and his dog in more danger.
Ludolf had already threatened Peter with bodily harm multiple times. I gritted my teeth and balled my hands into fists as the man’s pale eyes bored into me.
