by Erin Johnson
Daisy barked, and I startled.
“You found something?” Peter turned toward the rustling dark green palms.
“Call your dog off!”
I recognized Mark the veterinarian’s voice, and with one last chilling look at ol’ Ludolf, turned away. I followed Peter down a narrow path. He glanced back at me, then did a double take and slowed until I walked beside him. “You okay?”
I nodded and gulped against the tight knot in my throat. “I spotted you-know-who. And he saw me right back. We had a fun little staring contest.”
Peter’s warm hand pressed against my lower back, and I grinned gratefully up at him. His jaw was set. “Are you okay?”
I nodded and waved it off as I turned sideways to slide past a sharp branch. “I mean, we came here to spy on him, right? It shouldn’t startle me to see him—”
“But it does.” Peter nodded, his deep blue eyes thoughtful. A red flush spread up his neck and ears. “We’ll make this right, Jolene. I promise. He can’t just use you as a test subject for whatever he’s making those potions for.” He heaved an angry sigh through his nose, and I leaned against his side.
“When we arrest him, can Daisy gnaw on him—just a little?”
The grim set to Peter’s mouth softened. “Sure—but just a little.”
I nodded. “Maybe she can bite off a few toes. I doubt he’d miss them.”
Peter chuckled and slipped his hand around mine.
I was only half joking. But first, we had to figure out a crime we could actually pin on the slippery snake. Ludolf had a way of lining up his lackeys to take the fall for his multitude of crimes, which I had a feeling we’d just seen the tip of. In any case, I was more than happy to put my personal problems aside and focus on the case in front of us. It made for a nice distraction from my predicament.
Daisy barked again—over here—and Mark cried out, “Hey!”
Peter banked hard to the right, and I trailed right behind him, still holding his hand. We came to a little clearing filled with a nest made of sticks and mud about the size of a large beanbag chair. Mark had his back against the rough trunk of a palm tree, palms up, while Daisy wagged her bushy tail and panted up at him. She glanced back over her shoulder at Peter and woofed.
I found him!
Mark’s wide eyes darted down to the dog, then back to Peter. “A little help here.”
Peter bent forward and patted his thighs. “Daisy! Come!”
The German shepherd bounded over, smiling widely, and Peter scratched behind her pointy ears. “Good girl.”
“Good?” Mark scoffed as he tugged his white lab coat down. “She nearly bit my head off.” He shot the dog a scathing look, then dug around his pockets till he located his pack of cigarettes and his wand. He used his wand to light the cigarette before stuffing it back in his pocket, then took a drag and blew out a puff of smoke. His shoulders sagged, and his face relaxed.
I frowned at him. What kind of veterinarian got so angry at a dog and smoked in the enclosure of a creature as rare as a phoenix?
Peter straightened, and Daisy circled around until she stood with her side pressed against his leg. “Daisy was just looking for you. Where’d everyone go?” Peter’s eyes dropped to the large nest. “And what are you doing in here alone?”
Mark took another drag of his cigarette, then leveled Peter with a flat look. “Your colleagues took off with the bodies and told me not to go anywhere—so I figured I’d make myself useful and see if I could locate our missing phoenix.” He gestured at the circle of sticks and mud. “This is her nest.” A few fiery red feathers clung to the inside of the nest.
I crinkled my nose. The humid air smelled of sour cigarette smoke, charcoal, and a warm, musky bird smell. I’d noticed it on myself and other owls before when I could still shift. I sniffed again and found it weirdly comforting, though I guessed the burnt smell was unique to phoenixes.
Peter nodded. “I appreciate you sticking around—we actually do have some more questions for you.” He glanced around at the vines, trees, and ferns that crowded close to us. “First up—have you found the phoenix or any clues as to where it might be?”
Mark sniffed and rolled his dark eyes. “None. It’s like she just up and disappeared.”
Peter frowned. “The bird couldn’t have gotten out the open door while you and Quincy were distracted with the victims?”
Mark shook his head and blew out a puff of smoke. “If she was loose anywhere around here and burst into flames, you’d know it.”
Yeesh. I made a face up at Peter. “Nobody’s called in any spontaneous hell fires?”
His lips twitched like he was fighting a grin. “Not yet, at least.”
Mark pointed his cigarette at me. “It’s no joke, from what I understand, when a phoenix combusts and then is born again from the flames.”
I arched a brow. “From what you understand? You haven’t seen it in person?”
The vet shook his head.
Peter cocked his head, the large nest still on the ground between us and Mark. “So you weren’t the sanctuary’s veterinarian for the last phoenix rebirth party?”
Mark scowled at Peter. “That was fifty years ago—how old do I look to you?”
I bit back a smile as my boyfriend’s throat bobbed and his cheeks flushed pink with embarrassment. The vet looked like he was in his fifties to me, fairly trim, though his stomach stuck out from his lab coat a bit, and only a few lines showed around his eyes. That was probably a fair reaction on his part.
I stepped forward and tried to distract Mark from taking offense. “So you never met Malorie’s first husband, Richard?”
He sniffed. “Nope. She hired me on after he’d already ‘disappeared.’” He made air quotes around the last word. “Worked for her about fourteen years now.”
Interesting how Mark mentioned working for Malorie—not Quincy. It seemed the new widower had been telling the truth when he said his wife didn’t share a lot of the business responsibilities with him.
Peter lifted a thick brow. “You don’t believe Malorie’s husband went missing?”
Mark snorted. “I think someone knows where he is.”
Did he think that someone was his recently deceased boss? “Some people think Malorie dumped his body in the phoenix’s cage during the party fifty years ago. Could the flames from the phoenix’s rebirth have completely destroyed bone and all evidence?”
Mark took a dramatic drag of his cigarette, then leveled me a serious look. “Anything in that cage—bone, cast iron, shell, probably even that volcanic rock—it would have all been completely obliterated by those flames.”
Well, that answered that. Not a bad way to dispose of a body, if that was your goal.
Peter cleared his throat. “When was the last time you saw the phoenix?”
Mark leaned his shoulder against a vine covered tree trunk. “A couple hours ago, at the start of the party.”
Daisy wagged her tail and whined. All true so far.
Peter looked around. “Why did you enter through the sanctuary door and not the ballroom side, where Quincy came in?”
Mark took a drag, then blew the smoke out. “I was already in the back, on hand in case anything went wrong when the phoenix did her thing.” He rolled the hand that held the cigarette. “Though, in reality, I have no idea what I would’ve been able to do. The flames engulf the entire enclosure and burn so hot we had to have special enchantments cast to contain them.”
Peter raised a brow. “You were waiting in the back behind the enclosure all night?”
“Nah.” The vet shook his head. “I was out there, partying, for most of the night. Just went to the back door a few minutes before I heard Quincy take the stage.”
“And while you were there you didn’t see anyone enter or leave?”
Smoke poured from Mark’s nostrils. “Nope.”
Daisy wagged her tail. True.
Peter shifted on his feet. “And was the door locked before you entered?
”
“Yep. I had to unlock it before I could rush inside.” Mark sighed. “I checked Malorie’s vitals first.” He shook his head. “Dead. As was the other chick.”
I arched a brow. “You don’t have any idea who that other woman is?”
Mark scoffed. “None. I’d like to know who the shell she is and how she got in here.”
I sniffed. Yeah, Mark, you and me both.
Daisy’s tail wagged. True.
Peter licked his lips. “So you have no idea how the phoenix either escaped or was smuggled out?”
Mark took another drag, looking too calm for my liking. I glanced around at the thick foliage, imagining the firebird could spontaneously combust at any moment and turn us all to dust, and edged closer to Peter.
“No clue how the bird got out or where it is now.”
10
Mark
Peter’s notes magicked into his hands. While he bent his head and reviewed them, I toed the springy sticks that made up the nest. A few downy red feathers floated loose. We didn’t know who this other woman was, but it was likely she and Malorie had killed each other. Mark might not know who she was by sight, but maybe his boss had talked about her enemies with him. He’d worked with her long enough that they might have gotten close.
“Do you know of anyone who might have wanted to harm Malorie?”
Mark snorted, smoke gushing from his nose. “She’s made plenty of enemies. There’s her stepdaughter, Rebecca, for one.”
Peter and I exchanged knowing looks. Quincy had mentioned her as well and that she’d crashed the party tonight.
Mark crossed one arm over his chest and leaned further into the straight trunk of the palm. “Rebecca’s her stepdaughter from her first marriage to Richard Rutherford. Neither Rebecca nor her mother were friendly to Malorie—saw her as a home-wrecker.” He raised the cigarette hand to the side of his mouth. “Which she was.”
Huh. Had this Rebecca gal sought revenge on Malorie for breaking up her parents’ marriage? If so, though, why wait all these years and do it now? And how had the other woman ended up dead? Had she been some sort of ’70s-themed assassin Rebecca hired?
Mark went on after blowing out another puff of smoke. “I saw Rebecca here tonight. It surprised me—I didn’t think they were in contact.”
Peter narrowed his eyes. “How did she seem?”
Mark shrugged. “Agitated, I guess. Twitchy. She and Malorie left the party together and headed to the back.”
I frowned. “The back?”
He nodded. “Yeah, the sanctuary.” He gestured around us.
Hmm. Had Rebecca lured Malorie back here and then she and the mystery woman had gotten into a fight to the death?
Peter nodded as his quill scratched away at the parchment. “We’ll be looking into that, thank you.” He lifted his broad palm. “Did she have any other enemies that you know of?”
The vet curled his full lip. “Well, our head zookeeper Libbie just left after working here for six years. Malorie claimed it was on amicable terms, but I heard raised voices coming from the office a week ago—it was them two arguing over something.”
Now this was interesting. Quincy had been under the impression that it’d been an amicable split—just more evidence of how much his wife kept him out of the business. Why? Did she not trust him?
From what little I’d seen, he certainly seemed nervous and timid, maybe not someone she could lean on. Or was she protecting him by keeping him out of some less-than-aboveboard business dealings?
I leaned into one hip. “Do you know what their argument was about?”
Mark shrugged. “Not sure, but if I had to guess, it’d be that fellow Zane Perez from WWAAC—Witches and Wizards Against Animal Cruelty.”
Peter and I looked at each other again. Quincy had also mentioned this dude.
Mark rolled his dark eyes. “Pains in our tails. Those people are net cases. A few weeks ago, before Libbie left, I overheard her and Malorie talking about Zane. He’d only worked here a couple months, but Libbie seemed to think he was a plant from WWAAC.”
“And he no longer works at the sanctuary?” Peter’s quill magically scribbled away.
Mark snorted. “Shell, no.”
I drummed my fingers on my arm. “Is that common? For animal activists to pose as employees?”
Mark tilted his head side to side, as if debating. “I don’t know of it happening here before, but I’ve heard of it happening at private zoos. They’re always looking to jump down someone’s throats about this perceived mistreatment or that—but it’s all detritus. They just don’t like animals being behind bars, period.”
I frowned. I could sympathize with the activists. The curse Ludolf Caterwaul had placed on me took away my magical powers, as well as my ability to shift into an owl. Every night I missed taking flight and soaring over the island, the night breeze blowing under my wings.
My stomach tightened as I thought of the phoenix and the other animals in here. At least I still had freedom in human form to move about and do as I wished—these animals couldn’t fly, swim, or roam free at all. Still, it had to be odd that these activists would target a sanctuary. I felt again that they should’ve been on the same side.
Peter’s firm but kind voice jolted me out of my misgivings. “Thank you for your time. If you think of anything else, please let us know.”
Peter, Daisy, and I wound our way back out of the enclosure with Mark leading the way. Peter sent the vet home, then found a couple of cops and asked them to cordon off the phoenix enclosure. We moved off a little ways away from the other cops and stood among a dense grouping of palms that overhung the wooden rope bridge walkway.
I turned to Peter and rattled off the theory I’d been working on. “Okay, so we have a missing phoenix and a woman who looks like she hugs a lot of trees.”
Peter grinned.
“Maybe while Zane Perez worked here, he made mystery woman a copy of the key to the phoenix’s cage. Maybe she’s one of his buddies at the activist group WWAAC.” I splayed my hands. “She gets in, lets the phoenix out, but is interrupted by Malorie when she walks back here with Rebecca, her stepdaughter. A struggle ensues, and maybe Malorie kills the hippie woman with the talon necklace she was wearing, and the woman hits her with a dart that maybe she had on hand to drug the phoenix? Then Rebecca flees?” I scrunched up my face, waiting for Peter’s take.
He nodded. “I could see that.” That thinking crease appeared between his brows. “But the dart was poisoned, we believe, not a sedative potion. Why would an animal lover have a poison dart on hand? And where did the phoenix go?”
I pulled my lips to the side. “Maybe they had more accomplices. They took the bird while the hippie lady stayed behind to keep Malorie from chasing after them or sounding the alarm, and they ended up killing each other?” It sounded flimsy even as I said it.
Peter shook his head. “There are no signs of a struggle, though—no scrapes or scratches on either of them. Just that wound to Malorie’s head, the dart in her neck, and the talon in the mystery woman’s chest.”
I fanned myself, the humidity making me sweat. “So what next?”
Daisy panted with her tongue hanging out of her mouth. She glanced up and growled. You think you’re hot? I have a fur coat.
I woofed back. We can shave you. I raised my brows. Or have you waxed? I think you could rock the bald look.
Her ears flattened, and her growl deepened. Try it and see what happens.
I shrugged and whined back, a grin playing at the corner of my mouth. Look, Days, I’m a pet psychic—
She interrupted me with a growl. Lie.
—not a pet aesthetician, but I’m sure I could find somebody. You want your nails done, too? We could have a girls’ spa day. I winked.
She bared her teeth in a vicious snarl, her dark lips twitching. Touch my paws or my nails and it’ll be the last thing you do.
I grinned wider, and Peter shook his head at me, smiling. “You’re eg
ging her on.”
I shrugged. “It’s not my fault she’s so fun to tease.”
The dog looked from one of us to the other, dark eyes narrowed, and growled. Tell Peter, right now, that you’re being rude and—
I shot her a flat look and whined. Oh, relax—next time I make bacon, I’ll put the grease in your food. Happy?
Her pointy ears pricked up, and her eyes grew round. Really? The tip of her bushy tail wagged just the tiniest amount.
I rolled my eyes. Did you detect a lie?
She considered a moment, then her mouth split into a wide, toothy grin, and she panted. Okay. Deal.
I squeezed Peter’s hand. “I think we’re cool.”
His smile widened as he looked from me to his dog. “I think so, too.” He patted Daisy’s head, and her tail swished from side to side in big sweeps.
I raised my brows. “Now what?”
Peter lifted his chin in the direction of the rope bridge. “Let’s head to the sanctuary’s office and check in with the other officers there.”
11
The Blow gun
“Wow.” I let out a low whistle as I took in the Magical Animal Sanctuary’s office. Apparently, the animal print theme wasn’t reserved only for the party this evening—it was part of everyday life. A few cops moved about the large space and collected evidence, searching drawers and dusting for fingerprints.
They nearly disappeared, camouflaged as they were among the busy mix of wood African masks on the wall, tiger skin rugs, and zebra print upholstery on the stuffed chairs and sofa in the reception area up front. My eyes widened as I spotted the wood cabinet to my left, painted a gold leopard print, and the antler chandelier that cast most of the light.
I leaned close to Peter. “Guess they just can’t hide their enthusiasm for animal skins.”
He glanced down at me, the corners of his mouth tight, like he was fighting a smile.
I rolled my eyes. “Oh come on, that was a solid pun.”
He raised a thick brow. “It was spot-on.”
