by Erin Johnson
Peter grabbed the scroll and perused his notes for a few moments, then looked up. “A few of the guests we interviewed mentioned that Letty looked flushed in the face and seemed to be having trouble breathing at the altar.” Peter let the scroll go, and it floated back into its usual place just over his shoulder. “Could those have been symptoms of her having an allergic reaction? And if so, why didn’t you recognize that in the moment, or try to help her?”
Chaz paled slightly and darted a look toward the wedding guests. I turned and followed his gaze to a strawberry blond in an outrageously enormous hat. Huh. Who was that broad?
Chaz sniffed and looked back up at Peter. “If she was having a reaction at the altar, I didn’t realize.” He shrugged. “She got through her vows just fine… stumbled over her words a bit, but I just thought she was nervous, like I was. In fact, coming down the aisle, she was so jittery she tripped.”
He shook his head. “After she ran from the altar, I tried to chase after her, but she waved me off. I hesitated, too long, and she got back to the bridal suite. She locked me—all of us— out.”
Peter looked over his notes. “That’s when you went around to the window to call for her to open the door?”
Chaz dropped his gaze and nodded.
I shifted in my seat. “Your mother”—the banshee, I added silently to myself—“mentioned that Letty specifically got a dress with pockets so she could keep her anti-allergy potion on her. Why didn’t she drink that?”
He blinked rapidly. “Uh… I don’t know.” His brows pinched together. “I wasn’t aware she had that on her. Dress styles and all that—it’s more of a girl-talk kind of thing, you know.” He licked his lips. “Though I do remember her sort of patting around her dress… maybe that’s what she was looking for….”
I shot Peter a flat look. You think?
He narrowed his eyes at Chaz. “How did you and Letty meet? Seems like you’re from pretty different backgrounds.”
Chaz plastered on a wistful smile, though the dude still gave me fake vibes. “We met at the country club—Letty was a server in the restaurant there. I thought she was cute, but it was really my campaign manager, Cybil, who encouraged me to court her.”
I frowned. His campaign manager encouraged him to court a waitress at the country club? Why?
“When was this?” Peter’s quill scribbled notes, scratching at the parchment.
Chaz swallowed. “About seven months ago.”
I raised my brows. “Wow. That’s fast.”
He quirked his lips to the side and shrugged. “Whirlpool romance, as they say.”
I bit back a smirk. “I believe it’s whirlwind, but okay.”
“Chaz? Chaz!” A tiny blond in a pencil skirt and pumps marched across the lawn toward us, her heels puncturing the grass and catching every few steps.
The groom raised his brows as a flock of bats went winging and squeaking overhead. “Speak of the devil…”
6
CYBIL
“How’re you holding up?” The petite blond clamped a hand down on Chaz’s shoulder.
He shot her a tight smile and clutched the blanket around his shoulders with one hand. With the other, he gestured between us.
“My campaign manager, Cybil Coxcomb. Cybil, Officers Flint and—” He grimaced at me.
I waved a hand. “I’m Jolene.”
Chaz pointed at Daisy. “And their sick dog.”
I waved it off. “She’s not mine.”
Peter stepped in. “It’s just allergies.”
Chaz and Cybil exchanged looks.
I raised my brows. “So Chaz here was just telling us that you were the one who encouraged him to pursue Letty?” I pressed my lips together.
Cybil stood with her spine straight, her straight blond bob swaying over her shoulders in the strong wind.
Peter nodded. “Why’d you encourage Chaz to date her?”
She scoffed and leaned into one hip. “Uh, because he’s thirty-four—people expect a candidate of his age to be settled down. It shows maturity and commitment.”
I arched a brow. Thirty-four wasn’t old to be unmarried… was it? I frowned as I thought over my situation, and my stomach sank a little as I thought of Peter. He was the first man in a long time that I’d even wanted to pursue something with. And now we barely had a professional relationship. Sigh.
Peter nodded. “Okay, but why not encourage him to look for someone from his own social circle?”
She kept her gaze direct and focused, but her confident smile faltered a little. She licked her lips. “Uh, well… everyone loves a Cinderella story, right? Plus, she seemed like a sweet girl. I thought they’d be a good match.”
I narrowed my eyes—unconvinced. “I’d love to hear more of Letty’s side of the romance.” I glanced around at the hundreds and hundreds of guests spread out across the estate’s lawn. “Can you point us to some of Letty’s friends or family we could talk to?”
Chaz and Cybil exchanged looks again.
I frowned. “What?”
Chaz cleared his throat. “You know… Letty was a shy, private person, and she grew up in an orphanage, so she didn’t have any family.”
My frown deepened. “Okay... maybe even a coworker she might have confided in?”
Chaz grimaced and looked to Cybil. She threw a small palm out. “I’m sure you can imagine how awkward that would be, to invite waitstaff from the country club to the wedding as guests?”
Chaz bit his lip. “Eek. So weird.”
Cybil’s words spilled out like she’d had five cups of coffee. “That’d be crossing the line, and Letty understood. Plus, Chaz’s family and connections are so extensive, it really didn’t leave any room on the guest list for her people.”
I blinked. “You’re telling us the bride had literally not one of her own guests among the thousand here?” I set my jaw, determined to be the advocate for Letty that she had clearly not had when living.
“Oh!” Cybil perked up. “Except for the caterer, of course.” She nodded at Chaz.
“Right, the caterer!” He plastered on that smarmy smile I recognized from the campaign posters.
Ah, there it was. So good to know something small like his wife’s death on their wedding day couldn’t dampen Chaz’s spirits for long.
Chaz, still clutching the blanket around his shoulders with one hand, spread his other palm wide. “Letty was so amiable and easygoing—she let Mother do most of the planning. The caterer, Joe something, was the only thing she put her foot down on.”
Peter and I exchanged looks, and he voiced the question in my head.
“Why was the caterer significant for her?”
Chaz shrugged. “She said they were childhood friends, as I mentioned, and he and his family were down on their luck. Plus, I guess he’d recently been released from prison. She said she wanted to help out their family business by giving them the catering contract.”
Peter nodded. “Was it a big one?”
Cybil choked. “The contract? I’d say so. We had the top caterers and chefs in the kingdoms competing for it until Letty gave it to her friend. Imagine it—the prestige. All of Bijou Mer’s elite are here.” She shook her head. “But Letty insisted, so we relented.”
Chaz sniffed. “It was her only request, so of course we did. But snakes, the way he looked at her sometimes…”
Peter frowned. “The caterer?”
Chaz nodded, eyes watery. “Dark looks—lusty ones!” He raised his brows, and I had to suck on my lips to keep from smirking. He’d hinted earlier that we might look into him—did I detect some jealousy or was this just more dramatics?
“Er!” He clutched his hair. “If he hurt her, I’ll…” He dissolved into tears and buried his face in his arms on the table.
Cybil looked imploringly at us and lightly patted his back. “This is clearly a bad time for Chaz. Is there anything else we can help you with right now?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “No? Then please give him some time and space to grieve.”
I shot Peter a flat look but rose.
He nodded at her. “Thanks for your time. We’ll be in touch.”
As we moved off across the lawn, Peter gestured toward the castle. “I think it’s time we talked with the caterer.”
I sniffed. “Chaz certainly wanted us to.”
Peter pressed his eyes shut for a moment. “Yeah, that was a little over the top.”
I scoffed. “You think?” I scrunched up my face. “And what was the deal with his campaign manager? She was clearly hiding the real reason she encouraged him to go after Letty.”
Peter nodded, then glanced down at Daisy, who trotted along beside him. “Bad timing for allergies, huh, Daisy?”
She scrunched up her snout and sneezed in reply.
7
JOE SANTOS
Peter asked around with a couple of maids who directed us around the back of the castle to the servants’ entrance near the kitchen. As Peter, Daisy, and I came around a curved stone wall, sharp voices came into range. Peter and I exchanged looks.
“I told you it was too good to be true!” A squat woman with a long black braid trailing down her back magically directed a floating line of silver pots into the back of a rickshaw cart.
“Hmph!” A squat older man with thinning black hair stomped past her, back toward the castle. “Dead bride or not, we’re getting paid!”
The woman threw her head back and barked out a laugh. “Fat chance!” She turned to usher a black iron cauldron, full to the brim with some sort of stew, into the cart and froze when she caught sight of us. Her dark eyes widened till the whites shone all around. “Datu? Datu!”
Her husband (I assumed) paused his grumbling and turned to her. “What?”
She jerked her head in our direction, and he startled and did a double take at Peter’s uniform.
They both looked at each other, threw their heads back, and yelled, “Joe!” at the same time. Then they promptly returned to loading up the cart with pots, cauldrons, and crates full of slightly wilted greens.
Peter and I exchanged confused looks. How had they known we were looking for Mr. Joe “Something” himself?
A young man, probably in his late twenties, sauntered out of the servants’ entrance. He was short, but his tank top revealed muscled arms wrapped in colorful tattoos that wound all the way up his neck. He wore a dirty waist apron, and as he made his way toward us, in no particular hurry apparently, he used it to wipe a chef’s knife clean of blood.
My stomach clenched, and I recalled Chaz mentioning that Joe had recently gotten out of prison. I edged a little closer to Peter and his broad shoulders, then glanced over at the sniffling Daisy. Even on her best day, I doubted she’d do much to defend me from a killer. Bark her head off and point them in my direction was more like it.
The guy looked up, caught me staring at the knife, and smirked. I sucked on my lips. Yeesh. He definitely had the whole hot, bad boy thing down. I bit back a smile as I thought of the sobbing Chaz wrapped in a blanket. He didn’t give off the manliest of vibes. No wonder he found Joe threatening… in more ways than one, I’d bet.
“Relax.” He held up the now clean knife, its blade glinting in the moonlight. “Letty died of an allergy, not a stabbing. This is pigs’ blood.”
I flashed a tight smile. So comforting.
“Are you Joe?”
The kid glared up at Peter. “Who’s asking?”
I flashed my eyes at Peter. Sassy.
He leveled Joe a serious stare. “I’m Officer Flint, this is my partner, Daisy—”
Joe lifted an incredulous eyebrow.
“—and consultant Ms. Hartgrave.”
He made eyes at me. “Ms, huh?”
A hot flush spread up my neck in spite of myself. This guy was good.
I caught Peter looking between Joe and me with his brow pinched and took a breath. “Are you Letty’s childhood friend Chaz told us about? The one recently released from prison?”
That seemed to snap Peter out of his confusion. He turned to face Joe again.
The bad boy sniffed and looked to the side. “Yeah, I did my time for robbery—and now I’m out.” He shook his head. “And that eel would tell you that.” He widened his stance. “Me and Letty were childhood sweethearts.”
I raised my brows. Were you, now? This was getting more interesting. I watched Joe carefully—was he a shifter also? Had he known Letty was one?
“Why did Letty choose you to cater the event?” Peter’s quill scratched away at the scroll magically hovering beside him.
I crossed my arms. “Yeah, Joe. It wasn’t awkward catering your ex’s wedding?”
He sniffed and looked off toward the woods at the edge of the lawn, then waggled his thick dark brows at us. “Maybe she wanted to see a little more of me.” He looked me up and down, and I scrunched up my face.
Okay. This was getting to be a little much.
Peter glared at Joe. “Is that it? Because Chaz seemed to think your family could use the money.”
Joe’s nostrils flared. “Yeah, you know what, my family did need the money.” He pointed at Peter (thankfully with his knife-free hand). “But that guy’s a douche. I insisted we turn down the job, even despite the great pay—I mean, who wants to attend an ex’s wedding as ‘help,’ right?”
I raised my brows. “No kidding. If you turned it down, why are you and your parents here?”
He glanced behind him at the older folks, then turned back to us, slightly softened. “It was just like Letty to want to help out. You know she was going to school during the day and working nights at the country club?”
Peter and I exchanged surprised looks.
“She was going places—she didn’t need a hand up from these people.” Joe turned his head and spat on the lawn. “She was a good person—she wanted to help us out. Plus, Letty told me she wanted a familiar face there.” He scoffed. “Can you believe they didn’t let her invite any of her own people?”
Yeah, I’d thought that was pretty weird too, but decided to push Joe a little bit. “Chaz told us she understood.” I shrugged.
He scoffed and waved the knife around. Beside me, Peter’s hand twitched to the wand tucked in his belt.
“And you buy that? They pressured her into it!” He threw his tattooed arms up. “I’m sure it’d be unseemly for a bunch of Darkmoonies to crash this elite, highbrow shindig.” He shook his head and let his arms drop to his sides. “Poor Letty—I don’t think she had any idea what she was getting into with these people.”
I bit the inside of my cheek. I’d had the same thought earlier.
Peter’s hand still hovered near his wand. “Were you aware of Letty’s strawberry allergy? Did any of your dishes contain them?” He cocked a brow. “We’ll be checking.”
Joe looked scandalized. “No way! And of course I knew about her allergy.”
“Then why didn’t you let Chaz check?” I flashed my eyes at him. “He said you wouldn’t let him look into certain pots.”
“That idiot tried to ‘examine’ everything we were cooking!” Joe’s mom paused, wand in hand, with a line of pots floating midair on their way to the cart. “He kept taking the lids off and ruining things.”
Joe’s dad threw a couple of crates into the back of the cart. “This stuff has to slow cook—he just about messed up the pork adobo!”
My mouth watered, and I rose on my toes to look past Joe at the pots of food. “Pork adobo?”
“Mm-hmm.” Joe’s mom waved me over. “Come see.”
“Jolene…”
I waved Peter off. “I’m just going to look—for investigative purposes.” My stomach let out a particularly loud growl and betrayed me. I gave Peter a sheepish grin and skipped over to the cart.
“See?” The older lady gestured at a cauldron that hovered midair. I bent my head over the steaming stew and inhaled the rich, fatty scent of slow-cooked pork and delicious spices.
I threw my head back. “Snakes, that smells good.”
I bit my lip. “I’d like to believe you, but only one way to find out.” I winked, and they chuckled and handed me the spoon. I reached into the pot and scooped up a bite, dripping with pork chunks and fatty sauce.
“Jolene!”
I jumped and spun around. Peter flashed his eyes at me. “That’s evidence and the possible means of murder.”
Joe’s mom scoffed. “We hadn’t even served it yet!”
Peter raised a brow. “Someone could have brought the victim a plate, or maybe she snuck a bite from the kitchen. We need to be thorough.”
I shrugged. “I’m not allergic to strawberries.” I bent back over the spoon to take a bite.
“Jolene!”
I spun back around, mouth watering. “What?”
Joe’s parents scowled at Peter.
He stood beside Daisy, eyes wide. “We don’t know for sure that Letty even died of her strawberry allergy. For all we know, she was poisoned.” He shot a pointed look at the spoonful of stew in my hand.
I took another whiff, and my stomach grumbled. I hesitated a moment, then grumbling, dumped the stew back into the pot and handed the spoon back to Joe’s dad. “Fine!” I threw my hands up at Peter and stomped back toward him. “You happy?”
He shook his head at me, then frowned back at Joe’s parents and the cart. “Wait—like I said, this is all evidence. Did no one talk to you about that?”
Joe and his parents exchanged looks, then all shook their heads.
Peter pointed at the cart and all its contents. “We’re going to have to confiscate all of that and have it sent up to the station for testing.”
“What? Are you serious?” Joe’s dad gestured at the cart. “We have to unpack all this?”
Peter nodded. “Apologies for the inconvenience, but I’ll send some officers around to assist.”
Joe’s mom huffed. “What a waste!”
I sighed wistfully at all the delicious-smelling food. No kidding. I’d have gladly devoured all of it.
