by Erin Johnson
I arched a brow. “We could ask you the same thing.”
She frowned at my enormous borrowed sports coat. “And what are you wearing?”
I waved a hand. “Off topic.” We weren’t planning on seeing her here, but now that we’d literally run into her, I figured we should question her about the piece in La Mer. I pointed at the magazine in Peter’s hand. “Did you know Letty was a shifter?”
He held it up, Chaz and his now deceased wife on the cover.
Her throat bobbed, and she lifted her pointed chin. “Not initially, but Chaz told me recently.”
Peter crossed his arms, and Daisy watched her, head tilted. “That didn’t bother you? You didn’t think it’d hurt Chaz’s chances of winning the election?”
I grinned—good thinking, Peter. Maybe the campaign manager had seen Letty as a threat and tried to take her out. I glanced at the magazine—the lobster was out of the cage on that secret, though.
She huffed and looked around the crowded lobby, then inched closer and lowered her voice. “Look, when Chaz hired me, I told him that initial polls showed changing attitudes on the island.” She lifted a palm. “With the old king convicted of crimes in the monster wars, the public is now favoring more people of the people types.” She shrugged. “Normal voters found Chaz stuffy, unrelatable, and off-putting. So I encouraged him to court Letty—to boost his ranking in the polls. It’d show he could relate to the lower tiers, to working-class folk.”
Peter and I exchanged looks, and I turned back to Cybil. “Wow. A real love story for the ages.” I narrowed my eyes. “So you encouraged Chaz to use Letty for his own gain. How did she feel about all of this?”
She pressed her lips tight together, her cheeks flushed pink. “Please. She was gaining fame, fortune, and wouldn’t have to work another day in her life.”
I shook my head at her. “A real win-win.”
She sniffed and lifted her nose in the air. Her blond bob fell back over her shoulders. “It was. Look, getting Chaz elected is my job, and no matter what is thrown at me, I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure he wins. Frankly, once I found out the truth about Letty, I realized that Chaz being with a shifter would only help garner him the poor and alienated vote we needed. It made him seem progressive, while with his family connections he, of course, kept the backing of the elite.”
I took a step closer to her. “And will having a murdered wife boost his ratings?”
She scoffed. “Oh, definitely.”
I looked to Peter, then we both glared at her.
She shrank back. “Erp. I mean…”
I raised my brows and tapped a finger to my lips. “And didn’t you just say you’d do anything to make sure Chaz won?”
She opened her mouth, eyes wide, then closed it again. “I—I didn’t—” She shook her head. “I wouldn’t—”
Peter reached into the breast pocket of his jacket and handed her his card. She stared at it, bewildered.
“We’ll need a writing sample to compare to the letter Joe Santos received.”
“L—letter?” She blinked up at Peter.
He nodded. “And don’t leave the island.”
Her throat bobbed, and she snapped her mouth shut. I grinned as we turned our backs on her and headed toward the exit. I slid my borrowed jacket off, and Peter bent low and helped Daisy pull one leg at a time out of hers.
I tossed mine on the counter and glared at the head snob who’d made me wear it in the first place. “Thanks for the loaner. I’ve got this medical condition—makes me sweat uncontrollably. You’ll want to get that cleaned.”
His lip curled in disgust. Peter set Daisy’s blazer beside my coat, and I tapped the fabric. “And you made a dog wear this one, and she’s a real shedder, so good luck.”
As we headed back out into the night, Peter led the way back to the Harringtons’ estate. I ticked suspects off on my fingers. “So Joe Santos had motive—he was still in love with Letty and she’d rejected him the night before her wedding.”
Peter nodded. “He might have killed out of jealousy and had access to her food.”
I lifted another finger. “Cybil might have done it to gain Chaz sympathy points and secure the election. It could also have been Rachel, who clearly wanted to be in Letty’s shoes up there on the altar. Or maybe Chaz’s own parents took out the bride after the private eye undoubtedly uncovered that Letty was a shifter.” I shook my head and let out a heavy sigh. “Poor Letty—she was up against a lot.”
19
DIG UP DIRT
“Fine!” Mrs. Harrington pinched the bridge of her nose and pressed her pink, swollen eyes shut. She sniffled and pressed a kerchief to her red nose. Judging by the pile of kerchiefs on the couch beside her and the nearly empty bottle of red wine, she’d been at this for a while.
She waved a hand. “The private eye found out Letty was a shifter and was demanding more money from us to keep it under wraps.”
“Marcy!” Mr. Harrington rose from his wingback chair in the library. He snatched a glass of golden potion off the mantle and paced in front of the fireplace, swigging it down.
I flashed my eyes at Peter. Were the Harringtons finally processing Letty’s death? Had they actually cared about her?
Mrs. Harrington sucked in a shuddering breath, then sobbed and buried her face in her kerchief. When she looked up again, her eyes shone with tears. “Can you imagine how we felt when we found out she was a shifter?!” She spat the last word.
I shot her a flat look. “The horror.” Guess this display of grief wasn’t mourning for Letty.
Daisy whined. What’s wrong with her?
I brought a fist to my mouth and disguised a bark as a cough. You’d be surprised, Daisy, how many bigots are actually quite sensitive.
She snapped her gaze back at Mrs. Harrington, who threw her hand out at the latest edition of La Mer on the table between us. “And now this? My goddess, do you know what I’m going to face at the country club? This is a nightmare.” She downed the rest of her glass of wine, then reached out and took a long swig right from the bottle.
Peter’s eyes widened.
Mr. Harrington moved to a cart of crystal decanters in the corner and made himself another drink. “We figured once we told Chaz about Letty, that would put an end to their relationship for good.” He heaved a weary sigh and chugged half his glass. “But no. Our son decided to go through with marrying her.”
Mrs. Harrington let out another sob and swayed slightly in her seat. “The Harrington bloodline tied up with that trash!”
Mr. Harrington sauntered back toward us and stood in front of the crackling fire. He took another swig of his drink, then scoffed. “You’re one to talk.”
Mrs. Harrington, her blond locks a mess, scowled up at her husband, her eyes unfocused. “Excuse me! What’s that supposed—hic—to mean?”
Mr. Harrington lost his regal, stoic air and leaned over the back of the chair to address Peter and me. “I met this one on a ship.”
My gaze slid to Mrs. Harrington, whose face had turned an alarming shade of purple—she matched her wine, in fact.
Mr. Harrington, eyes bleary, went on. “Her mother was working the cruise circuit as a lounge singer.” He swirled his glass, ice clinking. “She seduced me with her mermaid charms.”
I thumbed at Mrs. Harrington. “She’s a mermaid?”
“Half mermaid.” She huffed. “And I won’t be talked about like I’m not even in the room!”
Mr. Harrington sneered. “Her father was a sailor. Her real name’s Marcina—got a bit of the siren in her.” His head bobbed as he glared at his wife. “She acts all high and mighty, but she’d still be swimming in the shallows if she hadn’t lured me into marrying her.”
Mrs. Harrington gasped and clutched her pearls. She rose to her knees on the couch and shook the wine bottle at her husband. “How dare you?!”
“So, anyway.” Peter twirled his thumbs and kept his gaze down in his lap.
They both snapped th
eir gazes to him, eyes glassy and wild.
I slid lower in my seat. Wow. Fun times at the ol’ Harrington household.
“How did Chaz react when you told him what the private investigator discovered about Letty?”
Mr. Harrington shrugged. “He already knew she was a shifter.”
Mrs. Harrington’s chin quivered. “He said he didn’t care—that he was still going to marry her.” She buried her face in one hand and sobbed, the wine bottle still clutched in the other.
I wasn’t about to wade into the middle of this battle. I elbowed Peter and muttered, “Ask about their argument.”
“Oh, yeah.” He nodded and turned back to the blond. “Is that what you and Chaz were really arguing about before the wedding?”
Mrs. Harrington threw her hands up. “Oh, why not tell you, who cares at this point?”
Peter frowned. “I am an officer of the law—were you lying before? Because that’s the second—”
“No.” She leaned way forward on the couch, her expression challenging. “My son and I were arguing because I’d invited Rachel Whitmore to the wedding after he’d disinvited her. I said that if his father and I were paying for the whole affair, we could invite who we wanted.”
She took a swig from the bottle and glared at Peter. “And I wanted Chaz to have a close-up view of what he was passing up for little miss mink!” She sneered.
I shook my head. “So Letty was a mink shifter?” We’d suspected as much, but my stomach still turned to hear it confirmed. “And Rachel wore a mink fur?”
Peter gaped, horrified. “That’s so wrong.” He looked down, frowning. “How horrible for her.”
I raised my brows at him. “See? People are awful to shifters.”
Mrs. Harrington sneered. “I, for one, applauded Rachel’s bold fashion choices.” She fluffed her hair. “Just like me—she’s quite the fashionista.”
I raised my brows. “Right.”
Peter leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “Why did Chaz disinvite her in the first place?”
Mr. Harrington scoffed and pointed at his wife.
She rolled her eyes. “We may have staged a dinner a few nights before the wedding with Rachel in attendance, just to see if sparks could fly.”
Peter frowned. “You were trying to get Chaz to call off the wedding by tempting him with Rachel Whitmore?”
Mrs. Harrington lifted a shoulder. “I wanted him to be sure he was making the right choice.” Her expression soured, and she took another swig from the bottle. “It blew up in our faces.”
I opened my mouth in a round O and gasped in faux shock. “No!”
She shot me a dirty look. “He was furious once he figured out what we were up to.”
Mr. Harrington rolled his eyes, sarcasm dripping from every word. “But you were so subtle! How did he ever realize?” He took another swig of his drink.
I leaned over close to Peter and spoke out of the corner of my mouth. “At least Chaz had a healthy relationship to pattern after.”
Peter choked and had to cover his laugh by pretending to clear his throat.
Mrs. Harrington rolled a wrist. “Anyway, the night before the wedding, Rachel invited Chaz down to the river where they used to play as kids. He thought she wanted to apologize and make amends, but turns out she just made another pass at him.” She sighed wistfully. “Girl after my own heart. She’d be the perfect daughter-in-law.”
Something tugged at my mind. “The river—on your property?” I thought of the dense trees we’d seen at the edge of the grassy lawn.
She nodded. “There’s a path through the woods. It’s not a real river, just a canal, but they used to spend summers down there, and as kids they called it a river.”
I nodded, thinking of the letter Joe Santos had received, bribing him to put strawberries in the food. “Thank you.”
Peter instructed the tipsy couple to send writing samples to the station, and we took our leave. Once outside, Peter headed toward the gate, but I tugged his sleeve and tipped my head toward the tree line. “I’ve got a hunch about something.”
A few minutes later, we picked our way down the mossy banks among the trees to the dark canal. Peter lit his wand and held it up to give me light. I whined. Hey Days, you smell any?
A bush behind me rustled as the German shepherd sniffed her way through it. “Bark!” She lifted her head and barked again. Over here!
Peter and I backtracked and rejoined Daisy. Her big bushy tail wagged, and she pointed her black nose at a bush. Peter and I crouched beside her. A cluster of tiny red strawberries bobbed in the wind, just in front of her snout.
Peter and I exchanged grins.
“I bet Rachel picked a bunch of these on the pretense of having a picnic with Chaz and sent the berries to Joe Santos.”
Peter nodded. “Along with a note and a sack of money—bribing him to kill Letty.”
We rose and started back across the grounds, grasses and tree boughs swaying in the wind.
“We’ll wait for the writing samples to come back and confirm that Rachel wrote the note.”
I nodded—though in my gut, I had no doubt Rachel had sent the letter and berries to Joe. It seemed like just the kind of petty thing she’d go for.
“In the meantime, I say we go have a chat with Chaz.” Peter lit our way across the lawn with his wand.
20
SPIN
Chaz’s penthouse, the top floor of an ancient-looking stone inn, wasn’t far away. While the exterior was all stone and thatched roofing, the open-plan interior had been remodeled in a starkly modern way. Chaz motioned us to sit on a sleek white couch and curled his lip as Peter ruffled Daisy’s fur, tawny hairs fluttering onto the upholstery.
Peter cleared his throat as Chaz settled onto the sofa across from us and tugged the belt of his robe a little looser. His ginger hair stuck out at all angles, and bags hung under his eyes as if he hadn’t been sleeping. I softened a little toward the guy—maybe he had genuinely cared about Letty.
“Why didn’t you tell us about your fight with your mom and Rachel Harrington?”
Chaz’s bloodshot eyes widened for a moment before he shook his head and looked out the wall of windows to my left. The thick plaster wall had been knocked out and replaced with glass so that the penthouse had a sweeping view of the island and the rough sea beyond. Swanky.
Chaz sighed heavily and shrugged. “Honestly, I didn’t think it was relevant.”
I scoffed. “Your wife’s murdered and you don’t think it’s relevant that your mother and the woman she wanted you to marry were conspiring together to get you to call off the wedding?”
Peter and I exchanged looks—mine disbelieving, his angry. A pink flush spread over his throat. “Now listen here, I’m getting tired of you and your family thinking you can withhold information. This is a police investigation of a murder.” Peter’s nostrils flared. “We will decide what is and is not relevant from now on.” He raised his brows. “Got it?”
Chaz’s expression darkened, but he gave a short nod. “Of course, Officer.”
I smirked, impressed with Peter. I mean, I was still waiting for a “gosh darn it,” but for him, that was pretty harsh. I gave him an approving nod, and his lips twitched toward a smile before he turned to face Chaz again.
“Why didn’t you tell us Letty was a shifter?”
He lifted a palm. “We’d sold the rights to her story to that magazine, La Mer. Have you seen the latest edition?” He picked up one of several copies from a stack on the coffee table between us.
I gave him a flat look. “Yeah. We saw, Chaz.”
He shrugged. “Well, we signed an agreement with La Mer that we wouldn’t announce it or talk about it publicly before the magazine came out.”
Peter heaved a sigh. “Again, this is a police investigation of a murder!”
Chaz blinked innocently at him.
“It trumps a nondisclosure with a magazine!” Peter splayed his hands, but Chaz just shrugged back.<
br />
“Oops?” He blinked. “I’ll know for next time.”
“Next time? You mean the next time you sell the rights to your wife’s life story and then she’s murder—” I waved a hand. “You know what, never mind.”
Man, this guy and his family were so out of touch with reality. I guess that’s what great fortune and privilege did. I frowned. Which made this guy the obvious choice for the position of councilor, representing the voice of the people of Bijou Mer. Speaking of which…
“It didn’t bother you, though? You’re running for office and come from a pretty conservative family.”
He nodded and slumped back against the pillows of the couch. They barely moved—guess these couches were more for show than comfort. I shifted in my seat—my left leg was going numb.
“I could see why you’d ask that. But no, I stood by Letty when she told me. I was shocked, yes, but I got over it.”
I glanced at Daisy, who merely watched him, a puzzled look on her face. She let out a pitiful whine. This is infuriating! I can’t smell anything! She lifted a paw and scratched at her snout.
“Was this before or after your parents hired the private investigator to look into her?” Peter watched Chaz intently for his reaction.
“I already knew before my parents came to me with that PI’s findings.” Chaz shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’d already told Cybil, my campaign manager, and she’d assured me we could spin it to our favor.”
“Oh, phew.” I pretended to wipe sweat off my brow. “You’d hate to have your wife’s identity go and ruin your campaign.”
“Look, I loved her anyway—it wouldn’t have mattered.”
I leveled him with a get real look, but he held my gaze and I frowned a bit, uncertain. Either this guy had really fallen for Letty, or he’d make a great politician with that poker face.
Peter frowned. “Really? Her being a shifter didn’t bother you at all?”
He shrugged. “Shifters are underrepresented in Bijou Mer and are some of the hardest working among us. I, for one, don’t think we should penalize anyone for simply being born who they are.”
