by Erin Johnson
She grinned. “I’ve got eyes in the back of my head.”
I paled and lowered the drink’s straw from my lips.
She chuckled and patted my arm. “Just kidding.” Her throat bobbed as her smile faded. “Letty was a sweet girl. Shy.”
I nodded. “A lot of people we’ve spoken to recently say she stayed that way—that she was pretty private and reserved.” I licked my lips. “Do you think she’d have killed herself?”
“Letty?” Mrs. Rankle jerked her head in my direction. “No way.”
I frowned. “You’re that confident? If she wasn’t a big talker, no one might have known if she were going through private struggles.”
She snorted. “Fat chance.” She shook a finger at me. “That girl might have been quiet, but she was a hard worker who never gave up, never complained.” She gave me a hard look before taking a swig of her drink. “Letty was a fighter.”
I thought this over as I watched the parade of shifters go by. “Is it hard getting used to living underground?”
“Eh.” She pulled her wrinkled lips to the side. “It was at first, but I made new friends, got to know my neighbors. Same as living aboveground.”
I opened my mouth to ask her about Letty, but she continued.
“Never thought this place would still be around by the time I retired.”
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Eh. Just thought that once the Monster Wars were over, we’d all be able to live aboveground, out in the open again.”
I angled toward her. “I live aboveground.”
She snorted. “Yeah, but can you be open about who you are? What you are?” She sighed as an aardvark shuffled by. “That’s one good thing about being down here. Folks are free to shift at will.”
“Wait… are you saying shifters used to be able to shift in public?”
She gave me a hard look, her thin brows pinched together. “That jellyfish head, King Roch, did a lot more than just the war crimes he was tried for.” She shook a finger at me. “People didn’t mind shifters, what is it now? Fifty years ago, before he got into their heads. During the monster wars he filled the streets with propaganda—posters were everywhere, fliers, pamphlets—about the dangers of shifters.”
She made a spooky noise, then swiped her hand through the air. “Bunch of detritus! The spineless bottom feeder was just trying to distract people from all the horrors he was committing by turning folks against us. If the people had a common enemy in shifters, then they couldn’t all unite and rise up against him.”
Icy dread washed over me. “Why haven’t I heard any of this before?”
She lifted a brow. “Because he buried it, dear. Why do you think all his political rivals and dissidents got thrown in Carclaustra prison, hm? It’ll come out, it sure will.” She shook her head. “I just don’t know if it’ll be too late for people to change their minds about our kind.”
Hot anger flared inside me. “Why shifters?”
She shrugged. “Because it was easy to tell people that we were related to monsters when giant creatures were ravaging the land. He played on people’s fears. Never mind that he sicced those very monsters on us himself.”
She took another swig. “We could change into animals. That mouse in your baseboards? Could be a shifter spying on you. That stray cat? Could be a shifter ready to invade your home and murder your children in their sleep.” She raised her brows. “The lies he spread drove us underground. I thought it’d just be temporary, but—” She clicked her tongue. “Here we are.”
I took a deep breath and blew it out in a big gust. “That’s a lot to take in.”
23
UNDERTOW
Mrs. Rankle reached over and patted my arm. “We all got caught in the undertow of it. Poor kiddos like you and Letty and all the rest of the orphans got it worst of all.”
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
She gave me a sad smile, the lines around her eyes deepening. “The orphanage, dear. People were giving up their babies left and right if they happened to be born shifters. Everyone was afraid—it was such a stigma to have a shifter child.”
My stomach tightened. My parents had given me up because I was a shifter. My thoughts drifted to Will—he’d mentioned that his ability to shift hadn’t manifested till he was a teenager. That was probably why he’d been raised in a wealthy family in a top tier. But if he’d been able to shift as a baby… I shook my head. We probably would have grown up in the orphanage together.
I looked down at my fruity drink and took a huge sip. I’d had no idea about any of this—I’d just figured that this prejudice against shifters was the way it had always been. I looked up as another idea occurred to me. “When did Ludolf come to be in charge?”
Mrs. Rankle nodded. “Well, right around that same time, dear. When we were all driven either underground or just into hiding our abilities.”
“Not before then?”
She shook her head.
I tapped my fingers against the glass. So Ludolf had emerged as mob boss of the shifters at the same time King Roch was spreading propaganda about us. This would give me a good starting point to look into him more. I gulped. I sure hoped Peter would agree to help me. The more I learned, the more I realized what I was up against.
I finished my drink, then turned to my old headmistress. “One more thing, if that’s okay?”
She nodded. “Go on, dear.”
“Do you remember anything about Letty’s strawberry allergy?”
She pursed her lips. “Just that it was fast acting. Why, the first time it happened, the poor thing had barely touched the fruit to her lips when she had a reaction.” Mrs. Rankle winced. “Her face turned red and splotchy, her lips swelled, and her throat closed up. I nearly had a heart attack, searching our first aid kit for that anti-allergy potion.”
Something turned inside me, and I sat up straight. “That’s it!”
She shot me a puzzled look.
“Thank you!” I jumped to my feet and set my empty glass on the seat of the metal lawn chair. “Good to see you again, Mrs. Rankle. I think I know who killed Letty.”
She gave me a wave. “You too, Miss Hartgrave. I’ll look for the news in the papers?”
I nodded and bounced on my toes, eager to go find Peter. “Yep—if I’m right.”
She winked. “Go get ’em.”
I RAN (WELL, jogged a few stretches and speed walked the rest of the way) up to the police station at the top of the mountain. Edna waved hello, and I sped past cops escorting perps, over to Peter’s metal desk. He looked up, surprised, Daisy curled up at his feet. I’d stopped by home to change my clothes, otherwise I’m sure she’d have had a lot to say about that special eau de sewer.
“Jolene. I thought we were regrouping tomorrow.” He stacked some pieces of parchment. “My shift’s just about over, want to grab a cup of—”
I perched on the edge of his desk and flashed him a grin. “I think I know who killed Letty.”
His eyes, tired and dull from a full night of work, lit up. “Yeah?”
I nodded. “I need you to test Chaz Harrington’s clothes for something.”
He frowned. “Okay….”
I glanced down at Daisy. “And I’ve got an idea. How good is your coroner with potions? And can you have a patrol bring Will and Heidi up here?”
24
EVIDENCE
Peter, Daisy, and I (and a few more cops for backup) had shown up at Chaz’s penthouse, only to discover he wasn’t home. We left a couple of officers to search Chaz’s place for his wedding tux, and Peter contacted Edna back at the station. We were able to locate Chaz at his parents’ estate, but by then Inspector Bon caught word of what was going on and insisted on supervising, since the Harringtons were such a prominent family in Bijou Mer.
A couple of officers stayed posted near the doors of the library while we gathered Chaz, Cybil, May the maid, Mr. and Mrs. Harrington, and their lawyer inside. Chaz slumped on the chaise besi
de Cybil, looking miserable, while Mrs. Harrington poured herself an ample glass of wine and Mr. Harrington paced in front of the roaring fire. The maid stood by the window, wringing her hands, and the lawyer pulled up a seat beside Mrs. Harrington, his eyes narrowed as he watched Peter.
Mr. Harrington paused and stood with one hand on the stone mantle of the fireplace, the crossed swords and shield bearing the family bat crest above him. I looked around for Bartholomew, the family mascot, but didn’t spot him. He was probably staying wisely far away from what was about to go down.
Mr. Harrington, looking refined in a cashmere sweater and shiny leather loafers, lifted a palm. “What’s this all about? Have you caught Letty’s killer?”
Peter, with Daisy at his side, nodded at me, and I took a deep breath. Snakes, I hoped I was right about all of this and that the cops back at Chaz’s showed up with the evidence soon.
I stepped forward. “Yes, I believe we have found her killer—and they’re in this room.”
“Gasp!” Mrs. Harrington rolled her eyes. “Let me guess, the maid did it?”
May choked.
Mrs. Harrington, her eyes glazed, leaned over to the family lawyer. “We’re going to sue the entire police department, yes, for putting us through such unnecessary theatrics?”
Inspector Bon, who leaned against the wood-paneled walls near the door, spluttered. “Come again? I—I don’t think that’s called for!”
The balding lawyer smirked, then glared at Bon. “I definitely think someone needs to be held accountable.”
The inspector’s neck flushed red, and he glowered at me. “You better be right about this.”
I swallowed, my throat tight. I blew out a shaky breath, suddenly feeling as nervous as I used to get before delivering my closing arguments in court. I glanced at Peter, and he gave me an encouraging nod, then winked. I nodded and squared my shoulders, feeling just a bit more confident.
I cleared my throat. “I believe that when we’re finished presenting all the evidence, you’ll be too busy running damage control for the guilty party to sue anyone.” I shot the lawyer a bright smile, and his expression darkened.
I turned and addressed the rest of the room. “To recap—Letty Jones died of an allergic reaction. However, despite the plate of strawberries found near her body, no traces of berries were found in her stomach or digestive system—only on her lips.”
Mrs. Harrington scoffed. “She could’ve just reacted too quickly to have digested the berries.”
I nodded. “Possibly.” I shifted on my feet. “We also know that family friend, Rachel Whitmore, enticed Chaz to go on a picnic with her to an old spot next to the canal on pretense of apologizing. We know that she actually used this time to not only make another pass at Chaz, but when that failed, to pick wild strawberries growing in the woods on the family estate.”
Mr. and Mrs. Harrington snapped their gazes to me.
Mrs. Harrington sniffed. “Go, Rachel.” She turned to her son. “I told you that girl had determination and drive. You should’ve picked her.”
“Mom!” Chaz shook his head.
I licked my lips. “Rachel sent Joe Santos, the caterer, a note and a bag of merkles with the berries, bribing him to put them in the food.”
The lawyer scoffed. “So Rachel Whitmore killed the bride, alongside her accomplice, Joe Santos?” He frowned at Bon, then turned back to me. “So why call us all in here like this?”
I winked. “You’re close, but no—Rachel and Joe didn’t kill Letty. Joe was still in love with Letty, so he kept the money but didn’t add the strawberries. We tested all the food from that day, and it was all clean.”
The fire crackled and spat up glowing embers.
Mr. Harrington frowned. “What about that plate of berries? Maybe he just left them for her, out in the open, and she used them to kill herself?”
I smirked. “I’m getting to that. Joe didn’t place the strawberries in the room, Chaz did.”
All eyes swiveled to the groom, lounging on the chaise. He startled upright. “Wait—what?” He scoffed. “No! Why would I?”
Cybil lifted her pointed chin. “This is outrageous! Chaz is a respected member of the community and—”
Daisy, beside Peter, growled. Lie.
Peter and I grinned at each other before he stepped forward. “My dog says you’re lying, Chaz.”
Cybil snapped her gaze to Chaz beside her and paled.
Mrs. Harrington scoffed and looked around the room. “But the dog’s got rabies or something, right? We can’t trust it!”
Peter shot her a wide-eyed look. “She has allergies.” He grinned at me. “But with the help of a veterinarian friend and the precinct’s coroner, we were able to concoct an anti-allergy potion for dogs that’s working wonders for Daisy.”
The German shepherd barked at Chaz, and everyone jumped. Ya! I’ve got my sense of smell back, and you smell like a dirty liar!
Peter reached down and patted her head.
I turned to address Chaz. “You saw what Rachel was up to, gathering strawberries at the picnic, and it gave you an idea. You picked some yourself, and, despite your pretense of checking all the food that the caterers brought in, were the one who brought berries to the wedding.”
Chaz’s face scrunched up. “What? This is all lies.”
Daisy barked again, teeth bared. Liar!
He shrank back into the chaise, edging away from the dog.
I held back a grin. I was on the right track—I just hoped the rest of my theory held up. “Chaz hid the berries in the pocket of his tux. He then smeared the berries on his lips before saying his vows, and when he kissed Letty, he triggered her allergies. They were fast-acting, and she immediately began to suffer.”
Mrs. Harrington flipped her palms up. “This is preposterous! Why didn’t Letty just use her anti-allergy potion then?”
I gestured at Chaz. “Because, when they embraced and he delivered the fatal kiss, your son nabbed the life-saving syringe out of Letty’s wedding dress pocket.”
Mr. Harrington scoffed. “Surely someone would have noticed.”
I shook my head. “Everyone was watching the kiss. Besides, among all the poofy layers of her dress, it’d be easy to reach in and make it look like he was simply hugging her. Especially if it was in the pocket away from the watching crowd.”
Peter nodded. “That’s why, when we checked Letty’s pockets, the syringe was missing. Chaz likely wiped off the fingerprints, then threw it away.”
The maid sucked in a gasp. “And I found it later in the garbage!”
“As soon as her reaction began, Letty suspected Chaz, especially when she couldn’t find the syringe in her pocket—it’s why she ran from the altar. And with her throat closed up, she couldn’t speak.” I shook my head, heart heavy. “Even if she could, with her own groom trying to kill her, she likely didn’t know who she could trust. It’s why she locked herself in the bridal suite.”
Poor Letty—she’d been all alone.
The maid stepped forward. “But—but what happened to her other vial?”
I nodded. “The bat psychically told me she’d put it in a vanity drawer in the bridal suite—only it wasn’t there when she looked for it.”
Chaz snorted. “Oh, I suppose I stole that, too? How could I have? I was standing at the altar when Letty left the suite and was outside the whole time—I never went in there.”
I smirked. “You didn’t have to. After Letty ran from the altar, you dashed around the stone wall and stood outside the open window to the bridal suite. You took her only other chance at surviving with a simple summoning spell.”
I shook my head at him, anger tight in my chest. “You probably whisked it right out of her hand. And while everyone was distracted, you also magicked that plate of strawberries in through the window—making it look like she’d killed herself. Either that or, having witnessed what Rachel was up to the day before, you figured your old family friend would be blamed.”
I rais
ed my brows. “It’s why you were found outside the window, under the pretense of yelling at Letty to unlock the door. Right?”
Chaz, pale and sweaty, shot a wide-eyed look at Daisy, who watched him with her pointy ears pricked.
The family lawyer jumped to his feet, pointing at Chaz. “You don’t have to answer that!” He swept his arm wildly. “This is all conjecture! You’ve got no proof.”
I shot Peter a worried look, but he gave me an encouraging nod. And right on time, echoey voices sounded from the entryway, followed by clipped footsteps, then a knock at the door. The cops stationed there let in the officers we’d left at Chaz’s penthouse. They carried his tux jacket and slacks, and the lady cop addressed Peter.
“Found ’em.”
Chaz let out a whimper.
The lady cop held up the slacks. “The right-hand pocket tested positive for strawberry residue.”
Peter beamed at me, and a proud tingle ran from my neck down my spine. I turned brightly to the lawyer. “Is that enough evidence for you? Between that and Daisy detecting his lies, I’d say this is a closed case.”
Peter stepped forward, and Daisy hugged close to his side. “Chaz Harrington, did you murder your wife, Letty Jones?”
Chaz, trembling and eyes blazing, leapt to his feet. “No!”
Daisy barked, a loud, deep sound. Liar! He lies!
“Fine!” Chaz, a wild gleam in his eyes, shrugged. “I admit it—I killed her.”
The lawyer choked. “Chaz, I advise you to stop right—”
Chaz scoffed, ignoring the legal advice. “Who cares? I’m rich and powerful and popular—what jury is going to convict me for killing a shifter?”
My stomach turned, as though filled with ice water.
Chaz sneered, his face contorted and red. “I knew a dead wife would garner me tons of sympathy among voters. Plus, I’d look like a friend to shifters without the horror of being married to one.” He shuddered. “Disgusting. What else could I do? She trapped me! By the time that liar told me what she was, I either had to break it off and risk the stain to my reputation once word got out or pretend to embrace it. At least a dead shifter wife would earn me some points in the polls, even if it cost me some social clout among peers.”
