The Squawking Dead: A Cozy Witch Mystery (Magic Market Mysteries Book 7)

by Erin Johnson

  Russo’s eyes widened. “Was he missing?”

  I glanced between him and Peter as Daisy gingerly sniffed at our possible murder weapon. Well, one of the weapons. Pretty sure the slash across the other woman’s chest and the bloody talon next to her were a dead giveaway—no pun intended.

  Peter tipped his head side to side. “Quincy Rutherford was first on the scene, then Mark, the vet, rushed in through the back door. After Mark verified that Malorie, his wife, was dead, Quincy apparently took off to look for the phoenix.” He frowned down at the blow dart gun, then rose to his feet. “Where’d you find Quincy Rutherford?”

  Russo quirked his lips to the side. “Uh—right about here, actually. He was standing like this, staring down at the blow dart gun.”

  Peter shifted on his feet, arms crossed over his broad chest. “How did he seem?”

  I grinned—I loved when Peter went into cop mode and looked all serious. Normally he was such a sweet, mild-mannered guy that seeing his tough side was both kind of sexy and also a little amusing. He caught me staring and shot me a quizzical look. I winked at him, then bit back my goofy grin.

  “Uh.” Russo dipped his chin and scratched the back of his neck. “I’d say he was distraught.” He nodded at Peter. “His eyes were big, and he looked upset. He was shaking.”

  I shrugged. “I mean, Mark did find the dart in the back of his wife’s neck. Quincy probably put two and two together and was horrified to find his wife’s murder weapon.” I flipped a palm. “Or, you know, he was the one who used it.”

  We all looked down at the wooden blow dart gun.

  Peter nodded. “Can you bag this up? Take it to the lab and have it checked for fingerprints and any saliva on the blowing end….” Peter tilted his head to the side as he looked at the weapon. “Whichever end that is.”

  Russo grinned. “Sure thing, Flint.”

  Peter looked up and down the curving corridor. The suspended walkway was nearly enveloped by tropical plants. “And where’s Quincy Rutherford now?”

  Russo pointed left. “Jones is with him.”

  “Thanks!” I gave Russo a little wave, and Peter, the dog, and I headed in the direction he’d indicated. The wooden boards thunked and swayed under our feet.

  “How did Quincy seem when he discovered his wife’s body?”

  I glanced up at Peter and shrugged. “Panicked. He started calling for help and— Gah!”

  I grabbed Peter’s arm, and we both lurched away as two fast-moving blurs lunged at us. We slammed into the rope that served as a railing, and Peter drew his wand as Daisy, hackles raised, barked at the intruders.

  Stay back! I’ll bite you! Hard!

  Two pairs of eerie orange-gold eyes stared back at us from among the leaves. I clutched my chest as I realized it was just a couple of lemurs that had leapt from their hiding places to land right next to our heads. My heart pounded in my chest and Peter and I exchanged wide-eyed looks.

  Daisy continued to growl, her teeth bared and ears pricked. Back, I say! I’ll chomp you!

  I let out a woof. Stand down, Days, stand down.

  She turned long enough to shoot me a simpering look, then returned to growling at the lemurs. What are these things? Raccoons? Monkeys?

  I quietly barked. Lemurs.

  The German shepherd’s brow furrowed. What does that mean?

  I grinned and stepped closer with Peter at my side. “Hey, little guys.” I turned to my beau. “Guess these are our first animal witnesses. Maybe they saw what Quincy was up to.”

  “Or maybe they saw the murders take place.” Peter nodded slightly, eyes fixed on our unblinking friends and their piercing black pupils.

  I curled my lip. I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen a lemur up close before. They hovered, just a couple feet away, with only an invisible force field between us. The magic shimmered, iridescent, for a moment, reminding me there was some protection there.

  I shuddered as the lemurs’ piercing gazes bored into me. While kinda cute, they also scored very high on the creep factor. I cleared my throat and willed myself to inch a little closer.

  I opened my mouth and a grating, high-pitched screech came out. Hey, guys—

  I stopped short and exchanged wide-eyed looks with Peter.

  Even Daisy curled her lip and huffed. Didn’t know you could make that noise.

  I swallowed and frowned. Me neither.

  I tried again with the screeching. Hey, guys. I wanted to ask you a few questions, if that’s okay? I got no response—not even a blink—so I kept going. Did you see anyone pass by here earlier this evening? Maybe a man in an alligator print tuxedo or two women or someone wielding a blow dart gun? I licked my lips. Kinda looks like a wooden stick?

  I raised my brows, hopeful, as the two looked at each other.

  The bigger one cocked its head and raised its fluffy black-and-white ringed tail. It chirped. You… talk?

  I frowned and howled back, startled at the noises coming out of my own mouth. I know—pretty crazy, but yeah, I speak lemur. I shot Peter a look. More like I howled and screeched lemur. I cleared my throat and started again. Can you tell me if you saw anyone pass through here tonight?

  The lemur’s round eyes narrowed, and it leaned forward, pressing its black, leathery palms against the magical barrier. It let out a low howl. Want… help…

  I leaned closer. Did it want to help? Or was it in need of help itself? I opened my mouth to ask, but both lemurs jerked their heads up and looked to my left. The sound of quiet sobbing reached us from up ahead, and as one, the lemurs jumped away and scampered deeper into the lush foliage until they disappeared.

  I watched after them, the branch they’d been perched on bobbing, and pressed one hand against the cool, tingly barrier.

  Peter rubbed the small of my back and made me jump. He shot me an apologetic look. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

  I gave him a quick smile, then looked back after the lemurs, hoping they’d decide to come back.

  “What’d they say?”

  “I—” I heaved a sigh. Something about the interaction had seemed really… off. “I don’t know, it was strange. I couldn’t tell if they were having trouble understanding me, or maybe having trouble speaking?” I frowned and shook my head. That didn’t make sense.

  Daisy barked and startled me. What’s the matter? They couldn’t understand your accent?

  I shot her a flat look, then turned to Peter. “Daisy says she wants to be put on a diet?” I shrugged. “She wants less treats.”

  The dog charged forward and edged between Peter and me, growling. Lies! What are you saying to him? Peter, she’s lying.

  My boyfriend shot me a grin. “Now, why do I have a hard time believing that?”

  I smirked, then glanced back at the branch the lemurs had crouched on. “I don’t know though, maybe she’s right. I’ve never spoken lemur before, so maybe my dialect was a little off.” I groaned and thunked my head against Peter’s chest. “I hope those potions Ludolf’s been testing on me aren’t stealing what few powers I have left.”

  Peter stiffened, then wrapped his arms around me and pulled me closer. Daisy stayed between our legs and let herself be right in the middle of it. “I hate that he’s doing that, and we’re going to put a stop to it.”

  I nodded. I felt less confident of that but enjoyed being comforted.

  “Plus, Daisy’s understanding you just fine, right?”

  I nodded. “True.”

  Peter gave me another hug, then held me out and squeezed my shoulders, his eyes intent on mine. “Maybe the lemurs witnessed the murders and are in shock.” He raised his brows, and I nodded.

  “Maybe.” I curled my lip, thinking back to their creepy round eyes. “They certainly looked surprised.”

  Peter grinned. “We’ll try again with them later, okay?”

  I sighed and squared my shoulders. I squeezed Peter’s hand, then turned. “Sounds good. Apologies for the minor pity party. Now, let’s go see who’s sobbin
g.”

  Peter’s grin deepened. “I’ll throw you a party, pity or otherwise, whenever you want one.”

  “With balloons?” I cocked a brow.

  He nodded. “Whatever you want—pony rides, clowns—”

  I shook my head. “Never clowns.”

  “Got it.” He took my hand, and we headed toward the sound of the gulps and cries. “Never clowns. Face painter?”

  I nodded. “Sure.”

  Hand in hand, we walked through the jungle path with Daisy leading the way. As soon as we rounded the bend, Quincy in his green alligator suit came into view, hunched over and sobbing on a bench with his head in his hands. A uniformed cop stood beside him.

  Daisy’s hackles rose, and she growled. The crying is somewhat insincere.

  I pulled my lips to the side and glanced up at Peter. Looked like we were about to break up Quincy’s pity party.

  7

  QUINCY

  Officer Jones stood behind our sobbing suspect, arms folded, one hip out. I didn’t need Daisy to tell me Quincy’s cries were false. He gulped and spluttered, dabbing at his eyes with a kerchief. Over the top much? The cop’s eyes slid our way, and she sighed, shoulders slumping no doubt with relief. How long had she had to witness his melodramatic display of grief?

  She stepped toward us. “He’s been like this since Russo and I found him”—she glanced over her shoulder, mouth in a tight line—“standing next to the blow dart gun.”

  I raised a brow. Surely he wouldn’t be dumb enough to drop the weapon he used to murder his wife and then just stand there? I eyed his alligator print tux. Then again, the man clearly had questionable taste. Maybe he wasn’t the brightest spell in the book.

  Peter nodded. “Thanks. We’ll take it from here.”

  Jones nodded and moved off the way we’d come. We tromped along the swaying rope bridge path until we landed on a broad wooden platform with a hole in the bottom for a tree wrapped in vines to grow through. We stopped in front of Quincy, who sat on a wooden bench with an iron dedication plaque on the backrest.

  Daisy growled, and he jerked his blotchy red face up. He came face-to-face with her pointy white teeth and lurched back, clutching his kerchief to his chest. He blinked his small eyes up at us through his glasses, one knee hiked up as if to block the dog’s attack. “Wh-what is this?”

  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 P
eter. 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.