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

by Erin Johnson

  I grinned. Hidden safe behind a painting—nice. I curled my lip at the giant spider with its dripping fangs. Not my choice in artwork though. I typically liked to decorate with fewer spiders.

  Quincy withdrew his wand from his pocket and pointed it at the dial of the safe. It spun to the right and stopped, then spun left and stopped.

  Peter, leaning against the peacock wallpaper, watched Quincy. “Besides you, was anyone else in the office today?”

  Quincy’s brow furrowed in concentration as he worked the safe’s lock. I grinned to myself—part of me was surprised Malorie had given him the combination.

  “Malorie was. The sanctuary wasn’t open today, in preparation for the party, but Mark, our veterinarian, was still working, so he likely was in here, as well.” The combination clicked into place for the final time, a bolt slid inside the safe with a thunk, and the door swung open.

  Russo, Peter, Quincy, and I leaned our heads in to peek inside. Daisy stood at our feet and whined, tapping her feet impatiently. What’s in there?

  Russo reached in with a gloved hand and withdrew a leather bag full of gold merkles and a short stack of handwritten receipts.

  Quincy pointed as the cop set them on the desk behind us. “Those are likely from this week’s revenue. Malorie must’ve been too busy with the party to deposit them.”

  The only other item inside the smallish safe was a photograph. Russo drew it out and held it up for all of us to see. Quincy shrank back.

  The magically moving picture showed a big group of people, hundreds of them, in glittering dresses and dapper tuxedos. They smiled at the camera from in front of a bunch of lush foliage and a banner that read The Night of the Phoenix.

  I reached out and tapped a blond young woman in the front. “Is that Malorie?”

  Quincy nodded.

  Wow. She had to have been in her early twenties then. I peered closer. Though she had a big smile plastered on her face, her eyes looked tight, worried.

  Peter spun to face Quincy, who edged away from us and the picture. “Was this taken at the last party for the phoenix’s rebirth?”

  Quincy nodded again. Without looking, he snatched up a feathered quill from the desk and fiddled with it.

  “So this must’ve been taken fifty years ago?” When Quincy nodded confirmation, Peter gently took the photograph from Russo and looked it over more closely.

  I frowned. “Why was that in there? You said the safe was for valuables.”

  Quincy backed up and tugged at the stiff collar of his shirt, his face flushed red. “I, uh—Libbie, our former head zookeeper, was going through an old box of memorabilia and noticed it.” His small eyes darted to Daisy, who watched him with her head cocked. “Libbie, uh, thought Malorie might enjoy seeing it, and, uh, apparently my wife thought it important enough to put in the safe.”

  Daisy huffed. Mostly true…

  I narrowed my eyes. Mostly, huh? What was Quincy hiding?

  Peter handed the photo with its slightly crumpled edges back to Russo. “Add this to evidence, please?”

  The rookie cop grinned. “You got it, Flint.”

  The blond cop came around the side of the desk with an open planner in her hands. “You might want to see this.”

  She held it up for Peter to see and pointed at the square for tomorrow’s date. I leaned closer and read over his shoulder.

  10AM— 15 avenue Honore, 2nd tier

  Peter beckoned Quincy closer and pointed at the calendar. “Do you know what this appointment is for?”

  He paled and shook his head. “That’s my wife’s planner. I—I don’t know.”

  Daisy let out a quiet growl. Partial truth.

  Peter nodded and handed the planner back to the blond cop. “Bag this up and have someone check into this address.”

  She nodded and moved off to bag more evidence. Peter nodded at Russo, who came around and rejoined Quincy, before pulling me aside.

  “This Libbie Brown gal has come up a few times, plus we caught her stealing a wombat.”

  I smirked. “And we all know you can’t trust a wombat thief.”

  Peter grinned. “I think we should go have some words with her. A couple cops still have her detained near the wall on the estate’s border where we caught her.”

  “Ooh. You didn’t even let her come in to the party?” I sucked in some air. “Harsh, Officer Flint.”

  We headed out of the sanctuary’s office with Daisy beside us.

  He leaned close so that his warm breath tickled my neck and lowered his voice. “I can be pretty tough. Don’t make me use my handcuffs.”

  I let my jaw drop and sucked in a mock gasp.

  His eyes widened, and he waved his hands as a deep flush spread up his neck. “Sorry. I was just kidding. I was trying to be saucy, and it just came out wrong, but I would never—”

  I chuckled, and his shoulders slumped. “You were kidding.”

  “Duh.” I winked. “Careful. I might enjoy it if you busted out those restraints.”

  He stopped dead for a beat before catching back up with me and Daisy, his whole face red. Sands, I really enjoyed teasing this man. I slipped my hand into his and grinned up at him. He rolled his eyes but smiled back and nudged me with his shoulder. Working cases wasn’t so bad when you got to do it holding hands with your boyfriend.

  13

  STOLEN WOMBAT

  Peter, Daisy, and I threaded our way across the swaying drawbridge path, past enclosures with enormous ferns, suspended bubbles of water, and even what appeared to be a miniature volcano. Odd hoots and animal calls followed us, and I frowned at not being able to make out what they were saying. Were these creatures so rare my abilities didn’t extend to them, or were my powers on the fritz?

  We soon exited the enclosed part of the sanctuary and headed outside. We left the giant stone mansion behind us and trekked through thrashing grasses down a narrow gravel path. Wispy clouds blew quickly across the half moon, and bats squeaked as they dove overhead.

  I wrapped my arms around myself and rubbed. Peter glanced over and noticed my shivers. He withdrew his wand, murmured a spell, and a moment later a warm blanket of magic enveloped me, dissolving my goose bumps. I glanced up and shot him a grateful smile.

  “Handsome and good with the magic." I slid closer to him and waggled my brows.

  "Yeah." He shrugged, hands in his pockets. "I'm a keeper."

  Peter slid an arm around my shoulders, and we walked on together, Daisy bounding ahead. I could just make out the shimmer of magic enclosing some of the outdoor cages. Every now and then a hot huff of breath or a heavy footstep reminded me that the dark grounds were teeming with magical animals and monsters.

  We cleared a small hill and spotted Daisy, bushy tail wagging excitedly. She tapped her paws in front of a couple of silhouetted cops who stood against a tall wall. Peter squeezed my shoulder, then let his arm drop to his side, and we picked up the pace until we joined them.

  A tall, thin young officer bent forward and scratched Daisy behind her ears, while the other cop leaned against the vine-covered stone wall, his eyes glued to the middle-aged woman sitting on the ground.

  I arched a brow as the young cop cooed over Daisy, scratching her head and telling her what a good girl she was. So this guy could get away with it, but Daisy would barely deign to let me bring her a treat? I saw how it was.

  Peter greeted the other cops, then nodded at the woman on the ground. "Miss Brown."

  "Ah, so this is the Libbie Brown I've been hearing so much about." I lifted my hand in a little wave, and the woman glanced up and shot me a quizzical look, her knees hugged to her chest. The grasses blew all around her, the wind tossing her long dark curls across her face. She glanced behind her toward the cop leaning against the wall. A zipped leather backpack sat beside his feet.

  "You here to take my Cassie away from me?" She glared up at me.

  I held up my palms in surrender. "Nope. Just your run-of-the-mill, everyday pet psychic. I leave the C
assie stealing to the pros." I thumbed at the officer playing with Daisy, then frowned. “Who’s Cassie?”

  The cop against the wall lowered the booted foot he’d been pressing against the stones and scoffed. "More like what is Cassie."

  I threw my head back to the sky. "Ah." I tipped my chin back down and leveled Libby with a grin. "The wombat."

  As if on cue, the backpack rustled and squeaked.

  “See?” Libby let out a growl of frustration and lifted a dark, tattooed palm that told me she was from the Fire Kingdom. "She's hungry, and she misses me."

  I squeezed an eye shut and raised a finger. "Actually, her leg’s falling asleep." I remembered a moment later, as four sets of wide eyes landed on me, that I was supposed to be a pet psychic, not a pet translator. I pressed my fingers to my temples and squeezed my eyes shut, as if concentrating. "At least that's what the ether is telling me." I peeled them open and glanced at Peter to see if I'd covered adequately. He was biting back a grin.

  "No way!" Libbie’s face lit up, her white teeth bright against her dark skin. "You really are a pet psychic?" She threw an arm toward the backpack. "That's great! You can just ask Cassie who she’d rather live with, and we’ll get this whole thing sorted out."

  I squeezed an eye shut and tipped my head side to side. "Not sure that's quite how the law works…."

  "Actually, we're here to ask you a few questions." Peter stepped closer.

  Libby let out an exaggerated groan and rolled her eyes. "You lot have already asked me a thousand questions! Ugh.”

  I arched a brow and leaned into one hip. "Maybe you'd rather answer the questions up at the station?" It was hard not to grin. I’d been dying to use that line since I’d become a consultant for the police. I caught Peter's lips twitching toward a smile out of the corner of my eye.

  Libbie sighed through her nose, but sobered and shoved to her feet. She dusted off her jeans, then stuffed her hands in the front pocket of her black hoodie. "Fine. What do you want to know?"

  "We may have asked you questions before, but you didn't give us many answers." Peter’s tone was serious but kind. "If you'd like this to be over, you're going to need to cooperate with us. So for starters, how did you break in?"

  Libbie scoffed. "I didn't break in. I'm the head zookeeper, like I said, and this animal needs medical attention. I was just getting her to a vet—"

  Daisy, still getting rubs from the tall officer, cut her off with a growl. Lies.

  I shot Daisy a flat look as she plunked her haunches onto the grassy ground and her leg twitched as if wanting to scratch the same spot the cop was. I rolled my eyes. So intimidating.

  Peter's tone grew harder. "As I mentioned when we caught you, my canine partner, Daisy, can smell lies."

  I raised my eyebrows. "And she just called you out."

  It was hard to tell in the dim light—the cop leaning against the wall had lit his wand for us to see by—but I thought some color rose to Libbie’s cheeks. She let out a sigh. "Fine. I don't work here anymore, but I did up until a week ago. I still have a key—so I didn’t technically break in.”

  I nodded. “And this, technically, isn’t your wombat.”

  The cop who’d be leaning against the wall stomped forward and held his palm out. Libbie rolled her eyes but dug around in her jeans pocket, then slapped her hand into the cop’s, leaving behind a small gold key.

  I frowned. "Why did you break in and steal a wombat, of all things?”

  Libby's expression darkened, and she stomped her foot. "I didn't steal her! She's mine!"

  Daisy whined, her leg still twitching as the cop worked that spot behind her ear. True.

  Libbie frowned at Daisy, then looked hopefully up at Peter. "What did that mean?"

  I smirked. “That you're telling the truth."

  Peter cocked a brow. "At least, that you believe it's true." He eyed her thoughtfully. "Why do you think the wombat is yours?"

  Libby splayed her palms. "I used to have my own private zoo. Malorie and Quincy shut me down."

  I scoffed; I couldn't help myself. "And then you went to work for them? That didn’t bother you?”

  "No!" It was Libbie’s turn to scoff. “Malorie educated me on how what I was doing was hurting the animals—keeping them isolated and putting them on exhibit for the public."

  I glanced behind me toward the enclosures and couldn't help but feel the sting of irony. It wasn’t a zoo, but the sanctuary still gave tours to the public. If that was hurting the animals, then Malorie’s place hadn't been any better than Libbie’s. At least in that regard.

  "Once I realized what I was doing was bad for the animals, I didn't want to keep my zoo going anyway. By joining the sanctuary, I got to help animals and keep working with them."

  Peter, both cops, and I dropped our gazes to Daisy, who whined. True.

  Libbie raised her chin, as if to say, see. "Besides, I was grateful. I'm in the business to be close to the animals, but before, when I had the private zoo of my own, I was spending all my time behind a desk."

  I crossed my arms and leveled Libbie with a “get real” look. "It wasn't weird working for the woman who put you out of business?"

  Libby shook her head, her curls bouncing over her shoulders. "No way."

  Daisy whined again. Truth.

  I scoffed. "You’ve got to be kidding me." I looked up at Peter. "You think her sniffer is misfiring again?"

  Peter shot his dog a doubtful look, then turned back to Libbie. "Okay. So if you were happy working for Malorie and Quincy at the sanctuary for the last…?”

  Libbie rocked on her heels. "Five years."

  Peter nodded. "Okay, five years. Then what happened for you to suddenly leave a week ago? And why didn't Malorie just allow you to take the wombat with you, if it rightfully belongs to you?"

  I thumbed at Peter. "What he said. Because we have a couple of witnesses who seem to think you left on bad terms."

  Libbie sucked on her full lips and darted a glance at Daisy. "Look, Malorie and I had our differences, yes, and at times it could get a little heated."

  Daisy growled. Partial truth.

  "So what got you two so heated last week that Malorie fired you?"

  A hint of color flushed her cheeks. "Oh, well…." Libbie shifted on her feet. "I wanted a raise, and Malorie disagreed. I laid out my arguments and… eventually we agreed to part ways with a generous severance payment." She shot me a pointed look. "She did not fire me."

  I pressed my lips tight together and returned the look. I’d bet there was a lot more to it than that.

  Libbie stepped a little closer and held her palms up. "I know they're in the middle of their hoity-toity party, but just go get Malorie and ask her. I'm sure she'll say it's fine if I take Cassie.”

  Right. So fine that Libbie decided to just go ahead and take the wombat in the middle of the night, dressed all in black, and leave by hopping the wall. I frowned as the other thing she’d said sunk in.

  Peter frowned and asked the question on the tip of my tongue. "Wait. Go ask Malorie?” He glanced at the other officers, then back at Libbie. "Do you not know?"

  Libbie grew still, brows pinched in doubt. "Know what?"

  Peter licked his lips and softened his tone. “Malorie Rutherford is dead.”

  14

  LIBBIE

  “You weren’t aware of that?”

  "What?" Libbie gasped and searched Peter's face. "No!"

  Daisy wagged her tail and whined. Truth.

  Libbie yanked her hands out of her pockets and dragged them down her face. "What? How?"

  Peter and I exchanged looks. She clearly didn't kill Malorie, unless she’d managed to do it without knowing she’d done it. And that didn't seem likely, given the one victim was hit over the head and shot with a poisoned dart, and the other had been stabbed in the chest with a snakin’ necklace.

  Peter narrowed his eyes. "Did you see Malorie or anyone else when you snuck in to get the wombat?"

  Libbie’s ch
est heaved, and it took her a few moments to gather herself. "I figured with the party going on, nobody would be in the back… but I saw Malorie talking with her stepdaughter, Rebecca. It was through several enclosures, so I couldn't hear what they were saying, but Rebecca seemed really upset—her face was all red and blotchy."

  Peter and I exchanged significant looks.

  “Did Rebecca look mad enough to kill?"

  Libbie shrugged.

  I lifted a palm. “Can you think of a reason Rebecca would've wanted to kill Malorie?”

  Libbie let out a humorless laugh. "Aside from the fact that she hated her? The woman stole her dad away from her mom and broke up their family—she never got over it."

  Peter nodded at me. That jived with what the others had told us. Rebecca Rutherford was seeming more and more like our prime suspect.

  That thinking crease appeared between Peter’s brows. "Aside from Rebecca, can you think of anyone who would have wanted to harm Malorie?”

  Libbie snickered. "Before tonight, I would've said most people should be afraid of Malorie harming them."

  Peter shot her a perplexed look.

  I leaned into one hip. "Are you referring to the rumors that she murdered her first husband?"

  Libbie nodded. "Yep."

  Peter glanced at Daisy, who indicated she was telling the truth. He turned back to Libbie. "You believe she did it?”

  "Oh, yeah." Libbie rolled a wrist. "If you ask me, she got what was coming to her."

  Wow. This gal wasn’t mincing words. Peter's eyes grew round, as I'm sure mine did.

  Libbie startled and waved her hands. "Not that I did it! But to answer your question, you might look into WWAAC, the animal rights organization. They sent this guy, Zane Perez, to be a mole. He tried to get me to turn on the sanctuary, to say they were mistreating animals and stuff."

  I arched a brow. “Were they?”

  She snorted. “Not that I saw. I told Malorie about Zane, and they had a huge fight—she practically threw him out of the sanctuary and threatened that if he or anyone from WWAAC ever tried to get in again, she’d sue them for everything they're worth."