The Big Fang Theory (Magic Market Mysteries Book 8)

by Erin Johnson

  Frank shrugged, his hands shoved in his pits, just the thumbs out. “Not well. We’d never met before a few days ago. She was good, but even alive, she was never going to beat us.”

  Annoyed by the cocky attitude, I decided to cut through the waves. “Did you kill her, just to make sure you won?”

  Frank’s smirk faltered. “W-What?” He scoffed and shifted on his feet. “I didn’t kill her.”

  Peter and I looked at Daisy. Unfortunately, she wagged her tail. Truth.

  I would’ve loved seeing Peter handcuff this guy.

  We asked the same question of his team, and Peter gathered some more information from Frank, including where his bakery was located in case we wanted to get in touch for some follow-up questions in the future. Despite me really wanting the smug sea slug to be guilty, I’d come to trust (mostly) in Daisy’s abilities, so we didn’t have much choice but to move on.

  As we left him and his team and headed toward the pantry shelves, I leaned close to Peter. “I’m surprised that dude wasn’t the one who got poisoned. So arrogant!”

  Peter shook his head. “No kidding. Too bad being churlish isn’t a crime.”

  I did a double take. “Churlish? Really?” I chuckled. “Nice word.”

  Peter’s cheeks flushed pink, and he nudged me. “I’m dating a former lawyer now. I’ve got to step up my game.”

  I grinned up at him. “Is that what that word-a-day calendar you got is all about?”

  He grinned and shrugged.

  I chuckled. Cute.

  Daisy, who trotted ahead, glanced back at us and huffed. Get a grip, you two—I can smell the hormones from here.

  SPILLING THE TEA

  We passed several baking stations, fires still blazing in the ovens below the counters and a pleasant yeasty smell filling the chilly fall air. The eyes of the twenty or so other contestants followed us as we approached the woman the twins had pointed out to us.

  “Mimi Moulin?”

  The older lady looked up and adjusted her polka dot cat glasses.

  “That’s me.”

  Her team, a young man and woman, edged closer to her. I got the feeling they were protective of the older baker. Could one of them have murdered Polly to get revenge for stealing Mimi’s sourdough bread starter?

  “I’m Officer Peter Flint, this is my partner, Daisy—I warn you, she can smell lies, so please be honest with us. And this is our consultant, Ms. Hartgrave.”

  I gave a little wave hello, but the three bakers just huddled closer together and glared back. Friendly.

  The tiny old lady with the lavender fauxhawk narrowed her dark eyes at him. “And you want to know if I murdered Polly, right?”

  The young lady beside her played with her long ponytail and huffed. “Typical.”

  I raised a brow. “Typical?”

  She stared me down. “Yeah. Typical that you’d blame the only team in this whole competition—which is supposed to be promoting shifter rights by the way—that’s actually made up of shifters.”

  Peter and I exchanged looks. I was tempted to tell them they were in good company, but while I’d told Peter the truth—that before my curse I’d been able to shift into owl form—the rest of the police department was still in the dark. I glanced hastily around—cops swarmed around us, interviewing suspects and witnesses and collecting evidence. I decided to keep quiet about my identity and turned back to the bakers, clearing my throat.

  “We’re actually questioning you because Polly’s daughters said you had a history with their mom?”

  Mimi gave a little sniff and pressed her lips tight together. She shifted on her feet and looked off for a long moment before turning back to Peter and me. There was a fierceness in her dark eyes as she spoke. “I worked my way up from having a little delivery service to a mobile baking cart, to finally owning my own bakery.”

  Suddenly, the sands shifted, and I blinked at her. “Oh! You’re Mimi—as in Mimi’s Bakery.”

  The three bakers flashed their eyes at me, as if to say, duh. I turned to Peter and filled him in. “It’s famous in the Darkmoon—everyone says it's the best bakery on the island.” During my darker days, I hadn’t been able to afford even their low prices, and the place had slipped off my radar, so I’d yet to try it.

  Mimi, her voice low and slightly gravelly, leveled me with a hard look. “May I go on?”

  “Oh. Yep. Sorry.” The little wrinkled old lady had an air of authority about her that made me want to step into line.

  “Polly worked for me when she was a teenager, just a year or two after I’d managed to open my current location.”

  The young man, who’d dyed his hair neon green, rubbed Mimi’s shoulder. Without looking, she reached an age-spotted hand back and squeezed his. With her eyes downcast, she sighed. “I liked Polly, at first. She was bright and hardworking.” Her expression soured. “Right up until she quit out of the blue and took my secret sourdough starter with her, along with some family recipes.”

  The young woman set her jaw and muttered a few curses under her breath. Daisy’s tail wagged. Truth.

  Which could mean that they just believed Polly had stolen the recipe.

  The young guy with the green hair shot me a sassy look. “Polly opened up her own bakery—right on Main Street. Which Mimi of course couldn’t do—no one would rent to a shifter there. So now Polly charges—” He rolled his eyes. “Sorry—charged three times as much as Mimi, using her stolen recipes, and gets all these accolades. But we’re not taken seriously because we’re in the Darkmoon and are shifters.”

  The young woman tossed her ponytail. “Yeah. We can’t even get into the baker’s guild.”

  I shifted on my feet as anger burned in my chest. Sounded about right. The discrimination against shifters and Darkmoonies just went on and on.

  Mimi lifted her chin. “I want to win—not only for myself, but for other shifters, too.”

  I grinned. I couldn’t help it. I liked this woman, and her team clearly loved her. I wanted them to win. I sure hoped we didn’t have to arrest them for murder.

  Peter nodded. “It’s impressive, what you’ve accomplished, and I’m sorry for the challenges you’ve faced. You must see though, that this gives you motive for murder—”

  The young guy with the green hair gasped and lurched forward. “Mimi didn’t murder anyone!”

  The young woman stepped in front of the old lady, as if to prevent Peter from arresting her.

  Mimi just rolled her eyes. “Alright, kids, stand down.” She turned to Peter as her team settled back, though they kept their wary eyes glued to my cop boyfriend. “I understand. Ask your questions.”

  “Did you have anything to do with Polly’s death?”

  I truly hoped she hadn’t.

  Mimi shook her head. “No. But I’ll tell you, it feels like divine justice that she got hers on bread day after making her fortune off my bread.”

  Daisy wagged her tail. Truth.

  I blew out the breath I’d been holding. We checked with her team and got their statements. They’d all been nowhere near Polly, denied killing her or tampering with her tea, and they hadn’t seen anyone else do it either. It looked like we’d run into a dead end with these bakers, too.

  After questioning Mimi and her team, we found the palace servant who’d brought the tea around. The middle-aged guy seemed distraught.

  “I don’t know what happened! I just boiled the water over there—” He pointed a trembling finger at a fire burning in an open hearth near the pantry shelves.

  “Did you leave the kettle alone at any point? Could someone have spelled the water or poisoned it?”

  The servant dragged a gloved hand through his thinning hair. Sweat rings stained his blue-and-gold palace livery under his arms. “No. I don’t think so. I waited until it boiled, then brought it over to that empty baking station.”

  Presumably, as this was midway through the competition, some of the other teams had already been eliminated, leaving a few stati
ons vacated.

  “I brought some tea bags down from the palace kitchen with me.”

  Peter shifted on his feet, his quill jotting down notes on his enchanted scroll. “Did you leave the tea bags alone at any point?”

  The servant shook his head and patted his jacket pocket. “Nope. Kept them on me the whole time. I made the pot of tea, spelled the tray of cups and sugar and cream to follow me, and then made my way around the stations, giving tea to anyone who wanted some.”

  Peter took notes on all the contestants who’d taken tea. “And you served Polly last, correct?”

  The guy nodded, his brows lifted in the center. “Oh, goddess. Did the tea kill her?”

  Peter took a breath. “We, uh—we don’t know for sure yet, but it appears that she was poisoned and that the tea was the only food or drink she consumed today.”

  The guy buried his face in his gloved hands. “Oh, snakes. I’m going to get fired.”

  I shrugged. “It doesn’t sound like it was your fault. Do you remember anyone tampering with the tea or cups?”

  He shook his head, hands pressed to his cheeks. “No! I held the teapot the whole time, and I don’t remember anything untoward.”

  Daisy confirmed he was truthful, and after a few more questions, Peter let him go.

  “I don’t think he’s involved.”

  I shook my head. “Same.”

  Peter glanced over his notes. “Alright, well we should track down Polly’s ex-boyfriend, Vince Dupont, soon. We’ll also see what Gabriel has to say after he examines Polly’s body.”

  I slumped my head against Peter’s shoulder. “Sounds like a plan. Does this mean we can go to sleep?”

  He chuckled. “Yeah, I’ve got a few things to wrap up, but we can head out in a few minutes.”

  I grinned up at him. “Me and my throbbing headache thank you.”

  While Peter moved off to have a word with Inspector Bon, I glanced toward the gleaming white palace. I’d missed my chance to speak to Sam Snakeman and the princess about Ludolf. I bit my lip—sure hoped Madeline was right and that the rally this evening would give me a second chance.

  RALLY

  After a few hours of sleep that afternoon, Peter, Daisy, and I dragged ourselves awake and headed up the mountain, back to the palace for the shifters’ rights rally. It’d taken me a while to find her in the massive crowd, but I now stood beside Madeline and her photographer outside the palace gates. The raucous crowd jostled us, and though we stood shoulder to shoulder, I had to lean close and shout at her to be heard. “How are we going to speak to Sam and the princess during this?!”

  Without looking, she waved me off. “Shh! It’s starting.”

  I rolled my eyes and shoved my hands in the pockets of my quilted bomber jacket. I glanced around for Peter. He’d gotten a call from the station about ten minutes ago and had moved off to try and find a quiet spot to talk. I rose on my toes and glanced over the thousands of heads gathered in front of the golden palace gates.

  All around, the night was lit up by torches and glowing wands. People pumped dozens of picket signs over their heads, with slogans like The Tide is Shifting and Shifter Rights are Right! scrawled on them. Counter protestors gathered at the edges, held back by police officers and palace guards. My stomach turned, and I avoided reading their signs, scrawled with hateful sentiments. I hoped Peter could find his way back in all this madness. He had Daisy with him—maybe she could smell us out.

  I sank back down on my heels, my heart pounding with excitement and anxiety as Sam Snakeman took the raised stage in front of the gates. He stood behind a podium, flanked by Princess Imogen and Prince Harry. Nothing like this had ever happened, at least in my lifetime. And while the cynic in me knew the tide was never going to change overnight, I couldn’t help but feel a flutter of hope that the rally might actually make a difference in the way shifters were viewed and treated.

  I strained to catch Sam’s words as he began his speech. Heidi, who was back at my apartment watching over all the trapped shifters, had begged me to give her all the deets later. And Will was working at the clinic, still trying to swim under the net with Ludolf so he wouldn’t suspect him of helping me. But even Will, in his gruff, aloof way, had seemed curious and excited about the rally. Of course, he’d expressed that by warning me not to get trampled.

  Sam Snakeman fiddled with the red polka dot bowtie at his neck, and his chin receded. He rolled a shoulder as though his button-up shirt was too tight and tugged at his collar. Princess Imogen and a blond gal beside her gave Sam enthusiastic smiles as the crowd applauded. He waved his hands above his head—signaling for the crowd to quiet. I grinned—he was waving, but with his palms turned toward himself. Interesting.

  Sam cleared his throat, then held his wand in front of his mouth. “Thhhank you all for coming here today.” His magically amplified voice rung out over the crowd.

  “Asss many know, I wasss born a sssnake and later in life, learned to ssshift into thisss form. I wasss amazed by your beautiful language and art and my favorite passstime, baking.” He looked to the princess and the blond gal, and they beamed at him like proud mothers. I grinned—guess that explained why he waved a little differently—he was new to human gestures. I’d never make fun of him for it, of course—it was just kind of cute.

  Some clapping and supportive cheers rang out, but I looked to my left and noticed, at the back of the crowd, that police were working hard to keep back the jostling protestors with their anti-shifter signs. My stomach clenched, and I looked around again for Peter. I hoped he and Daisy weren’t caught up in any incidents with that crowd.

  “But I sssoon dissscovered ssssome thingsss about being a man that were lessssss than beautiful.” Sam pressed his lips together, and his throat bobbed. His milky blue eyes teared up behind his glasses.

  Madeline leaned over to her photographer. “Are you getting those tears?”

  The shutter sounded as the guy captured the moment.

  “Sssome people ssseemed to hate me. Jussst becaussse of the way I danccced or ssspoke. They hated me becaussse I am a ssshifter. I didn’t underssstand then. And to be honessst, I don’t underssstand today.”

  Applause sounded, and there were whoops of support.

  “I fight now for monssster rightsss becaussse they’re jussst creaturesss that the old King Roch usssed as weaponsss againssst you.” His throat bobbed again. “But it’sss the sssame for ssshiftersss. We’ve been usssed by the king to divide usss and distract usss from hisss crimesss. But the truth isss, we’re much more alike than different.”

  I clapped along with the crowd at this. My old headmistress at the orphanage, Mrs. Rankle, had recently told me about the old king’s propaganda campaign against shifters. Forty years ago, he’d made the public frightened of us, likening us to the monsters that had rampaged the kingdoms. No matter that it was the king himself who had unleashed the monsters on innocent people. And sea slugs like Ludolf Caterwaul, the mob boss of shifters, had profited off it and used it to their advantage while everyone else suffered.

  Sam lifted his chin, a small smile on his face, his cheeks flushed pink. I guessed he was gaining confidence as the crowd chanted and cheered for him. While I normally considered my cynical self a little too cool for school, I couldn’t help but be swept up in the moment. I cupped my hands to the side of my mouth and shouted, “Go, Sam!” My voice was lost in the cheers of the crowd, but Madeline glanced at me and winked.

  “I wasss given a chanccce to bake in the palaccce.” He glanced over at the blond gal, who pressed her palms to her flushed cheeks and shot him a smile, her eyes wet. I placed her now as the former head baker who’d made headlines when she hired Sam about a year ago. Half the former palace staff had walked out on their jobs because they refused to work alongside a shifter.

  “And now I want to make sssure other ssshiftersss are given opportunitiesss. We need to change the lawsss ssso that they’re not denied jobsss or placesss to live or anything elssse. And we
’re ssstarting with the baking competition ssso that other ssshifters who love to bake can find their own placcce and friendsss in the palaccce bakery.”

  The crowd erupted, most of the tumult of voices sounding supportive, though I shot a stink eye at the boos coming from the back.

  BOO! HISS!

  “Hey!”

  I jumped at the hand on my shoulder, then turned and grinned as Peter slid up beside me. Daisy squeezed in between us and growled as someone nearly stepped on her paw. All I can see down here is thighs. Nothing but a sea of thighs. She huffed.

  I bent forward and let out a woof, which no one could hear over all the voices and applause. You want me to hold you up, Days? You can sit on my shoulders. I winked.

  Her ears flattened, and she bared her pointy white teeth, her dark lips twitching. Just try to pick me up and see what happens.

  I shrugged and let out another woof before straightening. You’re probably right. Looks like you’ve been hitting the treats and have put on a few pounds. I’m not sure I could lift you. I kept my eyes up over the heads of the crowd and fought a grin as she snarled and growled at me.

  How dare you! I’m in great shape. Want to race? I’ll run circles around you!

  Peter, grinning, shook his head. “What am I going to do with you two?”

  I rose on my toes and kissed his cheek. “We could always rehome her?”

  He paled, and I nudged him. “Kidding. Geez.” I smirked. “Don’t tell her I said so, but I kinda love the furry mutt. I don’t know who else would keep me in line.”

  Daisy, dark eyes narrowed up at us, whined. Well, looks like you’re telling the truth for once.

  Peter beamed down at me and kissed the top of my head. I snuggled against his side for a moment, then rose on my toes. Sam was talking again and the crowd cheering, so I had to speak nearly right against Peter’s ear. “What’s the word around the precinct?”

  I turned my head so he could speak into my ear. “Edna was calling to tell me the coroner’s report came in.”