by Erin Johnson
I clomped up the last few steps and followed Peter and Daisy into an office space.
I made a face. “Pretty bleak.”
Daisy shot me a withering look and growled. Why are you even here?
I ignored her and took in the space. A loose ceiling tile hung down, stains checkered the mud-colored carpet, and a few messy desks occupied the middle of the room.
To my right, just inside the door, stood the receptionist’s desk with a tall counter and stacks of papers. A gilded cage covered in a blanket sat atop the table—must be the parakeet Peter had mentioned. I sniffed. Yep. Smelled like birdseed and droppings.
Peter and Daisy joined some officers in the corner, and I stuffed my hands in my pockets and looked around. Tall metal shelves lined the long wall to my left. A variety of objects littered the shelves, from lutes to gold statues, and globes to pocket watches. What was this place?
I walked the perimeter, past the broken window, a switch beside it. It must have been the window that woman, Bim, had fallen from. I shivered and continued, the flashing neon sign casting an unsettling, garish glow over the drab office space.
I joined Peter and a couple of other officers at the far wall. A tall white backdrop hung from the ceiling, with a step stool, tall torches, and mirrors beside it.
“Looks like it was set up for photos, Flint.” An officer pointed at the backdrop.
Peter nodded. “It would explain the camera we found on the victim.” He turned toward me and frowned, his eyes distant. “But why would she have been taking pictures here at night, after hours?”
I pointed at a pair of black stilettos, a bottle of lotion, and a sewing kit on the desk nearest us. “Wonder what these were for?”
“Hello? What is all this?”
The officers and I turned toward the door. A beer-bellied man with a mustache stood in the entry, sporting a robe. Beside him, a blond woman with her hair in curlers clutched the neck of her sleep dress.
“What’s going on?” She blinked at us, wide-eyed.
Peter cleared his throat and strode across the space. I trailed behind, and the couple met us in the middle of the room. Peter bowed to each of them. “I’m Officer Flint, and this is my partner, Daisy.” His lips twitched toward a grin when he looked at me. “And our new consultant, Jolene.”
I nodded in greeting. I felt so official. Look at me—consultant.
The woman edged slightly behind the man, her eyes glued to Daisy’s intense face and pricked ears.
“I’m Turk Molino; this is my wife, Millie. I’m the owner here at Darkmoon Outlet, Incorporated.” His dark, bushy brows drew together as he glanced toward the windows. “What’s all this fuss about? What are you doing on my property?”
He gulped when Peter shot him a hard look. “Er… I mean, what’s going on… Officer?”
“What is this?” A husky voice came from behind the couple. A younger woman with long brown hair and plentiful curves strode through the doorway. She narrowed her eyes at Turk and crossed her arms over her ample bosom.
The wife, Millie, spotted her and paled.
Peter arched a brow. “I’m sorry, miss, but this is a crime scene, so unless you have a reason to be—”
“I work here.” She lifted her delicate chin.
Peter’s eyes slid to Turk, who nodded. “Yeah, this is Zo. Uh, Zozanna, our receptionist.”
She gave Peter a tight-lipped smile, her eyes blazing.
Millie looked faint. The color had drained from her face, and her breaths came in heaving pants. “Who—?” She blinked and shook herself. “Who is that under the tarp out there?”
Peter softened his tone. “She was identified as Bim Pavani.”
Millie let out a little whimper and gripped her husband’s arm.
“What?!” Zo’s dark eyes grew round, and her full lips parted.
“That’s—that’s impossible.” Turk’s brow furrowed. “No, it can’t be.”
Peter lifted a brow.
“She’s our photographer and graphic designer.” Turk dragged a hand down his face and cupped his chin. “Poor Bim.”
Millie let out a gasp, and her eyes rolled back.
Was she about to—?
Peter and Turk lunged forward and caught her as she collapsed. Zo turned her back to the whole thing. Wow. Their employee’s death had really hit Millie hard.
Daisy cocked her head, ears pricked, and whimpered. They’re all genuinely distraught.
Peter glanced at his dog and gave her a slight nod as he helped lay Millie on the shabby carpet. Her eyes fluttered.
I frowned. From what I’d seen, that Bim woman had flown backwards out the window. Someone had to have pushed or spelled her out—this was no accident. But Daisy at least seemed to think these three were off the hook.
Then again, how much faith could we put in a dog?
11
Two Truths and a Lie
Turk sat beside his wife and held her shoulders as she fanned herself. He and Peter had managed to revive her and help her into a desk chair. Though, as Turk blinked and swayed slightly in his seat, I wondered if he was about to faint, too. Zo, the secretary, paced back and forth in front of the windows, occasionally shooting daggers in our general direction.
I lifted a brow and adjusted my perch on the edge of a desk. I couldn’t quite tell if she was aiming at Turk or his wife, Millie.
“You’re sure you’re alright to continue with the questioning, Mrs. Molino?” Peter rolled over another chair and sat in front of her, brows pinched in concern. “We’re treating this as a murder investigation, and while it’s difficult, I’ll need to ask you some things. Either now, or you can come up to the station tomorrow.”
She sniffled and gave a weak nod. “Let’s—let’s just get it over with.”
Peter addressed Turk. “What is it exactly that you do here?”
“We, uh—” The hairy man shifted in his seat. “We help local merchants find buyers for unique goods.”
I snorted. “Unique? As in, stolen?”
“Unique!” The business owner blanched. “They’re legal!” He waved a beefy hand, his wide, bloodshot eyes darting between me and Peter.
Daisy let out a low growl. Partial lie.
I smirked, feeling smug my hunch had been right. “Uh-huh.”
Turk gulped.
Peter glanced at Daisy, then leaned closer to the couple. “How many employees do you have?”
“Just me, Millie—I mean, she doesn’t work here, and isn’t involved in the day-to-day, but she’s part owner, being my wife and all.” He licked his lips and his mustache twitched.
Millie kept her eyes down on her fidgety hands.
A quill magically floated beside Peter and jotted it all down.
“Then there’s Zo, of course, our receptionist.” Turk tilted his head in her direction, and she huffed, still pacing.
I frowned. What had gotten Zo’s panties in a twist? Not like she was the one who flew out the window to her death.
“And—” Turk’s throat bobbed. “And Bim.” He shook his head, shoulders slumped. “Poor Bim.”
“No one else?” Peter prompted.
Turk shook his head, then stopped himself and held up a finger. “Oh, well, there’s the courier, Ronnie Johnston. We just hire him to pick up and drop off packages—he’s not a full-time employee.” He blinked, swaying slightly. “Though sometimes it feels like he is.”
Peter lifted a brow. “How so?”
“Oh.” Turk grinned but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Nothing, he just uh—he flirts shamelessly with Zozanna.”
Millie darted a glance at her husband.
Turk rolled his eyes. “Wastes a lot of time, you know. Probably should hire someone new, but eh—life gets busy, huh?”
“Yeah, he does. He flirts and he asks me out every week.”
We all turned. Zo stood with her legs planted wide, a scowl on her face. “And you know what? Next time he asks, I think I’ll say yes!”
&nbs
p; Turk pressed his lips tight together, and a muscle jumped in his scruffy jaw. He spun around, putting his back to the secretary.
Wow. Definitely some office drama going on.
Turk yawned, and didn’t bother to cover his mouth. I cringed as his hot, pungent breath hit me. Huh. I sniffed. Kind of an herbal scent, a little like anise, but sweeter. Whatever he’d been drinking—it was strong.
Peter leaned forward, his elbows on his thighs. “And where were you two tonight?”
“At home.” Millie patted her husband’s hairy forearm. “I was reading, and Turkie fell asleep on the couch.”
Turk’s brows drew together and he gave himself a little shake, though his eyes stayed glassy. “That’s weird, I was supposed to, uh—” He blinked and looked up. “Supposed to stay awake, to spend time with Millie.”
Daisy let out a growl. Lie.
As Peter asked some follow-up questions, I glanced over at the dog beside me. I let out a quiet woof, then a whine. So, how do you know he’s lying?
Daisy’s dark eyes slid to me and her ears flattened. She woofed and groaned. I can smell it.
“Ha!” I slapped my thigh, then waved at Peter to continue his questions when he glanced over at me. I snuffled. You literally sniff out the truth? That’s grand.
Yes. Daisy lifted her nose in the air. When I sniff out a lie, it smells like the most putrid odor you can imagine.
I smirked and made a few doggie noises. And the truth?
Daisy’s tail wagged, and she let out a happy woof. The truth smells sweet, like pure goodness. It’s the best smell in the world.
Mm-hmm. I waggled my brows at her. So to you, that’s like what? Cat doo doo?
Daisy growled at me as I devolved into cackles. Peter threw a questioning look over his shoulder, and I sucked on my lips to sober up.
Peter turned to Zo, who still stood by the windows. “And Zozanna? Where were you tonight?”
“Here, for a bit.” Zo glared at Turk. “I worked late, then left not too long ago and went home. I live nearby and came back when I saw the police signal and the crowd in the street. Looked like it was right over the business, and I was worried.”
“Can anyone vouch for you?”
She shook her head at Peter. “No. I was completely alone.”
Peter leaned forward. “Did you see Bim this evening?”
Zo shook her head. She’d pulled her long hair over her shoulder and played with the ends. “No. She must’ve gotten here after I left.” She gave an exaggerated shudder. “That could’ve been me if I’d stayed longer.”
Millie let out a whimper and buried her face in her hands, a single curler half hanging off her head.
Her husband patted her back. “I know. Poor Bim.” He yawned and dragged a hand down his face. “I’m so sleepy.”
“Why’d you stay late tonight?” Peter asked. “Was that common for you?”
Zo shrugged. “We had a lot of items that needed packaging up to be shipped in the morning. Yeah, I stay late kinda often.”
Daisy’s black lips curled back from her teeth. Half lie.
But you can’t pinpoint what she’s lying about? I rolled my eyes. So useful.
Daisy barked at me, her tail stiff. I’ll show you useful, shifter! I’ll bite your—
Peter jumped to his feet and grabbed Daisy’s leather harness, dragging her away from me. “Uh, Jolene, maybe you could—you know—” He grunted as he struggled to keep his dog from attacking me. “Do your thing?” He jerked his head toward the cage on the desk by the door. “I’m so sorry, I don’t know what’s gotten into her!”
Daisy thrashed against Peter’s hold.
I curled my lip. “Maybe you should get her a muzzle.”
Peter shot me an apologetic look.
“Fine.” I slid off the desk, grumbling to myself as I passed Turk and Millie. “I’m just doing this to get my landlady off my back, and then no way am I going to work with that mangy mutt again.”
Millie raised a brow.
12
The Parakeet
Behind me, Peter continued to question the business owner, his wife, and the saucy secretary. The other cops milled about, collecting evidence. I dragged my feet over to the cage on the receptionist’s desk. I, on the other hand, got to interview a bird. Lucky me.
I let out a couple of quiet chirps—luckily, no one was near enough to overhear my conversation. Knock knock.
I yanked the thin, powder blue blanket to the side, revealing a gilded cage and the blue-and-green parakeet inside, its feet wrapped around the perch. She blinked at me, and her pupils dilated as she woke up. She gave herself a little shake and side-stepped closer.
“Chirp!” Hello?
After a quick glance over my shoulder, just to double-check that none of the officers had wandered closer, I folded my arms on the tall desk and leaned forward till I was eye level with the bird.
“Chirp, whistle, squawk!” Hi, little gal, I understand you witnessed a murder tonight? Care to share?
The budgie turned her head and ruffled her feathers. Did I? She blinked slowly. I’m tired. Blanket, please.
I frowned at the throw beside me, then turned back to the bird. “Chirp chirp!” What’s the blanket for?
To sleep. She buried her head under one wing. It’s too bright without it!
I fingered the thin fabric. Huh. And I’d just assumed this bird was the redheaded stepfairy of the family and they’d covered her up as a punishment. I frowned as a thought occurred to me.
Was the blanket on all night? The bird had probably been asleep the whole time and unable to see anything anyway.
She let out a rapid series of grumpy chirps. The one who sits here—
I glanced at the wooden chair behind the tall desk—that would be Zo, the secretary. I felt a pang of pity for her. I couldn’t imagine having to sit behind this messy desk and smell bird droppings all day. Boxes and packets rose high in piles on and around the desk, adding to the feeling of being walled off from the rest of the room.
—was the last one here, and she put the blanket on and turned that bright sign off. Then I heard her leave.
I bit my thumb nail. Zo had told the truth— about taking off, anyway. It didn’t mean she couldn’t have come back, though.
I dozed off, then woke up when someone turned that stupid sign on again. Her beady eyes narrowed. It’s so bright, humph.
I cocked my head. Did you see who turned it on?
The bird adjusted her grip on the perch, stretching her scaly claws. No. But I heard a scream and then someone ran away, down the stairs, fast. Then I dozed off but woke up when someone else came up the stairs and ran off again right away.
Huh. Maybe it was the murderer—they could have come back because they forgot something. Or could it have been someone else entirely? I squawked. And then?
The bird shuddered. And then you and all these others tromped up here, turned on all the lights, and woke me up!
Right. Sorry about that. I grimaced.
She yawned, eyes closed and neck stretched long. Then she snapped her beak shut and gave me a bleary look. Blanket now, please?
I nodded. You got it. I draped the blanket back over the cage and dragged myself back to the rejoin the others. Peter had been smart to hire me for the whole case instead of just the job of interviewing that bird. Because that information had definitely not been worth three hundred gold merkles.
Millie sat pale and blank-faced in the desk chair, while Zozanna paced in front of the dirty windows and Turk stood in a corner with his face pinched. If you asked me, they all seemed guilty as shell, but apparently Daisy the wonder dog disagreed.
I found said vunder mutt standing beside her owner, who crouched down beside another officer, studying something on the dusty carpet.
I threw up my hands when he looked up, a question on his face. “I didn’t get much.”
Daisy growled. Fraud.
I rolled my eyes at her, but Peter’s gaze stayed glued to m
y face. “Nothing?”
I shrugged and relayed the information. “So it seems like Zozanna told the truth about leaving—”
Peter’s lips quirked to the side. “But she could have returned to kill Bim.”
I nodded, my messy bun flopping to the side. “And it seems the killer either came back once more, or someone came up here and fled after Bim was killed.”
Peter rose, while his fellow officer stayed crouched and scooped a dried powdery substance into a glass vial with the tip of his wand. Daisy glued herself to his side.
“You didn’t see anyone enter the building?” Peter’s earnest eyes focused on my face, and my cheeks grew warm. “After the victim fell?”
I shook my head. “Didn’t exactly stand around to watch.”
“Right.” Peter shook his head. “Sorry. That must’ve been terrible to see.”
“I’ve had better nights.” I snorted. Then again, I’d had worse, too, which was something I shouldn’t be able to say about witnessing a murder. My life was really out with the tide.
Flint planted his hands on his hips and sighed. “No biggie that the parakeet didn’t give you much—”
The crouched officer glanced up, one brow lifted in question, then shook his head and returned to his work. I could tell he was still listening.
“Seems our victim, Bim, probably turned the neon sign on, as the switch is right next to the window.” Peter tipped his head at the wall of glass that looked down onto the street. Zo still paced in front of the windows, the one in the center broken, shards of glass still clinging to the frame.
Beside the gaping hole, a switch on the wall glowed with a spell that must light up the magical neon sign outside, the eyesore that had brought me to the window to close my curtains in the first place.
Peter sighed. “And then, as she stood by the window, someone attacked her and she flew out—to her death.”
“And then the murderer ran away.” I lifted a finger. “The parakeet heard that.”
The officer beside us coughed.