by Erin Johnson
She nodded, her red lips slightly puckered.
“How did you come to work for your sister? Is she older… younger…?”
Opal flipped her dark hair. “I’m more experienced by a couple of years.”
I shot her a “get real” look. “By experienced you mean older?”
Her eyes blazed at me, but after a moment she ground out, “Yes.”
I glanced at Peter out of habit to share a smile, but found his expression stony and fixed on the woman. My shoulders slumped.
Opal squared her shoulders and addressed Peter. “As to your other question, I’m a talented potion maker in my own right.” She lifted her nose. “I apprenticed under a very prestigious potion master in the Earth Kingdom before joining forces with my sister—I didn’t work for her.”
I raised a brow. “Pearl and her husband Ralph were introduced as the founders of the company.” I shrugged. “I didn’t see you on stage. And I mean… even the pig made the cut before you.”
She scowled before wrangling her features into a simpering smile. “They’re the faces of the company.” She beamed at Peter. “I’m the talent.”
“Which potion master?”
She blinked at Peter, her eyes widening. “Sorry?”
“The name of the potion master you apprenticed under? Just being thorough.”
She glanced down at Daisy, who’d never taken her eyes off the woman, then cleared her throat. “Uh, his name was Mr. Archimedes.” She flipped a hand covered in glittering rings. “You know, in certain circles he’s very well-known, but to the layman I’m sure that means nothing, not worth looking into.”
“We’ll determine what’s worth looking into.”
I frowned up at Peter, surprised by his direct, one might argue rude tone, but his expression never changed from that flat, lifeless look of his. Snakes. What was going on with him? No wonder Daisy was concerned.
The enchanted quill scratched away at the scroll of parchment beside Peter’s head. He glanced at his notes, then turned back to Opal. “And what do your duties as head potion maker entail here?”
She adjusted her glasses, the rhinestones in the corners glinting as they reflected the blinding overhead lights. “I develop all the unique formulas for the various potions which we then send out to the manufacturer to produce.”
I pulled my lips to the side. “So if you’re really the one coming up with all the potions, why is your sister the face of the company and not you?”
She glared at me, though she forced her lips into a smile. “It was Pearl’s idea to take potions to the masses and directly sell them. She saw the value of taking such a boutique, niche skill and making it widely available.” She shrugged. “Besides, like I said, we founded the company together. I only stepped down a few months ago when Pearl and Ralph bought out my shares.”
“Why did they buy you out?” The space between Peter’s thick brows creased.
Opal’s eyes flitted to Daisy, then back up at Peter. “I, uh—I didn’t want the responsibility of running the company anymore.”
Daisy’s bushy tail wagged. Truth.
8
Tact
So far, Opal Whitaker appeared to be telling the truth, but I sensed some tension under all this. Maybe a little sibling rivalry? It couldn’t be easy, if she viewed herself as the talent, to have her sister get all the credit and celebrity status.
I thought back to the way the whole auditorium had vibrated with cheers and applause for Ralph and Pearl—she hadn’t even been onstage to be recognized. That had to sting even if she was no longer a part owner. I decided to test my theory.
“Did you—”
“Are you—”
Peter and I both stopped and looked at each other. I gulped and waited for him to continue, but when he stayed silent, I turned to Opal and started again.
“Did you—”
“Are you—”
We both stopped and faced each other again. Hot annoyance flushed up my neck and chest. I huffed. “After you.”
Peter’s throat bobbed and he leveled me a grim look, eyes flat. “No. After you.”
I sighed through my nose and turned back to face our witness. I gritted my teeth and willed myself to breathe. I’d just told him who I was—what I was. It’s not like I could help being a shifter—I was just born that way. And it literally changed nothing about who I was or how I’d acted with him. Especially considering the curse had taken away my abilities to shift, so it wasn’t like I was about to sprout wings and spontaneously shift into an owl and go flapping away anytime soon.
I balled my hands into fists and tried to pull my shoulders down from around my ears. If he was going to make it awkward, fine, he could be awkward, but I was going to do my job. Partly because I was desperate for money again, and partly just to spite him.
“Miss Whitaker.”
“Hm?” She blinked at me.
“Are you glad your sister’s dead?”
She choked. “Excuse me?”
I probably could have been more tactful, but Peter had annoyed the tact right out of me. I folded my arms. “Just answer the question.”
Opal looked down at Daisy for a long moment, then lifted her gaze to me. “Pearl didn’t deserve to die.”
Daisy whined. True.
Opal sniffled. “I—I can’t believe she’s gone.”
Daisy wagged her tail. Also true.
I crossed my arms. A killer would probably think the victim had it coming—or, at the very least, wouldn’t be surprised by the outcome of their murderous efforts. I realized I probably enjoyed this consulting a little too much when I found myself a little disappointed that we weren’t talking to Pearl’s killer.
I looked at Peter and rolled a wrist, sweeping my upturned palm toward Pearl. “Your turn.”
“Did you make the potion Pearl drank?”
Opal nodded. “The potions our independent consultants sell are made by a manufacturer—I just couldn’t keep up with the sheer volume once business really took off. But I still personally make all the potions that I, Ralph, and Pearl take—took—for our daily health.”
Peter lifted a brow. “Did you poison it?”
She gasped and pressed a hand to her ample bosom. “Seas below, no.” She shook her head, then glanced down at Daisy.
The dog cocked her head but whined. True.
I looked at Peter and shrugged—guess we had our answer.
He frowned. “Did you kill your sister?”
It was my turn to frown. Peter wasn’t usually so direct or unsympathetic. That was usually my job.
Opal stomped her stilettoed foot. “No!”
Daisy whined. True.
I flashed my eyes at Peter, and he let out a sigh. Snakes. Would he let up now?
Opal huffed and glanced past us to Chief McCray and Inspector Bon behind us. “I’ve answered all your questions. Why am I being interrogated when my sister’s killer is out there!” She pointed toward the lobby.
I mean… I didn’t like the lady, but I had to agree with her. She didn’t seem to be the murderer, and we were wasting our time by continuing to question her about it… unless we took a different angle.
I leaned into one hip. “You were first on the—” I’d almost said body. “—scene. Did you notice anything—any clue that might point to who did kill your sister?”
She crossed her arms and scoffed. “Well, Ralph, her husband, handed her the vial—which he’d been keeping in his coat. I mean….” She arched a brow.
Daisy cocked her head and whined. Partial truth.
Peter pinched his brows together. “Any reason you’d suspect Ralph of wanting to kill your sister?”
She glanced at Daisy, then sniffed. “He’s a man. You’ll figure it out.”
While we’d been speaking, the cops had magicked Pearl’s body onto a stretcher and covered it with a white tarp. They now lifted her, an officer on each end, and carried her across the stage toward the steps.
Opal gestured towa
rd her sister’s body. “Now if we’re quite done here, I’d like to accompany Pearl to the station.” She pursed her heavily lined lips. “I want to make sure that vial is properly tested. And that her body is treated with respect.” She shook a finger at Peter. “I don’t want an autopsy done unless absolutely necessary—and it shouldn’t be if that vial comes back positive for poison.”
Daisy’s tail wagged. Truth.
Peter and I turned to face the new chief and Bon. Bon scowled but shrugged. “I’d rather she be a pain in Gabriel’s rear than mine.”
McCray winked. “Be our guest. I don’t mind a suspect who wants to stick close by—handy if we think of more questions for you.”
Opal hustled past, her heels clicking across the stage as she followed the cops carrying the stretcher.
9
Papa Ralph
A sniffling woman opened the door for us, and I followed Peter and Daisy into Ralph Litt’s penthouse hotel suite.
“Wow.” French doors opened to a view of the entire island of Bijou Mer stretched out below, all twinkling lights and charm. The moon reflected off the dark sea, which stretched on to the horizon, and sheer silk curtains fluttered in the gentle sea breeze. I badly wished to just stand out on that enormous balcony and take in the view—not only because it was gorgeous, but because the scene inside the room was almost too much for me.
Papa Ralph sat sprawled on the floor in front of a roaring fireplace, one arm draped around Buttercup the pig, his other hand clutching a glass tumbler of glowing golden brown potion. He took a swig, some of the magical liquid dribbling down his white beard, then draped an arm across his eyes and wailed.
“Why? Why, Goddess?! Why did you take my precious Pearl from me?”
Ugh. Daisy wrinkled her nose. Lie.
I smirked. “Right? Dramatic much?”
Though I’d muttered it quietly, the woman who’d shown us in leaned around Peter and shot me a look. I shot it right back.
While she sniffled and pouted and put on a show of mourning, I noted her ample mascara was still in place and no actual tears tracked down her cheeks. I didn’t mean to be insensitive—the guy’s wife had just died—but given that Ralph was probably our top suspect at the moment and Daisy was smelling lies, I was having a hard time believing in his over-the-top show of grief.
Half a dozen men and women hung about, fawning over him. The woman who’d let us in guided us over, past lovely paintings in gilded frames and an enormous vase full of flowers, sea fronds, and shells that probably cost more than a month of my rent. I lifted a brow. While I’d regarded the whole Potent Potions thing as a total scam, clearly someone was getting rich to be able to afford this place.
Then again, for all its fanciness, the suite was trashed. Clothes and shoes littered nearly every inch of floor—I had to step over a wet towel and a pair of dirty socks. Open suitcases with the contents strewn all over covered the four-poster bed and topped the gleaming wood dresser. I bit my lip. They were messier than I was—and that was saying something.
Some of the hangers-on looked up as we stepped into the sitting area, though Ralph kept his eyes covered, sobbing—or pretending to.
“Papa Ralph?” The young woman who’d let us in bent over him and spoke in a voice barely above a whisper. “Papa Ralph?”
Wow—that just sounded wrong. I curled my lip and glanced up at Peter, ready to share a knowing look, but he kept his eyes fixed ahead, ignoring me. I huffed and turned back toward the apparently devastated husband, annoyance burning in my chest. Fine—if he wanted to make working together miserable, then just fine.
“Papa Ralph?” The woman tried again, a little louder.
Totally out of patience, I cleared my throat. “Hey! Ralph Litt! Police here—we need to talk to you.”
The hangers-on let out a collective gasp and recoiled, looking me up and down. A couple perched on the back of the couch shook their heads at me and whispered to each other, while a woman nearby dissolved into loud, gulping sobs.
Daisy growled. Lies.
I rolled my eyes. “Oh, for sand’s sake.” I flashed my eyes at the group and gestured to Daisy. “Magically lie-sniffing dog here—we know you’re all faking.”
Peter shot me a side-eye look and stepped forward. “I’ll take it from here.”
I glared at his back. Oh, would he? About time.
Peter’s quill and scroll appeared beside his head. “Ralph Litt—we need to speak with you about your wife’s death.”
Tanned to the point of looking like orange old leather, Ralph lifted his head and let his arm drop from his bloodshot eyes. He blinked up at us. “Ask away, Opicer.”
I raised my brows. The guy was toasted—what was in that potion of his? I glanced around the messy hotel suite. And where could I get some?
Peter looked around. “If everyone else could please wait in the next room, we’ll have another officer up here soon to question you.”
Grumbling, the lot of them moved off through a door that I assumed led to an adjoining room. Only one pretty young woman hesitated. She clutched a clipboard to her chest and blinked at Ralph with huge blue eyes filled with concern. “You—you’ll be okay?”
Ralph waved her off. “Yeah, honey, I got this.”
Her throat bobbed, and she parted her lips like she wanted to say something but nodded and followed the others out. Once the door shut behind her, Ralph waved us closer.
“Take a load off.”
I perched on the edge of a white sofa, glad for the heat of the fire. Fall was coming on fast, and the breeze blowing in from the open doors was downright chilly. A pit formed in my stomach.
The cold of winter wouldn’t be too far behind—and as a cursed witch without magic, I wasn’t able to make any of the appliances or utilities run in my apartment, including heating. It made winters downright dangerous. I hugged my arms around myself and sighed.
Oh, well—problem for future Jolene to solve. At least I’d landed this consulting gig—even if it would probably be my last—and the money would help for a bit.
Peter settled down on the couch, about as far away as he could get from me, then introduced us. After he explained about Daisy being a lie-sniffing dog, Ralph, still bleary-eyed and lounging on the rug, looked the German shepherd up and down. He patted Buttercup’s pink side. “He friendly with pigs?”
I leaned forward, elbows on my knees. “It’s a she, actually.”
Ralph blinked at me, his eyes barely focused. “Well la-di-da.”
I shifted my gaze to Peter. We probably wouldn’t even need Daisy or my animal translation skills at this point. The guy was so wasted, he’d probably just blurt out that he’d killed his wife, and we could wrap this up and call it a night. Peter’s hard gaze darted to me, then back to Ralph, and I heaved a sigh. And then Peter and I could go back to not speaking to each other—oh, joy.
Peter cleared his throat. “We need to ask you some questions, if that’s alright.”
Ralph took a swig from his glass, the ice cubes clinking against the side. He lifted it up, the firelight glinting off the clear golden liquid. “Ask away!”
Peter nodded. “Where did you get the vial from—the one you handed your wife on stage before she died?”
Ralph hung his head and shrugged. “She handed it to me herself earlier this evening.”
Peter and I both looked to Daisy, who sat in between us. She whined. True.
“Did you tamper with it at all? Poison it? Add anything to it or spell it?” Peter leaned forward.
Ralph took another big swig, polishing off his drink. He set the glass down on the silk ottoman closest to him and began playing with his wedding ring. “No. No, I did not.”
Daisy wagged her tail. Truth.
I frowned. Not the answer I’d been expecting.
Peter shifted in his seat. “Did anyone else have access to it?”
Ralph shook his head. “No.” He slid his golden wedding band up and down his finger, his gaze far away. “Well�
�” He tipped his head. “I put it in my jacket pocket.” He sighed. “And I toog my jacket off seferal times throughout the evening—left it on a chair, backstage, in the lobby… so, yeah. I guess anyone coulda had a chance to tamper it.”
Unfortunately, Daisy confirmed this as true. Peter pinched the bridge of his nose, and I shared the sentiment. Guess our suspect pool just expanded to literally everyone who’d attended the summit—thousands—not to mention the hotel staff.
Ralph looked up, brows pinched together. “Is that what killed her? The potion in thag vial?”
Peter cleared his throat. “We’re not sure yet, but we’ve sent it to the station for testing.”
Ralph gave a slight nod, then hung his head again.
I plunked my chin in my hand and stared at the firelight for a moment as Peter grabbed his scroll and looked over his notes. The fire glinted off Ralph’s ring as he slid it up and down his finger, over and over again. The movement stood out to me—something was off. I focused on it—aha! I sat up straighter.
The guy was tanned to a crisp—but there was no white band beneath his ring, like I’d have expected. Which either meant he’d taken it off when he cast his tanning spells, or he was up to something.
“Hey, Ralph—nice tan.”
He looked up and gave me a dejected nod.
“Spelled, or…?” I raised my brows.
“Uh…” His brows pinched together for a moment in confusion. “Uh, no.” He shook his head. “We actually recently vacatantioned in the Mediderrean.” He hiccupped, and his gaze lingered on my chest. “Sun and beaches, baby.”
I shifted away from him and curled my lip. I kinda hoped he’d killed his wife—always made it easier when we got to arrest a creep.
Peter looked up from his notes and shot me a questioning look. I flashed my eyes at him—you’ll see where this is going, just give me a minute.
The brief moment of interest faded, and Peter gave a dull nod, then went back to looking over his scroll.