by Erin Johnson
I chewed on the inside of my cheek as I thought it over. Who did she have contact with on the way to the altar? I’d have to check with Peter and see if any witnesses had mentioned something.
I turned back to the bat. Anything else you can tell me?
Hmm. The bat used one hooked finger to scratch his cheek. Oh! She kept a journal!
My heart picked up its pace—now this was a good lead. I squeaked. Any idea where it is?
Follow me! The bat dropped from the helmet and flapped down the hallway, squeaking as it went. He led me back to the bridal suite where Letty’s body had been found and landed, spread eagle, on the back of one of the winged chairs. It’s inside the cushion.
I frowned. Inside it? I bent over and lifted the cushion. The back had a zipper, so I undid it and reached in. Hidden among the stuffing, my fingers closed around a leather notebook about half an inch thick. I pulled it out and grinned at Bart. Thanks, buddy!
I hope it helps. Letty didn’t deserve to die.
He climbed to the top of the chair, then took off out the open window. I turned around and ducked under the police tape that crisscrossed the doorway. I’d padded halfway back to the library when May, the maid, darted toward me.
“Gah!” I pressed a hand to my chest, then relaxed when I realized it was her. “Sorry—you startled me.”
I side-stepped to move past her, but she blocked my way, eyes wide. “Wait.”
I froze as she moved close, her voice a whisper.
“The day of the wedding, a man came to the door and asked to see Mr. Harrington. He met him outside and they had a tense conversation.” She shook her head, her tight curls bouncing. “I didn’t overhear all of it, but it was something about the man demanding more money for something.” Her throat bobbed.
It took me a moment to process all that. “Why are you telling me this? Couldn’t it get you in trouble with your employers?”
Her brows pinched together. “I liked Letty—I was rooting for her, you know? She was one of us.”
I frowned and opened my mouth to ask her how she knew I was from the Darkmoon also, but then I glanced down at my ratty band tee and hole-filled jeans. I clearly wasn’t from the upper tiers of Bijou Mer, so, fair enough.
May nodded. “I want Letty to get justice.”
“Well, thanks. Me, too.” I frowned as she started past me. “Hey, before you go.”
She paused and looked over her shoulder.
“Did Letty stop and talk to anyone on her way from the bridal suite to the altar?”
“Hmm.” May’s gaze grew far away as she turned back to face me. “She hugged Mr. And Mrs. Harrington.”
I raised my brows. “Hugged?”
She smirked. “Well… they did air kisses.”
I grinned—that sounded more their style.
“And on her way down the aisle, poor thing tripped—she said she wasn’t used to wearing heels, and she looked so nervous I thought she might lose her breakfast, except that I knew she hadn’t had any.”
I tipped my head to the side. “What do you mean?”
She shrugged. “I brought breakfast to her door, but she didn’t open it. She said she wasn’t hungry.”
“Then where did the strawberries come from?”
May shook her head. “I don’t know, but I certainly didn’t bring them to her.” She leaned closer. “I don’t know for certain, but I think I saw Rachel Whitmore stick her foot out and trip Letty. Several guests rushed forward and helped her up.”
I nodded. “Thanks.” Wow. Poor Letty—these people were vicious. At least some of them had helped her.
And that meant Chaz’s parents, Rachel, and any of the guests who rushed to help her up would have been close enough to pickpocket the syringe out of her dress. It also might have just rolled out when she fell, but that didn’t explain what happened to the vial she’d stashed in the dresser drawer. Plus, we needed to figure out who this man who’d shown up at the castle demanding money from Mr. Harrington was.
May moved down the hall, and I headed in the opposite direction with Letty’s diary tucked under my arm.
13
P.I.
When I reentered the library, a tense silence hung over the room. The only sounds were the crackling fire and the ticking of the grandfather clock.
I raised my brows. “What’d I miss?”
Peter looked up and jumped to his feet. “Did you get any good information from the bat?”
“Mm-hmm.” I winked at Peter as I passed Mr. Harrington still reading in his chair by the fire.
His wife scoffed and rolled her eyes. “As if a bat is going to hold the key to that girl’s death.”
Her husband lowered his book. “Marcy…” His tone held a warning.
She threw up her perfectly manicured hands. “What?” She looked to Chaz, still splayed on the chaise, and the lawyer, who now paced behind him. “Someone has to say what we’re all thinking. The girl killed herself—she couldn’t handle the pressure of so many scrutinizing eyes on her.”
Wow—what a sympathetic mother-in-law Letty had had. Chaz said nothing in defense of his dead wife, either. My chest burned with annoyance—again, I longed to get justice for Letty.
I crossed the room and stood beside Peter, Daisy on his other side. The dog’s head swiveled from one of the suspects to the next, her brow pinched in confusion. She sniffled. I can’t tell who’s lying. She curled her lip at me and whined. I feel so useless and bewildered—is this how you feel all the time?
I shot her a flat look, unable to retort in front of all these people.
I crossed my arms and stared down at Mrs. Harrington, who lounged on the sofa, looking completely unembarrassed by her insensitive comments about her son’s dead wife. “Actually, I got some pretty wild visions from ol’ Barty.”
She stared me down and kicked her foot, playing with the pump dangling off her toes.
I decided to pretend the bat had given me the information instead of May, the maid, to keep her out of trouble. I raised a couple of fingers to my temple. “I got something about a man showing up here demanding more money from Mr. Harrington? Seems there was some sort of argument?”
All eyes swiveled to the distinguished older gentleman in his chair by the fire.
“Teddy, tell this charlatan that—”
“That’s correct.” Mr. Harrington interrupted his wife, which left her shocked with her mouth hanging open. “I hired a private investigator to look into Letty.”
“Dad!” Chaz bolted up to sitting. “You did what?” He gasped, eyes round with shock, though his gaze darted to me and Peter. I frowned—it was almost as if he was checking to see if we bought his reaction. I doubted this was the first he’d heard of the private investigator.
Mr. Harrington dug around in the inside breast pocket of his tweed jacket, then drew his wand, flicked his wrist, and a white business card appeared in his hand. “Here’s the man’s card.” Peter scooted past me and took it, looking it over.
“I’m familiar with him.” He leaned close to me and whispered, “He’s a real algae ball.”
I bit back a smirk. Still, a private investigator—sounded like kind of a sweet gig. I pulled my lips to the side—I helped Peter investigate crimes, did that make me a PI of sorts?
“What did he find?” Peter held up the card.
Mr. Harrington shrugged. “Nothing.” He looked at me. “It’s why we were arguing.”
I frowned. “I got something about the man demanding more money, though?”
He blinked and cleared his throat. “Yes, well—ahem—he was demanding payment, period. You see, I told him to look harder if he wanted his fee.”
I sighed. That sounded about right—they wanted some dirt on Letty to use to break up her and their son. Still—I wondered if the PI had really failed to discover that Letty was a shifter.
Peter shook the card. “Thank you for this. We’ll be looking into it.”
Mr. Harrington splayed his palms and nodde
d.
14
The Diary
Peter, Daisy, and I made our way down the cobblestone streets of the mountain to a greasy little diner on a lower tier of Bijou Mer. Daisy hopped up on the booth seat beside Peter, and I slid in across from them. A waitress took our orders—coffees for me and Peter, plus a chocolate shake for me, fish and chips for Peter, and a bowl of water and a hot dog, no bun, for Daisy—then moved on to her other tables.
I slid Letty’s leather-bound diary across the dented and worn (though clean) tabletop. Peter flipped through till he found her last entries, then set it open between us, turned sideways so we could both read. Daisy looked down at it, head cocked.
I tapped the top of the page where she’d dated it. “This is from the night before the wedding.”
That crease appeared between Peter’s brows as he read. “She wrote that Joe Santos came to visit her in her room—he climbed up the vine outside the castle window.”
We stared at each other, wide-eyed. “The caterer?” I pursed my lips. “Guy doesn’t give up easily, I’ll give him that.”
Peter looked back down at the tight, messy handwriting, splotches of ink splattering the lines, as if she’d written in a hurry. “She says she didn’t want to let him in, but what could she do. What if they got caught and people got the wrong idea?”
I frowned. “So the feelings weren’t mutual?”
Peter shook his head. “Doesn’t look that way. She let him in, and he made a move on her—told her she was marrying into a family of monsters and confessed that he still wasn’t over her.”
He pointed to the page, and I read out loud. “I know the Harringtons haven’t accepted me yet, but I love Chaz… or will learn to. He’s so good to me. He makes me feel so special and taken care of. I can’t deny some feelings for Joe linger, but I had to tell him it was over between us.”
I looked up at Peter. “Wow. So the night before the wedding, Letty rejects the guy preparing her food.”
Peter’s mouth flattened to a grim line. “And the next day she dies of a food allergy.”
I raised my brows. “Do we know for sure?”
“Oh, snakes, I forgot to tell you.” Peter grimaced. “Sorry, but yeah, Gabriel finished his report, and the official cause of death is an allergic reaction to strawberries.”
I nodded. “We figured as much.”
He looked around the half-empty diner, then leaned close across the table and lowered his voice. “Here’s the weird part though—he didn’t find any trace of strawberries in her stomach or digestive tract.”
I frowned. “So she didn’t actually eat any?”
He leaned back and shrugged. “Either that, or she ate such a tiny amount that it triggered her allergy without showing up in her stomach.”
I nodded. “Mrs. Harrington said she had a strong reaction from eating just a tiny amount at their dinner party. It sounds like she was pretty sensitive.”
Peter nodded, and Daisy, ears flat, let out a heavy sigh. Can you please tell me what’s going on?
I grinned at her and whined. Oh, now you want me around.
Her dark eyes narrowed, and she bared her teeth. That might be taking it too far. I just want to know what you’re talking about.
I winked at her and let out a quiet woof. I’ll fill you in later, in a less public space, Days, but I’m going to need something in return.
She huffed. What?
I whined and woofed quietly so that the diners who sat on stools at the bar beside us wouldn’t hear. Next time you see the Harringtons, I’m going to need you to drool in Mrs. Harrington’s coffee or cough something up on her shoe.
Daisy blinked, then her mouth split into a toothy grin, tongue hanging out sideways. I can do that.
I looked up and found Peter watching the two of us, a confused grin on his face. “What’s all this about?”
I shrugged. “Girl talk.” I pointed at the diary. “What happened next?”
“Oh.” Peter scanned the page. “Apparently, Joe didn’t take it well, and stormed off.” He froze, then looked up at me, expression grim. “On his way out the window, Joe told Letty to watch her back—that she couldn’t be too careful.”
Goose bumps prickled my arms, and I grimaced. “Letty was afraid—that’s why she locked everyone out of her bridal suite while she was getting ready.” I tipped my head to the side. “Well, everyone except for Bart, the bat.”
Peter nodded.
I sighed. “Was Joe warning her about the Harringtons… or threatening her?”
Our waitress sauntered up beside us, arms laden with plates of food. Cups of coffee and Daisy’s water hovered magically beside her.
Peter scooped up the diary to make room on the table for the waitress to dole out our dishes. “I’ll keep reading later—see if we find anything else.”
I nodded and took a sip from the striped straw of my milkshake. Yum. I closed my eyes for a moment, savoring the icy-cold rich chocolate. Just the pick-me-up I’d needed, especially combined with the earthy, hot coffee.
Peter grinned a little, watching me. I’d missed that grin.
I swallowed. “I think we need to go have a word with Joe after this though.”
His grin fell, and he nodded grimly. “Definitely.”
15
Strawberries
After we finished at the diner, I led Daisy and Peter to my neighborhood in the Darkmoon Night Market district. I knew Joe’s parents’ restaurant and had eaten there a handful of times.
A bell tinkled as I pushed the door open to the tiny space. A few dark-haired men and women, who looked like they were probably family members, sat at a few of the tables, ledgers in front of them. One woman rocked a crying baby. I nodded my hellos, but they all just stared as Peter and Daisy entered behind me.
Though the place was tiny and dingy, the rich, meaty aromas smelled delicious. Despite having just eaten, my mouth watered, and I itched to get a few servings of that pork adobo behind the glass of the front counter. Probably best not to eat from a place that might have poisoned our victim. I swallowed and eyed the stew, oil bubbles coating the surface. It looked so good, though.
Joe’s parents stood behind the counter, his dad holding the ladle, ready to dish up food, his mom behind the till. They sighed as they recognized us, then turned in unison toward the swinging doors that no doubt led to the kitchen and cried, “Joe!”
Peter and I exchanged looks, and a moment later Joe strutted out, wiping his hands on his apron. “What?”
His mom pointed at us, and he rolled his eyes when he took us in. “Whatever it is, can we go do this outside?” He raised his dark brows. “Cops are bad for business.”
A few moments later, we all crowded together in the tiny alleyway out back. A twisted metal fire escape dangled overhead, rattling slightly in the strong winds, and rats scurried in the debris. I crinkled my nose—unlike the delectable smells inside the restaurant, out back it reeked of trash and old fish.
Joe folded his arms. “What’s this about?”
Peter held up Letty’s diary. “You tell us. Seems you tried to win Letty back, she rejected you, and then you threatened her.”
I scooted closer to Peter as rain fell around us—he sheltered us both, plus Daisy, with a bubble spell.
Joe shook his head and sighed. “This is total detritus, man. I didn’t threaten Letty, I was warning her.” He jabbed a finger at us. “I should’ve been more specific, that I was worried that bottom feeder Chaz or his family would hurt her, but at the time, I was just angry that she couldn’t see that for herself.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Why would you think that the Harringtons would harm her?”
He took a sharp breath, then blew it out in a huff. His brows pinched together and he looked genuinely pained. “The night before the wedding, I found this outside the restaurant door.” He drew his wand, and in a flash, a small basket of fresh strawberries and a note hovered in front of Peter and me.
Joe paced as Peter and I ex
changed wide-eyed looks. The strawberries smelled fragrant, though they were small and still on the vine, as though they’d been picked wild. Peter snatched the note out of the air and unfolded the parchment. I leaned close to read over his shoulder.
Take her out. You know what to do.
Joe kicked a crate out of the way, and it banged loudly into a metal trash can. He paced back toward us. “And there was a sack of merkles beside it.”
Peter’s eyes blazed. “Is this your confession?”
Joe scoffed. “What? No, man, I didn’t go through with it.”
Rain pattered against our magically protective bubble, coming in sideways. I frowned. “Well, Joe, she died of a strawberry allergy, and you were jealous and rejected, so…” I flashed my eyes at him. “Letty even thought you were threatening her.”
He stalked closer, the rain flattening his dark hair to his head, eyes wild. “I still loved Letty. I wouldn’t have done that to her.” His nostrils flared. “And I didn’t put anything in the food.” He jabbed a finger at Peter. “Your tests will prove that.”
Peter grew grim. “We’ll see about that.”
I let out a heavy sigh. As much as everything pointed to Joe, I had a hard time seeing him killing Letty. He could’ve just done it that night he snuck into her room if he was going to—why wait till she was actually married to Chaz and then kill her? I bit my lip. “Any idea who gave you the note?”
He slumped down to sit on a crate by the restaurant’s door and scoffed. “I have some guesses. Top of the list is that witch, Rachel Whitmore.”
I frowned. “Why her?” I’d assumed he was going to name Chaz.
He flashed his eyes at us. “Well, for one, after Letty ran from the altar, Chaz glared at Rachel and yelled ‘Look what you did!’”
Peter glared at Joe. “Why is this the first we’re hearing of all this?”