by Erin Johnson
I scratched the back of my neck and quietly woofed. I’ll ask Peter to put a muffling spell around the living room so it’s quieter for you, okay? And let’s never speak of this again.
She sniffed and gave me a look, her ears slightly flattened, then stalked forward across the black volcanic rock to join Peter and the vet near Malorie Rutherford’s body beside the pool. I stuffed my hands into the pockets of my black slacks and followed, fighting a grin. I’d successfully made a dog feel awkward, so if nothing else, it was a good night for me.
5
The Murder Weapon
A few more cops entered behind me and gathered around Malorie’s body. Daisy circled around her, her black nose twitching as she tested the air. Peter’s quill and scroll for note taking magically appeared and hovered just over his shoulder. The quill scratched at the parchment as the vet spoke.
“—and then I rushed in and found them like this.”
Peter nodded. “Did you touch or move the bodies at all?”
Mark rolled his eyes, a cigarette still hanging from his lips just below his mustache. I frowned—was smoking permitted in here? Much of the sanctuary appeared to be enclosed in the huge atrium-like building. Judging by the warm, humid air inside the cage, it seemed carefully climate controlled. While I was no expert, I’d guess the exotic animals and foliage were pretty sensitive.
“Course I touched them! I wasn’t sure they were dead till I took their pulses—and didn’t find any.” The vet held up his hands and waggled his fingers—the tips were tinged red with what I guessed was the victims’ blood.
I crinkled my nose and looked away. When I’d worked as a lawyer, I’d dealt with death but hadn’t gotten up close and personal with bodies until I’d started the consulting gig with Peter and the police. And I still wasn’t used to it. I crossed my arms and watched Daisy sniff the bodies with a mix of awe and disgust—guess eating all that grass and rocks gave her an iron stomach.
One of the cops crouched beside Malorie’s body removed the feathered dart from the back of her neck and held it up to Peter. “Vic appears to have been killed with this.”
Peter eyed it, then turned to Mark. “Does that look familiar to you?”
The vet shrugged, his white lab coat bunching around his neck. “Sure. We keep some darts in the office just in case any of the animals get out of hand. Most contain tranquilizing potions, but I’m guessing that one’s of a little more deadly variety.” He took a drag of his cigarette.
That little thinking line appeared between Peter’s brows, and he turned back to his colleague. “Bag it up. We’ll send it to the lab.”
The cop nodded, then pointed a gloved hand at Malorie’s blond hair, matted to her head. “She also has a head wound.”
I looked away, my stomach turning.
“It’s bloody, but it’s not always easy at first glance to see how serious a head injury is.”
I pressed a hand to my unsettled stomach. I was half tempted to look, but didn’t want all those shrimp cocktails I’d nabbed to come back up again.
Peter blew out a breath. “We’ll have Gabriel take a look.”
The cops beside Malorie’s body nodded and rose, then withdrew their wands. I snuck glances until they’d spelled her body into a bag and I felt like it was safe to turn around. They’d take her to the station, and Gabriel, the coroner, would weigh in on how she’d been killed.
Peter turned to the vet, who blew out a puff of smoke. “What happened after you checked for vital signs?”
The guy shrugged. “I told Quincy that his wife and that other lady were dead. He said something about looking for the missing phoenix and took off.” Mark gestured with his cigarette toward the back door to the enclosure, which still stood ajar.
“Quincy?”
Mark raised his brows. “Quincy Rutherford.” He jerked his chin at the body bag being escorted through the back door by the two cops. “Malorie’s husband, and my boss, technically.”
Technically? Was there trouble in sanctuary?
Peter licked his lips. “And where’s Quincy now?”
Mark scoffed. “Shell if I know.”
Peter’s frown deepened and he turned toward the officers gathered around the other woman’s body. I caught a glimpse of a long red gash running from her shoulder across her chest, right over her heart. Ick. One of the cops used a gloved hand to lift a black horn, or claw, attached to a long, delicate gold chain. Blood stained the razor-sharp tip.
“What is that?” Peter’s voice held a note of disbelief.
“Uh… a claw?” The cop sounded confused.
“It’s a talon.” Mark tossed his cigarette butt onto the volcanic rock and ground it out with his foot. “A phoenix talon, to be precise.”
Peter let out a heavy sigh. “Why is it on a gold chain?”
Mark let out a humorless laugh. “Because Malorie had it strung up that way. We had to remove it some years ago because of an injury the bird sustained. She was wearing it as a necklace this evening.”
I frowned. “Did she wear all the animals’ toenails as jewelry?”
The vet smirked. “Nah. A phoenix talon is rare. It’s rumored to be the only thing that’ll actually kill a phoenix.” He glanced toward the dead woman. “Though it’s clearly sharp enough to kill just about anything.”
I risked a glance at the body again and caught sight of gray hair, leather fringe, and reddish-brown blood and looked hastily away. So Malorie Rutherford had suffered a head wound and what was likely a poison dart attack, while this other woman, who looked like she was headed to a ’70s-themed party, had been killed with Malorie’s necklace? What in the shell had happened in here behind that red velvet curtain?
Peter pointed at the other dead woman. “Do you know her?”
Mark scoffed. “Never seen that lady in my life.”
Daisy looked up from sniffing a palm with leaves the size of my torso and wagged her tail. True.
“Officer Flint!”
We all turned toward the breathless officer who hung on the doorframe and peeked his head in through the back entrance. I recognized Russo, a rookie cop I’d worked with before. He gulped and pushed his square glasses up his nose. “You—you’re gonna want to see this. I think we, uh, I think we found the murder weapon.”
6
Lemurs!
Peter, Daisy, and I left the other officers to bag up the hippie lady’s body and followed Russo out the back of the enclosure. Russo hunched his shoulders and tried to shrink his enormous frame as he loped ahead of us. I gawked as I took in the sanctuary. Dark, lush foliage made me almost forget we were indoors as we stepped along the suspended wooden walkway.
The planks creaked and slightly swayed, like a rope bridge that led us through various enclosures. Since the animals were only caged by magic, it was easy to feel totally immersed, as though we’d suddenly stepped into a dense jungle. Plaques here and there announced various animal enclosures and exotic plants. I brushed some tendrils of hair back that had matted to my forehead. The air hung heavy and humid around us, filled with strange animal hoots and howls and insect chirps.
“Is this place open to the public?”
Russo glanced back over his shoulder and pushed his square glasses up his nose. “They do tours a few times a night, from what I understand.” He stopped and turned around to face us, gesturing at the ground. “Take a gander.”
Peter, Daisy, and I gathered around the wooden pipe on the ground. Peter crouched down beside it and poked at it with the tip of his wand. I bent forward, then winced. “Ooh. Blow dart gun?”
Peter glanced up, and Russo nodded. His own scroll magically appeared in front of him and he scanned his scribbled notes.
“Quincy Rutherford says they kept it in the sanctuary’s office.”
I raised my brows. “You found Quincy?”
Russo’s eyes widened. “Was he missing?”
I glanced between him and Peter as Daisy gingerly sniffed at our possible murder weapon. Well, one of the weapo
ns. Pretty sure the slash across the other woman’s chest and the bloody talon next to her were a dead giveaway—no pun intended.
Peter tipped his head side to side. “Quincy Rutherford was first on the scene, then Mark, the vet, rushed in through the back door. After Mark verified that Malorie, his wife, was dead, Quincy apparently took off to look for the phoenix.” He frowned down at the blow dart gun, then rose to his feet. “Where’d you find Quincy Rutherford?”
Russo quirked his lips to the side. “Uh—right about here, actually. He was standing like this, staring down at the blow dart gun.”
Peter shifted on his feet, arms crossed over his broad chest. “How did he seem?”
I grinned—I loved when Peter went into cop mode and looked all serious. Normally he was such a sweet, mild-mannered guy that seeing his tough side was both kind of sexy and also a little amusing. He caught me staring and shot me a quizzical look. I winked at him, then bit back my goofy grin.
“Uh.” Russo dipped his chin and scratched the back of his neck. “I’d say he was distraught.” He nodded at Peter. “His eyes were big, and he looked upset. He was shaking.”
I shrugged. “I mean, Mark did find the dart in the back of his wife’s neck. Quincy probably put two and two together and was horrified to find his wife’s murder weapon.” I flipped a palm. “Or, you know, he was the one who used it.”
We all looked down at the wooden blow dart gun.
Peter nodded. “Can you bag this up? Take it to the lab and have it checked for fingerprints and any saliva on the blowing end….” Peter tilted his head to the side as he looked at the weapon. “Whichever end that is.”
Russo grinned. “Sure thing, Flint.”
Peter looked up and down the curving corridor. The suspended walkway was nearly enveloped by tropical plants. “And where’s Quincy Rutherford now?”
Russo pointed left. “Jones is with him.”
“Thanks!” I gave Russo a little wave, and Peter, the dog, and I headed in the direction he’d indicated. The wooden boards thunked and swayed under our feet.
“How did Quincy seem when he discovered his wife’s body?”
I glanced up at Peter and shrugged. “Panicked. He started calling for help and— Gah!”
I grabbed Peter’s arm, and we both lurched away as two fast-moving blurs lunged at us. We slammed into the rope that served as a railing, and Peter drew his wand as Daisy, hackles raised, barked at the intruders.
Stay back! I’ll bite you! Hard!
Two pairs of eerie orange-gold eyes stared back at us from among the leaves. I clutched my chest as I realized it was just a couple of lemurs that had leapt from their hiding places to land right next to our heads. My heart pounded in my chest and Peter and I exchanged wide-eyed looks.
Daisy continued to growl, her teeth bared and ears pricked. Back, I say! I’ll chomp you!
I let out a woof. Stand down, Days, stand down.
She turned long enough to shoot me a simpering look, then returned to growling at the lemurs. What are these things? Raccoons? Monkeys?
I quietly barked. Lemurs.
The German shepherd’s brow furrowed. What does that mean?
I grinned and stepped closer with Peter at my side. “Hey, little guys.” I turned to my beau. “Guess these are our first animal witnesses. Maybe they saw what Quincy was up to.”
“Or maybe they saw the murders take place.” Peter nodded slightly, eyes fixed on our unblinking friends and their piercing black pupils.
I curled my lip. I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen a lemur up close before. They hovered, just a couple feet away, with only an invisible force field between us. The magic shimmered, iridescent, for a moment, reminding me there was some protection there.
I shuddered as the lemurs’ piercing gazes bored into me. While kinda cute, they also scored very high on the creep factor. I cleared my throat and willed myself to inch a little closer.
I opened my mouth and a grating, high-pitched screech came out. Hey, guys—
I stopped short and exchanged wide-eyed looks with Peter.
Even Daisy curled her lip and huffed. Didn’t know you could make that noise.
I swallowed and frowned. Me neither.
I tried again with the screeching. Hey, guys. I wanted to ask you a few questions, if that’s okay? I got no response—not even a blink—so I kept going. Did you see anyone pass by here earlier this evening? Maybe a man in an alligator print tuxedo or two women or someone wielding a blow dart gun? I licked my lips. Kinda looks like a wooden stick?
I raised my brows, hopeful, as the two looked at each other.
The bigger one cocked its head and raised its fluffy black-and-white ringed tail. It chirped. You… talk?
I frowned and howled back, startled at the noises coming out of my own mouth. I know—pretty crazy, but yeah, I speak lemur. I shot Peter a look. More like I howled and screeched lemur. I cleared my throat and started again. Can you tell me if you saw anyone pass through here tonight?
The lemur’s round eyes narrowed, and it leaned forward, pressing its black, leathery palms against the magical barrier. It let out a low howl. Want… help…
I leaned closer. Did it want to help? Or was it in need of help itself? I opened my mouth to ask, but both lemurs jerked their heads up and looked to my left. The sound of quiet sobbing reached us from up ahead, and as one, the lemurs jumped away and scampered deeper into the lush foliage until they disappeared.
I watched after them, the branch they’d been perched on bobbing, and pressed one hand against the cool, tingly barrier.
Peter rubbed the small of my back and made me jump. He shot me an apologetic look. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”
I gave him a quick smile, then looked back after the lemurs, hoping they’d decide to come back.
“What’d they say?”
“I—” I heaved a sigh. Something about the interaction had seemed really… off. “I don’t know, it was strange. I couldn’t tell if they were having trouble understanding me, or maybe having trouble speaking?” I frowned and shook my head. That didn’t make sense.
Daisy barked and startled me. What’s the matter? They couldn’t understand your accent?
I shot her a flat look, then turned to Peter. “Daisy says she wants to be put on a diet?” I shrugged. “She wants less treats.”
The dog charged forward and edged between Peter and me, growling. Lies! What are you saying to him? Peter, she’s lying.
My boyfriend shot me a grin. “Now, why do I have a hard time believing that?”
I smirked, then glanced back at the branch the lemurs had crouched on. “I don’t know though, maybe she’s right. I’ve never spoken lemur before, so maybe my dialect was a little off.” I groaned and thunked my head against Peter’s chest. “I hope those potions Ludolf’s been testing on me aren’t stealing what few powers I have left.”
Peter stiffened, then wrapped his arms around me and pulled me closer. Daisy stayed between our legs and let herself be right in the middle of it. “I hate that he’s doing that, and we’re going to put a stop to it.”
I nodded. I felt less confident of that but enjoyed being comforted.
“Plus, Daisy’s understanding you just fine, right?”
I nodded. “True.”
Peter gave me another hug, then held me out and squeezed my shoulders, his eyes intent on mine. “Maybe the lemurs witnessed the murders and are in shock.” He raised his brows, and I nodded.
“Maybe.” I curled my lip, thinking back to their creepy round eyes. “They certainly looked surprised.”
Peter grinned. “We’ll try again with them later, okay?”
I sighed and squared my shoulders. I squeezed Peter’s hand, then turned. “Sounds good. Apologies for the minor pity party. Now, let’s go see who’s sobbing.”
Peter’s grin deepened. “I’ll throw you a party, pity or otherwise, whenever you want one.”
“With balloons?” I cocked a brow.
&nb
sp; He nodded. “Whatever you want—pony rides, clowns—”
I shook my head. “Never clowns.”
“Got it.” He took my hand, and we headed toward the sound of the gulps and cries. “Never clowns. Face painter?”
I nodded. “Sure.”
Hand in hand, we walked through the jungle path with Daisy leading the way. As soon as we rounded the bend, Quincy in his green alligator suit came into view, hunched over and sobbing on a bench with his head in his hands. A uniformed cop stood beside him.
Daisy’s hackles rose, and she growled. The crying is somewhat insincere.
I pulled my lips to the side and glanced up at Peter. Looked like we were about to break up Quincy’s pity party.
7
Quincy
Officer Jones stood behind our sobbing suspect, arms folded, one hip out. I didn’t need Daisy to tell me Quincy’s cries were false. He gulped and spluttered, dabbing at his eyes with a kerchief. Over the top much? The cop’s eyes slid our way, and she sighed, shoulders slumping no doubt with relief. How long had she had to witness his melodramatic display of grief?
She stepped toward us. “He’s been like this since Russo and I found him”—she glanced over her shoulder, mouth in a tight line—“standing next to the blow dart gun.”
I raised a brow. Surely he wouldn’t be dumb enough to drop the weapon he used to murder his wife and then just stand there? I eyed his alligator print tux. Then again, the man clearly had questionable taste. Maybe he wasn’t the brightest spell in the book.
Peter nodded. “Thanks. We’ll take it from here.”
Jones nodded and moved off the way we’d come. We tromped along the swaying rope bridge path until we landed on a broad wooden platform with a hole in the bottom for a tree wrapped in vines to grow through. We stopped in front of Quincy, who sat on a wooden bench with an iron dedication plaque on the backrest.
Daisy growled, and he jerked his blotchy red face up. He came face-to-face with her pointy white teeth and lurched back, clutching his kerchief to his chest. He blinked his small eyes up at us through his glasses, one knee hiked up as if to block the dog’s attack. “Wh-what is this?”