by Erin Johnson
Peter nodded. “And the blow gun was wiped clean of fingerprints, so nothing there.” He heaved a sigh.
I frowned. “So that means Rebecca Rutherford isn’t guilty of murdering her stepmother?”
Peter shook his head. “She’ll still be charged for assaulting her, but someone else killed Malorie Rutherford after Rebecca pushed her into the phoenix’s cage.”
I bit my lip and eyed the brewing pot of coffee hungrily, willing my brain to function without its fuel. “Could there have been a fight between Malorie and that mystery woman in the cage?”
Peter nodded, his gaze far away. “We’re really not sure yet, but it’s one possibility. As expected, the mystery woman died of the talon slash to the chest.” He frowned. “Gabriel’s not completely sure, but he said based on the angle, it appears it might have been self-inflicted.”
I shook my head, none of it making sense. “The talon that Malorie was wearing that night as a necklace? The other woman might have used it to kill herself.”
Peter nodded. “It makes no sense.” He sighed. “I’d like to visit WWAAC headquarters and see if this Zane Perez fellow or anyone there might recognize her. It’d sort of make sense if she was a member of the animal rights group and had snuck into the cage to try and free the phoenix. Besides, we can question Zane about what he learned when he infiltrated the sanctuary undercover.” He bit his lip. “Maybe Rebecca Rutherford pushed Malorie into the cage and fled before she realized there was already someone else there, the mystery woman, who was trying to rescue the bird based on Zane Perez’s intel. Maybe Malorie was injured, but not too badly, and tried to stop her from stealing the phoenix. The two got into a fight and it ended with both of them dead. Unless the woman killed herself, in which case, I have nothing.
I shrugged. “If the mystery woman and WWAAC were trying to liberate the phoenix, it looks like they were successful. We still have no idea where the phoenix is, right? And shouldn’t someone have seen a giant fireball when it combusted?”
Peter pressed his lips together and shook his head. “Unless they had a special enclosure to contain it, like the one at the sanctuary.”
I leaned my head against his shoulder. “Speaking of which, I talked with Will and Heidi last night. I’d like to go back to the sanctuary and try speaking to those lemurs again… and any other animals that might have witnessed something.”
Peter slid his arm around my shoulders. “Good idea. Oh—also, Russo discovered that that appointment in Malorie’s calendar for today was with a lawyer. The gal says Malorie wanted to draw up divorce papers and change her will.”
I leaned away from Peter and raised my brows at him. “Hmm… seems like their marriage was in more trouble than Quincy made it sound like.” This case was a mess, but at least we had some good leads.
Jacques turned around and slowly slid two white to-go cups across the marble counter to us. Thank the sea goddess for coffee—I needed my brain working for this one.
20
Monkey
Quincy, eyes rimmed in red behind his thick glasses, met us himself and let us back into the glass-enclosed part of the sanctuary. It’d been bright and loud and filled with hundreds of guests the other night, but now it just seemed dark, quiet, and eerie. Especially as we passed the collection of enormous carnivorous plants near the entrance. I guessed this was Quincy’s contribution to the sanctuary, as he’d once been the gardener.
I noticed the round mirrors suspended high up that allowed one to see around the corners of the path were now covered in black mourning cloths—just like the mirrors at Rebecca’s place had been in honor of her deceased mother. I hugged close to Peter, glad for his company.
Daisy wandered to the edge of the wooden rope bridge that meandered through the enclosures, suspended about six feet about the ground. She leaned forward, paws at the edge, and sniffed the humid air. Lush tropical trees and ferns crowded around us, while odd animal hoots sounded from somewhere in the dense foliage.
Quincy fingered a leaf. “I was about to have a meeting with a sanctuary employee, so I’m sorry, Officers, but I’ll be needing to leave shortly.” He raised his thin brows. “I understand Rebecca was arrested for—” He sniffled, and his weak chin quivered. “—for Malorie’s murder.” His voice cracked on the last word, and I looked to Daisy, who watched him with her head cocked.
Her verdict seemed to be out on how authentic this display of grief was.
Peter nodded. “It’s true that she’s been arrested, but her charges have been dropped to assault. We believe Malorie’s killer is still at large.”
Quincy’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped. “What are you saying?”
I rolled a shoulder, already itching to ditch my jacket in the warm, wet space. “It means you’re still a suspect.”
His breath hitched.
Peter’s brow creased. “We know about Malorie seeking a divorce.”
“What— I—” His hands fluttered as he patted at the pockets of his beige trousers. He pulled out a handful of pencils, a folded envelope, and even a few leaves. He frowned and shoved them back in his pockets, then fished a kerchief out of the pocket of his white button-up shirt.
He dabbed at his moist forehead, then glanced around and plunked down on the wooden bench that faced a plaque that announced this swath of jungle as the koala enclosure. He shook his head, eyes on his loafers. “It was a recent decision—I was hoping she wasn’t really going to go through with it, but I guess part of me knew she was serious.” Daisy, still watching him intently, wagged her tail. True.
He looked up at Peter. “Wait—how do you know about it?”
Peter cleared his voice, tone gentle. “Your wife was changing her will and already had an appointment with a lawyer to draw up divorce papers.”
Quincy stared at him for a moment, then his gaze grew far away. “Wow.” He let out a whimper. “She was moving fast.”
I frowned. “You didn’t know?”
“That she already had an appointment?” He blinked at me. “No.”
Daisy whined. Truth.
I shrugged my jacket off and hung it over one arm. My underarms were wet, and my shirt stuck to my lower back, and annoyance got the best of what little tact I usually had. “I’m gonna ask you again—did you shoot Malorie with the blow gun and kill her to keep her from leaving you and taking all her wealth with her?”
Peter shot me a surprised look but turned quickly back to watch Quincy’s reaction.
His cheeks flushed bright pink and he opened and closed his mouth several times as if gasping for air. He looked, wide-eyed, at Daisy, then his throat bobbed and he looked at me. “I—I’ll have you know I’ve never fired that net-tangled blow gun.” He huffed. “Frankly—frankly, I wouldn’t even know how to use it.”
Daisy whined. True.
I frowned. Not what I’d been expecting. The man had a good motive—his wealthy wife was about to leave him penniless. Even if he hadn’t known she was definitely making moves to initiate divorce, he knew she was considering it.
Quincy lifted his face. “And besides, I have witnesses that place me out in public the whole night!” He shook a finger at Peter. “I—I didn’t even have time for a bathroom break, I’ll have you know.” He shook his head. “I never even went into the sanctuary all night until after we pulled back the curtains and found Malorie sprawled on the ground like that.” His voice broke again, and he covered his mouth with a trembling hand.
I raised a brow as Daisy whined. True.
I shook my head at Peter, and he moved away from Quincy to stand close to me.
I shrugged. “Dead end, I guess.” I fought a grin. “No pun intended.”
Peter’s lips twitched, and his eyes danced. “So inappropriate.”
I had to put a hand over my mouth to hide my smirk. Yeah, flirting at a crime scene was probably not the most professional… but it was fun.
A middle-aged man in servants’ livery approached, the wooden plank pathway swaying under his f
eet. He approached Quincy, bent down, and murmured something in his ear, then bowed. Quincy stood. “If you’ll please excuse me, I have that appointment I mentioned earlier.”
Peter and I exchanged glances, and I shrugged. I couldn’t think of any other questions for him at the moment. Peter nodded, then addressed Quincy. “We’re done with you for now, but I’d like a few words with your employee here?”
Quincy paled but nodded, then hurried off, leaving the servant behind. I watched him go for a moment, wondering what this meeting was about.
Peter’s scroll and quill magically appeared beside his head. “What’s your name, sir, and how long have you worked for the Rutherfords?”
I rose up on tiptoe and whispered in his ear. “I’m going to snoop around a bit—interrogate some lemurs. Cool?”
He grinned at me and nodded, then turned back to the servant, who stood wringing his hands. I left them and Daisy behind on the platform and wandered among the dense plants, soon feeling like I was alone in the jungle.
I knew magical barriers kept the animals inside their enclosures, but as I passed plaques with “lion, saber-clawed jungle wolf, and spider monster” on them, I shuddered, wishing there was a more visible fence between me and them. I definitely didn’t want to talk to these guys.
I passed by the lemur enclosure—they’d been no help—and finally, I found the plaque marked “monkeys” and stopped in the middle of a rope bridge. The phoenix’s cage was directly behind me. I looked around, and finding myself alone, cleared my throat and let out some loud hoots and shrieks. Hey, monkeys! Anyone want to chat?
I waited a few moments. The hair on the back of my neck pricked at the sound of rustling branches. I held still, listening to the crickets, distant hoots, and rustling leaves. Was it getting closer?
“Gah!” I jumped back, clutching at my pounding heart as a light brown monkey flew onto the branch right in front of me, its narrow, pale eyes boring into me.
The branches bobbed and swayed with its weight, its long tail curled up and over its head. I blew out a heavy breath, then stepped forward and gripped the rope railing.
I let out some shrieks. Did you see two women come through here last night? I raised my brows. Maybe they looked like they were arguing or fighting?
It cocked its head, blinked, then scratched one of its pointed ears. It bared its teeth and shrieked at me. One woman. Going to there. It pointed to my right in the direction of the phoenix’s cage, toward the entrance to the second-story viewing platform. Dead.
I frowned and edged closer. Do you mean you only saw one woman? Or you saw one woman die?
The monkey’s eyes grew wide. You talks?
I bit my lip, frustration tightening my jaw. What was up with this? The lemurs and now the monkey? Did none of the animals in here talk to each other? Maybe Zane Perez had been right and there was some sort of mistreatment happening that was damaging their ability to speak? Or could my powers be misfiring? I frowned—I was having no trouble speaking with Daisy, though I wouldn’t mind some of her snark going over my head.
Angry voices startled me from my thoughts. The monkey spun around to look behind it, then sprang from the branch and disappeared into the vine-covered trees. I held still, listening. It sounded a little far off, but two men were arguing—and the voices sounded familiar. Unfortunately, they appeared to be coming from among the trees.
21
The Jungle
I crossed my arms and tapped my fingers on my elbow. If I had magic, I could just use a spell to amplify the sound of the voices, but I was unfortunately cursed. Wah wah. Magic kept the animals enclosed, but would it keep people out? Only one way to find out.
I tied my jacket around my waist, crouched down, and lowered myself over the edge of the bridge so that I hung from the planks, my toes dangling over the soft, dark earth below. The rope bridge swung gently, and I let go, dropping onto the ground with a soft thud. I took a deep breath and headed toward the trees.
The other night at the party, Quincy had needed to spell the magical barrier to allow him in. But the phoenix had been about to combust, with hundreds of guests milling just outside the cage. No doubt keeping people out was a greater security concern then.
I was sure it took a ton of magic to keep these force fields running day and night. They probably only had enough power to enchant the animals to stay in. With guided tours, people would be supervised. Plus, nobody would be dumb enough to try and get to the animals. I grinned as I dipped under a low branch. Nobody except this girl. Wait….
I closed my eyes and stretched my arms out as I approached the slightly shimmering magical force field. I was about to get quite a jolt if I was wrong. I winced and stepped forward.
Cool, tingly magic brushed my fingers, but they passed through. I peeled my eyes open, grinning, and stepped through with the rest of my body. I followed the sound of the voices, climbing over twisted roots and pushing aside leaves the size of my torso.
I silently whispered a prayer that I wouldn’t inadvertently cross over into the spider monster’s enclosure—whatever that was. I froze as Mark and Quincy came into view, then ducked quickly behind a thick tree with smooth bark before they could see me. I crouched down and eased back out, peeking through the feathery stalks of a fern.
Quincy’s chest heaved, and a deep red flush covered his face and neck. His voice shook as he scowled at Mark. “I’ve been going through the records.” He raised his thin brows. “Malorie always took care of everything, but now that I’m looking into it, I see she let you have too much freedom.”
Mark stood in front of Quincy but didn’t face him. He held one arm across his chest, the other at shoulder height, a smoking cigarette between his fingers. “What are you talking about?” He took a puff of the cigarette, his glasses slightly fogged from the humidity.
Quincy bristled and pointed a trembling finger at him. “Now—now I know you’ve been stealing potions. The numbers aren’t adding up.”
I raised my brows. Come again now? The veterinarian was stealing from the sanctuary? I remembered how surprised Quincy had been when we opened the chilled cupboard in the sanctuary’s office the other night and found so many potions missing. He must’ve looked into it and thought Mark was behind it.
I glanced back, suddenly wishing I hadn’t been so eager and gone to get Peter and Daisy. Was I about to witness another murder… and was I next?
Mark scoffed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Quincy.” He looked him dead in the eye and spoke in a tone that said he clearly did know. “I believe you’re mistaken.”
Quincy stomped a loafer-clad foot. “I’m not mistaken!” He huffed. “I’m tired of everyone around here treating me like a simpleton and keeping secrets.”
Mark snorted. “Are you? You want to stop keeping secrets?” He tapped his cigarette. “Trust me, I know more than you have any idea of. You want me to keep my mouth shut about your little collections of ‘animals’ here, then you’ll just overlook those discrepancies, got it?”
I shifted in my crouch. What did he mean, keep his mouth shut about the animals?
Quincy’s face grew redder and splotchy. “What the shell’s that supposed to mean? Huh?” He shook his head, jowls bouncing. “I—I could have your license revoked.”
Mark barked out a laugh and sneered at him. “Oh, Quincy, it already was. Why do you think I’m working in this eel hole? I lost my license for being addicted to potions, and I’ve been doing my job just fine on them around here, so you keep looking the other way, and I will too.”
Quincy spluttered as Mark dropped his cigarette and ground it out with his toe. He patted Quincy on the shoulder as he walked off into the trees. “There is no one else you could get to do this job without asking a lot of questions.”
He disappeared into the jungle, and after a few moments, Quincy stalked after him.
I slowly rose to my feet and bit the inside of my cheek. What the shell? What could Mark mean? Were the animals being i
llegally trafficked? Was that what Malorie was hiding from Quincy?
I was lost in my thoughts when a hand closed around my shoulder from behind.
22
Sloth
I let out a strangled cry and spun around, my hands raised like I was ready to karate chop my attacker.
Instead of a cold-blooded murderer, I found a tiny face with a smile and a little wet nose inches from my own. Two round black eyes lazily blinked at me.
I lurched back, my heart pounding in my throat, and attempted to suck in a breath as I took in the sloth, hanging upside down by both legs and one arm from a branch. It slowly retracted its shaggy arm and wrapped the fingers that had just been on my shoulder around the branch as well.
I glanced back over my shoulder—had Quincy or Mark heard me when I cried out? Those two were definitely up to something, and I didn’t fancy confronting them in the thick of the jungle, all alone. I curled my lip, wishing again that I’d gone and grabbed Peter and Daisy before exploring the enclosure. I sighed—then again, I might have missed that fishy conversation I’d overheard.
One hand pressed to my tight chest, I blew out a heavy breath and slowly approached the frankly pretty adorable animal. I crossed my arms as it rotated its head and looked at me upside down.
I let out a couple of squeaks. Hey, little fella. You scared me.
It squeaked. You.
I nodded, encouragingly.
It squeaked again. Speak.
I licked my lips.
Sloth.
Oh, boy. So it didn’t just move slowly, apparently.
I nodded and let out a couple of quiet “meeps.” I do indeed. I had a sudden thought. Hey—did you see two women come through here last night? Or anyone who seemed suspicious, for that matter?
The sloth’s round, shiny black eyes grew wider. It reached for me again and let out some painfully slow squeaks and chirps. We’re... trapped… in… here…