Pet Psychic Mysteries Boxset Books 5-8 (Magic Market Mysteries Book 2)

by Erin Johnson

  She smirked and nodded. She leaned forward and pointed. “See here?”

  Peter turned the photo so we could all see. She tapped the glossy print near the top, behind the crowd of smiling men and women in their finest.

  “You have to look really closely, but check it out. That’s Richard Rutherford’s hand sticking out of a carnivorous plant.”

  Peter and I exchanged wide-eyed looks, then scooted closer to the photo. Sure enough, among the lush foliage of the sanctuary was a plant taller than a man that looked a lot like a Venus flytrap. A limp hand hung out of it with a gaudy ruby ring on one finger.

  Peter looked intensely at Libbie. “You’re sure that’s Richard Rutherford’s hand?”

  She shrugged. “It’s his ring. I was cleaning up the office and found all these boxes of old photos. I figured I’d make a photo slide for the Night of the Phoenix event—kind of a look back at the last one. He’s featured in lots of other photos from that night wearing that ring—I remember it stood out to me because it was so over the top.”

  I raised a brow. “And you showed this to Malorie?”

  Libbie looked down at Cassie, who sniffed her cheek. She glanced back up at us. “I’m not proud of it, okay, but yeah, I showed it to Malorie. I figured it was proof that she killed her ex.”

  I smirked. “So you mean you blackmailed her?”

  Libbie rolled her eyes. “I told you she paid like detritus! I figured a little incentive for a raise wouldn’t hurt. Anyway, Malorie’s eyes got all wide and she was really upset. She paid me off but told me to leave.”

  Peter cocked his head. “Let me get this straight—she fired you over the picture?”

  I snorted. “It was probably that or the blackmail.”

  Libbie waved it away with a fluttering of her hand. “It proved she killed him, once and for all. I agreed to leave with a large severance payment. I didn’t want to keep working for a killer anyway.”

  Wow. Well, it wasn’t the information we’d been looking for regarding the Underground Animal Rescue, but it was a whole new angle on the case. The very tangled, messy case. I yawned again, and Peter shot me a look. He turned back to Libbie.

  “Thank you for your help. We’ll be in touch.”

  We rose, Daisy as well, and then Libbie leapt to her feet. “Listen, since you let me keep Cassie and…” She raised her brows. “And maybe as an incentive to not prosecute me for the whole blackmail thing…” She held up a finger then disappeared down the hall. When she came back, she had her wand out and three moving boxes hovered behind her. “When I left and packed up my stuff, I might just have taken the rest of the boxes of photos from the party fifty years ago.”

  The boxes hovered closer to us.

  “Here—just in case you can find more evidence in there. I took them as insurance—Malorie kept the original photo, but I figured there might be more evidence in there.”

  Peter withdrew his wand and spelled the boxes closer.

  I shot her a sassy look. “Thanks for handing over stolen evidence to the police.”

  She had the decency to look sheepish.

  While I wanted nothing more than to literally not rest until those shifters were freed, Peter convinced me I wouldn’t be any good to them as a sleep-deprived zombie. The three of us, plus Libbie’s boxes of photos, hiked back up to Peter’s flat and called it a night.

  30

  The Photograph

  The next night was technically Peter and Daisy’s night off, so we grabbed ramen for everyone and headed over to Will’s clinic. We all sat around the lobby slurping up the warm, savory dish. I figured bribing them with ramen would do the trick. I wanted to see my friends, of course—but also begged for their help in searching through the boxes of old photographs Libbie had given us from the Night of the Phoenix event fifty years ago.

  Piles of photos lay stacked on the coffee table among old magazines, on Heidi’s desk, and all over empty chairs. We’d been at it for half an hour already, in between bites of food, and found nothing new.

  Will frowned, his bushy brows drawn together, chopsticks hovering over his bowl. “Okay, so you have photo proof that Malorie killed her first husband by feeding him to a carnivorous plant?” He shrugged. “That wraps up one mystery. And now you know that Ludolf’s likely been feeding her a pipeline of trapped shifters for her ‘sanctuary’ for ages. Malorie’s furious stepdaughter pushed her into the phoenix’s sanctuary, where the trapped Maria Begin saw her chance. She attacked Malorie, who snagged her talon necklace into the bird, and Maria somehow managed to kill Malorie.”

  He shoveled some noodles into his mouth and spoke around them. “Case closed.” He pointed at the scattered photos. “I think we can wrap this up.”

  I shot him a flat look. “I got you an extra hardboiled egg—we’re not done working.”

  Will glared at me.

  I shook my head. “Plus, here’s the thing—the photo of the hand sticking out of that plant didn’t exactly prove Malorie killed Richard, right?”

  Will shrugged, and Heidi, who sat on her tall stool behind the front desk, nodded.

  I lifted a palm. “If it didn’t prove she’d killed him, why’d Malorie get so upset? Upset enough to pay off and fire her head zookeeper?”

  Heidi nibbled her wooden chopsticks. “Maybe she finally had an answer as to how her first husband died—the plant ate him. I’d be upset.” Her eyes grew wide. “Plus, I’m pretty sure Will would fire me if I tried to blackmail him, even if he hadn’t killed anyone.”

  My bear shifter friend snorted.

  Peter held his bowl to his lips with one hand and took a sip while he examined a photograph in his other hand. “We’ve got to just keep looking. Maybe we’ll catch an image from earlier in the evening that proves who fed Richard to the plant.”

  Will raised a brow. “Or that it was just a tragic accident.”

  I pressed my lips together. Somehow, I doubted that. These people were wrapped up in so much shady business, I had a strong gut feeling that there was foul play involved in Richard Rutherford ending up as plant food.

  I picked up a picture, but I couldn’t focus. I huffed and tossed it back down on the seat beside me. I rose and stepped over Daisy, who lay at Peter’s feet, to pace. “I’m still freaking out about those trapped shifters at the sanctuary. I’m telling you guys, most—” I raised my brows. “—shell, maybe all of those animals aren’t animals—they’re shifters! And Ludolf’s behind it all.”

  Heidi shook her head sympathetically, but Will scoffed. “How sure are you about all that?”

  I planted my hands on my hips and turned to face him. “The sloth told me so.”

  Will just raised a brow.

  I huffed. “Well… he literally just said Ludolf Caterwaul… he’s a slow talker.”

  My bear shifter friend crossed his beefy arms. “You’d better be sure before you go around accusing him… and getting us all murdered.”

  I shot him a sassy look. “Or thrown in cages.”

  Will flashed his huge eyes. “Yeah—or that.”

  I sighed. “Fine. Point taken.” I did need to get absolute proof that Ludolf had basically sold fellow shifters to a zoo.

  Heidi clicked her tongue, looking pained. “Why would he throw shifters in cages? Is it like jail for you guys?”

  Will and I spoke at the same time. “No!”

  Peter spoke up. “Bijou Mer’s jail is jail—for everyone.”

  Will and I exchanged disparaging looks, then turned to Peter. I snorted, and Will let out a dry, humorless, “Ha.”

  Even Heidi giggled. “Yeah, right.”

  Peter frowned, and even Daisy lifted her head and looked around the room. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Will crossed his long legs and leaned forward, perching his chin on one hand. “Tell me, Officer, exactly how many people from the upper tiers are in jail?”

  Peter blinked.

  He held up a long finger. “Don’t forget—I was born in an upper tier f
amily. I had no idea the privilege I had until I lost it. Jail is not the same for everyone—it’s meant for people from the Darkmoon District. For people who can’t afford bail or fancy lawyers, like Jolene used to be.”

  I nodded, and Peter’s brows drew together—his deep thinking look. It was true. The justice system favored the rich—it took being rich to afford the insane amounts we used to charge our clients for decent representation. And it wasn’t just the lawyers—every step of the justice system punished the poor more harshly than the rich.

  I bit my lip and remembered the appointment in Malorie’s calendar. She’d been about to see a lawyer about drawing up divorce papers from Quincy. What had spurred her to seek divorce? Quincy had seemed blindsided, but maybe that was more about him being out of touch, than the decision being a sudden one.

  Something else was nagging at me. I leaned against the wall and nibbled the inside of my cheek. “Heidi has a point though… what if Ludolf is using the sanctuary like jail? What if that’s where he’s sending shifters as punishment? Including the activist leaders he betrayed to curry favor with King Roch?”

  Will frowned. “Okay, but why? He doesn’t need to do that. He could just kill anyone he wants to get rid of.”

  Heidi nodded. “And why aren’t they just shifting back and like telling everyone, ‘Hey help me! I’m a person!’?”

  I nodded. “He probably used some potion on them, and now instead of being stuck unable to shift into an animal form, like me, they’re stuck in animal form, unable to shift back.”

  Heidi covered her mouth. “That’s so messed-up.”

  Will paled. “All the more proof for my theory. The phoenix, tired of being imprisoned for all these years, attacked and killed Malorie when she fell into her cage.”

  Peter leaned forward. “Yeah, but we still don’t know why or how the phoenix got ahold of that poisoned dart.”

  I bit my lip. “And we don’t know what that photograph of the hand of her ex, Richard, meant to Malorie. Who murdered him and fed his body to a carnivorous plant?”

  Will scoffed. “Uh, maybe the same lady who filled a zoo with trapped shifters?”

  I exhaled slowly, already not a fan of what I was about to say. “I’m gonna go snoop around Ludolf’s lair. Maybe he still has records and I can find proof of the potions he used on those shifters trapped at the sanctuary. It’d either lend our theory proof, or maybe we could even figure out a cure for them so the shifters could testify about what Ludolf did to them.”

  Peter sat upright. “I’m going with you.”

  I grinned but shook my head. “Absolutely not.”

  Heidi groaned. “I dunno, Peter.”

  Will shook his head. “You can’t. You’ll def be killed.”

  Peter dragged a big hand over his mouth. “I don’t like you going in there by yourself. It’s too dangerous—please, don’t. We can go back to the sanctuary and talk to more animals—they’ll probably give us all the answers we need.”

  His eyes looked weary and desperate, a muscle in his jaw jumping. I could tell how worried he was, and I didn’t want to make it worse. I nodded. “Okay. Let’s do that.” I turned to my friends. “In the meantime, let’s keep looking through these photos.”

  Will threw his head back and groaned. “It’s pointless.”

  I raised my brows. “Keep looking, and I’ll buy you some coconut ice cream.”

  He tipped his chin down and leveled me a serious look. “With sticky rice? From the cart I like?”

  I rolled my eyes but grinned. “Yeah, whatever.”

  He grabbed a stack of pictures off the chair beside him and pored over them. I paced as everyone munched and looked at the pictures. I ran over everything in my mind.

  So Malorie’s first husband disappeared mysteriously, and we now had some evidence that he—or someone wearing his ring—had been eaten by a carnivorous plant at the last Night of the Phoenix party at the sanctuary.

  I nibbled my thumb and traced a path back and forth in front of Heidi’s desk, the heels of my boots clicking along the linoleum. A few nights ago, fifty years to the day later, Malorie and the phoenix, who we now knew to be Maria Begin, died mysteriously. Malorie’s stepdaughter, Rebecca Rutherford, admitted to pushing Malorie into the enclosure in a fit of anger—but that hadn’t been how Malorie died. Where did that poisoned dart come from? Who had shot Malorie? And how had Maria Begin, the phoenix, died?

  I frowned, thinking over our suspects. Rebecca had been consumed by guilt and fear and still mourning her recently deceased mother. I pictured her in her funeral blacks, all the mirrors in her shabby home covered in shrouds.

  I froze, hardly daring to breathe as something slipped into place. The sanctuary—those mirrors that helped people see around corners had been covered in shrouds, too, after Malorie’s death. Had they had them fifty years ago, or were those recent installations?

  “Jolene?”

  Peter’s voice snapped me out of my deep thoughts. I looked up, grinning. “Check the photos for mirrors—round ones, mounted high up.”

  Heidi bounced in her seat. “Found one!”

  I rushed over to her and she handed me the photograph, pointing. Sure enough, the picture had captured not only one of the mirrors, but the reflection in it.

  I grinned wider. “Check the reflections in the mirrors. Maybe one of them caught what happened to Richard Rutherford before his body was dumped inside that plant.”

  Things moved quickly after that. It took another ten minutes, but we found enough photos with enough captured reflections to prove what happened to Richard Rutherford and who’d killed him.

  Peter kissed my cheek. “You’re brilliant.”

  I grinned, my face warm. “Go on.”

  “Well, that solves one murder at least.” Will raised a brow. “What about the other ones? And I haven’t forgotten about that ice cream, by the way.”

  I shrugged. “I’m hoping those will just kind of fall into place. And I’ll get you your ice cream.” I bit my lip, a theory starting to form. It stood to reason that someone who’d killed fifty years ago might strike again for the same reason. I nodded and turned to Peter.

  “I think I’ve got it. Let’s get back up to the sanctuary.”

  31

  Habits

  We headed again to the top of the mountain and the sprawling Rutherford estate that contained the sanctuary. My legs had better look good after all this hiking up and down through Bijou Mer.

  The servant showed us in, and we found Quincy with a pair of shears pruning a potted plant near the entrance to the sanctuary. He rose and gave us a sheepish grin. “We have a gardening staff, of course, but old habits die hard. I find it calming.”

  I nodded. That’s right—he’d been the gardener before he married Malorie. Another bit of the puzzle made sense. I glanced at Peter, then back at Quincy. “That’s understandable—are you feeling stressed out from all the murdering?”

  He blanched. “W-What?”

  Peter’s hand closed around his wand, his eyes hard on the shears in Quincy’s hand. I grinned again, another piece of the puzzle falling into place for me. Quincy had a few habits—including his tendency to pick up small things and absentmindedly pocket them.

  I stared Quincy down, a grim smile on my face. “We know that the phoenix was actually Maria Begin, a shifter. And we know that neither she nor Rebecca killed Malorie.”

  Quincy scoffed, his jowls shaking. “What is this nonsense?” He glanced around, as if to sic his servants on us.

  “Malorie was divorcing you. When Libbie showed her this photograph from the last Night of the Phoenix party fifty years ago, it wasn’t proof that Malorie killed her first husband, as Libbie thought.”

  Peter flicked his wrist, and the photograph we’d found in the safe appeared in his hand. He held it up so Quincy could see. The man squinted through his glasses at it.

  “What is this?”

  I raised my brows. “It’s a picture that clearly shows a hand w
earing Richard Rutherford’s distinctive ruby ring sticking out of the mouth of a meat-eating plant.”

  Quincy took a step back, his mouth slack.

  “Libbie thought Malorie paid her to leave to cover up her own guilt, but that wasn’t it, was it? Malorie saw it as proof that you killed her first husband, Quincy, and fed his body to one of your carnivorous plants. As the gardener, you’d have known the plant would dispose of the body nicely, leaving no trace.” I shrugged. “Maybe it was a suspicion Malorie had always held—maybe not—but she moved quickly once she realized her first husband had definitely been killed and suspected you. Malorie confronted you. You probably denied it at first, but confessed—that you’d done it for her, for the both of you together. She didn’t take it well, did she? Malorie didn’t like to ask questions—not about where her animals came from or about the death of her husband—but once she knew the truth, she couldn’t handle being with you, knowing you’d killed Richard—because she did have actual feelings for him, that hadn’t been a lie.”

  Quincy bared his teeth. “She had feelings for me, too!” His eyes grew huge and wild behind his thick glasses.

  I edged closer to Peter, grateful that he and Daisy were by my side. Quincy seemed unanchored and likely to snap at any moment.

  I nodded as Peter, Daisy, and I slowly advanced on him. “She did. But still—she told you it was over, didn’t she?”

  Tears welled in Quincy’s darting eyes. “We could’ve worked it out. She didn’t mean that.”

  I shook my head. “For all her foibles, Malorie wasn’t guilty of the one crime everyone suspected her of. In fact, you killed Richard Rutherford, isn’t that true?”

  “What—no!” Quincy’s face turned bright red.

  Daisy, who stood beside Peter, barked. Lie!

  Peter shook his head, expression grim. “We don’t even need Daisy to tell us you’re lying. We have photo proof—the sanctuary’s mirrors captured you spelling Richard to death, then feeding his body to the plant.” He held up the stack of photos that we’d found.