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

by Erin Johnson

  She grinned. “With Sam Snakeman campaigning for shifter rights, royalty figured it’d be fitting to find their replacements with another competition.”

  I took another sip of coffee. One woman with long blue hair frantically kneaded a ball of dough, while a trio argued over the proper way to knead. At least I guessed that was what all the raised voices and slapping the dough on the table was about.

  “So are all these people shifters?” It surprised me that they’d be so open about it. While I liked the changes Sam Snakeman was pushing for, acceptance of shifters still felt a long way off.

  Madeline snorted. “We’re not that far along, honey. But I believe they’ve all made statements supporting the rights of shifters to work in their kitchens. Since the palace bakery needs a whole new staff, this time the competition involves teams of three.” She flashed her eyes at me, grinning. “So who knows? Maybe there are a few shifters among them.”

  I pulled my lips to the side. That would be the sea’s knees, but I wasn’t going to hold my breath. I blew out a sigh, then turned to face the bleachers. There had to be hundreds of people gathered to watch the competition. Madeline and Peter turned with me, and the journalist pointed to the top of the gold risers. “That’s Princess Imogen with the red hair.”

  I recognized the bun and the bangs from the tabloids—including Madeline’s articles—with the photos that caught the princess making unflattering expressions and pondered if she’d been eating too many of her own rum balls. I was sure the princess just loved that. I glanced at the reporter and wondered if her friendship with the royals was as tight as she claimed.

  “Beside her is Prince Harry, of course.”

  The two held hands and chatted with their heads close together. The handsome prince smirked, and his princess threw her head back and laughed. I guessed that was her famous baking fire burning in the lantern that sat beside her hip. The little flame munched on a stick and spat out ashes onto the head of the lady who sat in front of him.

  Madeline waved her hand. “A bunch of their friends are up there, but that guy, with the glasses and no chin—”

  I followed her finger and spotted Sam Snakeman.

  “That’s Sam.” She tipped her head side to side. “He’s shy though, so I’m going to introduce you to Imogen first.”

  I raised a brow at that. Imogen, huh? No “princess”? I sighed and nodded. I sure hoped Madeline wasn’t just full of hot air. We were counting on her making the introduction so Peter and I could tell them all about Ludolf Caterwaul. We were hoping they’d believe us about the underground shifter population that lived in the sewers and about Ludolf, who bullied our community like a true mob boss.

  He’d been masterful for decades at carrying out his dastardly deeds in secrecy, distancing himself from his crimes by having layers of underlings who would take the fall for him. We’d finally managed to find a crime we could pin on him, but we needed the royals’ help.

  Peter, Daisy, and I had recently freed a bunch of shifters trapped in their animal forms from a zoo. They were currently destroying my old apartment, with my friend Heidi watching over them all, until we could figure out a way to turn them back to their human forms.

  Ludolf had created the potions that had trapped them, and only he had the key to changing them back. With my ability to speak to animals, I’d chatted with all of them and knew they’d be willing to testify against him. But we’d need to change them back, otherwise it’d just be my word that these were shifters and not just regular animals. And no one would believe me—they’d see me as a disgraced shifter who claimed to be a pet psychic.

  I gulped, my throat dry. None of our efforts would mean anything, though, unless we got the backing of the royalty. Ludolf had straight-up told me he owned the police, the judges, and the politicians on our magical island. So even if we managed to arrest him and change the shifters back, we needed a guarantee that he’d be prosecuted fairly.

  I stared at the laughing princess. That’s where she came in. With their vows to fight for shifter rights, Sam, Princess Imogen, and Prince Harry were the only people in power we might be able to trust to bring Ludolf to justice.

  I squared my shoulders. I had to make them believe us. I threw my head back, chugged the rest of my coffee, then gave Madeline a firm look. “Let’s do this.”

  She smirked. “We’re going to have a chat at a baking competition, not storm the castle.” She winked. “Relax, honey.”

  I blew out a shaky breath. Easy for her to say. Aside from my desire for justice, my whole life was riding on this. I was one of Ludolf’s test subjects in his grotesque mission to create a “cure” for being a shifter. And if we didn’t stop him soon, I’d end up like those other trapped shifters… or worse.

  Peter’s big warm hand wrapped around mine and gave me a gentle squeeze. I glanced back, and his big blue eyes sparkled. “We’ve got this.”

  The tightness in my chest relaxed a bit, and I took an easier breath, then nodded and squeezed his hand back. “Yeah, we do.”

  Daisy whined, her head tipped to the side. Partial truth—not sure even you believe it.

  Peter glanced at her, then at me, his brows slightly pinched.

  I shot the dog a flat look. Not the best time for her truth-sniffing powers to be calling me out.

  Madeline clapped me on the shoulder. “Come on.”

  The reporter led the way up the side of the bleachers toward the palace guards who blocked the royal row with their long golden lances. We’d made it halfway up when a shriek sounded from behind us.

  I startled, then whirled around.

  Another scream sounded, then another—they were coming from the baking tent. People in the bleachers rose from their seats, straining to get a look. Peter drew his wand and pulled me behind him.

  White-clad medics dashed through the tent, shoving through the gawking bakers. All other activity ceased. They gathered around a red-haired woman who’d collapsed on the ground, convulsing. Two girls in their twenties stood nearby, one wailing, the other staring, stricken. Even as the medics drew their wands, the red-haired woman grew deathly still, foam pouring from her mouth.

  Lights flashed from the ends of the medics’ wands as they tried spell after spell. Still, the woman didn’t move, and Madeline and I exchanged wide-eyed looks. Finally, the taller medic rose and murmured something to the two girls. The wailing one threw her head back and moaned, loud enough for us to hear in the stunned silence, “She’s dead?!”

  Gasps sounded among the audience.

  “Seriously?!” A woman with short white hair dressed in a stylish white jumpsuit stood beside the tent, clipboard in hand, wearing an earpiece. It looked to me like she was involved in coordinating the event. She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Not again.”

  2

  Murder

  After making sure I was alright, Peter and Daisy immediately flew into action, sending up the police signal to call for backup, cordoning off the tent, and preventing the witnesses in the stands from leaving. Madeline and I stayed standing halfway up the bleachers, close enough to the royals to eavesdrop.

  Princess Imogen bent her head close to her husband and their friends, deep in hushed conversation.

  Her magical flame cackled in his lantern. “Well, at least this time we know you didn’t kill anyone, Imogen.”

  She flashed her eyes at him. “Somebody died, Iggy. So not the time.”

  I shot a confused look at Madeline, who smirked. She leaned close and dropped her voice. There was a shocked hush still over the audience so that sobbing from the tent could be heard. “At the last baking competition, one of the contestants died and Imogen was a top suspect.”

  I frowned. “Oh yeah, I remember reading about that.” I arched a brow. “She didn’t do it, did she?”

  Madeline just chuckled as a reply, and I shot the princess a doubtful look. Who were we getting into cahoots with? Then again, who else could we turn to for help? My stomach tightened with nerves, and I n
udged Madeline. “Should we try to talk to them now?” What if we were missing our chance?

  She opened her mouth to speak, but a loud, familiar voice cut through the tense quiet, interrupting her.

  “Alright, now, everybody remain calm!”

  I turned to look as Peter’s boss, Inspector Bon, strutted across the lawn. I shook my head at him. Because yes, shouting at everyone would definitely help people be calm. I glanced to my right. Beyond the bramble patch, I could make out the turrets of the jail. With the precinct located on the royal grounds, it’d only taken the cops minutes to turn up.

  Bon glanced up at the crowd, spotted the princess, and scowled. “You.”

  The princess set her jaw, pink spots burning on her cheeks, while Prince Harry bit back a smile.

  The little flame cackled. “It’s your biggest fan.”

  I grinned. Guess I wasn’t the only one who wasn’t top of Bon’s list. The inspector’s boss, Chief McCray, strolled at his side, and half a dozen uniformed officers flanked them. McCray, her short blond hair barely moving in the sea breeze, caught my eye and winked. I nodded in acknowledgment, though unease washed over me.

  Unlike Bon, who barely tolerated me and thought my abilities were a scam, McCray seemed to believe in me. In fact, she was quite friendly—sometimes to an unnerving degree. I often had to remind myself not to be fooled by her pally attitude—she had a keen mind and surprised me with insightful observations. I often got the feeling she knew more than she was letting on.

  Bon pointed and barked out orders at the cops, some moving into the tent, others flanking the bleachers. Peter, accompanied by Daisy, spoke a few quiet words to Bon, I assumed filling him in on the situation, and then Bon turned to address the hundreds of spectators in the bleachers.

  “A woman, one of the bakers, has died.” His gravelly voice carried in the nervous quiet. “As we don’t currently know the cause of death, we’re treating it as a murder.”

  Murmurs sounded among the crowd. The bakers gathered around their stations, except for the two women who’d shared a station with the victim. They stood to the side, one motionless, as if in shock, the other sobbing loudly.

  Bon held up his palms. “We’ll call you down in an orderly fashion to interview you and then dismiss you.” He narrowed his already beady eyes. “No one is to leave until you have permission!” He gave a curt nod, then spun ninety degrees on his heel and conferred with McCray and Peter.

  I leaned close to Madeline. “Looks like I’ve got a new case.” I bit my lip and glanced up at the princess and Sam Snakeman.

  Madeline squeezed my shoulder. “Honey, it’s fine—we’ll find another time to talk to them.” She grinned. “Actually—they’re holding a shifters’ rights rally outside the palace tonight. How about you meet me there?”

  I nodded, though I wasn’t sure how conducive a rally would be to having a deep conversation. But I’d have to trust Madeline to figure that out.

  “Now how about you help me get the scoop on what’s going on inside that tent….” Madeline leaned to the side, trying to get a glimpse of the sobbing baker.

  I shot her a flat look. “Nice try. You know I can’t divulge police secrets in an ongoing investigation.”

  She pinched her thumb and index finger together. “Just some tiny police secrets?”

  I grinned. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

  She smirked. “Fine. But I’ll come down with you—I’ve got to direct my photographer. We’re the first press on the scene. This’ll be a scoop.”

  Our footsteps rang out on the gold bleachers as we stepped back down. I shook my head at the reporter’s excitement over a woman’s death. Then again, I’d caught myself looking forward to the challenge of solving cases before and getting justice for the victims and their families. Even Peter had commented lately on me thinking like a cop.

  I was surprised to hear more footsteps, the bleachers ringing with them, and glanced back. The entire row of royals tromped behind us, flanked by the guards with their enormous lances. When we reached the lawn, Madeline dashed off to find her photographer, and I joined Peter, McCray, and Bon in front of the tent. Again, I was surprised when the royal guards followed us, with Princess Imogen, lantern in hand, Prince Harry, Sam, and the rest of their friends.

  The princess edged closer, rising on her toes to peer into the tent. “How did the woman die? Did she have any—”

  “Oh, no!” Bon whirled on her, his face and large ears red. He shook a short finger at the princess. “Out! All of you, out!”

  The princess glowered back at him and opened her mouth, but the woman who looked like a coordinator marched over, her dark eyes blazing. She held a clipboard under one arm and pressed a slender finger to the communication device in her ear. “Brady—no! I told you a baker has died, not that she’s making rye, and in any case, I’m not going to get you a sample of bread!”

  Her eyes widened, and she huffed. “Okay, yes, that time I did say bread. But before, I said dead.” She plucked the device out of her ear and turned to the princess, speaking in a businesslike, clipped manner. “I insist you all leave immediately and return to the palace.” She glanced behind her at the tent and then shook her head, muttering to herself. “Honestly, my first event back in Bijou Mer and of course, someone dies.”

  Bon threw his hands up, exasperated. “That’s what I’m saying.” He shook a finger at the princess again. “Death and trouble follow you everywhere.”

  “Uh!” She planted her hands on her hips. “That’s not fair. We could be helpful here, and just because I may have stumbled upon a few crime scenes—”

  Bon barked out a humorless laugh. “A few dozen, you mean?”

  The princess’s little flame peeked out of his lantern. “Snakes, Imogen, it seems like Bon can count better than you.” He batted his big, innocent eyes. “But I thought you said he was a brainless fool who couldn’t solve a mystery if it—”

  She snapped the shutter on the lantern shut, and muffled cackling came from inside it. The princess and the inspector, both red-faced, shot scathing looks at each other.

  Prince Harry edged between them, spreading his palms. “Inspector, we’re just trying to be of service.” His deep voice was calm and confident. “Can you at least tell us—”

  Bon, a good head shorter than the prince, stepped forward and stood chest to chest with him. “I’m not telling you anything, your highness.” His tone dripped with sarcasm.

  A blinding flash of light made me jump. I turned and found Madeline grinning beside her photographer, who aimed his camera and snapped another picture, capturing Bon’s attempt at intimidating the prince. Bon turned and huffed, then backed up and fidgeted with the collar of his uniform.

  The white-clad woman with the clipboard planted a hand on her hip. “Listen, for everyone’s safety it’s best we get back inside the palace.” She flashed her eyes at the princess, then looked at Sam Snakeman. Another young man had an arm around him, but Sam trembled, his shoulders up around his ears, chin nearly touching his chest.

  “Do you think it’sss becaussse we’re sssupporting ssshifter rightsss?”

  My stomach clenched. I hadn’t even thought of that. I glanced around at the stunned audience in the bleachers, the sobbing baker, and the other contestants clustered together in wide-eyed groups. It was entirely possible that someone was intent on disrupting an event intended to promote inclusivity and acceptance of shifters.

  The princess blew out a shaky breath and nodded at the coordinator lady. “Sorry, Amelia, you’re right.” She rubbed Sam’s arm. “I’m sure it was just a terrible accident, but we should head to the palace just in case—for everyone’s safety.”

  Bon curled his lip and muttered, “Everyone’s safety, plus my sanity.”

  The princess shot one final glare at Bon, then turned with all her friends and stalked off toward the palace, flanked by guards. I watched them go for a few moments. I sure hoped Madeline was right and that I’d get another chance to t
alk to them about Ludolf.

  Bon clapped his hands. “Alright, now that certain nuisances have been taken care of, let’s get to work, team.” He nodded at Peter. “You’re lead on this one, Flint.”

  Peter’s lips twitched toward a grin, and he straightened and gave Bon a nod. “Yes, sir.”

  A heavy hand came down on my shoulder, and I startled. McCray beamed at me. “Guess that means our resident pet psychic is on the case, too?”

  I gulped and shrugged. “Looks like it.”

  Peter nodded. “We’re not sure we have any animal witnesses yet, but Jolene’s abilities always come in handy.”

  McCray squeezed my shoulder again, hard, then raised her fingers to her temples. “Hope the ether sends some helpful vibes.” She winked, and again I had that uneasy feeling that she was onto me.

  “Heh, yeah.”

  She and Bon moved off together, stopping to speak with another officer. Peter slid up beside me. “Did you get a chance to speak with the princess?”

  I shook my head, and he pressed his lips tight together. “Hey—it’s alright. We’ll talk to them soon.”

  I nodded, feeling better just being close to him. “Alright, so what’s next?”

  He jerked his chin toward the baking station in the middle, near the crying woman. “Let’s have a look at the victim.”

  A dead body—oh, goodie.

  3

  Polly Pierre

  The cops had ushered all the other baking contestants away from the victim’s body. It wasn’t until we came around behind the butcher block counter that I caught sight of her. My stomach twisted, and I quickly turned away, still not used to the sight of dead people. And especially this early in the morning. The gallon of coffee in my stomach suddenly felt bitter and acidic and threatened to come back up.

  Peter strode forward and met Russo, a tall rookie cop I’d worked with a few times. Peter spoke in a low voice so the nearby contestants wouldn’t overhear. “What’d you learn so far?”