Breaking Bat: A Cozy Witch Mystery (Magic Market Mysteries Book 6)

by Erin Johnson

  BREAKING BAT

  A COZY WITCH MYSTERY

  ERIN JOHNSON

  CONTENTS

  Prequel Novella

  1. A New Case

  2. Bridal Suite

  3. Mr. and Mrs. Harrington

  4. Sneezy

  5. Chaz

  6. Cybil

  7. Joe Santos

  8. Rachel Whitmore

  9. Will and Heidi

  10. Alabaster Monroe

  11. Family Crest

  12. Bartholomew the Bat

  13. P.I.

  14. The Diary

  15. Strawberries

  16. Animal Rights

  17. La Mer Magazine

  18. Cybil

  19. Dig up Dirt

  20. Spin

  21. Writing's on the wall

  22. Blast from the past

  23. Undertow

  24. Evidence

  25. A Confession

  Crab Puffs

  Up in Flames

  A Note from the Author

  About the Author

  Get the FREE Prequel Novella

  A magical academy. A suspicious death. Can an inexperienced cop expose the deadly secrets lurking behind bewitched classroom doors?

  Check out rookie officer Peter Flint’s first case with Daisy. Saved by the Spell is the prequel to the Magic Market paranormal cozy mystery series.

  Download Saved by the Spell to solve a mystical murder today!

  1

  A NEW CASE

  “Thanks for coming up here on such short notice.”

  “No problemo.” I gave Peter a tight grin, even though I was mentally slapping my forehead. No problemo? Why did this man bring out the dork in me?

  I snuck a look at Peter, and my smile deepened into a genuine one. Probably because he was a dork himself. We fell into step and walked through an enormous iron gate manned by two cops in blue and gold uniforms.

  I tucked a wildly waving strand of hair behind my ear. The chilly Sansea Winds that swept over the island as fall set in every year were in full swing. Tall trees waved and bowed, and a pile of leaves whisked by through a stone gutter, scraping and crackling.

  We wound up a brick path surrounded by lush landscaping, all the branches and ferns bobbing and thrashing in the wind. The moon shone bright enough to light our way, quick-moving clouds blowing across it, but Peter held his wand out, the tip lit, to guide our steps. That was thoughtful of him—my shoulders relaxed a little as I took that in.

  On the last case we’d worked, Peter had dropped a lot of the little habits that showed he cared. I studied his face—that thinking crease lined the space between his brows, but aside from that he looked lighter than when I’d seen him last week. The bags below his eyes had cleared, and he sported the clean-shaven look again. Maybe he’d recovered from the shock of me telling him I was a shifter—or used to be, at least, before the curse took away my ability to change into an owl.

  I bit my lip. I’d recently learned that mob boss of the shifters, Ludolf Caterwaul, el creep himself, had been the one responsible for the curse that left me powerless, jobless, and almost homeless. It’d had one perk though—I could now speak to all animals, which was what got me this sweet consulting gig with the police. That was, until I told Peter the truth about me—now I wasn’t quite sure where me and that sweet gig stood.

  I’d promised my friends and myself that I’d talk to Peter about the predicament that I, and a lot of shifters, were in with Ludolf. My stomach twisted, all wrung up in knots. My other big secret reveal hadn’t gone great—how would Peter take the news that there was an entire underground secret shifter society led by a corrupt maniac who was testing potions on me?

  I shoved my hands in the pockets of my quilted bomber jacket and stared down at my boots. I was still working on the gentle way to break that news. In any case, Peter and I were on shaky ground—maybe best not to lead with that kind of revelation.

  Peter cleared his throat, and I glanced up at him.

  “We’ve got a dead body at a high-profile wedding.” His throat bobbed. “And I could really use your help on this one.”

  A warm flush spread over my chest, and I grinned, thinking this over. Peter valued my help. That was a good start.

  “I’m happy to.” I looked back down at the path. “I’ll admit I was a little surprised when Russo showed up at my door to tell me you wanted me up here at a crime scene.” I raised my brows, voice quiet. “I wasn’t sure I was going to hear from you.”

  He nodded. “I get that. I’m still… wrapping my head around everything, but we work well together. I’d like to find a way to keep doing that.”

  My stomach clenched. I wanted to keep working with him too, it’s just—we’d been on a path to something more. It didn’t sound like he wanted anything but a professional relationship. I took a deep breath. I’d just have to accept that, even though it hurt.

  I cleared my throat and tried for a light tone. “So… where’s your mangy mutt of a partner?”

  Peter blanched. “She’s with the new chief.”

  I frowned. I’d barely seen him without his lie-sniffing German shepherd at his side. “It’s weird to see you without her.” I grinned. “She too busy getting some ear scratches to come greet me?”

  Peter’s throat bobbed. “Daisy’s… Well, you’ll see. She’s not quite herself.”

  I frowned deeper. Come again? What was going on here?

  Peter shot me an earnest look. “It’s why I’m doubly grateful for your help.”

  We exited the winding path and stepped onto a wide lawn, the front courtyard and path filled with smooth white pebbles. A massive stone castle rose to the sky in front of us, all turrets and stained glass windows and iron-studded double doors.

  I let out a low whistle. “Who got married? The king and queen?”

  Peter raised his brows and led us around the side of the imposingly beautiful building to the back.

  “Not royalty—but still a name you might recognize. Chaz Harrington?”

  I pressed my lips together for a moment. The name sounded familiar. It clicked into place, and I whirled to face Peter. “The guy running for councilor?”

  Peter nodded.

  We stepped onto a wide, grassy lawn. An enormous white tent glowed in the moonlight a little ways away. Closer up, rows of gilded chairs sat facing a rose-laden altar and arbor, and round tables dotted the lawn, covered in white tablecloths that whipped and snapped in the wind.

  Wedding guests, dressed to the nines, sat at tables or stood in little groups, murmuring and sipping wine and coffee. I nearly choked. There had to be a thousand people here! Despite Chaz looking annoyingly self-satisfied and smarmy in all the campaign posters plastered around the island, he apparently had a lot of friends. Or his wife did.

  Beyond the wide, grassy clearing, a thick line of trees marked the edge of some woods, and below that, the lights of Bijou Mer, our magical little island, twinkled and glowed. Moonlight shimmered over the dark sea, and I let out a happy sigh. While I lived in the Darkmoon District on the lowest tier of the island, I enjoyed my brief sojourns to the upper tiers when Peter and I worked high-profile cases. Views like this reminded me of a time, years ago, when I could still shift into an owl and glide over the island at night, looking down at the lights and the city.

  “Jolene?”

  I jumped as Peter startled me out of my thoughts.

  He had a little grin on his face, like he’d been watching me for a moment. “This way.”

  I nodded and followed him around a curving stone wall. We ducked
into the castle through an arched medieval door, and Peter nodded his greetings at a few cops we passed. He headed down a short hallway and stopped outside an open door with a cop posted on either side.

  Peter turned to face me and lowered his voice. “I should warn you, I’m told the victim is from the Darkmoon District.” His deep blue eyes searched my face. “You might know her.”

  I frowned. What was a gal from the Darkmoon doing at a wedding like this? Most of the time, being from the Darkmoon and attending a wedding meant you should be prepared for at least one brawl to break out, and fancy attire meant shoes were not optional.

  I gave Peter a nod to go ahead, and he turned and led the way into the room. Half a dozen cops bustled about the small space, gathering evidence and taking photographs of the body sprawled out on the rug in a cloud of white lace and gauze.

  I froze and blinked at Peter. “Our victim’s the bride?”

  2

  BRIDAL SUITE

  Peter nodded, that troubled crease still between his brows. “According to the witnesses we’ve interviewed so far, the bride got ready in here.”

  I edged closer to Peter and the little sitting area made up of two plush armchairs and a small table between them. The bride lay sprawled in front of a gold vanity with a toppled stool and large, oval mirror. A single small window stood propped open near the top of the stone wall. Cool air seeped in, and I shivered, balling my hands into fists inside my jacket pockets.

  “She came down the aisle, said her vows at the altar with the groom, they were pronounced married and then—” Peter shook his head. “She took off without a word, bolted back in here and locked herself in. The groom’s parents, a maid, and several guests pounded at the door for her to let them in.” Peter nodded toward the door we’d entered through to our left, then lifted his chin toward the window high in the wall. “The groom apparently called to her from outside that window.”

  I frowned. “No one else was in here?”

  Peter shook his head.

  I bit my lip as I puzzled this over. “Why did she lock herself in? Why didn’t she let anyone in to help her?” I tipped my head to the side as I stared at the white pump slightly askew on her foot. “And what got her spooked in the first place?”

  Peter nodded. “I’ve been wondering the same thing.” He glanced down at me. “I’m hoping you can help me figure it out.”

  I shot him a small grin, glad that we were friendly again. “I’ll try. Any cockroach witnesses or anything?”

  He shook his head. “Not that I know of.”

  I shot him a puzzled look. I’d assumed he wanted me for my ability to speak to an animal witness.

  His lips pulled to the side, and a little dance of light flickered in his eyes for a moment. “You know, I may have originally brought you on for your ‘abilities.’”

  Which had turned out to be kind of a fib….

  “But you’ve proven that you’ve got a keen mind for solving cases and puzzling things out.” He shrugged. “I’m just hoping we’ll be able to get to the bottom of this one together.”

  I bit back a smile and tried to play it cool. I rocked on my heels and looked toward the door again. “That’s the only way in?”

  He nodded. “And that’s the only window.”

  It was too small for anybody to fit through. This place had probably been a medieval castle back in the day, and tiny windows made for good defenses.

  “Eventually, the groom’s father managed to spell the door open. He and a dozen other witnesses rushed in and found our victim, Letty Jones, dead inside.”

  The name sent a jolt down my spine. “Letty Jones?” I gaped at Peter, then at the bride.

  “You do know her?”

  I scoffed. “Yeah, we grew up in the orphanage together.” I shook my head as I cast back through my memories. “She was about six years younger than me—we weren’t super close, but I know her.”

  I bit my lip. The orphanage I’d grown up in was one of Ludolf’s little projects—for parentless shifters. Did Chaz Harrington and his prestigious family know he was marrying a shifter? My stomach tightened—I doubted it.

  People like this? Appearance meant everything to them, and with Chaz campaigning to be a councilor and the family clearly having connections to big money, marrying a lowlife shifter from the Darkmoon made no sense.

  Peter leaned close, his voice barely audible. “Does that mean she’s a—you know—too?”

  I looked up at him, my brows pinched, and nodded.

  I sighed as I stared at Letty’s body, engulfed by her enormous wedding dress. How in the seas had she ended up here?

  “Do you remember anything about her that might be helpful?”

  I gulped and glanced up at Peter. “She was really shy—mostly kept to herself.” I shrugged. “Sorry.”

  He shook his head. “No, that’s good. That jives with what a few people we’ve interviewed observed about her.”

  “How’d she die?”

  Peter led the way closer, and we crouched down near her head. My skin crawled at being this close to a dead body—this was one part of my consulting gig that I hadn’t gotten used to yet.

  Peter used his wand to lift her white veil. “She has a rash around her mouth and throat, and you can see her neck and face are pretty swollen.”

  Letty’s dark skin had faded to gray, and her unseeing eyes stared back at me. Her full lips, now covered in hives, parted to reveal that little gap between her front teeth. A couple of the boys had teased her about that before I told them to stop. I cringed and turned away.

  “She appears to have died of an allergy and—” Peter paused and lightly placed his large hand on my shoulder. “Sorry. You okay?”

  I shook my head, my throat and chest tight, and fought to send my dinner back down to my stomach where it belonged. After I won that battle, I shot Peter a grateful look. “Thanks—mostly it’s just the whole dead body thing.”

  He nodded, though his concerned eyes still lingered on me.

  I waved it off and turned partially back towards Letty’s body, shooting Peter a watery smile. “You’d think my career as a lawyer would’ve prepared me for being around stiffs.” I nudged him with my elbow. “Eh?”

  He rolled his eyes but chuckled. “Har har.”

  For the first time, I noticed the smashed plate of strawberries and the broken champagne flute on the ground. I’d probably missed them in my solid attempts to avoid looking in the direction of Letty’s head.

  I pointed. “You said something about an allergy?”

  He nodded. “We’re told she was deadly allergic to strawberries.”

  “Oh yeah, I remember that actually. A kid gave her some one time, and she fell over, couldn’t breathe. Mrs. Rankle, our headmistress, ran to the medicine cupboard and gave her a shot.” I raised my brows. “Must’ve been an anti-allergy potion. She pretty quickly recovered, but it was the talk of the orphanage for a few days, let me tell you.”

  Peter frowned. “Sounds scary.”

  I shrugged. “I grew up in an orphanage in the Darkmoon. Scary’s relative.”

  I frowned. Letty clearly knew she was allergic to strawberries, so why eat a plate of them? “Was it suicide?”

  He shook his head. “We don’t know. One of the many perplexing things about this case.”

  I huffed and shifted my weight to my other leg, still crouched beside Peter and the body. “And if it was suicide, why get married and then off herself at her own wedding? If it was cold feet or something, why go through with it?”

  It didn’t feel like suicide to me, in my gut. Letty had been shy and reserved, but if she’d made it out of the Darkmoon to this kind of life, it meant she was also strong and determined. At the very least, she was a sweet, sensitive kid and she didn’t deserve this—no one did. Only, too often deaths in the Darkmoon District didn’t get thorough investigations. I wanted to see justice for Letty.

  Peter rose, and I stood as well. He gestured to the vanity. Its drawers
stuck out, and one lay on the ground, overturned. The various perfume bottles and jars of makeup and creams had all been knocked over, some smashed on the ground beside the plate and champagne flute.

  “It looks like the place was ransacked. Did she do that herself? Was she looking for something? Or did someone else do it between the time she left the room to say her vows and then ran back inside?” Peter let out a heavy sigh and addressed one of the cops magicking the cosmetics into evidence bags. “Smith, can you make sure to have those tested for strawberries and poisons, at least until we confirm the cause of death.”

  The young cop nodded.

  Peter licked his lips. “Let’s have the champagne tested, the rim of the flute, too, for strawberries or any toxins.” He shook his head and stared down at his shiny black shoes.

  I grinned, happy to see they were back to their usual mirror-like polish. A disheveled Jolene? To be expected. I also liked to think I kind of rocked the slightly grungy vibe. But last week’s disheveled Peter had been… unsettling.

  “I suppose we should go interview more witnesses.” He sighed. “Not good timing for Daisy to be out of commission.”

  I startled. “Out of commission? What the shell happened to her?” While it was no secret that the German shepherd wasn’t my biggest fan, I liked to think we’d made some big strides lately. I’d even gotten a couple of tiny tail wags out of her. And as much as I enjoyed teasing Daisy, it’s not like I wanted anything actually bad to happen to her.

  Peter gave a sad grin. “She’ll be okay, but…” He pressed his lips tight together.

  I flashed my eyes at him and bounced on my toes. “Out with it, Peter! What happened? Is she going to make it?”

  He kept his mouth a grim line and stared down at me. “She’s got… seasonal allergies.”

  I shot him a flat look. “Better order the gravestone now.” I threw my head back and let out a noisy exhale. “Snakes, Peter, you had me worried.” I raised my brows. “Seasonal allergies? Really?!”