Pet Psychic Mysteries Boxset Books 5-8 (Magic Market Mysteries Book 2) by Erin Johnson (simple ebook reader .txt) 📕

I raised a hand. “’Night, Peter.” I let out a couple of low woofs. Goodnight, Daisy. Don’t let the fleas bite.

She jerked her head up from sniffing a food wrapper and glared at me. “Woof! Woof!” Don’t let the—the cockroaches—scuttle over your face and into your drooling mouth, Jolene!

With the street empty, except for the three of us, I felt safe letting out a couple more barks. Wow—mine was just an expression, but good taunt, Daisy. Gross and very specific.

With one last wave at Peter, I headed back to my place to hopefully not be scuttled on by roaches.

21

Writing's on the wall

The next night, Peter and Daisy swung by my place, an extra coffee in hand for me. I grinned at Peter, grateful not only for the steaming hot caffeine, but for what it meant—that our friendship was on the mend. My stomach tightened—for now, at least, until I dropped my latest bombshell about Ludolf and my predicament as a human lab rat.

“So…?” Our shoes scuffed along the wet cobblestones as we climbed upward. “Did you learn anything more from Letty’s diary? And did the handwriting samples match anyone?”

Peter gave me a tight grin. “Not much from the diary that we didn’t already know. But, as suspected, Rachel Whitmore wrote the note to Joe Santos, bribing him to sneak strawberries into Letty’s food.”

I shook my head and took another swig of coffee. “Wow. Got to hand it to her—she’s nothing if not determined.” It didn’t matter, apparently, that Chaz didn’t want to marry her—that wasn’t going to stop Rachel from taking out her competition.

When we showed up at her townhouse, her butler let us know that again, she could be found at the country club.

We headed over to the swanky place, and this time when the little man behind the desk tried to wrangle me and Daisy into sports coats, we breezed past him. Peter flashed the arrest warrant and Daisy bared her teeth in a snarl.

I thumbed at the two of them on either side of me. “I’m with them.”

We found Rachel holding court, once again, at a table beside the windows in the dining room. Half a dozen women sat with her and appeared to be hanging on her every word. I smirked. Good—all the more embarrassing for her when we arrested her.

We stalked up to the table, and several sets of wide eyes turned our way. Rachel smirked, though her eyes were tight. She’d submitted her handwriting sample—she had to know what this was about.

“Hello, Officer. Can I help you?” She turned to her friends and rolled her eyes. A few of them gave nervous smiles, but others continued to gawk at Peter, horrified.

“What are the police doing here?”

“What’s going on?”

Rachel waved a hand and rose from her chair. “No doubt just a few more questions about that girl’s murder.” She lifted her small nose. “I’m very close with the Harringtons, you know, and sort of a key witness in the case.”

“Actually.” I gave an exaggerated wince. “You’re more of a key suspect than witness.”

Peter held out the warrant. “Rachel Whitmore, you’re under arrest for the murder of Letty Jones.”

She paled, and the women at the table gasped. The background noise of the dining hall grew quiet, though a few chairs scraped across the marble as people angled around to get a better look.

Bright red spots appeared on Rachel’s throat and face, and she set her jaw. “This is outrageous. I demand to speak with my lawyer. We’ll have you—”

Peter calmly cut her off. “You’ll be allowed your lawyer once you’ve been processed up at the station.”

A woman at the table leaned over, hand in front of her mouth, and whispered in her friend’s ear. Rachel’s chest heaved as her gaze darted around the enormous room and found all eyes on her. “I didn’t kill her!”

I raised a brow. “No? Then why did your handwriting match a note delivered to Joe Santos, the caterer, bribing him to put strawberries in Letty’s wedding food?”

Her expression darkened, and I was grateful that Peter stood between us—looked like I was next on her hit list. But not one to back down, I lifted my chin and smirked. “I’m guessing you picked those strawberries on your picnic with Chaz, right? The one where you tried to get him to pick you over Letty, a shifter from the Darkmoon District, and got shut down hard?” I clicked my tongue. “Must’ve been tough to stomach—pun not intended. Guess that’s why you resorted to murder. Though, I’m not sure it’s going to make Chaz want to marry you more now that he knows you killed his wife….”

She balled her hands into fists and lunged closer, hissing between her bared teeth. “Fine, yeah, I sent the letter and the strawberries, but not to murder her!” Her eyes darted side to side and she went on, even quieter so that Peter and I had to lean in to hear. “I knew about her stupid anti-allergy potion—she was supposed to have some in her stupid wedding dress’s pockets. I just wanted her to look all blotchy and gross and ruin her wedding day.” She flashed her eyes at me. “Is that a crime?!”

Peter frowned. “Yes, it definitely is.”

I grinned, but Rachel paled, and her eyes fluttered, like she might faint. Murmurs went up amongst the well-heeled members of the country club.

Peter took Rachel’s elbow and escorted her away from the table, toward the door.

“Guess we’ll be arresting Joe Santos next?”

Peter nodded, then frowned as a buzzing noise sounded. He stopped beside the fireplace and reached into his pocket, then popped his communication device in his ear.

“Flint, here.” He nodded, then frowned deeper and nodded again. “I see. You’re sure you tested all of it?” His throat bobbed as he listened. “Okay, thank you.”

He lowered his eyes and pulled the device from his ear. He glanced at me, expression heavy, then slowly