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

Her chest heaved. “What are you talking about?”

He ran a tongue over his teeth. “No strawberries were found in any of the food or drink—we even tested the champagne and the glass found in the bridal suite where Letty died.”

I frowned. “So… she didn’t die of an allergic reaction?”

Peter shook his head. “No, she did. The autopsy revealed that she died of an allergic reaction, but no berries were found in her stomach contents or in any of the food.” He sighed and glanced at Rachel. “It appears that despite your best efforts, Joe Santos didn’t go through with it and you did not kill Letty.”

Rachel’s nostrils flared. “You arrested me without all the information?” She yanked her arm free from Peter. “You’ll be hearing from my lawyer!”

She stalked off, and Peter glanced in her direction. “She still bribed Joe Santos to harm Letty, so she’ll be facing charges.”

I crossed my arms, the heat of the fire warming my back. “But not murder charges.”

Peter shook his head.

I bit my lip as I thought it over. “Could Letty have eaten something else that we didn’t test?”

Peter nodded. “It’s possible, but several witnesses testified that Letty never left the bridal suite all day until it was time to walk down the aisle.”

I nodded. The maid, May, had told me that Letty hadn’t opened the door for her when she brought her breakfast. If Letty was freaked out from what she perceived as a threat from Joe Santos the night before, I doubted she’d have eaten any food he might’ve prepared.

And May had said that on the way from the suite to the altar, Letty had done air kisses with Mr. and Mrs. Harrington, then stumbled when Rachel tripped her. No one had mentioned Letty stopping to eat anything.

I thought of the plate of smashed berries at the crime scene. Had she gotten ahold of those herself? “So… maybe she really did kill herself?” Maybe she’d been so alone and scared that seeing the mink stole around Rachel’s shoulders had been the last grain of sand, and she’d committed suicide? But she’d have had to already have gotten ahold of the berries if that was the case, before the vows. I sighed. “And if that’s the case, why didn’t she still have any of her anti-allergy potion on her?”

Peter shook his head. “Who knows.” He let out a weary sigh. “I really thought we had this one.”

I nodded.

He pinched the space between his brows. “Let’s call it a night—regroup tomorrow.”

I nodded, and we left the country club, dozens of elite members watching us intently. After we parted ways, I stuck my cold hands in my jacket pockets and walked back down to the Darkmoon District, deep in thought. I let my feet carry me, without much thought to my route, until I looked up, startled to find myself outside the old orphanage I’d grown up in—the one that Letty had grown up in as well.

It was an old building, probably built in medieval times. Four crooked stories, chunks of plaster missing from the walls, and the thatched roof had bare spots where the wood beams below showed through. It’d been closed down about a decade after I left. Whatever reason Ludolf had opened it in the first place apparently no longer served his purposes.

I looked up to the tiny attic window at the top of the peak, one of the four panes broken. I’d played with friends up there, among the trunks and crates in storage. Now all the windows were dark and the door barred. I bit my lip and continued on, nearly home. It might be helpful to know a bit more about Letty and her allergy…. I decided to track down my old headmistress, Mrs. Rankle.

22

Blast from the past

It took some asking around the night market, but the ladies at the bodega on the corner were finally able to give me Mrs. Rankle’s new address… ish. I looked up from the rough map they’d sketched for me on the back of a paper napkin and eyed the fork in the sewer tunnel ahead of me. The left branch soon disappeared into darkness, an ominous rushing noise coming from it. The right branch glowed golden with torches mounted every so often on the curved, algae-covered walls.

I looked back down at the map and with relief followed the right-hand tunnel. I trudged through the slimy sludge in my old boots—I didn’t want to ruin my new ones, but now my toes were wet with sewer water. I glanced down at my feet and curled my lip—I’d have to burn my toes off later to feel clean again. I shuddered and continued on till echoing voices and odd squeals and chirps reached my ears.

The ladies at the bodega had said something about a main thoroughfare and a waterfall. I sighed and continued on—guess there weren’t street names and numbers in the secret underground shifter lair. Why had my old headmistress decided to retire down here?

I passed more people, men and women, old and young, dressed in anything from suits to rags to what appeared to be homemade armor made of broken shards of glass and rusted pipes. I gave those guys a wide berth.

Parrots winged overhead, bats hung from exposed pipes, and I even had to plaster myself to the wall to make way for a brown horse that trotted by. Finally, I entered a tall chamber. Near the top, a large round pipe poured water down into a rusted drain, little droplets forming a mist of sewer water. So pleasant.

That had to be the waterfall, which meant I was getting close. I entered an enormous, stories-tall pipe bustling with people, animals (shifters in their other form) and businesses tucked into alcoves and side tunnels. I squinted down at the napkin and tried to make out the slanted handwriting.

“On the left… near a cantina?” I glanced up and spotted a little