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

The bigger one cocked its head and raised its fluffy black-and-white ringed tail. It chirped. You… talk?

I frowned and howled back, startled at the noises coming out of my own mouth. I know—pretty crazy, but yeah, I speak lemur. I shot Peter a look. More like I howled and screeched lemur. I cleared my throat and started again. Can you tell me if you saw anyone pass through here tonight?

The lemur’s round eyes narrowed, and it leaned forward, pressing its black, leathery palms against the magical barrier. It let out a low howl. Want… help…

I leaned closer. Did it want to help? Or was it in need of help itself? I opened my mouth to ask, but both lemurs jerked their heads up and looked to my left. The sound of quiet sobbing reached us from up ahead, and as one, the lemurs jumped away and scampered deeper into the lush foliage until they disappeared.

I watched after them, the branch they’d been perched on bobbing, and pressed one hand against the cool, tingly barrier.

Peter rubbed the small of my back and made me jump. He shot me an apologetic look. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

I gave him a quick smile, then looked back after the lemurs, hoping they’d decide to come back.

“What’d they say?”

“I—” I heaved a sigh. Something about the interaction had seemed really… off. “I don’t know, it was strange. I couldn’t tell if they were having trouble understanding me, or maybe having trouble speaking?” I frowned and shook my head. That didn’t make sense.

Daisy barked and startled me. What’s the matter? They couldn’t understand your accent?

I shot her a flat look, then turned to Peter. “Daisy says she wants to be put on a diet?” I shrugged. “She wants less treats.”

The dog charged forward and edged between Peter and me, growling. Lies! What are you saying to him? Peter, she’s lying.

My boyfriend shot me a grin. “Now, why do I have a hard time believing that?”

I smirked, then glanced back at the branch the lemurs had crouched on. “I don’t know though, maybe she’s right. I’ve never spoken lemur before, so maybe my dialect was a little off.” I groaned and thunked my head against Peter’s chest. “I hope those potions Ludolf’s been testing on me aren’t stealing what few powers I have left.”

Peter stiffened, then wrapped his arms around me and pulled me closer. Daisy stayed between our legs and let herself be right in the middle of it. “I hate that he’s doing that, and we’re going to put a stop to it.”

I nodded. I felt less confident of that but enjoyed being comforted.

“Plus, Daisy’s understanding you just fine, right?”

I nodded. “True.”

Peter gave me another hug, then held me out and squeezed my shoulders, his eyes intent on mine. “Maybe the lemurs witnessed the murders and are in shock.” He raised his brows, and I nodded.

“Maybe.” I curled my lip, thinking back to their creepy round eyes. “They certainly looked surprised.”

Peter grinned. “We’ll try again with them later, okay?”

I sighed and squared my shoulders. I squeezed Peter’s hand, then turned. “Sounds good. Apologies for the minor pity party. Now, let’s go see who’s sobbing.”

Peter’s grin deepened. “I’ll throw you a party, pity or otherwise, whenever you want one.”

“With balloons?” I cocked a brow.

He nodded. “Whatever you want—pony rides, clowns—”

I shook my head. “Never clowns.”

“Got it.” He took my hand, and we headed toward the sound of the gulps and cries. “Never clowns. Face painter?”

I nodded. “Sure.”

Hand in hand, we walked through the jungle path with Daisy leading the way. As soon as we rounded the bend, Quincy in his green alligator suit came into view, hunched over and sobbing on a bench with his head in his hands. A uniformed cop stood beside him.

Daisy’s hackles rose, and she growled. The crying is somewhat insincere.

I pulled my lips to the side and glanced up at Peter. Looked like we were about to break up Quincy’s pity party.

7

Quincy

Officer Jones stood behind our sobbing suspect, arms folded, one hip out. I didn’t need Daisy to tell me Quincy’s cries were false. He gulped and spluttered, dabbing at his eyes with a kerchief. Over the top much? The cop’s eyes slid our way, and she sighed, shoulders slumping no doubt with relief. How long had she had to witness his melodramatic display of grief?

She stepped toward us. “He’s been like this since Russo and I found him”—she glanced over her shoulder, mouth in a tight line—“standing next to the blow dart gun.”

I raised a brow. Surely he wouldn’t be dumb enough to drop the weapon he used to murder his wife and then just stand there? I eyed his alligator print tux. Then again, the man clearly had questionable taste. Maybe he wasn’t the brightest spell in the book.

Peter nodded. “Thanks. We’ll take it from here.”

Jones nodded and moved off the way we’d come. We tromped along the swaying rope bridge path until we landed on a broad wooden platform with a hole in the bottom for a tree wrapped in vines to grow through. We stopped in front of Quincy, who sat on a wooden bench with an iron dedication plaque on the backrest.

Daisy growled, and he jerked his blotchy red face up. He came face-to-face with her pointy white teeth and lurched back, clutching his kerchief to his chest. He blinked his small eyes up at us through his glasses, one knee hiked up as if to block the dog’s attack. “Wh-what is this?”

Peter gestured at his growling German shepherd. If I didn’t know she slept in a fluffy bed embroidered with her name and her favorite toy, a stuffed lobster, I’d have found her as terrifying as Quincy surely did. “I’m Officer Flint, and this is my partner, Daisy. She can smell lies, and her growls tell me you’re not being totally honest about your grief.”

Quincy’s sniffles immediately stopped.

Peter grinned at me, his hard gaze softening for a moment as he took me