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

into an owl. Every night I missed taking flight and soaring over the island, the night breeze blowing under my wings.

My stomach tightened as I thought of the phoenix and the other animals in here. At least I still had freedom in human form to move about and do as I wished—these animals couldn’t fly, swim, or roam free at all. Still, it had to be odd that these activists would target a sanctuary. I felt again that they should’ve been on the same side.

Peter’s firm but kind voice jolted me out of my misgivings. “Thank you for your time. If you think of anything else, please let us know.”

Peter, Daisy, and I wound our way back out of the enclosure with Mark leading the way. Peter sent the vet home, then found a couple of cops and asked them to cordon off the phoenix enclosure. We moved off a little ways away from the other cops and stood among a dense grouping of palms that overhung the wooden rope bridge walkway.

I turned to Peter and rattled off the theory I’d been working on. “Okay, so we have a missing phoenix and a woman who looks like she hugs a lot of trees.”

Peter grinned.

“Maybe while Zane Perez worked here, he made mystery woman a copy of the key to the phoenix’s cage. Maybe she’s one of his buddies at the activist group WWAAC.” I splayed my hands. “She gets in, lets the phoenix out, but is interrupted by Malorie when she walks back here with Rebecca, her stepdaughter. A struggle ensues, and maybe Malorie kills the hippie woman with the talon necklace she was wearing, and the woman hits her with a dart that maybe she had on hand to drug the phoenix? Then Rebecca flees?” I scrunched up my face, waiting for Peter’s take.

He nodded. “I could see that.” That thinking crease appeared between his brows. “But the dart was poisoned, we believe, not a sedative potion. Why would an animal lover have a poison dart on hand? And where did the phoenix go?”

I pulled my lips to the side. “Maybe they had more accomplices. They took the bird while the hippie lady stayed behind to keep Malorie from chasing after them or sounding the alarm, and they ended up killing each other?” It sounded flimsy even as I said it.

Peter shook his head. “There are no signs of a struggle, though—no scrapes or scratches on either of them. Just that wound to Malorie’s head, the dart in her neck, and the talon in the mystery woman’s chest.”

I fanned myself, the humidity making me sweat. “So what next?”

Daisy panted with her tongue hanging out of her mouth. She glanced up and growled. You think you’re hot? I have a fur coat.

I woofed back. We can shave you. I raised my brows. Or have you waxed? I think you could rock the bald look.

Her ears flattened, and her growl deepened. Try it and see what happens.

I shrugged and whined back, a grin playing at the corner of my mouth. Look, Days, I’m a pet psychic—

She interrupted me with a growl. Lie.

—not a pet aesthetician, but I’m sure I could find somebody. You want your nails done, too? We could have a girls’ spa day. I winked.

She bared her teeth in a vicious snarl, her dark lips twitching. Touch my paws or my nails and it’ll be the last thing you do.

I grinned wider, and Peter shook his head at me, smiling. “You’re egging her on.”

I shrugged. “It’s not my fault she’s so fun to tease.”

The dog looked from one of us to the other, dark eyes narrowed, and growled. Tell Peter, right now, that you’re being rude and—

I shot her a flat look and whined. Oh, relax—next time I make bacon, I’ll put the grease in your food. Happy?

Her pointy ears pricked up, and her eyes grew round. Really? The tip of her bushy tail wagged just the tiniest amount.

I rolled my eyes. Did you detect a lie?

She considered a moment, then her mouth split into a wide, toothy grin, and she panted. Okay. Deal.

I squeezed Peter’s hand. “I think we’re cool.”

His smile widened as he looked from me to his dog. “I think so, too.” He patted Daisy’s head, and her tail swished from side to side in big sweeps.

I raised my brows. “Now what?”

Peter lifted his chin in the direction of the rope bridge. “Let’s head to the sanctuary’s office and check in with the other officers there.”

11

The Blow gun

“Wow.” I let out a low whistle as I took in the Magical Animal Sanctuary’s office. Apparently, the animal print theme wasn’t reserved only for the party this evening—it was part of everyday life. A few cops moved about the large space and collected evidence, searching drawers and dusting for fingerprints.

They nearly disappeared, camouflaged as they were among the busy mix of wood African masks on the wall, tiger skin rugs, and zebra print upholstery on the stuffed chairs and sofa in the reception area up front. My eyes widened as I spotted the wood cabinet to my left, painted a gold leopard print, and the antler chandelier that cast most of the light.

I leaned close to Peter. “Guess they just can’t hide their enthusiasm for animal skins.”

He glanced down at me, the corners of his mouth tight, like he was fighting a smile.

I rolled my eyes. “Oh come on, that was a solid pun.”

He raised a thick brow. “It was spot-on.”

I groaned, then frowned again at the decor. The mounted heads and sheer amount of leather seemed a bit of an odd choice for a place that purported to keep animals alive, but hey, who was I to judge? My own place’s interior design consisted of furniture I’d found on the street and piles of laundry.

Which was probably why I’d been enjoying spending so much time over at Peter’s. My cheeks grew a little hot as I relived some of our recent evening activities—well, it was