Papa Ralph sat sprawled on the floor in front of a roaring fireplace, one arm draped around Buttercup the pig, his other hand clutching a glass tumbler of glowing golden brown potion. He took a swig, some of the magical liquid dribbling down his white beard, then draped an arm across his eyes and wailed.
“Why? Why, Goddess?! Why did you take my precious Pearl from me?”
Ugh. Daisy wrinkled her nose. Lie.
I smirked. “Right? Dramatic much?”
Though I’d muttered it quietly, the woman who’d shown us in leaned around Peter and shot me a look. I shot it right back.
While she sniffled and pouted and put on a show of mourning, I noted her ample mascara was still in place and no actual tears tracked down her cheeks. I didn’t mean to be insensitive—the guy’s wife had just died—but given that Ralph was probably our top suspect at the moment and Daisy was smelling lies, I was having a hard time believing in his over-the-top show of grief.
Half a dozen men and women hung about, fawning over him. The woman who’d let us in guided us over, past lovely paintings in gilded frames and an enormous vase full of flowers, sea fronds, and shells that probably cost more than a month of my rent. I lifted a brow. While I’d regarded the whole Potent Potions thing as a total scam, clearly someone was getting rich to be able to afford this place.
Then again, for all its fanciness, the suite was trashed. Clothes and shoes littered nearly every inch of floor—I had to step over a wet towel and a pair of dirty socks. Open suitcases with the contents strewn all over covered the four-poster bed and topped the gleaming wood dresser. I bit my lip. They were messier than I was—and that was saying something.
Some of the hangers-on looked up as we stepped into the sitting area, though Ralph kept his eyes covered, sobbing—or pretending to.
“Papa Ralph?” The young woman who’d let us in bent over him and spoke in a voice barely above a whisper. “Papa Ralph?”
Wow—that just sounded wrong. I curled my lip and glanced up at Peter, ready to share a knowing look, but he kept his eyes fixed ahead, ignoring me. I huffed and turned back toward the apparently devastated husband, annoyance burning in my chest. Fine—if he wanted to make working together miserable, then just fine.
“Papa Ralph?” The woman tried again, a little louder.
Totally out of patience, I cleared my throat. “Hey! Ralph Litt! Police here—we need to talk to you.”
The hangers-on let out a collective gasp and recoiled, looking me up and down. A couple perched on the back of the couch shook their heads at me and whispered to each other, while a woman nearby dissolved into loud, gulping sobs.
Daisy growled. Lies.
I rolled my eyes. “Oh, for sand’s sake.” I flashed my eyes at the group and gestured to Daisy. “Magically lie-sniffing dog here—we know you’re all faking.”
Peter shot me a side-eye look and stepped forward. “I’ll take it from here.”
I glared at his back. Oh, would he? About time.
Peter’s quill and scroll appeared beside his head. “Ralph Litt—we need to speak with you about your wife’s death.”
Tanned to the point of looking like orange old leather, Ralph lifted his head and let his arm drop from his bloodshot eyes. He blinked up at us. “Ask away, Opicer.”
I raised my brows. The guy was toasted—what was in that potion of his? I glanced around the messy hotel suite. And where could I get some?
Peter looked around. “If everyone else could please wait in the next room, we’ll have another officer up here soon to question you.”
Grumbling, the lot of them moved off through a door that I assumed led to an adjoining room. Only one pretty young woman hesitated. She clutched a clipboard to her chest and blinked at Ralph with huge blue eyes filled with concern. “You—you’ll be okay?”
Ralph waved her off. “Yeah, honey, I got this.”
Her throat bobbed, and she parted her lips like she wanted to say something but nodded and followed the others out. Once the door shut behind her, Ralph waved us closer.
“Take a load off.”
I perched on the edge of a white sofa, glad for the heat of the fire. Fall was coming on fast, and the breeze blowing in from the open doors was downright chilly. A pit formed in my stomach.
The cold of winter wouldn’t be too far behind—and as a cursed witch without magic, I wasn’t able to make any of the appliances or utilities run in my apartment, including heating. It made winters downright dangerous. I hugged my arms around myself and sighed.
Oh, well—problem for future Jolene to solve. At least I’d landed this consulting gig—even if it would probably be my last—and the money would help for a bit.
Peter settled down on the couch, about as far away as he could get from me, then introduced us. After he explained about Daisy being a lie-sniffing dog, Ralph, still bleary-eyed and lounging on the rug, looked the German shepherd up and down. He patted Buttercup’s pink side. “He friendly with pigs?”
I leaned forward, elbows on my knees. “It’s a she, actually.”
Ralph blinked at me, his eyes barely focused. “Well la-di-da.”
I shifted my gaze to Peter. We probably wouldn’t even need Daisy or my animal translation skills at this point. The guy was so wasted, he’d probably just blurt out that he’d killed his wife, and we could wrap this up and call it a night. Peter’s hard gaze darted to me, then back to Ralph, and I heaved a sigh. And then Peter and I could go back to not speaking to each other—oh, joy.
Peter cleared his throat. “We need to ask you some questions, if that’s alright.”
Ralph took a swig from his glass, the ice cubes clinking against the side. He lifted it up, the firelight glinting off the clear golden liquid. “Ask away!”
Peter
