I shot her a flat look, unable to retort in front of all these people.
I crossed my arms and stared down at Mrs. Harrington, who lounged on the sofa, looking completely unembarrassed by her insensitive comments about her son’s dead wife. “Actually, I got some pretty wild visions from ol’ Barty.”
She stared me down and kicked her foot, playing with the pump dangling off her toes.
I decided to pretend the bat had given me the information instead of May, the maid, to keep her out of trouble. I raised a couple of fingers to my temple. “I got something about a man showing up here demanding more money from Mr. Harrington? Seems there was some sort of argument?”
All eyes swiveled to the distinguished older gentleman in his chair by the fire.
“Teddy, tell this charlatan that—”
“That’s correct.” Mr. Harrington interrupted his wife, which left her shocked with her mouth hanging open. “I hired a private investigator to look into Letty.”
“Dad!” Chaz bolted up to sitting. “You did what?” He gasped, eyes round with shock, though his gaze darted to me and Peter. I frowned—it was almost as if he was checking to see if we bought his reaction. I doubted this was the first he’d heard of the private investigator.
Mr. Harrington dug around in the inside breast pocket of his tweed jacket, then drew his wand, flicked his wrist, and a white business card appeared in his hand. “Here’s the man’s card.” Peter scooted past me and took it, looking it over.
“I’m familiar with him.” He leaned close to me and whispered, “He’s a real algae ball.”
I bit back a smirk. Still, a private investigator—sounded like kind of a sweet gig. I pulled my lips to the side—I helped Peter investigate crimes, did that make me a PI of sorts?
“What did he find?” Peter held up the card.
Mr. Harrington shrugged. “Nothing.” He looked at me. “It’s why we were arguing.”
I frowned. “I got something about the man demanding more money, though?”
He blinked and cleared his throat. “Yes, well—ahem—he was demanding payment, period. You see, I told him to look harder if he wanted his fee.”
I sighed. That sounded about right—they wanted some dirt on Letty to use to break up her and their son. Still—I wondered if the PI had really failed to discover that Letty was a shifter.
Peter shook the card. “Thank you for this. We’ll be looking into it.”
Mr. Harrington splayed his palms and nodded.
14
THE DIARY
Peter, Daisy, and I made our way down the cobblestone streets of the mountain to a greasy little diner on a lower tier of Bijou Mer. Daisy hopped up on the booth seat beside Peter, and I slid in across from them. A waitress took our orders—coffees for me and Peter, plus a chocolate shake for me, fish and chips for Peter, and a bowl of water and a hot dog, no bun, for Daisy—then moved on to her other tables.
I slid Letty’s leather-bound diary across the dented and worn (though clean) tabletop. Peter flipped through till he found her last entries, then set it open between us, turned sideways so we could both read. Daisy looked down at it, head cocked.
I tapped the top of the page where she’d dated it. “This is from the night before the wedding.”
That crease appeared between Peter’s brows as he read. “She wrote that Joe Santos came to visit her in her room—he climbed up the vine outside the castle window.”
We stared at each other, wide-eyed. “The caterer?” I pursed my lips. “Guy doesn’t give up easily, I’ll give him that.”
Peter looked back down at the tight, messy handwriting, splotches of ink splattering the lines, as if she’d written in a hurry. “She says she didn’t want to let him in, but what could she do. What if they got caught and people got the wrong idea?”
I frowned. “So the feelings weren’t mutual?”
Peter shook his head. “Doesn’t look that way. She let him in, and he made a move on her—told her she was marrying into a family of monsters and confessed that he still wasn’t over her.”
He pointed to the page, and I read out loud. “I know the Harringtons haven’t accepted me yet, but I love Chaz… or will learn to. He’s so good to me. He makes me feel so special and taken care of. I can’t deny some feelings for Joe linger, but I had to tell him it was over between us.”
I looked up at Peter. “Wow. So the night before the wedding, Letty rejects the guy preparing her food.”
Peter’s mouth flattened to a grim line. “And the next day she dies of a food allergy.”
I raised my brows. “Do we know for sure?”
“Oh, snakes, I forgot to tell you.” Peter grimaced. “Sorry, but yeah, Gabriel finished his report, and the official cause of death is an allergic reaction to strawberries.”
I nodded. “We figured as much.”
He looked around the half-empty diner, then leaned close across the table and lowered his voice. “Here’s the weird part though—he didn’t find any trace of strawberries in her stomach or digestive tract.”
I frowned. “So she didn’t actually eat any?”
He leaned back and shrugged. “Either that, or she ate such a tiny amount that it triggered her allergy without showing up in her stomach.”
I nodded. “Mrs. Harrington said she had a strong reaction from eating just a tiny amount at their dinner party. It sounds like she was pretty sensitive.”
Peter nodded, and Daisy, ears flat, let out a heavy sigh. Can you please tell me what’s going on?
I grinned at her and whined. Oh, now you want me around.
Her dark eyes narrowed, and she bared her teeth. That might be taking it too far. I just want to know what you’re talking about.
I winked at her and let out a quiet woof. I’ll fill you in later, in a less public space, Days, but I’m going to need something in return.
She huffed. What?
I whined
