Mrs. Harrington let out another sob and swayed slightly in her seat. “The Harrington bloodline tied up with that trash!”
Mr. Harrington sauntered back toward us and stood in front of the crackling fire. He took another swig of his drink, then scoffed. “You’re one to talk.”
Mrs. Harrington, her blond locks a mess, scowled up at her husband, her eyes unfocused. “Excuse me! What’s that supposed—hic—to mean?”
Mr. Harrington lost his regal, stoic air and leaned over the back of the chair to address Peter and me. “I met this one on a ship.”
My gaze slid to Mrs. Harrington, whose face had turned an alarming shade of purple—she matched her wine, in fact.
Mr. Harrington, eyes bleary, went on. “Her mother was working the cruise circuit as a lounge singer.” He swirled his glass, ice clinking. “She seduced me with her mermaid charms.”
I thumbed at Mrs. Harrington. “She’s a mermaid?”
“Half mermaid.” She huffed. “And I won’t be talked about like I’m not even in the room!”
Mr. Harrington sneered. “Her father was a sailor. Her real name’s Marcina—got a bit of the siren in her.” His head bobbed as he glared at his wife. “She acts all high and mighty, but she’d still be swimming in the shallows if she hadn’t lured me into marrying her.”
Mrs. Harrington gasped and clutched her pearls. She rose to her knees on the couch and shook the wine bottle at her husband. “How dare you?!”
“So, anyway.” Peter twirled his thumbs and kept his gaze down in his lap.
They both snapped their gazes to him, eyes glassy and wild.
I slid lower in my seat. Wow. Fun times at the ol’ Harrington household.
“How did Chaz react when you told him what the private investigator discovered about Letty?”
Mr. Harrington shrugged. “He already knew she was a shifter.”
Mrs. Harrington’s chin quivered. “He said he didn’t care—that he was still going to marry her.” She buried her face in one hand and sobbed, the wine bottle still clutched in the other.
I wasn’t about to wade into the middle of this battle. I elbowed Peter and muttered, “Ask about their argument.”
“Oh, yeah.” He nodded and turned back to the blond. “Is that what you and Chaz were really arguing about before the wedding?”
Mrs. Harrington threw her hands up. “Oh, why not tell you, who cares at this point?”
Peter frowned. “I am an officer of the law—were you lying before? Because that’s the second—”
“No.” She leaned way forward on the couch, her expression challenging. “My son and I were arguing because I’d invited Rachel Whitmore to the wedding after he’d disinvited her. I said that if his father and I were paying for the whole affair, we could invite who we wanted.”
She took a swig from the bottle and glared at Peter. “And I wanted Chaz to have a close-up view of what he was passing up for little miss mink!” She sneered.
I shook my head. “So Letty was a mink shifter?” We’d suspected as much, but my stomach still turned to hear it confirmed. “And Rachel wore a mink fur?”
Peter gaped, horrified. “That’s so wrong.” He looked down, frowning. “How horrible for her.”
I raised my brows at him. “See? People are awful to shifters.”
Mrs. Harrington sneered. “I, for one, applauded Rachel’s bold fashion choices.” She fluffed her hair. “Just like me—she’s quite the fashionista.”
I raised my brows. “Right.”
Peter leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “Why did Chaz disinvite her in the first place?”
Mr. Harrington scoffed and pointed at his wife.
She rolled her eyes. “We may have staged a dinner a few nights before the wedding with Rachel in attendance, just to see if sparks could fly.”
Peter frowned. “You were trying to get Chaz to call off the wedding by tempting him with Rachel Whitmore?”
Mrs. Harrington lifted a shoulder. “I wanted him to be sure he was making the right choice.” Her expression soured, and she took another swig from the bottle. “It blew up in our faces.”
I opened my mouth in a round O and gasped in faux shock. “No!”
She shot me a dirty look. “He was furious once he figured out what we were up to.”
Mr. Harrington rolled his eyes, sarcasm dripping from every word. “But you were so subtle! How did he ever realize?” He took another swig of his drink.
I leaned over close to Peter and spoke out of the corner of my mouth. “At least Chaz had a healthy relationship to pattern after.”
Peter choked and had to cover his laugh by pretending to clear his throat.
Mrs. Harrington rolled a wrist. “Anyway, the night before the wedding, Rachel invited Chaz down to the river where they used to play as kids. He thought she wanted to apologize and make amends, but turns out she just made another pass at him.” She sighed wistfully. “Girl after my own heart. She’d be the perfect daughter-in-law.”
Something tugged at my mind. “The river—on your property?” I thought of the dense trees we’d seen at the edge of the grassy lawn.
She nodded. “There’s a path through the woods. It’s not a real river, just a canal, but they used to spend summers down there, and as kids they called it a river.”
I nodded, thinking of the letter Joe Santos had received, bribing him to put strawberries in the food. “Thank you.”
Peter instructed the tipsy couple to send writing samples to the station, and we took our leave. Once outside, Peter headed toward the gate, but I tugged his sleeve and tipped my head toward the tree line. “I’ve got a hunch about something.”
A few minutes later, we picked our way down the mossy banks among the trees to the dark canal. Peter lit his wand and held it up to give me light. I whined. Hey Days, you smell any?
A bush behind me rustled as the German
