Peter blushed and shot me an exasperated look. “It’s not always that simple.” He narrowed his eyes at Chaz. “And I’m having a hard time believing you weren’t bothered at all.”
The redhead slumped lower on the couch and spun to stretch his legs out on the cushions. “I’ll admit—my courting of Letty started out for ratings. Cybil encouraged it so that I’d seem more… what’s the term? Lowly? Dirty?”
I frowned. “Grounded?”
He snapped and pointed at me. “That’s it. More grounded. But a real love developed from there.” He raised his red brows. “Believe me—why else would I be braving the wrath of my mother to marry her?”
I thought of ol’ Marcy Harrington and her bottles of wine and curled my lip. Yeah, he certainly was up against a lot there.
Peter let out a heavy sigh. “Alright, well, all the same, we’ll need you to send a writing sample to the station by tomorrow.”
He frowned and sat up. “A writing sample?”
Peter nodded, and we took our leave. Once outside in the cool night air, Daisy sniffed around the stone gutters. Dry leaves blew by, scratching along the ground.
Peter shoved his hands in his pockets and waited for a small group of laughing young people to pass. “Look—I know it’s taken me a bit to get over your, uh, you know, your news. And I know that some people might be more, er, understanding.”
I shot him a flat look. “Uh-huh.”
He glanced up at the top floor windows of the inn—Chaz’s windows. “But that guy’s reaction doesn’t ring true to me.” He glanced over at Daisy, and his lips pulled to the side and brows pinched together. “Wish we could know for sure if he was telling the truth.”
I folded my arms. “Look, just because you don’t trust us shifters doesn’t mean everyone’s got a grudge against us.”
He flipped a palm. “Hey, it’s not a grudge, it’s just—” He shook his head and looked off. “Look, if it’s alright with you, I don’t want to get into this right now.”
I shrugged, my chest tight with annoyance. “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.” We could be out here debating all night, and my stomach was rumbling and my toes cold.
He nodded, his eyes troubled as he looked me over. “I want to figure this out, Jolene—this stuff between us, I mean. I’m just not sure how.”
I nodded again, my throat tight.
“I’ll come by your place tomorrow night once we analyze the handwriting samples and compare them to the letter Joe Santos received. Plus, I’ll keep reading through Letty’s diary—see if we learn anything else.”
I raised a hand. “’Night, Peter.” I let out a couple of low woofs. Goodnight, Daisy. Don’t let the fleas bite.
She jerked her head up from sniffing a food wrapper and glared at me. “Woof! Woof!” Don’t let the—the cockroaches—scuttle over your face and into your drooling mouth, Jolene!
With the street empty, except for the three of us, I felt safe letting out a couple more barks. Wow—mine was just an expression, but good taunt, Daisy. Gross and very specific.
With one last wave at Peter, I headed back to my place to hopefully not be scuttled on by roaches.
21
WRITING'S ON THE WALL
The next night, Peter and Daisy swung by my place, an extra coffee in hand for me. I grinned at Peter, grateful not only for the steaming hot caffeine, but for what it meant—that our friendship was on the mend. My stomach tightened—for now, at least, until I dropped my latest bombshell about Ludolf and my predicament as a human lab rat.
“So…?” Our shoes scuffed along the wet cobblestones as we climbed upward. “Did you learn anything more from Letty’s diary? And did the handwriting samples match anyone?”
Peter gave me a tight grin. “Not much from the diary that we didn’t already know. But, as suspected, Rachel Whitmore wrote the note to Joe Santos, bribing him to sneak strawberries into Letty’s food.”
I shook my head and took another swig of coffee. “Wow. Got to hand it to her—she’s nothing if not determined.” It didn’t matter, apparently, that Chaz didn’t want to marry her—that wasn’t going to stop Rachel from taking out her competition.
When we showed up at her townhouse, her butler let us know that again, she could be found at the country club.
We headed over to the swanky place, and this time when the little man behind the desk tried to wrangle me and Daisy into sports coats, we breezed past him. Peter flashed the arrest warrant and Daisy bared her teeth in a snarl.
I thumbed at the two of them on either side of me. “I’m with them.”
We found Rachel holding court, once again, at a table beside the windows in the dining room. Half a dozen women sat with her and appeared to be hanging on her every word. I smirked. Good—all the more embarrassing for her when we arrested her.
We stalked up to the table, and several sets of wide eyes turned our way. Rachel smirked, though her eyes were tight. She’d submitted her handwriting sample—she had to know what this was about.
“Hello, Officer. Can I help you?” She turned to her friends and rolled her eyes. A few of them gave nervous smiles, but others continued to gawk at Peter, horrified.
“What are the police doing here?”
“What’s going on?”
Rachel waved a hand and rose from her chair. “No doubt just a few more questions about that girl’s murder.” She lifted her small nose. “I’m very close with the Harringtons, you know, and sort of a key witness in the case.”
“Actually.” I
