Cybil choked. “The contract? I’d say so. We had the top caterers and chefs in the kingdoms competing for it until Letty gave it to her friend. Imagine it—the prestige. All of Bijou Mer’s elite are here.” She shook her head. “But Letty insisted, so we relented.”
Chaz sniffed. “It was her only request, so of course we did. But snakes, the way he looked at her sometimes…”
Peter frowned. “The caterer?”
Chaz nodded, eyes watery. “Dark looks—lusty ones!” He raised his brows, and I had to suck on my lips to keep from smirking. He’d hinted earlier that we might look into him—did I detect some jealousy or was this just more dramatics?
“Er!” He clutched his hair. “If he hurt her, I’ll…” He dissolved into tears and buried his face in his arms on the table.
Cybil looked imploringly at us and lightly patted his back. “This is clearly a bad time for Chaz. Is there anything else we can help you with right now?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “No? Then please give him some time and space to grieve.”
I shot Peter a flat look but rose.
He nodded at her. “Thanks for your time. We’ll be in touch.”
As we moved off across the lawn, Peter gestured toward the castle. “I think it’s time we talked with the caterer.”
I sniffed. “Chaz certainly wanted us to.”
Peter pressed his eyes shut for a moment. “Yeah, that was a little over the top.”
I scoffed. “You think?” I scrunched up my face. “And what was the deal with his campaign manager? She was clearly hiding the real reason she encouraged him to go after Letty.”
Peter nodded, then glanced down at Daisy, who trotted along beside him. “Bad timing for allergies, huh, Daisy?”
She scrunched up her snout and sneezed in reply.
JOE SANTOS
Peter asked around with a couple of maids who directed us around the back of the castle to the servants’ entrance near the kitchen. As Peter, Daisy, and I came around a curved stone wall, sharp voices came into range. Peter and I exchanged looks.
“I told you it was too good to be true!” A squat woman with a long black braid trailing down her back magically directed a floating line of silver pots into the back of a rickshaw cart.
“Hmph!” A squat older man with thinning black hair stomped past her, back toward the castle. “Dead bride or not, we’re getting paid!”
The woman threw her head back and barked out a laugh. “Fat chance!” She turned to usher a black iron cauldron, full to the brim with some sort of stew, into the cart and froze when she caught sight of us. Her dark eyes widened till the whites shone all around. “Datu? Datu!”
Her husband (I assumed) paused his grumbling and turned to her. “What?”
She jerked her head in our direction, and he startled and did a double take at Peter’s uniform.
They both looked at each other, threw their heads back, and yelled, “Joe!” at the same time. Then they promptly returned to loading up the cart with pots, cauldrons, and crates full of slightly wilted greens.
Peter and I exchanged confused looks. How had they known we were looking for Mr. Joe “Something” himself?
A young man, probably in his late twenties, sauntered out of the servants’ entrance. He was short, but his tank top revealed muscled arms wrapped in colorful tattoos that wound all the way up his neck. He wore a dirty waist apron, and as he made his way toward us, in no particular hurry apparently, he used it to wipe a chef’s knife clean of blood.
My stomach clenched, and I recalled Chaz mentioning that Joe had recently gotten out of prison. I edged a little closer to Peter and his broad shoulders, then glanced over at the sniffling Daisy. Even on her best day, I doubted she’d do much to defend me from a killer. Bark her head off and point them in my direction was more like it.
The guy looked up, caught me staring at the knife, and smirked. I sucked on my lips. Yeesh. He definitely had the whole hot, bad boy thing down. I bit back a smile as I thought of the sobbing Chaz wrapped in a blanket. He didn’t give off the manliest of vibes. No wonder he found Joe threatening… in more ways than one, I’d bet.
“Relax.” He held up the now clean knife, its blade glinting in the moonlight. “Letty died of an allergy, not a stabbing. This is pigs’ blood.”
I flashed a tight smile. So comforting.
“Are you Joe?”
The kid glared up at Peter. “Who’s asking?”
I flashed my eyes at Peter. Sassy.
He leveled Joe a serious stare. “I’m Officer Flint, this is my partner, Daisy—”
Joe lifted an incredulous eyebrow.
“—and consultant Ms. Hartgrave.”
He made eyes at me. “Ms, huh?”
A hot flush spread up my neck in spite of myself. This guy was good.
I caught Peter looking between Joe and me with his brow pinched and took a breath. “Are you Letty’s childhood friend Chaz told us about? The one recently released from prison?”
That seemed to snap Peter out of his confusion. He turned to face Joe again.
The bad boy sniffed and looked to the side. “Yeah, I did my time for robbery—and now I’m out.” He shook his head. “And that eel would tell you that.” He widened his stance. “Me and Letty were childhood sweethearts.”
I raised my brows. Were you, now? This was getting more interesting. I watched Joe carefully—was he a shifter also? Had he known Letty was one?
“Why did Letty choose you to cater the event?” Peter’s quill scratched away at the scroll magically hovering beside him.
I crossed my arms. “Yeah, Joe. It wasn’t awkward catering your ex’s wedding?”
He sniffed and looked off toward the woods at the edge of the lawn, then waggled his thick dark brows at us. “Maybe she wanted to see a little more of me.” He looked me up and down, and I scrunched up my face.
Okay. This was getting to be a little
