I pulled my lips to the side. “Maybe they had more accomplices. They took the bird while the hippie lady stayed behind to keep Malorie from chasing after them or sounding the alarm, and they ended up killing each other?” It sounded flimsy even as I said it.
Peter shook his head. “There are no signs of a struggle, though—no scrapes or scratches on either of them. Just that wound to Malorie’s head, the dart in her neck, and the talon in the mystery woman’s chest.”
I fanned myself, the humidity making me sweat. “So what next?”
Daisy panted with her tongue hanging out of her mouth. She glanced up and growled. You think you’re hot? I have a fur coat.
I woofed back. We can shave you. I raised my brows. Or have you waxed? I think you could rock the bald look.
Her ears flattened, and her growl deepened. Try it and see what happens.
I shrugged and whined back, a grin playing at the corner of my mouth. Look, Days, I’m a pet psychic—
She interrupted me with a growl. Lie.
—not a pet aesthetician, but I’m sure I could find somebody. You want your nails done, too? We could have a girls’ spa day. I winked.
She bared her teeth in a vicious snarl, her dark lips twitching. Touch my paws or my nails and it’ll be the last thing you do.
I grinned wider, and Peter shook his head at me, smiling. “You’re egging her on.”
I shrugged. “It’s not my fault she’s so fun to tease.”
The dog looked from one of us to the other, dark eyes narrowed, and growled. Tell Peter, right now, that you’re being rude and—
I shot her a flat look and whined. Oh, relax—next time I make bacon, I’ll put the grease in your food. Happy?
Her pointy ears pricked up, and her eyes grew round. Really? The tip of her bushy tail wagged just the tiniest amount.
I rolled my eyes. Did you detect a lie?
She considered a moment, then her mouth split into a wide, toothy grin, and she panted. Okay. Deal.
I squeezed Peter’s hand. “I think we’re cool.”
His smile widened as he looked from me to his dog. “I think so, too.” He patted Daisy’s head, and her tail swished from side to side in big sweeps.
I raised my brows. “Now what?”
Peter lifted his chin in the direction of the rope bridge. “Let’s head to the sanctuary’s office and check in with the other officers there.”
11
THE BLOW GUN
“Wow.” I let out a low whistle as I took in the Magical Animal Sanctuary’s office. Apparently, the animal print theme wasn’t reserved only for the party this evening—it was part of everyday life. A few cops moved about the large space and collected evidence, searching drawers and dusting for fingerprints.
They nearly disappeared, camouflaged as they were among the busy mix of wood African masks on the wall, tiger skin rugs, and zebra print upholstery on the stuffed chairs and sofa in the reception area up front. My eyes widened as I spotted the wood cabinet to my left, painted a gold leopard print, and the antler chandelier that cast most of the light.
I leaned close to Peter. “Guess they just can’t hide their enthusiasm for animal skins.”
He glanced down at me, the corners of his mouth tight, like he was fighting a smile.
I rolled my eyes. “Oh come on, that was a solid pun.”
He raised a thick brow. “It was spot-on.”
I groaned, then frowned again at the decor. The mounted heads and sheer amount of leather seemed a bit of an odd choice for a place that purported to keep animals alive, but hey, who was I to judge? My own place’s interior design consisted of furniture I’d found on the street and piles of laundry.
Which was probably why I’d been enjoying spending so much time over at Peter’s. My cheeks grew a little hot as I relived some of our recent evening activities—well, it was one of the reasons.
Peter checked in with a couple of the cops collecting evidence while I hung back beside Russo, who’d brought in Quincy Rutherford in case we had any questions for him. I frowned as I took that in. Malorie had married Richard Rutherford as her first husband, which meant...
I spun to face Quincy. “You took Malorie’s name when you got married?”
His cheeks turned a little pink, but he lifted his large nose in the air, his jowls wobbling a bit. “Yes. And?”
I pressed my lips together and nodded. “Very progressive of you.” I turned away. And odd. Quincy and Malorie had no doubt kept the Rutherford name because of the clout it carried among the elite, but neither of them had been born Rutherfords.
A middle-aged cop with her blond hair tucked into a low bun under her cap rummaged around the papers stacked in piles on the huge wooden desk in the back of the room. She tossed some over her left shoulder, others over her right. They magically floated into various evidence bags. Peter sidled up beside her.
“Hey, Rochester, were you among the first in here?”
She barely spared him a glance, then nodded and went back to sorting evidence. “Yep.”
Peter nodded. “Was the door locked?”
She shook her head, eyes on her work. “Nope. Door was ajar, in fact.”
Peter and I exchanged looks. If someone needed a key to get into the office and grab the blow gun, that limited our suspects considerably. But Quincy had mentioned he was forgetful and often forgot to lock the office up, which would open our pool of suspects up to basically all the hundreds of party guests, plus staff.
The blond looked up. “Speaking of which, we checked the door to the second-story viewing platform in the phoenix’s cage. Also unlocked.”
I turned to face the widower. “Hey, Quincy, did
