Peter nodded, his lips pressed tight together. I suspected he wasn't entirely comfortable with this decision, but I felt it was the right one, morally. Most of the time, people had to guess at animals’ wishes and make the best decisions they could. But in this case, Cassie had let us know exactly what she wanted for herself, and I thought it right to honor that. Plus, the two of them were pretty cute together.
Peter cleared his throat. "Miss Brown?"
Libbie and the wombat, still embracing each other, looked our way.
Peter’s tone grew serious. "Don't leave the island—you’re still a suspect in an active investigation."
Libbie nodded and went back to squealing and hugging Cassie. Peter glanced down at me, his expression soft, and winked.
15
REBECCA
Peter, Daisy, and I left Libbie to celebrate with her wombat and headed back toward the big stone mansion.
"I think we need to go speak to this Rebecca Rutherford person, Malorie’s stepdaughter." Peter's warm hand wrapped around mine.
"Agreed." I ticked the facts off on my free hand. "We have multiple witnesses who all say Rebecca hated Malorie, she crashed the party tonight, and Libbie saw the two of them arguing in the sanctuary. Quincy probably left the office unlocked, giving Rebecca access to the poisoned dart. She's got means, motive, and opportunity."
Peter grinned down at me.
"What?" I pursed my lips and opened my eyes wide.
He shook his head, smiling. "Nothing, just… you sound like a cop again."
I grinned, pleased. "Or a good lawyer."
AFTER SOME ASKING AROUND, we discovered that Rebecca was no longer at the party. I raised my brows at that. "Fleeing the scene of a crime? Sounds like something a murderer would do."
Peter called up to Edna at the station using his magical communication device and got Rebecca Rutherford's address.
Peter, his canine partner, and I trekked through the blustery fall night, my hands shoved in my pockets, until we reached the lower tier of the island, just a couple of levels above my own home in the dingy Darkmoon Nightmarket district.
A bell rang as we stepped into the building's lobby. Scratched brass mailboxes lined the left-hand wall, while a flickering chandelier cast the only light in the mildewed space. We made our way across a rug that looked like it was more dust than fabric and climbed the rickety, groaning staircase to the third floor.
I raised a brow. "This is where Rebecca lives? I thought the Rutherfords were well-off."
Peter glanced back at me. "Quincy told us that Malorie’s first husband left everything to her, remember?” He frowned as he took in the peeling wallpaper and the sparking enchanted oil lantern on the wall. "Guess he meant everything."
Something heavy thumped against the hallway wall to our right, and shouts sounded behind the next door. Peter hesitated, clearly wanting to intervene, but I placed my hands on his shoulders and pushed him forward.
"One case at a time, Officer Flint."
Peter rapped on the door with a brass number three nailed crookedly into it. Light footsteps sounded, followed by the click of several locks, and then the door opened a crack. A pale eye peered out at us.
"What do you want?"
Hospitality at its finest.
Peter cleared his throat. "I'm Officer Flint, and this is my partner, Daisy." He turned to look at me, and his lips twitched toward a smile. "And this is police consultant Jolene Hartgrave. We're looking for Rebecca Rutherford?"
The woman’s eye, barely visible through the dark crack in the door, grew wider, then her lid fluttered and she stumbled back. "I— Now is not a good time. Come back later."
I pressed my lips together and raised my brows at Peter. That was exactly what a guilty party would do.
"I'm sorry, ma'am, but this can't wait. Are you Rebecca Rutherford?"
The woman let out a choked sob, then dragged herself to the door. She slid the chain off then opened it wider. She stood to the side, her head hanging, and gestured for us to enter. "Yes, I'm Rebecca Rutherford. Come in." She said it like she already knew she was done for.
I followed Peter and Daisy inside and looked around. She hadn’t been kidding about it being a bad time. Unless her apartment looked like this all the time? I shuddered.
Shouts and thumps still sounded from the neighbors through the thin walls. A dead plant sat in front of the window, which had been propped slightly open and let in sounds from the street—shattering glass and angry shouts. I raised my eyebrows and nodded as I looked around. Felt like home. It was extremely odd for an heiress to be living in the kind of squalor I was used to.
Aside from the one kitchen window with the plant, all the others were covered in black drapes, as was a full-length mirror and a couple of smaller ones hanging on the walls. The place was cluttered, the sink piled with dirty dishes, and several bouquets of dying flowers were littered on dressers and a dinette set.
"My mother recently passed away." Rebecca dabbed at her eyes with the hanky, and I suddenly realized that she was also wearing funeral blacks. Her gray, wiry hair hung unstyled around her drawn face, her eyes swollen from crying. She wrung the hanky between her trembling hands.
I gasped as I recognized her as the woman who’d pushed past me earlier this evening. “You were at the Night of the Phoenix party tonight.”
She gulped and shook her head, but Daisy growled. Liar.
I nodded at Peter. “I saw her—she rushed out of there looking upset.”
16
PUSHED TO THE EDGE
Peter and I exchanged concerned looks, as Daisy sniffed around the water-rotted base of the kitchen cupboards.
“I’m sorry to hear about your mother.” Peter
