It was tough to get out of Peter’s comfy bed the next evening, but we had sleuthin’ to do. I dragged a brush through my hair, threw on some jeans, an old band tee, and a worn bomber jacket, then shuffled out the door yawning.
Daisy lifted her snout skyward, her wet black nose twitching. Her eyes narrowed at me, and she whined. You go down the stairs first. Your breath smells like death, and you’re moving like a zombie. I don’t want you to fall and take me and my Peter down with you.
I rolled my eyes and whined back at her. Har har. I just need coffee. We were headed, per the usual, to the cafe at the bottom of Peter’s building. One of the many reasons I loved staying over with him.
Peter locked the apartment door behind him and then grinned at me, color flushing into his cheeks. I grinned back—and there was the main reason.
We headed down a few flights of stairs, my head pounding. Peter waved hello to an elderly couple on their way up, and I grunted something close to a greeting. I really needed some caffeine to be functional—it was healthy.
The enchanted bells of the island tolled, signaling that the last ferry was leaving for the mainland, taking all the human tourists back with it. Which meant it was time for the magical folk to come out in droves and all the magical shops to open.
We briefly headed out of the brightly lit, clean lobby into the drizzly cobblestone street, and headed next door to the cafe. A bell tinkled on the door as we stepped inside—the earthy aroma of coffee and the warmth of the shop already easing my case of just woke up grumpiness.
Jacques, an older man in a white apron, waved from behind the glass pastry case. “Ah, Peter, Jolene, hello!” He held up a finger and dipped behind the glass, emerging a moment later with a pretzel.
Daisy’s pointy ears pricked, and she licked her lips.
I let out a quiet whine. You’re drooling.
She barely spared me a glare before refocusing on Jacques and the treat in his hands. She growled. So are you.
Oops. I quickly wiped the corner of my mouth with the sleeve of my jacket. Maybe my dependency on coffee had gone too far. I took another whiff of the bitter, comforting drink and grinned. Oh, well.
Jacques came around the side of the elaborately carved wooden counter topped with marble and bent over in front of Daisy.
“Well, hello, Miss Daisy, how are you today? Care for a pretzel?” His dark eyes darted up to Peter’s face. “It’s completely canine safe.”
Peter grinned. “Of course. Thanks, Jacques.”
The old man cooed over Daisy, who tapped her front paws in excitement. He offered her the pretzel with an open palm, and she lunged and gobbled it up so quickly, I startled.
I curled my lip. Geez. Didn’t know she could move that fast. We left the pup cracking into the pretzel, spitting bits and crumbs everywhere on the black-and-white honeycomb tile floor. The owner of the cafe watched her a moment longer, wiping his hands on a towel that hung out of his apron pocket, then walked, chuckling, back behind the counter.
“The usual?”
“Yes, please.” Peter dipped his chin, but I shook my head and held up a few fingers.
“I’m going for a triple today.”
His eyes widened. “Oh, my. The lady needs her evening boost.”
I nodded. “The lady does.”
Peter slid an arm around my shoulders, and I hugged close to his side. All the little round tables were empty—it was still early—but I was sure the place would be bustling soon. Jacques made a very good—and more importantly, very strong—cup of joe.
As the older man bustled about, steaming milk for Peter’s mocha and grinding fresh beans, my cop boyfriend’s pocket buzzed. I jumped back, and he grinned, then fished the gumball-sized communication device out and popped it in his ear.
“I’ll be right back.” He held up a finger, then stepped out into the wet street, the bell tinkling behind him.
I slid over to stand closer to Daisy, who was dragging her tongue across the floor in an attempt to lick up every last morsel of that pretzel.
I glanced at Jacques, who stood with his back to us, his huge brass coffee equipment loud with its hisses and grinding noises. I didn’t bother to lower my voice too much when I let out a bark. Do you want me to give you and the floor a moment or…?
The dog jerked her head up and blinked at me as if she’d forgotten where she was. Then she glared at me, and her lips twitched back, revealing white, pointy teeth. You’re one to talk. I’ve seen you clean out a corpse’s fridge.
I tipped my head side to side and woofed. Not my finest moment, I’ll give you that. Then again, I was basically starving, so you do what you have to, you know? I cocked a brow. You act like Peter doesn’t feed you.
I was saved whatever witty comeback the dog would have hurled at me by Peter stepping back inside. He sidled up close to me and lowered his voice. “That was Gabriel—they have the results of the autopsies back.”
I perked up. “And?”
“Malorie Rutherford suffered a blow to her head, but it wasn’t fatal. The poisoned dart, which hit her after the fall, is what killed her.”
I cocked a brow. “So she was still alive after her stepdaughter pushed her into the phoenix’s enclosure?”
Peter nodded. “And the blow gun was wiped clean of fingerprints, so nothing there.” He heaved a sigh.
I frowned. “So that means Rebecca Rutherford isn’t guilty of murdering her stepmother?”
Peter shook his head. “She’ll still be charged for assaulting her, but someone else killed Malorie Rutherford after Rebecca pushed her into the phoenix’s cage.”
I bit my lip and eyed the brewing pot of coffee hungrily, willing my brain to function without its fuel. “Could there have been a fight between Malorie and that mystery
