Daisy’s tail wagged. All true.
I was again slightly disappointed that Malorie’s threat hadn’t been juicier—no threats to his life or anything that’d give us a serious motive for murder.
A manila file magically appeared on the table in front of Peter in a flash of blue light. He opened it and removed a photograph of our Jane Doe, with the gash in her chest and the talon on a chain lying beside her. I looked quickly away, my stomach turning.
Peter turned the picture to face Zane and slid it across the table. “Do you recognize this woman?”
Zane leaned forward, eyes narrowed before he suddenly recoiled and shoved his chair back from the table. “Snakes!” He gaped at Peter, then pointed a trembling hand at the photo. “Is that a dead body?”
I knew how he felt. I could barely look either.
Peter nodded. “Do you recognize her?”
Zane darted a glance at the photo, then covered his mouth and averted his eyes. “I’ve never seen her in my life.”
Daisy whined. True!
I frowned. “WWAAC couldn’t have sent her to the party last night?”
“No way!” Zane gulped. “Is that the murder you came here to ask me about? Because I have never seen that woman in my life.”
I tipped my head from side to side. “Yeah… well, it’s one of them.”
Zane paled again. “There’s more?”
Peter licked his lips. “Malorie Rutherford was also killed last night. Do you know anything about that?”
“Snakes, no! You think I could’ve—?” He blinked and huffed. “No, I respect life—I don’t want to take it.”
Peter lifted a broad palm. “You respect animal life… would you kill Malorie to free her animals?”
Zane hesitated. “No.”
Daisy tipped her head to the side and eyed the curly-haired man. She let out a quiet bark. Partial truth.
I raised my brows at Zane, who seemed to already understand Daisy had called him out.
His shoulders slumped. “Okay—I honestly don’t know, but I can tell you I absolutely did not kill Malorie or that other woman in the picture.”
Daisy whined. True.
Peter and I exchanged glances. It didn’t seem like Zane was our man. Peter raised a brow, I shrugged one shoulder, and then he turned to Zane. “Alright. Thank you for your cooperation.”
Zane’s face relaxed.
Peter pointed at him as we rose and Daisy stretched then got to her feet. “We’ll be in touch.”
Zane nodded and showed us back out to the front. Once outside, Peter’s pocket buzzed, and he fished the communication device out and popped it in his ear. He nodded, murmured a few words, then pulled it back out again.
“That was the station. They’ve cross-checked missing persons reports, the guest list, and statements—no one’s reported our Jane Doe missing, no one saw her at the fundraiser, and she wasn’t on the guest list.”
I shook my head, at a loss. “Who was this lady? And why did she look like she was straight out of the ’70s?”
Peter jumped as the device began to buzz again. He still held it in his fingers and popped it into his ear. “Okay… yep… right away.”
He turned to me, brows pinched in apology. “I’m sorry—there’s a nearby call I’ve got to answer. Daisy and I are the closest officers.”
I waved it off. “No worries. I just remembered I’ve got to go by and talk to Madeline about what she found.”
He grinned. “Why don’t we meet up later?”
I nodded. “Sounds perfect.”
I rose on my tiptoes and planted a kiss on his cheek. “Be careful.” I pointed at Daisy and whined. You be careful, too.
I didn’t know dogs could roll their eyes, but Daisy did. Thanks, Mom.
Peter started off, but I suddenly remembered something. “Oh—the file?”
He spun around, brows raised.
“Could I borrow it? I just want to look it over. Our Jane Doe is driving me crazy.”
He grinned. “You sound like a cop more and more every night.”
I shook my head. “I’m not sure that’s a compliment.”
“From me it is.” He kissed my head, and the manila file magically appeared in my hands. “See you soon!” And with that, Daisy and Peter took off up the mountain, while I headed in the opposite direction, back to the Darkmoon District.
25
MADELINE
I headed down the winding cobblestone streets to a lower level of the island and climbed the stairs through the old, dilapidated warehouse that was the local paper’s headquarters. By the time I pushed the dinged metal door open and stepped onto the chaotic floor of The Conch, my thighs burned.
I threaded my way through the maze of cubicles, put slightly on edge by the deafening clack of enchanted typewriters, ringing bells, and the threat of flying manila folders as articles zoomed from desk to desk.
I slid to the right to make way for a young man staggering along with a pile of scrolls in his arms that towered high above his head, then ducked into Madeline’s cubicle.
“Knock knock.”
She didn’t even look up from where she stood poring over a collage of papers, scrolls, and magically moving photographs on her desk.
“Hey, honey.”
I crossed my arms and ankles and leaned against the fuzzy cubicle wall. It was a faded brown that matched the carpet. I bit my lip—what color had it originally been about a thousand years ago when it was new?
“What can I do for you?” She swapped two photos out with a couple more she pulled from a file folder that balanced precariously on top of a half-empty pot of coffee. I sniffed—it smelled stale, though the whole office had a faint mildewed smell to it. I glanced to my right at the wall of dingy windows, battered by falling rain. The moisture wasn’t helping.
I shook myself and brought myself back to the task at hand. “You rang?” I raised my brows. “I got your note—you found something on Ludolf?”
“Mm-hmm.” She nibbled her lower lip, still engrossed in the task in front of her. “Ah.” She grabbed a quill and scratched out a whole paragraph, jotted down a couple of sentences, then finally looked up.
She wore
