I startled, then whirled around.
Another scream sounded, then another—they were coming from the baking tent. People in the bleachers rose from their seats, straining to get a look. Peter drew his wand and pulled me behind him.
White-clad medics dashed through the tent, shoving through the gawking bakers. All other activity ceased. They gathered around a red-haired woman who’d collapsed on the ground, convulsing. Two girls in their twenties stood nearby, one wailing, the other staring, stricken. Even as the medics drew their wands, the red-haired woman grew deathly still, foam pouring from her mouth.
Lights flashed from the ends of the medics’ wands as they tried spell after spell. Still, the woman didn’t move, and Madeline and I exchanged wide-eyed looks. Finally, the taller medic rose and murmured something to the two girls. The wailing one threw her head back and moaned, loud enough for us to hear in the stunned silence, “She’s dead?!”
Gasps sounded among the audience.
“Seriously?!” A woman with short white hair dressed in a stylish white jumpsuit stood beside the tent, clipboard in hand, wearing an earpiece. It looked to me like she was involved in coordinating the event. She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Not again.”
MURDER
After making sure I was alright, Peter and Daisy immediately flew into action, sending up the police signal to call for backup, cordoning off the tent, and preventing the witnesses in the stands from leaving. Madeline and I stayed standing halfway up the bleachers, close enough to the royals to eavesdrop.
Princess Imogen bent her head close to her husband and their friends, deep in hushed conversation.
Her magical flame cackled in his lantern. “Well, at least this time we know you didn’t kill anyone, Imogen.”
She flashed her eyes at him. “Somebody died, Iggy. So not the time.”
I shot a confused look at Madeline, who smirked. She leaned close and dropped her voice. There was a shocked hush still over the audience so that sobbing from the tent could be heard. “At the last baking competition, one of the contestants died and Imogen was a top suspect.”
I frowned. “Oh yeah, I remember reading about that.” I arched a brow. “She didn’t do it, did she?”
Madeline just chuckled as a reply, and I shot the princess a doubtful look. Who were we getting into cahoots with? Then again, who else could we turn to for help? My stomach tightened with nerves, and I nudged Madeline. “Should we try to talk to them now?” What if we were missing our chance?
She opened her mouth to speak, but a loud, familiar voice cut through the tense quiet, interrupting her.
“Alright, now, everybody remain calm!”
I turned to look as Peter’s boss, Inspector Bon, strutted across the lawn. I shook my head at him. Because yes, shouting at everyone would definitely help people be calm. I glanced to my right. Beyond the bramble patch, I could make out the turrets of the jail. With the precinct located on the royal grounds, it’d only taken the cops minutes to turn up.
Bon glanced up at the crowd, spotted the princess, and scowled. “You.”
The princess set her jaw, pink spots burning on her cheeks, while Prince Harry bit back a smile.
The little flame cackled. “It’s your biggest fan.”
I grinned. Guess I wasn’t the only one who wasn’t top of Bon’s list. The inspector’s boss, Chief McCray, strolled at his side, and half a dozen uniformed officers flanked them. McCray, her short blond hair barely moving in the sea breeze, caught my eye and winked. I nodded in acknowledgment, though unease washed over me.
Unlike Bon, who barely tolerated me and thought my abilities were a scam, McCray seemed to believe in me. In fact, she was quite friendly—sometimes to an unnerving degree. I often had to remind myself not to be fooled by her pally attitude—she had a keen mind and surprised me with insightful observations. I often got the feeling she knew more than she was letting on.
Bon pointed and barked out orders at the cops, some moving into the tent, others flanking the bleachers. Peter, accompanied by Daisy, spoke a few quiet words to Bon, I assumed filling him in on the situation, and then Bon turned to address the hundreds of spectators in the bleachers.
“A woman, one of the bakers, has died.” His gravelly voice carried in the nervous quiet. “As we don’t currently know the cause of death, we’re treating it as a murder.”
Murmurs sounded among the crowd. The bakers gathered around their stations, except for the two women who’d shared a station with the victim. They stood to the side, one motionless, as if in shock, the other sobbing loudly.
Bon held up his palms. “We’ll call you down in an orderly fashion to interview you and then dismiss you.” He narrowed his already beady eyes. “No one is to leave until you have permission!” He gave a curt nod, then spun ninety degrees on his heel and conferred with McCray and Peter.
I leaned close to Madeline. “Looks like I’ve got a new case.” I bit my lip and glanced up at the princess and Sam Snakeman.
Madeline squeezed my shoulder. “Honey, it’s fine—we’ll find another time to talk to them.” She grinned. “Actually—they’re holding a shifters’ rights rally outside the palace tonight. How about you meet me there?”
I nodded, though I wasn’t sure how conducive a rally would be to having a deep conversation. But I’d have to trust Madeline to figure that out.
“Now how about you help me get the scoop on what’s going on inside that tent….” Madeline leaned to the side, trying to get a glimpse of the sobbing baker.
I shot her a flat look. “Nice try. You know I can’t divulge police secrets in an ongoing investigation.”
She pinched her thumb and index finger together. “Just some tiny police secrets?”
I grinned. “I’ll catch up with you later.”
She smirked. “Fine. But I’ll come down with you—I’ve got to direct my photographer. We’re the first press on the scene. This’ll be a scoop.”
Our footsteps rang
