That little thinking line appeared between Peter’s brows, and he turned back to his colleague. “Bag it up. We’ll send it to the lab.”
The cop nodded, then pointed a gloved hand at Malorie’s blond hair, matted to her head. “She also has a head wound.”
I looked away, my stomach turning.
“It’s bloody, but it’s not always easy at first glance to see how serious a head injury is.”
I pressed a hand to my unsettled stomach. I was half tempted to look, but didn’t want all those shrimp cocktails I’d nabbed to come back up again.
Peter blew out a breath. “We’ll have Gabriel take a look.”
The cops beside Malorie’s body nodded and rose, then withdrew their wands. I snuck glances until they’d spelled her body into a bag and I felt like it was safe to turn around. They’d take her to the station, and Gabriel, the coroner, would weigh in on how she’d been killed.
Peter turned to the vet, who blew out a puff of smoke. “What happened after you checked for vital signs?”
The guy shrugged. “I told Quincy that his wife and that other lady were dead. He said something about looking for the missing phoenix and took off.” Mark gestured with his cigarette toward the back door to the enclosure, which still stood ajar.
“Quincy?”
Mark raised his brows. “Quincy Rutherford.” He jerked his chin at the body bag being escorted through the back door by the two cops. “Malorie’s husband, and my boss, technically.”
Technically? Was there trouble in sanctuary?
Peter licked his lips. “And where’s Quincy now?”
Mark scoffed. “Shell if I know.”
Peter’s frown deepened and he turned toward the officers gathered around the other woman’s body. I caught a glimpse of a long red gash running from her shoulder across her chest, right over her heart. Ick. One of the cops used a gloved hand to lift a black horn, or claw, attached to a long, delicate gold chain. Blood stained the razor-sharp tip.
“What is that?” Peter’s voice held a note of disbelief.
“Uh… a claw?” The cop sounded confused.
“It’s a talon.” Mark tossed his cigarette butt onto the volcanic rock and ground it out with his foot. “A phoenix talon, to be precise.”
Peter let out a heavy sigh. “Why is it on a gold chain?”
Mark let out a humorless laugh. “Because Malorie had it strung up that way. We had to remove it some years ago because of an injury the bird sustained. She was wearing it as a necklace this evening.”
I frowned. “Did she wear all the animals’ toenails as jewelry?”
The vet smirked. “Nah. A phoenix talon is rare. It’s rumored to be the only thing that’ll actually kill a phoenix.” He glanced toward the dead woman. “Though it’s clearly sharp enough to kill just about anything.”
I risked a glance at the body again and caught sight of gray hair, leather fringe, and reddish-brown blood and looked hastily away. So Malorie Rutherford had suffered a head wound and what was likely a poison dart attack, while this other woman, who looked like she was headed to a ’70s-themed party, had been killed with Malorie’s necklace? What in the shell had happened in here behind that red velvet curtain?
Peter pointed at the other dead woman. “Do you know her?”
Mark scoffed. “Never seen that lady in my life.”
Daisy looked up from sniffing a palm with leaves the size of my torso and wagged her tail. True.
“Officer Flint!”
We all turned toward the breathless officer who hung on the doorframe and peeked his head in through the back entrance. I recognized Russo, a rookie cop I’d worked with before. He gulped and pushed his square glasses up his nose. “You—you’re gonna want to see this. I think we, uh, I think we found the murder weapon.”
LEMURS!
Peter, Daisy, and I left the other officers to bag up the hippie lady’s body and followed Russo out the back of the enclosure. Russo hunched his shoulders and tried to shrink his enormous frame as he loped ahead of us. I gawked as I took in the sanctuary. Dark, lush foliage made me almost forget we were indoors as we stepped along the suspended wooden walkway.
The planks creaked and slightly swayed, like a rope bridge that led us through various enclosures. Since the animals were only caged by magic, it was easy to feel totally immersed, as though we’d suddenly stepped into a dense jungle. Plaques here and there announced various animal enclosures and exotic plants. I brushed some tendrils of hair back that had matted to my forehead. The air hung heavy and humid around us, filled with strange animal hoots and howls and insect chirps.
“Is this place open to the public?”
Russo glanced back over his shoulder and pushed his square glasses up his nose. “They do tours a few times a night, from what I understand.” He stopped and turned around to face us, gesturing at the ground. “Take a gander.”
Peter, Daisy, and I gathered around the wooden pipe on the ground. Peter crouched down beside it and poked at it with the tip of his wand. I bent forward, then winced. “Ooh. Blow dart gun?”
Peter glanced up, and Russo nodded. His own scroll magically appeared in front of him and he scanned his scribbled notes.
“Quincy Rutherford says they kept it in the sanctuary’s office.”
I raised my brows. “You found Quincy?”
Russo’s eyes widened. “Was he missing?”
I glanced between him and Peter as Daisy gingerly sniffed at our possible murder weapon. Well, one of the weapons. Pretty sure the slash across the other woman’s chest and the bloody talon next to her were a dead giveaway—no pun intended.
Peter tipped his head side to side. “Quincy Rutherford was first on the scene, then Mark, the vet, rushed in through the back door. After Mark verified that Malorie, his wife, was dead, Quincy apparently took off to look for the phoenix.” He frowned down at the blow dart gun, then rose to his feet. “Where’d you find Quincy Rutherford?”
Russo quirked his lips to the side. “Uh—right about
