I understood her deep distrust of the police and the justice system. It had failed her before—why would she trust us now? I took a deep breath. “I get it, Mimi, but you can trust us. I’m a shifter, too.” It’d been a long time since I’d admitted that in public. A nervous jolt coursed through me.
Mimi studied my face. “Prove it.”
My throat closed up. “I—I can’t.” I’d lost the ability to turn into an owl a few years ago, when one of my colleagues cursed me—with a little concoction brewed up by Ludolf. I missed soaring over the island every night. It hurt to admit that I couldn’t shift. It made me wonder—was I even a shifter anymore?
Mimi shook her head. “Yeah—that’s what I thought.”
There wasn’t much more to say, so Peter and I took our leave… but not before I snuck Daisy a treat out of the complimentary jar at the front counter. As we rejoined the mutt outside, she growled.
That was so humiliating, waiting at the back door like a common street animal and without even a— Oh. Her eyes grew huge as I held the treat in front of her nose. After a few dainty sniffs, she lurched forward and snatched up the biscuit.
I recoiled and huffed. Snakes, Days! Watch the fingers!
She munched happily, crumbs flying from her mouth, and I grinned at her, then caught Peter grinning at me. “What?”
He shrugged and took my hand as we walked through the street lined with food carts and bustling with shoppers. Strings of lights crisscrossed overhead, and the mouthwatering smells of fried food hung in the air. “It just makes me happy when I see you two getting along.”
I squeezed his hand as he grew thoughtful, that crease appearing between his brows. “I honestly didn’t realize how much people in the Darkmoon don’t trust the police.” He shook his head. “I mean—we were offering to help her.”
I raised my brows at him. “Not to be a jerk, but… dur.”
He smirked, then grew grim again. “I just didn’t know what a problem this was before.”
I nodded and squeezed his hand tighter. “The more cops like you follow through on their promises and give them a fair chance, the more they’ll trust you.” I shrugged. “Plus, it might not hurt to do some of your shopping here—get to know the bakers and the gals at the corner mart, you know?”
He nodded. “That’s a good idea.”
I grinned. “So what’s next?”
Peter steered us up the mountain. “I say we question Vince Dupont—Polly’s ex-boyfriend.”
28
VINCE DUPONT
We headed up a few tiers to find and question Vince Dupont. Edna, the precinct manager, had done some snooping for us and learned that of his many businesses (which included a mermaid bar, housing rentals, and a corner mart) he was spending the evening supervising his laundromat.
A bell rang as Peter pushed the door open and held it for me and Daisy. We stepped inside a brightly lit building that smelled overwhelmingly of lavender. Daisy sneezed, and I had to turn my head and cough into my elbow.
I recognized Vince from his hasty exit at the baking competition a couple of days ago. The tanned guy stood behind the counter, his black shirt unbuttoned way too low, exposing curly white chest hair. I raised a brow—the Pierre women certainly had a type. The older man ran a bejeweled hand through his slicked-back hair, the temples white and the top gray.
A customer tossed a canvas sack onto the counter. “I need this all washed and folded.”
A middle-aged woman in a smock stood beside Vince. She wrote out a ticket with a quill, then ripped off the lower portion and handed it to the customer. “It’ll be ready Friday.”
The guy took it and headed out, shooting us a curious look before the bell rang as he left.
“Can I help you, Officer?” Vince flashed a bright white smile, but his dark eyes stayed narrowed and tight. “Need your uniforms done? We offer a 10 percent discount for civil servants. Heh.” His smile faltered. Someone was nervous.
The front area of the business was pretty tiny, but a serpentine rack of hanging clothes snaked through the back behind the counter. Half a dozen wooden tubs with old-fashioned washing boards magically scrubbed laundry, sending up clouds of suds and bubbles. Enchanted bottles floated over, dropping in a dash of purple liquid, then a splash of green. I assumed they were for getting stains out or making collars crisp. A dozen smocked women moved about, arms full of sheets or hangers. A few paused to watch the interaction between us and their boss.
Peter, Daisy, and I stepped up to the counter, and the lady beside Vince disappeared into the back. He gulped.
“Actually, we’re here to speak with you about Polly Pierre.”
“Uh—who?” He blinked his dark eyes rapidly and dragged a ring-bedecked hand down his mouth and beard.
I smirked—this guy was a bad liar. I didn’t even need Daisy’s growl to know that.
Peter sighed. “Sir, my partner Daisy here is a lie-sniffing canine, so I suggest you tell the truth. We know you were at the baking competition the day Polly was murdered.”
The color drained from his overly tanned face. “She was murdered, huh?” He shook his head. “I was hoping it was just a heart attack or something.” He looked up, eyes wide, and waved his thick hands. “Not that I wanted her dead or anything, just—murdered.” He clicked his tongue. “Not a good way to go.”
I crossed my arms and leaned against the counter. “Her daughters told us that you and Polly used to be together?”
“Uh, yeah.” He pressed his
