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 out on the gold bleachers as we stepped back down. I shook my head at the reporter’s excitement over a woman’s death. Then again, I’d caught myself looking forward to the challenge of solving cases before and getting justice for the victims and their families. Even Peter had commented lately on me thinking like a cop.
I was surprised to hear more footsteps, the bleachers ringing with them, and glanced back. The entire row of royals tromped behind us, flanked by the guards with their enormous lances. When we reached the lawn, Madeline dashed off to find her photographer, and I joined Peter, McCray, and Bon in front of the tent. Again, I was surprised when the royal guards followed us, with Princess Imogen, lantern in hand, Prince Harry, Sam, and the rest of their friends.
The princess edged closer, rising on her toes to peer into the tent. “How did the woman die? Did she have any—”
“Oh, no!” Bon whirled on her, his face and large ears red. He shook a short finger at the princess. “Out! All of you, out!”
The princess glowered back at him and opened her mouth, but the woman who looked like a coordinator marched over, her dark eyes blazing. She held a clipboard under one arm and pressed a slender finger to the communication device in her ear. “Brady—no! I told you a baker has died, not that she’s making rye, and in any case, I’m not going to get you a sample of bread!”
Her eyes widened, and she huffed. “Okay, yes, that time I did say bread. But before, I said dead.” She plucked the device out of her ear and turned to the princess, speaking in a businesslike, clipped manner. “I insist you all leave immediately and return to the palace.” She glanced behind her at the tent and then shook her head, muttering to herself. “Honestly, my first event back in Bijou Mer and of course, someone dies.”
Bon threw his hands up, exasperated. “That’s what I’m saying.” He shook a finger at the princess again. “Death and trouble follow you everywhere.”
“Uh!” She planted her hands on her hips. “That’s not fair. We could be helpful here, and just because I may have stumbled upon a few crime scenes—”
Bon barked out a humorless laugh. “A few dozen, you mean?”
The princess’s little flame peeked out of his lantern. “Snakes, Imogen, it seems like Bon can count better than you.” He batted his big, innocent eyes. “But I thought you said he was a brainless fool who couldn’t solve a mystery if it—”
She snapped the shutter on the lantern shut, and muffled cackling came from inside it. The princess and the inspector, both red-faced, shot scathing looks at each other.
Prince Harry edged between them, spreading his palms. “Inspector, we’re just trying to be of service.” His deep voice was calm and confident. “Can you at least tell us—”
Bon, a good head shorter than the prince, stepped forward and stood chest to chest with him. “I’m not telling you anything, your highness.” His tone dripped with sarcasm.
A blinding flash of light made me jump. I turned and found Madeline grinning beside her photographer, who aimed his camera and snapped another picture, capturing Bon’s attempt at intimidating the prince. Bon turned and huffed, then backed up and fidgeted
