A little thrill rushed through my chest. And I might never wash my temples again. Though, considering my apartment didn’t have a working shower and I had to sneak into the bathhouse down the street once a week to bathe, that wouldn’t be much of a stretch for me.
I gave myself a little shake when I caught Peter looking at me expectantly—though I couldn’t help but notice the pink blush creeping up his neck and cheeks. Maybe I wasn’t the only one feeling this?
Daisy growled.
Right, Jolene. Back to police business. I nodded as the other officers gathered closer to hear my findings. “The spider didn’t kill the witch.”
A guy with a big gut and mustache huffed. “Well, it was a massive dose of spider venom that did her in, so I think we can safely say it did.”
The officer next to him nodded his agreement.
I frowned. “I disagree. The spider must have known that killing its witch would result in its own death.” I looked back up at Peter. “It said—I mean, it thought, ‘the one who was here before as a girl, and again as a woman,’ did it.” I shrugged. “I think the spider saw a bit of what the victim saw.”
Peter stroked his chin. “What could that mean?”
The lady cop glared at me, her lids half lowered. “If any of that actually happened.” She turned to the mustached officer beside her and scoffed. “Pet psychic doing police work—now I’ve seen everything.”
Anger and embarrassment made my chest burn hot. I opened my mouth to set them straight, but Peter beat me to it.
“Jolene’s here because I saw her use her powers with my own eyes to save Daisy.” He lifted his chin. “You got a problem with her being here, then you take it up with me.”
I folded my arms and beamed at the other two. Yeah—what he said.
The other cops lowered their eyes and mumbled apologies.
Peter gave me a tight-lipped smile. “Sorry about that. I think we should go have a talk with the foreman, Xiu, who found our victim.”
I grinned back at him. “Lead the way.”
THE SWEATSHOP
The lady cop escorted us through the cramped, muggy hallways, lined with silent workers, to the main production room, then took her leave to attend to bagging up the giant spider as evidence. I did not envy her job at that moment.
Daisy, Peter, and I strode down the center aisle of the warehouse. The tall ceilings gave the place a cavelike feel. The skylights would brighten the place once the sun rose, but for now, the sky above appeared black. The only light came from the tapered candles on the hundreds of workstations crammed tightly together. Giant looms lined the center aisle, magically clacking and weaving huge swatches of fabric in greens and blues.
A couple of women bustled by, heading in the other direction. They pushed rolling carts piled high with fabric scraps and bits of metal buckles and paper patterns. All around us, women hunched over their tables and spinning wheels, silently working with intent focus.
I lifted a brow as we strode toward the back of the room and the raised platform that looked out over the production floor. This place was a well-oiled machine.
I nudged Peter with my elbow. “I suppose the show must go on, but you’d never guess the owner had been killed in here just an hour ago.”
He nodded. “I’m surprised the factory’s still operating. I wonder who’s in charge now that Li Fan is dead?”
We passed the last row of workstations and entered a small bit of clear floor space. Here, a thin, older woman paced back and forth, her hard, dark eyes scanning the workers. She clasped her hands behind her back and wore a white cap atop her short gray hair.
She turned her lined face to us, with its prominent cheekbones and puffy under eyes, and stared at Peter, then Daisy, then me. Oh, great—I came after the dog in order of importance. She pursed her lips tight together, her mouth slightly twisted in a wry grin—as though she were daring us to cross her.
I gulped. No, thanks. This lady looked tough.
Peter bowed his head. “I’m Officer Peter Flint, and this is my partner, Daisy.”
The German shepherd perked up her pointy ears.
He swept an arm my way. “And my associate, Jolene.”
I resisted the strange urge to curtsy (this woman really intimidated me, apparently) and dipped my chin instead.
The woman stared back us, unblinking. Behind us, hammers thudded against wooden tables, spinning wheels whirred, and the looms clacked.
Peter’s throat bobbed. “We’re, uh—looking for Xiu, the foreman.” He blinked. “Is that… you?”
The older woman ever so slightly inclined her head.
I shot Peter a quick look. Guess that was a yes?
He cleared his throat. “Great. Well, I understand you were the one who found Li Fan’s body?”
Xiu raised one spotted hand to her throat and fished out a delicate gold chain. She rubbed it between her fingers, feeling down the length of it until a gold locket slid out from below her collar.
I cocked my head as I watched her. It seemed so out of place, the feminine jewelry, in contrast to the drab gray coveralls she wore. And was that a second gold chain that dipped under her shirt? Her dark eyes grew far away—until she caught me watching her, jumped, then stuffed the locket back under her clothes.
She frowned. “Yes. I found Li Fan.” Her voice came out hoarse and low.
Peter nodded. “Where?”
She pointed up at the raised platform above us. A solid row of windows, covered by drapes, looked out onto the factory floor, and a set of metal stairs zigzagged from where we stood up to it.
“In her office.”
Peter’s eyes drifted up, then back to Xiu. “When was this?”
The woman’s gaze shifted back to the workers behind us. “Just before 3:00 a.m. I went home for my six-hour break around nine last night. When I returned, I found Li Fan—dead.”
I raised my brows. “A
