McCray pointed at the dog and raised her brows. “So it’s true? The curse killed this guy?”
Peter tipped his head side to side. “It’s complicated. Daisy can smell the difference between truths and lies, but it really only means that he believes he’s telling the truth. He could be being honest, and still be wrong.”
“Ah.” McCray folded her arms.
Peter’s eyes slid to Kalia, who still comforted Quentin. “I spoke with the museum’s board of directors today. They informed me that they’d given the director till the end of the month before he’d be let go.”
Kalia’s head snapped up, eyes wide. “The board was forcing Oscar to retire?”
Peter nodded. “Did you know?”
Her mouth dropped open. “No! I had no idea.”
Peter shifted on his feet. “Apparently Dr. Pendergast requested to be the one to tell the staff he was leaving, and the board agreed.”
The curator shook her head. “He hadn’t told me.”
Quentin sniffled. “Me, neither.”
I bit my lip, a little more wary of the curator now. What if she didn’t like the direction Geoffrey or the director had been taking the museum? She’d worked here a long time, put in her dues and seemed intelligent. Maybe she wanted a chance to call the shots herself and took them both out.
If she wasn’t aware the director was leaving soon anyway, she might have taken matters into her own hands.
Peter watched the curator carefully. “So you also were not aware that the board would be appointing you as director after he left?”
Kalia froze.
25
NEGATIVE ENERGIES
A long silence followed, filled with the murmur of the crowd in the other room.
“Ms. Magaro, were you aware you were about to be promoted to director?” McCray prompted.
Kalia shook herself. “No. I—that’s not important right now. Oscar’s dead. I don’t even care about being director.”
Daisy let out a low growl. Lie.
McCray pointed at the German shepherd and raised her brows at Kalia. “Pretty sure that means you’re lying.”
Kalia huffed and Quentin stepped aside. “Okay, fine. Yes, I’ve thought about being director, of course I have.” She pressed her lips into a tight line. “But I wouldn’t have killed for it. I didn’t kill Geoffrey or Oscar.” She shot a pointed look at Daisy.
The dog’s tail wagged. Truth.
Kalia’s shoulders slumped with relief.
Ouch.
I glanced down at Daisy, who’d let out a little whimper. Her ears were tucked, and she winced.
I frowned up at Peter. “Is your dog okay?”
He looked down at her, brows pinched with concern. “She does look a little off. What’s wrong, girl?”
I crouched down beside her so the others wouldn’t overhear and let out a few woofs. What’s up with you? You were acting like this the other day, too.
She shot me a savage side-eye and growled. Nothing, I’m fine. Her whole body jerked and she growled, almost involuntarily. I’m lying.
“Ha!” I couldn’t hold back a laugh. Snakes! She even had to call herself out for lying.
She growled again. Fine! I have a headache, okay? She groaned.
“Is the dog sick?” Quentin pointed at Daisy.
I nodded. “I’m sensing she has a headache.” I glanced at Peter. “But nothing more serious,” I added quickly, to ease the concern I saw written all over his face.
Quentin nodded. “I’ve read about this phenomenon. Animals are much more sensitive than we are.”
I glanced down at Daisy. Hmm… he may not think so if he’d heard some of her brutal quips.
He pushed his glasses up his nose, then gestured around at all the cursed objects displayed nearest us—the blood painting, straw dolls, and haunted wedding dress. “It might be hurting your dog to be around objects that give off such intense negative energies.”
Again—Quentin was likely unaware of how intensely negative this dog herself could be. Still… I glanced down at the whining dog. It was kind of hard to see her like this.
Peter and I exchanged looks. I gave him a little nod before he turned to the inspector and chief. “Permission to move to another part of the museum? For Daisy’s sake?”
Bon huffed and crossed his arms. “Are we really gonna believe this woo woo bunch of crab? These things are as cursed as I am.” He huffed and toed one of the displays. The glass fractured, then shattered into tiny, glittering shards. Quentin cried out and hugged close to Kalia while Bon stumbled back, eyes wide, spluttering.
McCray doubled over, laughing so hard she could barely speak. She slapped her thigh and gasped for breath while Bon adjusted his tie and rejoined her, scowling. I fought back my own laughter so hard it hurt. Finally the new chief straightened. She lifted her glasses and swiped away tears.
“Sorry—sorry.” She waved her hand. “I know—so inappropriate to laugh with a dead body hovering nearby but—” She broke into chuckles again. “Oh—the look on your face, Bon. Thank you—I needed that.” She waved a couple officers over. “Clean that up, will you? We don’t need Bon picking up any more curses.” She broke back into hysterics.
Bon, eyes blazing and cheeks bright red, huffed. “Fine, Flint, get yourself and your dog out there and start interviewing witnesses.”
Peter, eyes dancing with mirth, nodded. “Yes, sir.”
I had no idea how he was keeping a straight face.
Peter lowered his voice and turned to me. “Looks like we’ll be busy tonight—there are hundreds of witnesses out there, all of them potential suspects.”
I nodded. “Though it seems like Geoffrey’s and the director’s deaths have to be related, right? And the museum employees seem like the likeliest suspects.” We both turned to eye Kalia and Quentin. We’d pretty much crossed Kalia off the list, and my gut told me it wasn’t Quentin.
I frowned. “Where’s Mrs. Abernathy?”
“She called out sick.” Kalia rolled her eyes. “Though she sounded perfectly healthy to me. She made her feelings about this collection and its black magic well known—this is probably her way of protesting it.”
I nodded. Shell—she might even be outside with her brothers and sisters from the Temple of Purity, sign in hand. And if she
