Her smirk widened.
But why would she have killed Geoffrey? My eyes landed on the silver rune necklace she wore. Because of her beliefs? I frowned and pointed at her neck. “You’re a member of the Temple of Purity? But I heard they were anti-shifter.”
The older woman’s lip curled. “Good cover, huh?”
My eyes widened. It was, actually. She’d pretended to hold such staunch, prejudiced beliefs that even now that she’d told me the truth, I was having a hard time believing she was actually a mouse shifter.
If she hadn’t killed because of her beliefs, then why? My eyes drifted behind her to the display of gaudy witch figurines. The same kind that had been used to kill Geoffrey. Daisy had been getting mixed reads from her when we’d questioned her.
Maybe there was some truth mixed in with her lies—maybe she was genuinely upset with Geoffrey Ibsen for coming in here and trying to change things up and get rid of her merchandise. And those figurines—why were they such popular sellers?
Another inconsistency popped into my mind. When we’d first seen the figurine smashed to pieces in Geoffrey’s office, I’d assumed they were hollow, and fairly lightweight. But when I’d picked one up off the shelf, I’d been shocked by how heavy it was.
I jerked my head toward the display of them. “The figurines—they’re filled with something, aren’t they? You’re hiding something in them?”
She raised her thin penciled brows. “Merkles, to be exact.”
Heavy gold coins—heavy enough to kill someone when bashed over the head with a figurine. “You killed Geoffrey. Why?” I willed my shoulders to stay squared and my legs to stop shaking.
She was an old lady—I could take her, right? The tip of her wand poked out of her pencil skirt’s pocket. Not without magic, I couldn’t. I didn’t know what was worse—the fact that the little mouse had turned out to be a cold-blooded killer, or that Peter had been right about me needing backup.
“I run a money sending and lending business. I cater to shifters and other lowlives.”
I gaped. “Through the museum’s gift shop?”
She lifted a brow and looked down her nose at me. “Another good cover. We pass money through the figurines—they’re way overpriced and ugly as sin, so no normal patrons buy them. Been doing it for a decade right under the director’s nose—the guy was senile as an old bat.”
Chills ran down my spine. The director was dead—I had to assume that was her doing, too. While I could understand her getting away with this under his nose, considering his lack of interest in the business of the museum as well as his failing mental capacities, I had a hard time seeing how she’d pulled one over on the overzealous security guard for so long.
“But Maverick said he checked your purse daily. How are you getting the money in and out?”
She looked at me like I was a simpleton and gestured behind her toward the checkout desk. “The mouse holes, dearie, of course.”
When we’d first met her, she’d been crouching behind the checkout counter. Of course—she’d been hiding money. I’d even seen the glint of a coin just inside the mouse hole.
I shook my head as I recalled the two leather books. I’d even spotted her second ledger—the one for her illegal business. The evidence had all been there—we just hadn’t put it all together.
I let out a heavy sigh. “Why’d you kill Geoffrey?”
She sniffed. “He was interfering, looking into the books, changing up the merchandise in the shops.” She waved a spotted hand. “Bothersome, but I’d have found a way around it. Except he took one of the figurines for his office—full of merkles.” Her face grew red. “I wanted the money back, of course, but more than that, I feared he’d find the money and discover what I’d been up to.”
She dusted off the shoulder of her fuzzy cardigan. “After he left the museum the other night, I hurried in to take the coins back.” She shrugged. “Apparently, he forgot something and came back. He surprised me in his office, and I acted instinctively—hit him over the head with the figurine.”
I thought back to the crime scene—to the mouse hole behind the desk. She’d been able to enter and leave in mouse form, unseen by anyone else. There’d been bits of shattered figurine on the floor—but no merkles. She’d managed to get her coins back after all.
I shook my head. “And then you shifted into a mouse and scurried away, with no one the wiser.”
Mrs. Abernathy’s face split into a wry smile. “Well, Dr. Pendergast was the wiser.”
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I’d been lazy one day, about four months ago—he saw me shift, knew my secret. But senile as he was, forgot immediately.” She chuckled, and I recoiled. This lady had one warped sense of humor.
She nodded to herself. “I’ve had to be very careful ever since not to slip up again. Every now and then I’d catch him looking at me a certain way, as though he remembered. Then it’d pass in a flash. I thought I’d gotten off clean, without him remembering.”
She snorted. “But tonight—tonight he remembered, and he accused me of killing Geoffrey. Who would’ve expected the old bat to piece it together?”
She looked at me like I should sympathize with her, and I recoiled. Okay, crazy.
“I couldn’t have him giving up my secret, could I? So I killed him—blasted him and magicked him into the cursed chair.”
I gaped at her. I couldn’t believe how casually she was telling me all this.
Silhouettes appeared behind the doors to my left.
“Open up! I’ve got the police with me!” Maverick shouted through the doors in his gruff voice.
A shorter, pointy-eared shadow appeared. “Bark!” You stole the guard’s keys? Open up, you miscreant!
Aw. Nice to hear a familiar voice.
The doors rattled.
“Jolene? You in there? You alright?” Peter’s voice sounded strained with worry.
“I’m okay!” I shouted. Was I, though?
I hissed at Mrs. Abernathy,
