Daisy wagged her tail. She is being truthful.
Peter glanced down at his dog, then at me, I supposed for confirmation. I nodded, and Peter gave me a tight-lipped smile before turning back to Kalia.
“Can you please take us to the victim’s office?”
We followed Kalia across the main room, past the black curtain that cordoned off the cursed objects collection. I shivered as we passed it. I had the heebie-jeebies in spite of myself. I grinned. Though I probably shouldn’t be freaked out by a collection I could be a part of—step right up and see the cursed shifter, cursed shifter here!
We threaded through the dusty displays, past a collection of antique wands and enchanted mortars and pestles. I trailed a finger along the glass and came up with a thick layer of gray dust. The museum had definitely seen better days.
Kalia glanced back, her expression weary, and caught me showing my dusty finger to Peter. “The museum has been… fading for a long time now. It’s part of the reason the board of directors brought in Geoffrey. I guess they thought some new blood—” She winced. “Pardon the expression.”
I shot Peter a wide-eyed look and mouthed, “She did it.”
He barked out a laugh, then disguised it by pretending to cough into his hand when the curator looked back.
“I just meant,” she continued, “that the board wanted to inject some new life into the museum. Geoffrey was young and had a reputation, apparently, for being something of a hotshot in the PR world.”
“So he’s a recent hire?” Peter took a couple long strides and caught up with Kalia.
She nodded. “The board brought him on maybe… four months ago?”
I jogged up and fell in step on her other side. “Did the whiz kid pan out?” I bit my lip. “Before the whole murder thing, I mean.”
Kalia’s eyes grew thoughtful as we clipped around a corner. “The cursed objects collection was his idea, and he’s certainly been advertising it all over Bijou Mer.” She raised her dark brows. “All over the kingdoms, actually.” She nodded. “He wanted to make things a bit more salacious—his word. We’ve sold out opening night tickets, so it seems to be working.”
Her tone implied some mixed feelings.
“Were you upset by his strategy?” Peter studied Kalia’s face.
“Upset?” She shrugged. “I felt it was a little over the top—certainly a departure from the museum’s typically academic tone.”
I glanced at Daisy, whose bushy tail wagged. Truth.
“But Geoffrey’s plan seems to be working, and I certainly wanted to save the museum, so I appreciate the board’s efforts.”
I bit my lip as we continued on through the labyrinthine halls, vases and oil paintings set into alcoves in the walls with little plaques beside them. The curator seemed okay with the changes, but maybe not everyone at the museum appreciated Geoffrey’s attempts to increase attendance.
A couple of cops stood guard, hands folded in front of them, next to a door up ahead. Kalia gestured toward it. “Geoffrey’s office.”
I followed her, Daisy, and Peter into the crime scene.
SMASHED
I hugged close to the office window and glanced out into the courtyard with the fountain, putting as much distance between me and the dead body as I could. Sure, I’d seen a few recently, and yeah, I’d seen pictures in my law career, but I didn’t have enough experience with dead bodies yet to feel immune. In fact, I hoped I never got used to being around dead bodies—even ones that were covered by tarps.
I chanced another glance and winced at the red stain that soaked through the canvas over the victim’s head. “Urg.” I turned away to look out the window again and tried to breathe through my mouth.
It didn’t smell, luckily. Maybe they’d cast a spell to prevent it, or maybe the fact that the victim was only a couple hours’ dead counted for something. But I didn’t think I’d be able to keep my gyro down if I caught even a whiff.
Daisy snorted from my side. You have a weak stomach.
I glanced across the small office to where Peter continued to question Kalia, along with a couple of other officers. Finding them conveniently distracted, I curled my lip and growled at Daisy. I guess compared to someone who can eat rocks, that’s true.
She narrowed her dark eyes at me.
I smirked and turned away to check out the rest of the crime scene—while avoiding looking in the body’s direction. The office was stylish, the kind of space I would’ve liked to have had back in my lawyer days. It was clean and minimal with a couple of floating shelves on the wall behind a simple wood desk. Two leather chairs sat in front of the desk atop a black-and-white rug.
A few gold lamps lit the place in warm, comfortable light, which glinted off the broken porcelain shards that littered the ground.
Peter cleared his throat. “Have we determined what these broken pieces are from?”
I glanced over, careful to not look down at the ground or any dead thing that might be on it.
“Not yet, Flint.”
Kalia held up her hand. “I’m pretty sure I know.”
The officers all turned toward her.
She pointed at a few bigger, brightly painted pieces that were covered in red, blue, and gold paint. “It looks like a miniature figurine of the statue of Margareth of Helmsdale, which we have on display in the west wing.”
The officers all stared at her. Peter frowned. “Is it—valuable?”
The curator smirked. “Hardly. I mean, the original is, yes. But we sell the figurines in the museum gift shop. It’s probably our best seller, actually.” She shook her head, as if perplexed by this. “They’re overpriced, frankly, but hardly what you’d consider valuable.”
I frowned down at some of the larger pieces. One captured part of Margareth’s face, another part of her cloak. I cocked a
