Pet Psychic Mysteries Boxset Books 5-8 (Magic Market Mysteries Book 2) by Erin Johnson (reading diary .TXT) 📗

Opal looked down at Daisy for a long moment, then lifted her gaze to me. “Pearl didn’t deserve to die.”

Daisy whined. True.

Opal sniffled. “I—I can’t believe she’s gone.”

Daisy wagged her tail. Also true.

I crossed my arms. A killer would probably think the victim had it coming—or, at the very least, wouldn’t be surprised by the outcome of their murderous efforts. I realized I probably enjoyed this consulting a little too much when I found myself a little disappointed that we weren’t talking to Pearl’s killer.

I looked at Peter and rolled a wrist, sweeping my upturned palm toward Pearl. “Your turn.”

“Did you make the potion Pearl drank?”

Opal nodded. “The potions our independent consultants sell are made by a manufacturer—I just couldn’t keep up with the sheer volume once business really took off. But I still personally make all the potions that I, Ralph, and Pearl take—took—for our daily health.”

Peter lifted a brow. “Did you poison it?”

She gasped and pressed a hand to her ample bosom. “Seas below, no.” She shook her head, then glanced down at Daisy.

The dog cocked her head but whined. True.

I looked at Peter and shrugged—guess we had our answer.

He frowned. “Did you kill your sister?”

It was my turn to frown. Peter wasn’t usually so direct or unsympathetic. That was usually my job.

Opal stomped her stilettoed foot. “No!”

Daisy whined. True.

I flashed my eyes at Peter, and he let out a sigh. Snakes. Would he let up now?

Opal huffed and glanced past us to Chief McCray and Inspector Bon behind us. “I’ve answered all your questions. Why am I being interrogated when my sister’s killer is out there!” She pointed toward the lobby.

I mean… I didn’t like the lady, but I had to agree with her. She didn’t seem to be the murderer, and we were wasting our time by continuing to question her about it… unless we took a different angle.

I leaned into one hip. “You were first on the—” I’d almost said body. “—scene. Did you notice anything—any clue that might point to who did kill your sister?”

She crossed her arms and scoffed. “Well, Ralph, her husband, handed her the vial—which he’d been keeping in his coat. I mean….” She arched a brow.

Daisy cocked her head and whined. Partial truth.

Peter pinched his brows together. “Any reason you’d suspect Ralph of wanting to kill your sister?”

She glanced at Daisy, then sniffed. “He’s a man. You’ll figure it out.”

While we’d been speaking, the cops had magicked Pearl’s body onto a stretcher and covered it with a white tarp. They now lifted her, an officer on each end, and carried her across the stage toward the steps.

Opal gestured toward her sister’s body. “Now if we’re quite done here, I’d like to accompany Pearl to the station.” She pursed her heavily lined lips. “I want to make sure that vial is properly tested. And that her body is treated with respect.” She shook a finger at Peter. “I don’t want an autopsy done unless absolutely necessary—and it shouldn’t be if that vial comes back positive for poison.”

Daisy’s tail wagged. Truth.

Peter and I turned to face the new chief and Bon. Bon scowled but shrugged. “I’d rather she be a pain in Gabriel’s rear than mine.”

McCray winked. “Be our guest. I don’t mind a suspect who wants to stick close by—handy if we think of more questions for you.”

Opal hustled past, her heels clicking across the stage as she followed the cops carrying the stretcher.

9

Papa Ralph

A sniffling woman opened the door for us, and I followed Peter and Daisy into Ralph Litt’s penthouse hotel suite.

“Wow.” French doors opened to a view of the entire island of Bijou Mer stretched out below, all twinkling lights and charm. The moon reflected off the dark sea, which stretched on to the horizon, and sheer silk curtains fluttered in the gentle sea breeze. I badly wished to just stand out on that enormous balcony and take in the view—not only because it was gorgeous, but because the scene inside the room was almost too much for me.

Papa Ralph sat sprawled on the floor in front of a roaring fireplace, one arm draped around Buttercup the pig, his other hand clutching a glass tumbler of glowing golden brown potion. He took a swig, some of the magical liquid dribbling down his white beard, then draped an arm across his eyes and wailed.

“Why? Why, Goddess?! Why did you take my precious Pearl from me?”

Ugh. Daisy wrinkled her nose. Lie.

I smirked. “Right? Dramatic much?”

Though I’d muttered it quietly, the woman who’d shown us in leaned around Peter and shot me a look. I shot it right back.

While she sniffled and pouted and put on a show of mourning, I noted her ample mascara was still in place and no actual tears tracked down her cheeks. I didn’t mean to be insensitive—the guy’s wife had just died—but given that Ralph was probably our top suspect at the moment and Daisy was smelling lies, I was having a hard time believing in his over-the-top show of grief.

Half a dozen men and women hung about, fawning over him. The woman who’d let us in guided us over, past lovely paintings in gilded frames and an enormous vase full of flowers, sea fronds, and shells that probably cost more than a month of my rent. I lifted a brow. While I’d regarded the whole Potent Potions thing as a total scam, clearly someone was getting rich to be able to afford this place.

Then again, for all its fanciness, the suite was trashed. Clothes and shoes littered nearly every inch of floor—I had to step over a wet towel and a pair of dirty socks. Open suitcases with the contents strewn all over covered the four-poster bed and topped the gleaming wood dresser. I bit my lip. They were messier than I was—and that was saying something.

Some of the hangers-on looked up as we stepped into the sitting area, though Ralph kept his eyes covered, sobbing—or pretending to.

“Papa