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

the bleachers, the sobbing baker, and the other contestants clustered together in wide-eyed groups. It was entirely possible that someone was intent on disrupting an event intended to promote inclusivity and acceptance of shifters.

The princess blew out a shaky breath and nodded at the coordinator lady. “Sorry, Amelia, you’re right.” She rubbed Sam’s arm. “I’m sure it was just a terrible accident, but we should head to the palace just in case—for everyone’s safety.”

Bon curled his lip and muttered, “Everyone’s safety, plus my sanity.”

The princess shot one final glare at Bon, then turned with all her friends and stalked off toward the palace, flanked by guards. I watched them go for a few moments. I sure hoped Madeline was right and that I’d get another chance to talk to them about Ludolf.

Bon clapped his hands. “Alright, now that certain nuisances have been taken care of, let’s get to work, team.” He nodded at Peter. “You’re lead on this one, Flint.”

Peter’s lips twitched toward a grin, and he straightened and gave Bon a nod. “Yes, sir.”

A heavy hand came down on my shoulder, and I startled. McCray beamed at me. “Guess that means our resident pet psychic is on the case, too?”

I gulped and shrugged. “Looks like it.”

Peter nodded. “We’re not sure we have any animal witnesses yet, but Jolene’s abilities always come in handy.”

McCray squeezed my shoulder again, hard, then raised her fingers to her temples. “Hope the ether sends some helpful vibes.” She winked, and again I had that uneasy feeling that she was onto me.

“Heh, yeah.”

She and Bon moved off together, stopping to speak with another officer. Peter slid up beside me. “Did you get a chance to speak with the princess?”

I shook my head, and he pressed his lips tight together. “Hey—it’s alright. We’ll talk to them soon.”

I nodded, feeling better just being close to him. “Alright, so what’s next?”

He jerked his chin toward the baking station in the middle, near the crying woman. “Let’s have a look at the victim.”

A dead body—oh, goodie.

3

Polly Pierre

The cops had ushered all the other baking contestants away from the victim’s body. It wasn’t until we came around behind the butcher block counter that I caught sight of her. My stomach twisted, and I quickly turned away, still not used to the sight of dead people. And especially this early in the morning. The gallon of coffee in my stomach suddenly felt bitter and acidic and threatened to come back up.

Peter strode forward and met Russo, a tall rookie cop I’d worked with a few times. Peter spoke in a low voice so the nearby contestants wouldn’t overhear. “What’d you learn so far?”

Russo ducked his head and pushed his square glasses up his nose. A scroll of parchment magically appeared in his hands, and he read over his notes. “The victim is Polly Pierre. Her team in the competition included her two twin daughters, Elin and Tonya.” He glanced behind him at the two women I’d noticed before. They stood a little apart from the other teams.

The sober young woman, who seemed shell-shocked, was short, plump, and brunette, while her sister, who sobbed so hard her eyes had nearly swollen shut, was tall, lithe, and blond. I raised a brow—didn’t think I’d seen two people who looked less like twins. I guessed they were both in their midtwenties, and neither looked at the other one or spoke.

Peter observed the sisters a moment, then turned back to Russo. “Do we have a cause of death?”

Russo edged closer, and I was forced to approach the dead woman to hear his quiet words. “Waitstaff brought around tea to the contestants. We suspect hers was poisoned.” He barely breathed the last word. “She collapsed shortly after taking a sip.”

Russo’s eyes darted to a robin-egg-blue teacup on the butcher block counter. I stepped closer, and Peter and I looked it over. Steam still curled from the clear brown surface, the cup nearly full. Coral-pink lipstick stained the rim, where Polly had presumably taken her last drink.

Peter gave a grim nod, then turned and crouched down beside Polly Pierre’s remains. I took a sharp breath through my nose, then blew it out slowly and chanced another glance at the body. Daisy circled around her, her black nose twitching altogether too close to the victim’s pale skin. Peter crouched near the victim’s head. His enchanted quill and scroll appeared beside his shoulder and began to scribble down notes.

Polly Pierre was tall, especially for a woman. She lay on her side, her short hair dyed a bright red that highlighted her pale skin and blue eyes. I shuddered, hoping someone would close those unseeing eyes soon. She looked to be in her seventies, was fully made up, and wore a sparkly necklace, matching earrings, and a bright, floral, frilly apron. Her colorful, vivacious look contrasted sharply with her deathly pallor.

Peter pointed with his wand at the greenish foam on Polly’s purple lips. The dark color only made her look more pale. “If it was indeed the tea, the timing suggests a fast-acting poison. One that would cause her to foam at the mouth.” He let out a sigh. “It’s something that would likely be absorbed into the skin of her mouth, versus a poison that would wait to be absorbed through the stomach.”

“The tea was poisoned?!”

We all looked up. A middle-aged woman, her hair wrapped up in a scarf, clutched at her necklace. She’d drifted closer, clearly trying to get a look at what we were doing. She now staggered back, her chest heaving, and her two teammates helped lower her down onto a stool behind one of the butcher block work stations.

The woman’s wide eyes darted around. “But—but I drank the tea!” She looked like she might be sick. “Oh, sea goddess.”

Alarmed cries sounded throughout the tent.

“I drank some, too!”

“Me, too!”

“Oh, keep it down, all of you.” A bald man with small glasses crossed his arms over his chest and huffed. He and his team stared the