Pet Psychic Mysteries Boxset Books 5-8 (Magic Market Mysteries Book 2) by Erin Johnson

Author:Erin Johnson [Johnson, Erin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-03-18T22:00:00+00:00

11

The Blow gun

“Wow.” I let out a low whistle as I took in the Magical Animal Sanctuary’s office. Apparently, the animal print theme wasn’t reserved only for the party this evening—it was part of everyday life. A few cops moved about the large space and collected evidence, searching drawers and dusting for fingerprints.

They nearly disappeared, camouflaged as they were among the busy mix of wood African masks on the wall, tiger skin rugs, and zebra print upholstery on the stuffed chairs and sofa in the reception area up front. My eyes widened as I spotted the wood cabinet to my left, painted a gold leopard print, and the antler chandelier that cast most of the light.

I leaned close to Peter. “Guess they just can’t hide their enthusiasm for animal skins.”

He glanced down at me, the corners of his mouth tight, like he was fighting a smile.

I rolled my eyes. “Oh come on, that was a solid pun.”

He raised a thick brow. “It was spot-on.”

I groaned, then frowned again at the decor. The mounted heads and sheer amount of leather seemed a bit of an odd choice for a place that purported to keep animals alive, but hey, who was I to judge? My own place’s interior design consisted of furniture I’d found on the street and piles of laundry.

Which was probably why I’d been enjoying spending so much time over at Peter’s. My cheeks grew a little hot as I relived some of our recent evening activities—well, it was one of the reasons.

Peter checked in with a couple of the cops collecting evidence while I hung back beside Russo, who’d brought in Quincy Rutherford in case we had any questions for him. I frowned as I took that in. Malorie had married Richard Rutherford as her first husband, which meant...

I spun to face Quincy. “You took Malorie’s name when you got married?”

His cheeks turned a little pink, but he lifted his large nose in the air, his jowls wobbling a bit. “Yes. And?”

I pressed my lips together and nodded. “Very progressive of you.” I turned away. And odd. Quincy and Malorie had no doubt kept the Rutherford name because of the clout it carried among the elite, but neither of them had been born Rutherfords.

A middle-aged cop with her blond hair tucked into a low bun under her cap rummaged around the papers stacked in piles on the huge wooden desk in the back of the room. She tossed some over her left shoulder, others over her right. They magically floated into various evidence bags. Peter sidled up beside her.

“Hey, Rochester, were you among the first in here?”

She barely spared him a glance, then nodded and went back to sorting evidence. “Yep.”

Peter nodded. “Was the door locked?”

She shook her head, eyes on her work. “Nope. Door was ajar, in fact.”

Peter and I exchanged looks. If someone needed a key to get into the office and grab the blow gun, that limited our suspects considerably. But Quincy had mentioned he was

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