Chapter 5 Interrogation
INTERROGATION
Big wolf questions mother about the dead predator.
I think about biting him, but Mother would only stop me.
Silly Mother.
— gus
Swallowing the nervous lump in my throat, I force myself to meet his golden gaze.
Sheriff Max Lobo. He has russet-colored hair, leaning toward making him more of a brunet, that’s slightly long in the front; I have to curl my fingers at my side to resist the urge to see if it’s as soft as it looks.
I already know the rugged, handsome features that are currently covered up by the mask, though I can imagine his jaw is clenched tight as he waits for me to… what?
Explain myself?
Get off the ground?
Blurt out a confession that I killed Declan?
Declan… the way they’re crouched around me, I can’t see the dead wolf. I do, however, notice that there are at least four other Moonshadow wolves gathered around the spot where the body fell. They also have masks, except for one who is pinching his nose and shaking his head.
They’re probably searching for some sort of scent trail.
Either to figure out what happened to Declan, or whether anyone else was near when he died.
There’s no fucking way that my cupcake had anything to do with it—it was a basic recipe, not a drop of magic added—but the way these two wolves are watching me…
I’m beginning to understand just how suspicious this looks.
I can only imagine what happened when Sheriff Lobo and the other wolves were alerted to the scene, even if I have no idea how that happened or how long I was out for.
They probably thought me and Declan both had been murdered, but while humans were simple enough to think a missing pulse equaled dead girl, I figure a wolf shifter would realize fairly quickly I was just catatonic really.
So they waited for me to wake up, and now I have, and the only thing on my mind is confessing my fated mate that I’m innocent so that he can go away and leave me alone.
“I didn’t do it,” I blurt out.
The big male glances at Sheriff Lobo.
The sheriff reaches out, gripping my eyelid. It takes everything I have not to tremble when he makes contact with me for the first time, but all he does is peer into my eyes, checking for a concussion.
Gus moves until he’s sitting on my chest.
The big guy reaches for him.
I hurriedly sit up, cradling Gus close—and knocking the sheriff away. “No. I mean it. Gus and me… this is Gus, by the way… we were just throwing out trash this morning before opening when we found the dead predator.”
“Wolf,” rumbles Sheriff Lobo. “That’s Declan Rowe.
He was a delta in the Moonshadow Pack and someone killed him on your territory.
There was a report that there were two bodies here.
My deputy and I came with our team… and here you are.
Very much alive. And my wolf… he seems to not be after eating one of your tainted cupcakes. ”
Well. No way I can deny and of that, can I? Not when he put it so succinctly.
You know what? Just my luck.
Of course the sheriff had to find my supposedly dead body next to a corpse. Especially after he already had to come to Dough You Believe in Magic and scold me over the honesty cupcake fiasco.
“I don’t know who he is.” Well, no. That’s not quite true. “I mean, I only met him yesterday. He said his name was Declan when he bought a whole ton of baked goods from me, but I don’t know what he’d be doing out here with that!”
“Did you give it to him?”
Shit. “Well, yes—”
His eyes flash. “To poison him?”
What? “No! He wasn’t supposed to eat it. You were.”
Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me. I’m never my best when I’m coming out of a faint—claiming it’s narcolepsy isn’t too far off—but you think I would’ve thought twice before I blurted that out.
The other male goes very, very still. “Are you telling me that your target was the Alpha?”
If I drop again, I wouldn’t be surprised. The air is thick with danger, hormones, and dominance, and I’m not sure who is wearing it more: the sheriff or his deputy.
“I didn’t target anyone! I’m just a baker!”
“So you say. Tell me, Ms. Morgan—”
“Honey.” It squeaks out. “My name is Honey.”
Up until yesterday, I was fine with having him call me Ms. Morgan. He’s Sheriff Lobo. I’m good with keeping the distance. But if he really thinks that I have anything to do with this, I need him to see Honey.
His brow furrows. “Honey. Do you bake with peppermint extract?”
“That’s a Christmas flavor. I’m still transitioning from Halloween treats to Thanksgiving.” That’s true, but it takes me a second before I realize why he asked. “I didn’t make it stink like this back here!”
“Whoever did knew that it would blow a wolf’s nose out,” mutters the big male. “Even through the mask, it’s rough. Maybe we should bring her inside if you want to get her statement.”
Right. Now that I’m awake, they don’t see any reason to keep me out here. And if I’m gone, it might allow the other wolves to take away the body of their fallen packmate and, I don’t know, search for some clues about what happened to Declan.
It has to be murder, right? It’s hard enough to eliminate a shifter, but it’s not like he would’ve killed himself.
It’s not how we’re wired. Our protective instincts are too strong, and our regenerative properties too high.
As far as I know, only two things can truly kill a shifter: a crap ton of silver and getting our heads chopped off.
I think I would’ve noticed if Declan’s head was removed from the rest of his body.
It could be silver, but then what does one of my cupcakes have to do with it?
Why did he die outside my bakery?
I don’t know, but the way the sheriff and the deputy are watching me as though I should have all the answers, I think I better figure it out.
Stroking Gus’s head, trying to calm both my opossum and, well, my opossum, I do everything I can not to grimace.
I moved to Moonburrow so that I could stop waking up near dead bodies.
This is not an improvement.
Being escorted to the sheriff’s office wasn’t on my bingo card, but knowing the way that both Fate and Luck seemed to have taken a curious interest in one silly opossum’s life, it should’ve been.
When the big male wolf suggested that they bring me inside to ‘take my statement’—or, you know, interrogate me—I figured he meant that we could hustle into the bakery. I could offer snacks, maybe make some hot chocolate to settle my nerves… yeah. He had a totally different idea.
We did go inside, but only because the sheriff was being careful to keep Declan and his final resting spot cordoned off.
The deputy murmured something to one of the other wolves, then the three of us…
four, if you count Gus… entered the bakery, cut through it, and paused when the scent of burnt bread and sugar slammed into us.
“My ovens!” I cried, panicking again when I saw pale grey plumes of smoke escaping at least one of them.
On the plus side, I didn’t burn Dough You Believe in Magic down. Then again, considering I was unconscious for about two and a half hours according to the wall clock, I’m lucky that some charred buns and too-cripsy danishes were the worst of the loss.
The bakery was still closed. Obviously. I’m open every day except for Monday, and I hated to think how many customers saw the ‘closed’ sign on the front door and wondered what was up since today was Friday.
It’ll have to stay that way a little longer, too, I thought, then unlocked the door so we could exit through the front.
The sheriff was being very careful to put a little distance between us, torn between treating me as a suspect and another possible victim, but he cleared his throat when he noticed that Gus was curled up on my shoulder, intent on joining us.
Borrowing Roxy’s teasing quip, I told him that Gus is my emotional support opossum, and he just nodded and instructed me to climb in the backseat of the police cruiser emblazoned with the word ‘sheriff’ over the much smaller ‘Moonburrow’ beneath it.
Turns out, I’ve passed the sheriff’s office a couple of times without having any idea.
Moonburrow is basically your idyllic supernatural town, as suburban as you can get for the most part.
The pack territory expands a little further than that.
When the sheriff is being the Alpha, he has a seat of power in a hundred acre wooded area where the predators live in cabin-like homes with territory to roam instead of close houses and condos where prey shifters gather, believing the old adage that there is safety in numbers.
Because Sheriff Lobo is responsible for Moonburrow as a whole, he has an Alpha cabin in the woods, plus a small office where he can hang his nonexistent hat when he’s in downtown Moonburrow.
Nestled between a wolf-owned butcher shop and a laundromat, there’s an unmarked door with a plane of tinted glass on each side. Sheriff Lobo pulls the cruiser in front of it, the only car parking along this pedestrian-heavy street.
I’ve been watching him the entire ride. You’d think his eyes would be on the road. Not even close. His predatory stare keeps flickering to the rear view mirror, watching me right back.
Once we were away from the overwhelming peppermint, both wolves removed their masks. The deputy is as classically handsome as I figured he would be, but while there is some similarity in their features, I’d be lying if I didn’t say that I preferred Sheriff Lobo’s features.
So maybe I’m biased. I should probably be attracted to my fated mate.
His nostrils flare. I stiffen. Here’s hoping my scent-dampener charm holds or else I’ll have even more problems…
I didn’t kill that wolf, but someone seems to be going to a little trouble to make it appear like I did. The cupcake… I can’t stop thinking about the cupcake. I made it for the sheriff… I made it for my mate… and there’s no way I would’ve put anything in it that might hurt a predator.