Chapter 10
PEPPERMINT AND POISON
Another not-possum playing dead, only she’s not playing.
Mother is still not the murderer. I double-checked.
— gus
There’s nothing like a second murder to really ruin your week.
I wanted so desperately to believe that what happened to Declan Rowe was a one-off.
That, against all evidence to the contrary, predators get poisoned all the time and it was just Moonburrow’s turn.
It was a tragedy, and I feel awful for his friends, family, and close packmates, but just because he died, that didn’t mean that the rest of us needed to be on our guard.
I wanted so desperately to believe that, and I was able to do so until mid-morning on Tuesday.
Business has finally gone back to normal.
I have my regulars—including Frannie, who side-eyes the chocolate chip cooking sample I put out this morning as though worried it would affect her the same way at the Can’t Resist Cupcakes—and a few curious supes who stop by to gawk at me.
From what Max said yesterday, the investigation is his top priority, but it’s a pack priority.
Translation: keep my adorable snout of it.
He even tried to distract me with kisses.
And, okay, it takes two to kiss so I’m not innocent for letting him attempt it, but if he thinks that he can use my not-so-fake attraction to him against me so that I stop snooping on my own…
he’s wrong. He wants to find out who killed Declan.
I want to find out who tried to frame me with the cupcake, and who might be targeting my mate.
We don’t have to work together. I’m still going to do my best to figure out what’s going on in Moonburrow.
First? I had to make it up to Gus. While he found the kiss amusing, he was still notably peeved that I went to the prey circle without him.
That’s the best thing about being an opossum shifter. After we went upstairs, I switched shapes, going to my fur, and curled up with Gus to assure him that I’m looking out for him. He’s my sidekick, my little bud, and I’m just doing my best to protect him.
He was a little snappish this morning after I got up, got showered, and got dressed. Once I was done with prep—and the grocery order I placed this morning during opening arrived—I made him an apology on a plate: chopped up egg whites and pieces of overpriced, out-of-season watermelon.
I set it down in front of him on the back counter. He dives into it.
I scratch the space between his ears. “You’re spoiled, you know that?”
Gus chitters smugly, forgiveness finally achieved, right before he starts nomming on a watermelon cube.
I smile. I don’t know what I’m going to do about that freak kiss last night, that spark, that attraction… that moment when the world seemed right because I was with my mate and Max almost seemed to recognize that I was his… faking it is getting a lot harder.
He said forget it.
I wish I could.
Since I can’t, I do the next best thing.
Like always, I throw myself into work—and my eavesdropping.
I didn’t have much hope that a stray mention about a rat who deals in wolfsbane would actually mean something, but I’d hoped.
So it didn’t pan out. Now that my customers aren’t treating me like a prospective murderer, maybe one of them will slip up and I’ll overhear another possible lead.
In a way, I do. At least, I find out that Declan’s murder being a one-and-done is probably not the case—and I find out in the most dramatic way possible.
Roxy bursts into Dough You Believe in Magic, her eyes vividly brighter, her hands thrown out in front of her. She’s wearing her worn leather jackets again, over a ripped t-shirt that says ‘you should see the other guy’ in red letters, and she’s paler than usual.
“Abigail Cloverfield is dead.”
I blink. I was in the middle of rolling cookie dough and placing it on a tray. I plop the greasy ball in my hands somewhere that might be the counter, might be the tray, then reach for the damp rag on my counter.
Abigail Cloverfield. Hang on—
“The sweet doe shifter with freckles?”
“One and the same, Hon. I just heard it from Leo Marrow.”
I shake my head. I don’t know who that is.
“You know him. Tall. Pale blond hair. He’s a wolf, high-up in the pack, does something in law enforcement with the Alpha. Like a glorified meter-maid or something. He snarls when you don’t pay for street parking, but is a pretty chill guy otherwise.”
Oh, wait. I know him. “He stops by the bakery every week or so. Has a sweet tooth.” I think back. “Likes everything with lemon in it.”
I do my best to avoid him. While I was trying to stay off Max’s radar, I instinctively shied away from anything ‘wolf’.
I think he might’ve been here during the catastrophe with the truth cupcakes last week, though so much of the panic of realizing that I’d charmed my customers accidentally has made my memories a little hazy.
Roxy shrugs. “Maybe. I don’t know. But I was crossing down Maple, heading for my shop, when I saw him talking to someone. A witch, maybe? I don’t know. She wasn’t a shifter, and that’s all I care about. Being curious—”
“Nosy,” I mutter, still stunned that the doe I met yesterday is somehow dead now.
Roxy ignores me which, considering I want to hear the rest of her story, is probably for the best. “I decided to find out what was going on that had a wolf and witch gabbing this early. Leo heard it from the sheriff station. Abigail is dead.
“She didn’t go in to work this morning. That wasn’t like her. She’s like you, Honey. Up at the crack of dawn, working before the rest of her office. She was some kind of lawyer, and her secretary went to her house to make sure she was okay. She sure as fuck wasn’t.”
“What happened?”
“She was slumped over her table, a half-empty mug next to her.” Roxy gives me a meaningful look. “Her lips were blue.”
“Poison,” I breathe out.
I don’t pretend that I don’t know what ‘blue lips’ could mean, or be shocked that Roxy knows. Screw her owning some kind of junk shop. The more I see the way she moves around the town, the more I’m convinced that Roxy has her dexterous raccoon fingers in every bit of Moonburrow.
Too bad she doesn’t have any idea who killed Declan—or, when I ask if they have any suspicions about Abigail’s murder, the doe shifter.
“I just wanted to let you know,” Roxy adds after dashing my hopes that she might want to join me in mystery-solving. “Some weird shit’s going down in Moonburrow, and I don’t like the idea of you being mixed up in it. Be careful.”
“I didn’t know you cared that much.” It’s part tease, part wonder, and all automatic since my head is spinning with everything Roxy said.
“It’s nice to have a touch of home here in Moonburrow.” She shoots her finger at me, her claws at least three inches long and painted the same shade of red as the letter on her shirt. “Don’t read too much into it, Morgan.”
Yeah, yeah. I love you, too, Roxy.
She leaves, and I think back to last night. Abigail… she was so happy and full of life, talking about her predator mate, and the way she gave me a sachet of tea to welcome me to the prey circle—
Wait a second.
Abigail gave me tea. Roxy said she was poisoned, and there was a half-empty mug of tea found next to her. I mean, it would be nuts to think that this whole mystery revolves around little ol’ me, but what if…
Screw it. Better to be safe than sorry.
Gus lifts his head, cocking it slightly when I start pulling open drawers behind the counter. Where did I put it? I made a mental note not to lose it, but of course I don’t remember which draw I shoved it in, and— yes! I found it!
I grab the white rectangle shoved under a pile of local take-out menus. Mumbling the numbers out loud as I dial them into my phone, I tap the card against the counter, waiting for it to ring.
Ring—
Ring—
“Max Lobo.”
Thank goodness. I fling the card, pacing back and forth as I try to work off some of my anxious energy—and after what Roxy said, trying Abigail’s tea is definitely out of the question.
“Max, hi. It’s Honey. Listen. You said to call if I’m scared.
Well, I’m not. At least, I don’t think I am.
More concerned, but… okay. It’s about Abigail. I—”
The bell over my front door jingles as Max shoves it in with his right hand. His left is clutching his phone tightly, holding it to his ear, listening to me as I ramble.
Like an idiot, I stare at him while speaking into my own. “Oh. You’re here.”
He nods, and I disconnect the call before placing mine down on the counter. I miss. Too distracted by the solemn expression twisting Max’s rugged features, I don’t even know where the counter really is. The phone clatters on the floor.
Claws crossed that I didn’t just smash the screen.
Gus lifts his head. He’d curled up again when Roxy left, though I should’ve known better than to think he fell asleep. Climbing out of his flour bag throne, his tail slithering behind him, he scurries down the edge of the counter, using the supply drawer handles as a letter
“Thanks, Gus,” I murmur. Squatting down, I grab the phone with one hand. With the other, I heft Gus up, giving him an elevator ride back to his perch.
Max is still standing in the doorway, silent as the grave and just as imposing.
Talk about deja vu. I feel like we’re thrown back to… jeez, it hasn’t been a week yet… to less than a week ago when I woke up to question marks in his eyes.
That’s accusation there. That’s suspicion.
Ah, crud.
“I didn’t do it!”
He holds up his empty hand. When he speaks, his voice is more gentle than I’ve ever heard him be. The look has fled from his gaze as quickly as I noticed it. “Take it easy, Killer. I know you didn’t.”
You know what? I might have an easier time believing him if he didn’t insist on calling me ‘Killer’ like that. I’m not sure how that went from a distracted nickname to an… I don’t know… term of endearment almost, but after last night’s kiss, it has… and that has me even more nervous than before.
Which explains why, instead of being grateful that he’s not here to arrest me for Abigail’s murder, I simply ask him, “How?”
Long legs eat up the distance between us in seconds. His pine scent wraps around me, and I gaze up at him, exhaling softly.
“Did you do it, Honey?” he asks, his voice calm and direct. He’s an Alpha. No shifter can resist submitting to the quietly-stated dominance in his tone. “Did you poison Declan? Did you kill Abigail?”
I look him right in the eyes. “No,” I say softly.
He leans over the counter, rubbing the side of his thumb against the height of my cheek. “That’s how I know.”
I squeal. I want nothing more than to lean into his unexpected caress, but after last night, I know that’s a terrible, terrible idea. Forget it, Honey. As long as we’re solving murders here, you have to forget it.
I duck out of his reach, brushing my braid out of my face, letting it settle over my shoulder. “Oh. Okay. But then why…”
“Am I here?” His nostrils flare slightly. “I scent raccoon. Roxy Kane?”
I nod.
“I figured. Did she tell you about Abigail Cloverfield? Is that how you knew?”
The way he asks the question, I’m pretty sure Max already knows the answer. “Yes.”
It’s his turn to nod. “Right. Well. It’s true. I just came from her house.”
And he came here? “Did you find out what happened? Roxy said it might be poison, but… any clues or scents or—”
“Peppermint,” he says flatly. “I brought my best noses. None of us could catch anything but peppermint.”
Peppermint and blue lips. Unless we have a copycat, it’s the same person who killed Declan.
“I just stopped by to make sure you’re keeping out of it like I told you. But you… you were already calling me.” A muscle ticks in his cheek. “What’s wrong?”
He wants me to keep out of it. If my suspicions are correct, that might not be as easy as the sheriff telling me what to do.
“Hang on. I want to give you something.”
“Honey—”
“Two seconds,” I tell Max, holding up a pair of fingers. “Gus, watch the bakery. I’ll be right back.”
Taking his job as my guard opossum seriously, Gus clambers out of his basket and hops onto the top of the pastry display. He rears up on his hind legs, staring at Max. If he could, he’d be putting his little claws on his flank, warning the predator to watch it.
Hey. I’d much rather Gus try to intimidate Max than the wolf shifter growling softly and making Gus keel over, playing dead. The more Max tolerates my sidekick, the more I find myself softening toward him, and since that’s a bad idea right now… I flash him a grin.
“Two minutes,” I echo, then hurry through the swinging doors leading to the kitchen.
I don’t stay in the kitchen long. I head for the stairs, scampering up them, an opossum in her skin, until I’m rushing to search for my purse.
Once I have the tiny pink sachet in hand, I race downstairs, returning to the bakery in time to catch Max rubbing Gus’s pointed snout, my supposed ‘guard’ humming softly at the touch.
I clear my throat. Max is an Alpha. No way he couldn’t sense me coming back, scent-dampener spell or not. He wanted me to see, and that’s something to think about at a different time.
Leaning over the counter, I hold out the sachet.
Max frowns.
“Go on. Take it. But be careful. Use the strings.”
He does. “Why are you giving me this?”
“Because Abigail gave it to me,” I tell Max. “And because I think it might be poisoned.”