Chapter 3 #2
“SPF 40.” Theodore uncrossed his arms, looking pleased to see Arthur here. Perhaps the werewolf needed reminding of the rivalry bubbling between them. “You on the case?”
“That remains to be seen, but if there’s a case to be had here, I suspect I’ll have to do some digging, yes.
” Arthur paused. It was a little embarrassing to be back in this situation, but Theo had provided a great deal of support last time, using his knowledge of the law and his firm manners with the sheriff to get Sal released.
“Sal’s in jail again. All because of a little disagreement he had with the victim.
But we were together all afternoon. He didn’t hurt anyone. ”
Theodore shook his head, a frown creasing his lips. “Sounds like the sheriff’s flirting with a harassment lawsuit, if you feel inclined to go that route. I could hook you up with someone from my old firm.”
“Well, at least someone’s flirting,” Arthur muttered, thinking of how Sal would delight in making that joke himself.
Then he remembered the way Sal had gleefully accused Arthur of nursing a crush on the town’s resident werewolf, and he cleared his throat.
It wouldn’t do for Theodore to get the wrong idea.
“Well, Ted, don’t suppose I can go inside and have a look around? ”
“Please, call me Theo!” A good-natured smile crinkled at the corners of Theo’s eyes. “The acting mayor told me not to let any civilians in…But you’re not a civilian. You’re a detective.” He stepped aside with a wink. “Make it quick. I think McMartin will be here soon.”
“Noted. Thanks.” Arthur tipped his umbrella to Theodore before closing it and slipping inside the tent.
The interior was lit with strings of lightbulbs and smelled strongly of patchouli incense.
The walls were draped in purple velvet, and the air was swelteringly hot.
Hardly a healthy place to bring a pet, or oneself.
No wonder Rumble had made a break for it, with her advanced sense of smell.
Arthur understood now why the werewolf had chosen to keep watch outside.
In the center of the room was a colorful woven rug and a round table that, to the untrained eye, might look antique.
Arthur knew it for the stained plywood that it was.
Atop it lay a deck of tarot cards with gold edges and a large glass ball.
But Arthur wasn’t here to investigate the psychic’s tools of the trade.
Luckily, he didn’t have to go far to find what he was looking for.
There on the ground sat four conspicuous yellow markers, numbered seven through ten.
In the absence of nearby objects, Arthur had to conclude that was where the body had been found.
The pet psychic met her end in this tent.
If Arthur weren’t undead himself, he might have felt a chill down his spine.
Closest to the markers was an open cabinet, revealing a cell phone and a cashbox, as well as what appeared to be a sack lunch and a few bottles of water.
Sitting on top of the cabinet was a kettle on a hot plate, the cord running beneath the tent to somewhere outside.
Who would want to drink a hot cup of tea in this weather was beyond Arthur, although now that he thought about it, he could go for a mug of peppermint.
He made his way toward the tea station, making note of the stark white teacups with pictures of different dog breeds on them.
The teapot, which was set off to the side, displayed a very fat pug.
One of the cups still had some tea inside—perhaps the psychic pretended to read tea leaves as well.
A gleam of metal caught his eye on the ground, and he stooped to get a closer look—without touching, of course. It was a pen, almost hidden beneath the cabinet. Only the end was visible. A clicky top. Arthur vastly preferred a twisty bottom, but to each their own.
Before Arthur could investigate further, someone cleared their throat.
Arthur rose and glanced up to see Nora Anderson standing on the other side of the tent, a reproachful look in her eyes. She was flanked by two deputies.
“Arthur,” Nora said, a scolding tone to her voice. “Why am I not surprised to see you here?”
Damn his laser focus. He hadn’t noticed others entering the tent.
“And without Salvatore? Let me guess…” Nora snapped her fingers, as if putting the clues together. “The sheriff’s arrested him prematurely?”
Arthur nodded solemnly.
“Hey, dude. We can’t keep meeting like this,” Lore said, standing from her crouched position behind the table.
She snapped her own notebook shut—this one was adorned with neon snow leopards—and offered him a smile of solidarity.
Apparently, she’d been in the tent the whole time, which Arthur had also failed to notice. Some detective he was.
Arthur returned her expression, the tension releasing slightly from his shoulders. “All right. Next time I’ll be the one gathering evidence, and you can be the very concerned private citizen trying to clear their husband’s name.”
“If I ever find myself in the position of having a husband, something will have gone very, very wrong.” Lore made an exaggerated gagging sound.