Chapter 3 #3
Nora snorted. “I was going to say Salvatore should try to live a life such that people stop accusing him of murder, but this is him we’re talking about.”
“We were lucky to make it a whole two months.” It felt good to joke with them, even if it was about a rather dire situation. Arthur wasn’t alone here in Trident Falls anymore. He and Sal had good friends, good neighbors, a community. That meant an awful lot.
He retrieved his notebook and began cataloging the scene as he saw it. “Who found her?”
“Quinn,” Nora said, voice a little subdued. “She took this row of vendor tents for the walk-through. She radioed it in at 2:14. Said Lola’s body was already cold.”
Arthur was shocked to hear Quinn had found the body. She hadn’t mentioned it at the headquarters tent, or seemed anything but her usual brusquely efficient self. Perhaps she was a little too good at compartmentalizing.
Before he could ask anything more, Sheriff McMartin burst into the tent.
“Oh, you again,” McMartin said, unable to keep the disgust from his voice. “Great. You better not be tampering with the crime scene.”
“We don’t know if it even is a crime scene,” Lore said, standing.
“I hurried back to help out here, since the team is short-staffed, so I haven’t done a thorough exam, but in my preliminary inspection, it looked like anaphylaxis to me.
She could have ingested something she’s allergic to or been stung by an insect or something.
Unless you’re prepared to arrest a yellow jacket, you’d best cool your jets there, bud. ”
McMartin looked utterly taken aback to be referred to as anyone’s “bud,” facetiously or not, but he recovered quickly.
He produced a little black notebook that looked strangely similar to Arthur’s.
In fact, if the small logo on the back cover was any indication, it was the exact same brand.
McMartin began to whistle as he strolled around the scene.
He came to a stop behind Arthur, who glanced over his shoulder to see the sheriff very obviously reading Arthur’s notebook page before scribbling in his own.
Snapping his notebook closed, Arthur scowled. “You could just ask for my help, you know.”
“I don’t need your help.” McMartin put his notebook away and hitched up his belt.
“We’ll see about that,” Arthur grumbled.
Before the sheriff could respond, someone from the outside shoved aside the cloth of the tent beside Nora, sending her stumbling back with a yelp.
Two people burst into the tent with such drama it could’ve rivaled Salvatore at his finest. A white woman with enormous blond hair, a flowing sundress, and enough bangles and rings around her wrists to choke a whale was the first inside.
She raised her arms, and Arthur immediately recognized her—pose and all—from the poster in the Celestine Coven booth.
“I sense that you do need our help, Sheriff,” the woman intoned, drawing out the words.
The man beside her, who had brown hair and a real summer tan, unlike McMartin, looked a little more grounded, but not by a lot. He had on a tight tank top that displayed his impressive muscles and basketball shorts in a familiar lavender shade, the same their guest, Hailey North, had been wearing.
“Who are you?” McMartin asked, sounding tired.
Arthur, shockingly, could relate. He had enough drama in his life thanks to Sal. He didn’t need more. “Ambrosia Celestine, I presume,” Arthur said, unable to inject his voice with any enthusiasm at all.
“Indeed! The spirits called us here,” Ambrosia said, closing her eyes. “Yes, they’re very insistent. We must perform a séance to determine who killed poor Lola—”
“This is a crime scene,” McMartin snapped. “You can’t trample around ruining evidence. Get out.”
“Bro, we’re legit,” the man said. “Let us help.”
“Chet, dear,” Ambrosia said, touching her companion’s arm, “you can’t expect the nonmagical to understand. They fear our power. But through unity, we will find the answers we seek!”
Lore cleared her throat. “I’ll be able to tell you more about what caused Miss Lataurelle’s death once I get back to my office to do the autopsy. Please, everyone steer clear of the potential evidence until we know more.” She made a shooing motion at the group.
Arthur took a few steps toward the entrance, but McMartin, Ambrosia, and her lackey didn’t look inclined to follow orders.
Lore put a hand on her hip, fixing them all with a stare deader than Arthur. “Unless one of you knows what the pet psychic was allergic to.”
Arthur gasped, a memory from earlier in the day springing into his mind along with the echo of fragrant soaps. “Cilantro!”
All eyes turned to him, but before he had a chance to explain, there was a commotion from the doorway of the tent as Stephanie, Lore’s soaper friend, nearly collapsed against Theo, who was still guarding the entry.
“Cilantro!” she whisper-shouted. “She was allergic to cilantro. The herb bundle she bought must’ve had some mixed in. This is all my fault…she’s dead because of me.”
Quietly, Arthur got out his notebook and jotted down this new information. Case solved, apparently.