Pretty Little Fliers: A Cozy Witch Mystery (Magic Market Mysteries Book 1)

covered in a beige tarp. Man, this guy was too good to be true. He’d probably grown up on a farm, had parents who still loved each other, and helped old ladies across the street.
What was he doing spending time with a trash panda like me?
Daisy, on Peter’s other side, growled. Why are you here? My human probably just feels sorry for how pathetic you are.
Ah. I pressed my eyes shut for a moment. There it was. I was probably a charity case to him. That made sense.
I winked at Daisy and let out a low whine. He’s hired me for the case. Looks like we’ll be working together. I scrunched my nose up in an exaggerated smile. Partner.
Her dark eyes widened.

10


THE VICTIM
Peter hiked his hood up and joined the other officers around the woman’s body. I stopped a couple of steps behind him and crinkled my nose. He might be used to bodies under tarps, but I’d only seen them in photographs when working cases, and I had no desire to get closer.
Another officer crouched beside the dead woman’s head, a magical quill and scroll hovering beside him. Other cops stood watch, their backs to us, keeping back a crowd of people who jostled to get a better look. I crossed my arms. They were like a bunch of vultures.
“Found this, Flint.” The cop handed Peter a camera with a broken lens. “She had it around her neck.”
“Hopefully the film survived the fall.” Peter turned it over in his hands, then handed it back. “Get any photos developed.”
The other cop nodded.
Rain pelted the tarp over the body, and the flashing neon sign above us cast shifting bright lights over the fabric. Mist wafted up from a sewer grate by the woman’s feet, bringing with it a pungent, rotting smell. Graffiti, band posters, and club flyers collaged the wall behind the corpse.
What a way to go. Dead in a Darkmoon street. I hugged my arms tight around myself. That’d probably be how I ended up one day.
“Did we get an ID?” Peter shifted on his feet.
The crouching cop nodded. “One Bim Pavani, twenty-six.”
“Ma’am?”
I startled and looked at the cop who’d appeared at my left.
His brows drew together in a stern look. “Ma’am, I’m sorry, but you need to find somewhere else to be. Maybe a shelter for the night?”
My jaw dropped.
“This street is closed for the investigation.”
I glared up at the mustached guy as indignation burned in my chest. “You think I’m homeless?”
Confusion flashed across his eyes. “Are you… not?”
“Oh my goddess!” I planted my hands on my hips and stomped my foot. “How dare you!”
“She’s with me.” Peter strode over to us, Daisy at his side. “New consultant.”
The other cop’s dark eyes darted between us. “You… sure, Flint?”
Peter nodded and clapped the other cop on the shoulder. “I got this.” He gave me a kind smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Come on, Jolene.”
I lifted my chin at mustache man as I strolled past him. “Yeah. I’m a consultant.”
As I followed Peter through a door labelled Darkmoon Outlet, Incorporated, just like the huge sign overhead, and up a dark flight of stairs, I pulled a loose strand of damp hair to my nose and sniffed it. Did I really seem homeless? I mean, I was on the verge of it, but had I really let myself go that much?
My hair smelled like… unwashed hair. I rolled my eyes. Yeah, it might have been a while since I last showered, and yes, I may have been wearing my oldest, rattiest loungewear, but come on—rude. Whatever, that guy was a jerk.
I clomped up the last few steps and followed Peter and Daisy into an office space.
I made a face. “Pretty bleak.”
Daisy shot me a withering look and growled. Why are you even here?
I ignored her and took in the space. A loose ceiling tile hung down, stains checkered the mud-colored carpet, and a few messy desks occupied the middle of the room.
To my right, just inside the door, stood the receptionist’s desk with a tall counter and stacks of papers. A gilded cage covered in a blanket sat atop the table—must be the parakeet Peter had mentioned. I sniffed. Yep. Smelled like birdseed and droppings.
Peter and Daisy joined some officers in the corner, and I stuffed my hands in my pockets and looked around. Tall metal shelves lined the long wall to my left. A variety of objects littered the shelves, from lutes to gold statues, and globes to pocket watches. What was this place?
I walked the perimeter, past the broken window, a switch beside it. It must have been the window that woman, Bim, had fallen from. I shivered and continued, the flashing neon sign casting an unsettling, garish glow over the drab office space.
I joined Peter and a couple of other officers at the far wall. A tall white backdrop hung from the ceiling, with a step stool, tall torches, and mirrors beside it.
“Looks like it was set up for photos, Flint.” An officer pointed at the backdrop.
Peter nodded. “It would explain the camera we found on the victim.” He turned toward me and frowned, his eyes distant. “But why would she have been taking pictures here at night, after hours?”
I pointed at a pair of black stilettos, a bottle of lotion, and a sewing kit on the desk nearest us. “Wonder what these were for?”
“Hello? What is all this?”
The officers and I turned toward the door. A beer-bellied man with a mustache stood in the entry, sporting a robe. Beside him, a blond woman with her hair in curlers clutched the neck of her sleep dress.
“What’s going on?” She blinked at us, wide-eyed.
Peter cleared his throat and strode across the space. I trailed behind, and the couple met us in the middle of the room. Peter bowed to each of them. “I’m Officer Flint, and this is my partner, Daisy.” His lips twitched toward a grin when he looked at me.