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

was the murderer—they could have come back because they forgot something. Or could it have been someone else entirely? I squawked. And then?
The bird shuddered. And then you and all these others tromped up here, turned on all the lights, and woke me up!
Right. Sorry about that. I grimaced.
She yawned, eyes closed and neck stretched long. Then she snapped her beak shut and gave me a bleary look. Blanket now, please?
I nodded. You got it. I draped the blanket back over the cage and dragged myself back to the rejoin the others. Peter had been smart to hire me for the whole case instead of just the job of interviewing that bird. Because that information had definitely not been worth three hundred gold merkles.
Millie sat pale and blank-faced in the desk chair, while Zozanna paced in front of the dirty windows and Turk stood in a corner with his face pinched. If you asked me, they all seemed guilty as shell, but apparently Daisy the wonder dog disagreed.
I found said vunder mutt standing beside her owner, who crouched down beside another officer, studying something on the dusty carpet.
I threw up my hands when he looked up, a question on his face. “I didn’t get much.”
Daisy growled. Fraud.
I rolled my eyes at her, but Peter’s gaze stayed glued to my face. “Nothing?”
I shrugged and relayed the information. “So it seems like Zozanna told the truth about leaving—”
Peter’s lips quirked to the side. “But she could have returned to kill Bim.”
I nodded, my messy bun flopping to the side. “And it seems the killer either came back once more, or someone came up here and fled after Bim was killed.”
Peter rose, while his fellow officer stayed crouched and scooped a dried powdery substance into a glass vial with the tip of his wand. Daisy glued herself to his side.
“You didn’t see anyone enter the building?” Peter’s earnest eyes focused on my face, and my cheeks grew warm. “After the victim fell?”
I shook my head. “Didn’t exactly stand around to watch.”
“Right.” Peter shook his head. “Sorry. That must’ve been terrible to see.”
“I’ve had better nights.” I snorted. Then again, I’d had worse, too, which was something I shouldn’t be able to say about witnessing a murder. My life was really out with the tide.
Flint planted his hands on his hips and sighed. “No biggie that the parakeet didn’t give you much—”
The crouched officer glanced up, one brow lifted in question, then shook his head and returned to his work. I could tell he was still listening.
“Seems our victim, Bim, probably turned the neon sign on, as the switch is right next to the window.” Peter tipped his head at the wall of glass that looked down onto the street. Zo still paced in front of the windows, the one in the center broken, shards of glass still clinging to the frame.
Beside the gaping hole, a switch on the wall glowed with a spell that must light up the magical neon sign outside, the eyesore that had brought me to the window to close my curtains in the first place.
Peter sighed. “And then, as she stood by the window, someone attacked her and she flew out—to her death.”
“And then the murderer ran away.” I lifted a finger. “The parakeet heard that.”
The officer beside us coughed.
Peter didn’t seem to register his colleague’s unease, but I leaned into one hip. “Hey, buddy, I know you’re listening.”
The officer glanced up.
“I can read animal minds—you got a problem with that?”
The cop shot Peter a skeptical look, his eyes darting between us. “What’s up with this broad, Flint? She legit?”
Peter nodded.
The cop shook his head and grumbled to himself. “First a dog for a partner, now a chick who can read little bird minds. What’s next?”
I pointed at the guy but addressed Peter. “What’s he doing?”
The cop had quite a collection of brown powder in his glass vial.
Peter swept a broad hand in a line toward a door in the back wall. “We found muddy footprints. They lead in to this point, then turn around and go back out the way they came. There’s a back entrance through the storerooms off the alley behind the building.”
I perched on the edge of a long desk and looked at the storeroom door Peter had indicated. “How’d this person get in? Don’t they keep it locked?”
Peter bit his lip. “I’m sure. Which means someone must’ve had a key.”
I glanced at Turk, Millie, and Zo behind me. Those three would undoubtedly have keys to the business. I leaned closer to Peter and lowered my voice. “Hate to say it, but your truth-smelling dog’s nose might be off.”
“Flint.” Another uniformed officer burst through the storeroom door. She waved a sheet of paper in one hand. “Found this taped to the alley door downstairs.”
I pushed off the desk and followed Peter over. The officer handed the paper over and moved off.
AMELIE,
Come in and meet me upstairs. Door’s unlocked.
-Bim
I SHRUGGED. “Guess that explains how ‘muddy footprints’ got in—the door was unlocked.”
Peter, a line between his brows, flipped the page over to the blank back, then back to the handwriting again. “But who’s Amelie?”
“Wait! Did you say muddy footprints?”
Turk lurched out of his sulking spot in the corner and marched over to us. His robe flew open, revealing a mass of black fur under his white tank top and boxers. I averted my eyes and let out a low whine.
He’s almost as hairy as you, Daisy. Almost.
She glared up at me with her dark eyes and head that was as big as mine. I have a beautiful, shiny coat. Peter brushes me every day. She lifted her nose in the air.
I smirked. Probably to try and cut down on the shedding. I made a face and a big show of dusting her tawny hairs off my sweatpants. Maybe I’ll do Peter a big favor and have Will shave you.
Daisy let out a low growl. I’d like to see you try.
I caught Peter watching us, brows pulled together