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

I thought.
“W-what are you s-saying?” Martin’s glasses fogged up in the warm, humid room. “I did-didn’t kill anyone!”

15


A CONFESSION
We needed the botanist to confess. He had motive (revenge for the evil neon sign), and judging by the state of his disheveled, dirt-covered shirt, his shoes probably weren’t any cleaner, which likely made him our muddy footprints guy—giving him opportunity. Anyone with a wand or magical powers could have hit Bim with a spell and sent her flying.
I doubted this nerd would have had the wherewithal to erase his footprints after magicking a woman out a window to her death. We just had to push him a little bit—I had a hunch this guy would snap under pressure. And back in the day when I’d made my living interrogating witnesses and sussing out cases, my hunches had always been right.
I stuck a finger into the moist soil of a plant with tiny round leaves and held up my dirty finger. “These seem like quite unique plants, Mr. Shaw.”
Peter shot me a questioning look, and I winked at him. Trust me.
The space between his brows creased, just for a moment as he thought it over, then Peter gave me a slight nod.
I lifted my brows and continued. “I’ve never seen most of these before.”
Martin’s throat bobbed. “They’re qu-quite rare, indeed.” He lifted his large nose in the air. “I challenge you to find many of these in e-even the royal g-gardens.”
I nodded and pursed my lips. “Impressive. Which means they all have unique needs, right?” I strolled by a wall of aquariums, trailing a finger along the glass. Martin followed my every move like an overprotective mother hen.
“They must need just the right amount of light, water, plant food—right?”
He frowned but nodded. “Correct.”
“And soil, too, I imagine?”
“Oh yes.” Martin cleared his throat. “Each plant must be housed in soil native to its natural environment.”
I spun to face him. “Which I imagine would make it pretty easy to identify you as the person who left behind muddy footprints at the crime scene.”
Martin’s face went slack, and he looked like he might be sick.
I raised my brows at Peter. “Right, Officer Flint? I mean, your men are testing the samples right now, but as soon as the results show a mix of potting soil from what I imagine is a dizzying variety of locales, there’s really only going to be one person who might have left those prints.” I tilted my head to the side, eyes laser focused on the botanist. “You. Am I correct, Mr. Shaw?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Peter staring at me, a look of admiration on his face. I angled myself so I couldn’t see him, my neck burning. Stupid me. For a moment there, I’d felt like my old self, like the rising star lawyer who’d ruled the courtroom.
But that was my old life. Now I was a fraudulent pet psychic who needed to let the actual cop do the interrogating.
Martin’s weak chin quivered, and he burst into tears. He pulled his dirty shirt up to his face and sniffled into it. “Yes, it w-was me. I left th-those footprints,” he warbled.
I flashed my eyes at Peter. Geez, buddy, pull yourself together.
Flint took over. “So you admit it— you killed Bim Pavani.”
“N-no!” Martin sniffled and let his shirt drop back down over his slim frame. “The sign turned on and in-indeed, I pl-planned to go over there and tell th-them to t-turn it off!” He scowled. “I was s-so angry for m-my poor plants.”
He blinked his small eyes at Peter. “But then, like a miracle, it t-turned off!” He threw up his hands. “B-but as s-soon as I’d settled into p-pruning, it turned on ag-gain!”
I bit my lip. That seemed to jive with what the parakeet had told me. Zo had turned the light off when she left. Which made it likely that Bim had flipped it back on when she arrived soon after.
“Th-there was some commotion in the st-street, and I was in no m-mood to get caught up in s-some street fight, so I went to the b-back door and f-found it unlocked.”
Peter and I exchanged looks. That commotion in the street, if he was telling the truth, would have been the crowd gathered around Bim’s body.
“I went in and—” He covered his mouth with a weathered, trembling hand. Half moons of dark dirt caked under his nails. “I didn’t n-notice until I’d gone to the sw-switch by the window to turn the neon sign off.” He shuddered. “I s-saw that poor woman down in the st-street, and I panicked and r-ran.” He sniffled, eyes downcast, thin shoulders hunched.
Peter looked down at Daisy, who tilted her head and let out a high whine.
He’s telling the truth.
I scoffed. “Seriously?” I shook my head at the cop. “I think your dog’s sniffer is broken.”
Daisy growled at me.
Peter’s throat bobbed as he looked from his dog to me. “He looks guilty, I agree, but Daisy’s always right.”
The dog’s ears pricked, and I tried to ignore her smug expression.
Peter turned back to Martin. “Mr. Shaw, I’d like to bring you up to the station for questioning.”
The man clasped his hands together and lunged forward. “Pl-please! I didn’t do it! You have to believe me!”
Peter held up his palms. “I’m not arresting you, I just want to ask you some more questions—as a witness.”
Martin wrung his hands and looked around. “But my babies. Wh-when will I be back?”
Peter pressed his lips tight together. “We’ll probably release you by sunrise.”
The botanist sniffled. “That sh-should be alright. I n-need to be back in t-time to water the mane lumens.”
“I appreciate your cooperation, Mr. Shaw.” Peter swept an arm toward the front door, and Martin led the way out.
I trailed behind.
Peter glanced up to Martin, who’d outdistanced us a bit through his maze of a house, then lowered his voice. “Well done back there, by the way.” He winked. “You’ve got some mean interrogation skills.”
I