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

clues.”
I groaned. “Did you really need to get me up so early for this?”
He gave me a tight-lipped smile. “Maybe she has a pet you can talk to?”
I sighed. “I’d rather be sleeping.”
He chuckled and nudged me with his shoulder. “Wouldn’t we all? Come on, pet psychic. I hired you to work the whole case, remember?”
I followed Peter across the street and up the broken concrete steps of the run-down building. “Yeah, yeah.” As much as I complained, this was the first time in a long time that I’d woken up with a sense of purpose. Even if it was about eight hours earlier than I was used to.

17


LEFTOVERS
We located the landlord’s flat in the basement, and Peter secured us keys to Bim’s apartment. Then we trudged four stories up a reeking, dark stairwell, and padded down the depressing hallway to the victim’s place.
I crinkled my nose and edged closer to Peter. I’d grown up in the Darkmoon District and wasn’t easily spooked by rats and other critters, shouting from behind walls, or even brawls in the street. They just came with the territory, and as long as you minded your own business, you could stay out of trouble. But this place was just plain shady.
“It’s even worse than my flat,” I muttered as Peter fixed the brass key in the lock and turned it.
Faded wallpaper peeled off the walls, the enchanted sconces flickered, and the whole place stank of cigarettes and mold.
A loud thud as something slammed into the wall in the apartment next door made me jump. Peter straightened and drew his wand. We held still for several moments, listening, but no further sounds of violence came.
Peter’s throat bobbed, and he turned back to Bim’s door. “I wonder why she was living in a place like this?”
We stepped inside, and as Daisy and I moved into the cramped space, Peter locked the door behind us. Bim had made it as nice as possible on the inside. As nice as you could make a run-down shoe box of an apartment.
Thick white curtains hung over the two windows in the wall across from me. I took a few steps through the combination kitchen/living room/bedroom and pulled the fabric back. I found myself staring into the apartment of the next building, which was only about two feet away.
A man in nothing but boxers and an apron danced around, sweeping, eyes closed and singing at the top of his lungs. Either he was a massive morning person to have that much energy, or the illegal potions hadn’t worn off yet from last night.
I let go, and the curtain swung back into place. I could understand why Bim had hung them. Not a great view.
Daisy sniffed the neatly made bed below the windows, and I moved into the kitchen, which took up about six square feet. A scratched, rusted sink, chipped tile countertop, and a couple of cupboards made up the whole thing. I located the cold cabinet and pulled it open.
Since the victim’s refrigeration spell died with her, it was only a matter of time before all the contents inside spoiled. Cool air chilled my face. But they seemed like they were still good for now.
I bent forward and poked around. Some cucumbers and lettuce, half a stick of butter on a dish, a couple of spotted eggs in a bowl. Aha! I grabbed a box of takeout, pulled open the lid, and sniffed the noodles and stir fry.
“Hm. Still good.”
I grabbed a pair of chopsticks that’d been drying on the towel next to the sink and shoveled a huge bite into my mouth. I kicked the cupboard shut, spun around, and leaned my back against the counter, savoring the first real food I’d had in days. “Mmm.” I closed my eyes, in heaven.
When I peeled them open, I found Daisy and Peter staring at me, mouths open.
“Whag?” I asked around my mouthful of food. I plucked up some broccoli and popped it in. Yum. Salty goodness.
Daisy barked at me. You’re eating a dead woman’s food! What are you? A vulture?
I let out a high-pitched whine that I hoped Peter would think was some malfunctioning light. An owl, actually.
“Uh, Jolene?” Peter cleared his throat. “That’s, uh—did you find that here?”
I nodded. “It’s still good.”
He continued to stare at me, wide-eyed.
I frowned down at the noodles. What was the big deal? “Oh!” I held the take-out box toward him. “Do you want some?”
He waved a palm. “No.”
“Oh.” I frowned. “What’s up?”
“It’s just….” He shook his head. “Why?”
I shrugged. “I’m hungry, and it’s not like the victim’s going to eat it.” I grinned as I shoveled more noodles into my mouth. “Jug doing mah part for da planet.” I munched happily. Maybe this would satisfy the growling beast that was my empty stomach.
Daisy barked again, her teeth bared. You’re eating evidence!
I rolled my eyes. “It’s not evidence—it’s leftovers. No one’s going to miss it.”
Though clearly still conflicted about my meal choice, Peter, after a few more puzzled glances at me, moved to the tiny drop-leaf table with two chairs. He lifted a pile of parchment and envelopes and flipped through. He stopped when he got to a receipt and frowned as he read it.
“What’s it say?” I dug around the noodles with my chopsticks, looking for more chicken chunks.
“It’s a receipt for developer, a bin, and an enchanted hourglass.” He looked up at me. “Mean anything to you?”
I nodded and pointed my chopsticks at him. “They’re for developing photos.” A little information I’d picked up when defending a photographer client years ago.
“Huh.” Peter planted his hands on his hips and looked around the tiny space. “So where are all the photos?”
I finished the leftovers and set the empty container on the counter. “Good point. Maybe she’s got a closet she uses as a darkroom? Like Martin Shaw and his plants?”
Daisy sniffed the perimeter, and Peter and I felt along every wall, looking for hidden doors or a closet