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

we might have missed. As I shuffled between the bed and the miniature kitchen table, my foot caught on the leg of the bed and I tripped sideways.
“Ah!”
Two strong arms caught me around my waist and pulled me upright. I blinked up at Peter, my hands wrapped around his forearms. My breath caught.
Daisy growled, and I jumped back. Not because I was intimidated by that mutt, but—what had that been all about? He’d looked at me with those blue eyes of his like—like I was a woman who wasn’t wearing the same smelly sweatpants and raggedy band shirt she’d slept in.
For just a moment there I’d felt a spark like I hadn’t felt since…. My shoulders slumped. Like I hadn’t felt since I’d met my ex-fiancé—the one who’d promised to love me forever, then dumped me as soon as he learned the truth about me being a shifter.
Peter is a cop, Jolene, I reminded myself. And cops weren’t exactly famed for their open-mindedness or tolerance of D-class citizens.
I gulped. If he found out the truth about me, I had a strong hunch my situation would be even worse than before I’d met him. And that was saying something.
I pulled back and skirted away until the table stood between the slightly dazed-looking Peter and me. I shrugged. “Well—looks like this place was a bust.” I tipped my head from side to side. “Except for the excellent stir fry.” I patted my full stomach.
“Right.” Peter cleared his throat. “Did Bim develop her pictures at work?” His eyes grew faraway as he thought it over, scratching the back of his neck. “We need more information about her. Let’s go talk to her boss again.”

18


SNOOPING
We wandered the quiet, hazy morning streets of the Darkmoon District back toward my haunt of the ’hood. Peter stopped and consulted the address his quill had written down in the flip notebook he kept in the breast pocket of his uniform. He looked up at the house number bolted in a garish, glowing gold on the outside of the wrought iron fence that surrounded the property.
“This is the place.”
Daisy sniffed the air.
I leaned out into the street and pointed a few buildings down. “That’s my place—and their business.” The lights were off on the neon sign that read Darkmoon Outlet, Inc.
Peter grinned. “Nice commute.” Then he frowned. “It would only have taken either of them moments to get down there, kill the victim, and get back.”
True dat.
Peter tugged at the gold chain hanging from the bell on the fence. Magical chime music rang out in a dizzying array of notes and escalating volume.
I raised a brow at Peter, my voice sardonic. “Fancy.”
He chuckled, and Daisy’s ears flattened. Oh for shell’s sake. That dog needed to lighten up.
This place was ridiculous. Millie and Turk clearly labored under the impression that as business owners (and I had no doubt they were fencing illegal goods) they had a raised status in the Darkmoon community and just as clearly wished to flaunt it.
Their entire home appeared to be a cheap and miniature replica of one of the mansions people with real money lived in on the top tiers of Bijou Mer. From the gilded fence and bars over the windows to the twin ceramic dragons perched on either side of the gate, these people liked it flashy.
The musical doorbell finally wrapped up its concerto, and the gate swung open on its own. I followed Peter and Daisy inside. We ducked through a stuccoed archway and stepped into a tiled central courtyard with a lavish fountain trickling away in the center.
The front door, with its enormous gold octopus knocker, swung open, and Millie stepped out. She no longer sported the robe and curlers she’d worn the night before. A tall halo of teased blond hair trailed over her shoulders, and her leopard-print wrap dress showed off her round curves.
“Officer Flint!” She hiked her thin, drawn-on brows. “What a surprise!” Her bloodshot eyes darted to me, then back to Peter. “What—what brings you by?”
Though she’d done her makeup and plastered on the concealer around her eyes, they were still red and puffy, as though she’d been crying all night.
“We’d like to ask your husband some more questions about the victim, Bim.” Peter gave her a tight-lipped smile, his eyes soft and kind. He’d noticed the evidence of crying, too.
Millie’s throat bobbed. “Of course.” She gave us a watery smile. “Come—come right on in.” She stepped aside, holding the door for us, and I followed Peter inside.
She ushered us into the living room to the right of the front door. “Please have a seat.”
I pressed my lips tight together to keep from smirking. The oversized gilded couch with leopard-print upholstery had been preserved in a thick plastic cover that had no doubt been spelled to be spillproof.
The couch crinkled as Peter and I sat. Daisy lowered her haunches down on the ornate rug beside the glass coffee table covered in small, porcelain figures of dwarves, dragons, and fairies. Millie flicked her wrist, and the heavy, ornately draped curtains over the windows that looked onto the courtyard flew open, bathing the room in light.
“Just a moment.” Millie held up a finger with a bright pink nail. She then turned, her heels clicking down the hallway, and called, “Turk! That nice officer is here to speak with you.”
I sucked on my lips as I looked around, taking it all in. “Wow.”
Above the sofa across from us, framed wedding pictures covered the entire wall. A chandelier hung over the breakfast nook in the kitchen to my right, and every other decorating space was littered with tchotchkes, painted plates, zebra-print lampshades, and gold tassels everywhere. The nauseatingly strong scent of fake flowers filled the air.
I nodded and patted my thighs. “Just… wow.”
Peter nudged me as Millie returned with Turk in tow, and I coughed into my fist to cover up my smirk.
Turk, now fully dressed in a tight button-up shirt with contrasting cuffs and