And she needed to be arrested, punished, and executed, if possible.
The mysterious writer ended it with a dramatic flair: Help Poppy, and be the latest victim in her schemes.
He held the letter in the air, pursing his lips. He scanned it over again. Once more. He took a deep inhale, held it for a second or two, and released it through his nose. Someone hated Poppy. Poppy had either screwed over someone or someone hated her for no reason, but there was a hatred in that message that was hard to deny. But it also felt…planned.
He bit his lip, studying it. It had been overdone. Whoever had sent him this letter hadn’t been realistic enough. They obviously wanted him off the case. The ending, and the other demands to stay out, pointed towards him being out of the equation. But even in the short time he’d known Poppy, it was pretty damn obvious that she wasn’t a psychopathic crime kingpin, sleeping around and murdering people.
His finger traced over the writing thoughtfully. Someone wanted him to hate Poppy too, and to be so angry that he’d bail on the case, throwing her to the metaphorical dogs. This wasn’t a letter designed to help him, but to anger him, to dirty Poppy’s reputation with him. However, it had gone overboard. The writer should have claimed that Poppy was sleeping around, or that Poppy was a murderer, or that she was a crook and was willing to kill someone who would expose her, or any number of the accusations in there. But there was no way that all those things applied. She’d have to be the worst person on the planet.
Someone wanted badly for him to get off the case, which meant that someone was worried that Poppy would be treated fairly. And, this also meant that the someone probably knew what had actually happened.
And maybe it meant that the writer was the actual murderer, trying to get Poppy arrested by doing half-rate threatening letters and stealing her support system away.
He glanced at the letter one more time before neatly folding it and returning it to the envelope. A slight snicker slipped out of his lips. He’d known that this case was going to be convoluted, but this was getting more complex than he’d expected. It had started off oddly, with a favor called in from the descendant of a friend long dead, and had only gotten more bizarre from there. He had the unexplained connection to the witch and the feeling of passion that still blossomed in him even now when he thought of her. And now, as though the feeling part of it wasn’t unusual enough, he had some shadowy figure trying to manipulate the strings. Fortunately, the shadowy figure was shit at manipulating the strings. An amateur, but someone who thought they were probably better at it than they were.
They were the most unpredictable and most dangerous people to deal with. A professional, contract killer would know how to stay out of trouble and were therefore predictable. A complete amateur would be predictably afraid. But the middle group, the group who thought they had killed and were bold enough to send letters and such, those were the people to watch out for.
Someone had killed the demon. Poppy hadn’t done it, so the real killer was out there somewhere—probably writing letters, meddling, trying to make things work out in their favor. This was someone who was willing to do things to keep themselves out of trouble, not a person who’d gotten over their head and who was now scared and hiding.
He pushed in the code on the keypad and the door swung open. As he drove through, he couldn’t help but laugh. Yeah, this one…this was gonna be a wild ride.
5
Three days later, Poppy still couldn’t believe the mark had lit up.
She and Oakley had been in communication and keeping each other posted. They’d gotten together twice since they’d first met, talking about the murder seemingly as an excuse to talk to each other while also digging into the meat of the case itself.
On the third day, he stood by the window, talking about the case. About what, specifically? She didn’t know. His voice rang hollow in her ears. All she could do was sit on the nearby couch, numbly staring at him. She perched on the corner of the couch as he looked out the window thoughtfully, throwing around different options and theories—thinking through all the events that had transpired.
Her legs shifted restlessly, and her attention fell to her hand. She curled her fingers open to show her palm, where the light had been. It was gone now, just a regular hand. It wasn’t supposed to stay forever. She traced her finger across her palm, stroking where it had been after she’d first touched Oakley. Her gaze traveled up to the griffin talking out loud. His shoulders were broad, his hips slender and fit. His hair was luxurious enough that she was a tad bit jealous. The way his shoulders were cocked back confidently, the sheer aura of confidence that he oozed was intoxicating.
How could some random shifter that her family knew for centuries be her mate? Him? The light didn’t lie, but maybe she’d been wrong? Wrong, despite having seen it and stared at it seemingly forever to make sure she wasn’t when it had first shown up?
She hadn’t told anyone, not even her sisters. How was she supposed to explain that? Hell, she couldn’t even figure out how to explain what was going on. As far as anyone knew, the store was still functioning normally. Her employees could handle it without her while she sorted out this mess.
If only her sisters knew what was going on, they would all fly to Minneapolis in heartbeat to help her out. But really, what would they do? She had a retired Immortal Council member standing in her house, talking through how to get her out of trouble.
So, no. Of course she hadn’t told anyone. Oh, by the way, my mark ignited when I touched Oakley. Who’s Oakley, you say? Well, he’s a retired Immortal Council member, and a griffin. You know, the old family friend for the past few generations? Oh, why do I know him? Because I was wrongfully arrested for murdering a demon who didn’t have a bone of decency in his body.
It wouldn’t help anything, and all Magnolia in particular would do was worry. Besides, how was she supposed to explain that to her when Poppy couldn’t even understand what had happened herself? He was ancient! Of course, he didn’t look ancient, but still, he was immortal!
She curled her fingers closed again just in time to see him staring at her expectantly. Without her noticing, he’d apparently turned around and faced her while she’d been lost in thought. She snapped her fingers shut all the way, straightening. “Oh! Sorry. I zoned out.”
He nodded understandingly, a slightly playful glint in his eye. “I was suggesting you accept my services.”
She felt like she was at the back of the class and the teacher had just asked her a question that she had absolutely not been prepared for. “I’m sorry…?”
“My services. To help you. I’m offering them.”
“I thought you were already offering them?” Her mouth snapped shut. What was she thinking? Maybe she’d been reading this wrong? What was he talking about?
He paused, and then spoke, swaying his hands around as he did for emphasis. “No. I was fulfilling my offer to hear you out and decide if I want to get involved or if it’s something I want to steer clear of. I’ve made up my mind. I think you’re innocent, and I want to prove it. I want to work with you and figure out who actually killed him and clear your name.” He bared his fangs in a smirk. “That is, if you’re willing to take that on.”