“Hey, what happ-” Damien starts to ask when he sees me walk into the cafe but stops short when he sees Drew with me. “Uh oh.”
“Uh oh is right,” Drews tells him.
“I told her not to go,” he says, looking at Drew. “But I didn’t snitch!” he then exclaims, turning to me.
I hold my hand up. “I know, I know, he told me. One of the patrolmen saw me and called him.”
“Got any burritos, Damien?” Drew asks.
“For you, always,” Damien tells him.
“Can I ask what happened?” Damien says.
I turn to Drew.
“Go ahead. You’ll tell him anyway as soon as I leave,” he says. He’s not lying. “But before you start, did the two of you need to tell me something?”
I’m genuinely confused. What haven’t I told him that I don’t want to have to confess to?
Damien is looking at me like he’s worried about whatever I might have done this time that will somehow get both of us in trouble.
“Does Tom know the two of you are purchasing burial plots together? You make such a cute couple after all.”
Darn, why does he have to remember everything?
Damien stares at me. “Did you tell him that?”
“No! Ethan ratted us out. Granted, he didn’t realize he was ratting us out, but still.”
“Drew, I am so sorry. You’ve been amazing to me and to Tom, and now you’re playing a big role in us getting a foster daughter, and I haven’t even properly thanked you for that yet.” Damien says as he sounds increasingly frustrated and embarrassed.
“Don’t worry about it, man. I know how persuasive some people can be,” Drew says, tilting his head toward me.
“Still, I’m about to become a dad, and I should know better.”
“Seriously, don’t worry about it. Just keep me supplied in breakfast food.”
“Drew, I promise to make sure our special donuts and any burrito you want are always available to you, whenever and wherever, for the rest of my life. It’s the least I can do!”
“Okay, enough groveling,” I urge. “Do you want to know what we learned or not?”
“I do!” Aranya shouts from the back.
“So check this out,” I start. “Morley sold the mortuary to the Kamfield Corporation before he died.”
“But what does that mean for Ethan?”
“He’s fired this time for real,” I explain.
“Hold on a second, did he even know that?” Aranya asks.
“Yes, he admitted it. The fight he had with Morley on Halloween wasn’t one of their usual fights. It was over the fact they had already closed on the deal.”
“This may sound like a dumb question maybe, but why was Ethan at work the day we talked to him? Right after Morley died.”
I shrug. “I think he kind of hoped if he just kept showing up like he used to, they would keep him on, anyway. But that didn’t happen because he was at home today.” I turn to Drew. “Can I tell them what you surprised me with when we were questioning Ethan?”
Damien gasps. “You got to question Ethan together like real cops?”
I squeal. “Yes!”
“Oh, cool!” Damien exclaims as he starts to fist bump me, but stops mid-air when Drew glares at us.
“One of us is a real cop. The other one was supposed to just be along for the ride. Scratch that. The other one wasn’t even supposed to be out looking for Ethan in the first place.”
I roll my eyes and then quickly fist bump Damien anyway.
“The CPPD interviewed the kitchen staff after Morley’s murder, and one of them informed us that Ethan did not leave directly after their argument like he told us he did. Instead, he was seen in the kitchen shortly before Morley’s murder.”
“Nooooo.” Damien exclaims.
“It gets better,” I laugh.
“Did he admit to poisoning Morley?” he asks hopefully.
“No, he claims he was buying a pot brownie from his friend.”
Aranya sticks her head through the serving window. “Really?”
“Really,” I nod my head.
“Why is he sneaking around the Hotel Glacier kitchen with pot brownies? Why doesn’t he just buy it from one of the shops in town?” Damien asks.
“Do you know how much those cost?” Aranya asks.
“No, and how do you know, young lady?” Damien says, slipping back into dad mode. He’s getting good at this.
“Pot may be legal here, but it’s expensive,” Aranya explains. “Or so I’ve been told,” she giggles.
“That’s pretty much the same thing Ethan told us.”
“It is illegal to sell to your friends,” Drew points out.
“Here’s something interesting,” Aranya says as she joins us in the dining area, holding her phone out to us. “Damien already told me that a left-handed person wrote the notes,” she explains when I look at her in confusion.
“What am I seeing?” Drew asks.
“Owen Munoz is left-handed,” I point out.
“I still don’t get it,” Drew responds, looking more confused than ever.
“Okay, Mr. I Don’t Do Social Media, look at this,” I point at Owen’s profile where it says he belongs to the “Lefties Are Awesome” group. “He belongs to this group on social media because he’s lefthanded.”
“Oh. Okay. But that’s hardly conclusive.”
“But it might be a clue!” I plead.
“Might,” he emphasizes. “That’s a huge might.”
“Hey, lady,” Marshall says, making a sudden appearance from the back room.
Uh oh.
“I swear, if you’ve found a body, I really, really don’t want to know. Just let it stay there!”
Drew looks askance.
“You want them to find another body in Crested Peaks?”
“Now that you mention it…”
Marcus stomps his foot to show he’s annoyed that we’re not paying attention to them.
“Okay, what is it?” I ask.
“That guy who said he didn’t go to the party on Halloween actually went, but he was in a costume.”
“That guy?” I ask.
Marcus rolls his eyes at me. He thinks I’m so dense. “The guy you were just talking about.”
“Owen Munoz?”
They look at each other and shake their heads in disbelief, their crooked ears bobbing. For a pair of animals who rely on me to cart them around and feed them most of the time, they sure have an attitude.
I turn to Drew. “The rabbits claim that Munoz was at the party but was wearing a disguise.”
“But he told us he wasn’t there.”
“I get that.”
“What kind of disguise? And how do they know this?” Drew asks. For someone who knows how often the rabbits are right - whether he likes it or not - he’s still awfully skeptical.
I look down at the rabbits again. “Who told you he was at the party in a costume?”
Marshall starts. “Fufu heard it—”
“Who’s Fufu? And what kind of name is that?” I ask, beginning to think Drew’s skepticism may be warranted.
“She’s a rabbit who lives down the street. She has these itty bitty ears. So weird looking.”
“Okay, Fufu told you that Owen Munoz was at the Halloween party in a costume.”
“No.”
“But you said—”
“You interrupted me.” Marcus says.
“Fine. Go on.”
“Fufu heard it from Kyle—”
“Who’s Kyle?” I can already tell this is going to take forever.
“Kyle is a cat who lives in the alley. Stumpy knows her.”
“All right, go on.”
“Fufu heard it from Kyle who heard it from Fatty—”
I pinch the bridge of my nose and sigh. “Is there an end to this story? And dare I ask who Fatty is and why does he have such an unfortunate name?”
“Fatty is a squirrel who lives in the park.” Marcus blinks up at me like this is the most natural thing in the world. Although to him, I suppose it is.
“I know I’m going to regret this, but why is his name Fatty?”
“Because he’s fat.” Marshall explains.
I walked right into that one, didn’t I? “Are you almost done?”
“Yes,” Marcus says. “Fufu heard it from Kyle who heard it from Fatty who heard it from Squeakers that the guy you’re talking about was at the party in a costume because he didn’t want anyone to know he was there.”
“What is taking so long?” Drew asks.
“You really don’t want to know,” I tell him.
I look down at the rabbits, knowing I’m probably going to regret this, but I have to know. “Who’s Squeakers?”
“She’s a mouse who lives in the walls at the Hotel Glacier,” Marshall explains.
“And she eats like a queen!” Marcus shouts. “You can’t believe the food she steals from the kitchen.”
Ugh. I’m right, I wish I never asked.
“Do any of these creatures know what kind of costume he was wearing? And just cut to the chase, okay? I don’t need to know the entire telephone route.”
“Huh?” they ask in unison.
“Never mind, just tell me, do you know what kind of costume he was in?”
I throw my hands in the air at the humans who are all watching us with great interest. If only they knew.
“Ummm,” Marshall says as he looks at Marcus, who just shrugs and calls out for Stumpy, who, as usual, comes hobbling as fast as he can whenever the rabbits call him.
“What was that guy wearing at the Halloween Festival? The one who wore a costume so no one would know it was him,” Marcus asks.
Stumpy appears to contemplate an answer for several seconds.
“Death?” Marshall says.
“Death? Who dresses up like death? I don’t get it. Can you be more specific without running down the list of all your friends?”
Then Stumpy waves his paw in the air, and I don’t know why. Is he raising it to say something? Is he waving at someone? I don’t know. This is probably pointless. For once, I don’t think these three know what they’re talking about. The information is like fifth and sixth hand and by the time it got to them it’s probably completely messed up.
But then Aranya asks, “This?” as she holds her phone out to them.
“Yes! That’s it! Death!” Marshall shouts.
Aranya holds her phone out for me to see. It’s a picture of the Grim Reaper.