Pet Psychic Mysteries Boxset Books 5-8 (Magic Market Mysteries Book 2) Erin Johnson (good books for 8th graders .txt) 📖

alcove fitted with a round manhole cover hung sideways as a front door. It sat raised on a sort of sidewalk beside the main channel of the tunnel. Gray gravel created a sort of lawn, with a pink flamingo stuck in it.

I grinned at the old woman who lounged in a white metal lawn chair and watched the parade of shifters go by—Mrs. Rankle. She lifted a hand in greeting at a gray wolf, who turned and gave a nod. I waited for a break in the foot (and paw and hoof) traffic, then darted across the wide tunnel and climbed up the stone bank.

“Mrs. Rankle?”

She looked up, her white curls bouncing around her face, and peered at me for a long moment before her face split in a wide grin. “Well, if it isn’t Jolene Hartgrave.” She pushed herself up out of her chair and waved me toward her, then embraced me in a tight hug. I felt a tinge of alarm at how thin she was under her pale blue tee and open button-up.

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” She winked and grabbed her wand. “What can I get you?” She looked me up and down. “You old enough to drink now?”

I nodded, and she winked.

“I know, doll, just teasin’.” She waved her wand, and two yellow drinks magically appeared in our hands, topped with paper umbrellas and skewers of fresh pineapple.

I blinked at the elaborate cocktail. “Wow.”

She thumbed at the crumbling cement wall beside her, string lights magically hovering in front of it. “I’ve got an arrangement with the cantina next door.” She clinked her glass against mine. “It’ll go on my tab.”

I nodded, impressed.

“Have a seat.”

She motioned at the white metal chair beside her own, and we settled in. We sat in silence for a few moments, watching the steady stream of shifters going by or stopping in at the little mart across the sewer tunnel.

I took a sip of the fresh cocktail, sweet pineapple flooding my mouth, and nodded. “This is pretty nice.”

She scoffed. “Shocker, right? It’s not bad—especially for what you’d expect down in this dump of a sewer.” She shrugged her thin shoulders. “But it’s all I could afford. Being headmistress of an orphanage doesn’t pay as well as you’d think.”

I took another sip of my drink, unsure what to say to that.

She swept an age-spotted hand at the flow of people and animals in front of us. “Tunnel floods sometimes, but up here on higher ground, it’s only reached the flamingo once. Plus, when it does, I’ve got a riverfront view.”

I grinned.

“Except the river’s made of raw sewage, but you take what you can get.” She barked out a laugh, then sipped from her drink. “So, Miss Hartgrave, what brings you down to my bend of the tunnels?”

I angled myself toward her. “I wanted to ask you a few questions, actually, about a girl named Letty Jones.”

Her expression grew pinched. “Aw. I heard about her.” She shook her head. “Poor thing—that’s a real tragedy. She was a good girl.”

I nodded, then looked around to make sure no one was listening. “I’m actually working with the police to help solve her murder.” I doubted anyone down here would be too friendly toward me if they knew I had police connections. “Can you tell me anything about her? I’m not sure what I’m looking for exactly, but anything might help.”

Mrs. Rankle watched the tunnel for a bit, gaze far away. “It was a long time ago.” She glanced over at me and closed one eye. “The old thinker’s not what it used to be.”

“I doubt that. You’ve always been sharp.” I snorted. “Too sharp, in fact. We couldn’t get away with anything under your watch.”

She grinned. “I’ve got eyes in the back of my head.”

I paled and lowered the drink’s straw from my lips.

She chuckled and patted my arm. “Just kidding.” Her throat bobbed as her smile faded. “Letty was a sweet girl. Shy.”

I nodded. “A lot of people we’ve spoken to recently say she stayed that way—that she was pretty private and reserved.” I licked my lips. “Do you think she’d have killed herself?”

“Letty?” Mrs. Rankle jerked her head in my direction. “No way.”

I frowned. “You’re that confident? If she wasn’t a big talker, no one might have known if she were going through private struggles.”

She snorted. “Fat chance.” She shook a finger at me. “That girl might have been quiet, but she was a hard worker who never gave up, never complained.” She gave me a hard look before taking a swig of her drink. “Letty was a fighter.”

I thought this over as I watched the parade of shifters go by. “Is it hard getting used to living underground?”

“Eh.” She pulled her wrinkled lips to the side. “It was at first, but I made new friends, got to know my neighbors. Same as living aboveground.”

I opened my mouth to ask her about Letty, but she continued.

“Never thought this place would still be around by the time I retired.”

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Eh. Just thought that once the Monster Wars were over, we’d all be able to live aboveground, out in the open again.”

I angled toward her. “I live aboveground.”

She snorted. “Yeah, but can you be open about who you are? What you are?” She sighed as an aardvark shuffled by. “That’s one good thing about being down here. Folks are free to shift at will.”

“Wait… are you saying shifters used to be able to shift in public?”

She gave me a hard look, her thin brows pinched together. “That jellyfish head, King Roch, did a lot more than just the war crimes he was tried for.” She shook a finger at me. “People didn’t mind shifters, what is it now? Fifty years ago, before he got into their heads. During the monster wars he filled the streets with propaganda—posters were everywhere, fliers, pamphlets—about the dangers of shifters.”

She made a spooky noise, then swiped her hand through the air. “Bunch of