Page 4 of Dragon Detective

“I know. Ghosts aren’t real. Detective Carter said it at least ten times.”

“You’ve spoken with law enforcement about the issue.”

“After someone dug up my flower beds for the third time, yeah.”

“A skunk?” I asked.

She growled, the purring sound shooting through my veins like dragon fire. I needed to look up human dating rituals online.

“Skunks go after grubs,” she said. “A few bulbs. They don’t uproot entire bushes and drag them twenty feet across the lawn, drop them, then beat them up with a hoe.”

“I doubt ghosts do either.” Ghosts didn’t exist.

“I don’t think it was a kid,” she said. “Once? Maybe. But three times says this person has a purpose.”

“Destroying your flower beds?”

“Destroying me. Keeping me from opening the B&B.”

Yes, that would be my first suspicion as well, once I’d proven this wasn’t a neighborhood prank. “Why would someone want to do this?”

Her gorgeous gaze pinned me in place. “If I knew the answer to that, I’d be solving this on my own. I wouldn’t be using part of my dwindling renovation money to hire a detective.”

“Have you considered getting investors?” Dragon shifter families were a close group. We used to live deep within caverns where we’d mine for gold and precious jewels. Yes, we hoardedthem, but who could blame us? We’d always been drawn to sparkly things.

If Hannah was taking on investors, I’d not only be able to help, but I’d also be happy to do so.

“I’m doing this alone.” An edge crept into her voice.

I wouldn’t offer to invest, then. Not yet.

“Alright.” I wroteflower bedsanddestroyed three timeson my paper. “Did you catch any evidence on security cameras?”

“I haven’t had them installed yet.”

“Why not?”

“I’ve been holding off. They’re not cheap, you know. Security cameras are on my list along with weeding the back patio, rescreening all the windows, painting the rest of the rooms, redoing five more bathrooms, painting the exterior, refinishing the floors, and now, painting over the water stains on my bedroom ceiling.”

I frowned. “Water stains?”

“This morning, I woke to water coming through the ceiling above my bed.”

“Did someone overfill the bathtub overhead?” I asked, noting this detail, though I wasn’t sure it was tied to her flowerbed sabotage.

“I live alone. I don’t have any guests yet. I hope to open my business this fall.”

“I see.” I wrote down water damage and unknown source. “Did you find broken pipes?”

“Not one. To be safe, I turned off the water that feeds the second floor, and I’ll have the plumber out again as soon as possible to take a look, though I suspect, like the last two times, she won’t find a problem.”

“Wait,” I said, “you’ve had water damage three times, and the plumber hasn’t been able to fix the issue? You might want to hire a different plumber.”

“She’s the second I hired, and I like her, though I know that doesn’t mean she knows her business. But the first plumber couldn’t find a problem either. Sabotage, I say. Sabotage.”

“Hmm,” I said, beginning to suspect there was more to this case than simple pranks.

She nodded. “Exactly.” She cleared her throat. “Two mornings ago, I foundLeave, or elsewritten on the mirror above the mantel in my front parlor.”

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