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Chapter Text

“Everyone ready?”

Judy’s ear cocked and she leaned past her computer screen to see what her fellow officers were doing. Clawhauser, Fangmeyer, and Wolford were gathered at the conference table, each with a small stack of crackers piled in front of them. They also had an enormous difference in how excited they were.

Clawhauser looked ready to vibrate out of his spots in excitement, Fangmeyer was her usual cheerful self, and Wolford looked like he was waiting for a dentist. He caught Judy looking and shot to his paws, apparently eager for any excuse to leave whatever this was.

“Don’t get up, PC Wolford,” she waved him back down, and with a smile, Wolford looked pained. “I was just curious about—what are you three doing?”

“Salt cracker challenge,” came a muffled voice, and she pressed her mouth into a thin line as she studied the speaker. Detective Sergeant Nicholas Wilde looked like he was asleep at his desk, legs propped on the corner, a rumpled bucket hat covering his eyes. One paw came up as he started to narrate.

“You take six salt crackers, one bored mammal, and see if one can eat the other in sixty seconds.” He shifted slightly, and she could catch a flash of green eyes under the brim of the hat. “Or at least that’s what I think is happening—technically, I’m not here.”

She had to bite her tongue from saying something pointed. Nick was off duty. He'd landed on the island that morning, fresh from a whirlwind trip back to Republic City—days of depositions about the Lionheart smuggling ring. She'd had to make a similar trip herself, and if she hadn't already resented that vile sheep for her crimes enough, the jet lag from the trip had turned her feelings for Bellwether into full-blown hatred.

After that much time stuck in a plane, she wasn't surprised he wasn't feeling… chatty. But this was the first time they'd been in each other’s presence for more than a few minutes in what felt like months, and they should have talked or something. Instead, Nick had slouched through the door to the station, dumped a stack of files into a bin labeled boîte de réception, collapsed into his chair, and pulled his hat over his eyes.

“It’s so funny,” Clawhauser pleaded, giving her sad kitty eyes, “can we please play?” Fangmeyer followed suit. Wolford looked at the door longingly.

“Yeah, mom,” Nick called from under his hat, “please.” He dragged the last syllable out like a whiny teen.

She sighed and gave up. “Is at least one of you CPR-qualified?”

The three uniformed officers raised paws with different degrees of enthusiasm: Clawhauser’s over his head, Fangmeyer’s shoulder-high, and Wolford’s paw twitching up a few centimeters. Meanwhile, Nick let his arm flop down his side. He looked like he’d expired in his chair.

If he fell asleep, she was going to need a wheelbarrow to get him out of here.

“Since we’ve got odd numbers playing this ‘game,’ please take turns choking, since our noble detective sergeant appears to have shuffled off his mortal coil.”

Nick's head lolled over slightly, and he let his tongue flop out of his mouth. “Ooo,” he moaned, giving his voice a spooky note, “sad but true—he was too good for this broken world. But he died as he lived… and left a beautiful body.”

“Is dying an alternative to playing this Kackspiel?” Wolford had raised his paw in hope.

“Died as he lived? I would assume that meant the detective sergeant died while being a pain in my tail,” Judy fired back.

“Wolford,” Fangmeyer turned the kitty eyes on him and gave him a few extra bats of her lashes. “Please, for me…” Wolford grumbled, crossed his arms, but nodded.

Judy couldn't help but make a whip-crack sound in her head. Nick, of course, couldn't help himself, and he purred from under his hat. “Da gibt’s doch ein Wort dafür… Pantoffelheld.”

Wolford started to growl at the fox, and she could see Nick's mouth tug into a smirk. She understood Wolford's desire to throttle the fox. He could be infuriating. He was also a superb detective. And funny. Charming, really. Supportive. Good looking. Like really good looking.

And this was an unhelpful line of thought.

“Praise be!” Judy said. “He has risen! Since the dead won't work or leave us in peace, they can referee this excellent use of police resources.” It came out more bitter than she'd meant it to. Saint Mare was experiencing a highly anomalous lack of crime, of all sorts. Out of boredom, she'd checked the stats. Twice.

“Please, sarge,” Clawhauser squealed, “it's so funny. I can show you a video—better yet, you can take a video.”

“Sounds like a great plan,” Judy said sweetly at Nick's prostrate form and felt a little rush of triumph. The smirk was gone. Her watch gave a little vibration, and she glanced down—perfect timing. “Carry on with your game, officers. D.S. Wilde—your flock awaits—tout de suite.”

Nick pushed his hat back enough that she could see him studying her with those brilliant green eyes of his. The smile was back. She made a shooing motion, and after a theatrical sigh he shuffled toward the table.

“I want it noted that I resent being reincarnated and forced to involve myself in the affairs of mere mortals.” He gave her a mock serious look. "I am a vengeful spirit."

"And here I thought you were a lazy fox. Live and learn."

Judy waited until Nick had taken his spot at the table and started being… himself. After about five seconds he’d made a joke and everyone chuckled—right on schedule. Another few seconds, another joke, and a bigger laugh. He was just so—likable. He flipped his charm on like a switch, and when he focused on you, it felt like you'd known him forever. It was seductive… and a perfect distraction.

When she heard the second laugh, she slipped off her chair and silently moved toward the station's front door, ears raised and alert. She padded across the wooden veranda, stepping carefully to avoid any squeaky boards. Most mammals never noticed that kind of noise, but one of the benefits of her ears was there wasn't much she didn't hear.

A moment later she was hurrying through the streets, following her watch’s wayfinding. She slipped past throngs of mammals as she passed stalls filled with tourist tat, souvenirs, and fresh fruit. She spotted a sign through the crowd and made a beeline toward the reception stand for the restaurant. A formally dressed antelope was dragging a sign with Fermé written on it in three languages.

“WAIT! Wait!” She skidded to a stop. “I want a table. For one. Please!”

“I'm sorry, mademoiselle, but we've stopped seating until dinner service.” The maître d’ gave her a sympathetic smile and gestured at the sign.

She was so close… She pulled out her badge. “NO! Please, I'm an officer with the ZPD and I just want a proper cup of tea. It's been days.”

“Don't worry, François, she's with me.”

That’s… impossible.

Except it wasn’t.

Because there sat Nick Wilde, re-vivified and far too pleased with himself, one paw resting on the chair he was offering her as if this were all perfectly reasonable. The sea breeze lifted his fur and carried that faint scent of sun and salt to her. How had he gotten here?

“I'm thrilled that you could join me, Carrots,” he said as he pushed her chair in. “Took you longer than I expected. I bet that fancy watch of yours took you through the market.” He leaned in to almost whisper into her ear. “Rookie mistake.” He draped himself into his chair. “If you wanted directions, you should have just asked me.”

That damn smile was back. It was a good smile, all confidence and easy humor. She wanted to slap him.

“How did you—”

“You've been looking at your watch every five minutes since lunch—by the way, microwave 'Carrots for One'? You can do better. You literally just walked through the market.”

“My lunch is not the point. How did you—”

“Hold that question.” He held up a finger and called to the approaching server. “The tea is for the lady and the cocktail is mine.”

The server, a civet in a slinky tropical outfit, swept up, placing down a proper teapot and the proper serving ware. Her paws twitched. Before Nick, the server dropped what looked like a bucket of alcohol with a few wedges of fruit tossed in. It was also on fire.

“Can I get anything else?” asked the civet. She wasn’t looking at Judy when she said it. In fact, she was staring at Nick, and her tail snapped back and forth like she was picking out a tasty morsel.

“Maybe some menus?” Judy said, snapping the civet’s attention back to her. The server frowned and looked back to Nick for confirmation.

He nodded. “She's probably hungry—she had frozen vegetables for lunch.” He gave a sad little shake of his head.

“Why? I mean, the market's right there,” the civet gestured back toward the stalls. Judy felt her eyebrow twitch. Nick nodded along as if it was the most obvious point in the world. He gave her a sympathetic smile. Her paws twitched again. She’d have her tea, then she’d slap him.

“I guess that's all for now,” Nick said as the server turned to leave. “We've got so much to discuss; it's our first date.” He crossed his fingers and made an excited little shimmy. “I hope it goes well, but she looks mad. Does she look mad to you?”

The civet locked her eyes on Judy, her fur bristled, and bolted.

Judy surprised herself by not leaping across the table and pouring the steaming pot of tea over Nick's head. Instead, she poured herself a cup, dropped in a single cube, and added a splash of almond milk. She was going to enjoy this, no matter how much Nick seemed intent on irritating her.

“Is this a date, Nick? Last I checked this was tea and… a bucket of booze. Seriously, are you going to drink that? I can smell the alcohol from here—what's in that? Gasoline?”

Nick shrugged and took a short drag on his straw before smacking his lips theatrically. “Going by the flavor—maybe. There's also some juice too. And sugar.” He plucked a cherry off a toothpick and dangled it over the flaming center of the glass for a moment. “As for your first question—do you want it to be?”

“Didn't your mother tell you it was rude to answer a question with a question?” She lifted her cup to blow on it slightly. “You still need to introduce us, by the way.”

“Top of my list—and I'm sure she must have mentioned something. She was a wonderful mother, and I've been reliably informed I'm a rapscallion, so that might be the source of our problems.”

He grinned back at her. Everything with him was push and pull—like he was trying to map every one of her buttons so he could push them at his leisure.

She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction; she was going to rise above his little games.

She took a sip of her tea… and promptly dribbled it back out into the cup. That got his attention, his eyes popping wide in apparent shock.

She placed the cup back onto its saucer and stood. “As much as I would love to spar with you, Nick, I need to go into the kitchen and arrest someone for murdering that pot of tea.”

He opened his mouth to say something when a scream tore through the air. They both spun, eyes locking onto the far side of the little cove where a shape clad all in white fluttered through the air. It looked like a person, and a moment later the shape disappeared as it landed among the rocks on the shoreline.

They locked eyes and, in unison, reached into their pockets to throw a pawful of bills onto the table. Nick looked back at the table wistfully, and she tugged on his paw, dragging him toward the exit.

“Come on, Nick, that looks serious! We've got to go.”

“I know, Carrots, it's just that the cocktail never even had a chance—it was so young.”

It was hard to punch another mammal while running, but she was pleased with herself when she managed a quick jab into his side.

“That's uncalled for, D.I. Hopps,” he said as he stumbled. She’d probably only managed to land the hit because he'd been dragging a phone out of his pocket as he ran. “PC Wolford, grab Fang and the crime-scene kit. Fur Seasons Resort—we’ve got a case.”

Chapter Text

There was no such thing as a “good” crime scene, but this was worse than most. Judy and Nick had raced along the shoreline by the hotel, following the jagged edge of surf toward the shape they’d seen fall from a balcony.

The victim was easy to find. Her family were shouting for help from the walkway above her still form—her beautiful white wedding dress marred by a red stain and what looked like a spear jutting from her chest.

Judy fought to keep the bile out of her throat. The bride—Judy guessed a caracal by her tawny fur and neat ear-tufts—was beautiful and horrifying all at once.

A lynx and a bobcat were battering the gate that blocked off the private stretch of shore from general access. The lynx, the groom she guessed, was shouting as he pounded the lock. She caught Nick’s eye and nodded. “Secure the crime scene, D.S. Wilde.”

He nodded once and ran toward the pair, badge flashing in the sun.

Judy drew her own badge and stepped in front of the grieving family. “I’m Detective Inspector Judy Hopps. There’s nothing more you can do right now. Do yourselves a favor and don’t look at her like this—just take a seat. I’m going to need your help soon.”

They stared at her as if she were speaking another language. She softened. “She’s going to need your help, too.”

An older male—his fur the same tawny gold as the bride’s, his face streaked with tears—began to nod. He swallowed hard before whispering, “Lisa. Her name is—was Lisa.”

Judy studied the wedding party as the paramedics loaded the body into the ambulance. Thankfully, they’d covered her, but there was something about a person becoming cargo that always unsettled civilians—and, if she was honest, still did a number on her.

The father of the bride wept in a steady stream, his wife holding him as best she could. Odd, that—usually the roles were reversed. The sister stood rigid as stone, tears slipping down her cheeks in silence. The groom followed the gurney until the ambulance doors shut; then he simply dropped to his knees, strings cut. His best man crouched beside him, whispering softly before helping him to a bench.

Nick strode up, watching the ambulance disappear before turning to her. “Wolfie and Fang are taking one last sweep of the shoreline. We photographed everything, but I don’t think there’s much left to learn out there.”

She nodded, distracted by the heavy breathing of a late arrival—Clawhauser, puffing from the jog. “D.I. Hopps,” he managed, “front desk confirmed it. Whole bridal party was on the fifth floor—VIP suites.” He pointed toward a balcony glinting in the sunlight. “She had to have fallen from there.”

Judy followed his gesture, ears twitching. “What’s the ETA on forensics and the crime-scene team? I want them assembled as soon as possible.”

Nick’s muzzle quirked into a grin as Wolford and Fangmeyer approached. “Forensics and crime-scene team, assembled.”

He tipped his head toward the hotel entrance. “Elevators are through there.”

He caught the confused look she gave him and leaned close enough that only she could hear. “It’s a small island, Carrots,” he murmured.

Then he straightened, charm snapping back into place like a mask. “Lead the way, Detective Inspector.”

The walk through the over-air-conditioned lobby was short, followed by a slow ride to the fifth floor. It didn’t help that the hotel manager—a heavyset warthog—had wedged himself in with them. His rapid snorts of breath seemed to raise the temperature by ten degrees. The only ones who didn’t appear to mind were Wolford and Fangmeyer, pressed together but making no effort to move apart despite the space.

As they rode up, Judy had the misfortune to stand between Wolford and Nick—both of them wagging their tails. She kept dodging one way then the other until Wolford’s hit her in the back of the head and, when she stepped forward again, Nick’s caught her in the mouth.

She glared up at the pair; both shrugged innocently. Then she caught sight of a camera lens and turned to the manager. “Is that CCTV? Is it working?”

He nodded. “The feeds are downstairs in the security office. I’ll call and have them pulled.”

When the elevator doors slid open, Judy tried to slip out ahead of the others—only to pull up short as a slim, dark-furred cat glided in front of her. He extended immaculate white-gloved paws, plucked one of Fangmeyer’s evidence boxes from her, and waved them out of the lift. Something about his poise—the precision of every step, every angle—made Judy certain even his posture was deliberate.

“Good afternoon. I am William, the butler for this floor. Allow me to show you to Room 502.”

He pivoted smoothly and moved almost soundlessly down the corridor. Without breaking stride, he produced a keycard and opened the door with a soft chime and the whir of the electronic lock cycling. The door hanger displayed a small vacuum icon and the words nettoyage en cours in a cheerful font.

Judy led the way, eyes sweeping the suite as she crossed to the balcony. The curtains whipped in the sea breeze; beyond them, sunlight blazed off the water. She raised a paw to shade her eyes and spotted the patch of sand below where they’d found the victim.

“I wonder if they do special rates for public servants,” Wolford rumbled as he began clearing the room. “Though by the look of this place, I couldn’t afford even the special rate.”

“Maybe if you had someone to split the cost with,” Fangmeyer called from across the room, snapping photos of their path.

“D.I. Hopps,” Nick called, but she lifted a finger without turning. He sighed and fell silent.

She spun back, thoughts racing. “So if the victim was shot and fell from the balcony…” She hesitated. “By the way—what was sticking out of her? Some kind of…harpoon?”

“Probably not,” Nick said. “Looked like the bolt from a Barracuda 4500 spear-gun—the one with the yellow stripe down the side.”

Judy’s ears shot up. “Really?” She pulled out her notepad. “You can tell that because you snorkel?”

He shrugged, already moving toward the sitting area. “No—because it’s written on the side of the gun.” He pointed behind a couch she’d raced past on her way to the balcony. “PC Fangmeyer—photos, please.”

Judy’s mouth fell open, then snapped shut. Heat crept into her ears. She hadn’t cleared the scene properly and had missed a crucial piece of evidence—and Nick had caught it instantly. He was smiling at her, all calm confidence and faint amusement.

“Everyone start bagging evidence,” she ordered briskly. “Get it logged and back to the station. I want it on the next courier to the lab.”

A chorus of affirmations followed. She set her jaw and stalked past Nick without another word. Get your head in the game, Judy. He hadn’t done anything—she just kept messing up.

Following her into to the hall, Nick pulled out his pad as she swept past the butler. “So this was the bride’s room?” she asked.

“No, ma’am. The bridal suite is over here.” He gestured to the opposite door.

Judy froze. Nick nearly walked into her. “Then whose room was this?” she demanded, pointing back toward the suite the victim had fallen from.

“It was vacated this morning,” William said smoothly. “The maid cleaned it. It’s empty.”

“How did she get in there, then?”

“I wouldn’t know, ma’am.” He folded his paws neatly, voice still polite and opaque.

Judy turned to Nick; he only shrugged.

“So if she was murdered in there and this is her room, who’s this?” she asked, pointing at the next door.

“The best man, Mr. Adam Hairs,” William replied, following as she moved along the corridor. “Next to him—the bride’s sister and chief bridesmaid, Miss Sally Catson.”

Judy glanced over; Nick was already sketching a quick layout of the floor, labeling each door as she called them out. He really is an excellent detective, she thought.

“And across the hall?”

“The bride’s parents—Mr. and Mrs. Catson.”

“And the last door?”

“The groom, ma’am.”

She nodded, scanning the hallway. Near the elevator were two unmarked doors. “And those?” She strode up to them studying the floor and doors for anything unusual.

“Emergency stairs,” William said. "They're alarmed so I don't think—"

“Alarmed. But are they?” Judy sprang forward and hit the push bar. The door swung open—no alarm.

Nick closed his eyes.

A moment later the fire alarm blared to life, shrill and merciless. Everyone turned to stare at her.

She winced. “Right. So it works.”

Nick rubbed at his temple and turned to the manager. “Could you call your security office and have them cancel that alarm before the fire department comes? Not in the moood to deal with a bunch of hose jockeys.”

The warthog manager trudged to the house phone, grumbling.

Judy put on a brave face. “Excellent. We’ve eliminated that possibility.”

William allowed himself the faintest ghost of a smile.

“The question remains,” Judy said, keeping her gaze fixed on the door, “how our victim got into a room she didn’t have a key for. It’s odd. I don’t like odd things.”

“Warn a guy before you dash his hopes, Carrots,” Nick murmured beside her.

She snorted. “You’re working on a puzzle—what is it?”

“That door hanger,” she said, pointing. “Nettoyage en cours. That's cleaning in progress, right?”

Nick nodded, brow lifting in curiosity.

She brightened, clearly proud. “Not bad for one semester of language at uni.” She straightened and declared, “Je suis Judy, un lapin géant!”

Nick blinked. “You just said, ‘I am Judy, a giant rabbit.’”

She nodded firmly. “Exactly.”

Nick just pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a pained sigh.

“Right,” she said briskly. “Which means housekeeping finished this morning, but the hanger’s still here. Why?”

William’s composure never faltered. “I wouldn’t know, ma’am.”

“Is that important?” Nick asked, pen poised.

“I wouldn’t have asked otherwise, would I?” she snapped, then caught herself.

Nick’s smile tightened—civil but cool. “Duly noted, Detective Inspector.”

Her ears burned. He hadn’t done anything wrong—she’d just been off all day. Get it together, Judy.

“Right,” she said, refocusing. “Next mystery: where did the killer get a spear-gun of all things?”

Nick snorted. “On an island in the tropics? We’re lucky they’re not handing them out in the lobby.” He turned toward William. “The hotel has a dive school, right?”

“You are correct, sir,” William replied. “It’s very popular among the guests.”

Nick adjusted his tie and glanced at Judy. “Then that’s our next stop.”

The afternoon sun hit like a wall as they crossed the sand toward a weathered shack with a bright sign reading École de Plongée. Scattered benches and a rack of dive tanks marked the open-air classroom.

Nick was already panting as the heat beat down on him. Judy sympathized, tugging at her jacket collar. She looked up when Nick gave a low whistle.

“Either Billy the Butler is blind or a liar,” he said, “because I think I know why the dive school is so popular.”

Judy followed his gaze and blinked. The instructor—a stunning red panda—leaned against the counter, laughing into her phone. She wore cutoff shorts and a bikini top, looking more like an island-magazine model than a dive professional.

Nick looked at her over the rims of his sunglasses. “Did we wander into a photo shoot for a swimsuit issue?” he murmured.

“Eyes front, D.S. Wilde,” Judy said without missing a beat.

The panda noticed them, smiled broadly, and waved. “You two are gorgeous—tell me it’s my lucky day and you’re my next lesson.”

Judy flipped open her badge, and Nick followed suit. “Sorry, ma’am. No one’s getting lucky today.”

Nick’s muzzle twitched as he tucked his badge away. “I don’t know, Detective Inspector—perhaps our new friend will be very helpful.”

The red panda laughed—a rich, musical sound—and set her phone aside. “That’s a dirty trick. Both of you are way too hot to be cops.”

Judy let the jab slide, stepping forward. “Stephanie, I presume?”

The panda’s grin turned sly. “My mates call me Stevie. How can I help you?”

Nick adjusted his shades and leaned one elbow on the counter. “Start with this, Stevie—how many Barracuda 4500s do you have, and are they all accounted for?”

The playful glint in her eyes cooled by a degree. “I’m not sure off the top of my head. We’ve got around fifteen; some are here, some might be in the hotel workshop. They’re closed, by the way—I wouldn’t be able to check until tomorrow.” Her eyes flicked between them, now wary. “What’s this all about, anyway?”

“Murder, Stephanie,” Judy said evenly. The playfulness on Stevie’s face died completely.

“Did you give a lesson to Lisa Roar?” Nick asked, idly fingering a display of carved seashells. “Pardon me—Lisa Roar née Catson, as of earlier today.”

“I’m not sure,” Stevie said. “I’d have to check the booking forms, and I probably wouldn’t be able to do that…” She at least had the decency to look self-conscious.

“Let me guess,” Judy said dryly. “Tomorrow?”

“Sorry…” Stevie shifted. “So someone was murdered? I heard there was some commotion, but I didn’t really think—”

Nick picked up a necklace and let it dangle from his paw. “These are really nice… your work?” Stevie nodded, and Nick slid a folded bill across the counter. “Maman has a birthday. Must be nice getting to dive every day—some amazing reefs out there.”

Stevie slid the money into the pocket of her unbuttoned cutoffs and nodded. “People appreciate beauty.” She looked at Judy, then back at Nick, smiling. “I’m sure you understand.”

“It’s my burden to bear,” Nick murmured, tucking the necklace away. He turned that flirtatious smile on Stevie—perfectly measured, nothing wasted.

“Tomorrow, then,” Judy said to Stevie. “Inventory of spear-guns and the booking forms.” Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted the manager waving from the hotel entrance. “Come on, D.S. Wilde—it looks like our movie is ready.”

“Right behind you,” Nick murmured, producing a card with a flourish and sliding it across the counter. “Call me—with the information.”

He sauntered toward her, that easy grin still in place. He hooked a claw on his glasses and winked at her over the lenses. Professional charm, she reminded herself. He was just working the witness.

The sea breeze hit her as she stepped out of the shade, hot and salt-sweet against her fur. She squared her shoulders, irritation prickling under her collar as Nick fell into step beside her. Maybe she wasn’t jealous—just sun-tired, overworked, and completely out of patience.

She stalked across the sand before there was another murder at the hotel.

Chapter Text

Well, she was mad.

Nick shook his head—it didn’t take much of a detective to see that the cute little bunny in front of him had a bigger chip on her shoulder than usual.

She stomped at the sand like it had personally offended her. He’d have felt sorry for the beach—except he was pretty sure she was mad at him. The worst part was, he hadn’t even done anything wrong.

At least, he was pretty sure he hadn’t.

Sure, he’d teased her—but that wasn’t something to get upset about. He was ninety-nine percent certain she liked their verbal sparring. Maybe she was annoyed about him crashing her tea time, but if she’d really wanted him gone, she could’ve said so. Instead, she’d sat there and given as good as she got.

He sniffed subtly. Did he smell bad? He’d just gotten off a plane, so a little travel musk was inevitable—but between the near-constant cloud of pheromones surrounding Wolford and Fangmeyer’s flirt-fest, he doubted anyone would notice.

Still, he picked up his pace and held the door for her, offering one of his best smiles—warm, friendly, just the right amount of teeth.

She only grumbled a “thank you” as she followed the hotel manager inside.

Her lunch must’ve been worse than he thought.

Thankfully, the manager already had the camera feed queued up to an empty elevator. When he hit play, the doors opened and five celebrating mammals poured in.

“That’s the bridal party,” the manager said. “Ceremony just finished.”

The feed showed five mammals crowding into the lift, still clutching bouquets and champagne flutes.

Nick watched the crowd shift around during the ride. The father of the bride even nodded along to the beat of the elevator muzak. Nick spotted the bride leaning toward the best male, whispering something. The best male nodded once.

“Did you see that?” Nick tapped the monitor with a claw. “Go back a few seconds.” The moment replayed, confirming what he’d seen—the furtive whisper, the nod.

“Good eye, DS Wilde,” Judy said tightly. “What’s the best male’s name again?” She sounded like admitting it hurt.

“Adam Hairs,” Nick replied. “Carry on until the next person enters the lift.”

The manager nodded and restarted the video. Nick leaned closer to Judy, marveling again that she didn’t even flinch. “Is there a reason you look like I stood you up for prom?”

She froze and swiveled toward him. “Your behavior—you were flirting with that dive instructor.” She scoffed and turned back to the screen. “I’m surprised you didn’t give her your number.”

“I did.” He gave her a smile that usually drove his bosses nuts—pure, too-cool-for-school brazenness. “It’s on my card that says Detective Sergeant. I thought it prudent, since she was a material witness.”

“And she was half-naked?”

“As a male with modern sensibilities, I prefer half-dressed.” The smirk he added made her glower. “And two things can be true.”

That threw her, but the manager saved her. “This is the next person to use the lift—Margaret Du Claws, the maid. She’d just finished the floor.”

Nick studied the screen: a pretty serval swayed to an upbeat track on her headphones. He smiled at the image and turned to look at Judy. She was glaring again.

“Bet you a tenner she’s about to lip-sync.” He turned back to the monitor just as the maid arched her head up singing the chorus of Gazelle’s latest single.

“Zoo-o-o-o,” he singsonged along with the video. Judy looked ready to bite him. Interesting thought, that. “Don’t worry,” he said lightly, “you can just pay me back in smiles.”

Judy ignored him, leaning closer to the monitor. “This is where it gets interesting,” the manager tapped the time code. “She’s the last one to use the lift until 15:10,” he said, “which is when everyone took the lift after they saw that poor girl. Here, watch close.”

Judy and Nick leaned closer and watched the screen.

“I think Lisa Carson was killed about now,” he whispered as the clock on the video ticked toward 15:10. The lift doors opened again and six mammals piled in. Nick could almost smell the panic.

“That’s it,” Judy said, pointing at the screen. “Five mammals in the bridal party—and William.” She looked at Nick and smiled. “If no one used the stairs, and everyone who went up is accounted for coming down, then it has to be one—”

“—of them,” he finished. He studied the screen for a moment, then turned to the manager. “Is the DI right? Did everyone who went up come down? Even the guest who vacated the room this morning?”

The manager nodded slowly. “I put them in a cab myself, but yes, everyone who went up came down. You can go back as far as you want, but no one’s been hiding in the walls for a week.”

“Smile, DS Wilde,” Judy said, straightening. “We’ve found our killer. Now we just eliminate the innocent they’re hiding among.” She pivoted toward the door.

Nick grinned despite himself.

She paused, turned back, and gave him a megawatt smile. “There. We’re all even.”

Nick shrugged. It was a very good smile. The buckteeth made her look cute, but her eyes—sharp, curious, and utterly unafraid to meet his—were what held him. It didn’t hurt that they glittered like gemstones.

“Come on, Slick,” she called. “Lots to do if we’re going to eliminate some suspects.”

Nick followed her out into the lobby, still smiling.

#

Fangmeyer and Wolford were hauling boxes of the crime scene kit back toward the van. Judy intercepted them mid-stride.

“Anything to report?” she asked.

Wolford shook his head. “Nothing much. The room she fell from was spotless. Not a print in sight.”

“Same for the bride’s,” Fangmeyer added. “Either she was a neat freak or someone cleaned up fast. Nothing out of place, but we got photos.”

Judy made a thoughtful noise. “Since it looks like we won’t solve this with physical evidence, we’ll have to get to know our suspects.” She scribbled something on her pad, tore it off, and passed it to Nick. “Get on the phone with DCI Marcus McHorn. Tell him I’d consider it a personal favor if he ran full backgrounds on the bridal party. The works.”

Nick glanced at the paper, then passed it straight to Wolford.

Wolford didn’t hesitate, handing it to Fangmeyer with a grin. “Opportunity to excel, Constable.”

“I won’t let you down, Wolf—uh, Constable! Or you, Sergeant! Or you, DI Hopps!” Fangmeyer clutched the note like a trophy and sprinted off.

Nick smiled down at Judy. “So what’s next, DI Hopps?”

“Interviewing the family,” she said briskly, waving for him to follow. “If you can restrain yourself from seducing any more witnesses, I’d appreciate the restraint.”

Nick sighed theatrically, doing his best to look forlorn as he shuffled after her. She cocked an eyebrow as the elevator doors slid open.

“I suppose I can,” he said, stepping in beside her. A grin tugged at his muzzle. “I guess that means you’re still fair game.”

She made a little panicked “eep” as the doors closed, and he cackled at her expression—right up until she slugged him in the arm.

Chapter Text

Judy studied the group of mammals gathered in Mr. and Mrs. Catson’s suite from the shadows at the entrance. Everyone looked… utterly ruined. The only one still functional was William, circling among them with a pitcher of water and a tray of finger sandwiches. No one bit.

“Like anyone?”

The voice—silky, amused—brushed her ear, and an ear twitched at the whisper of whiskers. Nick had slipped in behind her without a sound, close enough that she could smell him. She vaguely wondered what her parents would say if they could see her in the dim light with a fox looming over her. Probably nothing good.

Her sisters, though, might have thrown her a parade. He was handsome enough that half the burrow would’ve lined up to give her paw bumps and slaps on the back.

“No…” she said, scanning the faces again. “You?”

“The sister ditched water for rum,” Nick murmured. “Honestly, I’m surprised they’re not all half-sloshed.”

Judy followed his gaze. The sister was grimly downing amber liquor, coughing after every sip but refusing to quit.

“Noted.” She checked Nick again. He was ready—pen poised, expression alert, waiting for her lead.

He didn’t hover, didn’t second-guess. When she spoke, he listened; when she paused, he filled the silence with exactly the right observation. He was the first detective sergeant she’d worked with who didn’t try to override or undermine her. He just… backed her play.

It was almost infuriating. No one that good-looking had any right to be that helpful.

He still teased her—called her Carrots—but only when no one else could hear.

“On me, DS Wilde.”

And she stepped out of the shadows. She heard Nick pad after her.

“Apologies for keeping you waiting. I know this moment is difficult, but I have to ask everyone a few questions.”

When she turned, Nick caught her eye and flicked a glance toward Mr. and Mrs. Catson.

Pellets. She was doing it again. Good-looking, competent, and with a better EQ than a workaholic bunny. She couldn’t bring him within a hundred kilometers of home without half her sisters developing hopeless crushes.

“But first,” she said, facing the grieving parents, “on behalf of the entire police department of St. Mare, we wish to extend our deepest sympathies.”

Nick flipped his notepad open and, as he did, subtly gave her a small thumbs-up.

“Surely you’re not saying any of us are under suspicion,” Diana Catson—mother of the bride—huffed.

“At this stage,” Nick interjected smoothly, “we’re simply trying to establish the facts of the case.”

His smile was steady, his tone pitched just low enough that every ear in the suite had to lean in. Setup…

Judy waited a beat, then asked, “Do you know anyone who would want to harm Lisa?”

Every head turned back to her. Worry rippled through the group, and Judy watched their faces, weighing every blink and flinch. Payoff…

“It was obviously a mad mammal or some disgruntled employee,” Diana started, voice rising.

Judy lifted a paw—gentle but firm. “Nonetheless, to do our jobs and get justice for Lisa, we need to establish where everyone was at the time of death.”

Diana looked ready to snap back, but her husband laid a paw on her thigh and squeezed. He looked up at Judy, his eyes still red. “Of course, we’ll do anything we can to help.” He glanced at Nick, who gave him a small, steady nod, pen poised to write.

“Well, we’d all come up after the wedding to change,” Robert Catson said, voice wavering before it steadied. “We had dinner reservations but decided to take in the sunset. William offered to make us some drinks, and I lay down to catch the latest footy scores.”

“And you, Mrs. Catson?” Judy asked, turning to the prim caracal, who nodded along with her husband’s story.

“I went onto the balcony,” Diana said softly. “I loved the view from up there.”

“Did you see your daughter fall from the balcony?” Nick asked.

“She’s not your daughter,” Sally Catson mumbled, draining her glass and grabbing another from William’s tray. “I am, though.”

Diana and Robert both flinched. He managed, “Sally, please. Not now.”

Judy stared at the father and stepmother of the bride, unblinking. She didn’t have to wait long for Robert to start filling in the blanks. “I lost Lisa’s mother when she was very young. When I met Diana, she already had Sally—so here we are.”

“When I saw Lisa on the rocks like that,” Diana said, staring out at the ocean, her composure finally cracking, “I just started to scream and I couldn’t stop…”

“And William, where were you?” Judy pinned the sleek jaguarundi with her gaze. “Did you hear the scream?”

“The kitchen, Detective Inspector,” he replied, pointing with his gloved paw. “I did. I heard the commotion and saw Mr. Catson come from the bedroom as I came from the kitchen.”

Before Judy could respond, the groom and best mammal entered from a side door. Darren Roar shuffled in with eyes downcast, his friend whispering something encouraging before giving him a quick shake.

“Darren,” Mrs. Catson said, waving toward Judy and Nick, “these are the police. If you’re not feeling up to it, I’m sure they’ll understand—”

“This is a complete waste of time,” Sally blurted, cutting her off. She took another sip and waved her glass around.

“SALLY!” her mother nearly roared, but the younger caracal wouldn’t be stopped.

“They’re just going to go around asking where we were. I was in my room, Adam was in his, Darren was—I don’t know—but you should be out there”—she pointed toward the ocean, though Judy took her meaning—“looking for Lisa’s killer, not wasting time here!”

She looked ready to say more, but Adam Hair’s phone started to ring. He studied the screen, then silenced it.

“I’m going back to my room,” Sally huffed, striding past them. Nick caught Judy’s eye; she gave him the smallest shake of her head.

“Sally’s upset,” Adam said quickly. “We all are—but she’s not wrong. Excuse me, I have to take this.” He stepped into the hallway, already murmuring placations into the phone.

Judy turned to Darren. “Where were you, Darren?”

“The bridal suite,” he said. “I’d moved over this morning, since…” He took a deep breath and soldiered on. “Lisa had just left, said she was going to grab a drink with her dad, and I planned to join them. I’d just changed my shirt when I heard it—the scream.”

“We all ran out of here,” Diana said.

“Straight to the lift,” Robert recalled. “Adam, Darren, Sally, William, and us—all piled in, took it straight down.” He looked up at Judy, stricken. “That’s where you found us.”

Judy studied everyone but didn’t see so much as a twitch. “Does anyone know why Lisa went into Suite 502?” No response. “Or how she got into the room?” More blank faces.

“Have any of you taken a diving lesson here at the hotel?” Nick added.

Robert looked up. “Yes—Lisa did.” He looked between them. “Is that important?”

“Just gathering the facts of the case, sir,” Judy soothed him. “I’m sure we’ll have more questions later, but for now please stay nearby. If you think of anything…”

Nick stepped forward and laid a handful of cards on a small table. “Call.”

He followed her out into the corridor as they made their way to the lift. “Diving lesson,” he mused. “Guess we’ll be seeing Stevie again.” He grinned as he stabbed the button. “I’m guessing the maid next?”

“Maid,” Judy agreed, smiling coquettishly as she stepped past him. “And mammals think you’re just a pretty face.”

Nick gave a scandalized gasp. “Don’t tell anyone—my reputation will be ruined.”

“I’ll be careful,” she said, voice teasing. “Wouldn’t want anyone getting the wrong idea about you.”

“See that you do, Carrots. My mother’s on the verge of charging me rent as it is. If she realizes I’m actually a respectable detective, she’ll have me married in six months and demanding grandchildren in a year.”

“You still live with your mother?” She tilted her head, smiling. “That’s almost cute. But I don’t think you’ve much to worry about, then.”

They found the maid—a pretty serval—straightening up on the veranda. Judy felt a flicker of annoyance. Why was every female who worked here pretty? And taller. Always taller. Fox-height.

Stop it, Judy. He’s not that good-looking.

The detective part of her mind flagged that as a lie.

She fished out her credentials as she led the way. The maid’s friendly smile wilted the instant the badges flashed.

“Margaret, you cleaned the VIP suites, correct?” Judy asked.

At her nod, Nick jumped in, pen in paw. “Did you notice anything unusual or out of place?”

Margaret shrugged. “No, sir.”

“Then why did you leave a Cleaning in Progress sign on Suite 502?” Nick gave her a sidelong look.

“I… must have forgotten.” Margaret hesitated, eyes darting.

Judy caught the tiny flicker of uncertainty—and saw Nick catch it too. His ears angled the same second hers did. Different instincts, same conclusion. No words needed, but she felt the thrill of starting to unravel the puzzle. Yaktzee!

“Margaret,” Judy leaned forward, “is there anything you think we should know?”

The serval twisted her paws, lowering her voice. “Listen, I don’t want to get in trouble, but there is one thing.”

“Your secret’s safe with us,” Nick said, grin warm and easy. His tone softened—too deliberate to be coincidence. He was disarming her on purpose, using warmth the same way Judy used silence. Different tools, same craft.

“I’d just finished up 502 when the bride came out of her suite,” Margaret said. “She said she needed privacy for a bit, so I let her into the room…”

Judy and Nick exchanged a glance.

He pressed, “So you let her into the room?”

Margaret shook her head quickly. “I’m really sorry I didn’t say so right away. It’s just—the butler, William—he’s always on my back. You can’t imagine what it’s like working with someone so stiff and uptight.”

Nick’s grin widened, eyes flashing toward Judy. “Sounds terrible. Can’t imagine what that would be like.”

She resisted the impulse to kick him.

“That all?” she asked.

Margaret hesitated, then leaned in conspiratorially. “If you ask me, I think the bride—Lisa—was meeting someone.” She dropped her voice. “I’ve worked in hotels a while. I know that look. She was excited.”

Judy felt a spark of interest. Before she could ask, Margaret added with a cheeky grin, “You’ve got that same look. Are you two getting a room?”

Nick flipped his pad shut with a sigh. “I don’t think so. DI Hopps only gets excited about solving mysteries. And, for some reason, tea.” He studied her. “And I suspect carrots are in there somewhere.”

Judy handed the maid her card. “Call if you think of anything else. And for the record, it’s true—I do find paperwork, warm water, and vegetables more exciting than DS Wilde.” She flashed Nick a toothy grin. “Besides, I’m not sure his mommy would let him stay out that late, since he still lives with her.”

“Ick,” Margaret blurted, then clapped a paw over her mouth. “Sorry, but still… ick.”

Nick stalked off, tail bristling. Judy followed, trying not to laugh.

“You’re a mean little bunny,” he tossed over his shoulder when she caught up.

The words might’ve stung if not for the twitch at the corner of his muzzle—he was smiling.

“Did I hurt your fwellings?” she asked, grin widening. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

“You’re going to make me type all this up, aren’t you?”

“It’s my favorite part, and I’m graciously offering to share it with you.”

“I hate you,” he grumbled. “Truly. Madly. Deeply.”

“Nope.” She popped the word. “You don’t. You love me. Do you realize it’s our anniversary? One week since we were both assigned here. We should celebrate—do something fun!”

“Let me guess—by solving a murder?”

“Why mess with what we’re good at?” She sweetened the pot. “Since you lost your bucket of booze, I’ll even spring for drinks once we figure this out. Something with an umbrella and a sparkler.”

“Sounds very masculine. One question—would that be a date?”

A blush burned through her ears, but before she could answer, his phone chimed. He glanced at the screen and smiled—that infuriating grin that fit him too well.

“Hold that thought, Carrots. Stevie just texted—wants to meet later.” He tucked his phone into his pocket and gave her a mock-sympathetic look. “Snooze, you lose, I guess. Seems my dance card’s full for the moment.”

Judy pressed her mouth into a thin line and stalked toward the vehicle waiting for them. “Just get in the car, Detective Sergeant.”

He fell in beside her, tail still flicking with smug amusement.

She shouldn’t have cared. She didn’t care.

But of course Nick would go for someone like Stevie—double order of boobs, hold the brains.

She’d just have to remind him to act professional… after she accidentally tripped him into a tide pool.