Page 23 of Ogre on Patrol (Monsters, PI #5)

Chapter 23

Thain

W hen we asked about Ophelia, Valerie pointed us toward the last greenhouse on the right, her narrowed eyes lingering just long enough to suggest she wasn’t thrilled about helping us in any way. Ellie said a quick thank you before we started walking.

The path between the greenhouses stretched ahead, lined with pea-sized white gravel that crunched underfoot. These greenhouses were pristine, gorgeous, their polished glass sparking in the sunlight. Inside, rows of plants stood in neat order, basking under state-of-the-art grow lights. It was a shrine to efficiency.

“A little different than mine, right?” I could hear the dejection in Ellie’s voice. Her pace slowed, and lips thinned as she glanced through the glass, taking in the rows of plants. I didn’t need to read her thoughts to know it bothered her. She was comparing this place to her own again, tallying up whatever invisible score was running through her head .

“You’re doing fine,” I said. “Better than fine, actually.”

She snorted but didn’t argue, her fingers tightening at her side. “Everything here is polished. Perfect. Not a single pot out of place. No cracked glass. No mismatched benches they picked up from someone else's closing sale. I haven't replaced mine because they're still standing.” Her hand swept out to take in the property. “All of this is intimidating.”

I turned her until she looked up at me. So many emotions swirled through her eyes. “This place is sterile. Too perfect. It's missing your heart, Ellie. Your place feels alive. That matters more than shiny glass and fancy equipment. People come back for the feeling your greenhouses give them, not the sparkle.”

Her expression loosened, and she let out a slow breath and offered me a nod. “Thanks. I guess I needed to hear that.”

“And I needed to say it.” There was so much I wanted to tell her, but it was too soon. She was still feeling me out.

But that time was coming. I was going to believe it was waiting for us.

We walked in silence. She seemed lost in her thoughts but more at peace. When we reached the final greenhouse, I pushed the door open, holding it for her to step inside.

Like with the other greenhouses, this place looked palatial. The elite of elite greenhouses. Sunlight filtered through the glass, dancing off rows of lush plants that looked impeccable, their leaves vibrant and flawless. They didn’t just thrive; they glowed like contestants in a beauty pageant. The air was thick with humidity, carrying a faint citrusy tang that must be sprayed in to help customers relax.

And buy.

Ellie scanned the room, her jaw tense. She wasn't comfortable here and who could blame her? She might not have fancy lights or polished benches, but her greenhouses weren’t only about plants. They had soul.

“Over there.” She jerked her chin toward the far end, where Ophelia stood working on something on a bench. From here, it looked like a row of rocks, but that couldn’t be. Ophelia’s back was partway to us, her dark hair tucked neatly into a braid that didn’t have a strand out of place. She was dressed in dark jeans and a loose, patterned flannel shirt. Something you’d wear to protect your clothing, not to work in a place like this.

Ellie’s steps quickened, as did her breathing. I suspected she was nervous about this confrontation. Maybe angry too.

“Ophelia,” Ellie called.

Ophelia froze, her hand hovering over whatever she was doing. She turned to face us, her expression shifting from confusion to something closer to panic. Her wide eyes flicked between Ellie and me, and she took a step back, as if we’d caught her doing something she shouldn’t.

“Ellie?” she asked, her voice tight. Her gaze darted to me like I was carrying a badge and a warrant .

“We need to talk,” Ellie said, her tone sharp enough to cut through the hazy greenhouse air. She closed the space between them while I lingered a few steps behind, watching Ophelia’s body language.

Nervous. Guilt or for some other reason?

Ophelia plastered on a smile, but it came out thin. “Of course. Is everything alright?”

I followed, noting the rows of rocks on the table. Most were circular and flat, and it looked like she was painting them. Cats curled up and sleeping as if in the sun. A fox in a similar pose. A wolf. Interesting, but not the reason we’d come here unless she’d also been painting runes.

Ellie pinched her lips and glanced toward me, letting me take the lead.

“I’m investigating the sabotage at Ellie’s business,” I said.

Ophelia darted her eyes back and forth between us before she turned her attention back to her painting, placing careful brush strokes on the tuft of a lion’s tail. “Oh, so this isn’t personal between you two?”

“That’s none of your business,” Ellie snapped. “Not now , that is.”

Nice. She was making it clear that she knew what Ophelia had done.

The barb hit true. Ophelia flinched, smearing dark gold paint across the lion’s hip.

She lifted her brush and gouged it into a jar of water and turned to face us, her chin lifting and the fine lines on her brow tightening. I’d bet anything she wouldn' t try to defend herself with me present. She'd wait until she could get Ellie alone and try to manipulate her with more lies.

“Where were you…?” I asked pleasantly, naming the date in question while watching her for a reaction. Liars usually gave themselves away. Fidgeting. Shifting their weight from one foot to another. Forcing smiles, though in this case, Ophelia might need to force her smile. She must know that Ellie and I had talked about what happened, compared notes, and knew that Ophelia had lied to break us apart.

Ophelia’s shoulders tensed, and her hands snaked over to latch onto the hem of her flannel shirt, tugging it over her hips. “I was home. All night.”

I grunted. “Alone?”

“No, although it was a quiet night.”

I didn’t move, letting the silence settle between us. People tended to fill the space when they were nervous.

Ophelia’s eyes darted toward Ellie and then away as quickly.

“That must have been relaxing for you,” I finally said. “Who was with you?”

“My boyfriend.”

“Anyone else?”

Her brows knit like I’d asked her to solve a complex equation. “No. I mean, we don’t often have guests. We don’t like to be disturbed.” She drew herself up. “Why are you asking me all these questions? I know what happened to Ellie's greenhouses. We're friends.” Her lower lip trembled. “I was there yesterday. I brought her our favorite muffins. We talked. She told me all about someone breaking the glass to her greenhouse holding her precious ordrids. The graffiti and damage to the second structure. Maybe instead of asking me questions, you should be questioning Reginald Barron. He has the most to gain if Ellie goes out of business, not me. She and I are friends. If anyone would do something like that to her, it would be him.”

“What about runes?” I asked, teasing my fingertip along the leaf of a nearby plant. From what I'd seen, none of the plants offered here were magical; they were just ordinary species a human might buy to place in a front garden or in a window box. “Do you know anything about runes?”

“I know that they can be nasty. That they take considerable skill to cast. And that I'm wise enough to stay far away from them.” Her head tilted. “Why?”

“No reason. Just covering everything,” I said.

“Go cover this with Reginald. If you're looking at who has the best motive, it's him, not me. I told you I was home, that I was with my boyfriend that night. That should be good enough.” Her gaze shot to Ellie. “Tell him. You know I'd never do anything like this to you.”

Ellie's snarl ripped out. “No, but you'd come on to my fiancé and then accuse him of a heinous act when he rejects you.”