1 Lost Under a Ladder (12 page)

“Please do give Emily Rasmuten a call,” he said, and here, where
we were sort of alone, I could hear him despite the nearby din. “That’s
her full name, and she’s with Destiny’s largest and most prestigious law firm, Eldred and Rasmuten. Not that there are a lot of firms
here, and ‘large’ means more than a couple of attorneys, unlike in L.A. where you’re from. Just tell her what’s been going on. She’ll have
heard part of it anyway. Let her know that you’ve been talking to Martha and that Martha’s ready to hire a lawyer regarding the death of Tarzal. That’ll mean Emily’s firm won’t take on any other clients who might be suspects, for one thing. For another, Emily’s a nice person as well as a good lawyer. She’ll know how to approach Martha in a way that will encourage Martha to retain her despite her insistence on her own innocence.”

“She is innocent,” I retorted, then let my frown soften in the face of Justin’s sad smile. “You know that, but I realize you have to do your job.”

“I have to follow up regarding all potential suspects,” he said. He seemed to be examining the pavement beneath us, or maybe watching Pluckie, and his lips were pursed as if he was upset. But then he
looked up again. “I shouldn’t mention it to you, but it’ll probably
be in the news anyway. People heard Martha yelling at Tarzal when he visited her in the hospital. It was so loud that a nurse who’s related to one of our patrol officers even called him to tell him about it. But apparently Preston went back into the room, they quieted down after that, and none of my officers were sent to look into the matter. Even so, that adds to the things that look bad for Martha.”

“Oh,” I said, choosing not to mention that Martha had told me about that—and that she had cursed Tarzal. “Okay, I’ll call Emily.”

“Thanks.” He looked up then—right into my face. He still appeared solemn. “I also heard … You’re here in Destiny, aren’t you, Rory, because someone you cared about walked under a ladder and subsequently died?”

Shock sent a lightning bolt through me. “How did you hear that?” But I realized immediately what must have happened. Since I’d arrived here, the only people I’d mentioned it to were Tarzal and Preston. Tarzal most likely hadn’t said anything about it to Justin before he died, but the police chief might have questioned Preston about Tarzal’s death—and Preston might have brought it up then, although I’d no idea why.

I hadn’t told the two men to keep it quiet. And even if I had, they might have talked about it anyway. It was, after all, superstition related.

How did I feel about Justin knowing about it? I wasn’t sure. After my initial shocked reaction, I now felt numbness creeping over me.

Justin was still looking at me, his expression sympathetic.

Trying to appear casual, I forced my tone to lightness. “Did Preston mention that?”

Justin didn’t acknowledge it verbally. Maybe he couldn’t, if he learned it in an interrogation. But he didn’t deny it, either.

So I assumed it was true. “That’s actually correct. It made me curious, so I came here to figure out how superstitions work—if they do. I mentioned it to Tarzal and Preston just in case they had the answer. They didn’t.”

“What’s your conclusion, then?” Justin asked softly.

“I don’t have one yet. Still looking. If you’ve got any answers for me, I’ll be glad to hear them.”

“I think you know that, as important as superstitions are around here, I’m still a bit of an agnostic. But if there’s anything I can do to help—”

“Nope,” I cut in. “But thanks. I think I’d better get back to the shop now.”

“Sure,” he said, aiming another sympathetic glance my way that almost made me cry.

Instead, I shrugged. “See you around, Justin.”

“Right.”

I had a sudden urge to grab his arm as he turned to leave the small
walkway we occupied, but I wasn’t sure what to say to him. Assure him, wrongly, that I was fine?

There was one thing I could ask. “I’d appreciate it if you’d keep what you heard to yourself,” I said. But that probably didn’t matter, if Preston was telling the world—or at least the world of Destiny.

Justin faced me again. “Of course. And I won’t let anyone jump
to conclusions about Martha, either. You can be sure of that. We need
more evidence than we’ve found to arrest anyone.”

“Thanks,” I said.

This time, Pluckie and I were the ones to start walking away. As we did so, I realized that, even in the face of a really difficult situation, Chief Justin Halbertson seemed like a decent guy.

I just hoped I had the same impression of him later, as I figured out a way to dig further into the murder to find out who really did it and ensure that Martha was cleared.

And then … would I go home?

No. I meant, then I
would
go home. Whether or not I felt convinced that the ladder superstition had anything to do with Warren’s death.

But even as I thought that, I realized that Destiny was digging into my psyche like a leech. Or maybe starting to hug me close, like a snuggly new fleece jacket.

Were there superstitions that involved leeches or fleece jackets?

Gritting my teeth as I grinned at that thought, I turned the corner, reentered the Lucky Dog and patted my own lucky dog on her head.

The sooner I found a good way to get all the answers I needed for Martha and myself and leave here, the better.

fourteen

Inside the Lucky Dog,
I realized nearly immediately that I’d left the four intact wishbones upstairs on Martha’s table. Would that constitute good luck or bad? Most likely, forgetting wishbones had no consequences. Breaking them supposedly did.

I’d use them as an excuse to go back upstairs to talk to Martha in a little while. For now, I had a phone call to make.

I left the helpers in the store assisting customers while I picked up
Martha’s laptop from the drawer under the counter and went back into the storeroom, with Pluckie close at my heels. I could have asked Millie or Jeri for the information I needed, but I didn’t want them to know that I was seeking it.

I needed attorney Emily Rasmuten’s phone number.

Doing an online search, I had no trouble finding the website for the local law firm Eldred and Rasmuten. But when I called on my cell, I was told that Ms. Rasmuten was in a meeting and would have to call me back.

She of course would have no idea who I was, so I explained that I was helping her client Martha Jallopia at her pet boutique and was calling on Martha’s behalf. I hoped that would be enough to get her attention.

When Pluckie and I returned to the main part of the store, Jeri approached me. Several people were wandering around looking at things, but none seemed particularly ready to buy. Millie was with one couple by the area with cat toys representing superstitions.

“We both managed to eat our sandwiches,” she told me. “Just let us know how much we owe you.”

“For today, it’s on me. Not that I’ll feed you lunch every day I’m around, but since I’m temporarily in charge I want to show how much I appreciate your help.” I grinned, and she smiled back.

But her expression looked a bit worried. “The thing is,” she said, “we suggested Wishbones partly for their food and partly—”

“—for their wishbones. Sorry. I left them upstairs with Martha. I’ll get them from her in a little while.”

“Oh, that’s okay.” Jeri looked relieved. Had she thought I’d left the restaurant without them? “I’ll go get them. I can give her a rundown on how sales have been since she went upstairs before. Even when she’s around and running the store, she always likes us to report. Often.”

“Fair enough,” I said. “She seemed tired, though, so you may want
to call first.”

“Okay.”

Before she could make the call more people walked in. I immediately headed in their direction, as did Jeri.

Back in L.A. at the large chain store I ran, I seldom was needed to be one-on-one with our customers. Since I’d started out as a sales associate on the floor I knew what to do, but I was a bit rusty now.

I was also enjoying it.

But when the pair of young couples I was helping asked me the meaning of some of the superstitions represented by the stuffed animals and other dog toys, I was a bit stumped. “They all represent good luck, of course,” I said, glancing down at my own lucky black and white pup. Otherwise Martha wouldn’t be selling them. But what aspects of good luck were indicated by a dolphin, a wolf toy, a toy that was a wolf’s tooth, a football, and a doggy necklace with stuffed beads?

I traded places with Millie, who was talking to her customers about
the brands of cat food we carried. Pluckie joined me, her nose in the air as she scented some of that food. I wished I could hear what Millie said to the people I’d just left.

I also realized I had a lot to learn about superstitions if I was going to stay in Destiny for any length of time—including deciding which amulet that we sold made the most sense for me to buy and wear—the luckiest.

I decided to dash next door the next moment I had here without
customers. I’d read through Tarzal’s book quickly before coming here
after taking it out of the library, thanks to the suggestion of my friend Gemma. But now I needed my own copy.

And maybe I should hurry up and take that tour I’d discussed in
line at Wishbones-to-Go earlier. Especially if I could schedule it with
Martha’s nephew … and find an opportunity to talk to him about other things, too. Like his aunt. And his opinion of Tarzal’s trying to twist Martha’s arm to sell this place.

He’d indicated when I first met him that he was prepared to start running the Lucky Dog if Martha needed him. He had even attempted to help customers. Was he prepared to do something intense to keep the store in the family?

If he’d killed Tarzal, that was a good reason for him to stay away from here … for now. But not forever.

The people I was now with, a mother with two little girls, seemed pleased to buy a couple of different kinds of canned cat food that had four-leaf clovers on the label.

Cat food. The black cat outside. Was it feral, or did it belong to someone? And did it really portend—or cause—bad luck?

When I had finished ringing up my customers’ purchases—and sneaking Pluckie a small part of a treat—I also helped take the money of the people I’d started waiting on before. They’d chosen to buy a stuffed football and a dolphin.

Jeri then went to help Millie with her customers. Otherwise, the store was fairly empty—unusual, but a good, if hopefully temporary, opportunity.

I went over to Jeri and whispered in her ear that I had to run a brief errand. I asked her to keep an eye on Pluckie, now leashed to the counter, which she agreed to do. And then I left.

I didn’t go far, just headed to the bookstore next door. It was filled
with customers, too—not cops. Apparently its investigation as a crime
scene had been completed.

This shop was crowded, too, and noisy. Since this was Destiny and the shop was all about Tarzal’s book on superstitions, I’d seen it busy before. But it appeared even more nuts today.

Because people wanted to visit a murder scene? Speculate on why
the world’s possibly foremost specialist on superstitions could have somehow triggered such a run of bad luck that it resulted in his killing?

I gathered that the only salespeople there had been Preston and, formerly, Tarzal. I saw Preston talking with people at the far counter beyond the book displays. He looked pale and stressed.

Of course he would. His partner was gone.

Could he have had something to do with that? But why would he?

To help Martha, I could speculate about Preston’s motive to kill Tarzal. He’d have had the opportunity and the means. He was probably strong enough to stab another man in the heart with a broken piece of glass, especially if the act wasn’t expected.

But why? I assumed the business partners were also friends despite sometimes bickering. Even so, I’d imagine Preston was on Justin’s list of suspects but the cops didn’t appear to be zeroing in on him. The evidence must not point to him—at least not the way it pointed, circumstantially or otherwise, toward Martha.

I didn’t know if Tarzal had any relatives nearby. Maybe Preston had been the person closest to him.

I couldn’t help thinking about my own loss. Again. And I tried to ignore the fact that Justin had some awareness of it.

My Warren’s parents, brother, and sister survived him. They all lived in Boston. In L.A., I’d been his closest survivor, and it had hurt. Still did, even though we weren’t related. We’d been engaged but hadn’t set a wedding date.

I didn’t know how long Tarzal and Preston had been business partners. Time didn’t matter. Closeness did.

I made my way through the crowd to the large table that held Tarzal’s superstition books. Not many were left.

I supposed that the publicity surrounding his murder might bring
people in to buy his book as a collector’s item, if nothing else.

I kept my ears open, in case someone said something that could lead to a new suspect or clue, but the snatches of conversation I heard mostly centered around trying to figure out exactly where the evil deed had occurred.

Sighing, I again maneuvered among the closely packed people and approached Preston at the cash register.

I’d only met him a few days ago. Then, he had appeared like a suave, though aging, man. Now he looked more aging than anything else. He still wore a nice suit but it seemed to hang on him as if he had already lost weight. His face was drawn, and the wrinkles I’d seen there before seemed to have given birth to a whole new litter of additional ones.

Preston finished taking money from the guy ahead of me, who picked up his plastic bag with a book or two in it, stuffed his receipt into it, and headed into the crowd. Preston then looked blearily toward me.

“Oh, hello, Rory. How are you?”

“Okay,” I said. “But more important, how are you?”

His thin lips moved slightly toward his right side in a half smile. “I’ve been better.”

“I figured.” I handed the copy of
The Destiny of Superstitions
that I’d been carrying toward him. “I need this.”

His eyes narrowed as if in confusion. “You need it?”

“I’m staying in Destiny a while longer and, though I read it before I got here, I can’t remember all the superstitions in it. To survive here I’ll need a reference book.”

Bad choice of words I realized immediately: survive. I wasn’t concerned about ending up like Tarzal—though without knowing who’d killed him and why, maybe that was naive. But Preston didn’t react to it.

“Okay.” He reached for the book and the credit card I held out, scanned the book’s barcode and my card, then put them on the counter as the receipt printed for me to sign. “Here,” he said, handing everything to me.

He was acting like a robot, doing all the right things but with no reaction, no emotion.

I didn’t know him, not well, but I really felt bad for him. The guy was clearly grieving.

“Thanks,” I said as we finished the transaction. I put my credit card away, then tucked the receipt into the book without asking for a bag. Not yet moving away so he could deal with the next customer, I said, “By the way, did you tell anyone about what I told Tarzal and you—I mean, why I came to Destiny? The ladder superstition?”

“Well, yes,” he said. “Was it a secret? I didn’t tell too many people, but …”

But more than just Justin, I gathered. “It’s okay. But, Preston, as I said, I’ll be in town a while longer helping out at the Lucky Dog next door. If you need anything, even just to talk, just let me know.”

His eyes widened in surprise, as if I’d tried to seduce him. His smile this time lifted both edges of his mouth, although not much more than before. “Thank you, Rory. I appreciate that.” He didn’t say whether he might take me up on it, though. Instead, he held his hand out around my side, reaching for the next person’s purchase.

I was through here … for now.

Or so I thought. As I reached the door, a man took a sideways step to block me. “Rory?”

I blinked, trying to place him. I thought I’d seen him before but wasn’t sure.

And then, as I glanced down at his hands at his sides, I realized why he looked familiar. He was carrying a tablet computer.

He was one of the two people I’d seen and, because of their photo and note-taking, thought might be media folks.

“That’s me,” I said. “Excuse me.” I tried to maneuver around him, but he didn’t budge.

“My name is Derek Vardox. My family owns the local weekly newspaper,
The
Destiny Star
. It’s mostly a fun rag where we talk about our townsfolk and superstitions, but we do include real news if it affects Destiny.” He paused, looking down at me with curious brown eyes. “You found Kenneth Tarzal’s body, didn’t you?”

“That’s right. I’ve had to talk to the police about it, but I don’t have to talk to you.” I’m not usually that impolite—but I’m also not usually confronted by the media. I didn’t want my picture or quotes to appear in this man’s publication or anywhere else.

“That’s true,” he said. “But I want as much information as possible to make sure we get everything right. And since I’ve heard that the authorities seem to be zeroing in on poor Martha Jallopia as their main suspect … well, I like Martha. I go to her shop often since I have a couple of Labs at home, and I just don’t see her killing anyone.”

I inhaled deeply. Did he know I was running the Lucky Dog for her now? Probably, if he knew my name and that I’d found Tarzal. The information was out there if he asked questions, which, as a reporter, he undoubtedly did.

I stared at him, trying to convey no emotion at all in my expression. He had a full head of sandy-colored hair and a fairly nice-looking face with a longish nose and high cheekbones. He wore a gray knit shirt over dark trousers. His interested expression didn’t quit as he cocked his head and continued to regard me intensely.

“Look,” I said. “I don’t want any more publicity over this. If you promise to refer to me only as an unnamed source or whatever, I’ll give you the short version of what I know.”

“Fair enough.” He smiled expectantly and raising his tablet. “Let me record this for accuracy only. I won’t use your likeness or voice. Okay?”

“All right.” I paused. “I don’t want you to use my dog’s name or refer to the fact that I’m trying to help Martha at her shop or anything else. But for your information only as you do your research, yes, thanks to the keen nose of my dog Pluckie, who seemed insistent about going into the bookstore as I tried to pass by, I found poor Mr. Tarzal. I called 911. You’ve probably learned from the police that he was stabbed by a shard from a broken mirror. It was … sad. Horrible.” I looked at him. “That’s all for now, but I’m glad you want to help Martha. I don’t think she’s done anything wrong. And if you keep your promise not to name me, I’d talk to you again. But right now I have to leave.” Mostly because I’d had enough, and people inside the shop were staring at us.

“Fine,” he said. “I know where to find you.”

_____

I’d only taken a few hurried steps onto the still-crowded sidewalk outside, trying to escape Derek Vardox and my thoughts, when my cell phone rang. I pulled it from my jeans pocket.

It was the same number I’d called a little while ago—the lawyer. Or at least her office.