1 Lost Under a Ladder (19 page)

twenty-two

Carolyn joined us by
the d
og food display to say goodbye. “Come over and visit my Buttons of Fortune store any time,” she told me. “I’ll give you even more insight into the glamorous and superstitious mystique of butto
ns.”

I laughed and said I’d be delighted—although I didn’t suggest a time. I’d just have to see how things progressed at the Lucky Dog—and in my life here in Destiny.

Justin and Killer soon picked out a large bag of some of the
healthiest food the Lucky Dog carried—or so I believed since I’d been addicted to researching such things as the assistant manager of my large chain pet store.

My suggestion and explanation seemed to help in Justin’s decision. Especially after Killer agreed—once I gave him a small sample of the food to taste.

And since Pluckie and Killer appeared to be getting along fine, I agreed to have dinner yet again with Justin—this time with both dogs present.

By the time I was done helping Justin, Celia and Charlotte had left. Thank heavens. Just being around Celia and knowing that her mind had to be racing to figure out what she’d be writing about next made me nervous.

And I was right to be, I found out three days later when the next edition of the
Destiny Star
was published.

_____

The time in between was pretty uneventful, even though it was the weekend. I seemed to be settling into an irregular routine.

Pluckie and I did have dinner with Justin and Killer that same night, a first—at least as far as having Killer along. We went again to the Shamrock Steakhouse and had an enjoyable time.

Especially because Tarzal’s murder wasn’t mentioned even once.

On both Saturday and Sunday, the Lucky Dog’s business seemed to double, which was amazing considering how busy it had been during the week. But that was fine with me. I liked to keep busy. And I also loved seeing the success of the store I was now managing, for however long that might be.

I also got to know Millie’s and Jeri’s irregular schedules a little better. I nearly always had one or the other of them around to help at the Lucky Dog, and sometimes both, except when they took their outing together on one of the weekend mornings.

I saw a lot of Martha, bringing her meals upstairs now and then, getting an opportunity to speak with the aides who popped in daily, apparently whenever they felt like it. They all said she was improving, little by little. That was my opinion, too. And I helped Martha come down the stairs for short visits to the shop every day, even though I sensed that she could easily have done it on her own—as she had on the night Tarzal died.

Still, the more time I spent with the sweet senior citizen, the gladder
I was that I’d taken time out of my own life to help her. She was amazingly grateful. She adored Pluckie. And her attitude toward all pets was definitely compatible with mine.

One low spot of the weekend was when her nephew Arlen popped
in for a visit during one of the times Martha was reigning over the shop while sitting in her wheelchair. I got a first-hand look then at how the family love I actually saw between them was tarnished by each of them gibing at the other about what they really should be doing with their lives right now.

Plus, Arlen kept saying that, even if he couldn’t help out by working here, he’d love to be able to add the Lucky Dog Boutique to his general tour itinerary but even on the specialized tours the shops that were featured always had something really exciting and unique about them.

Of course Martha’s temper exploded. So did mine but I kept my tone much more civil as I pointed out to Arlen some of the superstitions about pets I’d learned about, and how they were symbolized here in items for sale such as stuffed toys, decorated collars and leashes, and all the rest. And, oh yes, people really loved their pets.

He didn’t act impressed and said that it wasn’t his decision anyway, but his bosses’.

Which gave me another goal to accomplish while I remained in town. I’d met at least one of those bosses. I’d find a way to go have a talk with her.

But first, I’d do something to make them take notice of the Lucky Dog.

What? Well, I pondered that for a while after Arlen left, even asked
Pluckie her opinion, in between customers. And then I got it—a good idea. It would require me to leave my comfort zone, at least for a short while each week as long as I stayed in Destiny to help with the Lucky Dog.

I decided to give a small seminar one evening a week where I’d talk about pet superstitions and invite tourists and townies alike to come and discuss them.

I’d use all I could find in Tarzal’s book, but there were also other resources about superstitions. I’d do as much research as I had to.

As I came up with that concept, Martha was still downstairs and acting a bit tired, so I helped her back up to her apartment. I followed her to the couch, then sat down with her.

“I have an idea to help put the Lucky Dog on Arlen’s tour,” I told
her, hoping it wasn’t premature. After all, we had no control over what
Destiny’s Luckiest Tour Company did or didn’t feature. But I thought this could work.

“What’s that?”

I described my concept. “You can come to each one, too, and talk about how Pluckie provided you with good luck when you were
ill.” I was really getting into this. “Maybe we can clear out an area in the storeroom and set up chairs—only a few at first. We’ll have to see if this grows.”

“I love it!” Martha tried to push herself up to a stand but I discouraged that. She scowled at me. “I want to give you a hug.”

I helped her onto her feet and we had a short hug-fest. Pluckie joined in, standing on her hind legs and pawing at us. After helping Martha sit back down again, I knelt to hug my dog who had started all this. Kind of.

We brainstormed a little more. I decided to start this Friday, five days away from today, which was Sunday. I’d have flyers printed. I’d even buy a small ad in the next
Destiny Star
, even though it wasn’t likely to appear this week.

That meant I was committing to stay here at least another cou
ple of weeks, even if Martha’s health improved enough for her to run
the store—and she wasn’t arrested.

But that was okay. A bit of planning ahead never hurt. It didn’t commit me to be here forever.

_____

So that was why the next day, on Monday, I headed for the offices of the
Destiny Star
, a few blocks to the east on Destiny Boulevard.

I brought Pluckie along. She was my good luck symbol as well as my dearest companion. She loved walks, and I think she, too, had gotten used to our having to weave in and out on the sidewalks around tourists, while avoiding stepping on cracks and looking for heads-up pennies.

I figured that, in addition to the ad I intended to buy for their website and next week’s paper, Celia would be able to tell me where the nearest print shop was, where I could get flyers designed and printed. I hadn’t seen one in Destiny, but even if there wasn’t one here there was bound to be one in Ojai or another nearby town.

But Celia wasn’t there. Derek was. I’d told him not to use my name in any articles after he’d interviewed me about finding Tarzal’s body, and when I’d checked out the multiple articles about the murder in the last
Destiny Star
and its website, I’d been relieved that he had complied.

He seemed less paparazzi-like than his sister. Maybe it would be better to speak with him anyway.

I walked up to the long counter on which several stacks of the
Destiny Star
were piled. I glanced at them. The front page didn’t look familiar, so I figured these were new editions.

Behind the counter were several desks where computer screens dominated everything else. The reporters and editors presumably worked here. Maybe the reporters were also the editors.

“Hi,” I said. “I’m Rory Chasen. We met before. I’m helping out at the Lucky Dog Boutique.”

“Of course I remember you and our discussion, too, Rory. We never used your name, if that’s why you’re here.”

“No, it’s not.” I told him about my idea to do a few talks on superstitions involving pets. “I know your paper runs feature articles about various superstitions, so if you have any archived that involve animals, please let me know. I’ll definitely give you credit in any talk I give that uses your information. And if you feel like it, I’d love to have you do an article on my first presentation.” Then I proceeded to ask him about ads and print shops.

It all seemed to work out fine. I bought an ad for a price that wasn’t outrageous. Even if I didn’t get reimbursed, I could handle it, but I’d discuss that with Martha. Derek said he would design the ad for me and we discussed what it would say. I gave him my email address for him to send the proof along before I could get it printed. He also gave a couple of names of printers that weren’t far away.

As we were finishing up, Celia walked in. She looked at me, then
at Derek, and back again. Pluckie, who’d been lying on the floor beside
me, now stood up at attention. She’d met Celia before. Why did her attitude seem so tense?

Because she sensed tension in Celia? If so, why?

“I was afraid I’d see you here,” Celia finally said. “You’ve read what I wrote. It’s good, and I didn’t name names. Except for Tarzal, of course.”

“What are you talking about?” I looked from Celia to Derek.

Neither met my eyes. In fact, they each glanced at a stack of the latest
Destiny Star
on the counter, then looked away again.

“Is there something in here I should read?” I reached over to pick
up a paper. They were giveaways, so I just took one, then said to Derek, “I’ll look forward to receiving that proof from you,” and, pulling slightly on Pluckie’s leash, I walked out.

I hurried back along the typically busy sidewalk toward the Lucky
Dog, not wanting to be near either of them while I scanned the paper for whatever Celia had been talking about.

What had caused their odd attitudes?

Pluckie decided she needed to squat just as we got to the Baby Locks Children’s Hair Salon. Nothing I needed to clean up, but I glanced at the paper while I waited for her to finish.

That was when I discovered the article.

And didn’t move again until I’d read it.

_____

It wasn’t really an article. It was an op-ed piece on the paper’s editorial page. It didn’t name me or necessarily say anything that would identify me—at least not as far as tourists and other strangers were concerned.

But it did laud all of Destiny’s tourists while referring more specifically to a heroic newcomer to town who’d brought her own good
luck symbol—a dog—who had helped by a superstition that of
course came true, to save a life. And then that newcomer remained in town and continued to try to help the person she’d saved.

Yes, the gender was specific, even if my name wasn’t there.

And the article got worse. Tarzal was, in fact named—a victim of a horrible and as-yet unsolved murder with, of course, superstitious overtones. And how was that heroic newcomer involved?

Well, she’d not only tried to save that life, too—an exaggeration, since Tarzal was already dead when I found him—but when she realized that the new friend she was trying to help was a suspect, she’d started looking into who else might have done it. Now, she was doing a thorough and intensive job of it—considering friends, relatives, neighbors, officials and more.

The case was still open. No arrests yet. But the
Destiny Star
applauded that newcomer and all she was doing, and believed, as wonderful as the Destiny Police Department was, that the newcomer would be critical to solving the crime.

After all, she was good luck, wasn’t she?

Plus, she was a superstition pilgrim. She had come here to Destiny to determine if a loss in her own life, when someone dear to her had walked under a ladder and died, was the result of the reality of superstitions—and everyone in town already knew the answer to that.

Well, damn, I thought. The paper may have deemed me to be goo
d luck—to others, perhaps. But wasn’t an article like this a means of clawing away any good luck I might otherwise be entitled to?

The citizens of Destiny would figure out who that applauded new
comer was.

They would even know what had brought me here—undoubtedly thanks to Preston’s big mouth, despite how he and Tarzal hadn’t seemed particularly interested in my revelation about why I’d come to Destiny. Maybe I should have demanded that Preston not tell anyone else when I talked to him after I knew he’d mentioned my story to Justin. But even if he’d kept quiet after that, it might already have been too late.

I didn’t know who else had heard about me before this story appeared in the paper. And now everyone would know.

Even worse—well, it wasn’t as if the regular media hadn’t gotten wind of Tarzal’s murder. I’d heard, then seen, that at first, there’d been mentions on even national TV shows, plus local Southern California ones. Daily newspapers had reported about it, too—and the situation had burgeoned on their websites and otherwise online.

It wasn’t every day that a noted expert on a subject like superstition was murdered, and in a manner that supported the arcane subject he promoted.

Like the world’s foremost superstition expert being stabbed by a shard of—what else?—a broken mirror.

And now, would this op-ed piece also go viral? If it did, people everywhere might attempt to figure out who “Ms. Newcomer” really was.

I never wanted any kind of publicity except for the shops that I managed.

I certainly didn’t want it now.

I also wondered what Justin, who’d told me to butt out, would think now.

Not to mention the thoughts of whoever had actually killed
Tarzal …