1 Lost Under a Ladder (23 page)

The path here was a little wider. I knelt briefly to give Pluckie a
reassuring hug, ignoring the slight pain in my right arm. When I rose I pulled at her leash—which was as loose as I’d feared. She could have yanked it off the branch with her lunges and fallen … and died
.

No time to think about that now. I needed the leash so I’d feel safe with one of us leading the other back down the mountain. Care
fully, I picked Pluckie up and tucked her under my left arm after unhooking the leash from her collar, aiming my back toward the hillside where a few rocks still slid toward us. I used my right hand to finish undoing the loose knot in the leash. My fingers got it free even as another stone slapped my butt.

Oh, well. Though it hurt like the other injury, that area was better padded than my arm.

I reattached Pluckie’s leash to her collar as she snuggled against me. Then, still holding her, I strode back under the ladder.

Twice. Two times I had walked under that ladder. Did the second
cancel out the first, so I wouldn’t have bad luck? Or would I r
eceive twice the amount of bad luck? Had knocking on wood helped
at all? But was any good luck that may have been garnered canceled by the black cat?

Was this walk under a ladder similar enough to what had happened to my Warren that I was about to die, too? Or was that superstition simply a sham?

I had no idea. But the three cops were waiting on the path where I’d left them.

“Are you all right, Miss?” asked Bledsoe.

“I guess that remains to be seen,” I said.

That was when I saw Justin. He was making his way up the hill behind those cops, clutching his shoulder. I saw some blood on his shirt near his fingers. At least he didn’t have Killer with him. Maybe his dog, at least, had been taken back down to the parking lot.

On the other hand, it might have been a good thing to have him here, sniffing the ladder for a familiar scent or whatever. But as far as I knew he wasn’t trained as any kind of K9 with special sniffing skills.

“What are you doing here, Justin?” I demanded. “You’re supposed
to
be getting first aid.”

“Yeah? And you’re not supposed to be dealing with this by yourself, let alone walking under a ladder.” He aimed glares at his subordinate cops, who let him get by them. “Are you okay, Rory?”

“Better that you ask that about Pluckie.”

“Are you both okay, then?”

I didn’t tell him then about the two rocks hitting me, or the howl
ing dog or black cat. Or even knocking on wood. It was enough that he knew about the ladder … for now. Once we got back down the mountain would be enough time for me to let him in on the rest.

“Yes,” I said. “We’re fine.”

I raised my voice at that, as well as my eyes. I hadn’t seen any motion on the mountaintop, but there were enough plants and overhanging cliffs to obscure anyone who might be there. Like everything else that had happened, I didn’t believe the rocks had begun to tumble on their own any more than Pluckie had come up here by herself, set up the ladder, and tied her own leash to those plants.

And whoever had done this to my dog was going to pay.

twenty-seven

Justin was going to
be okay. As it turned out, I was worse off than him.

Not my injuries from falling stones. They were minor. And Justin did require some bandaging, antibiotics, and low-key painkillers.

But my psyche—that was what really hurt. Someone had tried to injure me, yes. Worse, though, was that they’d taken Pluckie and put her into a precarious position.

What if I hadn’t found her there … or I didn’t until it was too late?

What if they tried it again?

One of the officers who’d joined us drove us back to town in Justin’s car, which meant the chief sat in the front passenger’s seat, and I got the backseat with both dogs.

Yes, one of those superstitious officers, who hadn’t volunteered to go get Pluckie when it meant he’d have had to walk under a ladder, was driving.

Never mind that I would have gone anyway, even if one of the cops had stepped up and volunteered.

And yet I was alive, and my poor Warren wasn’t. Why?

We were driven first to Justin’s doctor, whose office was near the hospital where Martha had been treated. As they checked Justin, I stayed outside with the dogs.

While I walked Pluckie and Killer in the remote neighborhood that looked like it could have been in a town besides Destiny, I thought
again about Martha and almost smiled. Surely even Justin would be able to see that, though her health was improving, she wasn’t in good enough condition to have set this up to harm Pluckie and me way up on that mountain. I still believed the person who’d killed Tarzal was guilty of this, too, as a distraction and a warning. That meant Martha was also innocent of Tarzal’s murder.

Unless, of course, I was wrong and there’d been some other reason for this horrible situation besides trying to get me to back off from my now-public nosiness in locating the killer. But what would it be?

And also unless Martha had an ally who’d taken care of this nastiness. And who would that be? Arlen? I’d already thought he could be involved, since I knew his awareness of that mountain area. Even though the two family members didn’t see eye-to-eye on everything, maybe he cared enough about his aunt to try to clear her of being a murder suspect by doing something wild to implicate someone else.

Yet that email I’d received claimed that Martha was, in fact, guilty, and I was getting in the way of her arrest.

So who could have stolen Pluckie and gotten up the mountain in
time to set up the ladder, too?

Nearly anyone. Even someone who’d been at the Destiny Welcome, if they knew the site and had left early or had someone helping them.

Those disjointed and dispiriting thoughts made me eager to go in for my own medical exam—which meant they really grated on my mind, since I wasn’t overly fond of doctors.

And I was sure there had to be a lot of superstitions dealing with health and physical exams and all other related stuff.

As soon as Justin came outside and took over canine patrol, I got my examination, too. Nothing major was found, so I was quickly released.

Both of us were done. Even though it wasn’t a long walk back into
the downtown area, I waited with Justin for his driver to pick him
up and chauffeur him back to the police station. Soon, we both stood in the filled parking lot among both civilian and cop cars, each
of us holding a dog leash. The canines on the other end didn’t seem to mind but sniffed the ground around them.

“I’ve already got one of my best detectives looking into what happened, Rory,” Justin assured me as Pluckie and I prepared to walk back to the Lucky Dog.

His best detective, like Alice Numa? Or someone else who hadn’t yet solved Tarzal’s killing but zeroed in on an ill senior lady as top suspect?

That didn’t exactly reassure me that even this less critical situation than a murder would be solved soon.

But all I said was, “Thanks.”

I’m sure he recognized my skeptical, sad, and angry state of mind since he reached out and grabbed my arm. The gesture must have
caused him pain, because a wince darkened his face, making me want
to touch his cheek in sympathy. But I didn’t. I just looked at him.

As his eyes sought mine, I saw sympathy radiating from them. “Rory, I’m pretty sure this all was related to Tarzal’s murder, and the fact that it’s now known to the Destiny world and even beyond that you’ve gotten involved. I won’t remind you that I told you to back off.” But of course he had just done it by saying that. “I’m sorry about what happened to Pluckie, but I’m glad she’s okay.” It looked painful, but he bent from the waist and patted my dog’s head. “And now, though you don’t want to hear it, maybe you’ll understand the reason better now. Civilians, even with the best of intentions, should not get involved in a police investigation, especially one as important as attempting to nail a murder suspect.”

“Okay.” I stared straight at him. “Suppose I’ve learned my lesson and have every intention of backing off.”

“Do you?”

I didn’t respond directly. “The thing is, now, I’ve been given one warning, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that warnings or worse are ended, even if I figured out how to announce to the world, or
even just all of Destiny, that I got it and don’t give a damn who killed
Tarzal. Especially now, when I’m sure you’ve figured it can’t be Martha—”

“Now, look, Rory,” he interrupted.

But I didn’t stop. “Okay, maybe you do still think it could be Martha—or are using your publicized suspicion of her to throw the real killer off track.” He blinked and stared as if I’d read his mind, but when he opened his mouth to respond I kept going. “Do you really think the murderer would buy into any protestations I might make now, figure I’m out of it and leave me alone? Maybe, but a person who’s a murderer isn’t all of a sudden going to trust someone he or she must somehow be afraid of.”

“Then you’re not going to back off even now?” His voice sounded
ominous, and I took a step back, which made Pluckie scoot around my legs.

I recalled Serina’s suspicion that Justin could be the killer. Interesting, especially now. My suspicions flipped a bit. Could he have set this all up about Pluckie and allowed himself to get injured to make it look like it was as impossible for him to be a murderer as it was for Martha?

Of course not. Right?

At the moment, I felt stymied.

Who was the murderer?

Who had dognapped and endangered Pluckie—and me? And Justin.

And was I really going to stop looking, even knowing that the killer wouldn’t necessarily believe it and leave us alone?

“I hope you feel better, Justin,” was all I said. I patted Killer’s head
, then Pluckie and I left.

_____

Martha was still downstairs at the Lucky Dog Boutique when my lucky, rescued, lovable dog and I returned there. So were Millie and Jeri.

And Arlen. Interesting. I recalled my wonderment whether the two family members were, in fact, in collusion about some things, even if they didn’t agree on everything.

But since my form of investigation had been undertaken to help Martha, why would they attempt, in such an odd and menacing manner, to scare me off ? And why claim in that email that Martha was the killer?

Unless it had just been Arlen … He’d have had time to get back here while Justin and I were at the doctor.

“You found her!” Martha exclaimed immediately as Arlen bent to pat Pluckie’s head and smile up at me.

From different areas of the store, Millie and Jeri waved and grinned
, too, so they must have known about Pluckie being missing, but they were waiting on customers and didn’t join us.

“I’m so glad, Rory,” Martha continued, then tilted her head and looked at me. “I guess this is a silly question, but what’s wrong?”

I supposed my anger and pain were apparent in my expression and perhaps looked out of place since Pluckie was with me. I’d found my dog. I should be relieved. Happy. Ready to get back to
what my life had become here, a store manager in Destiny. Or maybe I could just head for home.

But it wasn’t as easy as that. I’d found no answers, only a lot more
questions.

“It was an awful experience.” I described it, moving my glance from her to Arlen and back to watch their reactions, especially when I mentioned having had to walk under a ladder to save Pluckie. Twice. But their only reactions seemed to be sympathy for me. They were both either innocent or good actors—or maybe both. Or one of each, if only Arlen was involved.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” Martha said when I’d finished my story. She walked unsteadily toward me and gave me a hug. When she stepped back, her sympathetic expression filled her face with even more wrinkles. I just couldn’t believe she was involved at all in what had been done to Pluckie and me, let alone that she’d murdered Tarzal.

Of course that could still be wishful thinking.

And the sooner she took back full control of her shop, the sooner
Pluckie and I could flee this town.

At the moment, that thought was more than welcome, even though
before Pluckie had been dognapped I’d almost felt like I was settling in here for the long haul.

For the rest of the day, I kept Pluckie close as I helped at the shop,
especially after Millie left for the day. Though Martha remained
down
stairs, she was clearly tired so Jeri and I ran things. Arlen tried to help at first but Martha seemed to resent that. He didn’t stay much longer. His goodbye gaze at his aunt wasn’t exactly warm and loving. But frame her for murder? Well, I still didn’t know.

I was glad that we stayed busy. As long as Pluckie remained close
to me, I didn’t dwell—much—on what had happened. But when late
afternoon arrived and things started to slow down, I forced myself
to go into the back room and review our inventory. By then, I’d helped
Martha back upstairs. And I preferred concentrating on how many stuffed black cats and toy rabbits’ feet and bags and cans of Lucky Dog Food or Lucky Cat Food we had in stock than what my
mind kept gravitating toward: Pluckie’s ordeal, as well as Justin’s and
mine … and Tarzal’s murder.

I got an idea then. A smart one? No. I was certain Justin wouldn’t think so. But maybe it would result in bringing everything to a conclusion.

To be fair—and maybe because I was a little scared by my own idea—I called Justin. I planned to invite him to meet me for dinner, and I’d tell him what I was about to do. Give him the opportunity to try to talk me out of it. And if he wasn’t successful in that, maybe he could help figure out the best way for me to provide myself and Pluckie with protection.

But when I called his cell phone, it immediately went into voice mail. I left a message, then hung up. Maybe he’d gone home to rest after his injuries and turned it off. When I tried calling him at the police station I was told he wasn’t there, with no details about where he had gone, but I believed I’d figured that out.

Well, that was fine. And I didn’t have to do what I’d intended immediately. I could ponder it overnight.

Only, it didn’t work out that way. After Jeri left and I’d called
Martha to let her know I was locking up for the night, I went outside with Pluckie to follow through—and saw Celia Vardox hurrying toward me from down Destiny Boulevard.

“Hey, Rory,” she said. “I just heard about what happened to your dog and all. I’d like to interview you about it for the
Star
.”

I stood there for a moment, staring at her. And then, as she reache
d Pluckie and me, I said, “Well … let’s talk about that.”

“Over drinks?” she asked. “I’ll buy.”

“All right,” I agreed, and the three of us started back down Des
tiny Boulevard. On the way, I refused to answer Celia’s questions but
just talked about how busy the streets were, as usual, and how great it was that Destiny was such a busy tourist town.

But my mind was reeling.

Coincidence, or fate, or some superstition I didn’t know about coming true? Was there one that said that if you ponder something for a while and it’s something that should be done, it’ll come true whether or not you intentionally follow through?

Or was it the opposite—if it was something that shouldn’t be done, it will come up anyway and bite you in the backside?

For the idea I’d been pondering was to follow up on that op-ed piece in the
Destiny Star
by writing my own response letter that, yes, I was acknowledging that the subject of that story was me. And that, if the dognapping of Pluckie was the result—the attempted revenge of whoever was worried that my snooping would reveal they’d murdered Tarzal—then they’d be sorry. I might have stopped looking if they hadn’t threatened my dog, but now I was determined to get my own revenge.

And, yes, I realized on some level that a challenge like that could push all the wrong buttons of the killer. That was why I’d thought about telling Justin first.

But I’d talk to him tomorrow.

And I’d be cautious.

At the moment, though, I was choosing to look at Celia’s request as some big, fat, superstitious omen that my idea had to come true.