1 Lost Under a Ladder (3 page)

“What’s that all about?” I asked.

Justin smiled and shook his head. “You won’t be surprised to hear
it’s another superstition. This town is full of them.”

“Explain this one,” I said. “Or is it made up?”

“That does happen around here,” Justin acknowledged. “People create their own, sometimes to fill whatever need they have at any time, especially to impress tourists. But I’ve heard this one before, as odd as it seems. If you see an ambulance, you need to hold your breath until you see a dog. Otherwise, the person inside the ambulance may die. And most of the people who were here are townsfolk. Martha’s friends.”

“I see.” Sort of. People around here believed enough to follow what superstitions told them. At least some did. Others might have been concerned about not looking like they conformed to the group mentality around here.

“You sound dubious,” he said. “Do you believe in superstitions? If not, what brought you here?”

I wasn’t about to blurt out the truth to him, or to anybody. At least not yet. Even if my quest for answers made me just one of the gang here, I didn’t want to admit to having even the slightest belief in superstitions.

Instead, I chose an easier route. “Curiosity, mainly. I read a book about superstitions and Destiny. It was written by one of your local citizens, I think. It’s called—”

“
The
Destiny of Superstitions
, of course. And you know what? The author is one of the co-owners of that store there.” He pointed to the shop nearest the Lucky Dog Boutique in the direction where the ambulance had gone. The bookstore had a red brick façade and upstairs dormer windows.

“I noticed the store,” I told him, not admitting it had been my primary reason for being here. “It looks interesting. I thought I’d stop in there while I’m in town and check it out.”

“Now’s a good time,” Justin said. “I see one of the owners near the door, probably trying to find out what happened here. I’d be glad to introduce you. Interested?”

“Sure,” I said, wondering if I’d soon be sorry. “I’d be delighted.”

three

Kenneth Tarzal was one
of the tallest men I’d ever seen.

I wondered if there were any superstitions about tall men. If so, he’d probably know them. But I wasn’t about to ask him.

Nor would I ask him—right now, at least—about the superstition I’d come to Destiny to learn more about so I could finally cast it to the deepest depths of my mind, never to think of it again. I hoped.

He had included that superstition—walking under a ladder— in his book, of course. Anyone who’d ever heard of superstitions knew of that one. But was there more to it? Anything to give it a hint of reality?

Anything to show how absurd it was?

“How do you do, Rory?” Tarzal said in a deep, inquiring voice. My distraction must have been obvious.

“I’m fine, Kenneth,” I responded jovially, holding out my hand, which he shook once determinedly, then released.

“He’d rather be called Tarzal,” Justin informed me, and the man nodded and smiled.

“Sorry. I’m fine, Tarzal,” I said. I understood nicknames. My real name is Aurora, but I prefer Rory.

Justin and I stood just inside the door to a shop that definitely
answered to the label of “bookstore.” There were dark wooden shelves
brimming with books everywhere, lining all four walls while framing windows and doors. More tall bookcases, also filled with books, took up most of the space in between. They couldn’t all be about superstitions, could they?

The display nearest to the door consisted of a table with stacks of copies of
The Destiny of Superstitions
laid out artistically with books leaning against one another. Not surprising. Tarzal’s name was prominent on the covers, which also displayed rabbits’ feet and shamrocks.

What appeared to be a small enclosed office with windows jutted into the room. And of course mirrors hung on the few spaces along the wall not covered by bookshelves. This was, after all, the Broken Mirror Bookstore—although these mirrors had only what appeared to be painted-on cracks down their centers and were otherwise intact. Picture frames holding five-dollar bills had been hung on either side of them. I wondered about their significance.

Tarzal had remained in front of us, which initially blocked us from
proceeding very far into the shop. Now he became our host, bowing us in.

He was clad in khaki trousers and a soft plaid sports coat with a beige shirt beneath, a laid-back scholarly outfit. I gauged him to be in his forties, with bifocals and light brown hair that coordinated with his outfit. He had so many deep grooves and planes in his face that it looked nearly like a skull.

“I saw you next door at Martha’s, didn’t I? Were you shopping for stuff for this little fellow?” He bowed briefly to touch Pluckie’s head.

My little
girl
cringed away a little. She’s great at assessing who likes dogs and who doesn’t. Tarzal had to be in the latter category. He might be an expert in superstitions, but Pluckie’s opinion dropped him way down on my admiration list.

“Well, we started out just looking around,” I began.

“She found Martha in the back room, ill,” Justin cut in. “That’s why there was an ambulance here and the crowd and all.”

“Was everyone told to hold their breath?” Tarzal’s tone conveyed concern. “I assume, if there was an ambulance, that Martha was okay—at least until she got into it.”

“Yes, someone mentioned that,” I said dryly. “Good thing there was already a dog for everyone to see so they didn’t have to hold their breath long to make sure Martha survived the trip. Otherwise, they might all have had to pile into the ambulance with her.”

“You sound skeptical, Miss—Rory, was it?” That was someone else talking. Another man had been sitting behind a desk that held the cash register, and he’d risen as we’d talked. He looked sixtyish, with a whole plume of silver hair. He was dressed similarly to Tarzal, although his color-coordinated outfit was in shades of charcoal. He even had leather elbow pads sewn onto his jacket. His gray hair went well with his couture. The wrinkles in the corners of his eyes also matched the lines in his forehead.

“A bit,” I admitted, holding out my hand to him. “I’m Rory Chasen.”

“This is my partner, Preston Kunningham,” Tarzal said.

“I was eavesdropping,” Preston said. “I saw the crowd, too, and watched the ambulance take off with Martha. I’d just been heading over there to see her and hope she’ll be okay. Any idea what was wrong with her?”

He looked at Justin, not me. Not surprising. As police chief, Justin was probably considered the go-to guy for answers to all questions. Except maybe those relating to superstitions.

“Not really,” I said before Justin could respond. “My dog Pluckie acted like she sensed something even before we walked into the store. We found Martha on the floor in the back room. She seemed unconscious at first but woke up somewhat before the EMTs arrived.”

“Thank heavens for your being there—and your sweet little dog, too.” When Preston knelt to hug her, Pluckie’s tail began waving in ecstasy. This was a dog lover. I immediately liked him, at least more than I liked his partner.

“Will you be in town long?” Tarzal asked. “We’d love to have you come back to the store, but unfortunately we’re closing early today.”

Another reason not to love that guy. He was kicking us out.

“Not sure how long I’ll be here,” I said. “But I will come back. I want to hear more about your book, Tarzal.” I waved in the direction of the table display. If I could get him to talk in generalities about it, I might be able to nudge the conversation to what I wanted to know without making it obvious. But that wouldn’t happen this afternoon.

“And I’d love to talk about it.” A smile lit his long face and made its grooves seem less cadaverous. “Anytime during store hours, usually.”

We said our goodbyes, and then Pluckie and I walked outside with Justin.

“Glad I got an invitation to come back,” I said. “That store looks delightful.”

“You’re a reader?” Justin asked.

“Voracious—especially about things involving animals. That’s my business, after all. I don’t know whether they had any books on animals there, though.”

“What do you do?” the police chief asked. I’d noticed his shoulders before, but I hadn’t paid much attention to how good-looking he was. His hair was jet black, just long enough to tousle sexily over his forehead. The darkness of his hair was reflected in the hint of five o’clock shadow, which was actually good timing since it was around five-fifteen now. That shadow emphasized the planes of his face and the prominence of his cheekbones. Then there were his memorably blue eyes.

His handsome self-confidence seemed nothing like Warren’s demeanor had been.

My poor, lost, lovable geek Warren.

I didn’t want to notice the chief any more.

“Oh, I’m the assistant manager of a MegaPets store in Los Angeles,” I said airily. “That’s why I was interested in the Lucky Dog Boutique. I think it’s time for Pluckie and me to head back to our B&B now. Glad I met you, and I really hope Martha recuperates fast.”

“So do I,” Justin said. “Have a good evening.”

_____

I was surprised, an hour later, when my rather bland evening with Pluckie suddenly picked up in interest.

We’d been at the Rainbow Bed & Breakfast since we left the Lucky Dog. The owner, Serina, was behind the desk when we returned. She’d immediately come out and began stroking a happily wiggling Pluckie. “I heard what good luck this dog brings.” She looked up. “Rumor has it that she found and saved poor Martha after she fell ill.”

“Guess so,” I said. I wasn’t buying into it, but if some people in this town wanted to treat Pluckie like a hero, that was fine with me. “How did you hear about that?” I suspected I knew the answer. This was a
fairly small town and its inhabitants probably kept in close touch about how each group of tourists reacted to superstitions so each business
owner could respond in a way to make the most money.

“A little bird told me,” she said with a giggle that might have been more appropriate coming from a young kid, but it did fit with her clothing style.

“A little bird of superstition,” I suggested.

She nodded. “One of our tours even takes people out bird-
watching while describing superstitions relating to birds—crows and the like.”

That figured. “Sounds interesting,” I said. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

And that had been all until around six-fifteen. Pluckie and I had stayed in our quaint, chintzy little second-floor room, complete with
a fluffy canopy over the bed. Its decor reminded me of Serina’s cloth
ing style. I was studying the Destiny guidebook to plan the next day—
including a tour, as well as a visit to Tarzal in which I planned to offhandedly ask about the ladder superstition. I had just begun thinking about what to do for dinner when the room’s phone rang.

“Rory?” said a deep male voice when I answered. “This is Justin Halbertson. I was wondering if you’d join me for dinner.”

Good timing. But did I want to have dinner with him?

Maybe. I wouldn’t mind the company. Plus, I’d sound him out more about Destiny and what its residents really thought about superstitions, not just the fronts they put on to garner money from tourists.

“If Pluckie can come too,” I told him.

“Of course. There are a lot of places that welcome dogs, especially black and white hero dogs like yours.”

“Do you get many black and white hero dogs around here?” I asked.

“No, but I’ll be glad to have the first join me—us—for dinner.”

_____

Justin came by about twenty minutes later. We met him in the lobby, and I ignored Serina’s delighted grin and wave as we left.

This wasn’t a date. I hadn’t dated since I lost Warren. I certainly had no romantic interest in this man. I just wanted to learn all I could
from him.

And surely the town’s police chief would know a lot.

We exited the B&B’s lobby beneath that horseshoe hanging over the outside of the door. We walked a couple of blocks in the waning light of day, among another crowd of tourists that seemed more directed and less meandering than those I’d seen earlier that day. Maybe everyone was hungry now.

A lot of these people also had dogs on leashes—white, black, brown, and golden colors, from little Yorkies up through a shepherd or two. I’d already determined that Pluckie was welcome, and that she wasn’t the only visiting dog. Even more seemed to be out at this hour.

Too bad the Lucky Dog Boutique might not be able to keep regular hours now—although I didn’t know the situation. Hopefully, Martha had staff who could take over in her absence.

“Are the sidewalks ever empty in this town?” I asked Justin. I
noticed that he didn’t avoid stepping on cracks. I nevertheless stayed
away from them—at least as much as possible.

“Not if we can help it,” he responded with a smile.

The Shamrock Steakhouse was about three blocks from the B&B.

The B&B! I suddenly stopped and looked at Justin, my hand that
wasn’t holding Pluckie’s leash on my hip. “How did you know where to
f
ind me?” I’d mentioned a B&B, but I hadn’t said which one of the severa
l establishments in town.

He shrugged one of those wide shoulders and grinned. “I’m the chief
of police,” he said. “I know everything.”

“Right.” As I turned to start walking again, I hid my smile. But there was undoubtedly truth to what he said. People around here would respond to his questions about visitors, especially locals who managed lodgings. Although I didn’t really see him taking the time to call all the B&Bs, or even having a subordinate do it.

“It helps that you gave some info about yourself to the first officers on the scene at the Lucky Dog,” he said.

Had I told the person interviewing me where I was staying? I didn’t
think so—but I may have mentioned I’d planned to return to my B&B after stopping at the store and that it wasn’t too far. That would have narrowed down the possibilities.

I hadn’t trod on a superstition that broadcast my location to the world. Thank heavens.

We passed the Black Cat Inn on the way to the restaurant. B&Bs weren’t the only lodgings around here.

We soon reached our destination. The steakhouse was crowded, but we were seated in the patio area right away. I wasn’t sure whether my companion had made a reservation, or if he got preferential treatment because of who he was.

It didn’t matter. I was glad not to wait.

The collection of small round tables allowed for a choice between
those under heat lamps and those without. I felt fine and opted for no lamp when Justin asked my preference.

Pluckie’s nose didn’t stop from the time we entered the area. She exchanged sniffs with a couple of Chihuahua mixes and a bulldog as we took our seats. Then her scent sense seemed enthralled by the smells of cooking food, since she kept her nose straight up for a while. “I’ll give you a taste, girl,” I promised in a whisper, patting her head.

“You need to meet my dog, Killer,” Justin said.

“Why didn’t you bring him?”

“I didn’t have a chance to get him from home before joining you. But I’d like for you to meet him while you’re in town.”

Not likely. I wouldn’t be here long. Nevertheless, I said, “I’d like that.”

After asking my preference, Justin ordered a carafe of wine for us
to split, then recommended one of the place’s steak specials. Like all the servers, our waiter had on a green Irish-type hat, as if he were a large, overweight leprechaun. His apron, and the menus and table-cloths, were all decorated with—what else?—shamrocks.

Justin asked more about my life in Los Angeles as we waited for our wine. I didn’t want to get into that, so I asked him instead how long he’d been the police chief.

“About two years,” he said. “I’d been a deputy chief in a smaller town north of here, and I applied to become chief when I heard of the opening. Fortunately, I got the job.”