Knock on Wood (19 page)

“Okay,” he said, his tone subdued as if he heard my thoughts. “Tomorrow.”

“Sure,” I said. I could always come up with a good excuse then if I wasn't ready yet.

As I pressed the button to hang up, I was surprised a bit by the extent of regret that passed through me.

I was still weighing a relationship with Justin, after all. And at this moment, the idea seemed much too heavy.

twenty-three

I did turn part
of what I'd told Justin into truth a little later when I saw Gemma approach the front of the Lucky Dog.

“I'll be right back,” I told Millie, who was waiting on two men with three Lab mixes. I hurried out the door.

“Hi, Rory.” Gemma still appeared downcast but not as upset as when I'd seen her last in the Broken Mirror. “Got a minute?”

“I've got a bunch of minutes for you,” I said. “Where do you want to talk?”

“Do you have time for coffee?”

That was more than the few minutes I'd assumed this conversation would be. Even so, I'd make the time for my friend. I'd started pondering that afternoon about whether part of my concern about her was that she had come here, to Destiny, for me. She had arrived a day early for reasons of her own, but she would not have come to this town at all if I hadn't been here.

“Let's go to Beware-of-Bubbles,” I replied. I went back inside briefly and let Martha and Millie know where I was heading and that I'd return soon. They promised to watch Pluckie.

On our short walk nearly next door, my conversation with Gemma remained light about the abundance of people around. We also noted the unusual lack of lucky pennies. And again, not even any buttons. “Are there any pet-related things you can seed the sidewalks with that will bring people good luck?” she asked.

“Maybe buttons with dog faces on them,” I said. “But I wouldn't want to make it anything too expensive, like hematite amulets, even small ones.”

“If I think of anything I'll let you know,” she said. “Same goes for books, especially on those about superstitions. Some kind of printed flyers for both of us to leave around, maybe?”

“As long as the town leaders don't think we're just littering,” I replied.

We both grew silent, partly because we'd just reached the coffee shop. But the mention of town leaders unsurprisingly brought Lou Landorf to my mind. I suspected neither of us wanted to think about him at the moment.

Even so, in a few more minutes we would be talking about him and his murder, or whatever Detective Numa had said to Gemma.

We found a table for two in an inside corner. The coffee shop wasn't overly crowded just now, which was a good thing. Plus, I didn't have to stay outside since I'd left Pluckie at the store. I'd no doubt she'd be well taken care of by Millie and Martha, and her being there gave me a good reason not to stay here too long.

We took turns going to the counter to order our drinks, mine a mocha and Gemma's a latte. When we were together again at the table I leaned toward her. “Don't keep me in suspense. What did Detective Numa say to you in the office?”

She closed her cinnamon-colored eyes briefly. When she opened them again, they were moist. “No suspense there. She said what we've known all along. She believes I'm good for the murder. To the detective, Frank sounds genuinely afraid of me. Isn't that the funniest thing you've ever heard?” But she wasn't laughing and the dampness in her eyes turned into a couple of tears that tracked down her smooth, pale face.

“No,” I said. “Not funny at all. But you know what is a good thing?”

“What?” She looked at me hopefully, as if I was about to impart an important statement that would be a reprieve from any bad act she might actually have committed, even murder.

In a way, I was.

“Last time, when I was trying to help clear Martha of being accused as a murderer, I felt like I was doing it pretty much on my own, just little Rory Chasen against the big machine of the Destiny Police Force.”

“Big machine?” Was that a glimmer of a smile I saw on her face. Good. I was achieving something I'd tried for, at least.

“Well, little machine around here. But they have the additional backup force of superstitions.”

“So what's better this time than last?” Gemma asked, sipping her coffee but keeping her gaze on me.

“Martha couldn't really do much to assist me in helping her. But you're not like her. For one thing, you're not ill. Plus, you know superstitions and you look at them from a different perspective from people around here.” Holding my foam cup, I leaned toward her and raised it so we touched them as if they were wine glasses and we were at the Clinking Glass Saloon.

“Yes, but—” she began.

“Don't you see?” I interrupted. “You know you're innocent. I know you're innocent. Working together, we'll figure out who's guilty and make sure the cops get the proof they need.”

Was I laying it on too thick? Allowing her to get too hopeful? I wasn't a cop. I didn't really know what I was doing.

And by making a statement like that, was I jinxing the whole possibility?

Just in case, I surreptitiously knocked on the wooden table top from underneath. Then, recalling that knocking on wood hadn't saved Lou Landorf from his awful fate, I also crossed my fingers.

As a final stab at bringing good luck to myself and to Gemma, I pretended to have an itch on my neck caused by my straight blond hair tickling it as I moved.

I used that as an excuse to touch my lucky hematite dog-face amulet.

When I looked up, I saw that a few more tables were occupied since when we got here a short while ago, and that Edie and Brandon Brownling had just come through the coffee shop door.

“Drat!” exclaimed Gemma in a soft voice at the same time. “They won't be happy to see me here in the middle of a work day.”

“You are working here. We've gotten together because you have some questions about retail management, and I'm advising you.”

Gemma managed a smile. “Sounds reasonable. But considering what we really were talking about—”

“Your luck is going to be just fine,” I promised her. “Wait and see.”

One piece of luck was that they didn't appear to scan the table area to see if they recognized anyone. Instead, they maneuvered around several and took seats at the far side of the room from us. Maybe there was nothing at all for Gemma to worry about.

But I wouldn't count on it.

“Quick,” I told her. “In case we need to play the superstition card, remind me of a few concerning coffee.” I knew some were bad luck, of course. Why else name this place the Beware-of-Bubbles Coffee Shop?

“Here are the ones I recall,” Gemma said. She began to relate a bunch, most of which I'd heard. “If the bubbles move toward you, you'll get rich. If they move away from you, you'll have hard times. Big bubbles mean disappointing news—or a friend will arrive soon. And …” She paused. “Oh, yeah. If you see bubbles in your coffee, drink it fast because if you finish it before they disappear, you'll get some money soon. There are also superstitions relating to the prediction of the weather based on bubbles in coffee and others about spilling coffee.”

“Good enough,” I said. Or so I hoped. Edie's gaze had started wandering and soon settled on us. I didn't even attempt to pretend I didn't see her. I smiled and nodded, then turned back to Gemma. “So here's what I think we need to do next regarding—”

I didn't get to finish. The Brownlings, foam coffee cups in their hands, stood over us.

“What are you doing here, Gemma?” Brandon Brownling's scowl pleated his forehead and the corners of his pale brown eyes. “Would you rather we hire someone else to manage the store?” The senior's tone was hoarse as he raised his voice to be heard over the moderately noisy crowd here. As before when I'd seen them, he wore a button shirt, black plaid this time, over his baggy slacks.

“Who is running it now?” demanded Edie. She was in a casual outfit, too, but her blouse was tucked into her slender jeans. Her hair, a more vibrant silver than her husband's, looked mussed a bit, as if they'd been running around in a breeze outside—or something had upset her and she'd run her hand through it. Since the weather was fairly mild I suspected the latter and wondered why.

“Stuart Chanick is still around,” I reminded them. I proceeded to give them my planned explanation of how I'd invited Gemma to join me away from the store while I provided her with some additional insight into managing a retail establishment.

Edie placed her free hand on her hip. “I hope, Rory, that you aren't attempting to give Gemma ridiculous orders about how to run our shop, the way that toad Lou Landorf did.”

Toad? Although I had nothing against toads, that was an odd and nasty way to refer to someone recently deceased, a murder victim.

Or were her words a murder confession by Edie Brownling? I doubted it. But they did make me consider her, and maybe her husband, too, as more likely candidates. They hadn't liked Lou and his orders. They were protective of the bookstore in which they now had an interest.

Was that a sufficient motive to murder Lou? I wouldn't think so, but that didn't mean they didn't think so.

Just in case, I found myself scanning the parts of Edie's arms that I could see below her sleeves. No warts. I didn't see any on Brandon, either.

If they'd had physical contact with Lou and believed him to be a toad, maybe they'd develop some miserable skin condition, since a superstition suggested that touching a toad caused warts.

I nearly laughed aloud.

Brandon pushed closer to the table as a middle-aged couple moved around him. “What are you laughing about?” he growled.

I didn't answer but gently took his hand and maneuvered it so I could look inside his foam cup. His coffee drink was pale brown, signifying cream and possible other flavorings.

And, yes, it contained bubbles.

“Hmm,” I said, watching the liquid.

“What are you doing?” Edie demanded.

“Reading the omens in Brandon's cup,” I said, forcing Gemma's earlier comments into my mind. “I'd suggest that you drink your coffee really fast. Those bubbles seem to be moving away from you, and that could signify bad news—although it'll be just fine if you're expecting a friend, since that can also mean a fast arrival. In any case, if you drink up before the bubbles disappear altogether, some money will be coming your way. But I do wonder if it's going to rain. Bubbles in coffee can predict that, you know.” I'd taken liberty with some of the superstitions Gemma had mentioned, but they wouldn't know it.

“Is everybody in this town so weird?” Edie grumbled, shaking her head. She touched her husband's hand and drew it away so I couldn't see inside the coffee cup any longer.

“Of course,” Gemma said. “This is Destiny. What did your son tell you about this place?” I noticed her cringe a little, as if she feared a discussion that would rehash all that had happened before and bring bad luck spewing over all of us.

But Edie's irritable gaze grew sad. “He loved it here,” she said. “Weirdness and all.”

None of us spoke for a long minute. Then Gemma said, “I think Rory answered my questions for now. I'll go back to the shop now.”

“Fine.” Brandon gave a brusque nod. “Good thing for you we're not paying you hourly or we'd dock your wages for this flagrant breach of your obligations.”

“I'd say it was a flagrant breach of something else if you happened to have killed a toad,” I muttered under my breath.

“What did you say?” Edie spat.

I finally stood and looked straight at her, smiling sweetly. “I'll walk back to the Broken Mirror with Gemma,” I said. “I'd like to look up superstitions about toads.”

With that, Gemma and I both picked up our cups from the table, got our purses, and strode out, neither of us looking back toward the nasty store owners.

“You'd think they'd be more mellow after losing a son,” I said.

“It's probably their way of dealing with their pain,” Gemma responded.

“Maybe,” I acknowledged. “Although I can't help but wonder if they're paying it forward.”

“What?” She stopped beside me on the crowded Destiny Avenue sidewalk.

“Killing someone else to try to get over their own loss,” I said, for now they had risen a bit in my estimation as possible murder suspects. Was it silly, considering how ridiculous their reference to Lou and his death had been?

Probably. But especially after this latest conversation with Gemma, I really wanted to expand my suspect list to ensure the killer was found—fast.

We'd only gone half a block when I saw Justin making his way through the slower tourist crowd toward us. I stopped quickly, nearly stumbling.

“Did you see a penny?” Gemma asked. She must have noticed my attention was straight ahead and not on the ground and looked that way too. “Oh.” Her tone was suddenly stricken, and I moved my attention to her.

“It'll be fine,” I said firmly. No matter what Detective Numa might have said, I wouldn't allow Justin to arrest Gemma or do anything else to ruin the good mood I'd helped her to build.

Or so I hoped. I crossed my fingers, realizing the wry smile on my face had everything to do with considering myself as potentially gullible as everyone else.

Was it totally coincidence that he was here? Judging by the expression of apparent relief on his face the answer was no. But I suspected he also hadn't tracked me down, or Gemma, to offer the apologies of the Destiny Police Force for what had gone on in the Broken Mirror Bookstore an hour or so ago.

I'd called him because of fear of what havoc Frank Shoreston might level on the place, and its occupants.

He'd promised to send help, but the detective he sent hadn't had to stop chaos. She did, however, need to act reasonable and encourage Frank to do so too.

She instead had leveled accusations and possibly even threats. Yes, they hadn't been overt and immediate. But she'd made it clear that the DPD maintained its sights on Gemma as its primary suspect in the Lou Landorf murder, when, of all the people who'd happened to be in the store at the time, there'd been several others with a lot more likelihood of guilt.