“No,” I said. “Anyway, we’re here.”
We had reached Buttons of Fortune. The store was housed in a delightful two-story beige brick building that, like so many other structures in Destiny, was reminiscent of the architecture of the Gold Rush era. It might even have been built way back then, although if so it had been kept up well.
An ornate white wooden canopy jutted to become a patio for the second floor, forming shade over part of the sidewalk below. Upstairs was a row of tall windows emphasized by stone trim. Below, the windows were wider, holding displays of clothing with unique rows of buttons, as well as jewelry boxes containing lots of other buttons of many shapes and sizes.
“Charming place,” Gemma breathed as I found a spot on the sidewalk that gave us the best view, then blocked some of the strollers so my friend could get a better look at the store. I made sure Pluckie was in front of me and unlikely to get stepped on.
“Agreed,” I said. In many ways it resembled the store she managed from the outside, although the Broken Mirror Bookstore was built of red brick. The Lucky Dog Boutique was clearly constructed to fit the same era, but its exterior was entirely of wood.
Inside, the button store was even more appealing and dramatic. Carolyn had multiple wooden cabinets open at the front that also appeared to be from the 1800s, and in them were shelves tilted to show off rows of buttons displayed mostly on velvet backings. Many buttons were of metal resembling gold and silver, although I suspected few, if any, were truly made of precious metals. Some were carved wood. Others were plastic; some of neutral colors of white or ecru, but many more in bright hues like magenta and royal blue.
Sizes varied. So did shapes: oval, round, square, even triangular. The number of holes was also diverse.
There were bolts of fabric and spools of thread on shelves near the back walls, in case customers wanted to buy everything at the same place for a new outfit they were about to sew.
What made this place all Destiny, though, were the rows of posters in pseudo-gilt frames, each proclaiming a superstition about buttons. One said, “Finding a button is good luck.” Another provided, “It’s bad luck to button your buttons wrong. The fix? Remove your garment and put it on again.” Yet another said, “If you find a button on the street, you’re about to enter a new friendship.” Plus, there were several more.
The one with the largest frame and most prominent position said, “Giving buttons as a gift is good luck.” That made perfect sense in a button store.
“Hi, you two.” Carolyn emerged from behind one of the tall cabinets and approached us. “No, three.” She looked down at Pluckie, who sat like a good girl on the floor at my feet. “Need any buttons today?”
She, too, had a couple of assistants, which was a good thing since there were several customers oohing and aahing over the multiple button collections.
“Hi yourself.” Gemma’s smile was huge. “I wish I did need some. What a delightful place. I happen to love buttons—and I’ve come to love button superstitions, too.”
I’d worn one of my usual outfits for managing my shop, a gold-colored T-shirt with the Lucky Dog Boutique logo on the front. My jeans were nice ones, but they had snaps, not buttons.
Gemma, on the other hand, was dressed in one of her usual librarian-like outfits, a professional-looking beige shirt tucked into deep brown slacks. Yes, her shirt had buttons, small white ones with two holes each. As far as I could tell, she had fastened them correctly. None of the superstitions on the walls would appear to apply to her—unless, of course, she sought good luck by giving some buttons as gifts.
Then there was Carolyn. Although she sometimes wore T-shirts displaying black cats or rabbits or other animals with button eyes, today she had on a frilly blue shirt that matched the shade of her eyes. It hung loosely over her navy slacks. The shirt had obvious gold buttons with a diameter of about an inch. They, too, all appeared to be fastened in the appropriate holes.
Carolyn was in her mid-thirties, like me. A brunette whose mid-length hair was highlighted here and there with deep auburn streaks, she was a couple of inches taller than me, and quite slim. She had lived in Destiny for about ten years. Despite my revealing my reason for coming here—Warren—she had never explained the draw of this place to her, nor why she had glommed onto buttons as her superstitious calling. I hoped someday to get her to reveal it, but her mystery was just another reason to stay in this unique town.
“Let me check in with my helpers, and then we can go.” Carolyn headed toward where her customers were being waited on. Gemma and I looked over the nearest shelves of buttons till Carolyn returned a couple of minutes later. “Okay,” she said and led us out the door.
As we walked back in the direction from which Gemma, Pluckie, and I had come a short while earlier, Gemma, in the middle, started asking the kinds of questions whose answers I hadn’t learned, like what had drawn Carolyn here. I couldn’t hear her well in the crowd, and I especially strained to hear the answer.
“Just a fascination with superstitions,” was all Carolyn said on that topic. “And you? I know what brought you to visit Destiny, that you’re Rory’s friend. But I want to hear all about what convinced you to stay.”
They chatted a bit about Gemma’s arrival here and her interest in the library—and how that had somehow led to her being asked, thanks to her strong background in books, to manage the Broken Mirror.
We reached Beware-of-Bubbles. Pluckie and I snagged one of the larger outside tables on the patio along the sidewalk, and Gemma and Carolyn, still chatting, went inside to get their refreshments. When they returned, I let them watch Pluckie for me while I did the same.
The patio wasn’t overly crowded, although there were other tables occupied and a hum of conversation in the background. The temperature was comfortably cool and no precipitation seemed to threaten, but I figured there were a lot more things for tourists to do at teatime besides sitting down and drinking coffee or tea.
When we were all seated, with Pluckie lying at my feet, I said to Carolyn, “I’ve been learning about superstitions a bit since I got here, especially those involving animals. Gemma has studied them in books. But you’ve been here long enough to know a lot more than we do. I was hoping, on this outing, that you’d tell us a few. And since Gemma has had interest expressed in her by some men lately, maybe you could describe some that involve relationships.”
There. I put it onto my friend. Sure, I’d be interested, but I didn’t have to mention Justin or my mixed emotions about getting involved with him. Or remind Carolyn of why I’d come here: to obtain closure about my poor, lost Warren.
Three men appeared to clamor after Gemma. One was not going to follow her any longer—not Lou. But Frank was still here. So was Stuart, and Gemma seemed at least somewhat interested in him.
I took a sip of latte. I’d chosen not to drink tea but elected not to have straight coffee, either.
Carolyn’s gaze roved from me to Gemma. “I can get into that,” she said. “But I actually have information about superstitions and Destiny that I’d wanted to tell you two about, and now seems a perfect time.” She took a drink from her cup, watching us. The teabag hanging over the side informed me that she had decided to take full advantage of our teatime outing.
“What’s that?” Gemma sounded enthused, as if, now that she had taken on the role of superstition maven at the bookstore, she wanted to hear everything.
I did, too—but something about Carolyn’s tone and the wryness in her smile made me hesitate. What was she up to?
“We may have a theme here in Destiny, but it’s somewhat like a lot of other small towns. People here interact, communicate with each other in lots of ways. We learn who’s thinking what, that kind of thing.” Carolyn glanced at me, and I nodded. I’d learned how much people could connect on things like the Destiny Star’s website when I was trying to learn what had happened to Tarzal. “A lot of email has been going back and forth the last couple of days.”
Thos
e emails hadn’t included me, although I was on a local town loop and also checked the Destiny Star website nearly daily to see what the Vardoxes considered to be new and pertinent.
I did receive general emails about town events and such but I was sure that wasn’t what she was talking about. Maybe I hadn’t lived here long enough to be included—or my reputation for finding bodies made me persona non grata when it came to these discussions. Whatever they were.
“I take it that you believe we’d find it interesting,” I said. If not, why mention it?
“I’d say so. You won’t be surprised to know it involves superstitions.”
I gave a brief laugh. “Not hardly. Which ones?”
Gemma, who looked troubled, moved her gaze between us, her glass of iced tea at her lips.
“For one thing, the people referencing them are trying to justify someone like Lou Landorf, who always knocked on wood, failing to have the good luck that superstition signifies.”
Gemma nodded slightly and set her glass back on the table. “I’d wondered what people who really believe in superstitions would think about that too. I checked some of our books in the store, Tarzal’s and others, to see if knocking on wood had any bad connotations but I found nothing that seemed to fit.”
“You’re right about that—mostly.” Carolyn’s look grew contemplative as she drank more tea. “The thing is, that particular superstition has a lot of possible derivations, but a lot of them involve invoking the favorable spirits that supposedly dwell in trees.”
“So knocking on wood is good luck if those spirits who may live in wood are pleased by it,” I interpreted.
“Exactly. But … well, here’s what some of our town gurus are wondering. A reason to invoke those spirits was to show gratitude for all they then gave to you. But maybe, if someone doesn’t act grateful enough, or lets his ego run away with him and tell other people how to act or what to do …”
“Then knocking on wood might only anger those spirits?” Gemma finished.
“That’s the speculation,” Carolyn agreed. “Those of us who don’t exactly buy into all we hear about superstitions aren’t so sure, but that’s at least an explanation to believers.”
“So for Lou to be knocking on wood that much, he should have been more reserved about the power he believed he had as one of this town’s leaders? And he shouldn’t have been so quick to give orders, like he was trying to do about the book shop?” And had apparently done before, in other situations. But skeptical me shook my head. “A pigeon flew into the Clinking Glass Saloon when we were there, but even if it indicated someone would die it wouldn’t have been the cause of death. I guess that interpretation of knocking on wood lets those who want an explanation besides finding out who the murderer is to think Lou brought his death on himself.”
She didn’t deny it. “Which brings me to the other point. People have been trying to find more superstitions regarding books and libraries. As you know, both deaths appeared to have some connection with the Broken Mirror Bookstore.”
“Libraries? And librarians?” Gemma’s voice was sharp. “Are there any superstitions about them?”
“I don’t know. The stuff about books seems to have been made up to get kids who are students interested in superstitions, like you should sleep with a book under your pillow opened to the right chapter so you can be sure of learning your lesson.”
I took another sip of my latte, then placed my glass carefully on the table, watching it instead of Carolyn. “So what’s the point of all this?” I asked. “You said you wanted to talk to us about town chatter, right? So far all I’ve heard is that gossip says Lou might have brought this on himself.”
“People are also speculating on who might have killed him,” Carolyn said softly. Her gaze seemed to take in the space around our table to make sure no one was close enough to listen in.
“We’re all doing that,” I retorted, not reminding her about how I helped to resolve what had happened to Tarzal. I was sure I didn’t have to. And I didn’t particularly want to do it this time, but I felt myself being drawn in.
“Okay, Rory. Here’s the scoop, sort of. For one thing, they’re speculating that you’re bad luck, and that things happen in threes. You and Pluckie have found two dead bodies. Maybe you should leave town before there’s a third.”
I stared at her. My heart rate had escalated. Anger? Fear? Both? I took a deep breath. “You can tell anyone who mentions it that Pluckie has already found three bodies. The first one, Martha, fortunately still happened to be alive.”
“You’re right. I’m championing you, by the way, and letting people know you’re good luck, if anything. Just ask Martha.”
“Thanks,” I told her.
“Besides that,” she continued, “I’ve seen some responses to claims that the Destiny Welcome is now cursed since both murders occurred the night after one of the Welcomes. But the majority of people in town love the Welcomes and don’t want to accept that, so they’re not giving it much credence.”
“Good,” I said. “I assume whoever is supporting the Welcomes is also reminding everyone about the ones that were held in between, with no ill effects.”
“Exactly. The thing is … well, they’re also talking about you, Gemma. Apparently your friend Frank—your boyfriend? He’s going around telling people how much bad luck your relationship has brought him and suggesting that you also imposed it on Lou Landorf. Frank is here, he says, to research superstitions and learn about how to draw lots of good luck to himself, but he’s intimating that in some ways—maybe the worst ways—you’re the one who brought death to Lou.”
nineteen
I now had an explanation for Detective Choye’s nasty inquiries. But I needed more information. Like, what was the DPD thinking?
Was Frank actually accusing Gemma, or was he just playing a game in retribution for her dumping him?
Had he been the one who’d murdered Lou?
Step one seemed to be that I should talk to Justin again. I knew he wouldn’t, couldn’t, say much, but I still wanted to let him know what had been happening and my perspective on it—and see what his reaction was.
All of that passed through my mind as Carolyn and Gemma continued talking, Gemma nearly in tears as Carolyn acknowledged that there were those in Destiny who believed what Frank said and consequently thought that his ex had become a killer. Bad luck to think otherwise, maybe. At least that was apparently what Frank was trying to get everyone to believe.
“You know,” Carolyn eventually said, “I’d better get back to my shop—and I imagine both of you should do the same.”
I nodded and, taking a final swig of my latte, I stood. So did Pluckie.
Carolyn’s store was the opposite direction from Gemma’s and mine so we split up right there. “Do you have any lucky buttons you’d like for us to ‘lose’ on the sidewalk on our way?” I asked Carolyn.
“I sure do.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a zipped plastic bag containing buttons about three-quarters of an inch in diameter that just happened to say Buttons-of-Fortune—Destiny. They were too small to have the Destiny Boulevard address on them, but the tourists who found them and picked them up for luck would undoubtedly locate the button shop if they were interested. And, hopefully, a lot would be.
I, on the other hand, didn’t want to run into Carolyn for a while. Not till I’d processed all she’d said and made up my mind how to deal with it. I wanted to use my local friend as a resource for communicating reality, at least the way I saw it, to her Destiny contacts, but I wasn’t sure what that ongoing reality would be.
I had some planning to do.
I nevertheless hugged Carolyn goodbye and smiled as she hugged Gemma and bent to pat Pluckie.
“Take care of yourselves. Both of you.” Standing again, Carolyn moved her gaze from Gemma to me. She reached up then and I saw her fingers were crossed. “I’m just hoping that, whatever happened to Lou and whoever it was who killed him, the local authoritie
s figure it out soon.” Her stare lingered for a few seconds on Gemma as if attempting to read her mind and learn there whether the new bookstore manager was guilty. Then she turned, her hand in the air in a wave, and entered the crowd walking toward her store.
“Does she think it was me?” Gemma’s voice was low but squeaking as we started off in the other direction.
“I think she’s just not sure it wasn’t you.” While holding the bag Carolyn had given us, I raised my chin and began looking around as if oblivious as the buttons began spilling from my fingers to the sidewalk. This was a lot easier than seeding the area with pennies, since the coins had to be left heads-up or they wouldn’t be as lucky.
“But—” The conversations around us now were louder as the crowd grew thicker, but I still heard the indignation in Gemma’s voice.
“We just have to make sure the real culprit is found soon,” I said.
I just hoped I was right—and that real culprit actually wasn’t Gemma.
Pluckie and I walked with Gemma past the Lucky Dog to the Broken Mirror. She didn’t ask why I continued with her, but if she did I’d merely tell her I’d had enough fun not to want our brief outing to end.
That was true. But it wasn’t the only reason.
I wanted to see if Frank happened to be in the bookstore.
If he was, I didn’t know what I’d say to him, but I’d figure something out—now, or when I next saw him.
Which wasn’t to be this afternoon. At least not now. Stuart was there, and I fortunately didn’t see either set of owners. The editor grinned as he talked to what looked like a large group of tourists. A copy of The Destiny of Superstitions was in his hands, open to a page in the middle. He looked busy and happy, both good things. And now Gemma was back to help him.
I quickly said my goodbyes to her at the door. “Let’s talk at the B&B this evening,” I told her, then Pluckie and I left.
On the short walk back to the pet boutique I pulled my phone from my pocket and called Justin. It went directly into his voicemail, which told me he was probably in some kind of meeting and had shut his phone off. Otherwise, he usually left it on vibrate if he was unable to speak. I left a short message asking him to call me.
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