The Lucky Dog was delightfully crowded. Martha looked a little overwhelmed, but the two assistants seemed to have things under control. My presence, and Pluckie’s, would make things even better. We wended our way through the visitors and I hooked my dog up to the counter as usual to make sure she didn’t follow anyone out the door. Then, standing not far from her, I got to work.
I’d learned a lot since first arriving here, which was a good thing. Many of our visitors wanted to find out the significance of each of the stuffed toys for dogs and cats. Some meanings were fairly obvious, like the black cats, although I did point out to these customers as I did with many others that the superstition is that it’s bad luck for a black cat to cross your path. Otherwise, black cats don’t have a bad reputation. In fact, they’re considered lucky in some countries.
Some of the toys were big red apples, well-sewn stems included. Why? Well an apple a day keeps the doctor away, quite possibly the vet too.
Stuffed horseshoes and rabbits’ feet were obvious, but frogs were less so. I told them that if a frog entered your home, it was considered good luck. Some members of my audience grimaced at that, though.
“Is it true you give a talk on animals and superstitions?” asked a pretty woman who appeared college age. She stood with a guy who held a stuffed black and white dog that vaguely resembled Pluckie. I’d already mentioned that my pup, and those who looked like her, were definitely good luck.
“Yes, I do.” I grinned and gave the particulars of the one scheduled for the upcoming week.
Before I started on another batch of plush toys my cell phone rang. I glanced at it and excused myself.
It was Justin. “Hi, Rory. Everything okay?”
Strange questions, which could mean he knew the reason I might consider things less than okay. I didn’t respond directly. “Thanks for returning my call. I was just hoping we could get together again soon. I’ve got some things I want to run by you.”
“This afternoon might work. I’m at the park meeting with some of my guys near the crime scene, but I don’t have to stay in the thick of things. If you’re too busy to come, though—”
I glanced around. Our crowd had thinned a bit, and most people I’d been talking to were now in the checkout line, staffed by Martha, to buy some of the stuffed toys.
“Pluckie and I will be there soon,” I said.
The last time I’d taken this walk beyond my B&B had been with Justin. Had that helped him learn anything about the case? I doubted it. Fate Street was a little busier than it had been that night, but now it was still daytime, even if it was nearly evening.
Pluckie seemed fine with her usual strolling and sniffs, even without Killer as company. And me?
Well, I was thinking about Justin, but not romantically—at least not much.
Instead, I thought about who he really was, the Chief of Police of Destiny. He’d been the chief for a while now. He was in charge. He surely knew about how Choye had questioned me. And about Frank Shoreston’s apparent attitude against Gemma, real or assumed for reasons of his own.
Who did he think was the murderer? Surely not the person Frank was pointing to.
We soon reached the park. It was late enough in the day that kids were out of school and parents were there observing them play on swings and seesaws. That was on the nearest part, in an area where the ground was sand.
Farther away, I could see the members of the PD who were here grouped together, but I wasn’t able to tell if they were conducting any further crime scene investigation or just having a party. I doubted the latter, though. They might only be having a meeting to discuss the status of their investigation.
Pluckie pulled on her leash toward where kids were shrieking and laughing and apparently having a good time in the play area. That wasn’t where I wanted to go, but I doubted I’d be welcome in the other location. I let Pluckie lead me into the park and I stopped in between the two areas, ostensibly to let my dog sniff. I kept my attention directed toward the police group.
Justin must have been watching for me since I saw him emerge from the middle of his gang. Dressed in his standard blue shirt and dark pants, he walked toward me. I wondered if he was sliding at all on the grass with his black slip-on shoes, but I figured by now that they must have good, thick tread since I’d never seen Justin’s stride falter.
As I observed him approach, I glanced past him. The group was thick and not particularly close but I saw Alice Numa and Choye among them.
Justin raised one strong hand as he got near me—to say hi, or to tell me to back off? I didn’t move except to copy his wave. Pluckie, on the other hand, recognized him and pulled on her leash, wagging her black and white tail eagerly.
When he was close enough, Pluckie stood up and leaned on his legs. He greeted her with enthusiastic pats, then drew closer to me.
“Hi, Rory,” he said. “Are you okay?” He studied me with his incisive blue eyes. “You sounded a bit upset on the phone.”
Upset? I’d thought I’d kept my tone quite level and pleasant. Maybe he was reading into it the mood he figured I’d be in.
“I’m fine, but curious about how things are going. I also have some scenarios I’d like to run by you.” Like your detectives are taking much too seriously a suspect who’s trying to level suspicion on someone else. “Any possibility of getting together later for a chat? Maybe we could grab a drink.”
“Tell you what,” he said. “We’ll be wrapping up here within the next hour. I was planning to bring dinner home from the Shamrock Steakhouse. I could make it for two. It’d be more private there for us to talk.”
Without anyone eavesdropping was what I heard by implication, not words. Which was fine with me.
I’d also get to see where Justin lived. I actually knew what area it was in but hadn’t been there before.
“Sounds good,” I said. He gave me his address, and we decided that Pluckie and I would arrive around seven thirty.
Were there any superstitions about going to a prospective guy friend’s house? There were supposed omens that someone was about to visit you, but how about that you were going to visit someone else?
I’d heard that if you walked into a person’s home with your left foot first, you could bring evil onto the homeowner, although you could reverse that by walking out once more, then reentering with your right foot.
I would pay attention to that and enter Justin’s house using my right foot first. But would protecting him that way theoretically be good for me too?
Pluckie and I drove there since it was getting late, and it would be quite a walk back to the B&B from Justin’s home. We crossed California Street, where doctors’ offices and the local hospital were located—not places where tourists were likely to go, fortunately. Farther down were apartment buildings for residents of Destiny. Beyond California Street, south of Destiny Boulevard, was a very nice residential area containing homes where locals lived. Justin’s was among them.
I parked on Quail Street in front of his house. This area had been built up long after Gold Rush days, and the homes appeared more like typical modern structures of Southern California.
Justin’s was a single-story home on a nice, wide lot. It was built of white stucco with a red Spanish tile roof. “Here we are,” I told Pluckie.
As I held her leash, I let her climb over my lap to get out of the car. When we were both on the sidewalk, I took my time so she could decide whether to relieve herself. While she did, I looked at the other residences. This was an eclectic area, with some structures of brick or siding, some multiple stories and others also single story. All had driveways and garages, and there was plenty of street parking.
I suspected that, if the chief of police lived here, any houses that came on the market would be out of my price range—assuming I decided to purchase a home in Destiny. Surely there were more affordable condos somewhere. I’d check that out if I decided to say.
I couldn’t tell if Justin was home since presumably he’d
parked in his garage. I felt sure, though, that if he was going to be late, or changed his mind, he’d have called me.
Just in case I hadn’t heard him, I pulled my phone from my pocket. No missed texts or calls.
I gave Pluckie a gentle tug on her leash and we went up the front path.
I noticed a neighbor doing some yard work a few houses down. Did she see me too? If so, would Destiny gossip channels begin to describe how the police chief had a visitor that night?
Not my problem. And I was sure Justin could deal with it.
I reached the wide wooden door and pushed the doorbell button. I heard a chime inside. In moments, the door opened.
Justin looked more casual than usual, in a gray Ojai T-shirt and jeans. They looked good on him, especially since the shirt hugged his upper body and emphasized his muscular physique. No five o’clock shadow on his handsome, angular face—or going-on eight o’clock shadow, considering the actual time. Had he shaved in anticipation of me joining him?
“Hi, Rory. Come in.” He stepped back, although our entrance was partially blocked by Killer, who stood wiggling his behind and wagging his tail.
“Hi, boy.” I hugged the Dobie to my legs while patting his head.
Justin pushed Killer gently and the larger dog moved, giving Pluckie room to enter and trade nose sniffs. I laughed and followed my dog.
“Ready for dinner?” Justin asked. “I picked it up on the way home and have everything set up in my kitchen.”
I followed him down a wide, bright hallway, peering into a neat living room with sparse furnishing. The kitchen was large and inviting, with a butcher block table in the middle. Not surprisingly, the table was set. The flatware was simple, and the plates were red pottery. An aroma of cooked meat permeated the room.
“Go ahead and sit down,” Justin said. “Is red wine okay with you? I have a cabernet I’m told is pretty good stuff.”
I smiled. “Sounds fine. Can I help with anything?”
“No, it’s all ready.”
I did help him put the wine glasses on the table, followed by the side dishes for the steak dinner. Then we sat down to eat.
We started out talking about how I’d made it a point of using my right foot to enter his home and graduated into a few other superstitions that neither of us really believed in.
The dogs sat at our feet begging pieces of steak. We both obliged, at least a little. It was delicious, after all.
So was the company.
But I’d wanted to see Justin not to simply enjoy myself. I wanted to ask him why Choye had been sent to interview me—and what was going on with their investigation into Lou Landorf’s murder. What would he tell me? Anything?
I took a long sip of wine, looking him straight in his eyes before I began.
But he intercepted the moment. He was the one to speak first.
“I figure you want to know what’s going on in our attempt to determine what happened to Lou, right?”
I nodded. “Yes, but I realize you can’t tell me everything. Just let me know what you can.” I figured that was good and rational and designed to get him to say at least something.
“I will in a moment,” he said, nodding. That made me smile. Until he spoke again. “First, I want to know exactly what you’re hiding to protect Gemma.”
twenty
“Nothing,” I responded, trying to keep anger out of my voice. I didn’t stand but leaned back in my chair to get farther away from him, not attempting to hide my scowl. Pluckie, at my side, must have read my change in mood since she sat up and looked at me, head cocked. “I’m not hiding anything. And I don’t like your accusation. Why would you ask me something like that?”
Even as I said it, my mind scrambled. Was there something I knew that would lead to evidence against my good friend? Not that I could think of.
The fact that she happened to have walked toward the park where Lou was found dead a while later didn’t mean Gemma had killed him.
And surely Justin didn’t know about Gemma’s walk—or my knowledge of it.
So where had his allegation come from?
“To see your reaction,” he responded a bit too mildly. I didn’t believe him.
“Did your colleague Detective Choye point a finger at me? I answered his questions. They were strange, anyway. He mostly asked me whether I believed anything Frank Shoreston said.”
Which might be the answer. I was somewhat equivocal in my response but it had mostly been negative.
“No. He gave me his report on your conversation and it sounded reasonable. But I’ll admit I’m getting frustrated. I know Gemma is your good friend. I also know Lou and she had talked to one another a lot in the short time since she’d gotten here. Maybe there was even mutual attraction there.” When I opened my mouth to comment, Justin held up his hand. “Or not. In any event, there was apparently some ill will between them when he was killed.”
“Arguing with someone isn’t proof of murdering them,” I said.
“No, but it could be a factor. A motive. Now, can we change the subject?”
“You brought it up,” I retorted. “And since you did, I’d like to know more about what Detective Choye said. Has he spoken with Frank?”
“This isn’t something I want you to repeat, but a lot of people are aware of it anyway.” Justin leaned back, too, his arms folded. “Frank has come to our department several times. He claims he is worried since the p.a. director had expressed an interest in Gemma, and then he was killed. Everyone knows, Frank says, that he and Gemma had been an item. He’s worried that something will happen to him, too.”
“That’s bull pucky,” I said. “Who does he suspect? Stuart Chanick? Gemma herself? I’d be more likely to bet on Frank being the killer.”
“Don’t worry, we’re considering that possibility, too.” Justin shifted again, this time leaning toward me. His expression now appeared softer. Apologetic? If so, he didn’t say it aloud—not exactly. “Like I said, Rory, I wanted to see your reaction. You’ve known both Gemma and Frank for a while, longer than any of us around here. It isn’t evidence, of course, but I’ll keep in mind that you’re more inclined to believe Frank could have killed Lou Landorf than Gemma.”
“You’re damned right.” Now my arms were crossed.
But Justin stood. “Have you finished eating? If so, I’d like to give you a tour of my house.”
Talk about changing the subject quickly. I considered just telling him no, saying that Pluckie and I had to get back to the B&B right away since we had to get up early the next morning, whatever.
Instead I rose without saying anything. He gestured for me to head toward the kitchen doorway, and I complied. Then he led me down the hall, followed by both dogs.
Justin’s home was larger than it had appeared from the outside since it extended farther back on its lot than had been evident. It had three bedrooms, one clearly used as an office and another containing a large bed and other furnishings delineating it as the master bedroom. Its decor was plain and masculine, with a dark comforter and matching pillow shams on the bed and a huge TV hung on the wall. The third was apparently a guest room.
I wouldn’t say that Justin was a great decorator, nor had he appeared to have hired a designer. But the place was pleasant and relatively neat … and I wondered why he had wanted to show it to me.
To end our sort-of disagreement?
Or because he was hoping, as we got to his room, I’d grab his hand and lead him to the bed?
Were there superstitions relating to that—a guest seducing a homeowner? A woman versus a man? I didn’t know offhand, but the thought of crossing my fingers to try to make sure I didn’t somehow invoke bad luck passed through my mind.
Plus, I did consider quickly what it might be like to make love with this man. But it wasn’t going to happen this night, if ever. Not after the somewhat adversarial exchange we’d just had.
And so, I didn’t have to apologize mentally to Warren—other than for having the thoug
ht cross my mind. Even at that, I’d already somewhat acknowledged to myself that I was approaching some degree of closure in my loss of him.
“What do you think?” Justin asked as he led me through a back door into a garden. It mostly contained a lawn surrounded by low bushes, all wrapped behind a tall, natural wooden fence—again, nice and masculine and not particularly decorative.
“I like it,” I said, meaning it.
Night had pretty well fallen, and there was just a dim light projected from some lamps attached to the house. The air was cool, and I caught a faint floral scent from somewhere nearby without seeing any flowers.
Pluckie and Killer explored the yard, perhaps with a goal of elimination in mind. Justin and I stood on a small paved patio near the door, watching them. At first.
I turned to my host. “How long have you lived here?” I asked.
“Around two years, since about a month after I moved to Destiny to become the police chief. I was lucky to find this place not long after I arrived.”
“That’s for sure.”
“Why? Are you starting to look for a place to live?”
I felt my face redden a little. “You know I haven’t decided how long I’ll be staying.”
“No, but I’ve got a feeling you’re putting down some roots. I know Martha’s hopeful you’ll be around for a long time. I’ve talked to her about it.”
I already knew Justin was like a son to her. His enthusiasm and perseverance were definitely factors in my agreeing to stay here to help her out after Pluckie discovered her when she was ill.
Sure, I had been considering finding someplace to live other than the B&B. But I wasn’t ready to admit that to anyone else except maybe Gemma, but especially not Justin.
“I’ve got a lot to consider,” I equivocated.
“Like the superstitions involved about moving? I was fed a lot of them around here when I found this house, but the ones I learned are more about what to do as you move in to make sure you stay lucky. None involved whether or not to move from another place. I’d already made my decision about that.”
Knock on Wood Page 16