Knock on Wood

by Linda O. Johnston

  And then I managed to work it in. “Carolyn, you and some other folks around town have mentioned a cat lady, but no one will say more. Please tell me who she is, and what does she have to do with cats?”

  Carolyn’s eyes widened, and she drew closer to me. “It’s supposed to be bad luck to talk about her. But because it’s you—and you know I don’t necessarily buy into superstitions—well, I’ll risk a little. All you need to know is that she keeps track of our black cats, and only she knows how many there are. She makes sure they’re fed and have someplace to stay at night if they’re not otherwise owned by Destiny residents.”

  “Then the one I saw a while ago up on the mountain, when Pluckie was in danger, is okay?” That had been a scary experience all around, and I’d been so worried about my dog that I hadn’t tried to make sure the cat got down safely too—although I felt concern about it afterwards.

  “Yes. She doesn’t tell us stuff like that, but word gets out if a cat is hurt or disappears.”

  “Good,” I said, forbearing from shaking my head. Apparently cat superstitions had a champion here, and so did the feral black cat—or cats. But I still didn’t know much more than I had before.

  Surely the pet boutique manager could be let in on that secret someday, right?

  Carolyn and her gang soon left. A short while afterward, I got a text from Gemma. She, too, was attending the memorial. Would I go with her?

  I texted her back: Yes.

  The next day, Sunday, Gemma and I both elected to close our stores for a while, not surprising considering that our helpers also wanted to be at Lou’s memorial.

  Would tourists feel upset that Destiny’s citizens weren’t around to sell them stuff or take them on tours or whatever? Maybe, but the word was put out there that it would be bad luck for anyone who’d known Lou, even a little, not to come to his ceremony. Even tourists, as long as they knew what Destiny was all about, would understand that no one, in town or otherwise, dared to risk it.

  Although dogs were usually welcome at the park, I chose not to bring Pluckie because of the large number of people likely to be present. I left her leashed to her usual counter at the shop and made sure she had plenty of water and toys of her own within reach.

  Once I’d spoken with Carolyn yesterday, I’d also gone upstairs to Martha’s apartment to tell her what was going on. Unsurprisingly, she already knew. Despite the suspicions leveled on her previously when Tarzal was murdered she was a true member of the community, and now that she had been exonerated she was treated accordingly. She told me quite a few people had called to tell her and even ask if she needed help to get there. I promised her she wouldn’t. Either I’d bring her, or Millie would. And, as previously promised, we talked a bit more about my concerns for Gemma.

  Now, she was downstairs and I helped her get settled into her wheelchair near the Lucky Dog’s door. I then went to the few customers who happened to be around and explained the situation. One couple hurriedly purchased the toys they’d been examining. A group of visiting college kids was nice—or superstitious—enough to express sympathy and promise to return later.

  Millie, who was joining us, pushed Martha outside, and I locked the door behind us. Jeri had told me she would also be there, but she was attending with her family.

  While Millie continued to handle Martha’s chair, I hurried next door to get Gemma. The bookstore was empty of customers. Presumably she had also shooed away any who had been there. Stuart was with her, though, and said he was joining us. She, too, locked the door as they left.

  Unsurprisingly, the sidewalk on Destiny Boulevard for the short distance we had to traverse it was busy, since both locals and tourists were there. When we turned onto Fate Street there were still a lot of pedestrians and I didn’t recognize all of them. Presumably the tourists here were heading for the park too. To mourn? Maybe, but I suspected they mostly wanted to see and hear the aspects of superstition that would go on at Lou’s memorial.

  As we’d heard, a couple of people who worked at the Bouquet of Roses flower shop stood at the corner of Destiny and Fate selling individual roses. Nearly everyone stopped to buy one for a dollar each—possibly a bargain, but I figured the Bouquet owners and staff would have been informed that to gouge more for this would bring them bad luck. Maybe that would even have been true, if those of us needing to bring a flower leveled a curse on them had they made it difficult to secure one.

  Martha, now holding two pink roses for Millie and her, sat patiently in her chair while our assistant paid for them. Gemma, Stuart, and I had already bought our own.

  “Do you have a superstition about death picked out to recite?” Martha looked from Gemma to me.

  “We talked about several possibilities,” I assured her. “How about you?”

  “Oh, you know me. I’ve got a bunch. And you, Stuart?”

  “Since I edited The Destiny of Superstitions, I’ve got several in mind too,” he assured her.

  We were soon on our way again—or as much on our way as we could get in this crowd.

  The park was as busy, when we arrived, as I’d anticipated. Of everyone there other than the cops, I probably had the best knowledge of where Lou had been found, but I didn’t have to mention it or point out the area. The crowd already formed a semicircle around it, standing on the grass beneath the sparse trees facing the ficus bushes, surrounding Mayor Bevin Dermot. The density even obscured the picnic tables at the park’s edges.

  Speaking of cops, they were everywhere at the fringes of the crowd. I saw Officer Sweelen and her cohorts in uniform, including Officer Bledsoe, whom I’d met before, spread out as if told to form a fence around the area. The detectives were there, too, although not as precisely spaced at the perimeter. I recognized Alice Numa and Richard Choye, and figured that the other two people standing there facing the assembly and wearing suits and scrutinizing frowns were probably detectives as well.

  Justin was also present. In his typical blue shirt and black trousers, he stood off to the side of where the mayor paced at the front of the throng holding a microphone in his hand and checking his watch often. Justin didn’t seem to pay a lot of attention to the mayor, though. Instead, he watched the assembly intensely, as if he expected someone there to step forward with a weapon—maybe even a stake carved into the shape of a curved fist, like the one that had been used to stab Lou.

  As if he sensed me watching him, he turned to where I stood near the crowd I’d come with, off to the left of the multitude and toward its back. Our eyes met as if we’d planned it. Maybe, in some manner, we had.

  This was a solemn occasion, but I found my lips curving in a small, discreet smile. Which was ridiculous, considering the tone of our most recent conversations.

  At the sound of Bevin clearing his throat into the microphone, I looked away, somewhat relieved by the distraction.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” the mayor screamed. No, he had simply turned up the volume in the public address system too high. He fiddled with it. “Sorry,” he continued. “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Destiny’s remembrance of one of our most outstanding citizens, Public Affairs Director Lou Landorf.” He paused, then cleared his throat. It sounded moister this time, and I wondered if the mayor was tearing up as he talked about his deceased subordinate.

  He said he hoped everyone was aware of how superstitious Lou had been, and consequently how well he had fit into the Destiny culture. “I hope you all have come with a superstition or two about death and dying that you can recite as we say our farewells to this extraordinary man.”

  He looked off to his right side. That was when I noticed that both Celia and Derek Vardox were there, each with a camera aimed at the mayor. I’d heard that they would record sound as well as pictures and had no doubt that some of what went on here today would soon be up on the Destiny Star website—and in articles printed in the paper.

  Also among the crowd I saw Jeri there with her family. They must also have closed Heads-Up Penny Gifts. Other store
owners I knew were also there. And Serina, my hostess from the Rainbow B&B, stood off to one side talking to a number of people I recognized to be guests at the inn.

  Frank Shoreston was present, too, standing among a bunch of people I assumed were tourists. Not to mention the owners of the Broken Mirror Bookstore, the Brownlings and Nancy Tarzal.

  Arlen Jallopia, Martha’s nephew, joined us and stood behind his aunt. So did my pal Carolyn Innes, and she acknowledged having closed her button shop for the occasion.

  “Now, as many of you know,” Bevin continued, “I often sent Lou away from Destiny on a very special mission. Of the visitors who are here, how many of you met Director Lou Landorf in your hometowns or elsewhere, or saw him in theaters or being interviewed on local TV stations about our wonderful venue of superstitions?”

  Quite a few people in the large audience raised their hands, roses held in some of them. Lou had clearly been successful at his assignment.

  “That doesn’t surprise me. And how many of you were actually given orders by our Lou to show up here?”

  Nearly everyone kept their hands raised.

  Bevin’s laugh was almost a tearful choke. “That was Lou for you. He was okay about following orders some of the time, but he much preferred giving them, then making sure whoever received them followed through—even those he was supposed to report to, like me.”

  Was that a complaint against the dead man? Maybe. I’d certainly heard of Lou’s telling Bevin what to do, as well as other people. The mayor obviously liked to be in charge. Could that have been a motive for murder?

  Was Mayor Bevin the guilty party?

  Like everyone else who’d known Lou Landorf, he’d been under my consideration, and he would remain there.

  I shot a quick glance toward Justin. Damned if he wasn’t also looking at me.

  He must have been on the same wavelength as I was, thinking the mayor was a viable suspect.

  Or maybe he just knew me well enough by now to realize that I’d glom onto the possibility as I attempted to clear my good friend.

  “But we all loved Lou,” Mayor Bevin was saying, “notwithstanding our sometimes clashing with him. Right now, I’m looking forward to the time that our Destiny Police Department finally determines who harmed our dear public affairs director and achieves justice.”

  When he paused, someone started to applaud, and it grew. Now when I again looked at Justin, his expression was grave, and he nodded as if in full agreement. Which probably was the case.

  But he could also be considering what the mayor had said as a criticism of his department—and him.

  “And now,” Bevin said, “let’s pay our dear Lou, who knocked on wood about nearly everything, the honor of remembering him as one of Destiny’s greatest advocates of superstitions. First, please pass the flowers you brought forward. Did you know that flowers have a lot of superstitions associated with them, both good and bad?” He didn’t wait for any response but said, “The red, violet, yellow, and orange ones that our flower shop in town sold to you should be just fine, though. Red ones in particular symbolize life blood.”

  I hadn’t known that. On the other hand, I’d figured the people at the Bouquet of Roses flower shop would have been aware of omens related to flowers they sold and would have acted accordingly.

  Bevin had some of his aides collect the flowers and lay them on the ground where Lou had lain. “Now,” he continued, “I’d like you each to line up and speak into this microphone as you relate a superstition relating to death.”

  I wasn’t really sure this was a good idea—although it couldn’t harm Lou Landorf, since he was already dead. And the one superstition he had believed in, or at least acted on all the time, hadn’t saved his life.

  Even so, since this was Destiny, I wasn’t surprised about the number of people who participated.

  The superstitions and omens mentioned ranged from how pointing at people can supposedly kill them, to how it is theoretically a good idea to provide illumination to people who have died, including on the anniversary of their death to show them the way home.

  One person mentioned how covering your mouth while you yawn is an excellent idea since it prevents your spirit from slipping out and keeps the devil from entering.

  There were superstitions I was aware of regarding how ominous it supposedly was to have birds fly into your home—and of course recalled the one that Lou had seen inside before his death. And opening an umbrella while inside a house can lead to a death.

  To my surprise—or maybe not, since she was becoming the town’s expert on superstitions, or at least superstition books—Gemma made her way through the crowd to recite a superstition.

  Bad idea, probably, since she remained a suspect. But maybe by putting herself out there, in everyone’s view here at the memorial, it would show that she had no fear of being arrested. That she didn’t do anything to harm Lou.

  Today she had dressed in a charcoal blouse and black skirt, appropriate attire for mourning at a ceremony like this one. “I’ve heard,” she said after taking the microphone from Bevin and looking into Celia Vardox’s camera, “that we may be expecting rain later this week. We can keep our fingers crossed that it happens, since one superstition I’m aware of is that it’s supposed to be lucky for a dead person’s soul if it rains during his funeral. This is Lou’s public memorial, but I understand he’ll have a private interment later this week, and that’s more like a funeral.” She turned to look at the spot where Lou’s body had been found. “All my best wishes for you and your soul, Director Lou.” Her voice cracked as she finished. I supposed people could think she was acting, but I knew better.

  When I glanced at Justin, he appeared somber but his gaze was far from accusatory. Good.

  I wondered if Gemma’s participation would force Stuart to go in front of the crowd, but despite the editor of the premier book on superstitions being present, he stayed near where I remained with Martha and Millie.

  I chose not to speak, but had I gone up to the microphone, the omen I’d mention was that a howling dog portended death. I’d heard dogs howling on multiple occasions since arriving in Destiny, and several times people actually had died. Did I believe in this one?

  I’d be foolish not to.

  More superstitions. Were all the people here remembering each of them? I wasn’t. There were so many I started tuning them out.

  But of course the topics of death and dying were optimum ones for coming up with superstitions—since people tried to control things around them by engaging in superstitious actions.

  There’s no controlling death and dying, though. Unless one happens to be a murderer.

  Was Lou’s murderer here? Whether or not he or she had been present the other day in the Broken Mirror Bookshop, when we’d discussed that possibility, I’d little doubt that the person was at this memorial.

  Sure, it could have been a tourist Lou had lured to town by tales of the amazing nature of Destiny but who’d had an unlucky time. That tourist could still be here, trying to find a way to stay away from the cops’ attention.

  More likely, in my estimation, was that the killer actually knew Lou better than that.

  Yet as time had continued since his death, I hadn’t yet zeroed in on who it was. Suspects, yes. Evidence or even feeling convinced, not.

  As fewer people headed toward Mayor Bevin and his microphone, I looked around. No expressions on anyone’s faces said It was me!

  But when I again looked at Justin, I read both amusement and frustration, as if he knew, once more, what I was up to.

  Soon, the ascension to the microphone ended. The memorial was drawing to an end.

  And as the mayor thanked everyone for coming and wished us all good luck, I found myself again preventing a smile as Justin maneuvered his way through the crowd in this direction.

  twenty-five

  But it wasn’t me who Justin greeted first. “Hi, Martha,” he said, bending to kiss her wizened cheek. “Are you okay?”
>
  Grinning up at him with her off-white teeth showing, she assured him she was. “Millie’s taking me back to the shop right now, and I’d really appreciate it if you’d accompany Rory there in a few minutes.”

  She shot a sharp gaze first at him, then at me, as if communicating to both of us that we should stay together and talk.

  Sweet lady, and I knew she sensed the attraction between us. But this wasn’t the time.

  Justin apparently wasn’t going to argue with her. “Sure,” he said. “I’ve got a couple of people I need to touch base with here before I go, but I’d be happy to walk to the store with you, Rory.”

  “That’s okay,” I said. “I’ll head there with Gemma and Stuart.” They stood nearby, and I glanced at them. Not that I really needed company, but I didn’t mind being with friends. “No need for you to go out of your way, Justin.”

  “Oh, but we’re about to dash off right away. With all these people talking superstitions, some will probably want to buy books.” The gleam in Gemma’s eyes told me that she also was attempting to leave me with Justin, like it or not.

  But he was the man who might wind up having her arrested. Why would she wish him on me?

  Unless she was more convinced than I was that I could protect her …

  I doubted it. But if there was any possibility, I had to grab at it. And that meant hanging out for a while with Justin. Any attraction between us had been put on indefinite hiatus anyway.

  “Okay,” I said, looking at him almost defiantly. “I’ve got some things to talk to you about. So, yes, let’s walk back that way together.”

  That meant I watched as the others I’d been with headed as quickly as they could down Fate Street, considering the crowd around them. I then observed Justin hold a brief meeting with those who reported to him who’d been at the memorial. At least it was fairly quick.

  He joined me again near one of the picnic tables where I’d sat down to wait. “You ready?” he asked.