“What’s up?” I asked once she’d shut the door behind us.
“That’s just it. I don’t know. But every time I approach them they shut up or start talking about how wonderful The Destiny of Superstitions is. Maybe I’m just paranoid, but I have a feeling they’re both talking each other into certainty that I’m the one who killed Lou. Or maybe the detective is pushing Frank to tell him specifics about why he’s so peeved with me, and trying to figure out what evidence he can collect about it.”
“Just because you’re paranoid—” I began.
“—It doesn’t mean someone isn’t out to get me,” she finished. “Yes, yes. I’m a librarian. I know the ending to that quotation, more or less. I’m hoping the world isn’t out to get me.” She sighed. “But I’m pretty sure those guys are.”
“Let me see if I can find out,” I said.
“How?”
“I’ll wing it,” I told her. We left the office, which turned out to be a good thing since Frank was chatting with Stuart, but the detective was leaving. I sized up the possibilities quickly, then gave a low wave to Gemma that only she’d be able to see and followed Choye out the door.
He was already in front of the Lucky Dog when I caught up with him, apparently on his way back to the police station. The sidewalk crowd wasn’t too heavy so moving forward wasn’t difficult. Nor were those around us speaking loudly, although they did seem to be dodging cracks in the sidewalk.
“Hi,” I said. “Can I talk to you?”
“Sure, you can talk. That doesn’t mean I’ll listen. Or answer.” He looked down at me briefly with a half smile, as if he’d cracked a joke. He didn’t slow his pace, though.
Good thing I enjoyed walking; I had no trouble keeping up with him.
“Can you tell me why you were just at the bookstore?”
“Sure. I’m keeping a close watch on your buddy Gemma. We’re still collecting evidence before we arrest her.”
Shocked, I nearly stopped walking. Choye slowed for a second, too, and began to laugh. “Had you there, didn’t I? That’s true, by the way, but I was actually there because that guy Frank called and said Ms. Grayfield had been threatening him again as he sat there deciding whether to buy a book.”
“Doesn’t that sound rather familiar?” I asked. “Frank’s been saying nasty things about Gemma since they both got to town and he learned she isn’t continuing their romantic relationship. We talked about that before.” We were walking again. I couldn’t help glancing at some of the people going in our direction and against our flow, not as many tourists as there were sometimes but quite a few dogs were on leashes beside them. Fortunately, a lot of them appeared headed the opposite direction from us, in the direction of my pet boutique.
“Yes, we did.” He paused, then continued. “I know you speak a lot with Chief Halbertson. I do too. He must like you.”
“We’re friendly enough,” I responded, rolling my eyes. “But—”
“Just so you know—and I shouldn’t be mentioning it—there’s talk going around at the department that he shouldn’t be so friendly, especially not to you. That’s going to get him in big trouble if he doesn’t let us zero in on the primary suspect in the Landorf murder and arrest her, just because he’s giving her the benefit of the doubt because of you.”
How odd that this man, this detective, was talking to me about such things. And if they were true, it was terrible, for both Justin and Gemma.
“Look,” I said. “Gemma didn’t do anything, and that’s undoubtedly the reason your boss hasn’t authorized her arrest.”
“There are those who think otherwise,” he said, “both in and out of our department. They believe that our chief sometimes makes decisions for reasons other than reality.”
We stopped because a crowd filled the sidewalk at the Break-a-Leg Theater, standing in a ticket line. I didn’t know what was playing. I didn’t care.
“Like you?” I asked.
“I’ve said enough,” Choye said in a low voice, bending to talk right into my ear. “And if you ever mention it I’ll deny it and say you’re making it up to protect your friend. Thing is, I actually like our chief. I’m hoping you’ll pass enough of this along to get him to do the right thing.”
And arrest Gemma? I’d have to think about the wisdom of saying anything to Justin. But if what Choye said was true, I didn’t want Justin to be doing anything to help me, or my dear friend, that would ultimately wind up harming him.
Feeling a little desperate, I asked, “Who is making those claims?” Or was just Choye doing it, trying to use me to get Justin to authorize Gemma’s arrest? Was he attempting to protect another suspect? If so, who? And why?
If it wasn’t him pushing for an arrest, then who? Detective Alice Numa? She was the only other one I’d much interaction with, but there could be others with the same opinions Choye had expressed.
Still, Alice undoubtedly had an interest in getting this case resolved quickly, especially since I’d heard Lou blame her for not finding answers to the other puzzle still rocking the DPD.
But would she be willing to do anything to get a result here—even have someone innocent arrested just to get a supposed suspect in custody?
Why wouldn’t she run this by Justin? He’d been blamed at the same time by Lou for not concluding the investigation into that tourist’s death more quickly. Maybe she had and he had refused to listen, not because of any feelings he might have for me but because he in fact had doubts of Gemma’s guilt.
Did I dare talk to him about any of this? I didn’t really care if I got the two detectives in hot water, but could my doing so harm Justin—and Gemma?
“Go back to your store,” Choye said as a slight opening appeared in the crowd and he started to move forward. “I’ve said all I’m going to.”
twenty-seven
I forced myself to concentrate on business after returning to the Lucky Dog. That was never hard to do since I loved my work, dealing with people interested in our products and even learning all about the superstition angles and pretending I knew them.
I’d been here long enough that I really did know quite a few, especially relating to our merchandise.
Plus, I had the help of Millie and Pluckie late that afternoon. I exchanged banter with both of them as well as with our customers, talking up superstitions and dog toys and paraphernalia.
Pluckie didn’t talk back, but she did seem to have fun modeling collars and leashes, and showing how the toys should be played with. We sold a bunch of things that afternoon, which made me happy.
Even so, in the back of my mind—and maybe too much in the front of it—I kept returning to my conversation with Detective Choye.
I hadn’t known him before, when suspicion was leveled on Martha after Tarzal’s murder. He apparently hadn’t been assigned to interrogate either Martha or me. She and I had both talked mostly to Detective Alice Numa. And to Justin, who’d acted professional but had done what he could to protect Martha, who was almost like his mother.
Alice hadn’t been protective of Martha then. She certainly wasn’t protective of Gemma now. Just the opposite. Was she one of those claiming that Justin was acting improperly by not taking Gemma into custody? If so, what evidence did she think would justify an arrest?
Then there was Choye himself. I now thought Gemma and I had been somewhat wrong about his conversations with Frank. They might not have been discussing why all fingers pointed toward Gemma, even if that was Frank’s vengeful goal.
Instead, Choye had acted as if he was pushing to find real answers in a way that benefited Justin so his boss wouldn’t be harmed by failure, never mind Lou’s prior accusations against the police department and Mayor Bevin’s current ones.
Failure that might be caused, or exacerbated, by what the detective saw as the police chief’s possible interest in me.
Or was that just the way Choye wanted things to look?
Interest or not, I genuinely wanted to help Justin succeed and find the
real killer, who wasn’t Gemma. Consequently, Choye and I had something in common—if I understood his motives correctly—even if he didn’t think so.
But Justin wanted me to stay out of the whole thing and not get involved.
Did he know about the possible controversy within his department? He definitely knew Mayor Bevin’s opinion of him.
All right. I needed to talk to him now, preferably in person. But not anyplace we’d be seen by residents of Destiny. That, definitely, would be bad luck.
So how? And where?
I was getting hungry. The shop’s closing hour approached, and dinnertime would arrive soon. But even if Justin was available, I couldn’t meet him anywhere in Destiny, not even his home. He had neighbors, and citizens of Destiny watched out for each other—in good ways and bad.
We weren’t far from Ojai, and both Justin and I had cars. It would be more efficient if we rode together, should we decide on dinner in another town. But efficiency and saving gasoline weren’t the point.
We had dined together once at an intimate cafe called Randie’s along the highway from Destiny but on the far side of Ojai. Its food was okay but not gourmet, and its prices were on the high side, which meant its clientele wasn’t huge—which for now was a good thing. The likelihood of us being recognized was a lot less there than around here.
I went into my store’s backroom to call Justin, since I didn’t even want my staff to hear. I reached him right away.
“Rory? I was going to call you. There are some things I want to talk to you about. Are you free for dinner?”
“Sure,” I said in a pleased tone, as if the idea was new to me. Even so, I told him where I wanted to meet—and that I really hoped for privacy. I didn’t explain why. I probably didn’t have to.
He agreed that Killer and he would meet Pluckie and me there in an hour.
Since we’d eaten there before, we knew the dogs were welcome. We sat on the dimly lighted back patio with hardly any other diners around. The inside rooms had a reasonable crowd, but not here. Which was good.
Justin had offered to drive us all, but I’d declined without saying why. We ordered our drinks—merlot for me, amber beer for him, and water for the dogs. I studied the menu without meeting his gaze.
“Know what you want?” he asked in a minute. I nodded. A small Caesar salad looked good to me. I didn’t have a big appetite after all. It had been smashed down by what was in my mind.
We soon ordered our meals. Justin was going with a veal dish, which also sounded good. I figured I’d get a taste, which would be enough.
A taste. As if we really were in a relationship and shared meals.
I wondered if any superstitions applied to sharing food. I’d heard it was supposedly good luck to have seven people at a table, but if there were thirteen at least one would suffer bad luck. Tasting each other’s food, even splitting a meal? I hadn’t a clue.
When our server, a college-age guy in a brown knit shirt and matching slacks, left to place our orders, Justin looked across the table toward me, leaning on his arms. The top buttons of his blue shirt were undone and his sleeves were rolled up. A hint of beard darkened his cheeks and a hint of irritation darkened his blue eyes. In all, he didn’t look happy, almost as if he knew why I’d wanted to get together—to ask questions and possibly scold him.
But I also wanted to warn him.
“So,” he began. “What’s up?” Why hadn’t he started with what he wanted to talk to me about?
Or maybe they were the same thing and he knew it.
I prepared a smart retort, then let my shoulders slump. “Concern,” I replied in a low, gloomy voice. “And not just about Gemma.”
“About what, then? Or who?” His tone suggested he didn’t really want to know. That irritated me.
“You,” I snapped. “If you’re not doing your job right because you’re trying to look good to me, you’d better stop. Although—”
“Although what?”
“Although you’d still better not arrest Gemma.”
I wasn’t surprised to hear a short bark of laughter.
“Were you talking to Choye?” he asked.
“Well … yes, but—”
“He’s a nice guy. Dedicated to the department and to making it run smoothly. Even dedicated to me. But that sometimes leads him to off-beat conclusions, and not only about cases but about what’s going on around us too.”
“He sounds like he may be your champion,” I shot back, wanting to see Justin’s reaction.
“Yes, in a way. I know he’s trying to protect me. Or at least that’s what he thinks he’s doing.”
Maybe, but I didn’t mention my doubts.
Our server brought dinner rolls over. They looked delicious, but the delay frustrated me.
Justin handed the basket to me first, and I took one of the small and crusty breads. After pulling off a couple of pieces I’d give to Pluckie later—and possibly Killer, too—I put a touch of margarine on what was left and watched Justin do the same.
“The thing is,” I began, after taking and chewing a bite, “I want you to realize that Gemma’s innocent, and to avoid arresting her because of that, not because … because … you believe I—”
“Choye’s assuming I’m trying to impress you by leaving your friend alone, even though she’s guilty,” Justin asserted.
“That’s what I gathered. And he says he’s not the only one who thinks that. Others in your department are getting unhappy with you, he says. We already know the mayor is frustrated that there hasn’t been an arrest yet.” I was saying too much, but I was concerned for him.
“Did Choye tell you who else in the department is unhappy?”
“No, but if I had to guess, one would be Detective Numa.” I reminded him of the talk the detective had with my friend, and what Gemma had subsequently told me. “I assume she hasn’t changed her belief that Gemma did it.”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
The rest of our meals were served then. I felt almost as if I’d related everything I needed to say. Except …
“You’re really not doing anything to jeopardize yourself or your career because of me, are you?” I blurted the question almost without thinking.
“Not at all.”
“Then do you have any evidence against anyone, let alone Gemma? Do you know who killed Lou?”
Justin had carved a small piece of veal scaloppini off and reached to put it onto my plate. His movement stirred Killer, who all but put his nose on the table.
Justin, like me, had saved some roll for the dogs. He gave each of them a piece.
The delay was understandable but frustrating. I wanted to hear his answer.
When it came, I didn’t like it. “No,” he said. “Like I’ve been telling the mayor and everyone else, we have suspicions but no answers yet.”
The meal was tasty, the company excellent. The conversation? Enjoyable on some level, since it was with Justin. But after our initial salvo we just skirted over anything conceivably important relating to the murder. Maybe he couldn’t say more. I understood that.
I also didn’t like it.
I really wanted to know, to understand, what the atmosphere was like for him at his department. Was he ultimately going to feel he had to give in to pressure and arrest someone just for the sake of having a person in custody?
And would he have to make it Gemma so it wouldn’t look like he was so smitten with me that he’d protect someone guilty to impress me?
But discussing his job further was apparently off limits for the rest of that night. And whatever attraction there was between us seemed to be lurking where I barely sensed it.
As a result, I talked to Pluckie and Killer a lot, too, mostly about food and another dog who came out on the patio.
It dawned on me finally that Justin hadn’t started talking to me about whatever it was he’d indicated earlier that he wanted to discuss. I asked him.
“We did mention it before, kind of.” He
had finished his entree and was eating another roll, watching it rather than me.
“What was it?” I asked, looking directly at him. Darn, I liked the guy. But I didn’t like how this evening was turning out. We seemed both to be working hard at friendliness rather than it being a natural reaction between us.
He did look toward me now. And smiled. “I figured it would be fruitless for me to tell you again to butt out.”
I laughed. “That’s true. My response? I’ll butt out if and when I’m sure Gemma’s safe. And when you’re safe, too—or at least your job is. If that means I have to skirt around you and find the killer myself—”
“Just be damned careful,” he interrupted. “Part of my job is protecting the public, and I’ll do that even for a member of the public who’s purposely endangering herself for a mission she shouldn’t have anything to do with.”
That pretty much ended our dinner. He allowed me to pay my share, which I figured was as much to make it look to me like this wasn’t a date as to ensure that if someone happened to recognize him they, too, would consider this to be just a meeting between friends. Fortunately I saw no one I recognized so I didn’t believe that would be an issue anyway.
We walked Pluckie and Killer together outside the restaurant, then Justin accompanied us to my car, which was in the same lot as his.
Would he kiss me good night, or were we estranged enough that he wouldn’t even give me a peck of friendship?
“Just be careful, Rory,” he said. “Don’t do anything foolish. And keep in close touch with me, especially if you decide to put yourself in danger.”
“But I—”
He did shut up my response with a kiss, warm but not aflame with romantic interest, which made me feel sad. I nevertheless unlocked my car door and opened it.
Pluckie jumped in, with Killer watching.
Just for fun, I pivoted, planted a much hotter kiss on Justin’s lips—holding him close so he couldn’t flee it—and then turned again to slide into the driver’s seat.
“I don’t suppose I could tell you the same thing,” I said, “but if you put yourself in danger, please be careful.”
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