“I know it might be a stretch, Justin, but—”
“But it’s a possible lead. I’ve been taking notes. I’ll get someone started on checking it out tomorrow. And before you ask, yes, we have extra patrols on the streets tonight. We’d had extra before, but apparently not enough. Even if this doesn’t result in shutting down the problem, we’ll get it done somehow.”
I certainly hoped so.
“Keep me informed,” I told him.
“Without talking about it.” I could tell by his tone that he was smiling. “Hey, with this and some other matters, my day tomorrow is going to be pretty full. But will I see you at the Welcome show tomorrow night?”
“Count on it.”
Gemma and I didn’t say anything at our B&B breakfast about our discussion with Arlen and Martha the previous night. As always, the place was crowded. Our hostess, Serina, flitted between tables, ensuring enough food was prepared and saying hi. No need to let anyone learn what was on our minds.
We left for our shops soon afterward, and broke away from them briefly around eleven to get coffee together at Beware-of-Bubbles. We ordered separately inside and headed out to the patio to drink them, since I’d brought Pluckie.
I’d ordered plain black coffee and was shocked when the cup the barista handed to me had—what else?—bubbles in it. Never mind the name of the shop; I almost never got bubbles in my coffee here. And these were large ones, two of them right in the middle. Without saying a word, I showed Gemma.
She looked straight into my eyes with her soft brown ones and also appeared shaken, but she sloughed it off immediately and grew all businesslike. No, all librarian-like, as if she knew everything—and probably did. “You’re probably as aware of this as I am, but drink that coffee quickly, since you may come into money if you’re done before the bubbles disappear.”
Yes, I’d heard that one. I’d also heard others. “But … large bubbles,” I said. “Doesn’t that mean I’ll get bad news?”
“It can also mean a friend will arrive soon.”
“I should give this to you, since Stuart is due here soon.”
“Right, but it’s your coffee cup. He’s a friend of yours, too, so maybe that’s what it means.”
“Sure,” I said, but I doubted it. I wondered what the latest was between the two of them, but that wasn’t why we were here. I’d wait to ask that—maybe until after he’d arrived.
We sat at a table. Since it was a cool day, the patio wasn’t as crowded as it sometimes was, so we could talk privately. Gemma had ordered a steaming mocha, so we both had warm drinks. Pluckie’s was her usual bowl of water.
“So … any other thoughts about what Arlen said last night?” Gemma kept her voice low.
“Lots of thoughts, no conclusions.” I’d already let her know I’d spoken with Justin, although I hadn’t mentioned his reaction. I did now—but all I could say was that he’d been interested and promised to look into the situation.
“Have you heard anything from him yet?”
I shook my head.
“Well, then?” She put an imaginary phone up to her ear.
I shrugged and pulled my real one from my pocket, pressed in his number, and held it up to my own ear.
He answered immediately, a surprise at this time of day when he was usually so busy with chief-of-police kinds of things. But I wasn’t surprised that he essentially said hi and bye. The real reason he’d taken the time to answer, though, I figured, was that he added, “That matter I said I’d look into? So far, no one has located the person we discussed.”
I heard what he wasn’t saying. He wanted to know if I had any idea where to find Flora.
I didn’t. “Sorry,” I said, “but if I get any information I’ll tell you right away.” After hanging up, I related that bit of conversation to Gemma.
“Interesting,” she said. “I’d imagine they checked her apartment and the real estate company she’s working for here.”
“Probably.”
Just then Pluckie rose and gave a little woof from beside me. I half expected that my lucky dog had understood what I was saying, and I looked up quickly to see if Flora had joined us here.
Instead, it was a couple of tourists with an inquisitive Malamute who’d just come onto the patio. The other dog had also spotted Pluckie, and they were having a canine communication session of sorts, both standing their ground and wagging their tails.
I handed Gemma Pluckie’s leash, dug into my purse for one of the promotional brochures I always carried, and approached the couple. I donned my tourist-welcoming demeanor, handed them the flyer, and told them to come visit the Lucky Dog Boutique with their beautiful companion, whom I patted softly on the head between his erect ears.
It dawned on me then. Tourists? Welcoming? “And by the way, in case you haven’t heard, there’s a wonderful Destiny Welcome program planned this evening at the Break-a-Leg Theater. Hope to see you there.”
I had attended a lot of Welcomes, although not every one of them. My happiest times at the theater occurred whenever I gave a “Black Dogs and Black Cats” program about pets and superstitions.
And at my last talk, when I’d been able to show off samples of the new dog toys I’d designed.
The ones that had been stolen.
But I wouldn’t think about that now. Or at least, I wouldn’t focus on it. And I certainly wouldn’t discuss it here, just in case it really would be bad luck.
Townsfolk were encouraged to attend the Welcomes, along with our visitors, to show how committed we all were to Destiny—and to its superstitions. Even those of us who remained skeptical about the real effects of superstitions were willing to encourage more tourists to visit by showing how much we liked our town and its quirkiness.
Besides, rumor had it that it was good luck to attend a Welcome. And given what I’d been told in the last couple of days, I could have used some good luck.
Gemma and I, and Stuart Chanick, who’d arrived in Destiny that afternoon, were just entering through the wide doors at the front of the charming, old-style theater, admiring the building’s golden Art Deco façade and rounded arches. We weren’t the only ones. A large crowd containing some familiar faces, and some that belonged to tourists, was lined up and starting to move inside. The noise of many conversations filled the air around us.
Millie arrived, pushing Martha in her wheelchair, as was their usual routine. I really liked Millie and her attention to her boss and friend. Like Justin, Millie had helped to convince me to stay in Destiny to help Martha.
I didn’t know if Arlen would come to the show tonight. He sometimes did.
Not Pluckie, though. I’d shut my sweet girl in my room at the B&B after giving her a nice healthy dinner and taking her for a short walk.
I guessed that a lot of us townsfolk, who knew about the things-that-must-not-be-mentioned, would be here tonight in case hints were given about what had happened and what was being done about it.
“Let’s find seats toward the rear,” I suggested to Gemma and Stuart.
Stuart was a good-looking, tall, slim guy. Professional that he was, he wore a suit.
Gemma and I had both changed clothes from the promotional garb we wore at our respective shops. She had on a long-sleeved black and white shirt dress, and I wore a slightly frilly apricot-colored blouse and brown skirt. As always, my hematite, dog-faced good luck pendant hung around my neck.
“Why? Do you want to try to sneak out?” Gemma’s voice was droll and so was her expression. “That could be bad luck.”
“Do you want to enumerate all the other things around here that could bring us bad luck?”
“How about nearly everything. Maybe you should have brought a copy of The Destiny of Superstitions, Stuart.” Gemma glanced up at the guy beside her, who smiled.
“I don’t think you’ll find the superstitions in p
lay right now listed in that book,” I began.
I stopped talking as I saw Justin enter the theater from a door at the other side. He wore a suit and had several other cops with him, detectives who were also dressed up as if this were a special occasion, including Detectives Richard Choye and Lura Fidelio.
In some ways, the Welcome was always special. But I suspected this group was not here just to promote the welfare of Destiny.
“How about these?” Gemma gestured toward some empty seats at the end of the third row from the back.
“Fine.” I slid in after Stuart and her. I looked around. Justin and his associates had also found seats, scattered throughout the descending rows of red plush chairs. That was probably good. Even if the tourists recognized them as cops, they could easily think they were here to enjoy the show with the rest of the townspeople, not necessarily here on official duty.
I figured, though, that the latter was the case.
At precisely eight o’clock, Mayor Bevin Dermot scaled the steps at the side of the stage, a microphone in his hand. Of course he wore his green leprechaun-like suit coat. “Welcome, everyone,” he shouted into the mic, immediately gaining the crowd’s attention and silence. “Thank you for coming to the Destiny Welcome!”
He didn’t work off a script, but with the exception of the Welcomes where he had townsfolk take charge and talk about their own stores or businesses, Bevin would deliver a standard spiel about Destiny and how it was established by those Forty-Niners who found gold after following a rainbow here, and how everyone who visits here can have the best of luck—assuming they comply with all superstitions.
Then he proceeded to describe some of the most basic, well-known ones, like crossing fingers, knocking on wood, and picking up heads-up pennies, and also how wishbones, rabbits’ feet, horseshoes, and more can deliver good luck.
When he was through, he invited anyone so inclined to come up to the stage: residents who wanted to talk about their shops, or tourists who had questions. A few of the latter happened and visitors asked the standard kinds of things, like whether everyone in town knew enough to make sure their luck stayed good.
“We try,” was Bevin’s standard reply to this question. “And we help each other, even as we try to teach all of our visitors what they can do, both here and when they get home, to ensure good luck. But as we all know, fate sometimes intervenes.”
Fate—in the guise of people who did nasty things such as invade local businesses to steal good luck items and leave bad luck items. But, hey, it would be bad luck even to talk about that. Wasn’t that what Bevin had decreed?
Okay, I realized I was letting my mood go sour again. I needed to stay calm and let Justin and his guys do their thing—mainly, finding Flora and determining if what Arlen said had any validity.
Since so many of the town’s policemen were here, I assumed they hadn’t found Flora to question her. And I didn’t see her at the theater, either.
Soon the Welcome ended, and Bevin thanked everyone for coming. We all started filing out to the lobby.
Sometimes, after the Welcomes and events like my talk, a bunch of us went out drinking, as we had the other night. But I thought I’d just go back to the B&B, although first I’d check to see what people I liked, such as Gemma—and Justin—were doing.
When Gemma and I reached the lobby, I could tell that something was going on. The usual crowd noises were superseded by shouts. People were rattling the doors, apparently trying, without success, to open them and get out. Some were yelling and cursing, too.
Martha, in her wheelchair, sat in a corner with Millie right beside her. Near them was Serina, along with Carolyn Innes, Jeri and Kiara Mardeer, Brian Nereida, Padraic Hassler, and other store and eatery owners, all of whom I’d seen seated inside. Arlen’s bosses at the tour company were there, too—Evonne Albing and Mike Eberhart—although I hadn’t seen Arlen at the show.
Theater employees, including Phil, wearing garb reminiscent of Art Deco days, were attempting to use keys to unlock the doors, with no success.
What was going on?
Then I heard a voice emanating from the public address system, which was usually used to tell people when it was time to enter the theater. This loud voice sounded familiar.
It was a voice that had suggested, over and over, that its owner intended to find me a new home.
Flora.
But what was she up to? Why was she on the PA system?
All I knew was that what she was saying was—unsurprisingly—superstition-oriented. And it sounded scary.
Eleven
“All you storeowners and restaurant owners and everyone in Destiny,” said the voice, “you all lie. That’s why your good luck has turned bad. Thanks to me. I came here before, trying to turn my own bad luck around, and you failed me. I was working to save my marriage, and it didn’t happen thanks to all of you. I followed what you said, that stupid stuff about pulling a hair from my husband’s head to make him love me and burning salt at midnight and throwing it into a fire to bring my unfaithful husband back to me. I even got a sweet, supposedly lucky dog when we got home. Well, my husband is now my ex and he’s the one with luck who kept the dog. So now I’m getting my revenge.”
At the far side of the thick and obviously frightened crowd, I saw Justin and his gang trying to break open the doors into the ticket booth, presumably the area where Flora was speaking from. Or maybe they just wanted to find a way to let everyone out of here.
“And don’t think this is the end.” The voice had gone up an octave. “Ms. Rory Chasen, I know you weren’t around back then, but I’m singling you out now because you’ve been singling me out. Before you started pushing, everyone knew it was bad luck to talk about what was happening at the stores. But now you’ve talked to the cops about me and claimed I’m the one who’s done it all, that I’ve broken into places, removed good luck and left bad luck in its place. Well, you’re right. I did it! And you can be sure I’m not done—and I have no intention of being arrested. Thanks to you, though, I had to run and hide today. I heard I was being hunted when I listened to the police scanners.” Now how had she done that? “So watch out for your own luck, Rory Chasen. It’s crap now. And that goes for anyone else who attempts to stop me.”
A huge noise like a thunderclap reverberated throughout the lobby.
Then there was silence.
Some cops arrived outside the theater soon after that, and the authorities finally managed to get all the doors open. I figured they’d conduct an investigation to learn how the doors had gotten locked in the first place.
Flora surely wasn’t some kind of technical genius, was she?
Rumor had it she’d used some really strong super glue, which set immediately, although that wouldn’t have kept everyone inside for long. Yet it had kept us all there long enough to hear her tirade, and somehow she had found a way to use the theater’s audio system.
And her mention of listening to police scanners? Rumors escalated about that, too, and one was that an empty cop car had been broken into outside a restaurant. Undoubtedly Justin and his department would also be investigating that.
They’d have a lot of questions for Flora when they caught her. But that didn’t happen after the Welcome. She’d somehow disappeared.
Anyway, I had no opportunity to talk to Justin about those issues or anything else. Not then. He was clearly busy. But I’d have liked to get his sympathy and more after Flora’s rant, especially at me.
We walked back to the B&B quickly—Gemma, Stuart, and I, as well as Serina. Some tourists, too, walked the same direction we did.
At one point, I stopped quickly. Why wasn’t I surprised to see a black cat crossing the street in front of us as we turned onto Fate Street?
Also unsurprising was the presence of Catrice, the mysterious woman who seemed to care for the black cat or cats of Destiny—we were never su
re how many there were. Catrice wasn’t seen often, and she always hid in the shadows next to buildings. Residents of Destiny weren’t supposed to talk about her, but this night I could see her eyes shining in the faint light from the street lamps. She was protecting the black cats from people, but who was protecting people from the possible bad luck brought by the black cats?
We arrived at our B&B. I needed to take Pluckie for her last walk of the night, and Gemma and Stuart kindly offered to go along. But we soon returned and separated, heading for our own rooms.
I did try to sleep. I should have been able to, since the authorities were on it. Justin was on it. I had no doubts but that his subordinates were patrolling the streets of Destiny, looking for Flora, making sure she caused no more mischief.
Even so, I was a bit scared, because she had mentioned me in particular. I was angry, too. Since I was highest on her list of people to hate, would she go back to the Lucky Dog tonight to cause more mischief? If so, what kind of mischief?
My mind kept going over all the nasty things she could do beyond what she’d already done. She’d stolen good luck stuff, left bad. But what if she decided to destroy the shop?
Set it on fire? Set off explosives?
With Martha asleep upstairs?
Justin would have considered that, too, and he thought of Martha as a mother. Surely he’d concentrate his patrols there.
Or here? Flora knew I was staying at the B&B.
I suddenly realized I wouldn’t sleep at all unless I made sure everything was okay around the B&B and at the shop. I wasn’t going to act stupid and try to find Flora. I was simply going to check things out, reassure myself that the cops were actually on it—and that everything appeared okay.
I couldn’t leave Pluckie, so after I got dressed again, I fastened her leash on her.
Serina always left a dim light on to illuminate the stairs in case a guest used them at night. I stood in the hallway first, listening for anything unusual, watching to see if my dog, with her much better hearing, reacted as if she’d heard anything. She didn’t.
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