If I had, would he take that as a sign of my guilt? “No,” I responded curtly. “But maybe I should.”
We continued onward. We must have looked somewhat grim—or at least business-like—since people moved aside to make room for us as we walked. We took our time, though, since Pluckie was checking out the ground.
I wished Killer was with us, since Justin seemed to act softer with his dog around, but he’d most likely hired one of his neighbor’s kids to drop in on Killer.
“Have you looked at the Destiny Star website today, Rory?” That was Lura.
“No, although Celia Vardox came to the shop early to try to interview me. I didn’t tell her much. I didn’t have much to say, anyway.”
“I was going to show you the article when we got to the restaurant, Rory, before we started talking,” Justin said. “What’s there is public, whether or not it’s true. And that means I can mention it—but I can’t talk about the official investigation or give any opinion about the accuracy of what’s in the article or otherwise, or … ” His voice tapered off, and I looked up into his face again. He looked sad now. “The thing is, Rory, I have to be very careful here, as I indicated when Detective Choye interviewed you. Because of our relationship, I’m staying away from pretty much everything official to do with the case, and I also want to make sure no one thinks a conflict of interest is leading me to do anything to compromise the investigation.”
A conflict of interest. I assumed that meant that the world—or at least his associates—recognized that there was some sort of relationship between us.
Under other circumstances, I’d like hearing this. But I nevertheless couldn’t help making one of my regular silent apologies to my deceased fiancé, Warren.
“That’s why I’m joining you this evening,” Lura broke in. “I’m your chaperone. I’ll be able to report back to the mayor and city council and everyone that your friendship didn’t lead to any inappropriate revelations.”
I slowed my walk, and, looking down at the sidewalk, shook my head. “I. Don’t. Know. Anything. To. Reveal.” I looked up again, from Lura to Justin and back again.
“I’m sure that’s what Chief Halbertson hopes,” Lura said with a smile.
I didn’t say much more till we arrived at the Shamrock Steakhouse. It was only a couple of blocks down Destiny Boulevard, on the other side of the street from the Lucky Dog. It was another Gold Rush–looking building, a couple of stories high and pseudo-Victorian. Thanks to Pluckie, we were shown to the back patio, where heat lamps were already fired up even though it was a relatively warm evening.
Servers in green suits that made them resemble leprechauns—even more than Mayor Bevin did—hovered around us, showing us to one of the round tables and bringing menus. I ordered a glass of wine. I needed it. And of course a bowl of water for my dog. Both Justin and Lura ordered beers. “We’re officially off duty,” Lura explained, “even though I’m fulfilling an assignment.”
By then I was ready. I retrieved my cell phone from my pocket and pulled up the Destiny Star website. There, on the front page, was an article about Destiny’s latest bad luck: another murder.
It included a photo—and I gasped when I saw it.
I assumed it had been edited, at least somewhat, since although it depicted the back of a woman apparently lying on the floor, the angle was such that not much was visible—not her outfit or her face, or blood if she’d been killed violently. Just a relatively benign photo of a body.
But it wasn’t benign to me.
For one of the things that kept the details of her body from being visible was the array of items on the floor surrounding her.
They looked much too familiar.
They were all stuffed toys, lucky characters such as a rabbit with large feet, smiling black dogs and black cats, ladybugs, and woodpeckers.
The toys that I had designed and manufactured, that Flora had stolen from the Lucky Dog.
They had turned up again.
With Flora’s dead body.
I waited until after our drinks had been served to make any comments. Until then, I continued reading the Destiny Star story on the apparent murder.
Some of the article was clearly conjecture, but either Celia or her brother Derek had apparently spoken with Flora’s boss, Brie Timons.
Brie had found Flora’s body.
She’d gone to a condo she’d listed for leasing to meet with Flora, who was supposed to have inspected it after a cleaning. Flora was slated to show the unit to some people who were seeking a new place to live in Destiny.
Could that have been Gemma and me?
If so, that might give the authorities additional reason to consider me a suspect. Theoretically, Flora could have told me about it, including its address. What if I’d happened to show up unannounced when just Flora was there and wanted some kind of retribution for what she’d admitted to doing at the Lucky Dog—and for singling me out in her tirade?
That was what circulated through my mind, but I didn’t mention it.
“I’m not sure what you can and can’t talk about,” I said, first to Justin, then to Lura.
Our drinks finally arrived, and I waited until the green-clad server, complete with leprechaun-like hat, had left again before continuing.
Justin beat me to it. “We can talk about the existence of that article. Since it’s public, we can also confirm that Ms. Curtival is deceased and her body was found by her employer, Ms. Timons, at a condo unit she had listed for rental. But don’t ask anything about how she died or anything else that could become evidence.”
“I get it,” I said, mostly meaning it.
“And by the way, Ms. Chasen,” Lura said, “Detective Choye said you admitted driving around last night.”
“Well, yes, but that doesn’t mean I—”
“I’m only mentioning it because it was a good thing you brought it up. You see, there were a number of police vehicles out cruising then. Your car was photographed on several dashcams and its license number was jotted down by some officers, too.”
“If you’d attempted to hide it, you would have appeared guilty,” Justin explained unnecessarily.
The article didn’t give the address of the condo, but I had little doubt, especially after this part of the conversation, that it was located on or near one of the streets where I’d driven last night.
Our server came back. I ordered only a salad. I wasn’t especially hungry, not with all that was going on.
For the rest of the meal, we mostly talked about other things, not Flora Curtival or what had happened to her. It actually was quite pleasant. Maybe that was because I crossed my fingers often beneath the table in hopes that we could continue to be civil toward one another—and that I would be allowed to return to the B&B later rather than get arrested.
And that, maybe, I’d get an opportunity to talk to Justin alone, even briefly.
That moment came when Lura excused herself to head for the restroom. “Feel free to give your little dog a few pieces of the steak still on my plate,” she said as she stood and began finagling her way through the crowded patio.
I obediently picked up a couple small pieces of sirloin. As if she’d understood, Pluckie had sat up and was now regarding me with expectant dark eyes.
After I’d given her the steak, I looked at Justin.
“I didn’t do it,” I told him.
“Of course you didn’t. I didn’t need to be there at your questioning by Detective Choye, or to see your reaction to that Star article, to be certain of that.”
I felt a huge wave of relief. “But … well, to protect yourself and the integrity of your job, does that mean we won’t be able to see one another till the real killer is caught?”
“No,” he said. “Having Lura along tonight was just a precaution, since I wanted to go on record as having been seen with you, havi
ng a pleasant get-together, where someone neutral could testify that yes, we discussed what happened, but it was all aboveboard and I clearly know better than to discuss any part of the ongoing investigation, even with you.”
“Even with—”
“Heck, Rory. As I’ve said, people know we’re seeing each other. I’m really happy we are. But at the moment, we—especially I—need to be particularly careful. Know what, though?”
“What?” I asked hesitantly, even as my eyes were captivated by a look from his that looked downright lusty.
“I’d love for Pluckie and you to join Killer and me for dinner again tomorrow. At our house.”
Fifteen
Surprisingly, I did get some sleep that night.
For one thing, I didn’t hear any howls, and apparently neither did Pluckie, since she didn’t wake me up.
I supposed I was feeling at least somewhat optimistic after getting confirmation that Justin didn’t really believe I was guilty. On top of that, he was figuring out ways he could see me, and talk to me, notwithstanding the fact that some of his superiors or associates seemed to believe he had a conflict of interest.
Maybe the fact that he himself felt he had a conflict of interest helped as well. The chief of police wasn’t staying away from me, despite the way things appeared. He was acting supportive, and as if he truly wanted to be in my presence.
I woke up, as usual, to the sound of music emanating from the clock radio on the small table beside the bed. “Good morning, Pluckie,” I said to the pup, who stood on the coverlet beside me wagging her tail.
Still lying there, I considered how to approach this day. I’d certainly look forward to getting together with Justin later, but I had things to do in the meantime.
Managing the Lucky Dog came first, but until the police figured out who’d really killed Flora, I was likely to remain a suspect.
Though not if I could help it.
Not if I could determine who was more likely to have murdered her. Better yet, I might be able to not just point to a group of possible suspects, but prove who’d actually done it. That would get me off the hook, plus Justin would again feel comfortable talking to me.
Okay, how could I be lucky enough to achieve all that? I couldn’t be certain, but even so, I made sure to get out of bed on the same side I’d crawled into it—the requirement of a superstition. Nothing unusual about that. I also knocked on the wooden table that held the clock radio and crossed my fingers.
Too bad I’d kept all the lucky dog toys I’d designed at the store. I might never get back the ones that had become evidence, and in fact, that was fine with me. They might now be unlucky, or at least people who believed in superstitions would think so. We’d sold the few that Flora had missed, and the new ones I’d ordered on a rush basis still weren’t due to arrive for another few days.
I would just have to rely on the luckiest thing—no, luckiest being—of all. “Come here, Pluckie,” I called. She came running from where she’d lain down on the floor near the door and, as I knelt, she threw herself into my arms. “Give me some luck, you wonderful black and white dog.”
I imagined I felt some good karma radiating out of her, imagined being the key word. But, heck, this was Destiny and I needed some good fortune right about now. Why not talk myself into believing, at least for the moment?
I gave Pluckie an extra hug, then stood, showered, and dressed.
When Pluckie and I got downstairs, I peeked into the breakfast room before taking her for a walk. Gemma was there, sitting alone among the crowd, and I didn’t see Stuart.
Was he still sleeping? Or had he left town … or Gemma?
If she had figured out who she’d seen in that mirror, I felt certain she’d tell me about it. Even so, that wouldn’t necessarily mean she’d have no further relationship with Stuart.
I took Pluckie outside before trying to find out, and then, when we returned, I directed my dog to Gemma’s table so my friend could watch her while I got food.
“How’s Stuart?” I asked.
The calm expression on Gemma’s always-pretty face didn’t change, which was a good sign. “We thought of something to check at the store, so he headed there early.” She didn’t move her gaze before asking, “And how’s Justin?”
“We’ll talk later,” I said, knowing she would understand my cryptic response to mean I didn’t want anyone to overhear what I said.
Serina came over to say hi, and Gemma and I talked with her and others over the usual amazing B&B breakfast. When we were done, it was time to walk to our shops together, with Pluckie sniffing the sidewalk, and the air, and the noses of other strolling dogs as we talked.
That’s when I really told Gemma what was going on: my dinner with Justin and Detective Lura Fidelio last night, and why Lura had been along.
“Interesting dilemma,” Gemma noted as we moseyed down Fate Street. “I feel for the guy—and like him, too, for working around it in clever ways.”
I then told Gemma what was really on my mind. “Your prior situation as a murder suspect? It gives me some extra smarts in that area, which I now intend to use to help myself.”
We paused at the end of the block to cross the street, and Gemma asked, “You’re up to more amateur sleuthing?”
I nodded. “Sounds as if I don’t have much choice.”
“Don’t ask Justin about it,” Gemma observed wisely. “But go for it, girl.”
“And if you don’t mind,” I said, “I’d like a little help, at least with my cover. Do you have an hour or so today when you can break away from your shop?”
“Absolutely,” she said, “especially with Stuart in town. So tell me what we’re going to do.”
I did, and as I finished, we reached the Broken Mirror. I smiled as Stuart came out the front door to greet us—or, at least, Gemma.
“See you later,” she called to me as she entered the shop with him.
Rising Moon Realty was on Luck Street, not far from the offices of Destiny’s Luckiest Tours, where Martha’s nephew Arlen worked.
I’d left Pluckie at the shop with Millie and Jeri, who were both working there today. I wasn’t sure what Brie thought of pets since I’d never seen her with one, at the Lucky Dog or otherwise. I wanted there to be nothing but friendliness and empathy—and information—between us today. Would she be at the office? It was Sunday, after all. But surely real estate brokers, like retailers, never rested.
Rising Moon Realty was located in yet another building that looked as if it had materialized from the Gold Rush days, but it was so well maintained on the outside, I figured it was a lot newer than that. Gemma and I walked up the six steps of the wide stairway onto the porch and I pushed open the wood-trimmed glass door.
The inside was all modern: a nest of four wooden desks, two occupied by smartly dressed and apparently busy people—one man and one woman, neither of whom appeared familiar. The white walls around them were decorated with a plethora of photos of lovely homes.
Yep, they were open and busy this Sunday.
The man was the first to look up, a huge smile on his young and professional-looking face. “Hi, may we help you?”
“Is Brie here?” I asked. “Er … I’m Rory Chasen and this is Gemma Grayfield. We heard about what happened to poor Flora last night. Our deepest sympathy to all of you.”
He and the woman both nodded and appeared stricken. But then the woman took charge. “Wasn’t Flora trying to find you a place to rent here in Destiny?”
So much for grieving, if a deal could be made …
“Yes, and that’s why we’d like to talk to Brie,” I said firmly, causing the woman’s expression to freeze.
“Hello, Rory. Gemma.” Brie had just walked through a door in the wall behind her apparent flunkies’ desks. I wondered which of the two empty desks had been Flora’s.
“Hi, Brie
,” Gemma said in a low voice that was overflowing with emotion. “Rory and I just came here to express our sympathy. We’d seen quite a bit of Flora. She seemed determined to find just the right living situation for us—before she … ”
Appeared to totally unwind and go bonkers, was the ending to that sentence, which went through my mind.
“I—I just don’t understand.” Brie shook her head. “And then—”
I saw how her employees were staring at her, as if encouraging her to describe exactly how and where she’d found Flora.
“May we go into your office and talk?” I asked Brie sweetly, glancing briefly from the man to the woman and back again.
“Yes. Yes, of course.”
In a minute, we were sitting in a room as large as the other one but containing one desk instead of four. These walls, too, were covered by photos of properties, from houses to apartment buildings to townhouses. Were they all in or around Destiny? I didn’t think so, but I wasn’t totally familiar with the residential areas.
Brie had already asked her underlings to bring us coffee, and both seemed eager to comply—whether to gather brownie points or eavesdrop on what she had to say wasn’t clear. She’d asked the guy—Pratt, I think she called him—to fill her order. He’d smiled at the woman as he rose to start the process.
Now Gemma and I sat in comfortably upholstered chairs across a desk filled with neatly organized files. Brie was dressed for business, in a pantsuit once more, but her attractive middle-aged features were sagging and sad now.
“This whole situation must be particularly difficult for you, Brie,” I began. “I know that Flora was your employee for a few months, but she only recently approached me with the possibility of finding a place for Gemma and me to live. I’d been talking about it with some of my friends in town, so I wasn’t surprised.” What had surprised me was Flora’s pushiness, but I wasn’t about to mention that here—especially since I figured it had probably been encouraged by the chief broker here, her boss Brie. Nor did I mention that I’d tried putting Flora off for at least a while—or maybe forever.
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