Twenty-Five
The rest of the day at the Lucky Dog was lots of fun, as it turned out. By the time Celia and I exited the back room, a whole pack of dogs was in the shop, several of them playing ball and keep-away with Pluckie. Their owners were with them, too, of course—a van-load of tourists in their twenties taking a tour of this part of California with their canine families.
They sounded fascinated by superstitions and obsessed with dogs—my kind of people.
At my suggestion, we locked the shop doors temporarily and loosed the hounds for a ten minute romp, which everyone appeared to enjoy, especially the dogs.
The event resulted in our sale of a lot of the toys they played with: balls of many sizes decorated with symbols of good luck as well as stuffed toys and even lucky-symbol dog treats.
“This was fantastic,” said a girl who’d already acquired a Destiny sweatshirt somewhere and who now bought a dog sweater that almost matched it for her Bichon Frise—as well as one of my Richy the Rabbits. “Candy and I will definitely be back here again. Soon. With or without our friends.”
I smiled and encouraged her, holding up my hand with my fingers crossed. “Pluckie and I certainly hope so.”
Martha, Millie, and Jeri also gathered around grinning, and we were all sorry to see this group leave. On the other hand, some other intrigued tourists were waiting outside. When we’d informed the group on the sidewalk that our closure was very temporary, that had apparently acted as a magnet to draw other people, whether their pets were with them or not, to come in and buy stuff.
As the afternoon drew to a close and the number of customers wound down, I sneaked off temporarily with Martha so we could review the day’s receipts. They were substantial. And she was clearly happy about it.
Me too.
“This place has continued to do so well since you took over as manager,” my boss and senior friend gushed. “I wish you’d come here ages ago.”
Was this a time to ask how long she intended to remain active in its management—or whether she might be interested, ultimately, in selling? I’d hinted at the possibility of my future purchase before, and she’d not really responded much, probably by design rather than due to lack of understanding of what I was driving at.
“I’m just delighted I’m here now,” was all I said. Martha’s health had improved since I’d first met her, and as long as that continued, I’d most likely hold back on proposing any long-term changes.
She headed upstairs at her usual time, Millie accompanying her at first while I got ready to close the store and Jeri headed to her family’s shop. As always, I was glad that Martha’s need to use a wheelchair was limited to times when she needed to go a few blocks away, like to a Destiny Welcome; she needed no major help on her own stairway.
I wasn’t surprised when Gemma showed up, since we’d already talked about the possibility of grabbing dinner together, and perhaps I shouldn’t have been surprised that Stuart and Justin soon joined her inside the Lucky Dog. In fact, I’d anticipated Stuart—but not Justin. Nor Killer, who was with him. He’d apparently taken the time to go home for his dog.
We decided to eat at the Shamrock Steakhouse, since it was good and close and a place we’d been together before. Gemma and Stuart had even been with me when I’d gone off to have my chat with Padraic about Celia, the Destiny Star … and Flora’s murder. I didn’t consider him the most viable murder suspect and hoped he now thought the same of me, too, despite his accusations that day.
Pluckie and I walked beside Justin and Killer, following Gemma and Stuart. “So how’s your murder investigation going now?” Justin asked, checking in as usual.
I rolled my eyes, not easy to do since I was also watching for sidewalk cracks to avoid. “Still fine,” I finally said, brightly. “And yours?”
I liked the sound of his laugh, as always. I also liked that he reached over to give me a slight hug that brought me against his hard cop’s body. “Okay, Rory,” he said. “Truce, at least for tonight. But I’m still counting on you to be careful. And also to let me know if you ever get to the point that you have a real suspect and why you feel that way, so I can make sure our official investigation heads that direction, too.”
“And if you ever get to the point where those around you buy into the idea of my innocence, I hope you’ll let me know that as well.”
“If and when I can,” he said.
“And I’m supposed to feel reassured?”
“As reassured as I can promise at the moment.” He didn’t sound happy about that, and I certainly wasn’t.
While we were waiting to be seated, Gemma’s phone rang. She moved off to the side to take the call but kept an eye on us and followed us out to the patio. There, one of the many wait staff dressed in blarney green showed us to a table beneath a heat lamp, a good thing on this nippy November night.
I ordered a salad, and so did Gemma. The guys both ordered steaks, and I made them promise to save some for the dogs.
Then, when I saw Gemma give me a slight nod, I excused myself to head to the restroom, and so did she. I ordered Justin and Stuart to keep an eye on Pluckie.
“I just wanted to let you know it was Brie on the phone,” Gemma said as we made our ways around the outside tables and entered the restaurant door. The restroom hallway was in front of us. “She has a couple of rental places to show us and she said one of them has a number of interested people already. She wants to schedule our visit for tomorrow, but the owners of the Broken Mirror are coming in and I won’t be able to get away. Can you check it out?”
“Sure,” I said. I’d work it in somehow. I had no idea what made an apartment that popular in Destiny unless it had some good luck tied into it—or at least that was what its owner or real estate agent maintained. I wasn’t sure I’d believe it if Brie said so, but, in case it turned out to be perfect enough to convince Gemma and me to move now, I’d hate to let a really good place slip through our fingers.
“Great. How about if you call her and tell her?” Gemma checked her phone for the number that had just called and I pressed it into mine.
In a minute, I’d scheduled a time the next day to meet Brie at her office. She’d take me to see the rental unit, supposedly a gorgeous condo in the town’s main residential area. Its address? Unit seven at 7 Ladybug Lane, and of course seven was supposed to be a lucky number. Plus, ladybugs were reputed to be lucky, and there was even a song called “Lucky Ladybug.”
I wasn’t sure if this would make Gemma and me jump on it, but it wouldn’t hurt to go check it out.
And use the opportunity to ask Brie some more questions.
As I headed again for the ladies room, I spotted Padraic talking to one of the servers just outside the kitchen. I’d been hoping to run into him so I could do a brief follow-up of our prior conversation. Did I have any more reason to suspect him now than I had before? Only perhaps because I hadn’t found the real killer for certain, despite my suspicions of John O’Rourke. I couldn’t resist joining the group.
“Hi, Padraic.”
The male server he’d been talking to slipped away as the boss turned to face me.
“Hello, Rory. Are you here for dinner or to discuss murder?” His big smile beneath his silvery hair told me he was joking.
“Oh, murder, of course,” I said in a low voice, sidling up closer to him. At his wide-eyed look of panic, I was the one to smile. “Or just to have one heck of a great Shamrock Steakhouse salad. Which do you think?”
He appeared relieved and managed a laugh. “I think a salad’s a good idea.”
“Me too.” But I took yet another step closer. “Especially if you happen to have thought of someone you think should confess to the murder instead of me.” I doubted I’d ever forget how he’d told me to confess to save himself from being questioned by the cops.
“If I did, I’d have let your friend the polic
e chief over there”—he gestured with his shoulder toward the windows to the patio—“know who and why.”
“Sounds good,” I said as his attention was once more distracted, this time by a guy in a white chef’s hat.
I still couldn’t really pounce on Padraic as being the main suspect in my amateur investigation—unless, of course, he happened to be one heck of an actor as well as a leprechaun-like restaurant owner. I hadn’t erased him from my mental list of suspects, but neither was he a major player there.
I headed at last to the restroom. Gemma was near the door but said she’d wait for me. We soon returned to our table. Dinner was enjoyable, and so was the company. The dogs got their tastes of steak, and I got my Justin fix.
Later, he and I again walked side by side back to the B&B, following Gemma and Stuart. They’d both dressed in blue business-casual that evening, Stuart in a navy button-down shirt and slacks, and Gemma in a knee-length dress. They looked, and acted, like they belonged together, but Stuart was leaving the next day to return to his editor’s job.
I wondered if they would ever commit to one another, or if this sometimes remote, sometimes close-up relationship was what they really wanted.
And if whoever it was that Gemma had seen in the mirror was a better choice for her.
Me? Interestingly enough, although I still missed my Warren, I was beginning to feel pretty close to Justin—despite how much his attitude about me as a murder suspect and detective bothered me right now.
“I don’t suppose you’d like to bring me up to date on what you’re doing and who you’re talking to,” he said as we stopped to let Killer raise his leg on a tree trunk.
“You’re right,” I said. “But before you warn me again, yes, I’m being careful. And yes, I’ll let you know if anyone starts to stand out and I get any evidence against them.” Just because John O’Rourke’s attitude had, in fact, made him stand out in my mind, I couldn’t really justify siccing the cops on him … not yet, at least.
“Thanks, Rory.”
His tone sounded so serious that I pivoted to look up at him. He in turn stared down at me with an expression on his face that I wasn’t sure I could interpret—but it appeared to be so full of love that I started shaking.
Not for long, though. He pulled me into his arms, which caused our dogs’ leashes to tangle a bit.
Our kiss wasn’t full of heat and sex but soft and sweet and ongoing, as if it was to cement some kind of commitment we’d just made. But we hadn’t.
Had we?
“When this is over, Rory,” Justin said in a husky voice as he pulled away, “I have something important to ask you.”
Oh, heavens. Was he going to ask me to marry him?
If so, how would I respond?
Yes, yes, yes, shouted something inside me. I almost repeated it aloud but didn’t. And something else inside me apologized to Warren, one final time, I hoped, for the thought.
Besides, what he had in mind could be something altogether different—taking a trip together or even just agreeing to a weekly dog-walking date.
We continued walking and soon reached the B&B.
Gemma and Stuart were already inside. Justin and I and the dogs strolled over to the lawn beside the parking area and I let Pluckie conduct her final business of the night.
“What’s on your agenda for tomorrow?” Justin asked.
“Why do you ask—so you can be there giving me orders if I’m throwing questions out to possible murder suspects?” I kept my tone light.
“Of course.” His voice, too, didn’t sound quite serious, even though we both were.
“Well, you can feel pretty reassured, since I’m just going to go look at a potential rental unit for Gemma and me.”
I didn’t tell him that I planned to follow up with the Dresdans after Celia confronted them, as she’d done with our other suspects.
And I didn’t know, just then, how tomorrow’s activities would lead me in a whole different direction.
Twenty-Six
The next morning, I felt rather restless even after Pluckie and I had gotten to the Lucky Dog.
Would I like the rental unit Brie intended to show me that afternoon?
Would I be able to pounce on it if I did like it, or would someone else who’d expressed interest get it first?
And what about Gemma? If I liked it, could I be sure she would, too? Most likely, yes. We’d been friends long enough for me to feel fairly certain I knew her tastes as well as my own.
Did I care that the number seven was so associated with the place? Not really, I told myself. Not this superstition agnostic. And Gemma wasn’t any more sure of the reality of superstitions than I was.
Even so …
As usual, first thing before the store opened, I called Martha to make sure she was okay and that she’d be downstairs on time. Then I checked shelves and restocked those that needed it. I did a quick computer scan of what we’d sold yesterday and confirmed that all credit card purchases had gone through.
Millie came in a short while before we opened at ten. She headed upstairs to help Martha, as she often did. I waited for them to return and, once they did, I took their coffee orders.
I was going to Beware-of-Bubbles Coffee Shop—both because I wanted coffee and because I needed to take a walk.
And if I happened to run into Celia there interviewing the owners? That wasn’t my intention—not really—but it wouldn’t hurt.
I’d considered calling Celia to ask when exactly she was heading to the shop and whether she’d made an official appointment to talk with the Dresdans, but decided not to. I was stopping by there anyway. If she was there for her interview, I’d stay out of her way unless she indicated in some manner that she wanted me to join her.
And it might actually be a good thing if innocent little me happened to be there while nasty reporter Celia was browbeating the shop owners. My role as empathizer might appear even more natural than it had in some of the other instances.
Pluckie seemed overjoyed when I unhooked her leash from the counter. Her company on this walk would help me to chill out a bit—I hoped. The day was unusually warm for this time of year, but I wore a jacket over my Lucky Dog aqua knit shirt nonetheless. I figured I’d take it off soon.
The usual Destiny crowd populated the sidewalk, which was fine with me. Better than fine. Maybe some would be shoppers for their pets. And having them prolong my walk to the coffee shop was also fine with me.
Of course Pluckie added to the time, as usual, as she sniffed the ground and other dogs’ noses and butts and squatted once or twice.
But very soon, we were there.
I looked around first thing as I walked in and wasn’t at all surprised to see Celia sitting at a table in the corner with Marypat Dresdan across from her. Was she interviewing just the wife without the husband? Were they taking turns?
I’d find out later. Right now, I moseyed to the end of the usual line with Pluckie. No one I knew was ahead of me, which meant I didn’t have anyone to talk to, at least not immediately. I soon noticed Dan Dresdan storming his way through the seating area toward his wife. He immediately pulled another chair over to the small table where the two women sat.
That was when Celia looked up toward me, shook her head slightly in a negative manner, then got back to talking to Marypat as Dan joined them.
She didn’t want me butting in now. I’d find out from her later, though, what had gone on in this conversation.
And I definitely was intrigued.
I carried one of those small cardboard trays to the Lucky Dog, since I had not only my drink to transport but some for each of the others. When I got back to my shop, I was pleased to see it was crowded.
It was probably a good thing that I hadn’t joined Celia during her interrogation/interview. I would just return later to do my now-habitual commisera
tion with Celia’s targets, this time the owners of Beware-of-Bubbles.
I did get a call from Celia about a half hour later. Fortunately, I was in the storeroom again, alone, so I could talk.
“What the heck were you doing there?” she stormed over the phone. “You could have ruined everything.”
“How? Were you showing them sympathy for the vandalism Flora caused and indicating you believed I was the killer?” My own temper was a bit stoked.
“Not at all. I was pushing them. Demanding answers to stuff the police probably already asked them, like where they were the night Flora was killed, and had they recognized any merchandise from your shop that Flora had apparently stolen—without mentioning why I asked that. But they’d already heard about the toy rabbit’s foot in her mouth.
“And what did they say? What did they do?”
“Nothing unusual. They got aggravated that I’d dare ask them questions and consider including them in an article about a murder when they’d had nothing to do with it except for being vandalism victims of the murder victim. They’re innocent, or so they proclaimed over and over, especially when I kept suggesting that they had as much reason to kill Flora as anyone else. They did, in fact, point out and describe where she’d vandalized their place—it was right inside the area where drinks are brewed.”
“How did they react as they talked about it?” I could guess. What victim of this kind of crime could simply describe it with no emotion?
“Angrily, but they did keep it under control—and kept assuring me that it would take more than that, even peppered with broken mirror pieces and lots of grains of salt, to make either of them decide to harm anyone physically. Call the cops, yes. Kill a person, even Flora? No.”
“Did you believe them?” I had to ask, even though I figured I knew this answer too.
“Yeah, I did. And guess who they suggested I might want to interview next as a possible suspect?”
That had to be me. “Do you think they’ll be empathetic with me despite their supposed suspicions against me?”
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