1 Lost Under a Ladder

by Linda O. Johnston

  “Oh. Right,” I said. Maybe that meant the killer would be identified immediately.

  Or maybe Tarzal had been the one to spill the latest batch of milk and break the mirror without grabbing the five-dollar bills. He’d certainly suffered some pretty bad luck.

  He was dead.

  “Here,” Preston said after opening the book and turning the pages until he reached the one he apparently sought. “Superstitions about murder. First of all, seeing one, or finding a body, or passing a murder victim, is bad luck.”

  “So we all are subject to bad luck?” I tried not to scoff. That superstition was too obvious. How could finding a murder victim be good luck?

  Besides, although I’d discovered Tarzal, everyone here—except maybe Preston—had seen his body, most likely passed it. Did that mean bad luck would follow every one of us?

  And surely, if there were any validity to that one, there’d be a whole lot of anecdotes out there about cops and crime scene investigators and coroners and everyone else who dealt with murder victims staggering around forevermore with horrible luck once they’d worked their first case.

  “Yes,” Preston said. “Also, the blood shouldn’t be removed, and the body will bleed again in the presence of the murderer. Oh, and Chief ?” He looked straight into the face of Justin, who stood beside me, his expression a lot more neutral than mine.

  “What?” Justin said. He was standing near a tall stack of crates, his arms crossed.

  I remained near him, my hands clenched at my sides. I was still trying to keep control of my thoughts, my emotions. Did I really need to hear these superstitions about dead people?

  How might they have applied to Warren?

  At least he hadn’t been murdered.

  “If there’s going to be an autopsy,” Preston continued, still looking at Justin, “be sure to tell whoever does it that the image of the murderer will remain on a victim’s eyeballs forever.”

  “I’ll mention that,” Justin said dryly.

  If that one superstition was true, and those who did autopsies knew how to access those eyeball images, solving murders would be a lot faster and more predictable than it seemed to be now. But maybe the right scientific techniques hadn’t yet been established. Or they were kept secret by those who’d figured them out.

  And all those superstitions about blood. They clearly couldn’t be true.

  Now, thinking again about—what else?—superstitions, I recalled that Tarzal had attempted to turn the superstition about spilled milk on whoever had left the bottle there for him to run into. That was a major blow, in my mind, against the validity of superstitions. Or maybe it was a sign they were real … sometimes.

  Tarzal, despite trying to change it, had been the one who had experienced bad luck.

  And if I remembered my view of his dead body correctly, there was more spilled milk on the floor near him—in addition to the blood that wasn’t supposed to be cleared … Right.

  “You know,” Justin said, “since this is Destiny, all of us in the police department have been made aware of a lot of superstitions. Not that we’d tell the tourists, but not every one of us really buys into all of those ideas. And just in case they’re real, one rule of the department is that we each need to wear an amulet to ward off the bad luck and bring us some good luck instead.” He reached into the front of the blue uniform shirt he wore and pulled out a chain. At its end was a small bronze charm in the shape of an acorn. “It’s a real acorn,” Justin said. “Dipped in something—bronze, maybe, or a representation of it. Acorns are supposed to bring good luck, deter old age, increase lifespan, all sorts of things. I chose this one. Others wear rabbits’ feet, wishbones, horseshoes, whatever.”

  I looked into his eyes. He appeared amused. I still doubted that he believed in superstitions, but he did believe in his adopted town of Destiny. That, most likely, was why he and his fellow cops wore good-luck symbols more than because they believed … but they probably figured it wouldn’t hurt.

  “Hey, I like that,” I said, not sure whether I did or not. “I think that, while I’m staying in Destiny, it wouldn’t hurt for me to get some kind of good luck amulet. One related to black dogs would probably be best.”

  “I’ll bet Martha—you—sell some. Ask the part-timers who help out. They’ll know.”

  I recalled the charms and things locked into the case near the cash register. Customers were told they would foster good luck. I’d have to ask if that was supposed to be true.

  “Chief ? Is it okay for me to interview Ms. Chasen now?” A young woman in a black suit had just come through the door from the shop. She had a dark complexion and was around my height of five-six but appeared a little heavier. Or maybe some of that was from cop gear. Despite the suit, I noticed a utility belt around her waist.

  Chief Justin didn’t wear one despite being dressed partly in uniform, with his blue shirt and dark slacks. But presumably he could grab one if he needed it—or rely on his underling cops to do any dirty deeds requiring guns, like protection or catching crooks that were required.

  “Rory, this is Alice Numa,” Justin said. “She’s one of the detectives investigating Tarzal’s murder, and she wants to talk to you about what you saw.”

  ten

  I wasn’t surprised. In fact, Justin had indicated I’d need to be interviewed. And I realized that what little I knew probably had to be analyzed along with evidence and other witnesses’ descriptions of when they had last seen and talked with Tarzal.

  Preston, at least, could talk about when he’d been with Tarzal after last night’s performance. And maybe others who’d attended could add to the description of what had become Tarzal’s last day.

  But the idea of my rehashing this so far short yet significant day, moment by moment, wasn’t exactly at the top of my preferred to-do list.

  My wishes didn’t matter, though. The Destiny PD needed to solve a murder. I’d been the first person to stumble onto the victim—fortunately not literally.

  And I’d never have done that at all if it hadn’t been for Pluckie.

  “This storeroom is as good as anyplace else around here to talk,” Justin told Alice. “It’s relatively quiet, although we’ll need to keep people out while we conduct interviews. We won’t touch anything so our folks can also check it for any evidence later. Preston, I think we’ll talk to Rory first, although you’re on our list, too.”

  “I doubt I know anything helpful,” he said with a frown on his aging face. “But of course I’ll talk to you later. My poor Tarzal.” He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again. “I don’t know what I’m going to do around here without him. But I’ll do all I can to help you find his killer. For now, in case you need these …” He walked around some nearby shelves. I heard something grate on the concrete floor, and when he reappeared he was carrying three collapsed metal chairs.

  “Thanks.” Justin took them from him. “Please stay nearby—although we’d like you to remain outside the store while it’s investigated as a crime scene.”

  “Oh. Yes. Well, I … I think I’ll go and get a cup of coffee and bring it back. Is that all right?”

  “Yes, but be sure to give your phone number to Alice, here, before you go so we’ll be able to get in touch with you.”

  He provided a number, unsurprisingly with an 805 area code which covered a lot of territory in this part of California, and then walked slowly out the back door of the storeroom, his shoulders slumped.

  Justin set up the chairs in a corner. On one side were stacks of boxes labeled with book titles—mostly Tarzal’s. On the other side were metal shelves with books stacked directly on them.

  Surrounded by two cops as I was, I felt hemmed in. I inhaled the dusty storeroom aroma. It reminded me a bit of the Lucky Dog’s back room, but Martha definitely kept it cleaner and free of dust, unlike this place.

  �
��All right, Ms. Chasen,” Alice said. “You need to know that our conversation will be recorded. I’d like for you first to give your full name, then to tell us where you were before you came here and describe why you came in. Please just start talking, and if necessary we’ll interrupt you with questions. Do you understand what I just described?”

  Obviously all that was for the recorder—and to show that I was giving up any rights to object to both talking and having it saved for posterity.

  That was okay. I, in fact, wanted to do my part to figure out what had happened to Tarzal.

  And surely I wasn’t under suspicion—was I?

  I looked at Justin when I said, “My full name is Aurora Belinda Chasen, but you both can just call me Rory.” I didn’t mention that my initials were “ABC” because my parents had a sense of humor and always claimed they wanted me to learn the alphabet early. “And—well, before I start, I know enough from TV and all that you haven’t given me my Miranda rights. I’m assuming that’s because I’m not a suspect—right?”

  Justin’s grin was so cute that it almost alarmed me. Was I being set up? But what he said put me more at ease. “Oh, you can be certain, Rory, that if you say anything suspicious that could change. But no, at least for now, you’re not under suspicion of anything other than being an important witness. Now, please go ahead.”

  I described hearing a dog howl last night. That was relevant here. This was Destiny.

  They’d probably heard it, too.

  Then I told about waking up at the Rainbow B&B, throwing on clothes to take Pluckie outside—and yes, I described each of her eliminations with too much detail. They wanted information, and I’d give it to them.

  I told them about returning to my room, feeding Pluckie, and then going downstairs to eat my own B&B breakfast. Justin already knew that I’d committed to stay in town to help Martha so it was no surprise to him that I then headed, with Pluckie, to the Lucky Dog Boutique.

  “You say you had your dog with you?” Alice asked.

  “That’s right. She’s the one, in fact, who yanked me on her leash toward this bookstore when I tried to pass. She senses when things aren’t right.”

  I looked at Justin, and he informed his detective that Pluckie had alerted me of Martha Jallopia’s distress a couple of days ago in the back room of the pet boutique.

  “You and your dog seem to be finding a lot of trouble around here,” Alice remarked. Her dark hair was clipped at the nape of her neck, and her face, though attractive, seemed to have even sharper features than if she’d had bangs adorning it. Her stern expression made me uneasy.

  Was I going to be a suspect after all?

  “Unfortunately,” I said, “that seems to be the case.”

  “Where is Pluckie now?” Justin asked.

  “Next door. I walked her over there after calling 911 and you. I didn’t want her either to be in the way here or to get tromped on during the investigation.”

  “At the pet store?”

  “That’s right.”

  Alice looked at Justin. “Shouldn’t we have one of our crime scene team take a look at her, in case she got some blood on her or is somehow able to provide other evidence?”

  Justin nodded. “We can go see her when we’re done here.”

  I didn’t object but let them know I’d kept her away from Tarzal and his blood, as well as the broken mirror and spilled milk.

  Next I gave them a moment-by-moment description of finding Tarzal, seeing the blood and milk and glass shards, including the one protruding from his chest. I described my horror, my calls for help, then walking Pluckie next door. “I’d planned to secure her in a crate till I got back there, but instead I left her in Martha’s care.”

  “Martha? Did you take your dog upstairs?” I couldn’t quite read Justin’s expression. Did he think I decided to bother an infirm woman by insisting that she take care of my pet?

  “No,” I said. “I’d helped her upstairs last night and assumed she would stay there. She told me she had day care workers coming in to help her today. But when Pluckie and I got there this morning, she’d managed to make her way downstairs. She insisted on taking care of Pluckie for me. And by now, Millie’s probably there to help out, so it should be okay.”

  “Okay? I’m not so sure … Tell you what,” Justin said. “Finish your description now, then we’ll go with you to check on Pluckie.”

  And Martha too, I was sure.

  I wished I knew what Justin was thinking—since he didn’t look at all happy.

  _____

  I didn’t have much more to say about my own saga after that. In maybe five minutes, I’d finished.

  “Let’s check on whether Preston’s back,” Justin told Alice. “We’ll talk with him as soon as we return from the pet store.”

  She nodded and preceded us outside. Sure enough, Preston had returned, standing just off his property toward the front of the bookstore. With him was the mayor, and they were engaged in conversation with a man I didn’t recognize. But like the woman I’d seen at the Destiny Welcome, he seemed to be taking pictures and making notes. Another possible media person? Alice went over to them and returned a minute later.

  “Preston said fine,” she told us. “He’s not going anywhere.”

  All three of us walked next door. The boutique was open, and we went inside. Millie was the first to greet us. “Oh, Rory, Martha told me that you were the one who found poor Tarzal. How awful!”

  I nodded. “Yes, it was.” I didn’t need to give her any further description.

  When I looked around at the displays of superstition-related pet paraphernalia, I had a different sense than when I’d been here before. I felt as if I needed a new boost of good luck and might even receive it here.

  Especially— “Where is Pluckie?” I asked Millie. “And Martha.”

  “Here we are.” Martha was sitting in her wheelchair toward at side of the store, and Pluckie sat on her lap. Around them were the displays of dog leashes and collars decorated with superstition symbols.

  “I didn’t know you were mobile enough to get downstairs by yourself, Martha,” Justin said, rushing over to her. “I’m glad you made it okay.”

  “Me, too,” she said.

  I joined them and lifted Pluckie from Martha’s lap. I wasn’t exactly buying into superstitions, of course, but I wanted whatever good luck my mostly black dog could impart to me right now. I’d become aware that some superstitions involving black dogs suggested bad luck, but they had nothing to do with Pluckie. I hugged her close, feeling her warmth and the fuzziness of her coat against me, and she licked my nose.

  I smiled, feeling at least a little better.

  I realized then that Alice had started to ask Martha some questions.

  Yes, of course she knew Tarzal. She’d heard from me what had happened to him.

  “Did you ever wind up having that meeting you’d been planning the day you got sick?” That was Justin’s question.

  “Tarzal and Preston came to visit me in the hospital, so, yes. Sort of.”

  Justin nodded. “And how did that meeting go, Martha?” His voice was soft, his expression somehow pained-looking.

  What was going on?

  “Not well. I put them off, of course. But Tarzal’s attitude—well, just because I’m getting older and had a physical problem, he thought that would be enough to convince me to sell out to them right there. And of course I wouldn’t do that.”

  “So you argued.” Justin sounded sad.

  “How did you know that?”

  “Never mind that,” he said. “Martha, I have to ask you, because if I don’t someone else will. You were able to get downstairs by yourself. I’m not sure how mobile you really are. But—Martha, did you go next door this morning when you saw Tarzal arrive and argue with him again?”

  “Justin Halbertson!
” Martha was obviously so agitated that she didn’t know what she was doing. But she rose from her wheelchair with no hesitation. Which made me cringe for her, knowing what was going on. “Are you accusing me of murdering Kenneth Tarzal?” she stormed, taking a step toward him.

  She must have realized then what she was doing. She quickly moved back enough to sink again into the chair, but the damage was done.

  Did she have enough energy and strength to go next door, as Justin had asked?

  If she were wise, she would demonstrate her infirmity now to its fullest extent, but that might be too late. She may have blown that alibi by her anger.

  “For all our sakes, I’m going to give you your Miranda rights now before asking you if you did kill Tarzal,” Justin said gently, and proceeded to tell Martha she had the right to remain silent and to have an attorney present. “We’re not going to arrest you, at least not now, but we would like to talk to you a little more,” he finished.

  “Darn it!” Martha exclaimed, tears pouring down her dry, withered cheeks. “I knew I was going to have bad luck today. I tripped going down the stairs. I caught myself, fortunately, but tripping on the way down is a bad omen.” She shook her head slowly, sadly. “As soon as I heard about what happened to Tarzal, I knew I’d be blamed.”

  eleven

  I wanted to hug Martha. To comfort her. But I probably could do neither just then, at least not well.

  I did the next closest thing, though. I carefully put Pluckie back down in her lap on her wheelchair. Martha was the one to do the hugging then. Pluckie, licking the tears off Martha’s face, was the one to handle the comforting.