I also wanted to shake Justin. How could he possibly think that poor Martha, whom he claimed to care for a lot, could be a murderer? Even if she’d wanted to kill Tarzal—and why would she?—she surely couldn’t have gotten next door to do it, then broken a mirror and stabbed him.
For one thing, she was too superstitious to break a mirror for any reason. Wasn’t she? Although she’d undoubtedly have known that other part—that touching a five-dollar bill and making the sign of a cross counters the curse of a broken mirror.
Even so, Tarzal had been bigger than her and could have defended himself. Unless, of course, she’d been so angry with him that adrenaline had given her extra strength.
Was I talking myself into the possibility? Of course not. No way could I visualize this poor, frail woman striding into the bookstore to do the foul deed. Or maneuvering her wheelchair there. If she had done the latter, at least, wouldn’t someone have seen her?
Yet she had managed to get downstairs by herself. And I’d seen her standing and moving. Was some of her infirmity an act?
Enough. It wasn’t up to me to either convict or defend Martha. But if I’d had to, my choice would have been the latter.
After she’d been read her Miranda rights, Martha appeared to play games a bit. Justin and Alice both asked her questions, mostly about how she felt but also about the last time she’d seen Tarzal.
I assumed the answer was last night, at the Destiny Welcome, but she didn’t mention that.
In fact, she kept manipulating around Pluckie to put her hand to her mouth, then pretending, as kids do, to zip it shut. Was that a superstition? It hardly mattered.
She clearly was exercising her right to remain silent.
Plus, her eyes seemed to be dulling, her few words slurred a bit. Was whatever had made her ill affecting her again? Or was this an act on her part to make the cops leave her alone?
I wasn’t sure, but I definitely didn’t want her to undergo another attack of illness now—or, for that matter, ever.
I had no control over her future. But I could help her at this moment. “I think that’s enough,” I said to Justin and Alice, my hands on my hips and my expression as belligerent as I could make it. “At least for now,” I added when both of them aimed frosty glares at me.
Heck, I didn’t care what they thought of me. My first impressions of Justin had been favorable, but he’d been eroding them by his latest pushiness.
“All right,” Justin finally said. “We’ll wait before asking you anything else, Martha. But we will be questioning you further.”
“Fine. Then I’ll lawyer up.” She looked toward me. “That’s what they say on those crime-related TV shows, right?”
I smiled at her. “I’ve heard it there, too.”
“Meantime,” Alice said to her, “please don’t leave town or do anything else that would make it difficult for us to reach you.”
“Like have another physical problem?” I grumbled.
“Yes, that could make it hard on us,” Justin said with a wry smile. “It would make it even harder on you, Martha.” His voice was softer now. “So, for both our sakes, please stay well.” To my surprise—or maybe not—he approached her, bent down, and kissed her cheek.
Which gave Pluckie the opportunity to jump up a little in Martha’s lap and try to give Justin a kiss, too, I supposed. “Down, Pluckie,” I told her.
My dog sent me a sad look. Justin’s look didn’t appear much happier. “We’ll be in touch,” he said. “Bye for now.”
I wondered whether, next time I saw or heard from him, if it would be in relation to Tarzal’s murder. Why else? Because he had been a friend of Martha’s but now wanted to arrest her? Maybe, since he’d twisted my arm a bit before, he would want to do some more of it to make sure I stayed around to manage her store for her.
What, for the next twenty years to life?
_____
A little while after the police contingent had left, some customers walked into the Lucky Dog—several sets, more than just Millie could handle.
After I asked Martha if she was okay enough for me to leave her alone near the cash register, she shooed me toward the visitors. “Sell them lots, dear.”
I hoped that by saying that she wasn’t jinxing me into selling nothing. But she knew jinxes better than I did.
And believed in them, unlike me … usually.
In fact, this time, she apparently sent me over there with luck instead—good luck. The two couples, all friends who had traveled to Destiny together, were both breeders of purebred dogs. One of the couples’ female dogs had had a litter of Scottish terriers a few weeks ago, and the other couple had Boston terriers.
Each couple had grown children at home taking care of their babies—both puppies and some grandkids as well. They wanted to bring home items to sell with their pups when they were old enough to find new homes, things that would ensure their luck and longevity. Oh, and yes, for the grandkids, too, but they’d look for those kinds of things somewhere other than the Lucky Dog Boutique.
Both couples spent so much money that I wondered whether their puppy sales would cover the costs. On the other hand, they could probably sell the decorated collars and leashes, the specialized plush dog toys in the shapes of lucky items like rabbits’ feet and shamrocks, and everything else to the people who’d feel lucky anyway getting to bring their new family members home with them.
Millie’s customers finished shopping first, so when my group finally left with the arms of all four of them hung with plastic bags with Lucky Dog logos on them that were filled with lots of fun, lucky stuff for puppies, I stepped over to Martha. “How’d I do?” I asked her.
“Very well,” she said, “as I knew you would.”
Millie joined us, too. “Hey, good job,” she said to me. She still looked quite young to me, but I’d been impressed, too, with how well she did around here, helping customers and selling them stuff that they must feel obliged to buy if they wanted their pets to remain lucky. And filling me in on shop procedures.
“Thanks,” I said. “Back atcha.”
She smiled, lighting up her smooth, pretty face. In fact, all three of us were smiling at one another.
But one of those smiles looked a lot more tired than the others.
“Martha,” I said, “how about if I help you upstairs for a rest? Then I’ll go out for a short while and bring back lunch for all of us. Okay?”
“Okay,” she said with a nod.
I put Pluckie back down on the floor. “I’m going to attach the end of her leash to those hooks on the counter again,” I told Millie. I didn’t want my dog running up and down the stairs around Martha and me—and perhaps tripping the older woman when what she needed was stability.
“Sounds good,” Millie said. “Is it okay if I give her a treat or two?”
Pluckie knew that word. Her long black ears perked up. “I don’t dare say no now,” I said with a laugh. “But please don’t overdo it.”
I hooked her leash up to the counter near the cash register, then returned to where Martha remained in the wheelchair. “Are you ready?” I asked.
“As ready as I’m going to get.” Her visit down here, plus her earlier confrontation with Justin and Alice, had apparently tired her a lot. I helped her out of the chair and over to the door that hid the stairway. We started walking slowly up the steps, with Martha again holding the handrail as I helped to support her. She was warm and bony and seemed utterly fragile. I had no idea how she’d made it downstairs on her own before.
And attack Tarzal? No way.
Unless she was just acting now …
“We’ve got to be careful,” she said.
“I’m sure you don’t want to trip again going up the stairs,” I responded. I wondered if she was still concerned about whether her earlier misstep had brought her bad luck.
&n
bsp; “It’s better to trip going upstairs,” she contradicted. “That means there’ll be a wedding in your family soon.”
“Oh.” I wasn’t sure what else to say. That certainly was different from the other superstition.
As we continued our slow progress, Martha added, “Also, ignore it if Millie or Pluckie seem to want you to go back downstairs before we reach the top. It’s bad luck to turn around on a stairway.”
“Interesting,” I said. “Are there any other superstitions about stairs?”
“Probably, but I only know a few.” Martha stopped walking, apparently to catch her breath, and I waited with her. “Here’s another one. It’s bad luck to meet someone else on stairs, but of course that can happen anytime. The best way to ward off the bad luck then is to cross your fingers.”
“I see. I’ll have to remember that.”
“Ah, but will you pay attention to it? I still have the impression, Rory, that you don’t really believe in superstitions, even though you’ve seen quite a few come true in the short time you’ve been in Destiny.”
“I’m still learning,” I said noncommittally as she started to move again.
“Mmm-hmmm, I know you are.”
I thought about what she’d said, though. I had seen superstitions in action since arriving in this town, but had any really come true?
Martha herself had gotten lucky, perhaps, thanks to Pluckie. Kenneth Tarzal had gotten unlucky, but someone had killed him and perhaps had planned to make it appear that some evil omens had come to pass.
I’d heard that dog howl the night Tarzal died, but that could have been planned by the murderer, too—a recording, perhaps.
Too many maybes. And I wasn’t yet convinced.
But neither was I convinced it was all a sham. And I still wanted to know for sure if the damn ladder walk had in fact somehow affected my beloved Warren.
Not that it would make a difference in my life either way. As I kept telling myself, I just needed closure.
We finally reached the top of the stairs, and I helped Martha walk the short distance into her charming, antique-filled living room. She sank immediately down onto her plush sofa and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath.
“Are you all right?” I asked her again.
“I’m fine. And thanks for helping me up here.”
“Should I call the hospital to see if they’re sending you a helper today like they promised?”
“They are,” she said. “I phoned them before to ask them to wait till afternoon.”
Interesting. When and why had she done that? Not that it mattered.
“Then I’ll head back downstairs,” I said, “and go get us some lunch. How about a sandwich or a salad?”
“Fine. Whatever’s easiest for you to grab.” She opened her mouth again, apparently deciding whether to say something or not.
“Is there something else?” I asked.
“Well … yes. I’m not going to tell Justin, even though I know he’s had my best interests at heart, at least before. Right now, I can’t trust him. He may not want to arrest me, but he’s thinking about it. And I probably shouldn’t tell you, but …”
Was she going to admit to killing Tarzal? Couldn’t be. That was crazy.
“It’s up to you, but you can be sure I won’t reveal anything you tell me.” I hoped—unless the silence got me into trouble.
“I know, dear. You’ve been nothing but good luck to me, you and Pluckie. I know that won’t change. The thing is … well, I didn’t kill Tarzal, but I had even more of a motive than Justin or Alice know.”
I sank down on the other end of the sofa. “What’s that?” I asked hesitantly.
Surely a better motive hadn’t led to her actually doing anything, had it? She’d said not, but …
“Well, when Tarzal and Preston came to see me in the hospital, they said the visit was instead of the business meeting they had intended to hold with me before I got sick. They want to buy my shop, you know. I don’t want to sell, and they knew that, too. Tarzal … well, he asked to speak to me alone, so Preston left for awhile. You know how Tarzal was so revered as the expert on superstitions. He said then that he’d make me sell.”
“By some kind of superstition?” I asked. Sounded odd—but this was Destiny.
“Yes. By his book and the publicity he got. He was always writing magazine articles and blogs and stuff. And he said that, if I decided not to sell right away, he’d start talking up some really bad superstitions about dogs and buying things for them and whatever else his research had unearthed. That way, no one would come into the Lucky Dog Boutique because it would be bad luck, and when business got bad I’d have to sell out anyway.”
“That’s awful,” I said.
“It gets worse,” Martha said, tears appearing in her tired hazel eyes. “I didn’t physically kill him, you understand, but I did curse him loudly. Yelling at him. Invoking every bad luck superstition that I could think of. So even though I wasn’t his murderer, I did cause Tarzal’s death.”
twelve
I hugged Martha yet again, tried to reassure her that she shouldn’t blame herself. Wishing bad luck on someone was not the same thing as murdering them.
Except, perhaps, in Destiny—if one happened to be a believer.
Like Martha.
I realized I couldn’t convince her. Maybe if we knew who’d really committed the miserable act of stabbing Tarzal to death Martha would feel at least a little better.
Or maybe not.
I determined, as I walked down the stairs a short while later, to at least keep my ears open. If I heard anything that could lead to solving Tarzal’s murder, I’d have to talk to Justin again. That wouldn’t necessarily be a totally bad thing, even though I was mad at him and despised his attitude toward Martha.
Martha. Going down the stairs.
Just in case, I held onto the railing to ensure I wouldn’t trip. No need to tempt fate, even if I didn’t believe in it …
When I reached the bottom of the stairway and walked into the store, I saw that Jeri had arrived.
I realized that, as temporary manager, I’d better get a better knowledge of the staff’s schedule. That would help me figure out mine as well.
“Hi,” I said to both Jeri and Millie. “I’m heading out to buy lunch, which I’ll bring in.” Would they tell me that today was another day they’d go out for lattes? But Jeri’s arrival had been later than the morning they had gone off together. “What would you both like? Oh, and any suggestions where I should go?”
“Wishbones-to-Go,” both said nearly simultaneously.
“I don’t think I’ve seen that place,” I said hesitantly. “Is it good?”
“Perfect for lunches,” Jeri said. She was wearing another Lucky Dog Boutique T-shirt today, a bright green one. Her shoulder-length black hair was pushed back from her face by matching green hair clips. “You can eat in, but like the name says they also make meals to go. Great meals, in fact.” Millie added, “And you do get—”
Again both of them said together, “Wishbones to Go!”
“It’s down the street and around the block,” Jeri said, pointing toward the door, then crooking her index finger toward the right. “On Fate Street.”
“Not as many tourists go there as locals,” Millie said. “But it’s always pretty crowded at lunchtime anyway.” Her grin was huge, lighting up her smooth face beneath the straight bangs of her dark brown hair that otherwise hung straight, brushing her cheeks.
“I’ll give it a try,” I said, then asked them each what they wanted. I grabbed a pad of paper from a shelf beneath the cash register counter and made notes. Jeri wanted what might be the place’s specialty, a turkey sandwich, on wheat with cheese and lettuce and ranch dressing. Millie wanted roast beef. Since I hadn’t known where I was going, I didn’t know what Martha might
prefer, but both her helpers said she’d love chicken on cheese bread with everything on it, from lettuce to olives to pickles and more. “Great,” I said. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
I had to wait at the door for some customers to enter, and I greeted the family of four plus a Great Dane with a hearty welcome. “One of those nice ladies will help you,” I told them, sweeping my hand toward where Jeri and Millie stood.
“Thanks,” said the mom.
I hurried out onto the sidewalk which was, as apparently usual for midday, quite crowded. I turned toward the right, as Jeri had pointed, and started down the block toward Fate Street. I knew which one it was since my B&B was on it, too, but in the opposite direction.
As I passed the Broken Mirror Bookstore, I eavesdropped on a couple of conversations in which people talked about whether it was unlucky to be on this street at all, since there’d apparently been a murder on it last night. They’d heard about it, and seen it mentioned in national news and on the Internet. Apparently the superstition-related murder in Destiny had gone viral.
I thought about what I could say to reassure the tourists but I was the wrong person to say anything. I was far from an expert on superstitions. I certainly didn’t think it was bad luck to be here. Those of us walking beneath the warm sun over Destiny were still alive, and presumably most of us were healthy.
And then it dawned on me. I could say something.
I turned to the trio of senior ladies who walked just behind me discussing the murder. “You know,” I said, “I think it’s always good luck to cross your fingers. It wouldn’t hurt, considering what’s said to have happened on this street.” I lifted my right hand from where it had hung near the large purse I carried with its strap over my shoulder and made an obvious point of crossing my middle finger over my index finger.
“Oh. Of course,” said the white-haired lady farthest from me, and she did the same thing, followed by her comrades. “Good idea,” she told me.
I smiled, turned back the way I’d been heading, and continued on.
Too bad none of them had dogs along or I’d have told them all about the good luck of visiting the Lucky Dog Boutique.
1 Lost Under a Ladder Page 10