Maneuvering through the crowd, I reached Fate Street, turned right, and immediately saw the Wishbones-to-Go restaurant. That was where I headed.
As my helpers had warned, the place was busy. There weren’t a huge number of tables, but all were filled with people whose loud chatter sounded happy. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking on my part, since I needed some cheering up.
The tables were decorated with number holders to show servers which order to take to each table. The metal stands weren’t ordinary, though. The frame at the top of each was shaped like—what else?—an unbroken wish bone.
I didn’t try to figure out how to get a table, though. Instead, I headed for the line that led to a counter where take-out orders were being filled.
That was the best place for me to be, as it turned out—and not only so I could get the food I’d bring back to the pet boutique for Martha and the staff.
It was an even better place to eavesdrop on conversations about Tarzal’s murder than the street had been. Especially since I got the sense that a lot of these people knew each other, as Jeri and Millie had suggested. They seemed to be townsfolk who’d also known Tarzal. A few, though not many, looked familiar.
When I first got into the line, it stretched nearly out the door. Immediately in front of me were two people who appeared utterly businesslike. The woman wore a silky-looking, peach-colored dress, and the man wore a shirt and tie and dressy slacks, although no suit jacket. They kept their voices low, but I could still hear them.
“I hate to say it, but I really think we should find a way to capitalize on his death,” the man said.
“Good idea,” the woman replied, her tone enthusiastic. “It shouldn’t be too hard. The media are publicizing not only the murder, but that he was stabbed with a broken mirror. A broken mirror,” she said in emphasis. “Our tours already drive past the Broken Mirror Bookstore, and it’s a landmark. Now we need to make sure our guides add to their talks about how even the town’s expert on superstitions couldn’t stop one from coming true and killing him, that kind of thing.”
“I know,” the man said. “I’d suggest that we script it, though, so it comes out right.”
Interesting. So these two must own, or run, one of the town’s tour companies.
We’d moved forward a few steps by then. Neither of them would know me. It wouldn’t hurt for me to ask questions as if I was a tourist—someone who might take one of their tours.
That wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility anyway. If I was going to stay in Destiny for a while—and it appeared that I would—I should learn everything about it that I could.
You never knew when that kind of knowledge could help sell superstition-related pet paraphernalia.
“Excuse me,” I said. “I couldn’t help overhearing what you were talking about. I also heard what happened to that poor man who was apparently stabbed last night. Are there any superstitions that might identify who the killer was?”
“I’m not aware of any,” said man stiffly, as if he resented my daring to join in their conversation.
“Me, neither.” The woman sounded a lot friendlier. “But I’d really like to find some. We could use them … or at least hint about them.”
“On your tours?” I asked. “I gathered from what you were saying that you give tours of Destiny.”
“That’s right,” the woman said. “I’m Evonne Albing, owner of the best tour company in town—which just happens to be Destiny’s Luckiest Tours.”
Interesting. As I recalled, that was the name of the tour company on the shirt Martha’s nephew Arlen had worn.
“We’d better get our guides and others who know superstitions to look into which might apply to Tarzal’s murder,” she continued, looking at the man again.
“I was trying to figure that out, too,” said a female voice from behind me. A woman had gotten in line and edged up to hear what we were talking about, too. She appeared to be in her thirties, and she had on a T-shirt that was all black and had the golden outline of a black cat peering from it with eyes made out of shiny buttons. “But … well, I don’t know if it’s true, but I heard that Martha Jallopia wasn’t as ill as rumor had it.”
Should I say anything? Not now. It would be better if I knew what those rumors said if I had any intention of helping Martha.
“I heard she was still in the hospital,” Evonne said.
“No,” the man said. “Arlen told me before he went out on today’s first bus tour that his aunt was home now.”
Ah. That confirmed what I’d thought: that Arlen worked for their tour company.
“Does anyone know where Arlen was last night?” the other woman asked. “Maybe he decided to help his aunt. Or himself. I hate to gossip but I heard that Martha and Tarzal weren’t on the best of terms.”
“If you hate to gossip,” the man said, “then why do it?”
“Like everyone else in this town, I want to know what happened,” she retorted. “Especially since Tarzal really represented this town to the rest of the world. All of our businesses could suffer now that he’s gone.”
“Unless we’re able to use it, like I said.” By now, Evonne sounded a bit callous.
“Well, I just want to know the truth,” the other woman said. “And whatever it is, it’s not likely to help me sell superstition-related clothing accessories. And, yes, I know that’s insensitive under the circumstances and I’m sorry.” She motioned toward her own shirt. “I’d rather that you just add my Buttons of Fortune shop to your Destiny’s Luckiest Tours retail destinations.”
“Is there a standard itinerary for your tours?” I asked Evonne, not sure whether interrupting right now was a good idea, but I, too, was suddenly curious about Arlen’s whereabouts last night.
Had he been in his aunt’s neighborhood? Did he have any motive to kill Tarzal except to try to help his aunt preserve her store? I wondered if the police would be able to tell the approximate time Tarzal had been stabbed. At night, when the dog had howled? It was unlikely Arlen had been giving a tour so late that it would rule him out as a suspect.
Did the coroner find an image of Arlen—or someone else—in Tarzal’s eyes?
“Yes, each of our tours has a specific itinerary and theme,” the woman said. “And we have a good selection.”
“Great,” I said. “I haven’t taken any tours at all yet but someone recommended your company, with a guy named Arlen as the best tour guide.”
I really had no idea if Arlen was particularly special, but saying so might earn me some more information.
“Really? That’s good. And yes,” said the man. “Like I said, our tour company is the best in town.” He grinned. “How long are you here for? We could set you up with one of the tours Arlen guides within the next day or so, I’m sure. Right, Evonne?” He looked sideways toward the woman who was apparently his boss.
“I’m sure we can, Mike.” Evonne looked at me. “Just give us your name and how to get in touch with you, and we’ll make sure you get the tour you want.”
“Thanks,” I said. “If you could just give me your tour company’s information, I’ll call in and work out a time. I’m not sure what my schedule is right now.” That should be vague enough without my having to explain who I was—and that I had any knowledge of the murder or anyone who might have been involved with it.
“Hey,” said the other woman. “I saw you at the Destiny Welcome last night, didn’t I?” Unfortunately, she was talking to me—and it became even more unfortunate when she said, “You went over to help Martha afterward, didn’t you?”
I sighed internally as I managed a slight smile. “That’s right.”
“You know her?”
“Not well,” I said—and was happy to see that the man and woman from the tour company had finally reached the front of the line. “I’ve never been here before,” I told the lady from the but
ton shop. “What would you recommend?”
She made some suggestions, including one kind of sandwich I knew I was already going to order for Jeri.
And then, finally, it was my turn and the tour company folks were gone—without, fortunately, hearing any followup on whether I knew Martha.
I decided to try the turkey sandwich, too. When my order was filled and I was ready to go—and was the pleased recipient of four wishbones to take along—the button-shop woman stopped me before stepping to the front of the line. “You’re the woman with the lucky black and white dog who saved Martha, aren’t you?”
I wanted to deny it, or at least ignore her. But if I was going to help Martha, I needed to meet more people and get their respective takes on who might have been angry enough to kill Tarzal.
If nothing else, I didn’t want to antagonize anyone who might have a pet and frequent the Lucky Dog Boutique.
“That’s right,” I said with a weak smile.
“I’m Carolyn Innes, owner of Buttons of Fortune. I sell all kinds of buttons, including special ones that can bring luck to people. I heard you’re going to be running the Lucky Dog for a while for Martha. I’ll pop in there soon. We’ll talk.”
thirteen
The large white plastic bag that I carried had a logo on it—a wishbone, of course. As I walked back to the Lucky Dog with that bag full of sandwiches and, yes, wishbones, I wondered what Carolyn Innes and I would have to talk about.
Did she know something that would help me to boost the boutique’s business or save Martha? Or would she only push buttons—hers or mine?
I’d probably encourage the conversation, though. She’d seemed pleasant enough. It wouldn’t hurt to have another acquaintance and potential friend here in Destiny. In fact, the more people I got to know here, the better, for Martha’s sake and my own.
I didn’t know how long I’d be staying, and a diversity of friends and conversations might ultimately help me find the answers I’d come here seeking.
Or not. The longer I remained here, the more I was questioning whether answers existed.
More to the point, though, it was good for me to become acquainted with as many people as possible who knew Martha and Tarzal. Maybe something I heard would help me to learn the truth about his death. And preferably, that would be something that I could pass along to Justin so he could arrest someone other than the sweet senior lady who’d already gone through so much … so I could plan when to leave here.
It turned out Martha was going through even more that day. When I reached the store, Millie, who’d been waiting on some customers, quickly excused herself. Her expression told me it wasn’t starvation that made her approach me so quickly.
“What’s wrong?” I asked while heading to the counter to soothe Pluckie, who was pulling on her leash.
“Chief Halbertson is upstairs in Martha’s apartment,” Millie said, the frantic expression on her youthful face aging it quickly. “I told him when he came in that she wasn’t feeling well, but he called her and I guess she said it was okay for him to come upstairs.”
“Drat.” I looked at the bag in my hands, then opened it. Fortunately, the girl who’d waited on me at Wishbones-to-Go had wrapped the sandwiches well and labeled each one. I was easily able to remove Millie’s and Jeri’s, along with some packages of dried apple chips. I hadn’t brought drinks since we kept water bottles here. I handed the sandwiches and chip bags to Millie. “Here. I’ll take Martha’s up to her and do a bit of eavesdropping—or interrupting— whatever seems most appropriate.”
Her smile eased some of the concern on her face, allowing it to look once more as if she was barely out of her teens. “Great. Thanks, Rory. Everything at the shop is fine now, by the way.”
I looked toward Jeri, who was leading a couple of guys with their arms full of dog toys toward the cash register. “Looks that way,” I said. “Good job.” Then I hurried to the stairs with a newly released Pluckie following.
I heard voices before I was near the door to Martha’s apartment. Neither sounded raised nor particularly upset, although the female one was considerably softer than the male. As soon as I reached the door, I knocked on it. “Lunch is served,” I called, thinking Justin might let me in more easily that way than if he thought I was only coming to protect Martha and give him a hard time.
The door opened immediately. Justin stood in front of me though, so I couldn’t easily slip into the apartment.
A wave of something pleasant surged through me as I saw him. A bad sign. Yes, I knew I’d felt an unwelcome bit of attraction to him, but that could only lead to further complications in many respects.
I didn’t want it, and it certainly couldn’t help Martha.
I reminded myself once again why I was in Destiny, and Warren’s face in my mind turned my mood sad and my smile chilly.
“Well, hi.” I tried to put surprise in my tone, as if I hadn’t expected to see him. “I just picked up some food. Would you care to join us for lunch?” My sandwich was large enough that I could share it, and I suspected that Martha wouldn’t want her entire sandwich, either.
It wouldn’t hurt to act friendly toward Justin, to throw him off guard a bit if nothing else.
“Come in,” he said, not responding to the invitation.
“Thanks.” I might as well act polite, no matter how I felt.
Martha was in her living room, seated at the end of her fluffy yellow sofa. I hurried toward her, and so did my dog. Pluckie immediately rubbed against her, asking for a pat which she gave.
Was Justin giving Martha a hard time? Wearing her down so she’d confess to something she hadn’t—probably—done?
The expression on her pale, lined face as she looked up toward me appeared more determined than defeated. That surprised me.
“Here’s your sandwich.” I pulled the larger wrapped package with all the works on it out of the bag and held it out toward her.
“Thanks, dear,” she said without reaching for it. “Why don’t you go into the kitchen and get us all some plates? I heard you tell Justin he could join us for lunch, and I’m willing to share mine.”
“Me, too,” I said.
“Oh, and get us some bottles of water while you’re at it.”
I placed her sandwich and the bag on top of the long low coffee table in front of her.
Without looking at Justin, I edged past him and did as Martha asked. Opening the doors into several ornate wooden cabinets along the wall above the kitchen counter, I’d no trouble finding her lovely plates that looked almost antique with their floral decorations, yet appeared to be not china but modern and dishwasher safe. I also withdrew three bottles from the refrigerator and headed back to the living room.
“Here we are,” I said.
For the next few minutes, we separated already halved sandwiches and apple chips onto the three plates, giving Justin portions of both of our meals. I also saved Pluckie a few bites of turkey.
Justin sat down on one of the chairs matching the sofa at the far end of the coffee table. I took a seat beside Martha and set the wishbones aside on the table. Fortunately, Pluckie ignored them. They must have been washed clean.
Then the three of us began to eat. Pluckie just lay down on the floor beside me.
“You know, Rory dear,” Martha said, “Justin came here today to tell me that he already knew Tarzal and I were arguing and that the man had threatened me.”
He did? How?
More important for the moment— “Martha, I don’t think you ought to talk about that,” I said, my voice shrill and my eyes huge and cautioning as I looked over at her.
“Well, it’s true. He knows. So I gather that he thinks even more that I’m the person who killed that nasty man. But Tarzal and I were friends of sorts as well as business associates. Yes, he threatened to make up or emphasize superstitions against dogs and
my shop so Lucky Dog would fail anyway if I didn’t sell him the property. And no, even though I was mad at him I didn’t—”
“Martha, stop!” I turned to look at Justin, who had put his plate on his lap and was calmly eating. “Did you threaten to arrest Martha? I know you read her her Miranda rights, but I thought—”
“Yes, he did,” Martha said, now from behind me. “Read me my rights, I mean. He hasn’t arrested me yet—at least I don’t think so.”
“Then don’t talk around him,” I said, again facing Martha. “Not without a lawyer present. Don’t you know that it’s bad luck to keep talking without a lawyer when you’ve been read your Miranda rights?” Okay, I was making that up. But around here, I figured a lot of people made up superstitions.
And Martha, being as superstitious as she was, might even buy into this one.
“I didn’t know that,” she said softly.
I didn’t want to see Justin’s expression. Would it be angry? Possibly, but if so that was too bad.
“Do you have a lawyer?” I pressed.
“Yes, of course. I’ve had a will done and all that kind of thing since, as much as I hate to admit it, I am getting a bit older. I was afraid it would bring me bad luck to do something like that, but Emily assured me it was good luck to be prepared for something that would only happen far in the future.”
I assumed that Emily was the lawyer, and I liked her already. “Good,” I said. “Then why don’t you do as Justin suggested and not say anything else until you’ve talked with Emily?” I didn’t know if Emily was the kind of lawyer who only dealt with estate planning but she could at least suggest someone with criminal law experience to Martha if she didn’t handle it.
“That’s actually a good idea,” Justin said from behind me. “No, I haven’t arrested you yet, Martha. And I hope I don’t have to. But you know I’m not just a cop. As chief of police, I have to keep the rights and interests of the people of Destiny at the forefront of everything I do. I hope you really didn’t kill Tarzal, but we’re still collecting evidence and I have to tell you …” He paused. I had already turned back to him yet again, trying to read his blank yet official looking expression.
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