1 Lost Under a Ladder

by Linda O. Johnston

  “You?” He smiled, which softened the suggestion a bit.

  “Maybe,” I said, which resulted in that grin melting. “If I happened to have had motive, means, and opportunity. Aren’t they what you look for?”

  “You and everyone else had the means,” he reminded me unnecessarily.

  We were on the sidewalk now. It was less crowded than before, but people nevertheless still filled it. Pluckie pulled toward the side of the nearest building and squatted.

  “Anyway,” I told Justin, “I didn’t do it, but you get my drift. And it’s not really my intent to do your job. But if—”

  “If you find a way to clear Martha and get out of town, you’ll do it. I get that.”

  “Good.” I wanted to ask when I’d see him again if I didn’t call with an idea about a new suspect. I liked the guy and our repartee. Plus, it was important to me to be kept informed—to the extent I could extract stuff from him—about how the investigation was going. But I figured I could always call him and make up an idea to get him to scoff at it and maybe counter with something real. “Anyway, see you around. Oh, and one of these days I really want to meet Killer.”

  “I’m walking Pluckie and you back to your B&B,” he told me in a tone that didn’t easily allow for denial. “And I agree. Sometime soon, when I’m off duty, I’ll bring him into the Lucky Dog and all four of us can go for a walk.”

  _____

  Justin walked us up to the door and I hurried to use my key to open it. This had felt the most like a date between us than any other get-together we’d had so far, and I didn’t want to get into the awkward position of having to duck away from a goodnight kiss.

  But Justin didn’t even get close as I pushed open the door. Instead, he just said goodnight and left. Which made me feel unhappy and even a little ashamed. We were more than acquaintances by now. Friends. Platonic friends, which was how it should be.

  Even so, my feelings were hurt. I might not want anything more, but I wanted Justin to want more. Maybe.

  I realized I was confused about my reasons for staying in Destiny and helping Martha. But I was even more confused, at least tonight, about what I wanted from Justin.

  A relationship? No. Too soon.

  But if I believed he was genuinely attracted to me, that might help me continue my life without Warren—might being the key word.

  “Hi,” said a voice as Pluckie and I walked through the lobby toward the stairway. A female voice. Serina’s.

  “Hi,” I said in return, my voice soft and sympathetic. “How are you?”

  Did I really think she’d tell me? When I’d lost the man I loved, I’d thrust away most of the advice I got to talk about it and kept my thoughts pretty much to myself, except sometimes—such as with my dear and kind friend Gemma.

  But that was me.

  “I’m doing okay.” But Serina’s tone belied her words. She came around the welcome desk toward me. She wasn’t in one of her standard Destiny Gold Rush outfits, nor was she in pajamas. Tonight she wore a long-sleeved but short blue dress in a print with the lucky number seven in various sizes and colors on it.

  Impulsively, I drew closer to her, with Pluckie, still on her leash, following me. I gave Serina a hug. “I know how hard it is to lose someone close,” I said. I regretted it at once since I didn’t want to explain whom I’d lost, but fortunately she didn’t ask.

  “Yes,” she said softly. “And the thing is, I feel even worse that we’d been arguing before. We wasted time that we could have spent together.”

  She seemed so mournful that I couldn’t really consider her a suspect in Tarzal’s murder … could I?

  They had been arguing, after all, even if they were attempting to reconcile.

  But that left open the question … “What were you arguing about, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  I figured she’d mind a lot, but instead of jumping on that she walked toward the small room just off the lobby and sank onto its sofa. I followed and joined her on the couch, and Pluckie, good dog that she is, lay down by my feet on the ornate area rug on the hardwood floor.

  Serina looked toward me, her light brown eyes red from crying. That area of her face was swollen, too, which erased her wrinkles but nevertheless made her appear older. “What else, around here? We argued about superstitions.”

  I shouldn’t have felt surprised, but I did. “What about them?” I urged, though I was fully prepared for her to tell me to mind my own business.

  But she apparently needed to talk. “He’d lived in Destiny for about ten years. He’d researched some of his book on superstitions before moving here and apparently it taught him that this was the place to be if he wanted to specialize in the field. I’ve lived here most of my life, so I met him as soon as he arrived. The way I grew up and learned to deal with the town’s main focus was that I could believe whatever I wanted, but I had to portray total belief and adoration of superstitions to the world—and that portrayal, if nothing else, helped me actually to believe.”

  She looked at me as if wanting approbation for her belief. I nodded out of encouragement for her to keep talking, not necessarily because I bought into what she said.

  “That was Tarzal’s manner, too, at first,” she continued. “But recently, he began doubting. The rationale he told me was that yes, he’d been lucky, but his luck had resulted from his own intelligence and diligence. It had nothing to do with crossing his fingers or anything else he wrote about. He was considering moving away again and revealing all—even though there really was nothing to reveal. People either believed or they didn’t—their choice. And that choice didn’t really control their lives or luck, but just how they interpreted what happened to them. The more they believed, the more foolish they were.” She sighed. “He really hurt me by his attitude, not only about superstitions, but that he could leave this town—and me—to make his point.”

  “I see,” I said. “I’m sure the whole thing really was hurtful.”

  She nodded. “Especially to someone whose destiny revolves around Destiny, like me.” She gave a small smile.

  That gave her a motive to kill him. But it wasn’t proof.

  I couldn’t help asking, “Do you have any idea who’d wanted to hurt him? I mean, I guess anyone in town who also loves or makes a living from superstitions could be on that list, but who do you really suspect?”

  She hesitated. “Martha, maybe, since they were in some negotiations to buy her property. And if they’d been successful … well, Tarzal was finally leaning toward staying after all. That was why we were attempting to reconcile.”

  I wondered what had changed his mind, especially considering how he’d disrespected superstitions and the town at the welcome meeting.

  “The police are apparently looking closely at Martha,” I said tactfully. “But if it wasn’t her, who else do you suspect?”

  “Have you met Martha’s nephew Arlen?”

  I nodded.

  “He’s another possibility, since I have the impression he’d like to take over the Lucky Dog someday.”

  Nothing new there. But I just tilted my head a little to encourage her to continue. “Anyone else?”

  “As you said, it could be nearly anyone. I’ve even considered our police chief. I know you’ve met Justin Halbertson. What do you think of him as a possible killer?”

  I knew my eyes widened. “He’s one of those who’s looking closely at Martha. Why do you suspect him?”

  “Oh, Tarzal and he were always bickering about Justin’s going after tourists who committed minor crimes in the name of testing superstitions and their luck. Tarzal said that they should be left alone —and in fact their petty crimes should be publicized outside of town to encourage even more people to come and visit since even petty crooks would have good luck here and wouldn’t be prosecuted.”

  Interesting to hear, especially af
ter my earlier dinner discussion with Justin.

  “That’s quite a motive,” I said. “I’ll have to ponder it. I have to admit that I’m trying to help Martha clear herself, even though Chief Halbertson wants me to keep my nose out of it.” My pretty nose, was what he’d said. Which was sweet. Sort of. And I probably shouldn’t have admitted as much as I had to Serina, whom I now considered to be a suspect, though not the most likely.

  I wasn’t considering Justin to be a suspect, though. Not for such a dumb reason.

  Or maybe I just wanted him to not be guilty even more than I believed in Martha’s innocence.

  “I figured you were, since you’re helping to manage Martha’s store now. I assume you still don’t have an idea how long you’ll be in town.”

  “Martha seems a little better,” I said, “but if she’s arrested for murder she’ll need help longer. And that’s one of the reasons—besides just liking the nice lady—that I’d love to help figure out who really killed Tarzal.”

  I realized that, if Serina was guilty, I’d just given her a reason to attack me, too. But I already knew I had to be careful in my quest for the killer. Even someone I didn’t suspect could come after me if whoever it was thought I might stumble onto something that would reveal them as the murderer.

  “I’d love to help,” Serina said quietly. “Maybe knowing who it is would help me reach some kind of closure about losing him.”

  I knew just how she felt, of course. My search for closure was different from hers but just as necessary.

  “If you think of anything helpful, let me know. Although if you learn of something that could be actual evidence, you should contact the police.”

  “Chief Halbertson?” she asked wryly.

  “Well, if you really consider him a suspect, you might instead contact Detective Alice Numa. She’s the one who questioned me after I found poor Tarzal.”

  “That’s right.” Her voice was even softer now, a husky whisper. “You found him. You and your adorable dog.” She moved a bit so she could pet Pluckie on the head, causing a massive tail wag. “I won’t ask you how it was. I’ve heard plenty about it. But … you poor thing. I know there was blood.”

  Time to change the subject.

  “Well, it’s been a long day,” I said, standing. Of course Pluckie did, too. “I need to get as good a night’s sleep as possible. Guess I’ll see you at breakfast?”

  “Yes,” Serina said. “That’s a given on all days of the week —except when I was awake with so many people around trying to help me the other night.” She paused. “And if I happen to dream of any possible suspects, I’ll definitely let you know.”

  twenty

  Pluckie was entitled to one more walk before we went to bed. She told me so by pulling toward the door.

  By the time we returned to the B&B, the lobby was empty. We didn’t need to say goodnight to Serina again.

  But just thinking about her and her recent loss poked my psyche about my own loss.

  Oh, Warren, I thought as Pluckie and I walked upstairs and into the empty hallway. What would you think of my pilgrimage to Destiny to try to learn the truth about what really happened to you?

  He’d have been so sweet about it even as he recognized how nuts I was. He’d have attempted to distract me—maybe by a trip somewhere else.

  Or finally planning our wedding.

  I quickly unlocked our door and Pluckie and I walked inside. I closed it again and leaned my head against it with my moistening eyes closed. Why was I torturing myself tonight? Thinking like that would never help me move forward.

  Learning more about Destiny and its superstitions? And how, perhaps, the ladder superstition had—or had not—affected what had happened to Warren?

  Hey, that was my goal. And I’d always been goal directed.

  Holding my emotions at bay, I went to bed that night determined to—of all things—sleep.

  And as I dropped off surprisingly fast, my last thought was that at least I’d already looked up the superstitions about sleeping.

  _____

  I grabbed a quick breakfast at the B&B the next morning, mostly because I wanted to see Serina again before I left for the day.

  She was there, reigning in her small but crowded dining room as if nothing was on her mind except making sure her guests got all they wanted to eat—and enjoyed it. As I dished some orange and grapefruit slices onto my plate, she said, “Good morning, Rory. I hope you slept well.”

  “I did, thank you,” I replied, finding it interesting that Serina seemed the perfect hostess, not acting at all as if she remembered our somewhat emotional discussion last night.

  Or maybe she was even better than I was at compartmentalizing her brain and thrusting emotional thoughts aside at times when they’d be particularly awkward.

  I glanced down toward where Pluckie pushed against my leg as if to remind me that her own breakfast, though it might have been good, was only dog food—even if it was an excellent and healthy brand—and she deserved more. “I’ve got a biscuit here,” I told her. “I’m willing to share some of it.” Which I did.

  We soon headed out toward the Lucky Dog. As always when we reached Destiny Boulevard, the street was already busy.

  Always? I had to think for a few seconds to confirm it, but Pluckie and I had been in Destiny only a matter of days. Less than a week.

  It seemed like forever. So much had happened since our arrival, not the least of which was finding Martha ill.

  And finding Tarzal dead.

  “Good morning,” said a female voice as Pluckie and I waited to cross the street outside the Wish-on-a-Star Children’s Shop. I turned and recognized the speaker: one of the women who’d been at Serina’s support party. She was sweeping the sidewalk in front of the shop and greeting people—possibly its owner or one of its sales staff.

  “Good morning,” I said. “Is this your shop?” I didn’t mention that I’d wished upon the fake falling star in its window a few days ago. Too hokey.

  But my wish had come true. I’d wanted some sign about whether to stay in Destiny any longer and help Martha run her shop as she healed.

  I’d gotten all kinds of advice from people about remaining.

  And I’d felt I had no choice after Tarzal died and Martha’s ability to get back to running her store turned even more tenuous when she became a suspect in the killing.

  I hated to think of the murder as a sign, but—

  “Yes, this is my place.” The woman fortunately interrupted the odd direction my thoughts were taking. “I’m Lorraine Noreida, and my husband Brad and I own Wish-on-a-Star. You’re Martha’s friend who’s helping out at the Lucky Dog, aren’t you?”

  “That’s right.” I stepped toward her and offered my hand, maybe not the best idea since she had to shift the broom and a dustpan from her right hand into her left. “I’m Rory Chasen.”

  Lorraine looked like hardly more than a child herself, slim and model-pretty, with high cheekbones, a smooth complexion, and golden hair that was a short but unruly cap around her face. She wore—what else?—a pink T-shirt with a shooting star on it and the words “Wishes on stars come true.”

  “I know. I saw you at the Rainbow B&B the other night and you were pointed out to me. Your little dog there was good luck in saving Martha, right?”

  Word did travel broadly around here, at least about things relating to superstitions. But I knew that already.

  I nodded, but she might not have seen it since she had bent to give Pluckie a pat. “That’s right,” I said.

  She stood up, shifted the things in her arms again, and shoved her right hand into the pocket of her beige slacks. She pulled something out and handed it to me. A penny.

  “I found this penny heads up on the sidewalk this morning. I’d like you to give it to Martha.”

  “Of course,” I said. It
seemed so typically Destiny.

  But it was even more than I originally thought. Lorraine continued, “In case you’re wondering, all of us Destiny residents go around seeding the area, so to speak, now and then. We want tourists to find lucky coins so their luck will be increased, and so will their love of this place. We want them to have fun here—and keep coming back. Not surprisingly, the owners of the Heads-Up Penny gift shop started it some time ago.”

  That was Jeri’s family’s shop.

  Lorraine paused to look at my hand, where I still held the penny in my open palm. “Maybe,” she continued, “since you’re running the Lucky Dog for now, you’ll want to do that, too, one of these days.”

  “Sounds like a good idea,” I said noncommittally, although my mind suddenly started racing about other kinds of good-luck stuff I could make sure tourists found around the shop I now managed.

  “The thing is,” Lorraine continued, leaning forward on her broom, “I haven’t put any coins out in a couple of days and this is the only one I’ve seen. I’m not sure where it came from or who put it in front of my store.” She straightened. “Doesn’t matter. It’s still good luck. Even more good luck since it appeared out of nowhere. Anyway, I need to get back inside before we open, but I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around.”

  At a children’s shop? Well, I might need to go make another wish, and before I did I’d stop inside to say hi. And make sure no one was watching my lunacy.

  But it was certainly no greater lunacy than believing a heads-up penny brought good luck, was it?

  “Hope so,” I said. “I don’t have any kids to buy things for, though.” I’d hoped to someday with Warren.

  “I’ll introduce you to ours one of these days. Twin boys, in preschool, thank heavens. It was hard before when they were babies and we usually had them at the shop with us. See you soon, Rory.”

  “Bye.” I gave Pluckie a slight tug on her leash and we maneuvered around visitors to reach the curb and soon crossed the street.

  Another shop owner. Another resident of Destiny.