1 Lost Under a Ladder

by Linda O. Johnston

  Another believer in superstitions.

  Believer or not, I was beginning to feel like a real resident myself. Was that a good thing?

  Were there any superstitions about settling into a new town?

  I laughed at myself as I unlocked the door and Pluckie and I entered the Lucky Dog.

  I inhaled the faint scent of catnip as I always did in the shop and continued to smile.

  _____

  I called Martha right away, then Pluckie and I went up to say good morning and hand over her lucky penny. Could my wish for both Martha and me on the large half of the wishbone yesterday have resulted in her having the penny handed over to her today?

  Gee, with a thought like that, who knew how soon it might be before I actually started thinking like a real Destiny citizen?

  Martha was delighted with the penny and said she’d call Lorraine a little later. She was looking good and said she felt well, too—and didn’t really need the aide who would be coming later today to check on her and help her bathe. She’d already had cereal for breakfast, plus instant coffee. I told her I’d get her some of the real thing if I had time to go out and buy any later.

  Then Pluckie and I returned downstairs and I logged onto the computer to check inventory and wait for our ten o’clock opening time. Millie had let me know she wouldn’t be there until around eleven that morning. That meant that Martha—and I—would have to wait a while before that coffee break.

  As it turned out, I actually didn’t get to leave until a late lunchtime. When I called Martha, she sounded delighted when I offered to bring her a sandwich from Wishbones-to-Go as well as coffee. I also told Millie, who’d arrived right on time, that I’d get lunch for her as well.

  I left Pluckie with Millie, since the Lucky Dog had only a few customers when I walked out the door and into the tourist crowd. I immediately looked down at the sidewalk, seeking cracks to avoid and heads-up pennies to pick up. Plenty of the former; none of the latter.

  I supposed Wishbones-to-Go was always busy, at least around mealtime. The line was as long as last time.

  I saw some familiar faces in that line, too, as I joined it, including Carolyn Innes from the button store who was just in front of me. She wore a different T-shirt than the one with black cats and buttons I’d seen her in the last time I was there. This one was luminescent green and had a white rabbit on it with button eyes and two large lucky feet still attached.

  “Drat,” she said, turning to face me. “I meant to stop in at the Lucky Dog before. Tell you what, Rory. I’ll walk back with you after we pick up our food. I need some things for my own dog —plus, I’d like to talk to you.”

  “Sounds good,” I said. “And will you tell me what the superstitions involving buttons are?”

  “Of course. They’re my favorites, but I’ll bet you could guess that.”

  I looked beyond her. The line was moving quickly again, but there were at least half a dozen more people ahead of her. A wonderful aroma rose from behind the counter, undoubtedly one of the reasons for the place’s popularity. Maybe the scent wafted outside and enticed people in like the Pied Piper’s piping lured rats to follow him.

  What an awful analogy, but I realized I was thinking more in analogies these days—not just superstitions.

  “How’s Martha?” Carolyn asked. “That’s the main reason I’d like to visit the shop, especially if she’s receiving visitors upstairs. She’s a friend, even though we don’t always see eye-to-eye about superstitions.” Carolyn had leaned her slim body close to me, and the last part of what she said was a whisper. Interesting. Was she a doubter like me? And why even hint at that to a stranger?

  “Martha’s improving all the time. And since she is a real superstition aficionado, I gather that you’re not?” I kept my voice low, too.

  She laughed. “You haven’t been in this town long enough to learn all about it.” She spoke softly. “But there are basically two factions of shopkeepers. We all have one thing in common: we want to make money off superstitions and tourists’ interest in them. But one group consists of believers. And then there are the rest of us.”

  Like me! Maybe I’d found a genuine ally. “I thought that might be true,” I said. “Then you’re one of those who doesn’t believe?”

  “So far I’ve got more hope than proof. I won’t ask which side you’re on—but I’ll figure it out, I’m sure. I may be foolish, but I kind of broach this subject with every newcomer to town to let you know that, however you feel, you’ve got friends.” She changed the subject then and started talking at normal volume. “So tell me about Martha.”

  “I saw her this morning. She was waiting for her aide of the day to come and help her out, but she’d rather be on her own.”

  “That’s what she may be telling people, but I doubt it,” Carolyn said. “If she gets help, that means she at least looks like she’s still sick—and the sooner she heals altogether, the sooner she might be arrested.” The volume of her voice was muted once again.

  “Is that the rumor?” I asked with interest.

  “I’m pretty sure it’s reality. There are factions developing about that in this town, too.” She grinned. “We’re just like the federal government—opposing sides to everything, with our feet dug in.” I smiled again. I liked this woman and her irreverent attitude. “Anyway, some locals are sure she did it and is faking her illness.”

  I couldn’t tell from Carolyn’s amused but noncommittal expression if she was one of them.

  “Well, I don’t think she did it,” I said. “Not that I know everyone around here or who might have had it in for Tarzal, but there are so many others with potential who’d have been better able to— Well, never mind.” I realized that others in the shortening line had stopped talking, and a couple were looking at us. “It’s not really my business,” I finished.

  “Sure it is,” Carolyn countered. “It’s everyone’s business in this town, and yours especially since you’re running Martha’s shop.”

  Fortunately, she had reached the front of the line. She ordered her lunch. And in only a few minutes, I was ready to walk back to the Lucky Dog with my own bags and coffee cups.

  Carolyn was waiting outside for me. “Okay, let’s go to your shop. Time to see Martha. Plus, I’ve got two dachshunds who’re my family. I don’t need anything superstition-related for them, just some good food.”

  “I can certainly help you with that.”

  “I know. I always buy their stuff from the Lucky Dog. And—well, I hope it stays open, Rory. Will you hang around indefinitely if Martha’s arrested?”

  I didn’t want to get into that. “We’ll see.” I had to ask. “Did you consider Tarzal part of your faction of Destiny citizens? Expert or not, he sounded skeptical to me.”

  We’d reached the end of the block on Fate Street and turned onto the more crowded sidewalk of Destiny Boulevard.

  Carolyn shook her head, but the slow movement looked more sympathetic than negative. “He should have kept his mouth shut. I think he’d started out as a believer—or at least he wanted it to look that way. But either his opinion or his attitude changed. And talking about it may have been what got him killed —if Martha didn’t do it to protect her property.”

  Interesting. “I did gather that some people were concerned about what would happen to Destiny and its businesses if superstitions stopped being considered real, and Tarzal’s opinion could have added to that.”

  “Right.” Surprisingly, the word almost exploded from Carolyn. “Okay, I might not be a solid believer, but a lot of us who don’t think superstitions are real still make a good living off them—so far. And Tarzal, with his notoriety, might have changed that if he hadn’t shut up. Or been shut up.”

  Then she was glad he’d been killed?

  Was this fun woman suddenly a murder suspect, too?

  She must have realized from
my expression or my silence what I was thinking. She laughed. “I gather from what you’ve said and what I’ve heard that you’re trying to help Martha by figuring out who else could have killed Tarzal. Not me. I might not be mourning him deeply, but I didn’t kill him. And I don’t know who did—although there are plenty who’d do nearly anything to protect our town. You were at the latest Destiny Welcome, weren’t you?”

  “Yes,” I said. I didn’t recall seeing her there, but I hadn’t met her yet then.

  We had arrived at the door to the Lucky Dog. My hands were full so Carolyn reached out to open it.

  “I wasn’t there,” she confirmed as we went inside. “But I heard not only about the milk there that Tarzal fell into and spilled and a lot of speculation about who of those present were angry enough with him to sneak in early and hide the milk that would make him trip. Martha’s one of them, of course, since she was apparently wheeled there from the hospital in plenty of time.”

  Interesting question—one I’d also considered. But there was a curtain across the front of the stage that had been drawn back for the show. Anyone might have been able to sneak onto the platform earlier to leave the milk bottle.

  “And Tarzal’s reaction, trying to turn the superstition tables on the perpetrator?” Carolyn continued. “That riled a lot of people.”

  “Like who?” I couldn’t help asking.

  I realized then that there was one person who’d been there and had a very public argument with Kenneth Tarzal whom I hadn’t really considered, except in passing, as a murder suspect. But he was probably the most logical one of all, especially considering all he’d said right there, in front of the world.

  I thought it at about the same time as Carolyn said it. “Well, I heard that our dear leprechaun-loving Mayor Bevin Dermot wasn’t happy with Tarzal that night. In my opinion, he’s too obvious as a suspect. But sometimes the most obvious people are the guilty ones. Hey, you know what? One of these days I’m going to bring you some of my goods to display here, and I’ll take some of yours to my shop, if you’d like. I love black cats, although with my pups I can’t own one.” She’d moved through our displays and picked up a stuffed black cat toy.

  My mind was still reeling, but it opened up enough to consider that she was offering an idea for increasing the business at both stores. And I was definitely interested in that, as long as I was managing the Lucky Dog.

  Speaking of which, my own lucky dog, who’d been with Millie at the cash register, ran in my direction and I introduced her to Carolyn, who lavished lots of attention on little Pluckie.

  Then Carolyn said, “Okay, I’ll call Martha now and see if I can go up and visit her. But first, here are some button superstitions for you to cogitate over.”

  For the next few minutes she spouted one after another. Finding buttons was lucky, and so was receiving them as gifts—a good thing for Carolyn’s business. Finding one with four holes meant you should expect good news. If you button an item of clothing wrong, you need to unbutton, take it off, and put it back on buttoned right or it’s bad luck.

  And more.

  “Now ask me how many of them I believe in,” Carolyn said as she pulled several cans of Lucky Dog Food from the shelves and shuttled them among customers to the cash register.

  “How many?” I asked.

  “I’ll never tell.” She laughed. “Okay, total these and I’ll pay when I return downstairs.” She hurried up to see Martha.

  The store was busy, and I waited on several batches of customers. Then I totaled Carolyn’s goods for her return.

  And all the while, though I was too busy to focus on it, my mind kept simmering around my latest murder suspect: Destiny’s mayor.

  twenty-one

  “I’m looking for a new leash for my dog,” said a customer who had just walked into the Lucky Dog. “The superstition symbols on this one are wearing off.” She pointed to the one she held, a red lead with objects stamped on it in white that were hard to recognize. They appeared to be stylized curved fists, perhaps knocking on wood, but it was difficult to tell with so little left on the woven nylon.

  The short lady with curly brown hair looked familiar, but the black Labrador retriever at the end of her leash—whose head I petted as she sniffed my hip—didn’t. I must have seen her on the street, at the Destiny Welcome, on my tour … Well, it didn’t matter. She was here with her dog and wanted to buy something. That was what was important.

  I glanced over at Pluckie. She’d been near the cash register where Millie was ringing up a sale of miscellaneous treats—the little beggar—but now she headed toward where I stood near the door. She obviously felt I was being disloyal. Or maybe she just wanted to meet the Lab. The two sniffed noses, both tails wagging. Good.

  “We’ve got leashes over here,” I told the lady, gesturing for her to follow me to our racks of leashes and collars. I wondered if she might be interested in some with rhinestones, or just a replacement with the decoration stamped on.

  “Are you enjoying being here in Destiny?” she asked as she kept up with me.

  “Absolutely.” It didn’t matter if that was true. I had to convey that attitude to help sell Lucky Dog products.

  And, I admitted to myself, there was at least some truth to it. Destiny was growing on me—despite all the things that kept me wondering why I was still here.

  “What’s your dog’s name?” I asked my customer. Pluckie had followed us to the leash rack.

  “Charlotte,” she said. “Short for Charlottetown, an actual town in—where else?—Labrador.”

  “Cute.” I gave Charlotte another pat as Pluckie lost interest and walked away.

  The lady wasn’t looking at the leashes, though, but at me. “You’re here helping Martha Jallopia with this store because your lucky dog saved her, right?”

  “You could say that. Now, were you interested in another red leash or—”

  “And you also found Kenneth Tarzal’s body after he’d been stabbed with a piece of broken mirror, right?”

  I didn’t want to alienate a customer, but she was doing a darned good job of alienating me. “We have some attractive blue leashes, too, that would look good on Charlotte and would go with that tote bag you have over your shoulder.” It, too, was blue. I pulled a blue leash off the rack. It had representations of rabbits’ feet on it. “This one should be pretty lucky.”

  “I understand that you’re still trying to help Martha, and not just with this store. She’s suspected of killing Tarzal and you’re attempting to—”

  “Who are you, and what do you really want?” I didn’t quite shout. Not here, with other customers around. But I was getting quite perturbed with this lady.

  Then it dawned on me where I’d seen her before. She had been taking pictures and jotting down notes at the Destiny Welcome show—after Tarzal had fallen in spilled milk.

  “Everything okay here, Rory?” Millie had finished with her customers who were now leaving, and she joined me. A good thing. Maybe I’d turn this woman over to her. Was she a reporter trying to get me to talk without explaining who she was and what she wanted?

  “I don’t know,” I said to Millie. I looked at the lady. “Is it?”

  “Of course. I think I will take that one you suggested. It’ll look good on Charlotte. And—well, I think you have me pegged, even though we haven’t been introduced. Could we go over there for a moment?” She pointed toward the corner of the store where pet foods were shelved. At the moment, it was empty of customers.

  I didn’t want to, but I was curious. “It’s okay,” I assured Millie. “Maybe you could help those folks over there.” Some customers appeared fascinated with the display of stuffed animals, particularly black cats. Millie nodded and headed in that direction, but not before aiming a quick, irritated glare at the woman beside me.

  Then that woman, Charlotte, and I walked over to the m
ore private area, with Pluckie following.

  “Here’s the thing,” she said and began to tell me her background. Sure enough, she was a reporter, associated with the Destiny Star. Very associated with it. Her name was Celia Vardox, and she and her brother Derek ran it since their parents, the owners, were now part-time employees so they could travel.

  “Away from the wonderful tourist town of Destiny?” I had to ask.

  “Yes, aren’t they odd?” Celia smiled. She appeared to be in her thirties like me, with a strong brow and wide mouth. Her brown eyes seemed to radiate friendliness and curiosity, but that could have been part of the persona she projected to get people to talk. “Now, look, Rory.” She knew my name, which wasn’t a surprise. “Here’s one reason I’m particularly interested in you. I’ve been following you.” Now, that was a surprise. But maybe not so much when she elaborated. “I was in line behind you at Wishbones-to-Go earlier, and I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation with Carolyn Innes.” She knew the button lady, too. “You were discussing Tarzal’s death, and Martha, and more, once you left the shop.”

  Once we left it? I’d been too absorbed in talking with Carolyn, and seeing how the line progressed ahead of us, to check out people behind us waiting to be served. But Celia had followed us out—perhaps without having secured her own food? I asked.

  “Well, your conversation was more interesting than a sandwich. And it didn’t take me long to get through the line a second time once you’d left. Anyway—you seem to be very interested in what happened to Tarzal.”

  “Isn’t everyone in town?” I felt my face redden—partly from embarrassment and partly from anger. My interests weren’t this woman’s business. And I definitely didn’t want her writing about them —or anything else about me—for her paper.

  “Sure, but it sounded as if you’re really devoted to helping Martha. True?”

  I inhaled deeply. “We’ve already discussed this subject a lot more than I’m comfortable with.”

  Her too-innocent grin looked almost evil. It was all I could do not to shudder. Or to order her to leave. But that might be bad for business, especially since even more customers had just walked in.