1 Lost Under a Ladder (18 page)

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 more 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.

“Look, Rory. I’d be lying if I said that my interest isn’t because I hope to do a story on this, but I’m really interested in helping Martha, too—assuming she’s not guilty. Charlotte and I come in here a lot, and Martha’s always so nice to us. And she carries such delightful superstition merchandise. But more than that—well, I’m curious and so’s everyone else in Destiny.” She leaned closer, and I
resisted the urge to step back toward the well-stocked shelves of
pet foods. “In fact,” she continued, her voice now a whisper, “Don’t tell our illustrious police chief—I know you’ve been in touch with Justin—”

Geez, she knew him, too. Of course. But how did she know I knew him?

She’d kept talking. “I’ve been taking an informal poll about who in this town is not really sorry Tarzal is dead.”

I blinked. Okay, she’d done it: roused my curiosity. “And what have you found out?”

“It’s about even. Lots of people seem upset because his book helped
to renew interest in Destiny as a tourist destination, even if they weren’t wild about his attitude lately. Others seem to think that, so what if he helped to perk up our economy for a while? He’d become dead set—so to speak—on turning it back the other way. And, since he came up in your conversation, you may be interested in hearing the opinion of our mayor.”

I wanted to throttle her for eavesdropping, even as I ached to hear
her answer. “Yes,” I said through gritted teeth, “I’m interested.” Although, after Bevin Dermot’s tirade against Tarzal at the Destiny Welcome, I had a good idea what the opinion would be.

I was right. Celia raised her head to focus her eyes on the ceiling and placed her right hand over her heart. Her left one still held Charlotte’s leash. “Mayor Dermot expressed his deepest, heart-felt sorrow at the loss by this town of one of its finest citizens,” she intoned solemnly. Then she looked at me. “But he did say it was too bad Tarzal hadn’t simply focused on superstitions and how important they were to all of us, the way his book says, instead of starting to make fun of it all. He even suggested that could have been a reason for whoever killed him to have committed the act.”

“Did he admit it was him?” I asked with a grim smile.

“Heavens, no. But—”

“But I think you ladies are butting too much into police business,” said a male voice from off to my side. It emanated from somewhere beyond the nearest tall rack of shelves containing dog and cat treats.

It belonged to Justin Halbertson. I’d gotten so immersed in the conversation that I hadn’t watched to see whether more customers were entering the shop.

Too bad I hadn’t. The town’s police chief now stood beside us while the Doberman whose leash he held traded sniffs with Charlotte and with Pluckie. I assumed that was his dog Killer, whom he’d promised to introduce me to one of these days.

Had he heard Celia’s earlier reference to him, and her request that I not mention to him what she’d been about to say? I didn’t ask.

But Celia glared at me as if I’d seen Justin over her shoulder and chose not to warn her.

Well, I wasn’t about to defend myself. To either of them.

Instead, I maneuvered around Pluckie and Charlotte so I could
reach the Doberman. “Is this Killer?” I started to stroke the dog’s
smooth head. He apparently liked what I did, since his long nose went
up and nuzzled my hand.

“Yes. But—”

“He’s beautiful.” I knelt beside him. That got the other two dogs into a frenzy of attention-stealing, so, laughing, I tried to pat and hug all of them.

That fortunately changed the subject of the conversation. But Justin
and Celia clearly knew each other.

“So what are you working on now, Celia?” Justin asked. “I’ve heard that the city is considering a major superstition-filled memorial to Tarzal. Are you going to do a story on it?”

“We always do stories on events of interest to our citizens and visit
ors,” she said in a tone that sounded huffy. “All kinds of stories—including actual news when it occurs.” She planted her hands on her hips and looked up, glaring at Justin.

“The only problem is,” he said, “real newspapers aren’t supposed to take sides on the issues they report on, except for opinions expressed in op-ed pieces. Not so much with the
Destiny Star
.”

“You’re just embarrassed because not only did a superstition-related murder occur in our town, but you haven’t figured out yet who did it. Around here, superstitions rule. You should have at least found the killer’s reflection in Tarzal’s eyes.”

That again. The first half of what she said might be true—but not the second—despite the superstition I’d heard about it. I remained on the floor with the dogs.

“This is entirely off the record,” Justin said slowly, as if speaking to a young child who might not understand what he was saying. I looked up to see that he had pasted an emotionless expression on his face. He was looking down toward the dogs and me, as if aiming his gaze at Celia would make him explode. “But here’s what’s going on.” He blinked, then turned so he was facing Celia. “No, I’ll tell you what. If you’re going to put an article in your paper about the murder investigation, you can say that Destiny’s police department is working on it diligently and making progress. We hope to make an arrest soon. And we’re not about to go public with whether … unusual circumstances are involved in determining who the killer is.”

My whole body froze. Did that mean he was about to take Martha into custody? Or was this just some garbage he was feeding to the media to take some of the pressure off ?

I liked his position about the image superstition, at least. He was neither confirming nor denying it to this reporter.

“Good,” said another voice, female this time, and one I recognized. Carolyn emerged from behind the shelves on the other side. “I just got back downstairs from visiting Martha. She’s feeling better but we’re both sure that the pressure from her being considered a suspect in the murder is slowing her recovery. Do you agree, too, Rory?”

“Most likely,” I said, rising finally to my feet.

All three of us women stared at Justin.

“Then is your primary suspect someone other than Martha Jallopia?” Celia asked. I could sense her mind making notes on how the article she was about to write would read.

“No comment,” Justin said, eliciting groans from all of us.

“Then how soon can we expect—”

“I brought Killer with me so he can help pick out which food he’d
like me to buy him.” Justin’s gaze was now entirely on me. “Would you care to help us with that momentous decision?”

A smart and tactful way to end this conversation, I thought—
even though I’d have liked to hear his answer to Celia.

“I’d be happy to.” I followed him, with Killer trailing on his leash, toward the display of large kibble bags right near us.

As Justin reached the display and knelt to check out the bags, I turned toward the others and gave a one-shoulder shrug, dismissing both Celia and Carolyn.

As far as I was concerned, too, this conversation was over.