Knock on Wood (11 page)

thirteen

Foam coffee cup in
hand, I said goodbye to Justin in the fast food restaurant's parking lot. We exchanged a brief kiss and he promised to call me later, which was good. I'd have questions about anything the DPD learned about Lou's death.

Not that I really thought Justin would let me know everything, but he might be able to fill me in on what they intended to tell the public before anyone else heard about it.

That might even include what superstitions they planned to feed to people as the cause of Lou's bad luck. Considering how often the city's head public relations guy had knocked on wood, at least when other people were around, it had to be something pretty terrible to counter the supposed good luck he was preserving for himself.

Or maybe superstitions had nothing to do with it—as if people in Destiny would ever buy into that.

As I drove to the Lucky Dog with Pluckie I listened for sirens as a matter of habit, but figured all the urgency was gone. There was no life left to rescue, no occurring crime to halt.

I wondered where the Plangers were now. Hightailing it out of Destiny as fast as they could go? Or had they been told their ordeal in the town of superstitions was not yet over and they had to remain in case anyone had more questions—like, did one or both of you kill the p.a. director?

Or were they hanging out here to see if superstitions helped to solve this heinous crime?

I parked my car, a medium-sized dark blue sedan, back at the B&B so Pluckie and I could walk the few blocks to the store. I still had a little coffee to sip on, so I brought it along too. The sidewalks were fairly empty on Fate Street until we got closer to Destiny Boulevard, where the usual crowds appeared. Not surprising. It was mid-morning now.

We crossed the street and walked by the Broken Mirror Bookstore as we neared the Lucky Dog. I peeked in. It looked crowded. Gemma was talking to a group of people I presumed were customers.

I thought about going in right then to vent to her and see her reaction to the news, assuming she hadn't already heard. But why disturb her in the middle of what looked like possible sales?

Plus, I needed to make sure all was well in the shop I managed first.

Which it was. I was glad to see a crowd there too. Lots of tourists, many with dogs, were in our aisles examining our pet food and toys and accessories. Millie was clearly busy, but she had help. Martha was downstairs, too, and she looked fairly energetic as she also waited on customers.

“Hi, Rory,” Martha said with a big smile on her aging but happy face as she saw me. She wore a hot pink Lucky Dog Boutique T-shirt over her slacks. Millie's was green, and mine, today, was purple. I hadn't even paid much attention to that with all that had gone on earlier, but it didn't matter. Everyone I'd talked to that morning, except for the Plangers, knew who I was and where I worked. And I'd invited them fairly quickly to come visit this shop with Pippin.

Maybe I wasn't needed here at the moment, but I nevertheless put my purse away in the rear storeroom, threw my empty coffee cup away, and came out with Pluckie, ready to answer questions and make some sales.

Which I did, for about ten minutes after fastening Pluckie's leash to the counter so I wouldn't worry about her following anyone outside.

Then, as things slowed down, I saw Martha's customers leave with a couple of large plastic bags in hand and I approached her.

She was standing behind the glass case containing superstition amulets that could be attached to collars—or human necklaces—that had smiling animal faces. “You may not have heard, but another terrible event occurred in Destiny last night.”

Her soft hazel eyes, already flanked by creases, narrowed even more as her wizened lips frowned. Her voice came out as a cracking whisper. “Is someone else … dead?”

I nodded briefly and said very softly, “Director Landorf.”

She grabbed the counter. “Lou? What happened?” She put up her hands. “No. Don't tell me … unless I'm going to be accused of doing something to him too?” Poor Martha had been considered a major suspect when Tarzal was murdered since she had argued with him.

I wasn't aware of any disagreement she had with Lou, so all I said was, “Not as far as I know.” But I didn't really know who might be genuine persons of interest in this latest murder.

Millie had finished waiting on her customers, who bought some cans of food. She must have heard what I'd said. Her youthful face appeared stricken. “That was why you were late,” she said, and it wasn't a question. “What happened?”

“I don't want to go into the—literally—gory details, but it looked like he was killed intentionally.” That was all I needed to say. I was sure they'd hear more about it soon. “Right now, I want to go next door and talk to Gemma. She's been studying superstitions, including those in Tarzal's book, so I'd like to find out if she has ideas about any that could have led to what happened.”

That wasn't the only reason I wanted to talk to her. Lou had been flirting with her. She hadn't seemed extremely interested, but neither had she completely shrugged him off.

Plus, they had shared some not-so-pleasant words last night. Not that the minor encounter would have been enough to make her a murder suspect … I hoped. But I at least wanted her to know what had happened and to prepare her for a possible interrogation too.

Maybe I should have done that immediately when I'd gotten into this area. But interrupting her for something like this hadn't felt like a great idea. And distracting myself, even for a short while, had definitely improved my state of mind, at least for the moment.

I loosened Pluckie's leash so she could accompany me next door.

As we arrived there, I considered again that it might have been better if we'd stopped in before. If so, I might not have had to tell its current owners what had happened. But Nancy Tarzal and Brandon and Edie Brownling were all there, standing together near a tall set of bookshelves watching Gemma wait on two couples who were pondering how many copies of
The Destiny of Superstitions
to buy.

The two factions might not have been especially fond of one another, but they all managed to scowl as a unit toward Pluckie, then me. So they didn't like dogs, or just didn't like one in their shop? No matter. That drove them down even more levels in my estimation.

Gemma must have seen their glares. She sidled away from her middle-aged customers and approached us, beaming first down at Pluckie, then up at me. Loud enough for everyone to hear, she said, “How wonderful! A black and white dog visiting the Broken Mirror Bookstore. And since we're conducting the business of book selling and buying here, we're all bound to have some good luck!” She aimed her smile toward the visitors and picked up a book from the table near them. “Let me find it here for you.” She thumbed through the volume, then pointed toward a page. “Yes, here it is. A black and white dog is considered to be good luck, especially if you see one around a business meeting.”

That was one of the first superstitions I'd heard here in Destiny, of course, thanks to Pluckie's discovering an ailing Martha.

“That's wonderful!” one of the women exclaimed. In the next couple of minutes she and the others bought half a dozen copies of the book, for themselves and to bring luck home to their adult kids, they said. They finished their transaction and left the store.

With no other tourists there, it was time for me to speak. I pondered the best way to approach the subject then realized there wasn't really a good or subtle way to do it.

Before I did, though, Nancy said to Gemma, “That was a good save. Like we told you before, it's not enough just to answer questions. You need to encourage shoppers to buy, get into the whole good luck angle even more, make them feel as if it's bad luck if they don't spend a lot of money here.” She stood there, tall and slim and nasty-looking in the tight beige dress she wore that day.

“That's right,” Brandon added, hands on his wide, jeans-clad hips. He might have been decades older than Nancy, but his attitude seemed just as spiteful.

If I were Gemma, would I confront them all and quit? But my friend wasn't a quitter. And she'd gotten the results they wanted, even if they chose to give her a hard time about how she might act at other times.

I wondered where Stuart was. Since he seemed fond of Gemma, the editor's attitude might have softened the blow the store owners levied on their new manager.

Although Gemma scowled briefly, she didn't look toward the owners and instead seemed to shrug off her irritation. She came over to where Pluckie and I stood, across the shop from her bosses but near another set of bookshelves. “Great to see you two here, Rory! And I'm delighted you helped me make a sale. Both of you are welcome here any time.” I was sure that was intended as a possible slap in the faces of the store owners, a challenge for them to say otherwise and potentially lose her as a manager—not to mention the bad luck sending away a lucky dog might have on this place.

A smile lit up her pretty face, and her cinnamon-shade eyes sparkled as she silently thanked me for intervening here. As always, she had dressed like a professional librarian, nice, soft, light pink button-down shirt and black slacks.

But my return look must have told her I wasn't here only because I was her friend. A worried frown appeared beneath her dark bangs, and she gnawed slightly at her glossy lips. “Is something wrong, Rory?” she asked softly.

Before I responded, Stuart appeared, walking in from the doorway to the rear storeroom. “I've finished unpacking those two boxes of children's books on superstitions,” he said, looking from Gemma to the others, and then to me. “Hi, Rory.” He paused then and asked no one in particular, “What's wrong?”

“Not a thing,” Gemma said, approaching him, although her expression appeared dubious as she glanced back toward me.

I considered picking up Pluckie to hug while I gave them the bad news. Instead, since my wonderful little dog was sitting calmly by my feet on the wooden showroom floor, I decided to leave her where she was. Still clutching her leash, though, I crossed my arms. Clearing my throat, I said, “Actually, there is something wrong and you'll all hear more about it soon, I'm sure.” Maybe I should just have blurted out that Lou Landorf had been found murdered, but it was easier for me to tell them my morning story, keeping it somewhat brief, at least.

“Lou's dead?” Gemma interrupted when I got to the part where Pluckie and Pippin had led Bill Planger and me to his stabbed body.

I nodded, feeling my eyes well up partially in sympathy for her, since as soon as I'd responded in the positive Gemma began to cry.

“I'm so sorry,” she said. “He was—well, he was basically a nice person. He didn't deserve that.”

I considered pulling my phone from my pocket and taking her picture. One thing about her reaction was that it told me she couldn't possibly have had anything to do with Lou's killing.

But would the police agree with that—or might they assume that she regretted now what she'd done, and that was why she had become teary?

Well, if questioned, there would be five of us who could summarize her reaction. Just in case, I also moved my gaze from Stuart's sympathetic look as he took Gemma into his arms, to Nancy Tarzal's apparent wide-eyed shock, to Brandon Brownling's gaping mouth to his wife Edie's long, slow shake of her head as if in denial.

None of them were admitting to anything, either, by their expressions. Neither was Stuart.

Did that mean none was guilty? Not hardly. But I didn't know them, or Lou, well enough to determine if anyone in this room had had a motive to kill him.

I'd heard him giving Gemma orders, too, about how to run this place. Did those orders conflict with the owners'?

Even if they did, that would be a pretty flimsy reason for them to kill him—unless there'd been more to it than that.

Worse, Gemma had argued with Lou. But he'd had no business telling her what to do, unlike the store's owners.

And the fact that he had … did their argument make her a murder suspect?

“Are you okay, Gemma?” Stuart asked her.

She didn't look okay, but my friend started to nod bravely.

I wanted to talk with her—now, if possible. “I'm not doing so well about it,” I said. “After all, I found … Look, could you watch this place for a little while, Stuart? I'd like to go grab a cup of coffee with Gemma and cry on her shoulder a bit.”

I'd be adding to my caffeine high, but I knew that, if I slowed down even for a short while, my thoughts would focus even more on all that had happened today. How Lou had looked when I'd seen him …

And even more than I wanted to talk to Gemma for my own sake, I wanted to talk to her for
hers
. Did she want to vent? How did she really feel? Was she pondering applicable superstitions she'd read about?

How had she really felt about Lou and how had she gotten along with him?

“I'd like that too,” Gemma said softly. “Would you mind, Stuart?”

I suspected Stuart would have preferred having the owners take over so he could be the one whose shoulder Gemma would cry on, but he said, “Not at all.” He aimed a glance toward Nancy Tarzal and the Brownlings, almost as if challenging them to say no. They didn't.

“Thanks,” Gemma said huskily to Stuart. “I won't be long. Would you like for me to bring coffee back for any of you?”

Before they could answer, a wave of tourists entered the shop through the front door—a family with three teenage kids.

“No, we'll be fine,” Nancy Tarzal said. She aimed a quick look at Stuart that seemed to say,
You said you'd handle the store for a while, so handle it.

As he hurried toward the new customers, I touched Gemma's arm and, as I hung onto Pluckie's leash, we all exited through the storeroom. I assumed Gemma wanted to grab her purse, which she did from beneath a backroom bookshelf.