Unlucky Charms (10 page)

Fifteen

Surprisingly, I did get
some sleep that night.

For one thing, I didn't hear any howls, and apparently neither did Pluckie, since she didn't wake me up.

I supposed I was feeling at least somewhat optimistic after getting confirmation that Justin didn't really believe I was guilty. On top of that, he was figuring out ways he could see me, and talk to me, notwithstanding the fact that some of his superiors or associates seemed to believe he had a conflict of interest.

Maybe the fact that he himself felt he had a conflict of interest helped as well. The chief of police wasn't staying away from me, despite the way things appeared. He was acting supportive, and as if he truly wanted to be in my presence.

I woke up, as usual, to the sound of music emanating from the clock radio on the small table beside the bed. “Good morning, Pluckie,” I said to the pup, who stood on the coverlet beside me wagging her tail.

Still lying there, I considered how to approach this day. I'd certainly look forward to getting together with Justin later, but I had things to do in the meantime.

Managing the Lucky Dog came first, but until the police figured out who'd really killed Flora, I was likely to remain a suspect.

Though not if I could help it.

Not if I could determine who was more likely to have murdered her. Better yet, I might be able to not just point to a group of possible suspects, but prove who'd actually done it. That would get me off the hook, plus Justin would again feel comfortable talking to me.

Okay, how could I be lucky enough to achieve all that? I couldn't be certain, but even so, I made sure to get out of bed on the same side I'd crawled into it—the requirement of a superstition. Nothing unusual about that. I also knocked on the wooden table that held the clock radio and crossed my fingers.

Too bad I'd kept all the lucky dog toys I'd designed at the store. I might never get back the ones that had become evidence, and in fact, that was fine with me. They might now be unlucky, or at least people who believed in superstitions would think so. We'd sold the few that Flora had missed, and the new ones I'd ordered on a rush basis still weren't due to arrive for another few days.

I would just have to rely on the luckiest thing—no, luckiest being—of all. “Come here, Pluckie,” I called. She came running from where she'd lain down on the floor near the door and, as I knelt, she threw herself into my arms. “Give me some luck, you wonderful black and white dog.”

I imagined I felt some good karma radiating out of her,
imagined
being the key word. But, heck, this was Destiny and I needed some good fortune right about now. Why not talk myself into believing, at least for the moment?

I gave Pluckie an extra hug, then stood, showered, and dressed.

When Pluckie and I got downstairs, I peeked into the breakfast room before taking her for a walk. Gemma was there, sitting alone among the crowd, and I didn't see Stuart.

Was he still sleeping? Or had he left town … or Gemma?

If she had figured out who she'd seen in that mirror, I felt certain she'd tell me about it. Even so, that wouldn't necessarily mean she'd have no further relationship with Stuart.

I took Pluckie outside before trying to find out, and then, when we returned, I directed my dog to Gemma's table so my friend could watch her while I got food.

“How's Stuart?” I asked.

The calm expression on Gemma's always-pretty face didn't change, which was a good sign. “We thought of something to check at the store, so he headed there early.” She didn't move her gaze before asking, “And how's Justin?”

“We'll talk later,” I said, knowing she would understand my cryptic response to mean I didn't want anyone to overhear what I said.

Serina came over to say hi, and Gemma and I talked with her and others over the usual amazing B&B breakfast. When we were done, it was time to walk to our shops together, with Pluckie sniffing the sidewalk, and the air, and the noses of other strolling dogs as we talked.

That's when I really told Gemma what was going on: my dinner with Justin and Detective Lura Fidelio last night, and why Lura had been along.

“Interesting dilemma,” Gemma noted as we moseyed down Fate Street. “I feel for the guy—and like him, too, for working around it in clever ways.”

I then told Gemma what was really on my mind. “Your prior situation as a murder suspect? It gives me some extra smarts in that area, which I now intend to use to help myself.”

We paused at the end of the block to cross the street, and Gemma asked, “You're up to more amateur sleuthing?”

I nodded. “Sounds as if I don't have much choice.”

“Don't ask Justin about it,” Gemma observed wisely. “But go for it, girl.”

“And if you don't mind,” I said, “I'd like a little help, at least with my cover. Do you have an hour or so today when you can break away from your shop?”

“Absolutely,” she said, “especially with Stuart in town. So tell me what we're going to do.”

I did, and as I finished, we reached the Broken Mirror. I smiled as Stuart came out the front door to greet us—or, at least, Gemma.

“See you later,” she called to me as she entered the shop with him.

Rising Moon Realty was on Luck Street, not far from the offices of Destiny's Luckiest Tours, where Martha's nephew Arlen worked.

I'd left Pluckie at the shop with Millie and Jeri, who were both working there today. I wasn't sure what Brie thought of pets since I'd never seen her with one, at the Lucky Dog or otherwise. I wanted there to be nothing but friendliness and empathy—and information—between us today. Would she be at the office? It was Sunday, after all. But surely real estate brokers, like retailers, never rested.

Rising Moon Realty was located in yet another building that looked as if it had materialized from the Gold Rush days, but it was so well maintained on the outside, I figured it was a lot newer than that. Gemma and I walked up the six steps of the wide stairway onto the porch and I pushed open the wood-trimmed glass door.

The inside was all modern: a nest of four wooden desks, two occupied by smartly dressed and apparently busy people—one man and one woman, neither of whom appeared familiar. The white walls around them were decorated with a plethora of photos of lovely homes.

Yep, they were open and busy this Sunday.

The man was the first to look up, a huge smile on his young and professional-looking face. “Hi, may we help you?”

“Is Brie here?” I asked. “Er … I'm Rory Chasen and this is Gemma Grayfield. We heard about what happened to poor Flora last night. Our deepest sympathy to all of you.”

He and the woman both nodded and appeared stricken. But then the woman took charge. “Wasn't Flora trying to find you a place to rent here in Destiny?”

So much for grieving, if a deal could be made …

“Yes, and that's why we'd like to talk to Brie,” I said firmly, causing the woman's expression to freeze.

“Hello, Rory. Gemma.” Brie had just walked through a door in the wall behind her apparent flunkies' desks. I wondered which of the two empty desks had been Flora's.

“Hi, Brie,” Gemma said in a low voice that was overflowing with emotion. “Rory and I just came here to express our sympathy. We'd seen quite a bit of Flora. She seemed determined to find just the right living situation for us—before she … ”

Appeared to totally unwind and go bonkers
, was the ending to that sentence, which went through my mind.

“I—I just don't understand.” Brie shook her head. “And then—”

I saw how her employees were staring at her, as if encouraging her to describe exactly how and where she'd found Flora.

“May we go into your office and talk?” I asked Brie sweetly, glancing briefly from the man to the woman and back again.

“Yes. Yes, of course.”

In a minute, we were sitting in a room as large as the other one but containing one desk instead of four. These walls, too, were covered by photos of properties, from houses to apartment buildings to townhouses. Were they all in or around Destiny? I didn't think so, but I wasn't totally familiar with the residential areas.

Brie had already asked her underlings to bring us coffee, and both seemed eager to comply—whether to gather brownie points or eavesdrop on what she had to say wasn't clear. She'd asked the guy—Pratt, I think she called him—to fill her order. He'd smiled at the woman as he rose to start the process.

Now Gemma and I sat in comfortably upholstered chairs across a desk filled with neatly organized files. Brie was dressed for business, in a pantsuit once more, but her attractive middle-aged features were sagging and sad now.

“This whole situation must be particularly difficult for you, Brie,” I began. “I know that Flora was your employee for a few months, but she only recently approached me with the possibility of finding a place for Gemma and me to live. I'd been talking about it with some of my friends in town, so I wasn't surprised.” What had surprised me was Flora's pushiness, but I wasn't about to mention that here—especially since I figured it had probably been encouraged by the chief broker here, her boss Brie. Nor did I mention that I'd tried putting Flora off for at least a while—or maybe forever.

“We're still interested,” Gemma added.

We'd talked about this before coming. The more Brie figured she could make a commission off of us, the more likely she was to talk to us. I therefore nodded eagerly.

We stopped talking when Pratt and the woman brought in our coffee. The three of us thanked them and they left, although neither looked especially happy about it.

Then I said to Brie, “Did you—I mean, had anyone complained about Flora, or had you heard about the vandalism and thefts downtown? That could be something a real estate broker would want to know about, even if you didn't know who was doing it.” I sipped my coffee. Not bad.

“I hadn't heard anything.” Brie sighed and took a sip of her drink, too. “Not till the Welcome, just like everyone else. Flora always seemed so happy, so eager to complete our transactions, and so glad to be around people here in Destiny … I had no idea.” She shook her head.

“Interesting that she hid it so well, and not just from you,” I said. “And I heard—we heard—that you were the one unlucky enough to find her … ”

“How awful, Brie,” Gemma added, leaning forward with sympathy written all over her face. “What horrible luck. Tell us what happened.”

Brie closed her eyes. “Bad luck? Absolutely. And I try so hard, here in Destiny, to ensure my employees, our clients, and myself the best luck possible. I don't take listings of places that have the number thirteen in their addresses or unit numbers, and I never close deals on Friday the thirteenth. But I'm always happy to take on listings that have the lucky number seven in them. I look around for black cats each time I inspect the places. I tell clients some of the superstitions I know, like not moving in on Friday the thirteenth, and leaving the brooms behind in the home you're moving out of, so you don't bring dirt and other negative aspects of your old life with you. You should enter the new place with a new broom, too.”

I kept nodding even though I didn't know about all of these superstitions—mainly the ones about brooms. “You were really diligent,” I said to Brie.

“But not diligent enough.” I saw tears in her light brown eyes.

“Where—how—did you find poor Flora?” Gemma asked gently.

I'd already heard, read, or speculated about what I knew Brie was going to describe.

“There was a place I'd just gotten a listing on, a condo unit for rent, but it needed some cleaning.” She spoke so quietly, it was hard to hear her. “The owner said he'd take care of it, but I told Flora to go check it out before she started showing it—and I was hoping she'd show it … yesterday.” Tears rolled down Brie's cheeks. “To you.” She sobbed slightly.

“Oh, I'm so sorry,” I said, not wanting to mention to her that I hadn't agreed with Flora to look at that place or anywhere else.

“Me too,” Brie continued. She lifted her chin as if bracing herself to go on. “I told Flora I'd meet with her first thing the next morning, and so I went there, and … And—”

This time she really did start crying, and I felt sorry that we'd been pushing her to talk, even gently.

But then she continued. “I'm not sure the police want me to discuss this at all, but I thought you, at least, should know, Rory. They were saying it appeared she'd been struck on the head first, then smothered. There were some toys on the floor near her, and though I wasn't sure, I saw some labels and things and they were apparently toys for dogs, not kids, even though some looked like stuffed animals.”

“Yes, we have that kind of dog toy at the Lucky Dog,” I said, not mentioning that the ones she'd seen had been the ones I'd designed, and then were stolen by Flora—and then showed up in the photo around Flora's dead body.

“The thing is … ” Brie hesitated, then looked me straight in the face as she sucked at her wizened lips. “And I really don't think I'm supposed to mention this, in case … Well, I'm going to anyway. One of the toys was pushed right into Flora's mouth, almost as if taunting good luck. You see, the toy was a stuffed rabbit, and the part shoved into Flora's mouth was its oversized rabbit's foot.”

Sixteen

I didn't say anything
for a long moment.

I saw the immediate shock cross Gemma's face, then disappear, replaced by a sympathetic look toward me.

No wonder I was a top suspect. My special Richy the Rabbit's foot stuffed into the murder victim's mouth? That sounded a whole lot worse than just having the new Lucky Dog products on the floor around her.

After all, if I was angry about Flora's thievery, what better way to show it than ramming my own creation down her throat?

Knowledge of that part of the murder scene might just cause all the fingers in town to point toward me as the killer. Flora had stolen my dog toys. Logically, who besides me would lash out at her by shoving one of my stolen toys into her mouth?

On the other hand, if someone had wanted to frame me and protect themselves, doing that might have been a really smart move, right?

Not really—not to any cop with brains. Unless they figured I'd done it to point suspicion away from myself.

Oh, great. I wasn't aware of superstitions involving circular arguments, but if there were any, they'd surely apply now.

I didn't bother revealing my absurd thoughts to those in the room with me.

Brie knew the toy had come from my store, but she might not have known its origin and I didn't want to discuss it with her—or I'd find myself admitting it was my creation and crying out that I didn't kill the woman, even if my denial made it sound like an admission.

Instead, I said to Brie, “That's terrible. Your finding her dead had to be an indescribably awful experience, and having symbols of good luck appear all around her … well, I know she'd admitted to trying to mess up some of our local stores' luck with her actions, but killing her and using symbols around her that way just seems to make the whole situation so much worse for everyone in Destiny, especially you.”

Not to mention me, I thought, but again kept quiet about it.

“Yes.” Brie looked down at her desk. “I feel responsible in some ways—not for her death, mind you, but for letting her, as my employee, run rampant all over town conducting all that terrible mischief without my even knowing about it, without being able to protect our citizens, those who really understand Destiny.”

That wouldn't necessarily include me, I thought, but I knew what she meant: people who were here because they believed in superstitions or wanted to believe or wanted to know more. Not those—if there were any others, besides Flora—who felt cheated or hurt by what Destiny was and wanted to pay the town and everyone in it back.

“What she did isn't your fault,” Gemma said soothingly to Brie. “And she certainly seemed good at hiding what she was feeling inside, when she wanted to.”

Except for a certain rabbit's foot dog toy, I thought but didn't mention.

“I guess you're right.” Brie had kept her gaze downward but now looked back up, first toward Gemma and then toward me. “Well, I can't do anything about Flora, what she did to others, or what happened to her. I know that. But what I can do something about is helping you two ladies to find your next home here in Destiny.”

Ah, the bright and effervescent real estate broker was back.

“Well, we'll think about it,” I told her.

“And so will I. I'm sure you won't want the place we were going to show you before, even after the police are done with it. But I'll find some other apartments and condos that you'll like even better.” Brie's smile was huge, and she gestured toward the computer at the side of her desk. “Just give me a day or so and I'll get back to you.”

I wanted to tell her not to bother. But what she said presented us a good opportunity to flee her presence. I doubted we'd learn more from her anyway.

“Fine,” I said, and looked at Gemma, who nodded.

And then we got out of there.

On the way back to our shops, we discussed what we'd heard.

“In some ways, it's even worse than I imagined,” I said with a sigh, watching the cracks in the sidewalk both to avoid them and to keep myself from looking up.

“It certainly isn't good,” Gemma agreed. “But you know Justin is smart. He may not be able to discuss the case with you, but he surely knows that whoever killed Flora and left her that way must somehow want to hurt you, too—just not by murdering you.” She stopped in her tracks. “Oh, Rory, I hope that's all it is. But maybe whoever it is
doesn't
want to just frame you. You've got to be particularly careful.”

“While finding the truth,” I said. My mind was swirling again. “What if whoever it was knew that I've already helped find a couple of killers and did this to point suspicion at me—not just to warn me off, but also to get me arrested so I can't figure out who really did it?”

We were walking again now. “Maybe so,” Gemma said. She looked at me. “I know Justin didn't want you to get involved investigating the other murders, Rory. I was grateful that you helped me. And I know that this time, since you're a suspect, you have even more reason to figure out who did it. But I'm going to be really worried about you till that person's caught.”

So am I, I thought.

It was evening now. I'd closed the store on time and made sure Martha got upstairs all right.

Pluckie and I had headed back to the B&B for my car so we could drive to Justin's. On the way, I pondered what to say—or not say—to him.

I'd reached no conclusions by the time we arrived. I looked around his neighborhood, though. Was he jeopardizing his reputation as a fair cop, an excellent chief, by having me visit, rendering his appearance of neutrality a farce?

Maybe he'd invited one of his detectives over to join us tonight.

Or maybe no one would even notice I was there. I didn't see anyone out and about, after all.

Besides, knowing Justin, he wouldn't talk about anything he shouldn't, which would probably drive me nuts. Maybe, despite his expressions of concern and having his subordinate detectives question me and listen in on our conversations, everyone who knew him was as aware of his integrity as I was, so he would come out of this situation just fine.

Would I, though? Or would he be so straight, so careful, that he'd allow me to be arrested because of the planted evidence that pointed to me?

What superstitions were involved here? What could I point to that would get me off the hook by making it clear that my bad luck was caused by something outside my control?

I decided to call Justin to make sure he didn't want me to sneak my car down his driveway so Pluckie and I could enter the house from the rear patio.

“No, come on in,” he said. He sounded amused.

Well, heck, he was the one whose reputation could be jeopardized here.

Mine already was.

“Okay, Pluckie,” I said. I parked my car, a medium-sized blue sedan, at the curb. I checked to ensure that my dog's leash was fastened onto her collar, looked to make sure there were no cars coming down the street, and got out, almost strutting in case anyone was watching.

Hey, I was visiting the police chief, with whom I had at least some kind of relationship. And despite possibly being a murder suspect, I was innocent.

Justin's house was a single-story home on a nice wide lot. It was built of white stucco with a red Spanish tile roof, and extended farther back on its lot than it appeared from the street.

As Pluckie and I approached the front door, it opened and Justin came out. No neat blue shirt and dark slacks on him now. No, he wore a snug gray T-shirt and jeans. He always looked good, but tonight he appeared especially handsome. And sexy. And—well, I guess part of my attraction toward him was that he apparently wasn't throwing me to the wolves but supporting my innocence, at least until I was proven guilty.

Which should never happen—
should
being the operative word.

“Hi, Rory,” he said as we reached him. Good thing he bent to give Pluckie a pat. Otherwise I might have thrown myself into his arms and given him a great big kiss out here just for acting so normal—for now at least.

I needn't have worried, though. Once we were inside and he'd shut the door behind us, Justin was the one to take me into his arms and share that kind of kiss with me.

I smiled up at him, then couldn't help asking, “Is that the way you treat all murder suspects?”

He laughed, but his smile got a little grim. “Only those I care about. And believe me, this is the first time.”

Yes, I believed him. He was too astute, too smart, to fall for someone who truly was a murderer. But if we hadn't had a kind of relationship before now … ?

No use worrying about that.

Killer had joined us, and Justin's Dobie was now trading sniffs and tail wags with Pluckie.

“I hope you don't mind,” Justin said, “but I just brought home a roast chicken dinner with side dishes from the supermarket outside town.”

“That's fine with me.” I followed him into his kitchen as I wondered silently whether what he'd brought would include chicken feet or gizzards. I'd read in
The Destiny of Superstitions
that eating either would make you beautiful, and it had sounded so odd, even for a superstition, that I'd remembered it. I needed something encouraging like imagining myself turning beautiful that night.

On the other hand, would I really eat chicken feet or gizzards even if they were available?

He led me down his wide hallway, past the living room and into his kitchen. As always when he invited me here to eat, his butcher block table was already set with red pottery plates and simple flatware.

I helped him place the chicken and side dishes on the table as well as some wine glasses and a bottle of Chianti, and then we were ready.

I took a chicken breast as well as some salad and rice. I saw no feet or gizzards, but that was fine.

After pouring some wine, I started sipping it, then sipped some more when Justin asked, “Okay, Rory, let's poke that elephant in the room. Tell me what you've learned so far about Flora's death and the evidence against you … and others.”

“But I thought you weren't supposed to talk about any of that.” I stared at him.

“We're alone here now, and anyone who knows we're together will figure that's what we're talking about. Or that we'll talk on the phone or at the station or whatever. It's no big secret that we've been seeing each other.” His blue eyes looked so serious that I almost melted into the thick wooden chair I sat on.

“But you seemed so careful before. Justin, I don't want to do anything, even through appearances, that may hurt you.”

“I appreciate that.” He smiled. “I did tell people I might continue to see you socially, and if I happened to learn anything from you, I would simply turn the information over to detectives to follow up on.”

“But I don't have any information to—”

He interrupted me. “First thing—Choye, who questioned you, has already filed his report about what he asked, what your answers were, and how I responded. Fidelio filed a report, too. I thanked them and told them to keep going with their investigation, to keep an open mind as much as possible and to review anything that smacked of real evidence, whether against you or against someone else. They trust me. I've also talked to the city attorney, with them along. Anything I say about your innocence, or submit as evidence to prove it, is to be further investigated and treated with suspicion until the real murderer is caught. Any evidence I provide indicating your guilt is also to be investigated, but is less likely to be ignored.”

I knew my eyes were huge. I felt like crying. No, screaming at him. Maybe both.

But I did understand what he was doing, and why. Or I thought so, anyway.

“Then maybe I should leave and not talk to you again, Justin,” I said softly.

“That's up to you.” His tone was gentle. “But the thing is, Rory, this case has to be solved. I know you didn't do it. But not everyone will be so certain. And since you helped to solve those other murders, I know you're checking out this one, too, and you'll do it even if I tell you to leave it alone and let my department handle it. That's who you are, and this time it makes even more sense for you to get involved, no matter how much I hate it. Just be cautious and keep me informed, and don't put yourself in danger.” He stopped and rolled those blue eyes of his toward the ceiling. “Right. Maybe I should stay at your side all the time, both to protect you and to help you solve this.”

My short bark of laughter was rueful. “Sounds like a good idea to me.”

After that, the ice was broken a little. I did tell Justin about the conversation Gemma and I had had with Brie Timons, so he was aware that I had more information about how Flora had been found … including the fact that the rabbit I'd designed had had its foot in her mouth.

He still didn't reveal anything about the official investigation to me, though, despite my asking. Yes, his discretion was unquestionable.

“Next to me, who's your lead suspect?” I inquired, taking a chicken wing to eat next so I could pretend to look hungry.

“You know I can't talk about that.”

“But we've been talking about the situation.”

“Mostly I've been telling you how I'm playing this—and listening to you about how you're conducting your own investigation.” He smiled, darn him. I took a quick and deep sip of wine, and as I did so he asked, “So who's your favorite suspect so far?”

I couldn't help it. As bizarre as I found it, I laughed aloud. “You know,” I said, “I really don't like this unfairness in our discussion. I'm supposed to tell all and you're supposed to tell nothing.”

“Yep.”

As a result, I didn't bring up anything more about Flora's murder. And in fact, I really didn't want to talk about it with Justin. It divided us too much.