Unlucky Charms (15 page)

“The thing is,” Kiara said, “Celia isn't a stupid woman. I told her I came in one morning to find that someone had thrown things on the floor, cut up some of the clothing we sell, broken candles and other things, and then left broken mirror pieces and salt all over, as I guess happened at the other shops. She has to know that even if I did kill Flora, I certainly wouldn't admit it to anyone, particularly not a member of the media.”

“Of course not. Same thing with me,” I said.

But I would still talk to Celia later, get her impression about her interview with Kiara, and her interview with Padraic, too. I needed to find out whether, as she'd verbally attacked them, either of the business owners had shown any indication of lies or hedging.

I didn't imagine they had.

Which meant I had yet another Destiny shopowner who I'd considered a potential murderer to remove from my list. That would be the outcome of today's investigation.

But I wished I knew who to interview to end up with the knowledge that I'd actually found the killer.

Twenty-Two

Justin stopped in at
the Lucky Dog later that morning. I was not only surprised to see him, but also surprised that he had Killer with him. Wasn't the police chief on duty today? His dog was a pet, not a K-9.

Jeri started to approach him, but, smiling, I nodded to her and she understood. I'd be the one to wait on him—assuming he was here to buy something for his dog. Otherwise, I wanted to talk to him. Maybe. As long as he didn't give me a hard time.

I released Pluckie's leash from the counter and we walked toward Justin and Killer, making our way through a group of tourists looking at doggy toys—including those I'd designed. I'd intended to help them out, but under the circumstances I allowed Jeri to head that way. Both Martha and Millie were talking with other customers. We'd gotten busy not long after Jeri and I had returned from the Heads-Up Penny Gift Shop, so it looked as if we'd have a good and profitable day.

“Hi,” I said as we neared Justin. I didn't have to fake a smile, though my pleasure felt a bit tentative. Why was he really here?

“Hi,” he said back, but instead of addressing me further, he bent to pat Pluckie's head, setting her long black-and-white tail wagging.

I, in turn, bent slightly to stroke his Dobie's back. “So what would you like today, Killer?” We stood near the store entrance where the displays held special leashes and collars, some with rhinestones and all with symbols of superstitions, including the ever-popular four-leaf clovers and rabbits' feet. A couple toy displays were near here, too, some of the old style stuffed animals and a few of my new ones. But all the food and treats were near the back of the store, and I figured that if Killer could voice his preferences, they'd be at the top of his list.

“I decided to take an extra-long lunch hour today to come here and buy him some lucky food. Plus check out your new toys, since I see you've just gotten them in,” Justin said, looking around.

I wondered right away if he intended to buy a Richy the Rabbit for Killer. I'd briefly considered not ordering any more after hearing from Brie about the enlarged rabbit's foot stuck in Flora's mouth by her killer. But I loved that design. And it wasn't Richy's fault, or mine, that he'd been used in such a terrible way.

Besides, most people didn't know about that—at least not yet, while the crime was still being investigated.

But Justin knew … I was curious as to whether he'd buy a Richy and, if so, whether he wanted to look more closely at this toy that had appeared to be some kind of symbol in the murder.

As it turned out, though, the toys he bought Killer were ones with holes in the center into which treats could be inserted and removed as a dog played. The ones we carried resembled large rubberized acorns.

After he paid for them, he asked, “Would you and Pluckie like to go for a short walk with us?”

Ah ha. That must be the reason he was here. Was he going to ask me more questions? Give me a hard time again?

And in fact it was a little of both. “So how's your investigation been going today?” he began as we started walking east on Destiny Boulevard. He carried a plastic bag with the items he'd bought.

I couldn't help glancing toward the Broken Mirror Bookstore as we passed it, in case Gemma happened to be looking this way. If so, what would her comment be next time we saw each other?

“Me? Investigate?” I tried to make my voice sound completely shocked, and we stopped because Pluckie did. “I'm just living my normal life. How about you? How's your official investigation been going?”

“Me? Investigate?” he mimicked. But then he added, “Same as last night—still ongoing. I don't suppose you happen to have picked up any … ideas you'd want to pass along to me?”

“No,” I said. “And before you ask, you can see I'm doing just fine.” I started walking again, and so did Pluckie.

We'd crossed Fate Street, and, in the middle of a crowd of tourists, were facing the 7-Eleven. Continuing down Fate Street would bring us to the Wishbones-to-Go eatery. It was nearing lunchtime, so I decided to pick up some sandwiches—and wishbones—for myself and my fellow Lucky Dog workers.

“Let's go this way,” I said to Justin.

“Sorry, I can't. I need to get Killer home and return to the station. But I just wanted … Rory, you know I care about you. And worry.”

He'd made that clear last night, and not for the first time. I went all melty inside. Again.

We were facing one another now, and the expression on his wonderfully handsome face as he looked down at me made me want to reach up and pull his lips to mine. But we couldn't do that till I was officially cleared as a murder suspect. Still, walking our dogs together must be at least somewhat okay. Kissing, less so.

“Thanks.” My voice came out as a croak. “I care—and worry—about you, too. But please hurry your investigation along and find the real killer fast.” I smiled as Killer looked up, having heard his name as I spoke. “Not you, sweetheart,” I said.

“I'm doing my damnedest to step things up,” Justin said. “And I know you'll keep doing your own investigating no matter what I say. So, like I said before, stay safe.”

“I will,” I said, crossing my fingers behind my back.

That walk and conversation made me want to step up my own investigation. When Justin and Killer headed back down Destiny Boulevard in the direction of the police station, leaving Pluckie and me at the corner, we turned and walked along Fate Street toward Wishbones-to-Go.

I was getting hungry, yes. But I also realized there might be something else I could accomplish at the restaurant besides bringing lunch back to the store.

When Pluckie and I first walked in, there was a line at the order counter, as always. Arlen's bosses were there: Evonne Albing, owner of Destiny's Luckiest Tours, and the manager, Mike Eberhart. I saw them at this place often. They'd already reached the counter, and I waved hello to them a minute later as they left with bags in their hands.

That was good. I didn't need to hold a conversation with them.

A few of the others in line in front of me looked familiar, but most didn't. I believed they all were tourists.

I wouldn't be able to sit down inside this place with Pluckie, even if I wanted to, but the owners seemed fairly relaxed about people coming in to order with their dogs along, probably because to do otherwise would turn off at least some of the tourist business. If it was against local sanitation laws, whoever enforced those apparently turned a blind eye.

I knew the menu, which was displayed above the counter, fairly well, so I didn't have to stare at it to figure out what to order today. They always had chicken and turkey sandwiches as well as burgers, and they acquired a lot of turkey wishbones and handed them out with the meals.

Not having my attention distracted was a good thing. I noticed the owner, John O'Rourke, behind the counter talking with one of his staff. I knew who he was, had met him before, and saw him here often, but as was the case with Padraic, we'd hardly spoken over the few months I'd lived in Destiny.

I'd lose my place if I went over to talk to him now, but that was okay. “Excuse me,” I said to the many people already in line behind me as I moved up along the side of the counter. I waited quietly off to the side until John had finished his conversation, then called out, “Hi, John. Have a minute to talk?”

John O'Rourke was on the list of shopowners I wanted Celia to interview, since Carolyn had named Wishbones-to-Go as one of the victims of Flora's vandalism. I didn't think Celia had come in here yet, but I figured I might as well take advantage of seeing John now.

At my call, he turned to look at me. He was in his fifties, with hair that appeared thick but had started to gray at the temples. Surprisingly, he hadn't overindulged in the good food he sold here. Or maybe he'd wished on an abundance of wishbones to stay slender, and it had worked.

Now, he stared at me through his thick glasses, as if assessing who I was and whether he wanted to respond.

“Hi,” I said again, smiling and gesturing with my head sideways, slightly, to indicate that I wanted us to step aside to talk.

Fortunately, he agreed. “Hello, Rory,” he said, proceeding to walk the length of the counter and come around the far end toward me. Pluckie and I joined him there. He looked down at my dog and said, “Let's go outside.”

“Sure.”

In a minute, we were on the patio at the front of the restaurant. Like the inside, it was furnished with a few small bedraggled tables with uncomfortable chairs. Wishbones-to-Go was designed to be mostly a takeout place, not a full-service restaurant.

John led me to the far outside corner of the building. “How are you, Rory?” His tone suggested he was just being polite and didn't really care.

“I've been better.” I tried to make it sound as if I preferred not to answer. “And you? I mean—well, I understand that your place was broken into and trashed, like the Lucky Dog was.” I glanced tellingly toward the window into Wishbones.

“Yeah, it was.” The lines in his thin face deepened as he frowned down at me through his glasses. “And I heard all about how Flora Curtival chewed out everyone in town at the end of the Destiny Welcome on Friday, saying she'd done all this damage in retaliation for our good luck superstitions not fixing her marriage during her earlier visit with her husband. What an idiotic idea, even for Destiny. But I supposed her anger must have included me, since my place was vandalized.”

I hadn't noticed John that night at the Welcome, and I gathered from what he was saying now that he hadn't been there.

Which hadn't kept him from hearing what had happened, of course, despite it supposedly being bad luck to talk about it. Or maybe after Flora's outburst, people weren't worried anymore about talking about it.

“Her anger definitely included me, too,” I rasped, drawing my gaze down to our feet. John wore comfortable looking athletic shoes and clean white slacks. His shirt was white, too—apparently this was part of his uniform as the owner of a place that sold food.

Had he worn white when he'd killed Flora and stuffed a Richy the Rabbit's foot in her mouth? He certainly appeared strong enough to have hit her in the head and then smother her, the way she'd apparently been murdered.

Startled by my own thoughts, I looked up at John again. Of all the people I'd spoken with, he was the first one that my subconscious thoughts had begun to imagine as a possible killer.

Why? His attitude didn't seem particularly bad. But there was something I couldn't explain—yet—that dug at me.

I decided right there to make sure Celia not only interviewed him quickly but that she brought Derek along. I suddenly didn't trust this guy, although I couldn't say exactly why. I definitely wanted their impressions of him, too.

But of course my impression of him, and theirs, wouldn't be enough to sic Justin and the police department on his tail. Not without evidence.

“So how did you kill our friend Flora?” John asked, in a voice full of both irony and accusation. “She accused you of setting the cops on her before you got to her, I heard.”

Startled, I felt my head shake as I looked up at him. He believed I was the killer.

Or was he taking that position to protect himself? Maybe that's what I was sensing.

“Yes, she did,” I responded in a low voice. “And that's a good reason for me
not
to have hurt her, since I'd be so obvious a suspect.”

“Well, aren't you the obvious suspect?” John hurled back at me. “And aren't you not under arrest because you're putting out for our police chief?”

I gasped, stepped back, and glared, feeling my right hand clench and release as if it couldn't decide whether to slap or punch him. Pluckie, standing at my feet, obviously sensed my anger and started to growl.

“Shut that creature up before I kick it out of here,” John said, loudly enough that a couple of people at nearby patio tables glanced at us.

“You will not kick my dog,” I hissed at him. “And you will not get away with murder.” I straightened my shoulders. “You know, I came here to buy lunch for myself and several others, which I still intend to do even though I hate the idea that you'll derive profit from it. But you are not going to ruin my lunch, no matter how much of a murderous lunatic you are.”

I pivoted away from him, realizing that I was shaking. And he hadn't even admitted to murder. Far from it. Instead, he'd accused me of it.

Yet his sometimes-restrained, sometimes-belligerent manner? I could see him killing a person that he wanted to retaliate against.

But how on earth would I ever prove it?

I ignored him and everyone else as Pluckie and I reentered the restaurant and I got at the back of the line, still trembling.

That's when I noticed who was standing right in front of us: Brad Nereida, of the Wish-on-a-Star children's shop—the other person Celia had interviewed yesterday, who I was supposed to talk to today in order to determine if he was a viable murder suspect.

Heavens. This was a regular Wednesday, but my luck today was very good. One way or another, I was about to engage in my fourth interview, with yet another person on my suspect list.

I saw John pass me on his way back behind the counter. Fortunately for him, he wasn't near enough for me to trip him.

Instead, I moved around just a little in the line and said to the man in front of me, “Oh, hi, Brad. How are you?”

And what did you tell Celia Vardox? Something that indicates you're a viable murder suspect?