1 Lost Under a Ladder (13 page)

“Hello?” I said.

“Hello, Rory? This is attorney Emily Rasmuten. You called me before about Martha Jallopia.”

I moved from the sidewalk and into the area between the two stores where I’d last spoken with Justin. It was late enough in the afternoon that there were more shadows than light here. “Thanks for returning my call.” I started to tell her the dilemma of Martha being considered a suspect in Tarzal’s murder.

“Yes, I’ve heard about it. So has everyone in town and probably beyond here, too.”

Partly thanks to the
Destiny Star
, I figured, although I was aware that the murder had also appeared in some broadcast media and online and there’d been some speculation as to who’d done it.

“I gather she’s been read her Miranda rights,” I said, “even though she’s not under arrest … yet.” I didn’t want to give any details of my conversations with Martha or Justin. “She told me that you represent her on some other matters. Do you handle criminal cases, too?”

“Yes,” she said. “Destiny’s a small enough town that the few attorneys here don’t specialize too much.” She paused. “Did Martha say she wants to hire me to represent her on this matter, too?”

“We’ve talked about it,” I said. “She’s not been well and is pretty
much confined to her home above the Lucky Dog Boutique, although
she has come downstairs a bit.” I didn’t want to get into the fact that she happened to have gotten downstairs at a particularly bad time. “I told her I’d call you for her. She’s got access to her phone, so it would be great if you’d call her back.”

“Yes, she and I would need to talk for her to retain me. And I won’t want it to appear that I’m soliciting her business.”

“Well, she said she wanted to talk to you, so it shouldn’t hurt for you to call her.”

“Right. I will. Thank you, Rory. You sound like a good friend.”

“I hope to be. I don’t know her well.”

“But—well, rumors do flow through this town like any superstition,” she said. “I heard that you and your dog saved her life before, and you may be helping to save it again.”

She couldn’t see my brief shrug. “I liked Martha from the moment I met her. I don’t think she could have hurt Tarzal.”

“But she has a motive.”

That wasn’t a question. And I wasn’t about to respond anyway.

“I will get in touch with Martha. Thanks for calling, Rory.”

I pushed the button to hang up. And then I realized there was someone else I wanted to talk to, the sooner the better. I’d stuck a business card into my pocket when I’d gotten it at the Wishbones- to-Go, and called Destiny’s Luckiest Tours. This time, I left a message for Arlen Jallopia to call me. He was apparently out giving a tour just then. He might be working late tonight, or not. I hoped to talk to him as soon as possible.

While I was on the phone, I reserved a spot on one of the tours Arlen was scheduled for the next day. One way or another, I’d at least get to see him. To talk to him alone? That remained to be seen.

_____

I got the call back from Arlen a short while after I’d dug back into helping customers at the Lucky Dog. Fortunately, the people I’d been with were still making up their minds about some decorative collars and leashes they were trying on their cocker spaniel—a dog Pluckie seemed to like a lot. In any event, I was able to walk away to the side of the store to answer my phone, still keeping an eye on them to make sure Pluckie wasn’t bothering them.

“Hi, Rory? This is Arlen Jallopia. I got your message. Is everything okay with Martha?”

“Mostly,” I said. “But I’d like to talk to you about her. Are you available to join me for dinner?”

“Sure,” he said. “I’d like to talk to you, too.”

fifteen

Arlen had told me
his last tour that day ended at six thirty. We decided to meet at the Shamrock Steakhouse at six forty-five.

Millie was leaving the Lucky Dog around six o’clock, but Jeri said she would be there to wait on any late-day customers and close up.

I really liked the young ladies Martha had chosen to be her assistants. They were teaching me a lot as well as making sure that the Lucky Dog remained lucky with its touristy patrons. I’d gathered that the store remained profitable and that Martha could afford to
pay me a salary, as promised. I nevertheless pondered some ideas
to make it bring in even more money.

Pluckie and I soon reached the Shamrock Steakhouse and saved a table outside on the patio. The air was cool, but not cold. Another pleasant evening here in the area just south of the mountains in the Los Padres National Forest.

But it was nearly seven fifteen. Arlen was late.

I wondered if this was an aberration or his norm. Would he have retained his job as a tour guide if he was habitually late? Unlikely.

Maybe he had underestimated the time it would take him to get here from wherever the tours met. Or maybe his being late now was some kind of message to me. Assuming I could figure it out. Of course a lot of people didn’t think twice about running half an hour or more late. I considered calling him, though, to make sure there hadn’t been some kind of misunderstanding.

“Can I get you something besides water while you’re waiting?” My server this evening was different from the one who’d taken care of Justin and me a couple of nights ago. He wore the same kind of tall green hat as well as a vest and other clothing with shamrock decorations. Four leaf clovers. Symbols of good luck.

What the heck? It was late enough in a day that had had some pretty rough moments. Hard to believe it had just been this morning when Pluckie and I had found Tarzal … “Yes, please,” I said, and ordered an Irish ale on tap, as well as more water in a dog bowl for Pluckie.

She wasn’t the only dog on the patio this night, either. There was a German shepherd under a table in the next row, and two small white terriers a few rows over. None seemed particularly interested in my pup or each other, a good thing in an environment like this.

I studied the menu. I intended to eat here this night whether or not Arlen showed up.

Was there any kind of superstition about being stood up for a meal?

“Hi, Rory,” said a voice from behind me. “Sorry I’m late.” Arlen squeezed around the nearby occupied tables toward the seat across from me. He bent to pat Pluckie on the head. “My last group of tourists was gung-ho on getting a whole bunch of pictures at our last stop, so we were behind schedule. I didn’t think I’d be this late, though, or I’d have called you.”

At least he was apologetic and polite. And I was probably overreacting because of the emotional and difficult day I’d had, my concern over Martha—and having been the only person on this patio who didn’t have another diner with her before Arlen arrived.

“That’s okay,” I said and realized I meant it. Most of my angst before had been unnecessary, and now I could relax.

Arlen’s appearance still reminded me a bit of a TV actor—maybe
not one, but a conglomeration: young and pert and trying a bit too hard to look cute and sexy.

He asked our server for a beer, too. “Did you order your dinner yet?” he asked.

“No.”

“I can recommend the sirloin tips pretty highly. The T-bone, too. Although if you prefer something lighter, their steak sandwiches are great.”

“I had a sirloin the other night,” I told him. “I liked it a lot, so I may just stay with the tried and true.”

“Oh, you’ve been here before?”

“I ate here on my first night in town.” I didn’t explain that I’d been with the chief of police, who, at the time, had been wining and dining me partly to convince me to help out Arlen’s aunt while she recuperated.

When our beers arrived along with some delicious Irish soda bread, Pluckie sat up and sniffed the air. I gave her a tiny taste of bread and she settled back down with what appeared to be a contented sigh.

I looked at Arlen. I hadn’t exactly thought this through. I didn’t want to ask him if he happened to have killed Tarzal because the man wasn’t getting along with his Aunt Martha, or maybe for some other reason. But I could at least sound him out to learn if he knew about their argument.

“I thought we should talk,” I said, “because I’m concerned about your aunt. She seems to be healing, although it’s only been a couple of days. I’m concerned that she’s not taking the best care of herself.”

“You mean because she’s walking up and down the steps at her place when she’s not supposed to?”

Had one of the store staff told him that? Or had Martha herself ?

Turned out to be the latter.

“That and other things,” I said. “How’d you know that she’d been
negotiating the steps?”

“I talked to her before,” he said. “When I heard that Kenneth Tarza
l had been murdered. She was upset because apparently the fact she’d been able to get downstairs on her own despite just being released from the hospital made her a suspect.”

“That’s my understanding, too,” I said. “But I don’t really understand what they think her motive could be.” That wasn’t true, of course, but I wanted to see if Arlen knew.

He did. His expression grew solemn. “I think it’s pretty insubstantial, but Aunt Martha did tell me she’d had some business meetings planned with the men next door. She was doubtful they’d go well because she thought Tarzal and his partner Preston were going to twist her arm to give up the Lucky Dog Boutique. She intended to resist all temptation and was hoping to convince them instead to go after the property on the other side of their shop, around the corner.”

“I suppose she may have been hoping for that result when she first saw Pluckie and said my little black and white dog was a good omen for a business meeting.”

“Right. But she refuses to acknowledge that, whatever the guys at the bookstore were hoping to build on the property there, they wanted it all to face onto Destiny Boulevard, not around the corner.”

I hesitated. “You know that … well, I understand that Tarzal threatened her with making sure to publicize bad luck superstitions about dogs and the Lucky Dog Boutique so it would close anyway if she didn’t cooperate.”

“She told me.”

Our meals came then. Arlen, too, had ordered steak—a T-bone. That had been the most expensive meal on the menu.

And I suspected it would be on my nickel. We hadn’t discussed who’d be paying. Since meeting here had been my invitation, he might be expecting that I’d treat.

I just hoped I’d get something useful out of him.

“This is great,” I said a few minutes later after my first bite of meat. “How’s yours?”

His smile told me it was good even before his words did. “Delicious. Anyway, Rory, I guess you may be wondering what I thought of Martha’s arguing with Tarzal and Preston. I was all for it, since I doubted they’d pay her what her property is worth. She bought it years ago when she moved to Destiny and opened the store. Things have only gotten better in town, so I’m sure she’d make a hefty profit on it—but the Lucky Dog’s really profitable, too. Yes, she could move it, but it’s a great location.”

“Then you supported her position.” And didn’t like Tarzal’s? Better yet, didn’t like Tarzal?

Could Arlen have been the killer to protect both his aunt and her property?

“Yes, I did. I really like Destiny. I moved here after visiting Aunt Martha when I graduated from college three years ago. I wanted to get even closer to her, you know? She doesn’t have kids, and the poor lady is growing older. I wanted to help her.”

Or inherit from her? He didn’t say that, but I read beneath the lines.

He sighed, then drank some more beer, his eyes on me. “I know you’re doing a good job helping her with the store, Rory. You’ve got a perfect background for it. But I wanted her to hire me at least part time so I could learn the business better.”

And maybe step in to run it now that his aunt was ill, even before the possibility of inheriting it? Or maybe he’d thought—hoped?—that time was fast approaching.

What a cynic I was. But it was interesting that Martha hadn’t taken her nephew under her wing after he’d moved to Destiny. Maybe she didn’t trust him—at least not to run her beloved boutique as it should be managed—even though, the first time I’d seen him, he had tried to be helpful.

But not even a part-time job when the guy was obviously interested? Why? And he’d said he would come visit her once she was home, but if he had I wasn’t aware of it.

I’d have to approach the question of Arlen carefully, but I would ask Martha one of these days.

“Then you didn’t think she should even have listened to Tarzal and Preston’s latest offer?” I asked.

“Listen to it? Yes. I doubt it would have made sense, but if it did I’d have helped Martha find another location for the store and move into it. But I’d have done a better job at it if I knew more about the business first.”

He actually made some sense. And at this moment, I didn’t really think that Arlen had killed Tarzal to help his aunt or himself—even if he hoped to run, and possibly inherit, the pet boutique.

I blinked and grabbed my own beer glass as I decided what to
say next. I decided not to issue an invitation for a part-time job without discussing it with Martha, but I didn’t intend to stay forever and she would ultimately need help, maybe someone who could
take charge.

Yet if she’d already considered Arlen, then rejected the idea, I needed to know why—and honor it if it made sense.

At the moment, I couldn’t think of what else to say on this subject. So, instead, I said, “You know what? I’ve reserved a spot on one of the tours you’re giving tomorrow. Why don’t you tell me a little bit about what I’ll see?”

_____

By the time we finished eating, I was even more eager to take the tour of Destiny. I gathered that no matter what else Arlen was, he was a smooth, comedic, and fun tour guide.

Plus, Destiny, with all its superstitions, was one really fascinating town.

I’d been right about Arlen’s expectations of being treated to dinner. But that was okay. I still needed more information from and about him. Right now, though, I couldn’t throw him in front of Justin as the best murder suspect in town.

That meant I had to keep looking. And asking questions. And learning more about this town’s good and bad luck symbols and who believed. And who didn’t.

The server brought our check. I looked at it and paid with a credit
card.

“Thanks, Rory,” Arlen said. His smile was all movie-star smooth, and I felt like he might have been trying to flirt with me. Or at least manipulate me.

“You’re welcome,” I said, then quickly stood. Pluckie rose, too, and
looked at me, wagging her tail. “You’re right,” I said to her. “We’ll go back to our B&B and I’ll get you your dinner.” She wasn’t starving, though. I’d given her small bites of my steak.

“Where are you staying?” Arlen asked.

“The Rainbow Bed and Breakfast.”

“Good choice.” We’d made our way to the gate of the patio and he opened it, letting Pluckie and me go through first. “Anyway, thanks again and I’ll see you tomorrow.” He walked away.

Pluckie apparently thought it was a fun time to jog along the street, since she ran ahead of me. Fortunately, at this hour and location, there weren’t as many people on the sidewalks as I was used to seeing.

We made a couple of stops for Pluckie to do her usual sniffing and piddling but soon reached the Rainbow B&B. At last. I hadn’t been here all day. It felt like this morning, when Pluckie and I had found Tarzal, had occurred ages ago.

We walked under the horseshoe and into the lobby, only to find a small crowd of people there surrounding the owner, Serina. Among them was Carolyn Innes of the button shop whom I’d met at Wishbones-to-Go—which reminded me I’d better ask tomorrow if Jeri had retrieved any wishbones from Martha.

Carolyn was near the back of the group. After picking Pluckie up I edged toward her. “Hi,” I said. But noticing that all eyes were on Serina behind the check-in desk, I looked there, too.

In her usual Gold Rush–era frilly outfit, Serina held on as if about to fall over. Her brown eyes were reddened, and her smooth cheeks appeared damp, as if she’d been crying.

“What’s wrong with Serina?” I asked Carolyn.

“We’re all here to support her,” Carolyn said. “It’s so awful for her.” Her eyes were teary, too. She still had on the black cat and buttons T-shirt I’d seen her in earlier that day.

“What is?”

“Kenneth Tarzal.”

“She knew him?” Not surprising in this relatively small town.

“Shhh,” Carolyn whispered. “Yes. They were engaged a while ago.”

“Oh. But they aren’t—weren’t—now?”

Carolyn aimed her chilly blue-eyed gaze at me. “No, but they were starting to date again to see if they could resurrect what they had. And now poor Serina will never know.”

“What a shame,” I said, even as I wondered whether Serina did in fact know—and may have had a motive to kill her ex-fiancé.