Unlucky Charms (7 page)

Ten

I decided to call
Justin right away rather than get ready for bed first—which is what I often did when we spoke late at night, especially when we hadn't spent the evening together.

Not that it replaced a real evening or night with Justin. And, yes, we were now engaging in close-up fun on some of those occasions.

But sex with the good-looking guy I was seeing wasn't on my mind that night. Well, it took second place to what else I was thinking about.

I sat down on the edge of my bed, beneath the canopy and on top of the coverlet, and pulled my phone from my pocket. Pluckie must have understood phones to some extent, since she lay down on the floor, cradling her muzzle in her paws. I pressed in Justin's number, not trying to suppress the smile I felt at the thought of talking to him.

“Hi, Rory,” he said almost immediately. “I was just thinking about you.”

“Are you in bed?” I asked spontaneously, then basked in his deep laughter.

“Not yet, but I can still think of getting you there again one of these days.”

I laughed, too. Then I grew serious. “I know full well that it's supposed to be bad luck to talk about—”

“About the stuff we've been sort of talking about,” he finished. “And I know it hasn't stopped you from discussing it before. So—what do you want to say about it?”

Taking a deep breath, I related what Arlen had told us.

When I was done, there was silence at the other end of the phone.

“I know it might be a stretch, Justin, but—”

“But it's a possible lead. I've been taking notes. I'll get someone started on checking it out tomorrow. And before you ask, yes, we have extra patrols on the streets tonight. We'd had extra before, but apparently not enough. Even if this doesn't result in shutting down the problem, we'll get it done somehow.”

I certainly hoped so.

“Keep me informed,” I told him.

“Without talking about it.” I could tell by his tone that he was smiling. “Hey, with this and some other matters, my day tomorrow is going to be pretty full. But will I see you at the Welcome show tomorrow night?”

“Count on it.”

Gemma and I didn't say anything at our B&B breakfast about our discussion with Arlen and Martha the previous night. As always, the place was crowded. Our hostess, Serina, flitted between tables, ensuring enough food was prepared and saying hi. No need to let anyone learn what was on our minds.

We left for our shops soon afterward, and broke away from them briefly around eleven to get coffee together at Beware-of-Bubbles. We ordered separately inside and headed out to the patio to drink them, since I'd brought Pluckie.

I'd ordered plain black coffee and was shocked when the cup the barista handed to me had—what else?—bubbles in it. Never mind the name of the shop; I almost never got bubbles in my coffee here. And these were large ones, two of them right in the middle. Without saying a word, I showed Gemma.

She looked straight into my eyes with her soft brown ones and also appeared shaken, but she sloughed it off immediately and grew all businesslike. No, all librarian-like, as if she knew everything—and probably did. “You're probably as aware of this as I am, but drink that coffee quickly, since you may come into money if you're done before the bubbles disappear.”

Yes, I'd heard that one. I'd also heard others. “But … large bubbles,” I said. “Doesn't that mean I'll get bad news?”

“It can also mean a friend will arrive soon.”

“I should give this to you, since Stuart is due here soon.”

“Right, but it's your coffee cup. He's a friend of yours, too, so maybe that's what it means.”

“Sure,” I said, but I doubted it. I wondered what the latest was between the two of them, but that wasn't why we were here. I'd wait to ask that—maybe until after he'd arrived.

We sat at a table. Since it was a cool day, the patio wasn't as crowded as it sometimes was, so we could talk privately. Gemma had ordered a steaming mocha, so we both had warm drinks. Pluckie's was her usual bowl of water.

“So … any other thoughts about what Arlen said last night?” Gemma kept her voice low.

“Lots of thoughts, no conclusions.” I'd already let her know I'd spoken with Justin, although I hadn't mentioned his reaction. I did now—but all I could say was that he'd been interested and promised to look into the situation.

“Have you heard anything from him yet?”

I shook my head.

“Well, then?” She put an imaginary phone up to her ear.

I shrugged and pulled my real one from my pocket, pressed in his number, and held it up to my own ear.

He answered immediately, a surprise at this time of day when he was usually so busy with chief-of-police kinds of things. But I wasn't surprised that he essentially said hi and bye. The real reason he'd taken the time to answer, though, I figured, was that he added, “That matter I said I'd look into? So far, no one has located the person we discussed.”

I heard what he wasn't saying. He wanted to know if I had any idea where to find Flora.

I didn't. “Sorry,” I said, “but if I get any information I'll tell you right away.” After hanging up, I related that bit of conversation to Gemma.

“Interesting,” she said. “I'd imagine they checked her apartment and the real estate company she's working for here.”

“Probably.”

Just then Pluckie rose and gave a little woof from beside me. I half expected that my lucky dog had understood what I was saying, and I looked up quickly to see if Flora had joined us here.

Instead, it was a couple of tourists with an inquisitive Malamute who'd just come onto the patio. The other dog had also spotted Pluckie, and they were having a canine communication session of sorts, both standing their ground and wagging their tails.

I handed Gemma Pluckie's leash, dug into my purse for one of the promotional brochures I always carried, and approached the couple. I donned my tourist-welcoming demeanor, handed them the flyer, and told them to come visit the Lucky Dog Boutique with their beautiful companion, whom I patted softly on the head between his erect ears.

It dawned on me then. Tourists? Welcoming? “And by the way, in case you haven't heard, there's a wonderful Destiny Welcome program planned this evening at the Break-a-Leg Theater. Hope to see you there.”

I had attended a lot of Welcomes, although not every one of them. My happiest times at the theater occurred whenever I gave a “Black Dogs and Black Cats” program about pets and superstitions.

And at my last talk, when I'd been able to show off samples of the new dog toys I'd designed.

The ones that had been stolen.

But I wouldn't think about that now. Or at least, I wouldn't focus on it. And I certainly wouldn't discuss it here, just in case it really would be bad luck.

Townsfolk were encouraged to attend the Welcomes, along with our visitors, to show how committed we all were to Destiny—and to its superstitions. Even those of us who remained skeptical about the real effects of superstitions were willing to encourage more tourists to visit by showing how much we liked our town and its quirkiness.

Besides, rumor had it that it was good luck to attend a Welcome. And given what I'd been told in the last couple of days, I could have used some good luck.

Gemma and I, and Stuart Chanick, who'd arrived in Destiny that afternoon, were just entering through the wide doors at the front of the charming, old-style theater, admiring the building's golden Art Deco façade and rounded arches. We weren't the only ones. A large crowd containing some familiar faces, and some that belonged to tourists, was lined up and starting to move inside. The noise of many conversations filled the air around us.

Millie arrived, pushing Martha in her wheelchair, as was their usual routine. I really liked Millie and her attention to her boss and friend. Like Justin, Millie had helped to convince me to stay in Destiny to help Martha.

I didn't know if Arlen would come to the show tonight. He sometimes did.

Not Pluckie, though. I'd shut my sweet girl in my room at the B&B after giving her a nice healthy dinner and taking her for a short walk.

I guessed that a lot of us townsfolk, who knew about the things-that-must-not-be-mentioned, would be here tonight in case hints were given about what had happened and what was being done about it.

“Let's find seats toward the rear,” I suggested to Gemma and Stuart.

Stuart was a good-looking, tall, slim guy. Professional that he was, he wore a suit.

Gemma and I had both changed clothes from the promotional garb we wore at our respective shops. She had on a long-sleeved black and white shirt dress, and I wore a slightly frilly apricot-colored blouse and brown skirt. As always, my hematite, dog-faced good luck pendant hung around my neck.

“Why? Do you want to try to sneak out?” Gemma's voice was droll and so was her expression. “That could be bad luck.”

“Do you want to enumerate all the other things around here that could bring us bad luck?”

“How about nearly everything. Maybe you should have brought a copy of
The Destiny of Superstitions
, Stuart.” Gemma glanced up at the guy beside her, who smiled.

“I don't think you'll find the superstitions in play right now listed in that book,” I began.

I stopped talking as I saw Justin enter the theater from a door at the other side. He wore a suit and had several other cops with him, detectives who were also dressed up as if this were a special occasion, including Detectives Richard Choye and Lura Fidelio.

In some ways, the Welcome was always special. But I suspected this group was not here just to promote the welfare of Destiny.

“How about these?” Gemma gestured toward some empty seats at the end of the third row from the back.

“Fine.” I slid in after Stuart and her. I looked around. Justin and his associates had also found seats, scattered throughout the descending rows of red plush chairs. That was probably good. Even if the tourists recognized them as cops, they could easily think they were here to enjoy the show with the rest of the townspeople, not necessarily here on official duty.

I figured, though, that the latter was the case.

At precisely eight o'clock, Mayor Bevin Dermot scaled the steps at the side of the stage, a microphone in his hand. Of course he wore his green leprechaun-like suit coat. “Welcome, everyone,” he shouted into the mic, immediately gaining the crowd's attention and silence. “Thank you for coming to the Destiny Welcome!”

He didn't work off a script, but with the exception of the Welcomes where he had townsfolk take charge and talk about their own stores or businesses, Bevin would deliver a standard spiel about Destiny and how it was established by those Forty-Niners who found gold after following a rainbow here, and how everyone who visits here can have the best of luck—assuming they comply with all superstitions.

Then he proceeded to describe some of the most basic, well-known ones, like crossing fingers, knocking on wood, and picking up heads-up pennies, and also how wishbones, rabbits' feet, horseshoes, and more can deliver good luck.

When he was through, he invited anyone so inclined to come up to the stage: residents who wanted to talk about their shops, or tourists who had questions. A few of the latter happened and visitors asked the standard kinds of things, like whether everyone in town knew enough to make sure their luck stayed good.

“We try,” was Bevin's standard reply to this question. “And we help each other, even as we try to teach all of our visitors what they can do, both here and when they get home, to ensure good luck. But as we all know, fate sometimes intervenes.”

Fate—in the guise of people who did nasty things such as invade local businesses to steal good luck items and leave bad luck items. But, hey, it would be bad luck even to talk about that. Wasn't that what Bevin had decreed?

Okay, I realized I was letting my mood go sour again. I needed to stay calm and let Justin and his guys do their thing—mainly, finding Flora and determining if what Arlen said had any validity.

Since so many of the town's policemen were here, I assumed they hadn't found Flora to question her. And I didn't see her at the theater, either.

Soon the Welcome ended, and Bevin thanked everyone for coming. We all started filing out to the lobby.

Sometimes, after the Welcomes and events like my talk, a bunch of us went out drinking, as we had the other night. But I thought I'd just go back to the B&B, although first I'd check to see what people I liked, such as Gemma—and Justin—were doing.

When Gemma and I reached the lobby, I could tell that something was going on. The usual crowd noises were superseded by shouts. People were rattling the doors, apparently trying, without success, to open them and get out. Some were yelling and cursing, too.

Martha, in her wheelchair, sat in a corner with Millie right beside her. Near them was Serina, along with Carolyn Innes, Jeri and Kiara Mardeer, Brian Nereida, Padraic Hassler, and other store and eatery owners, all of whom I'd seen seated inside. Arlen's bosses at the tour company were there, too—Evonne Albing and Mike Eberhart—although I hadn't seen Arlen at the show.

Theater employees, including Phil, wearing garb reminiscent of Art Deco days, were attempting to use keys to unlock the doors, with no success.

What was going on?

Then I heard a voice emanating from the public address system, which was usually used to tell people when it was time to enter the theater. This loud voice sounded familiar.

It was a voice that had suggested, over and over, that its owner intended to find me a new home.

Flora.

But what was she up to? Why was she on the PA system?

All I knew was that what she was saying was—unsurprisingly—superstition-oriented. And it sounded scary.