1 Lost Under a Ladder

by Linda O. Johnston

  “I saw you next door at Martha’s, didn’t I? Were you shopping for stuff for this little fellow?” He bowed briefly to touch Pluckie’s head.

  My little girl cringed away a little. She’s great at assessing who likes dogs and who doesn’t. Tarzal had to be in the latter category. He might be an expert in superstitions, but Pluckie’s opinion dropped him way down on my admiration list.

  “Well, we started out just looking around,” I began.

  “She found Martha in the back room, ill,” Justin cut in. “That’s why there was an ambulance here and the crowd and all.”

  “Was everyone told to hold their breath?” Tarzal’s tone conveyed concern. “I assume, if there was an ambulance, that Martha was okay—at least until she got into it.”

  “Yes, someone mentioned that,” I said dryly. “Good thing there was already a dog for everyone to see so they didn’t have to hold their breath long to make sure Martha survived the trip. Otherwise, they might all have had to pile into the ambulance with her.”

  “You sound skeptical, Miss—Rory, was it?” That was someone else talking. Another man had been sitting behind a desk that held the cash register, and he’d risen as we’d talked. He looked sixtyish, with a whole plume of silver hair. He was dressed similarly to Tarzal, although his color-coordinated outfit was in shades of charcoal. He even had leather elbow pads sewn onto his jacket. His gray hair went well with his couture. The wrinkles in the corners of his eyes also matched the lines in his forehead.

  “A bit,” I admitted, holding out my hand to him. “I’m Rory Chasen.”

  “This is my partner, Preston Kunningham,” Tarzal said.

  “I was eavesdropping,” Preston said. “I saw the crowd, too, and watched the ambulance take off with Martha. I’d just been heading over there to see her and hope she’ll be okay. Any idea what was wrong with her?”

  He looked at Justin, not me. Not surprising. As police chief, Justin was probably considered the go-to guy for answers to all questions. Except maybe those relating to superstitions.

  “Not really,” I said before Justin could respond. “My dog Pluckie acted like she sensed something even before we walked into the store. We found Martha on the floor in the back room. She seemed unconscious at first but woke up somewhat before the EMTs arrived.”

  “Thank heavens for your being there—and your sweet little dog, too.” When Preston knelt to hug her, Pluckie’s tail began waving in ecstasy. This was a dog lover. I immediately liked him, at least more than I liked his partner.

  “Will you be in town long?” Tarzal asked. “We’d love to have you come back to the store, but unfortunately we’re closing early today.”

  Another reason not to love that guy. He was kicking us out.

  “Not sure how long I’ll be here,” I said. “But I will come back. I want to hear more about your book, Tarzal.” I waved in the direction of the table display. If I could get him to talk in generalities about it, I might be able to nudge the conversation to what I wanted to know without making it obvious. But that wouldn’t happen this afternoon.

  “And I’d love to talk about it.” A smile lit his long face and made its grooves seem less cadaverous. “Anytime during store hours, usually.”

  We said our goodbyes, and then Pluckie and I walked outside with Justin.

  “Glad I got an invitation to come back,” I said. “That store looks delightful.”

  “You’re a reader?” Justin asked.

  “Voracious—especially about things involving animals. That’s my business, after all. I don’t know whether they had any books on animals there, though.”

  “What do you do?” the police chief asked. I’d noticed his shoulders before, but I hadn’t paid much attention to how good-looking he was. His hair was jet black, just long enough to tousle sexily over his forehead. The darkness of his hair was reflected in the hint of five o’clock shadow, which was actually good timing since it was around five-fifteen now. That shadow emphasized the planes of his face and the prominence of his cheekbones. Then there were his memorably blue eyes.

  His handsome self-confidence seemed nothing like Warren’s demeanor had been.

  My poor, lost, lovable geek Warren.

  I didn’t want to notice the chief any more.

  “Oh, I’m the assistant manager of a MegaPets store in Los Angeles,” I said airily. “That’s why I was interested in the Lucky Dog Boutique. I think it’s time for Pluckie and me to head back to our B&B now. Glad I met you, and I really hope Martha recuperates fast.”

  “So do I,” Justin said. “Have a good evening.”

  _____

  I was surprised, an hour later, when my rather bland evening with Pluckie suddenly picked up in interest.

  We’d been at the Rainbow Bed & Breakfast since we left the Lucky Dog. The owner, Serina, was behind the desk when we returned. She’d immediately come out and began stroking a happily wiggling Pluckie. “I heard what good luck this dog brings.” She looked up. “Rumor has it that she found and saved poor Martha after she fell ill.”

  “Guess so,” I said. I wasn’t buying into it, but if some people in this town wanted to treat Pluckie like a hero, that was fine with me. “How did you hear about that?” I suspected I knew the answer. This was a fairly small town and its inhabitants probably kept in close touch about how each group of tourists reacted to superstitions so each business owner could respond in a way to make the most money.

  “A little bird told me,” she said with a giggle that might have been more appropriate coming from a young kid, but it did fit with her clothing style.

  “A little bird of superstition,” I suggested.

  She nodded. “One of our tours even takes people out bird-watching while describing superstitions relating to birds—crows and the like.”

  That figured. “Sounds interesting,” I said. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

  And that had been all until around six-fifteen. Pluckie and I had stayed in our quaint, chintzy little second-floor room, complete with a fluffy canopy over the bed. Its decor reminded me of Serina’s clothing style. I was studying the Destiny guidebook to plan the next day—including a tour, as well as a visit to Tarzal in which I planned to offhandedly ask about the ladder superstition. I had just begun thinking about what to do for dinner when the room’s phone rang.

  “Rory?” said a deep male voice when I answered. “This is Justin Halbertson. I was wondering if you’d join me for dinner.”

  Good timing. But did I want to have dinner with him?

  Maybe. I wouldn’t mind the company. Plus, I’d sound him out more about Destiny and what its residents really thought about superstitions, not just the fronts they put on to garner money from tourists.

  “If Pluckie can come too,” I told him.

  “Of course. There are a lot of places that welcome dogs, especially black and white hero dogs like yours.”

  “Do you get many black and white hero dogs around here?” I asked.

  “No, but I’ll be glad to have the first join me—us—for dinner.”

  _____

  Justin came by about twenty minutes later. We met him in the lobby, and I ignored Serina’s delighted grin and wave as we left.

  This wasn’t a date. I hadn’t dated since I lost Warren. I certainly had no romantic interest in this man. I just wanted to learn all I could from him.

  And surely the town’s police chief would know a lot.

  We exited the B&B’s lobby beneath that horseshoe hanging over the outside of the door. We walked a couple of blocks in the waning light of day, among another crowd of tourists that seemed more directed and less meandering than those I’d seen earlier that day. Maybe everyone was hungry now.

  A lot of these people also had dogs on leashes—white, black, brown, and golden colors, from little Yorkies up through a shepherd or two. I’d already dete
rmined that Pluckie was welcome, and that she wasn’t the only visiting dog. Even more seemed to be out at this hour.

  Too bad the Lucky Dog Boutique might not be able to keep regular hours now—although I didn’t know the situation. Hopefully, Martha had staff who could take over in her absence.

  “Are the sidewalks ever empty in this town?” I asked Justin. I noticed that he didn’t avoid stepping on cracks. I nevertheless stayed away from them—at least as much as possible.

  “Not if we can help it,” he responded with a smile.

  The Shamrock Steakhouse was about three blocks from the B&B.

  The B&B! I suddenly stopped and looked at Justin, my hand that wasn’t holding Pluckie’s leash on my hip. “How did you know where to find me?” I’d mentioned a B&B, but I hadn’t said which one of the several establishments in town.

  He shrugged one of those wide shoulders and grinned. “I’m the chief of police,” he said. “I know everything.”

  “Right.” As I turned to start walking again, I hid my smile. But there was undoubtedly truth to what he said. People around here would respond to his questions about visitors, especially locals who managed lodgings. Although I didn’t really see him taking the time to call all the B&Bs, or even having a subordinate do it.

  “It helps that you gave some info about yourself to the first officers on the scene at the Lucky Dog,” he said.

  Had I told the person interviewing me where I was staying? I didn’t think so—but I may have mentioned I’d planned to return to my B&B after stopping at the store and that it wasn’t too far. That would have narrowed down the possibilities.

  I hadn’t trod on a superstition that broadcast my location to the world. Thank heavens.

  We passed the Black Cat Inn on the way to the restaurant. B&Bs weren’t the only lodgings around here.

  We soon reached our destination. The steakhouse was crowded, but we were seated in the patio area right away. I wasn’t sure whether my companion had made a reservation, or if he got preferential treatment because of who he was.

  It didn’t matter. I was glad not to wait.

  The collection of small round tables allowed for a choice between those under heat lamps and those without. I felt fine and opted for no lamp when Justin asked my preference.

  Pluckie’s nose didn’t stop from the time we entered the area. She exchanged sniffs with a couple of Chihuahua mixes and a bulldog as we took our seats. Then her scent sense seemed enthralled by the smells of cooking food, since she kept her nose straight up for a while. “I’ll give you a taste, girl,” I promised in a whisper, patting her head.

  “You need to meet my dog, Killer,” Justin said.

  “Why didn’t you bring him?”

  “I didn’t have a chance to get him from home before joining you. But I’d like for you to meet him while you’re in town.”

  Not likely. I wouldn’t be here long. Nevertheless, I said, “I’d like that.”

  After asking my preference, Justin ordered a carafe of wine for us to split, then recommended one of the place’s steak specials. Like all the servers, our waiter had on a green Irish-type hat, as if he were a large, overweight leprechaun. His apron, and the menus and table-cloths, were all decorated with—what else?—shamrocks.

  Justin asked more about my life in Los Angeles as we waited for our wine. I didn’t want to get into that, so I asked him instead how long he’d been the police chief.

  “About two years,” he said. “I’d been a deputy chief in a smaller town north of here, and I applied to become chief when I heard of the opening. Fortunately, I got the job.”

  “Did you wish on a star or knock on wood?” I asked.

  He laughed. “Both, of course. I wouldn’t have been chosen if I hadn’t.”

  The wine was finally served, and the rest of our meal was quite pleasant. Other diners came and went, keeping Pluckie’s nose and attention occupied. I enjoyed the company, even though Justin dissembled most of the time when I asked how superstitious the people living here really were.

  “Some superstitions are definitely real,” he said as he cut a bite of his rare steak, “or at least people want them to be. But how many, and which superstitions—well, I learn more all the time, but I think people have to decide themselves how much to buy into.”

  “Literally,” I said.

  “Pardon?”

  “‘Buy into.’ Your residents want visitors like me to ‘buy into’ the superstitions a lot, so they can make money.”

  “Of course,” he said with a grin. “That’s good for me, too. It pays my salary.”

  I did as promised and gave Pluckie a few small bites of my own medium-rare steak. I found it delicious, and I was sure she did, too.

  As we were finishing, Justin said, “I went to see Martha at the hospital after you left for your B&B this afternoon.”

  I looked at him in surprise. His face seemed a bit grave, which made me feel bad for him. “Really? How’s she doing?”

  “She’ll be okay. The initial diagnosis is that she had a mild heart attack precipitated by self-overmedication with some prescription drugs she was already on. She says she didn’t, and I didn’t think she … well, that’s the current thinking.” Then I saw an expression I couldn’t read pass over his face. “She’d like for you to visit her in the hospital when we’re done here.”

  “Me?” I knew surprise radiated both from my question and my expression, since he graced me with another of those nice-looking grins of his. But only for a second.

  “Yeah. She wants to thank you.” Once more, his look was unreadable.

  That should have told me to back off and not go see her. But curiosity swirled through me.

  “No need,” I said with a shrug. “I’m just glad she’s okay.”

  “But she wants to. Please.”

  Okay, there was something I didn’t get here. Something I might not want to get. But my darned curiosity took control. “All right,” I said. “I’ll want to take Pluckie back to the B&B, though. I doubt she’s welcome in the hospital.”

  When we were finished and the server brought our bill, I took out my wallet to pay my share.

  “I’ve got it,” Justin said. When I started to protest—especially since I refused to consider this a date—he said, “You can get it next time.”

  As if there would be a next time. Unless we decided to grab dinner again together during one of the next two evenings, I’d be gone before I had a chance to pay. And if we had dinner together again before I left town—well, that would feel too much like we were dating, even for this short period of time.

  Even so, I stopped arguing. In a way, I would be doing him a favor by going to the hospital to see Martha. He’d already said she was like a mother to him, and I’d agreed, somewhat against my better judgment, to visit her. If she’d asked him to bring me, maybe he would get some kind of brownie points with his pseudo-mom by my showing up. Worth the price of my dinner? That was for him to decide.

  But what happened was not what I’d anticipated. Not in the least.

  I felt sure Justin knew about it, though.

  First, we took Pluckie back to the B&B. Soon thereafter, we were with Martha, who was lying in her hospital bed in a blue and white printed gown looking bright eyed, yet fragile.

  “It’s so good to see you again, Rory.” Her voice was soft as she held out her hands for me to come close and clasp them. She was in a private room, hooked up to an IV and some monitors.

  “I’m glad you’re okay,” I told her.

  “Too bad they don’t let dogs in here,” she grumbled. “I want to thank Pluckie, too.”

  She knew my name and Pluckie’s. Justin must have told her.

  I found out a minute later that wasn’t all he’d told her about me. I also learned why he stood at the door to the room, as if primed to flee—or maybe to keep
me from fleeing.

  “Rory,” Martha said, still holding my hands. She had an iron grip for a senior lady still sick enough to be a hospital patient. “I know you’re just visiting Destiny, but … well, I need to ask you a favor. A big one.”

  She paused, as if waiting for me to inquire what it was. I doubted that I wanted to know. My own heart started thumping so hard that I felt glad I wasn’t hooked up to one of those monitors. Otherwise, some nurse might show up to deal with me, stat.

  I definitely had a bad feeling about this. I glanced toward Justin, but he was no help. He appeared to plant himself even more firmly in the doorway.

  I gently started pulling my hands away from Martha. “Er—I’m not really good about doing favors,” I said.

  “Oh, but you’ll like this one,” she said, then coughed a little, turning her head to the side so her mouth faced her gown-clad shoulder—as if to remind me of her fragility. She picked up a water bottle from the table beside the bed, took a drink, then looked at me.

  I inhaled, waiting for what she had to say.

  “They tell me I’ll need some rest to fully recuperate,” she continued, “hopefully at home. I’ve got some part-time clerks at my store, but none has much experience or knowledge about running a store with pet products.”

  Uh-oh. I suddenly knew where this was heading. “Well, I’m sure they—”

  “Justin told me you’re an assistant manager—manager,” she said for emphasis, “at one of those wonderful MegaPets stores.” She smiled, opening her rheumy brown eyes wide in apparent hope. “I would be ever so grateful if you’d manage the Lucky Dog Boutique for me while I get better.”

  four

  I felt my eyes widen. My heart rate quickened even more, if that was possible.

  Stay here? Run Martha’s shop?

  But I had a life in L.A. A job that I loved.

  A need to stop obsessing about superstitions, then putting Destiny far behind me. Soon.

  But I didn’t have the answers I’d come for. Not yet. I might never get them, but the likelihood could be even less if I stayed here for only the few days that I had planned.