Knock on Wood (18 page)

twenty-two

Everything was fine. Stuart
had a group of college-age kids in a corner, talking to them about the reality—or not—of superstitions, as described in Tarzal's book.

Though Tarzal had started, before his death, to question superstitions a lot, his book reported them as real.

I looked around for Gemma and Frank. They were together along one of the other walls of the store, behind a tall bookcase. Frank sat on the floor, with a book, maybe Tarzal's, open on his lap. His knees were up so he could rest the book against them, and he leaned enough forward that his curly dark hair, despite his receding hairline, poofed over his forehead.

Gemma stood near him, possibly out of his sight since another bookcase was between them.

Was she observing him? Or stalking him? The latter seemed okay to me, since just by being here he was stalking her.

But as I tightened Pluckie's leash so she was right beside me and drew closer, I saw Frank look up as if my movement had gotten his attention. He look startled, rising immediately to his feet. It was Gemma he stared at as if in horror, though, as he rose and seemed to cringe. “How long were you standing there?” he demanded.

What nonsense. He must have realized she, or at least someone, was there even before I arrived.

“Only for a minute. And don't pretend, now that someone's listening, that you weren't aware I was watching you.”

“I was really into the book.” He gestured toward us both with it. “And you were out of my line of sight anyway.” He seemed to straighten his shoulders, glaring down at her. “Were you plotting your next murder, how you were going to kill me?”

The sudden pallor of Gemma's face was emphasized by the darkness of her short, black hair. “What a horrible thing to say,” she said hoarsely. “At least you stopped threatening me, but you don't need to try to get back at me just because I don't want the kind of relationship you do.”

“I'm glad you don't,” he said. “Right now, I see you for who you are: a killer.”

“Then why are you still here?” I broke in, stepping forward with my hands on my hips. Pluckie fortunately kept up with me. “If you think it's dangerous to be around Gemma, why don't you leave?”

His eyes seemed to catch on something behind me, and I realized from footsteps and whispers that we weren't alone in this part of the store. We probably had an audience of tourists, and Frank was milking that for all he could.

“Because this is Destiny,” he responded in a hushed tone. “Curses might already have been placed on me that will bring me bad luck even if I leave. I need to figure out what they are, turn them around into good luck, before I dare go home. That's what I was researching here.” He lifted the book. “I still haven't found any answers that'll help me.”

“If you've been cursed, you brought it on yourself,” I countered. “Maybe by your threatening behavior before toward Gemma—and certainly your behavior now. Stalking someone surely can't bring on good stuff. Neither can murdering someone.”

“Me?” His tone squeaked, as if I had struck him where it really hurt his masculinity and more. “Gemma's wrong. I never threatened her. And I didn't murder Lou Landorf.”

“You had as much motive to kill him as Gemma. Probably a bigger one. She'd had a mini-argument with him over nothing. You, on the other hand, saw him as a rival for the woman you cared about.” I was getting into this much more than I should have. I knew it. But I continued facing Frank, knowing I was potentially riling him enough to come after me.

Well, let him—here and now, with all these people around. That would provide some proof as to his state of mind—and any tendency to physically attack someone he was angry with.

But if he didn't do anything immediately, and that certainly was likely in this group, I'd have to start watching my back even more.

“Not me. Him.” Frank pointed past me, and I turned to see Stuart now watching this argument. “I knew Gemma's interest in me was less than it had been, but that guy had more reason than I did to get rid of potential competitors.”

“You're a bitter jerk,” Stuart nearly yelled. He moved forward around the shelves toward Frank, and I could see his fists flexing at his sides.

“Stop it!” That was Gemma. She inserted herself between them without looking at either. “I just can't live with the idea that Lou might have gotten killed because he showed some interest in me.” Tears ran down her cheeks, and I immediately regretted getting involved in this argument.

“I hope that doesn't mean you're about to commit suicide,” said a droll voice from somewhere behind me. The crowd parted enough so I could see Detective Alice Numa coming toward us. “Although if you do, please be sure to leave some kind of viable evidence, a note or whatever, so the DPD doesn't have to get involved trying to find a murderer like we are now.”

What an attitude. Maybe I should have asked Justin, if he couldn't come, to send Choye in his stead. But then, I hadn't liked that other detective much, either.

No, it would have been much better for many reasons if Justin were here.

“Joking aside, Detective,” I said, picking Pluckie up so she wouldn't get stomped on by the growing crowd, “I understand there are some questions about Mr. Shorester's attitude toward Gemma—such as, notwithstanding his showing up at this shop to supposedly just research superstitions, he's using the opportunity to make allegations against Gemma to you and to others.”

“I can't comment on that.” Alice stepped forward to join the group consisting now of Gemma, the two men courting her, and me. Alice's customary official-looking pantsuit today was of deep green, her expression suggesting amusement as well as officiousness. “Looks as if it's a good thing I'm here. Which of you is attempting to get the others to attack you? Ms. Chasen, I'd vote for you first, maybe Mr. Shoreston second. But you're definitely a close third, Ms. Grayfield. And I'm not ruling you out, Mr. Chanick.” She pivoted quickly to face Stuart. “In fact, I suspect that you pose the most immediate threat. Care to comment?”

Stuart appeared to decisively pull back his rage. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I should know better than to react to that man's obvious attempts to goad me and everyone else around him—undoubtedly to make us all appear guilty, when he's clearly the killer.”

This time it was Frank who clenched fists, but his were still holding the superstitions book. “Oh, I think the killer is in this room, all right.” He glared from Stuart toward Gemma and back again.

“I wouldn't be at all surprised if the murderer is with us here,” Alice Numa said, looking at me with a Cheshire cat grin. “Care to comment, Rory? You seem to enjoy trying to solve murders since you've arrived in Destiny.”

“My only comment is to hope that the police zero in on the right person, and fast.”

“I suspect we will.” Now her gaze focused on Gemma for a few long seconds. Then she reached into the black bag over her shoulder and pulled out a pad of paper with printed sheets. “I think I have enough reason to ticket Mr. Shoreston for disturbing the peace. Shall I give him one and order him never to return to this shop?”

She once more looked at Gemma, this time questioningly instead of accusingly.

“No, please don't. Frank, as far as I'm concerned you can come back here. But please stop telling people you suspect I'm the killer, okay?”

“As long as you do the same and stop accusing me. You too, Rory.”

This was turning into a silly game—which was better than the nasty alternative.

“I don't think we have a problem here any longer, Detective,” I said to Alice. “And if the killer is here, he's not going to admit it.” I purposely used the masculine gender, since I knew it wasn't Gemma.

“I'll be on my way, then,” the detective said, and the customers started cheering and applauding. Alice bowed as if accepting their applause. “Thank you all,” she said to them. “Just remember, it's good luck to be in Destiny—and it's certainly never dull.”

She was right. It was never dull around Destiny. At least it hadn't been since I'd arrived here.

Even with this discussion over, things didn't appear to be calming down in this store. Not completely.

I still held Pluckie, and now I hugged her even closer. What was her opinion of these odd humans and their insinuations and accusations?

She might not understand what we'd said, but I was certain she could read the moods around her. As if to prove she recognized my angst, she nuzzled me and licked my cheek.

I watched Alice Numa for now. I'd figured after her statement that the detective would depart immediately, but she didn't. Instead, she took Gemma aside for a few minutes to talk to her alone in the small office at the back of the shop. Meanwhile, business at the store started picking up again.

The people who'd been eavesdropping all seemed eager to buy books—and to discuss with the only visible salesperson at that moment, Stuart, whether the kind of confrontation that had just occurred was a harbinger of bad luck for those who'd participated. And what about those who'd observed?

Some of the visitors hadn't heard about the public affairs director's murder, so it was a topic of discussion too.

“I have nothing to say about that,” Stuart told them. “The woman wearing a suit?” He nodded toward the closed office door. “She's a detective working on the case.”

He obviously had no problem dumping on Alice, or at least putting her on the spot—and using her to get himself off it. I didn't disagree. Dealing with the murder was her job, after all.

I wondered what Gemma and Alice were talking about just then. I doubted it was good for Gemma.

Frank had pulled away from the rest of us, the book still in his arms, and stood in a corner leafing through it again. Why was he still here? Did he hope to point more fingers at Gemma as a suspect before he left? If so, was it still out of spite—or self-protection?

Soon, the office door opened and Gemma came out first. Her pretty face was scrunched into what looked like suppressed anger.

Frank wasn't the only one I suspected of pointing fingers.

When Alice Numa followed Gemma out, some customers rushed over to the detective. They started bombarding her with questions about the murder and how superstitions might be related to it. And what they should buy here or elsewhere to make sure they had good luck.

Scowling toward me, as if I'd loosed the horde on her, she responded as she headed toward the door. “Sorry, I can't answer any of that. It's an ongoing investigation.”

Into good luck superstitions? Well, I wasn't going to interfere. Although I did manage to point to Pluckie, still in my arms, while talking to a couple of customers near me. “One thing you can be sure of is that black dogs are lucky. And if you're going to a business meeting, running into a black and white dog will ensure your success.”

Which only seemed to poke the curiosity of the patrons here. That was a good thing, since I invited them to learn more at the pet boutique next door. If they bought stuff while they were there, all the better.

I hated to disappear while there were so many questions being asked of Gemma and Stuart and while Gemma had so clearly been disturbed, but I had to get back to my store.

Well … actually, the truth was that I really wanted to get out of there. My pet boutique just gave me the perfect excuse. I didn't get away quite as quickly as Alice, but I did soon thereafter.

I'd talk to Gemma later, when things had simmered down. Or at least I hoped they would.

Things at the Lucky Dog weren't nearly as exciting—thank heavens. Or fingers crossed, as the case might be. Jeri had taken off to work at her family store, but Martha remained downstairs helping Millie. Though the place was busy, it wasn't nearly as jammed with people as the Broken Mirror.

After hooking Pluckie to her usual location, I bent and hugged her again. She was one soothing pup.

“What's wrong, Rory?” Martha asked after sidling over. She leveled her hazel eyes on me, their edges crinkled in concern. Otherwise, she was looking good, especially considering she was a senior with health issues. But the worst of her non-health problems had ended when she'd been cleared of Tarzal's murder, so I wasn't surprised that her skinny shoulders were level beneath her shocking pink Lucky Dog Boutique T-shirt or that she was standing without any apparent effort.

“Things don't seem to be improving for Gemma,” was all I said. That was enough. Having gone through being the prime suspect in a murder, my boss and good friend here clearly understood.

“We'll talk later,” she said with a decisive nod that shifted the folds of skin beneath her chin, then went back to her customers.

That made two conversations for me to anticipate, including one with Gemma.

Three, if I counted Justin, which I did, since my phone rang a few minutes later and, when I checked it, it was him.

“Hi,” I said somewhat coolly as I walked behind a tall set of shelves to hear him better. He'd promised to send help when I saw Frank enter the bookstore next door. But the help he had sent turned out to be as disruptive as the man himself.

“Hi, Rory. I got an update about what happened from Detective Numa. There's more to it than she told you, or that I can tell you too. But I'm sure you have concerns and I'd like to let you know what I can.”

“Has Gemma been cleared?” I asked.

“It's not as simple as that,” he replied.

“Sure it is. I'm busy for the rest of today and this evening, but I'd like to talk to you soon.” Both assertions were partly false, but after the adrenaline rush I'd experienced at the Broken Mirror that had been punched up and not alleviated by the detective who reported to him, I needed a break from Justin and his reassurances without complete explanation.