Knock on Wood (15 page)

What was he driving at? Had Frank admitted to something involving Lou's death, enough so the cops were trying to determine if his statement could be trusted, that he might, in fact, be guilty?

It struck me, though, that the opposite was more likely to be true. Maybe, in anger against Gemma—or because Frank had, in fact, murdered Lou—Frank was pointing toward his ex-girlfriend as the guilty party.

That would unfortunately make sense from his perspective.

But this was sheer speculation on my part. What Choye was asking could be for an entirely different reason. And I doubted he would answer my questions, even though he wanted me to answer his.

Just in case, I tried to cover my own butt and Gemma's too.

“Detective, all I can tell you is that, whether or not I'd have trusted what Frank said before, I'm not sure I would now. It would depend on what it was, for one thing. He came here supposedly trying to win Gemma back, and he's been unsuccessful. To me, he's seemed pretty angry since he's arrived. Maybe that would lead him to tell the truth if he felt he could get revenge on Gemma or someone else he considered a rival for her affection. Or maybe he'd feel he could get a better result by producing lies. But all you can get from me is speculation, and I know that kind of thing isn't evidence, which I assume is what you're after, right?”

He didn't exactly respond. Instead, he leveled a really nice, wide smile at me that suggested I'd said exactly what he'd hoped for.

How odd, I thought.

“Thanks for your help, Rory,” he finally said. “I'm sure we'll have more questions for you, and I hope it's me who gets to ask them.”

And then he left, leaving me even more puzzled than I'd been about his questions.

eighteen

I considered hurrying next
door to talk to Gemma to get her take on what this was about.

To ask if she knew where Frank was—and what he'd been saying about Lou's murder. And to whom.

And whether she had heard anyone claim superstitions were
involved.

But I'd be seeing her this afternoon and could ask those same questions more subtly.

Still standing near the trinket counter, I glanced at Pluckie, who was tethered nearby. She hadn't barked or jumped at the detective but had sat there observing him, as if trying to figure out what he really wanted.

I knew I was projecting my own feelings onto my dog, but sometimes Pluckie seemed so attuned to the people around her I figured she had some kind of psychic connections with humans, or at least with me.

And if I could potentially accept that, why couldn't I accept superstitions as real?

Were there any superstitions about psychic animals?

Another party of tourists walked in, which served to emphasize that I'd made the right decision about staying here, at least for now. I got busy helping them.

When Millie arrived a while later, she brought in lunch for all of us, including Martha, so I didn't have to worry about taking a break before I had to leave. I repaid her for everyone's meals, as I did often with my helpers, despite not committing to do so all the time.

Soon, it was near the time Gemma and Carolyn had chosen for tea. Martha had come downstairs by then so there were three people eagerly waiting on customers when Pluckie and I departed for our afternoon get-together.

We made our way through the usual noisy and excited crowd and stopped first at the Broken Mirror next door to get Gemma, even though that shop was slightly in the other direction from where we were going.

Then, walking west on the sidewalk along Destiny Boulevard, the three of us headed toward the Buttons of Fortune shop, about halfway between the Lucky Dog and Destiny's Civic Center. We actually passed the Beware-of-Bubbles Coffee Shop on the way, but I'd arranged with Carolyn for us to drop by at her Buttons of Fortune shop so I could show it off to Gemma. Then we'd return to get our refreshments.

On the way, I asked Gemma about Frank. Was he still hanging around the bookstore?

“More than I like,” she said. We exchanged glances, and she continued. “He usually stays for an hour or so at a time, thumbing through books and not buying any. But he's mostly quiet so I don't really want to start a nasty conversation by telling him to leave.”

“Then he isn't talking much?” Like telling lies, as Detective Choye intimated? Or telling truths that perhaps Gemma didn't want to hear?

But her answer was, “Mostly, if he finds a superstition he particularly likes he'll tell me about it. Or if he eavesdrops on a conversation with some customers, he'll sometimes point them to a place in Tarzal's book, or a different book, where they might find answers. It's strange, but when he does that he actually seems to be helping me—and contributing toward my staying here. Why do you ask?”

Choye hadn't told me to avoid talking to Gemma. Even if he had, I wasn't under any official obligation, and the detective certainly wasn't a friend of mine. Gemma was. So was Justin, but he hadn't been part of this except as Choye's superior. I related to Gemma my odd conversation where Choye seemed to want to know how much I trusted Frank.

“I let him know that, at the moment, I don't have a good reason to trust him, but he'd seemed okay to me before, when we all were in L.A. together.”

“Good answer. I guess. But do you know what the cop wanted that information for?”

“No,” I said. “Anyway, we're here.”

We had reached Buttons of Fortune. The store was housed in a delightful two-story beige brick building that, like so many other structures in Destiny, was reminiscent of the architecture of the Gold Rush era. It might even have been built way back then, although if so it had been kept up well.

An ornate white wooden canopy jutted to become a patio for the second floor, forming shade over part of the sidewalk below. Upstairs was a row of tall windows emphasized by stone trim. Below, the windows were wider, holding displays of clothing with unique rows of buttons, as well as jewelry boxes containing lots of other buttons of many shapes and sizes.

“Charming place,” Gemma breathed as I found a spot on the sidewalk that gave us the best view, then blocked some of the strollers so my friend could get a better look at the store. I made sure Pluckie was in front of me and unlikely to get stepped on.

“Agreed,” I said. In many ways it resembled the store she managed from the outside, although the Broken Mirror Bookstore was built of red brick. The Lucky Dog Boutique was clearly constructed to fit the same era, but its exterior was entirely of wood.

Inside, the button store was even more appealing and dramatic. Carolyn had multiple wooden cabinets open at the front that also appeared to be from the
1800
s, and in them were shelves tilted to show off rows of buttons displayed mostly on velvet backings. Many buttons were of metal resembling gold and silver, although I suspected few, if any, were truly made of precious metals. Some were carved wood. Others were plastic; some of neutral colors of white or ecru, but many more in bright hues like magenta and royal blue.

Sizes varied. So did shapes: oval, round, square, even triangular. The number of holes was also diverse.

There were bolts of fabric and spools of thread on shelves near the back walls, in case customers wanted to buy everything at the same place for a new outfit they were about to sew.

What made this place all Destiny, though, were the rows of posters in pseudo-gilt frames, each proclaiming a superstition about buttons. One said, “Finding a button is good luck.” Another provided, “It's bad luck to button your buttons wrong. The fix? Remove your garment and put it on again.” Yet another said, “If you find a button on the street, you're about to enter a new friendship.” Plus, there were several more.

The one with the largest frame and most prominent position said, “Giving buttons as a gift is good luck.” That made perfect sense in a button store.

“Hi, you two.” Carolyn emerged from behind one of the tall cabinets and approached us. “No, three.” She looked down at Pluckie, who sat like a good girl on the floor at my feet. “Need any buttons today?”

She, too, had a couple of assistants, which was a good thing since there were several customers oohing and aahing over the multiple button collections.

“Hi yourself.” Gemma's smile was huge. “I wish I did need some. What a delightful place. I happen to love buttons—and I've come to love button superstitions, too.”

I'd worn one of my usual outfits for managing my shop, a gold-colored T-shirt with the Lucky Dog Boutique logo on the front. My jeans were nice ones, but they had snaps, not buttons.

Gemma, on the other hand, was dressed in one of her usual librarian-like outfits, a professional-looking beige shirt tucked into deep brown slacks. Yes, her shirt had buttons, small white ones with two holes each. As far as I could tell, she had fastened them correctly. None of the superstitions on the walls would appear to apply to her—unless, of course, she sought good luck by giving some buttons as gifts.

Then there was Carolyn. Although she sometimes wore T-shirts displaying black cats or rabbits or other animals with button eyes, today she had on a frilly blue shirt that matched the shade of her eyes. It hung loosely over her navy slacks. The shirt had obvious gold buttons with a diameter of about an inch. They, too, all appeared to be fastened in the appropriate holes.

Carolyn was in her mid-thirties, like me. A brunette whose mid-length hair was highlighted here and there with deep auburn streaks, she was a couple of inches taller than me, and quite slim. She had lived in Destiny for about ten years. Despite my revealing my reason for coming here—Warren—she had never explained the draw of this place to her, nor why she had glommed onto buttons as her superstitious calling. I hoped someday to get her to reveal it, but her mystery was just another reason to stay in this unique town.

“Let me check in with my helpers, and then we can go.” Carolyn headed toward where her customers were being waited on. Gemma and I looked over the nearest shelves of buttons till Carolyn returned a couple of minutes later. “Okay,” she said and led us out the door.

As we walked back in the direction from which Gemma, Pluckie, and I had come a short while earlier, Gemma, in the middle, started asking the kinds of questions whose answers I hadn't learned, like what had drawn Carolyn here. I couldn't hear her well in the crowd, and I especially strained to hear the answer.

“Just a fascination with superstitions,” was all Carolyn said on that topic. “And you? I know what brought you to visit Destiny, that you're Rory's friend. But I want to hear all about what convinced you to stay.”

They chatted a bit about Gemma's arrival here and her interest in the library—and how that had somehow led to her being asked, thanks to her strong background in books, to manage the Broken Mirror.

We reached Beware-of-Bubbles. Pluckie and I snagged one of the larger outside tables on the patio along the sidewalk, and Gemma and Carolyn, still chatting, went inside to get their refreshments. When they returned, I let them watch Pluckie for me while I did the same.

The patio wasn't overly crowded, although there were other tables occupied and a hum of conversation in the background. The temperature was comfortably cool and no precipitation seemed to threaten, but I figured there were a lot more things for tourists to do at teatime besides sitting down and drinking coffee or tea.

When we were all seated, with Pluckie lying at my feet, I said to Carolyn, “I've been learning about superstitions a bit since I got here, especially those involving animals. Gemma has studied them in books. But you've been here long enough to know a lot more than we do. I was hoping, on this outing, that you'd tell us a few. And since Gemma has had interest expressed in her by some men lately, maybe you could describe some that involve relationships.”

There. I put it onto my friend. Sure, I'd be interested, but I didn't have to mention Justin or my mixed emotions about getting involved with him. Or remind Carolyn of why I'd come here: to obtain closure about my poor, lost Warren.

Three men appeared to clamor after Gemma. One was not going to follow her any longer—not Lou. But Frank was still here. So was Stuart, and Gemma seemed at least somewhat interested in him.

I took a sip of latte. I'd chosen not to drink tea but elected not to have straight coffee, either.

Carolyn's gaze roved from me to Gemma. “I can get into that,” she said. “But I actually have information about superstitions and Destiny that I'd wanted to tell you two about, and now seems a perfect time.” She took a drink from her cup, watching us. The teabag hanging over the side informed me that she had decided to take full advantage of our teatime outing.

“What's that?” Gemma sounded enthused, as if, now that she had taken on the role of superstition maven at the bookstore, she wanted to hear everything.

I did, too—but something about Carolyn's tone and the wryness in her smile made me hesitate. What was she up to?

“We may have a theme here in Destiny, but it's somewhat like a lot of other small towns. People here interact, communicate with each other in lots of ways. We learn who's thinking what, that kind of thing.” Carolyn glanced at me, and I nodded. I'd learned how much people could connect on things like the
Destiny Star's
website when I was trying to learn what had happened to Tarzal. “A lot of email has been going back and forth the last couple of days.”

Those emails hadn't included me, although I was on a local town loop and also checked the
Destiny Star
website nearly daily to see what the Vardoxes considered to be new and pertinent.

I did receive general emails about town events and such but I was sure that wasn't what she was talking about. Maybe I hadn't lived here long enough to be included—or my reputation for finding bodies made me
persona non grata
when it came to these discussions. Whatever they were.

“I take it that you believe we'd find it interesting,” I said. If not, why mention it?

“I'd say so. You won't be surprised to know it involves superstitions.”

I gave a brief laugh. “Not hardly. Which ones?”

Gemma, who looked troubled, moved her gaze between us, her glass of iced tea at her lips.

“For one thing, the people referencing them are trying to justify someone like Lou Landorf, who always knocked on wood, failing to have the good luck that superstition signifies.”

Gemma nodded slightly and set her glass back on the table. “I'd wondered what people who really believe in superstitions would think about that too. I checked some of our books in the store, Tarzal's and others, to see if knocking on wood had any bad connotations but I found nothing that seemed to fit.”

“You're right about that—mostly.” Carolyn's look grew contemplative as she drank more tea. “The thing is, that particular superstition has a lot of possible derivations, but a lot of them involve invoking the favorable spirits that supposedly dwell in trees.”

“So knocking on wood is good luck if those spirits who may live in wood are pleased by it,” I interpreted.

“Exactly. But … well, here's what some of our town gurus are wondering. A reason to invoke those spirits was to show gratitude for all they then gave to you. But maybe, if someone doesn't act grateful enough, or lets his ego run away with him and tell other people how to act or what to do …”

“Then knocking on wood might only anger those spirits?” Gemma finished.