Twenty-Nine

He forced me to sit down on a chair in his office. I tried not to show that I was scared.

I wondered if Justin would really arrive at the Lucky Dog within the next ten or fifteen minutes, after it opened. But as long as Brad was right here with me I couldn’t pull my phone from my pocket and call. Justin was the last person I’d spoken with, though, so maybe I’d be able to somehow just push a button to contact him.

But not at this moment.

And as it turned out, Brad had a gun. He’d pulled it out of the drawer of his modern-day metal desk and aimed it at me. It was small, but undoubtedly lethal as any other weapon of that kind.

Now he still held it but was pacing at the other side of the room, obviously agitated.

Is that how he’d been when he’d murdered Flora?

Why had he murdered her?

Maybe I could find that out, at least. I decided to play this very sympathetically.

“I don’t understand, Brad,” I said softly. “Was Flora being too pushy about trying to get you to sell your store?”

He pivoted quickly to face me again. “No, the bitch was taunting me about my wife.”

I shook my head. “What about your wife?”

“You want to know? You really want to know?” He leaned over his desk toward me, saliva dripping from one corner of his mouth. The guy was definitely emotional. And murderous. Was I going to survive this?

I had to. Justin just said he loved me …

“Yes, please tell me,” I said. “I know Flora could really be a terrible person. What did she do?”

“I was one of her first victims when she came back to Destiny seeking revenge for not getting enough good luck here to keep her marriage together.” Brad practically spat at me as he related how he’d vaguely recalled her visiting the first time, with her husband. They’d come into this shop and Flora had shown her husband some of the cute kids’ clothes decorated with superstition symbols. “She was trying to convince him they’d have kids soon if they stayed together. I didn’t remember that—if I’d known it in the first place—but she told me about it later. After she’d told my wife that I’d seduced her and she was now in love with me.”

“What!” My mind raced around that. Apparently seduction must have been part of Flora’s plans—that and making sure Brad’s marriage crumbled as hers had done. What a flimsy reason for ruining someone else’s marriage.

Flora hadn’t exactly been sane, I’d already figured. This was just another piece of evidence that showed it.

“I didn’t know at first that she’d done that, but my shop was near the top of her revenge list because of the having-kids thing. That’s something else she told me later.” Brad had tears in his eyes and in his voice. “When Lorraine packed up our kids and herself and told me she had to go help her sick mother, I believed her. After she was gone, Flora kept popping in here, trying to get me to go out with her, to visit her once she’d moved into her own apartment. The thing is, she kept threatening to tell Lorraine we’d had sex. I didn’t know then that she’d already told Lorraine that, and it was why Lorraine left in the first place.”

Okay, I had to know. “And had you had sex with her, before?”

He hung his head. “Yes. Once. The first time she came on to me, I was flattered. And interested. And—well, damned naive. I didn’t know she was really after revenge and would stop at nothing to get it.”

“Oh.” I recalled that the tack I was taking was to act sympathetic. “That was cruel of her.” And not very bright on his part, I thought, although I wasn’t about to say that.

“She let me know later that she’d come into the shop one day when I wasn’t here and told Lorraine. She said she pretended to feel remorse—although she also told my wife she was still turned on by me and would love to do it again.” He looked up at me again. “Yes, I’d behaved badly. I was stupid.” Okay, he acknowledged that. Good. I’d be careful not to agree with him, though. “But I love my wife and my kids, and if I could take it all back, I would.”

He practically sobbed at the end. If he felt that bad about it, maybe he would just let me go.

“I’m sure you would,” I said soothingly, starting to rise.

“What are you doing?” His voice came out as a scream, and he raised his hand holding the gun.

“I … I just wanted to give you a hug,” I lied. I’d rather have given him a sharp kick where it hurt and run out of there, but I didn’t dare try—not with him holding a weapon. I sat back down and wondered what I should do next.

I could ask some more questions, at least—and I had plenty. “Why did you stick that rabbit’s foot toy into Flora’s mouth?” I swallowed and added, “Did you want to frame me?”

“She had a bunch of those toys with her. I had nothing against you in particular, but that helped to ensure she couldn’t breathe, along with the area rug I used over her head after I hit her. It was a happy accident this pointed to someone else as the killer—you. I had no idea she’d stolen those things from you.”

Okay, he hadn’t meant at first to frame me. Not that it made much difference now.

I couldn’t call for help. I wasn’t sure how best to help myself.

Then a possibility came to me. This was Destiny, after all. “I wonder how long you’ll have to suffer bad luck,” I murmured, although loudly enough that he should be able to hear me.

“What do you mean?” he shot back immediately.

“Well, murdering someone brings bad luck to the killer. I learned that before and saw it, too, when I found out who really committed those two prior killings in Destiny.”

“I knew that about the first killing and the second.” Brad’s voice was now a croak. “Even though no one was supposed to talk about them or they’d suffer bad luck, too. But with this third one?”

“Oh, yes,” I said hastily. “I’ve heard some pretty bad stuff is happening to that murderer in jail.” Just the fact that the killer wound up arrested was bad luck, wasn’t it? I wasn’t about to go into any other details with Brad—and actually I didn’t know much, although it hadn’t been long ago and a trial was still pending.

“And you’re aware, of course, that things happen in threes,” I added. “There was bound to be a third murder in Destiny, since one of those deaths wasn’t a murder. You just had the bad luck to be the one to commit it.”

“I just want my family back,” Brad cried out. “My life back. Do you know of anything I can do to turn my luck around now?”

Really? He was asking the person he was currently holding hostage? Yeah, let me go and turn yourself in, I thought. But since I knew that wouldn’t happen, I didn’t even try saying it.

“I’m sure you’d be able to find something here in Destiny. There’s a lot of good luck here, not just bad.”

“That’s not what Flora said,” Brad countered sadly. “And she was right. She may have come back here to turn things around, but instead she … she died.”

She was murdered. By you. Once again I didn’t say my thoughts aloud. “No, she came back here to get revenge. She even admitted it to the entire town in her rant at the Break-a-Leg Theater a week ago. The fact her bad luck didn’t turn around was probably her own doing.”

“And I added to it. Boy, did I add to it.” Brad’s expression was pitiful now. How had I ever thought he was just average looking? Now he looked like a sorrowful, dangerous killer—assuming I knew what one of those looked like. Dangerous killer, yes. But sorrowful?

“And she added to your bad luck,” I said. “She can’t change anything for herself now. But you can help yourself.”

“How? My luck’s so damned bad right now. And if I just let you go, you’ll add to it. I don’t want to end up in jail for the rest of my life.”

That could definitely be a result of committing murder, I thought. And adding another person as your victim might not make the penalty any worse. He only had one life. He could either lose it or spend the rest of it in prison.

“I understand,” I said. “And I can’t promise a better outcome. But you know, you have one of the luckiest symbols right here in the Wish-on-a-Star shop. One that could turn your bad luck into good, if you gave it a try. It did for me not long after I first came here.”

“Really? What?”

I told him about how I’d been at a crossroads in my life and didn’t know whether it would be good luck or bad for me to stay in Destiny. I happened to be on Destiny Boulevard one evening and saw his display in the window of his store, and I wished on its falling star. “I wished I knew what the right decision was: should I stay or leave. And the next day, everything pointed me in the right direction. I stayed, and my luck has been really good.”

“Till lately,” he added. His expression changed to something I interpreted as both ironic and threatening.

Damn. Wasn’t this going to work?

“That’s right. I’d go wish on your falling star again, but I’m not sure how often it can provide good luck, and right now you need it even more than I do. Have you ever tried wishing on it?”

His eyes opened wide. “Not really. It was just a symbol, to bring tourists in to buy things. Lorraine … well, she was the one who really believed in superstitions. I just mostly went along with her.”

“Well, maybe now’s a good time for you to start. Tell you what. Why don’t we go out on the sidewalk and you can make your wish. I’ll stay right with you and you can even hold my hand. Keep your gun in your pocket so you can grab it if you think I’m about to run—which I won’t. Then we’ll come back in and you can lock up again.”

Was this utterly foolish? Sure, but it was a chance for me to get out of this, possibly unharmed and alive.

Especially if Justin had arrived at my shop when he’d said he would. I couldn’t be sure—but at least, yes, it was a chance.

If Justin wasn’t there, I wouldn’t come back into this shop with Brad. I wasn’t sure how I’d handle it, since I’d do anything to prevent the people outside from getting hurt, but I had to try this anyway.

Brad hadn’t acted particularly bright before. Would he continue that trend now?

“You know I’ll shoot you if you try to get away,” he said in a low voice. “If you leave and tell people what I’ve admitted to you, it’s over for me anyway, so shooting you won’t make things any worse.”

“I understand.” I wished I could hide the quaver in my voice, although maybe it was to my advantage if he thought I was terrified.

Which I actually was.

He raised his gun and gestured for me to stand. Nervously, I obeyed.

“You really think that wishing on my own store’s fake falling star will bring me good luck?” he said as I started toward the door.

I turned back to him. “You’ve been a resident of Destiny longer than I have. Even if Lorraine was the real believer, you’ve got to have learned that there’s a lot of power in superstitions, even though no one can guarantee anything. Isn’t it worth trying, though?”

“I guess. And maybe if it works I can tell Lorraine and she’ll understand and come back … Okay. Let’s try it. But we’ll come back in here afterward and wait till I either see some sign of my luck changing or decide what else to do. You got that?” His voice was hard again, his expression blank.

“Of course,” is what I said. What I intended to do was different.

Would I survive?

As I preceded him toward the door, I felt my fingers cross. Yes, I knew that crossed fingers never guaranteed good luck any more than most symbols—but it couldn’t hurt.

When I reached the door, Brad reached around me to unlock it, then pushed it slightly. I continued the motion until the door was open enough for me to slide through.

Could I get out and run?

Too many people on the sidewalk. If I tried it, someone else could get hurt.

Instead, I walked slowly outside, my gaze across the street toward the Lucky Dog. A similar crowd filled the sidewalk there, and I couldn’t see beyond its window, which reflected a bit of sunlight back toward me.

Maybe this was a horrible idea. But what else could I have done?

Oh, no. The crowd near us started to part a bit and I realized why nearly immediately. A black cat was strutting through them as though it hadn’t a care in the world.

Then again, maybe it knew exactly the reaction humans would have to it in this town.

The cat was now in front of me. Crossing my path? Brad’s? Both of ours? Not exactly, but close.

What would happen if we both experienced bad luck now? I hated to even consider it—but figured my presence here on earth might be limited. Hopefully it would only be me, though, and not any of these tourists. I crossed my fingers even tighter.

Fortunately, Brad’s attention was more on making our way to his shop’s window. As far as I could tell, he hadn’t noticed the cat.

I looked around a bit more—including a glance across the street.

And then—I forced myself not to smile as Justin walked out the Lucky Dog’s door and his eyes lit on me. He started to raise his arm as if to wave, and I quickly shook my head no. I forced myself to cough and bent my body forward quickly so Brad, behind me, hopefully wouldn’t catch that I’d been attempting to communicate with someone.

“Sorry,” I gasped. “I’m allergic to something in the air here.” I continued to cough as I stood up again and sidled along the building to the window where the falling star sign reigned. “Here you are.” I took another couple of steps farther and let Brad walk up to face the star. “You of all people know the drill.”

The light of the mock shooting star wasn’t on now, which was good. You were supposed to wish on a star the moment you saw it. A false one as much as a real one—a meteor or comet? Who knew?

Brad stood there staring at the sign. Colored lights shone around the perimeter of where the arc of the soon-to-be falling star was outlined. He’d grabbed my wrist in his left hand so I’d stay with him. He was right-handed, so I knew his gun was in his pocket on that side.

In moments, a light came on near the top left of the sign. It rose slowly along the marked arc. “Now!” I said.

“I wish—” Brad began, staring at it earnestly. “I can’t say it aloud. That’s bad luck.”

“I can,” I said. “I wish this was all over.”

I felt pretty sure I was about to get my wish. As I glanced toward Brad again, I saw Justin approach. I started fake-coughing again and bent over, even as I made that cough start sounding like, “Killer, killer.”

Justin got it. Before Brad could react, he’d been pushed to the ground, with his hands grabbed by Justin.

“Gun in his pocket,” I said, and Justin immediately found it, pulled it out, and placed it on the ground as he started cuffing the writhing, shouting Brad and reciting his Miranda rights.

Sweet man that Justin was, he believed my story immediately, with no questions. Or maybe the fact that Brad was armed had something to do with it.

And it helped that a cuffed Brad began cussing me and ruing aloud that he hadn’t killed me, too, when he’d had the chance.

In moments, it was, in fact, over.

My second wish on that unreal falling star had also come true.