twenty-seven

I forced myself to concentrate on business after returning to the Lucky Dog. That was never hard to do since I loved my work, dealing with people interested in our products and even learning all about the superstition angles and pretending I knew them.

I’d been here long enough that I really did know quite a few, especially relating to our merchandise.

Plus, I had the help of Millie and Pluckie late that afternoon. I exchanged banter with both of them as well as with our customers, talking up superstitions and dog toys and paraphernalia.

Pluckie didn’t talk back, but she did seem to have fun modeling collars and leashes, and showing how the toys should be played with. We sold a bunch of things that afternoon, which made me happy.

Even so, in the back of my mind—and maybe too much in the front of it—I kept returning to my conversation with Detective Choye.

I hadn’t known him before, when suspicion was leveled on Martha after Tarzal’s murder. He apparently hadn’t been assigned to interrogate either Martha or me. She and I had both talked mostly to Detective Alice Numa. And to Justin, who’d acted professional but had done what he could to protect Martha, who was almost like his mother.

Alice hadn’t been protective of Martha then. She certainly wasn’t protective of Gemma now. Just the opposite. Was she one of those claiming that Justin was acting improperly by not taking Gemma into custody? If so, what evidence did she think would justify an arrest?

Then there was Choye himself. I now thought Gemma and I had been somewhat wrong about his conversations with Frank. They might not have been discussing why all fingers pointed toward Gemma, even if that was Frank’s vengeful goal.

Instead, Choye had acted as if he was pushing to find real answers in a way that benefited Justin so his boss wouldn’t be harmed by failure, never mind Lou’s prior accusations against the police department and Mayor Bevin’s current ones.

Failure that might be caused, or exacerbated, by what the detective saw as the police chief’s possible interest in me.

Or was that just the way Choye wanted things to look?

Interest or not, I genuinely wanted to help Justin succeed and find the real killer, who wasn’t Gemma. Consequently, Choye and I had something in common—if I understood his motives correctly—even if he didn’t think so.

But Justin wanted me to stay out of the whole thing and not get involved.

Did he know about the possible controversy within his department? He definitely knew Mayor Bevin’s opinion of him.

All right. I needed to talk to him now, preferably in person. But not anyplace we’d be seen by residents of Destiny. That, definitely, would be bad luck.

So how? And where?

I was getting hungry. The shop’s closing hour approached, and dinnertime would arrive soon. But even if Justin was available, I couldn’t meet him anywhere in Destiny, not even his home. He had neighbors, and citizens of Destiny watched out for each other—in good ways and bad.

We weren’t far from Ojai, and both Justin and I had cars. It would be more efficient if we rode together, should we decide on dinner in another town. But efficiency and saving gasoline weren’t the point.

We had dined together once at an intimate cafe called Randie’s along the highway from Destiny but on the far side of Ojai. Its food was okay but not gourmet, and its prices were on the high side, which meant its clientele wasn’t huge—which for now was a good thing. The likelihood of us being recognized was a lot less there than around here.

I went into my store’s backroom to call Justin, since I didn’t even want my staff to hear. I reached him right away.

“Rory? I was going to call you. There are some things I want to talk to you about. Are you free for dinner?”

“Sure,” I said in a pleased tone, as if the idea was new to me. Even so, I told him where I wanted to meet—and that I really hoped for privacy. I didn’t explain why. I probably didn’t have to.

He agreed that Killer and he would meet Pluckie and me there in an hour.

Since we’d eaten there before, we knew the dogs were welcome. We sat on the dimly lighted back patio with hardly any other diners around. The inside rooms had a reasonable crowd, but not here. Which was good.

Justin had offered to drive us all, but I’d declined without saying why. We ordered our drinks—merlot for me, amber beer for him, and water for the dogs. I studied the menu without meeting his gaze.

“Know what you want?” he asked in a minute. I nodded. A small Caesar salad looked good to me. I didn’t have a big appetite after all. It had been smashed down by what was in my mind.

We soon ordered our meals. Justin was going with a veal dish, which also sounded good. I figured I’d get a taste, which would be enough.

A taste. As if we really were in a relationship and shared meals.

I wondered if any superstitions applied to sharing food. I’d heard it was supposedly good luck to have seven people at a table, but if there were thirteen at least one would suffer bad luck. Tasting each other’s food, even splitting a meal? I hadn’t a clue.

When our server, a college-age guy in a brown knit shirt and matching slacks, left to place our orders, Justin looked across the table toward me, leaning on his arms. The top buttons of his blue shirt were undone and his sleeves were rolled up. A hint of beard darkened his cheeks and a hint of irritation darkened his blue eyes. In all, he didn’t look happy, almost as if he knew why I’d wanted to get together—to ask questions and possibly scold him.

But I also wanted to warn him.

“So,” he began. “What’s up?” Why hadn’t he started with what he wanted to talk to me about?

Or maybe they were the same thing and he knew it.

I prepared a smart retort, then let my shoulders slump. “Concern,” I replied in a low, gloomy voice. “And not just about Gemma.”

“About what, then? Or who?” His tone suggested he didn’t really want to know. That irritated me.

“You,” I snapped. “If you’re not doing your job right because you’re trying to look good to me, you’d better stop. Although—”

“Although what?”

“Although you’d still better not arrest Gemma.”

I wasn’t surprised to hear a short bark of laughter.

“Were you talking to Choye?” he asked.

“Well … yes, but—”

“He’s a nice guy. Dedicated to the department and to making it run smoothly. Even dedicated to me. But that sometimes leads him to off-beat conclusions, and not only about cases but about what’s going on around us too.”

“He sounds like he may be your champion,” I shot back, wanting to see Justin’s reaction.

“Yes, in a way. I know he’s trying to protect me. Or at least that’s what he thinks he’s doing.”

Maybe, but I didn’t mention my doubts.

Our server brought dinner rolls over. They looked delicious, but the delay frustrated me.

Justin handed the basket to me first, and I took one of the small and crusty breads. After pulling off a couple of pieces I’d give to Pluckie later—and possibly Killer, too—I put a touch of margarine on what was left and watched Justin do the same.

“The thing is,” I began, after taking and chewing a bite, “I want you to realize that Gemma’s innocent, and to avoid arresting her because of that, not because … because … you believe I—”

“Choye’s assuming I’m trying to impress you by leaving your friend alone, even though she’s guilty,” Justin asserted.

“That’s what I gathered. And he says he’s not the only one who thinks that. Others in your department are getting unhappy with you, he says. We already know the mayor is frustrated that there hasn’t been an arrest yet.” I was saying too much, but I was concerned for him.

“Did Choye tell you who else in the department is unhappy?”

“No, but if I had to guess, one would be Detective Numa.” I reminded him of the talk the detective had with my friend, and what Gemma had subsequently told me. “I assume she hasn’t changed her belief that Gemma did it.”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

The rest of our meals were served then. I felt almost as if I’d related everything I needed to say. Except …

“You’re really not doing anything to jeopardize yourself or your career because of me, are you?” I blurted the question almost without thinking.

“Not at all.”

“Then do you have any evidence against anyone, let alone Gemma? Do you know who killed Lou?”

Justin had carved a small piece of veal scaloppini off and reached to put it onto my plate. His movement stirred Killer, who all but put his nose on the table.

Justin, like me, had saved some roll for the dogs. He gave each of them a piece.

The delay was understandable but frustrating. I wanted to hear his answer.

When it came, I didn’t like it. “No,” he said. “Like I’ve been telling the mayor and everyone else, we have suspicions but no answers yet.”

The meal was tasty, the company excellent. The conversation? Enjoyable on some level, since it was with Justin. But after our initial salvo we just skirted over anything conceivably important relating to the murder. Maybe he couldn’t say more. I understood that.

I also didn’t like it.

I really wanted to know, to understand, what the atmosphere was like for him at his department. Was he ultimately going to feel he had to give in to pressure and arrest someone just for the sake of having a person in custody?

And would he have to make it Gemma so it wouldn’t look like he was so smitten with me that he’d protect someone guilty to impress me?

But discussing his job further was apparently off limits for the rest of that night. And whatever attraction there was between us seemed to be lurking where I barely sensed it.

As a result, I talked to Pluckie and Killer a lot, too, mostly about food and another dog who came out on the patio.

It dawned on me finally that Justin hadn’t started talking to me about whatever it was he’d indicated earlier that he wanted to discuss. I asked him.

“We did mention it before, kind of.” He had finished his entree and was eating another roll, watching it rather than me.

“What was it?” I asked, looking directly at him. Darn, I liked the guy. But I didn’t like how this evening was turning out. We seemed both to be working hard at friendliness rather than it being a natural reaction between us.

He did look toward me now. And smiled. “I figured it would be fruitless for me to tell you again to butt out.”

I laughed. “That’s true. My response? I’ll butt out if and when I’m sure Gemma’s safe. And when you’re safe, too—or at least your job is. If that means I have to skirt around you and find the killer myself—”

“Just be damned careful,” he interrupted. “Part of my job is protecting the public, and I’ll do that even for a member of the public who’s purposely endangering herself for a mission she shouldn’t have anything to do with.”

That pretty much ended our dinner. He allowed me to pay my share, which I figured was as much to make it look to me like this wasn’t a date as to ensure that if someone happened to recognize him they, too, would consider this to be just a meeting between friends. Fortunately I saw no one I recognized so I didn’t believe that would be an issue anyway.

We walked Pluckie and Killer together outside the restaurant, then Justin accompanied us to my car, which was in the same lot as his.

Would he kiss me good night, or were we estranged enough that he wouldn’t even give me a peck of friendship?

“Just be careful, Rory,” he said. “Don’t do anything foolish. And keep in close touch with me, especially if you decide to put yourself in danger.”

“But I—”

He did shut up my response with a kiss, warm but not aflame with romantic interest, which made me feel sad. I nevertheless unlocked my car door and opened it.

Pluckie jumped in, with Killer watching.

Just for fun, I pivoted, planted a much hotter kiss on Justin’s lips—holding him close so he couldn’t flee it—and then turned again to slide into the driver’s seat.

“I don’t suppose I could tell you the same thing,” I said, “but if you put yourself in danger, please be careful.”