1 Lost Under a Ladder Read Free Page B

room.
    “No, sir,” said the one who’d come in here first.
    “Good. I appreciate your taking special care here, though.”
    “Any time, sir,” said the kid who’d questioned me.
    I sometimes jump to conclusions, like it or not. My assumptions now were that this guy was the others’ superior officer. Martha was his mother, or he had some kind of close relationship with her. As a result, no one was taking any chances on a major issue not getting addressed if Martha was the subject of a 911 call.
    No one wanted to displease the chief, which concerned me a little when I suddenly was alone with him in this back room, after the cops followed the EMTs relocating Martha.
    At first he, like his apparent subordinates, scanned the room as if looking for answers, possibly evidence of some nasty person coming in and waving a superstition wand, or whatever they did here in Destiny, and making Martha ill.
    What was I doing here? I suddenly had an urge to flee, to return to the B&B, retrieve all my stuff, and drive south fast—home to L.A. I didn’t believe in any of this. People who did—well, to me, they might be a few slices short of a loaf. Fixated on unreality.
    On the other hand, there was that ladder that Warren had walked under before … I shook my head.
    “Thanks for being here,” the man said, looking at me. “I’ve only lived in Destiny for a couple of years, but Martha has treated me like a son. If anything really bad happened to her—” He broke off, his troubled look segueing suddenly into a smile that made his unusual blue eyes sparkle. “I’m Justin Halbertson, by the way. Police Chief of Destiny—and that’s quite a responsibility, as I’m sure you can imagine.” He looked at me expectantly.
    “I’m Rory Chasen, Destiny tourist. And imagine? Yes, around here people apparently imagine a lot.”
    His deep bark of laughter made me smile. “Guess I’d better lock up.” He looked outside, then closed the back door and turned the latch. “They’re still out there getting Martha situated. They’d be gone a lot faster if they thought she needed immediate treatment, so that’s a good sign. Anyway, let’s go out the front.”
    I nodded, and he gallantly waved Pluckie and me through the door from the storeroom into the boutique before following and closing it.
    “Cute, lucky dog there,” he said, and stooped briefly to give Pluckie a pat on her head. That active tail of hers started waving again. She’s a real people-lover and attention sponge. She was now buddies with the chief for life.
    “That’s Pluckie,” I told him. “She’s been lucky for me, but I didn’t know till now that that’s her destiny.”
    He grinned. “Definitely, around here. My own dog, Killer, is a Doberman. Sweet guy but not the subject of any superstitions I know about.” Standing, he patrolled the shop as if looking for people hiding behind displays, then motioned toward the front entry to the store. “Shall we?”
    I was fine with leaving—only when I opened the door I saw that a large crowd overflowed the sidewalk and onto the street.
    “What’s going on with Martha?” asked a senior citizen wearing a “Destiny, Home of Superstitions” T-shirt and jeans, probably a local. A lot of those around him echoed the question until it turned into a roar.
    Justin raised his hands as if he were a conductor leading an orchestra, and when he lowered them the sound abated.
    “The paramedics took her out the back door. I think the ambulance is still there, but they’re about to leave. It’s not clear yet what’s wrong with her, but it’s a medical issue.”
    “How can we find out more?” asked a lady about half the first inquisitor’s age. She was wearing a bright red T-shirt with a black cat grinning evilly on it.
    Chief Halbertson seemed right at home in managing the crowd. He made suggestions, then asked them all to disperse for now. “I’ll have the Department’s IT guys put something on the town’s website