Knock on Wood by Linda O. Johnston Page A

a nice, firm, muscular chest. I’d felt it before when we’d kissed now and then, and I was always appreciative of his law enforcer’s physique. In fact, I was quite appreciative of a lot about Justin.
    I was glad he’d be with me some more that evening.
    But he didn’t walk with me. Instead, he said he’d go with his gang since they had some things to discuss.
    He didn’t mention it, but I’d seen some not-so-cordial glances toward the cop contingent from the mayor and the p.a. director while they were up on the stage. No one mentioned it at the Welcome. It would have been highly unwelcoming. But I knew there was some potential scandal brewing because of the failure of the Destiny Police Department to declare the death of that tourist who’d fallen down the mountain an accident—or, if it wasn’t an accident, to announce what had happened and solve any crime that had been committed. This would help Destiny’s ability to reassure tourists that their welcome and safety wasn’t affected.
    I felt sure that Justin would handle the situation just fine. What I didn’t know was when he’d reach a resolution, and that was apparently a problem.
    I made my way outside and found Gemma standing with Stuart near the edge of the sidewalk. “Hope you don’t mind me joining you for drinks,” he said.
    I stole a glance toward Gemma. She was beaming, even as her smooth complexion turned a shade rosier.
    â€œI don’t mind at all,” I responded, and the three of us began negotiating the crowd along the sidewalk in the direction of the bar. Gemma and Stuart talked mostly about how things had gone during the Welcome, and how Gemma should feel flattered and not embarrassed.
    By habit, I glanced down in the pale light from the lantern-shape street lamps to avoid stepping on sidewalk cracks. We soon neared the right block. As much as I’d have loved to go back to get Pluckie before the rest of the evening’s festivities, the Clinking Glass was a lot closer than my B&B. And if Pluckie wasn’t with me, I wouldn’t have to insist on a table on the patio.
    I worried about my dog, of course, but knew that tonight she would be just fine. But the thought had me crossing my fingers, just in case.
    I headed for the dark, noisy inside area, along with Gemma and Stuart.
    The high stools at the bar were nearly all occupied. A couple of grinning, busy bartenders were pouring drinks. Along the rear wall was a large mirror—unbroken, of course—over which were a couple of neon decorative lights in the shape of two round wineglasses with their stems crossed in an X.
    The rest of the conversation-filled room was crowded with a variety of tables, mostly small round ones but also larger ones in oval and rectangular shapes to accommodate parties of any size. The chairs were somewhat uniform, though—all wooden with tall backs and seats of green faux leather held down by copper-colored bolts.
    I had always sat outside on my previous visits here, such as after my dog and cat talks, and hadn’t paid much attention to the inside area before. Now, I studied it as I stood at the door with Gemma and Stuart, looking around for an empty table.
    There weren’t many. But that didn’t matter. Not with the town’s most esteemed politicians there.
    â€œHey, Gemma, over here,” shouted Lou Landorf. I wasn’t surprised to see him, nor the mayor at the table beside him. This bar was a popular place to congregate for any reason, and especially after a Destiny Welcome—both by locals and by tourists. Not that I came here each time, but I’d heard that others did.
    I gathered that the two politicians had had some underlings push a few tables together and save them. There were several vacant seats—in fact quite a few, considering how busy this place was—and those that were occupied became vacant quickly as the young occupants, maybe