Unlucky Charms by Linda O. Johnston Page A

sometimes did.
    Not Pluckie, though. I’d shut my sweet girl in my room at the B&B after giving her a nice healthy dinner and taking her for a short walk.
    I guessed that a lot of us townsfolk, who knew about the things-that-must-not-be-mentioned, would be here tonight in case hints were given about what had happened and what was being done about it.
    â€œLet’s find seats toward the rear,” I suggested to Gemma and Stuart.
    Stuart was a good-looking, tall, slim guy. Professional that he was, he wore a suit.
    Gemma and I had both changed clothes from the promotional garb we wore at our respective shops. She had on a long-sleeved black and white shirt dress, and I wore a slightly frilly apricot-colored blouse and brown skirt. As always, my hematite, dog-faced good luck pendant hung around my neck.
    â€œWhy? Do you want to try to sneak out?” Gemma’s voice was droll and so was her expression. “That could be bad luck.”
    â€œDo you want to enumerate all the other things around here that could bring us bad luck?”
    â€œHow about nearly everything. Maybe you should have brought a copy of The Destiny of Superstitions , Stuart.” Gemma glanced up at the guy beside her, who smiled.
    â€œI don’t think you’ll find the superstitions in play right now listed in that book,” I began.
    I stopped talking as I saw Justin enter the theater from a door at the other side. He wore a suit and had several other cops with him, detectives who were also dressed up as if this were a special occasion, including Detectives Richard Choye and Lura Fidelio.
    In some ways, the Welcome was always special. But I suspected this group was not here just to promote the welfare of Destiny.
    â€œHow about these?” Gemma gestured toward some empty seats at the end of the third row from the back.
    â€œFine.” I slid in after Stuart and her. I looked around. Justin and his associates had also found seats, scattered throughout the descending rows of red plush chairs. That was probably good. Even if the tourists recognized them as cops, they could easily think they were here to enjoy the show with the rest of the townspeople, not necessarily here on official duty.
    I figured, though, that the latter was the case.
    At precisely eight o’clock, Mayor Bevin Dermot scaled the steps at the side of the stage, a microphone in his hand. Of course he wore his green leprechaun-like suit coat. “Welcome, everyone,” he shouted into the mic, immediately gaining the crowd’s attention and silence. “Thank you for coming to the Destiny Welcome!”
    He didn’t work off a script, but with the exception of the Welcomes where he had townsfolk take charge and talk about their own stores or businesses, Bevin would deliver a standard spiel about Destiny and how it was established by those Forty-Niners who found gold after following a rainbow here, and how everyone who visits here can have the best of luck—assuming they comply with all superstitions.
    Then he proceeded to describe some of the most basic, well-known ones, like crossing fingers, knocking on wood, and picking up heads-up pennies, and also how wishbones, rabbits’ feet, horseshoes, and more can deliver good luck.
    When he was through, he invited anyone so inclined to come up to the stage: residents who wanted to talk about their shops, or tourists who had questions. A few of the latter happened and visitors asked the standard kinds of things, like whether everyone in town knew enough to make sure their luck stayed good.
    â€œWe try,” was Bevin’s standard reply to this question. “And we help each other, even as we try to teach all of our visitors what they can do, both here and when they get home, to ensure good luck. But as we all know, fate sometimes intervenes.”
    Fate—in the guise of people who did nasty things such as invade local businesses to steal good luck items and leave bad luck items.