Free Knock on Wood by Linda O. Johnston Page B

crossing my path?
    Unfortunately, or fortunately, I’d left Pluckie next door with Millie, assuming I’d return to my store fairly quickly.
    Now I wasn’t so sure.
    â€œWe can fix that kind of bad luck,” I told Gemma anyway. “Why don’t you go check out the cash register or do something that looks official? I’ll see what I can do about all your visitors.”
    â€œThanks.” Her tone was soft and grateful.
    As to the first visitor I tried to approach, the cat must have had its own hidden access, since by the time I edged my way over toward where I’d seen it, it had disappeared.
    By then, Gemma was behind the counter looking down at the computer that, unlike at the Lucky Dog, sat on the checkout counter all the time. I wondered if the screen was blank or if she’d gotten onto the Internet to see if there was some kind of superstitious ritual she could undertake to fix things around here.
    In any event, she was avoiding the table with Tarzal’s books. She nevertheless glanced that way now and then, and all three men—even Frank—aimed smiles at her.
    Well, I wasn’t the object of their unwanted attentions. And maybe some of those attentions were, in fact, appreciated by Gemma.
    The only one I was sure wasn’t welcome was Frank. But the public affairs director? The book editor?
    All three were whispering to one another. Loudly.
    Angrily at times, or so it sounded.
    Each held a Destiny of Superstitions book in his hands. Their professions—a politico in his usual suit, a librarian dressed less formally but still sharp, and an editor in casual clothing—left each of their pairs of hands relatively smooth and sleek, not like those of a workman. Were there any superstitions relating to hands?
    Maybe I was overreacting. Or maybe I just wanted an excuse to call Justin. But I did press his number into my phone—and only got one of his underling cops. I mentioned my name and her tone grew brighter. Uh-oh . I wasn’t sure what it meant when cops started to know who you were, but I’d worry about that later.
    Right now, I left Justin a quick message about a potentially looming altercation at the Broken Mirror. Then I hung up.
    â€œSo, fellows,” I said as I drew near. “I assume you’ve read The Destiny of Superstitions many times, Stuart.” I faced the editor, and he nodded.
    â€œThat’s part of my job,” he responded. With his height and athletic build, I suspected he’d win in a physical altercation with either of the others, but also figured, with his literary background, that he wouldn’t take them on that way—not intentionally. “A very welcome part. I’m really glad to be here to help make sure this book remains readily available in this town.”
    â€œFine, then.” Frank’s hazel-eyed glare at Stuart from beneath his glasses shot flames. He appeared unlikely to win a fist fight, but I suspected he was the most likely to start one. “You stay here. Run this shop. Sell some books. But stop whatever it is you’re trying to convince Gemma to do. She doesn’t belong here.”
    â€œOh, but you’re wrong about that,” Lou said as smoothly as if he was discussing the town’s attractions with tourists. Of all of them, I’d bet he would fare the worst in a battle of fisticuffs. But, also of all of them, I suspected he’d be best at worming his way out of it with words. He lifted the book he’d been thumbing through and pointed toward it. “The Broken Mirror needs someone in charge who knows books, and knows them well. Not just a few titles.”
    He shot a somewhat condescending look toward Stuart, suggesting that an editor only knew about those books he helped to get ready for publication. In this case, one of those books was definitely the most important anyway. I didn’t particularly agree with the public affairs director but wanted to hear the