Unlucky Charms by Linda O. Johnston Read Free Book Online

just as I tripped over Pluckie and fell onto my knees on the stairs.
    â€œOw!” I gasped.
    â€œRory, are you okay?”
    I’d pulled the phone away from my ear as I caught myself and prevented any further falling, but I still heard him. “Yes,” I lied. One of my knees was killing me. “Sort of.” I spoke in gasps through gritted teeth as I started back up the stairs, walking much more slowly this time. Pluckie was a few steps ahead of me, sitting now and watching as if trying to apologize. I hoped our collision hadn’t injured her, too. Fortunately, she looked fine. “But I’m on my way up to check on Martha. The store was robbed and vandalized last night, like you warned.”
    â€œI’ll get someone there right away.”
    â€œGemma’s calling 911,” I told him. I didn’t imagine he’d want to duplicate efforts—although he might contact his own people and make sure they were moving fast.
    â€œGood. I’ll see you in a little while.”
    I’d reached the top of the steps, standing right beside Pluckie now. I was panting and about to knock on Martha’s door when it dawned on me what had happened.
    I had fallen while going up the steps. If it had been when I was on my way down, that would bode bad luck. Going up, it supposedly meant a wedding in the family.
    Not in my family. I’d lost Warren, and we hadn’t gotten the chance to marry. My mom had passed away long ago, and my father, who still lived in Pasadena, had remarried. We had more distant relatives but didn’t stay in close touch. Was one of them likely to marry?
    But at the time I’d tripped, I’d been talking with Justin, with whom I was developing some kind of relationship that bordered, at least, on romantic.
    Were we now destined to marry?
    Hah.
    I knocked determinedly on the closed door and yelled, “Martha? Are you awake? Are you okay?”
    And waited. She didn’t come to the door immediately. I usually called her first, or accompanied her home, so for her to take a while to get to the door didn’t necessarily mean there was anything wrong.
    It also didn’t mean she was okay. I knocked again, then pulled my phone back out of my pocket and started to punch in her number, just in case she simply hadn’t heard me.
    The ornate wooden door opened slowly, and I could see Martha off to the side, peeking out. “Rory,” she said immediately, pulling it fully open. “What’s wrong?”
    â€œCan we come in?” I asked, although my gesture toward Pluckie was too late. My dog had already entered the apartment.
    â€œOf course,” Martha said. She was still in her pajamas, pink ones I’d seen before. Her silvery hair looked uncombed, but her hazel eyes looked fully awake, narrowed out of concern.
    Fortunately, the pain from my fall had dulled to almost nothing. I moved gently past her and into her living room. I always considered it charming and quaint, with its fluffy yellow sofa and antique tables and chairs, but I barely glanced at it this morning.
    â€œThere’s been—” I stopped and started again. “Did you sleep all right last night?”
    She motioned for me to sit down on her sofa, and I obliged as she took a seat at the other end. Pluckie sat beside the long, low coffee table, looking from one of us to the other.
    The expression on Martha’s wrinkled face appeared wry. “I hardly think you came up here like this to ask about my sleeping habits. What’s going on, Rory?”
    â€œThere was a break-in at the shop last night.” I watched to make sure she didn’t look like she was going to faint or anything. When I’d met her, she’d had health issues, and she still was a bit fragile.
    Not now, though. She stood and said, “Tell me. Or should I get dressed first and come see for myself?”
    I waited for just a moment before I spoke again. Should I let her know