Trouble Vision

by Allison Kingsley

  She grinned, happy to see him. “Just taking a break. How about you? Closing the store early tonight?”

  “Nope.” He walked over to the armchair next to her and flopped down on it. “My new assistant started today, and I figured he could handle things for ten minutes while I steal a cup of coffee.”

  He started to get up again, but she stopped him with a hand on his arm. “I’ll get it. I need a refill, anyway.” Walking over to the table that held the coffeepot and an assortment of pastries, cookies and cheese crackers, she added, “How’s he working out?”

  “Pretty good. He’s got a lot to learn about hardware, but he seems willing enough.”

  “He’s young?”

  “Early twenties, I guess.”

  She carried the steaming mug over to him. “Want a snack?”

  “No, thanks.” He took the mug from her. “I suppose you heard the news about Scott Delwyn.”

  The moment Rick spoke the deceased’s name, the voices started whispering again. She shut them out and sat down, cradling her mug in her hands. “It’s awful. I feel so bad for his family.”

  Rick took a sip of his coffee and put the mug down on the side table. “He was a really nice guy. He came into the store a lot. He loved to talk—he was big on camping and fishing—and was crazy about his family. I’ll miss him.”

  Clara hesitated, then said cautiously, “I heard he fell from the scaffolding.”

  “Yeah.” Rick stretched his long legs out in front of him and studied his shoes. “It was raining last night. Must have been slippery up there.”

  “I’m surprised no one saw him fall.”

  Rick shrugged. “From what Dan said in the past, he was usually the last one to leave the site. He liked to check things out after everyone had gone. He must have fallen while he was doing his last-minute rounds.”

  The Sense crept over her like a thick, menacing cloud of evil. She resisted, trying to think of something to say that would banish the vision before it had time to form. She was helpless in its grasp, however, and she could only wait for the image to appear.

  Vaguely she heard Rick’s voice in the distance, still talking in normal tones. Praying that he wouldn’t notice her detachment, she concentrated on the swirling fog surrounding her. The walls of the Nook melted away.

  She was outside, in the dark. The wind caught her hair and whipped it around her face. She could feel the icy rain stinging her cheeks, and the boards creaking beneath her feet. She was up high, the ground maybe thirty feet below her.

  Panic caught her under the ribs, and her fingers closed around a cold, wet railing—all that stood between her and the ground below. She jerked up her chin and saw two figures in front of her. They were carrying something, half dragging it along the boards to the end of the scaffolding.

  As she watched, the taller figure dropped his end of the object they carried. And now she could make out the shape. It was a man, his head lolling back, his arms flopping around. For a moment the two figures paused, as if unsure what to do next. Then, with one quick movement, they shoved the man off the edge of the scaffolding.

  Clara closed her eyes as she heard the crunch of the body hitting the ground below. She felt sick, dizzy and deathly afraid. She gripped the railing harder and prayed the two figures wouldn’t see her.

  “Are you all right?”

  Her body jerked, and she opened her eyes. She was back in the Nook, and Rick was staring at her as if she had turned purple.

  For a moment or two she couldn’t speak, but nodded at him instead. Her right hand gripped the arm of her chair, while the other still held the coffee. She carefully put the mug down on the table, relieved to find her fingers relatively steady. Her voice, however, shook when she finally was able to speak.

  “A bout of indigestion. Too much coffee, I guess.” She forced a grin.

  He still looked worried. “You’ve turned pale. Sure it isn’t something more serious?” He leaned forward. “You’re not having a heart attack, are you?”

  Now she was able to laugh. “No, I’m fine.” To her immense relief, the bell on the front door jingled. “Well, there goes my break. I’d better go and take care of my customer.”

  She got up, and he leapt to his feet with her. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Positive.” She patted his arm. “It was nothing. I’m fine. Really. Why don’t you stay and finish your coffee.”

  “No, I’d better get back and see what Tyler is up to over there. He’s probably waiting to go home to eat.” He looked at her and smiled. “Speaking of which, when are you coming over for dinner again?”

  She turned to leave, looking back at him over her shoulder. “When you ask me.” She flapped her hand at him then headed up the aisle to the front of the shop.

  Her customer turned out to be a middle-aged woman who Clara dimly recognized as a previous shopper, though she couldn’t remember her name or what she’d bought. As the woman explained what she was looking for, Rick passed them by on his way out.

  She met his gaze just before he closed the door, and felt a surge of warmth when he winked at her and blew a kiss. It went a long way to restoring her shattered nerves, though she couldn’t quite put the incident out of her mind, and she was still thinking about it as she closed out the register at the end of her shift.

  Arriving home, she spent a few minutes doing her best to calm Tatters down before joining her mother in the living room.

  “I left a pot of stew on the stove,” Jessie said from her usual spot in front of the TV. “Put what’s left in the freezer when you’re done.”

  “I will. Thanks.” Clara crossed to the kitchen with Tatters hot on her heels.

  “I already fed the dog,” her mother called out after her. “Don’t give him any more. He’s putting on too much weight around his middle.”

  Look who’s talking. Tatters sat down on the kitchen floor.

  Unsettled by his thoughts once more speaking in her head, Clara wagged a warning finger at him. Opening the fridge, she found a half bottle of wine and poured herself a glass. She took a hefty sip of the pinot before setting the glass down on the table.

  The stew smelled heavenly, and in spite of all the upset earlier, she was actually hungry. She ladled a good portion onto her plate and sat down at the table. Tatters settled himself at her knee, his golden gaze searching her face.

  Sighing, she fished a cube of steak off her plate and dropped it in his waiting mouth. His tail swept the floor as he licked his lips.

  She was rinsing her plate under the faucet when her cell phone buzzed. One glance confirmed what she’d expected. It was Stephanie, obviously too anxious to wait for her cousin’s nightly call.

  Ignoring the vibrations in her pocket, she finished cleaning up the dishes, then walked back out into the living room, just as the news anchor announced that the autopsy on Scott Delwyn showed no signs of foul play. “Finn’s Harbor’s chief of police, Dan Petersen, is satisfied that the death was an unfortunate accident. Questions have been raised, however, about the safety of the construction site, and all activity there will be shut down until the premises have undergone a thorough inspection.”

  “Such a dreadful shame,” Jessie murmured. “They really should be more careful. I’ve seen the way those construction workers scramble all over the scaffolding. It’s a wonder more of them don’t fall off.”

  Clara shuddered, the memory of her vision still hovering in her mind. “I’ve got some work to do on the computer,” she said as she crossed the room.

  “Well, don’t sit up half the night.” Jessie switched channels on the TV, allowing an auto dealer’s commercial to blare across the room.

  Clara lifted her hand in response and escaped into the hallway. Closing the door to her room, she ordered Tatters to lie on his pillow, then quickly thumbed Stephanie’s speed dial number on her cell phone.

  Her cousin answered on the first ring. “There you are. I called you a little while ago.”

  “I know.
I was in the kitchen. I didn’t want to talk within earshot of my mother.”

  “Oh, good thinking. So, what’s the plan?”

  “What plan? You’re usually the one with all the ideas. I just get to follow along, remember?”

  “Well, you don’t have to sound so bitter. I don’t have the freedom that you have.”

  Clara relaxed her shoulders. “I know. I’m just tired.”

  Her cousin’s voice changed to one of concern. “What’s wrong? Has something happened? I saw on the news that Dan still thinks Scott’s death is an accident. Did you know they’re shutting down the construction site for inspection?”

  “Yes, I heard.”

  “Clara, something’s going on with you. I can tell.”

  After another moment’s hesitation, Clara told her about the vision. Stephanie kept gasping and exclaiming all the way through it, especially when Clara got to the bit about Rick worrying about her having a heart attack.

  “Do you think Rick suspects anything?” Stephanie asked when Clara was finished with her tale.

  “No, how could he? He doesn’t know anything about the Quinn Sense.”

  “There are quite a few people in Finn’s Harbor who know there’s something odd about the Quinns. Some of them might know the truth.”

  “But no one knows I have it, except you.” She paused, then added, “I think it’s getting stronger.”

  Excitement bubbled in her cousin’s voice when she answered. “You do? Why?”

  “I’ve had visions before, but I’ve always been on the outside, sort of looking in, like watching a movie. This time I was actually there.” Clara shivered at the memory. “I could feel the rain and the wind, and I heard the sound of Scott’s body hitting the ground. I was actually standing on that scaffolding, high up in the air. It was terrifying.”

  “Oh, how I wish I could do that!” Stephanie made a sound of disgust in her throat. “It’s just not fair.”

  Having heard all that before, Clara muttered, “Believe me, I wish I could transfer it all to you. I never want to do that again.”

  “Could you tell what these people looked like?”

  Clara closed her eyes, seeing again the two dark figures sending a husband and father to his death. “No, it was too dark and misty with the rain.”

  “Well, you just have to tell Dan now.” Stephanie gasped, then sounding farther away from the phone, added, “What? No, I was talking about the spring sale.” She spoke into the phone again, her voice almost a whisper. “That was George. He wanted to know what we had to tell Dan.”

  “Well, for heaven’s sake, don’t say anything to him about this.” Clara brushed dark bangs out of her eyes with impatient fingers. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll think of something to tell Dan, though I don’t know what I can say to him. I’m sure as hell not going to tell him about the Sense. Not that he’d believe a word of it, anyway.”

  “When will you go see him?”

  “Tomorrow, before I start work. I’ll let you know what happens when I get to the bookstore.”

  “I should go with you.”

  “No, it’s better if I go alone. Less conspicuous.”

  “Okay. I take it everything went all right at the store?”

  Clara spent the next five minutes giving Stephanie a report of the afternoon’s business. After wishing her cousin a good-night, she sat down at the computer, but found it impossible to concentrate.

  Images from her vision kept coming back to torment her. She let go of the mouse and leaned back in her chair. Dealing with the family curse had been bad enough when the voices had interrupted her, or she’d seen vague pictures in her mind. Being snatched away from her surroundings and dumped into a murder scene was something entirely different.

  If that happened too often, she could just imagine the havoc it would cause in her life. Even worse, keeping her secret would become that much more difficult. There were a lot of people she’d rather not have learn about her weird abilities. Right at the top of that list was Rick Sanders, and that thought disturbed her most of all.

  Was she starting to care a little too much for Rick despite her efforts to prevent it? If so, she was in more trouble than she thought.

  3

  Many years ago, before Clara was born, the building that now contained Finn’s Harbor’s police station had been a small theater. All that was left of the original interior was the ornate ceiling, where huge baskets of roses and rainbows had been carved into the plaster. The Rainbow Theater, as it was called, had been built before the turn of the twentieth century, and once, when Clara was a lot younger, while visiting the police station on a class project, she’d noticed an overpowering odor of stale tobacco and perfume. It had shaken her to discover that she was the only one who could smell it.

  She half expected to confront it again as she walked inside that morning, but all that greeted her was the faint, musty scent of damp wood and aging carpet. The ghost, or whatever it was that had disturbed her so much, must have long departed.

  The sloping floor led down past several cubicles to Dan’s office in the rear, and when she knocked on the door, his booming voice answered her.

  “Yeah?”

  She opened the door and poked her head in the gap. “Hi, Dan. Got a minute?”

  He leaned back in his chair and dropped the pen he was holding. “I’ve always got time for a pretty lady.”

  She smiled and opened the door wider.

  Although Dan was the chief of police, he never let his position get in the way of his attitude toward the people he served. He was a big man, both in build and attitude. He greeted everyone with a smile and a friendly word, though his pale blue eyes never stopped probing and assessing what he saw. Nothing much got past Dan, and he’d earned a great deal of respect from the residents of Finn’s Harbor.

  He was watching Clara now as she walked toward him and took the chair in front of his desk. “What brings you here this morning?” he asked as she tried to relax her shoulders. “Not trouble, I hope?”

  She shrugged, doing her best to appear unconcerned. “Depends what you mean by trouble. I heard about Scott Delwyn’s . . . accident.”

  He must have noticed her slight pause. His bushy gray eyebrows shot up. “What does that have to do with you?”

  She shifted on her chair, feeling like a wayward student hauled in front of the principal. “I was just wondering if you’d considered the idea that it might not be an accident?”

  Now Dan was frowning. Not a good sign. “That’s always a possibility in a case like this. I did a thorough investigation, however, and I’m satisfied that it was an accident. The M.E.’s report confirmed that.” He laced his fingers together and leaned forward. “Do you have any reason to suggest otherwise?”

  She swallowed. “Er, well . . . I was just thinking, you know, with all the protests going on and all the bad feelings between the construction workers and the protestors, that perhaps. . . .” Dan’s gaze was slicing through her head and she let her voice trail off.

  “Do you have any evidence whatsoever to support your suspicions?”

  She dropped her chin. “No. I just thought—”

  Dan groaned. “Clara, Clara, Clara . . . what am I going to do with you?”

  Now she was actually squirming. “I just had this really strong feeling. . . ”

  “Uh-huh. And you thought now was a good time for Clara Quinn, the intrepid investigator, to step in.”

  Again she shrugged.

  Dan leaned back in his chair again. “Clara, honey, listen to me. I know you’ve had a couple of good results from poking your cute little nose into police business”— Clara winced—“but that doesn’t mean you should go off on a crusade every time someone dies. If you’re that anxious to be a crime-solver, why don’t you apply for a position with the police force? You can work your way up to detective in no time.”

  Annoyed that he was being more than a little patronizing, Clara got up from her chair. “Believe me, I wouldn�
�t be a cop if they paid me a million dollars.”

  Dan grinned. “Very wise, m’dear. Very wise.”

  She reached the door and paused when he added, “Don’t worry about Scott Delwyn. It’s sad and tragic, and devastating for his family, but it was an accident, pure and simple. These things happen.”

  She gave him a brief nod and closed the door. So much for letting Dan know what she knew. Scowling, she trudged up the tilting floor and walked out into the stiff, cold wind blowing off the ocean. There was only one thing she could do now and that was find some evidence to convince Dan to open an investigation. Easier said than done.

  Stephanie was near the counter, stacking books on a shelf when Clara arrived at the bookstore. She pounced the minute Clara walked inside. “Well, did you see Dan? What did he say?”

  Aware of customers who were browsing nearby, Clara shook her head in warning. “Later. I’ll call you tonight.”

  Stephanie frowned. “He didn’t believe you.”

  “No, he didn’t.” Clara glanced over at the counter, where Molly was holding the phone with one hand and checking something out on the computer with the other. “We’ll talk tonight.”

  “What are we going to do?”

  Sighing, Clara beckoned Stephanie to follow and headed down the aisle to the stockroom. Once inside, she closed the door behind her cousin, saying, “Molly is going to wonder what on earth we are up to, if we keep closeting ourselves in here.”

  Stephanie waved a hand at the unopened cartons. “It’s not like there’s nothing to do in here.”

  Clara groaned. “I forgot it was delivery day. I’ll get to them as soon as I can.”

  “Not until you’ve told me everything that Dan said.”

  Clara repeated the conversation, or what she could remember of it.

  Stephanie’s frown deepened as she listened. “Sounds as if he wasn’t too thrilled about your visit,” she said when Clara was done.

  “It could have gone better. Let’s face it: he’s never going to take us seriously unless we have something solid to give him.”

  “So how are we going to do that?”