“I don’t know.” Clara glanced at her watch. “I need to think about it. I suppose we should look for some kind of evidence that at least suggests Scott may have been murdered.”
Stephanie snorted. “It will have to be really good evidence to convince him. He thinks we’re just a couple of busybodies who got lucky a couple of times.”
Clara had to smile. “That’s pretty close to the truth.”
“Hey! More than once, we’ve put ourselves in the line of fire to catch those killers.”
“Yep, we have. Even though neither of us really knows what we’re doing. It’s been more by luck than good judgment that we’ve come out of these escapades unhurt. I’m afraid that if we keep this up, sooner or later our luck is going to run out.”
A cloud of concern passed across Stephanie’s face then she shook her head. “Nah, not when we have the Quinn Sense and Tatters to protect us.”
Clara laughed in spite of her niggling worry. “Okay. You win. We go looking for evidence.”
“Where?”
“I guess a good place to start is with the protestors. They’re the most likely to have caused trouble. Maybe Scott took a swing at somebody and it got out of hand.”
“Good idea. Which ones?”
Clara frowned. “What do you mean, which ones?”
“Well, there’s Josh Millstone and his girlfriend. They’re the leaders of the conservation group that are protesting the construction because they’re afraid the builders will destroy the habitat.”
Remembering the meeting, Clara’s frown cleared. “You mean the guy with the straggly red hair? How do you know him?”
Stephanie shrugged. “He’s a new teacher at the kids’ school. I recognized him when we came out of the meeting the other night and heard them talking about protesting. Ethan’s always talking about Mr. Millstone and his fight to save the endangered species.” She smiled. “I think Ethan is taking an interest in environmental concerns.”
“Okay, so there’s a place to start. Who else were you talking about?”
“Lionel Clapham.”
Clara raised her eyebrows. “The owner of Searock Inn? Why him?”
“He’s heading a group of the local businessmen in a protest. According to something George read in the paper, Lionel’s been causing trouble up at the site. He got into a fistfight with someone. George says that Lionel’s afraid the new resort will take his business.”
Clara pursed her lips, then murmured, “That’s a pretty good motive to get steamed up about the construction.”
“Have you met him?”
“No, but I have a feeling I’m about to.” She paused, working out in her mind the questions she might ask.
“There’s just one thing,” Stephanie murmured. “Josh and his protestors were at the meeting the night Scott died.”
“But Scott supposedly fell at the end of the shift when he was doing his rounds. That would be what . . . around six or so?”
“Something like that.”
“The meeting didn’t start until seven thirty. Plenty of time for someone to kill Scott and get to the meeting before it started.”
Stephanie’s brow cleared. “You’re right. You’re not going to see these people without me, I hope?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Nope.” Stephanie grinned. “How about tomorrow morning? Molly can take care of things. I’ll meet you here around nine; that’ll give me time to open up. Maybe we can talk to both Josh and Lionel and still get back here for your shift at noon. “
Clara sighed. “There goes my beauty sleep again.”
Stephanie gave her a hefty nudge. “You don’t need it.”
“Thanks.” She looked at her watch again. “I’d better get out there. Molly will be wondering what the heck I’m doing all this time.”
“You’re unpacking cartons.” Stephanie nodded at the boxes. “I’ll tell her. She can let you know if she needs your help. It’s pretty quiet out there right now.”
Clara headed for the cartons. Opening the boxes was her favorite part of the job. She loved the smell of brand-new books, the colorful covers, and the smooth feel of them in her hands. Although she’d probably never read any of them since most of the titles were paranormal, just knowing that great adventures awaited their eager customers put a smile on her face.
She heard the door close behind Stephanie, then silence settled over the room. She pulled the first box toward her and reached for the box cutter on the shelf. Seconds later, she pulled back the flaps to reveal rows of flashy blue covers with a white-faced vampire snarling at her.
Blinking, she lifted one of the books for a closer look. The title screamed at her in red letters dripping with blood: The Games Vampires Play.
Clara shivered and took out another four of the books. Stephanie liked the books to be stacked five deep on the shelf, replacing them as they were sold. Clara dropped the books onto the rollaway carts they used to transfer the books from stockroom to aisles.
As she did so, she heard a faint scuffling in the corner of the room by the rear door. Skin prickling, she peered into the shadows but could see nothing but cartons, a vacuum cleaner, a box of cleaning supplies and a ladder.
She waited, muscles tensed to leap for the inner door if anything moved. All was still, and gradually she let her shoulders relax. Either she’d dreamed it, or the Raven’s Nest was harboring mice.
She made a mental note to mention it to Stephanie. Mice ate books, didn’t they? Or was that rats? Either way, she’d rather not come face-to-face with them. She started cutting open the cartons with a feverish speed, hauling books onto the rollaway until it was full. Then, with a last look over her shoulder, she opened the door and shoved the loaded cart out into the aisle.
Stephanie was waiting for Clara when she arrived at the bookstore the next day. She must have been watching from the window, since she met Clara on the doorstep with her coat collar turned up and a scarf wound around her head.
The bitter wind swirled dust and dried leaves around their feet as they walked back down the hill to the parking lot. “You could have called me from the car,” Stephanie said as they crossed the lot to where Clara had parked her car.
“I need the exercise and fresh air.” Clara pressed her key to open the doors. The car answered with a faint beep and the click of locks releasing.
Stephanie trudged around to the passenger side, raising her voice as the wind buffeted her face. “If the air gets any fresher, we’ll be blown right off our feet.”
Clara laughed as she slid onto her seat. “It’s good for you. Cleans out your lungs,” she said when Stephanie climbed in next to her.
“My lungs can manage perfectly well without a gale blowing down them.” Stephanie pulled the scarf from her head, letting her fair hair billow around her face. “Where are we going first?”
“To the inn.” Clara started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot. A half-dozen cars coasted down the street, and she followed them down toward the harbor. The row of souvenir shops and art galleries, which were so crowded in summer, were mostly deserted, with just a couple of brave souls wandering down the hill.
“You missed all the excitement this morning,” Stephanie said as they turned onto the coast road. “Molly caught a mouse in the stockroom.”
“So that’s what I heard yesterday.” Clara put some pressure on the gas pedal. “How did she catch it?”
“Well, it wasn’t planned, exactly. She was backing away from it and smacked into the table, which was loaded with books. Some of the books fell off and the mouse must have panicked. It ran right into them.”
“Ouch.” Clara tried not to visualize what happened after that. “I hope you got rid of it.”
“Wrapped it in a plastic bag and deposited it in the garbage.”
“Poor thing.”
“You wouldn’t have said that if it had run over your foot.”
Clara shuddered and concentrated on the road ahead. The inn lay farther up t
he coast road, a half mile or so before the construction site. On one side, the mountains, dotted with pines, rose stark against the sky. On the other side, the gray ocean churned up frothy waves to race onto smooth, empty beaches.
As Clara rounded the bend and saw the outline of Searock Inn in the distance, she muttered, “I don’t have a good feeling about this.”
Stephanie’s voice was sharp when she answered. “The Sense is telling you that?”
“No, my own instincts. I think.”
“Why? All we’re doing is asking a few questions.”
“About a murder. If Lionel Hampton is guilty, he’s not going to be too happy to have us nosing around.”
“In which case, you’ll know and we can sic Dan on him.”
Clara shot her a dark look. “You know it’s not that easy.”
Stephanie sighed. “I know, but I keep hoping the Sense will step in and tell you all we need to know so that we don’t have to go around ruffling people’s feathers.”
“If I remember correctly, this was your idea in the first place.”
“Maybe it was, but now that we’re actually doing it, I have to admit I’m having second thoughts.”
Clara gripped the wheel a little tighter. “We can always turn back. Let everyone think Scott’s death was an accident. Maybe it would be better if Karen didn’t know her husband was murdered.”
Stephanie was quiet for so long, Clara thought she might actually agree. She really wasn’t surprised, however, when her cousin said quietly, “You know we can’t do that.”
“Yes, I do.” As if to convince herself, Clara pressed her foot farther down on the accelerator. The sooner they got this over with, the better.
It took several minutes to track down the owner of the Searock Inn. The quiet-spoken woman behind the front desk seemed reluctant to notify him that someone wanted to speak with him. She kept smoothing back a lock of her straight blonde hair from her forehead, while her startling blue eyes looked everywhere but directly at the cousins. “I don’t know where he is,” she insisted when Clara again asked to see him. “He’s never in one place for very long.”
“I assume he has a cell,” Clara said, sounding a lot more confident than she felt. “Call him on that.”
The blonde’s gaze wandered up to the chandelier hanging over the entrance. “He doesn’t like salespeople. You’ll have to talk to the manager.”
“We’re not salespeople.” Clara exchanged a glance with a worried-looking Stephanie. “We’re here on personal business.”
The receptionist met Clara’s gaze for the first time. “You’re family?”
“Not exactly.” Clara hesitated. “Look, just tell him that a couple of sympathizers want to talk to him.”
Creases appeared in the young woman’s forehead. “Sympathizers?”
“He’ll know what that means.”
With doubt written all over her face, the receptionist picked up the phone and dialed. Seconds later, a sour-faced man with a partially bald head and a beer belly hanging over his belt barreled through a rear door and charged into the foyer.
“Who are you and what do you want?” he barked, sending Stephanie back a nervous step or two.
Clara was happy to note she was taller than Lionel Hampton by at least two inches. Sometimes earning the high school nickname of “Lofty” had its advantages. “We’d like a private word with you, sir,” she said, trying to sound forceful.
Lionel’s gaze darted from her to Stephanie and back again. “What it’s about?”
“It’s about the construction on the bluff.”
Clara’s heart thumped as Lionel’s brown eyes bore into hers. Finally, he nodded and beckoned as he turned away. “Come on.”
Stephanie’s face looked drawn as she followed her cousin behind the counter and through the rear door. Lionel led them down a narrow hallway and into an office stuffed with papers, files, books and an assortment of coffee mugs scattered about the room. A globe on a stand, covered in cobwebs, stood in one corner. Apparently Lionel didn’t have his office cleaned too often.
The owner grunted as he squeezed behind the desk in the corner and lowered himself onto a chair. “Now, what’s this all about? I’m a busy man, so make it short.”
Clara had rehearsed her speech the moment she’d climbed out of bed that morning. She’d learned from past experience that it helped to have her questions locked into her mind. That way, she could fire them off without giving the other person time to think too long about the answers.
“We’re doing a survey of people’s opinions,” she said, giving Lionel an expansive smile. “I understand you’re not in favor of the project.”
Lionel’s face was creased in suspicion. “So what?”
“We’d like to know your reasons.”
Scowling, Lionel leaned forward, his fingers gripped together in front of him. “My reasons are the same as everyone else’s in this town: we don’t need the traffic, the congestion, the destruction of our scenic highway, or the problems a dump like that will create.”
Clara widened her smile. “The resort can hardly be called a dump, Mr. Hampton. From what I hear, it will be a very upscale, expensive establishment, bringing lots of money into the town.”
Lionel’s dark brows drew together in a fierce line. “We don’t need that kind of money. Finn’s Harbor has always done well and will go on doing all right without some fancy new resort taking over everything.”
“Well, it seems that not everyone shares your views. The town council for one, and I’m sure the construction workers are happy they have a job in this economy.”
Lionel made a sound of disgust deep in his throat. “They’re a bunch of money-grabbing traitors, that’s what they are. All they care about is their take-home pay. They don’t care a damn about the damage they’re doing up there.”
“Is that why you had that argument with Scott Delwyn?”
Lionel stood up so suddenly, his chair crashed against the wall behind him. “What’s that got to do with anything? Who the hell are you? Are you a cop? If so, where’s your ID?”
Stephanie shot out of her chair and retreated to the door, while Clara got up more slowly. “I’m not the police, Mr. Hampton. I’m just a friend of Scott’s wife, wanting to know what happened to him.”
“He fell off the scaffolding, that’s what happened to him.” Lionel seemed to recover his former belligerence. “That’s all I know, and all I’m going to say. Except maybe he was asking for it, strutting around that construction site like he owned the place. I wasn’t the only one who got in his way. There were plenty of others.”
In the act of turning away, Clara paused. “Like who?”
“Never you mind.”
She held his gaze for a moment. “Are you suggesting that Scott’s death wasn’t an accident?”
“I never said no such thing.” Lionel waved his arm at her. “Now, get out of here before I bring charges against you. Pretending to be taking a survey while all the time nosing into other people’s business—that’s got to be illegal.”
Stephanie opened the door and darted out into the hallway.
Clara raised her chin. “I’m just a concerned citizen, trying to get at the truth.” She spun around and crossed the room to follow her cousin.
Just as she reached the door, Lionel called out, “If I were you, lady, I’d stay out of things that don’t concern you. People get hurt that way.”
Clara shut the door behind her with a little more force than necessary. Following Stephanie down the hallway, she muttered, “He’s a nasty piece of work. It wouldn’t surprise me at all to find out he killed Scott Delwyn.”
Once outside in the brisk salty air, she felt she could breathe again. Stephanie was already in the car when Clara reached it. She pulled open the door and climbed in next to her cousin.
“Boy,” Stephanie said, reaching for her seat belt. “I thought he was going to call Dan and complain about us.”
“He might still do that.”
Clara started the engine. “On the other hand, if he’s got something to hide, he won’t want to go whining to the police about us.”
“How did you know he had an argument with Scott?”
“I didn’t. The mayor said there’d been some fighting up at the site, and since Lionel Hampton led a group of protestors, he’d be the logical one to confront Scott.”
“Do you think he killed him?”
Clara shrugged. “I don’t know, but he’s right at the top of my list.”
“The Sense didn’t tell you anything back there?”
“Nope.” Clara pulled out onto the coast road. “Guess we’ll just have to rely on our own instincts.”
Stephanie sank back on her seat. “Crap. I was hoping we’d strike gold on the first try.”
“Well, maybe your teacher friend can tell us something helpful.”
“I don’t know him all that well.” Stephanie sounded worried again.
“I thought you said he was Ethan’s teacher.”
“No, he teaches third grade. Ethan must have heard him talking about the environment at some point. I see Mr. Millstone now and then when I’m at the school, but I’ve never spoken to him.”
“Well, now’s your chance.”
“Me? You want me to question him?”
“Well, you’re the parent of kids who go to his school.” Clara squinted as a ray of sun broke through the clouds. “It’ll be easier for you to get in to see him.”
“I don’t see how. None of my kids have him for a teacher.”
Clara sighed. “All right, we’ll go in together and I’ll do the talking. It would help, though, if you backed me up now and then.”
“You always seem to manage fine without me. Besides, you’re the one with the Sense.”
Detecting an underlying resentment in her tone, Clara glanced at her cousin. Stephanie was gazing out the window, however, her expression bland. Deciding she must have imagined it, Clara concentrated on the task ahead.
She had questioned enough people over the past year or so that she was getting used to it. Still, she was fully aware that so far they’d been lucky. Although they’d met with hostility and suspicion now and then, they’d emerged without damage. That could end at any time, and she could only hope that wouldn’t be the case with Mr. Josh Millstone.
Trouble Vision Page 4