“I know.” Stephanie sighed. “Sometimes I feel bad about not telling him what we’re doing.”
“I know.” Clara patted her arm. “But he’d only worry if you did.”
“He’d want me to stop.”
“Do you want to stop?”
Stephanie gave her a startled look. “Of course not! We’re in this together. We always have been and we always will be.”
Clara smiled. “Spoken like a true cousin and soul mate.”
Ahead of them, the road wound around the shore line, and already pinpricks of light from the next town were popping up across the bay. As always, Clara felt uneasy about questioning strangers about a murder. Especially when all she had to go on was her unpredictable, unreliable Quinn Sense.
“I had a dream last night,” she said as the car swept around the rocky slopes of the hills.
“You did?” Stephanie sounded surprised. “Why didn’t you tell me before? What was it about?”
“I don’t know if it meant anything. I dreamed a man in a red wool hat was trying to tell me something.”
“Who was he?”
“I’m not sure, but I think it was Ryan Whittaker.”
“Tyler’s brother?” Stephanie laughed. “You’re not getting interested in him, are you?”
“I’ve never met him.”
“So what did he say in the dream?”
“That’s just it. He was too far away for me to hear what he said. But I think we need to talk to him.”
“You think he might have killed Scott?”
Clara sighed. “I don’t know what to think. Let’s just hope that someone says something soon that will help us, or we might never know the truth about Scott’s death.”
“That would be a shame.”
“Yes, it would.” She fell silent, going over in her mind the vision she had of Scott standing outside the bank as it was robbed and her gut feeling that somehow the two incidents were connected.
“There’s the construction site up ahead,” Stephanie said, sounding a little tense. “I hope we’re in time.”
“It said on the news that Scott was killed around five thirty, shortly after the shift ended.” Clara glanced at her watch. “It’s five twenty, so they should start coming out soon.”
“Okay, just to get our story straight: we’re doing an article about the new resort, putting a positive slant on it in the hopes of pacifying the protestors so the construction workers can get on with their job.”
“Right. We—” Clara broke off. “I don’t believe it.”
“What?” Stephanie peered through the windshield. “What’s the matter? Oh, crap.”
She had apparently seen what Clara had seen—a large group of people, some of them carrying placards, surrounding the gates of the construction site.
“We’re never going to get through that lot.” Clara sunk back on her seat. “Just our luck the protestors picked tonight to hold a rally.”
Stephanie pulled onto the gravel clearing that served as a parking lot and cut the engine. They could hear the chanting of the crowd, though it was too garbled to make out what they said. It was obvious, however, from the angry tone of the voices that the protestors were fired up about the project and were doing their best to shut it down.
A white van with the local television station’s call letters on it shot past them, coming to a halt just short of the crowd. Two men jumped out, one with a spot light, the other a camera, and began shooting the scene.
“Let’s get out of here,” Stephanie muttered. “I don’t want to end up on the evening news.”
“Right.” Clara sat up. “We’ll just have to come back another night.”
“Maybe Molly will fill in for you and we can try again tomorrow.”
“Good idea. I’ll ask her.” Clara frowned. “I’ll have to think of some way to repay her.”
Stephanie grinned. “Don’t you mean bribe her?”
“Okay, smart mouth. This is for a good cause, remember?”
“I know.” She was silent for a while, and then added quietly, “I just hope the Quinn Sense is right about this.”
“So do I,” Clara muttered. “Believe me, so do I.”
Clara’s head felt clear for a change when she joined her mother in the kitchen the following morning.
Jessie greeted her with a smile, and leaned forward to scratch Tatters’ ears. “You’re up early. Sleep okay?”
“Like a baby. Did you?”
“I usually do. You’re the one always having the nightmares. You talk so loud in your sleep sometimes, I’d swear there’s someone in the bedroom with you.”
Dismayed to discover her mother could hear her at night, Clara tried to shrug it off. “Only Tatters. You probably hear me talking to him.”
Her mother gave her a knowing look. “You were talking in your sleep long before that dog got here. I do wish you wouldn’t let him sleep with you. It’s not healthy.”
The change of subject was a relief and Clara jumped on it. “I like having him there. He keeps me warm.”
“It’s a wonder he doesn’t smother you with all that hair in your face.” Jessie shook out the newspaper. “I see that Dan hasn’t had any luck catching that bank robber. What nerve that man has—holding up a bank in broad daylight. Though, of course, this is such a dinky little town. No one here ever expects something as dramatic as a bank robbery so the police aren’t prepared for it. Not like a big city that’s crawling with cops.” She peered up at Clara. “I suppose you were used to bank robberies in New York.”
Clara’s back stiffened, and she made an effort to relax as she poured coffee into her mug. “Not really. If fact, this is the closest I’ve ever been to something like this.”
Jessie grunted. “Well, I certainly hope Dan catches the thief. With everything else going on, the last thing we need is a criminal running around robbing people. What if he came into the library and pointed a gun at me? I’d faint dead away. I think Dan should have extra police patrolling the town until they catch that thug.”
Clara carried her mug over to the table and sat down. “I doubt that a robber would expect to find much cash in the library, or the bookstore, for that matter.”
“You never know.” Jessie rattled the newspaper. “In this economy, people get desperate and they’ll go after anything.”
Clara thought about her mother’s comment on the way to work. The bank job certainly seemed to have been an act of desperation—a lone robber hitting the bank in broad daylight. What had driven a man to such great lengths he had risked everything to get his hands on that money?
She was still thinking about it when she walked into the Raven’s Nest. A couple of customers stood in one of the aisles, browsing the shelves. Molly waved at her from behind the counter, where she was setting up a display of bookmarks. Stephanie was probably in the stockroom sorting out the new deliveries.
With a wave back at Molly, Clara headed down the aisle, smiling a greeting at the customers as she passed. As predicted, Stephanie was in the stockroom surrounded by half-emptied boxes.
“I’ve been waiting for you to get here,” she said as Clara closed the door behind her. “I talked to Molly this morning.”
Clara tugged her arms out of her coat sleeves and hung it up on the hook. “Did you ask her about tonight?”
“We don’t have to go tonight.” Stephanie grunted as she lifted an armful of books from the box in front of her. “Molly had a great idea. She said that some of the construction workers usually go down to the tavern for happy hour on Fridays. If we want to talk to them that would be the best place to do it.”
Clara rolled her eyes. “Don’t tell me. The Laurel Street Tavern again, right?’
“Wrong. It’s that bar out on the coast road. Not everyone lives in Finn’s Harbor. Some of the guys live in Mittleford, so they go to the Blue Bayou near the construction site.”
Clara took the books from her cousin’s arms. “Well, I hope they serve better beer there than on La
urel Street. Or at least some decent wine.”
Stephanie grinned. “I take it we’re going to make Happy Hour at the Blue Bayou on Friday night?”
“I guess so. Is Molly coming?”
“I’m sure she’d love to.” Stephanie looked at her watch. “Uh-oh. I have to run. I have a hair appointment in a half hour and I have to go home first. Put those cookbooks out on the table for me, please?”
“Sure.” Clara followed her out into the store. “Talk to you later.”
She was talking to thin air as her cousin flew down the aisle, shouted something to Molly and disappeared out the door.
Molly was only too happy to talk about the Blue Bayou when Clara asked her about it later. “It’s a lot nicer than the tavern on Laurel Street,” she said as she poured herself a cup of coffee in the Nook. “Not as noisy, better music, smells a lot sweeter and the women don’t have muscles and tattoos.” She grinned. “Well, they probably do, but they’re a lot more discreet.”
“Stephanie said the construction workers go there on Fridays.” Clara took her mug of coffee over to a chair and sat down.
“Yeah, I’ve seen them in there a couple of times. When Stephanie said you planned on trying to talk to them as they were leaving the site, I figured the bar would be a better place to do it.”
“So, do you want to come with us on Friday?”
Molly’s eyes lit up. “Really? Cool! You know how I enjoy helping you guys do detective work.”
“Well, we have to be careful what we say there. As I said before, we don’t really know for sure what happened to Scott.”
“Right. I’ll remember. I—” She paused. “Was that the front doorbell?”
“I think so.” Clara put down her coffee. “I’ll go. You can clean up here and then it’ll be time for you to go home.”
Heading up the aisle, she felt a jolt of apprehension when she saw Dan Petersen standing at the counter. She hurried forward, hoping someone hadn’t complained about her hanging around the construction site.
She greeted the police chief with a smile. “What can I do for you?”
His sharp gaze seemed to penetrate her brain when he looked at her. “It’s my granddaughter’s birthday. She’s into all that vampire stuff that the kids are crazy about, for some reason I’ll never understand.”
Clara smiled. “You want me to pick out a book for her?”
“Yeah, a couple, if you can find them.”
“Come with me.” She beckoned him to follow her and led him down an aisle. “Do you know what she’s already read?”
“Nope. Not a clue.” He looked worried. “Can she exchange them if I get her something she’s read already?”
“Sure she can. Just make sure you give her the receipt so she can bring it in.”
He still looked doubtful. “Maybe I should just get her a gift certificate.” He shook his head. “That seems like such a cop-out, as if I couldn’t be bothered to think of something.”
“Well, here.” Clara pulled a book from the shelf and handed it to him. “This one just came in today. It’s the first in a new series, and I think your granddaughter might like it. It’s kind of like the Twilight books but with a different twist.”
He took the book from her and turned it over in his hands. “Since I have no idea what the Twilight books are about, I’ll take your word for it. Any more like this?”
She found a similar book for him and walked with him back to the counter. Ever since the moment she’d seen him in the store, she’d been bursting to ask him about the bank robbery. Now was her opportunity and she wasn’t about to let it slip through her fingers.
Waiting for him to find his credit card, she asked casually, “So, any news on what happened at the bank?”
He flicked her a glance. “No more than what you’ve heard on TV.”
“So you still don’t know who did it?”
“Not yet, but we will.” He swiped the card with an impatient flick of his wrist that warned her he didn’t want to talk about it.
“You don’t have any clues at all?”
His look gave her another quiver of apprehension. “If I did, I wouldn’t be telling you about it.”
She managed a weak smile. “I was just wondering if you . . . er . . . thought about the chance that the robbery might have something to do with Scott Delwyn’s death. I mean, it’s quite a coincidence, don’t you think? Two big incidents like that, following . . . each . . . other. . . .” She let her voice trail off as Dan’s face darkened.
For a long moment, the silence between them was as thick as a fog bank, then Dan said quietly, “I’m only going to tell you this once more. There’s no reason to think that Scott’s death was anything but an accident. There’s no evidence to suggest it had anything remotely to do with the bank robbery. I sincerely hope you and your cousin don’t take it into your heads to try and make out of this something it isn’t. I’d really hate to have to charge you both with obstruction of justice.”
Clara swallowed. “I’d hate that, too.”
“Good. Then we have an understanding.”
He held out his hand for the books and she hastily dropped them into a bag, slipped his receipt inside and handed it to him. “Thank you, Chief,” she said, hoping her smile would help erase the resentment from his face. “I hope you find your robber soon.”
“You and me both,” he muttered and strode to the door.
She let out her breath as the door closed behind him. Well, that settled one question. There was no way Dan was going to listen to her about her suspicions.
She and Stephanie were on their own.
Two days later, she watched the clock all day until she could finally close up and join her cousin and Molly out at the Blue Bayou.
Molly had been right about the bar. It was decently lit and there were actually curtains on the windows. The tables looked clean and the volume of the country music was low enough to have a decent conversation without yelling.
She found Stephanie alone in a booth, close to an enormous brick fireplace in which logs spat and crackled, sending sparks flying up the wide chimney. Clara could feel the warmth from it on the back of her legs as she pulled out a chair and sat down.
The smell of smoke and burning wood was far more pleasant than the beery body odors at the Laurel Street Tavern. In fact, Clara thought, as she checked out the old-fashioned wall lamps and the paneled walls of the booth, the Blue Bayou was a palace compared to its counterpart.
“Molly’s over there,” Stephanie said, nodding at the opposite side of the room. “She saw someone she knew and went over to talk to him. I thought it would be better if I stayed here.”
Clara followed her gaze and caught sight of Molly’s red hair. She was half hidden by a guy standing behind her, but Clara could see her talking to a young man seated at a table.
“Who is he? Did she say?”
“One of the construction workers. That’s all I know. They seem to know each other really well, though.”
Watching Molly’s head lean closer to her companion’s, Clara had to agree. The two of them were laughing and talking like old friends.
Turning back to Stephanie, she looked at the glass sitting in front of her cousin. “How’s the wine?”
“Pretty good. They have chardonnay.”
“My kind of place.” Clara caught the eye of the young woman circling the tables and ordered a glass. “How long have you been here?”
“About an hour. We ordered nachos. They were good. Want some?”
“Maybe later. Though I usually have something waiting for me in the fridge when I get home.”
Stephanie wrinkled her brow. “You’re lucky to have a mom to cook for you.”
“I guess. Sometimes I wonder if it’s worth it.”
“Still having problems with Aunt Jessie?”
“Now and then. I have to admit, it hasn’t been as bad since we got Tatters. She spends her time scolding him now instead of me.”
Stephanie la
ughed. “He’s made himself useful, then. You’d better hope that Rick doesn’t take him back.”
“He’d have a fight on his hands if he tried.”
“You’re getting that fond of the dog?”
“Not just me. Jessie is having too much fun wielding her authority to let that dog go now. At least Tatters listens to her, which is more than I ever did.”
“You’ve got that right.”
The server brought Clara’s wine just as Molly danced back to the table, holding a glass in her hand. She plunked herself down on a chair and gave the cousins a triumphant grin. “I found out something.”
“You did?”
“What is it?”
Both women had spoken at once and Molly laughed. “What do you think of my informant?”
“We can’t see much of him from here.” Clara peered across the room but the table was now hidden from sight behind a group of people. “What’s his name?”
“Brad Fielding. He works on the construction site. Guess what.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “He was with Scott right before he died.”
Clara put her glass down too quickly and slopped wine over the side. “What did he tell you?”
“Well, apparently Scott left his lunch box up on the scaffolding that night. His youngest daughter had given it to him for his birthday, and he knew she’d be upset if he went home without it, so he went back to get it.” Molly paused, then added quietly, “Brad said that it was raining hard that night and getting dark. The scaffolding was slippery. Scott must have lost his footing and fell.”
Clara frowned. It all sounded so feasible. She would never have questioned it either, if she hadn’t seen that vision of Scott being shoved off the scaffolding. She couldn’t tell Molly that, however, and she could hardly blame the woman for looking at her with doubt all over her face.
Stephanie cleared her throat. “Did he say anything else?”
Molly nodded. “One more thing. He thinks Scott might have been distracted by a text message. Earlier that day, Brad saw him open up his cell phone and look at it as if he was reading bad news. He seemed upset and Brad asked him if he was okay. He didn’t answer, just shoved the phone back in his pocket and walked away.”
Trouble Vision Page 10