Trouble Vision

by Allison Kingsley

  Walking up the hill, she mentally went over everything she’d done and every place she’d been since she’d first heard that Scott Delwyn had died. Still nothing came to mind. She must have been frowning as she walked into the Raven’s Nest, since Stephanie looked at her with concern in her eyes.

  “Are you okay? Has something happened?”

  “No . . . yes . . . I don’t know.”

  Molly was busy with a customer, and Stephanie beckoned to Clara to follow her down the aisle to the storage room. “We just got a new shipment of books,” she said, waving her hand at the pile of cartons in the middle of the room. “I’m anxious to see what’s here.” She pulled a box cutter from her pocket and carefully slit open the top carton.

  “Did you happen to see that red car go past here a few minutes ago?” Clara walked over to her and started taking books out of the carton.

  “What red car?”

  Clara shook her head. “I guess you didn’t see it, or you would have known what I was talking about. It’s the kind of car you usually only see in a dealer’s window.”

  Stephanie pulled out a book and read the cover. “It probably belongs to one of the bigwigs who own the resort project.” She turned the book over. “This looks interesting. It’s a debut time-travel series about a newly discovered kingdom that no one knew existed.”

  “Sounds good.” Still thinking about the car, the memory of her meeting with Karen popped into Clara’s head. What would Scott’s widow have to do with a luxury sports car? Was it because the passenger in it had looked like Karen’s dead husband? Or was it the Quinn Sense trying to tell her something?

  Stephanie said something else, and Clara murmured, “Uh-huh.” Somehow she couldn’t get rid of the idea that the car and Karen were connected. She tried to remember their conversation. It was about the cell phone. No, that wasn’t it. Something later. What had they been talking about when Thelma rang the doorbell and interrupted them?

  Thelma. It had something to do with Thelma.

  “Are you okay? Are you having another vision or something?” Stephanie sounded excited. “Where are you?”

  Clara shook her head. “I’m right here. I just can’t— Oh!”

  Stephanie stared at her. “What? What? Tell me!”

  Clara let out her breath. “The guy driving that fancy car down the hill. I remember now where I’ve seen him before. It was Thelma’s son. I can’t remember his name, but I do remember his face.” She clutched her cousin’s arm. “Where do you think an out-of-work guy would get a fancy car like that?”

  “Maybe he stole it.”

  “Or maybe,” Clara said slowly, “he robbed a bank.”

  14

  Stephanie dropped the book she was holding back into the box. “You mean we have another suspect.”

  “Yes, I think we do.” Clara slipped out of her coat and hung it on the hook. “What’s more, Thelma told Karen they were moving. If her son is the bank robber, we have to move fast, or they’ll be gone and we’ll never find out if he’s the one who killed Scott.”

  “Oh, I keep forgetting you think it’s all connected.” Stephanie frowned. “But if Scott is connected to the bank robbery, doesn’t that make him a criminal, too?”

  “I don’t know.” Clara hung her scarf over the hook on top of her coat. “All I know is that I saw two people shove Scott off the scaffolding. I wish I did know more than that. This whole case is so confusing. I wish the Sense would either give me something to point me in the right direction or stay out of my mind altogether.”

  “Well, maybe Dan will see that guy driving around in a fancy car and figure out there’s something fishy.”

  “Maybe, but even Dan can’t do anything without evidence, and there seems to be a shortage of that around.”

  “We could just be jumping to conclusions about this. After all, we’ve suspected just about everybody remotely connected to Scott.”

  “I know. I can’t help feeling we’re just grasping at straws and that we’re missing something important.”

  “I’m sorry, Clara. I wish there was something I could do to help. Right now, though, I have to go clean the house before my kids get out of school. Once they come home, nothing gets done.”

  Clara gave her a little push. “Go ahead. I’ll figure it out.”

  “Okay. Meanwhile, if you could get some of those books out on the shelves . . .”

  “Sure.” Clara waved her off, then turned back to the cartons. She needed something to do to keep her mind off things. All this effort of trying to figure things out was giving her a headache.

  A half hour later, she had the books out on the shelves. She was helping Molly rearrange the window display when the phone rang. It was Stephanie, and she sounded excited.

  “I saw that red car,” she said, “outside the diner on the waterfront. Your friend must be having lunch there. That’s some car.”

  Clara glanced at the clock. “I wonder if he’s still there.”

  “You’re not going to accuse him or anything, are you?”

  “No, I have a better idea.”

  “What is it?”

  “I’ll tell you if it works out.”

  Hanging up the phone, Clara called out to Molly. “Can you hold down the fort for a few minutes? I’ve got an errand to run.”

  “Sure.” Molly waved a hand at the aisles. “We’re not exactly swept off our feet here.”

  Clara wasted no time in dashing back to the stockroom for her coat and scarf. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” she called out as she tore out the door.

  She was looking back as she said it, and didn’t see the woman on the steps until she smacked right into her.

  Momentarily out of breath, she flinched when Roberta Prince snapped, “Why don’t you look where you’re going?”

  “I’m sorry.” Clara edged around her. “I’m in a hurry and—”

  “I can see that.” Roberta brushed her sleeve as if getting rid of a distasteful bug. “You nearly knocked me off my feet.” She switched her purse to the other hand. “If you’re going to see Rick, I can save you the trouble. He’s not in the shop.”

  “I’m not going to see Rick, if you must know.” Clara started down the steps. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

  “Oh, my, we are touchy about it, aren’t we? Did you two have a disagreement, then?”

  Clara was so tempted to turn around and tell Roberta about the kiss she’d enjoyed last night, then thought better of it. She hadn’t even told her cousin yet. It was something she wanted to keep to herself for a while.

  To her relief, she heard the door to the bookstore slam shut. Let Molly deal with the witch, she thought, as she hurried down the hill to her car. She had bigger fish to fry.

  It only took a few minutes to drive down to the waterfront and park in the diner’s cramped lot. The red car was still at the curb, where Stephanie had seen it. Thelma’s son had apparently decided not to park it with the other cars.

  She couldn’t really blame him. The car was beautiful—a gleaming mass of shiny red metal and chrome. It still had the sales sticker in the window, and temporary plates. He must have just bought it.

  Before she got out of her own car she flipped open her phone and dialed Karen’s number. The widow answered right away.

  “One quick question,” Clara said, after asking how Karen was doing. “What was Scott’s cell phone number?”

  Karen gave her the number, and Clara keyed it into her address page. “Thanks,” she said when she was done. “I can’t talk now but I’ll get back to you.” She hung up before Karen could ask any questions.

  Minutes later, she was seated in the diner with a cup of coffee and a donut in front of her. At the opposite end of the room, Thelma’s son sat talking to a man dressed in a poorly fitting suit and no tie.

  It could have been the man she saw in the back of the car, except he looked nothing like Scott Delwyn. In fact, Clara was now convinced that she’d seen Scott’s ghost again, and tha
t he was still trying to tell her something.

  She took a sip of coffee, then pulled a tissue from her pocket. She let it float to the floor and bent down to pick it up. Both men’s feet were hidden from sight, and frustrated, she sat up. She’d have to get closer if she wanted to take a look at their shoes.

  After taking her cell phone out of her pocket, she dialed the number Karen had given her and waited. Seconds later, she saw the driver of the car dig in his pocket and come up with a cell phone. Holding it to his ear, he spoke into it.

  His voice echoed in the phone at Clara’s ear. She quickly closed her phone and slipped it back in her pocket. She didn’t need to see his shoes now. Thelma’s son had Scott’s cell phone. Now she could go back to Dan.

  Stephanie hummed as she pushed the vacuum cleaner around the living room carpet. Life was good. Business at the bookstore was slowly picking up after the post-Christmas lull, the kids were doing well in school, spring was just around the corner and she and Clara were in the middle of another adventure. What more could she ask for than that?

  A couple of things, she amended. One, that they find out who killed Scott Delwyn, and two, that Clara find someone who could make her happy for the rest of her life.

  Clara had never told her the full story about what had happened in New York. Stephanie knew it had to do with a guy who had apparently treated her cousin bad enough to send her running back to Finn’s Harbor.

  Not that Stephanie wasn’t happy about her cousin’s return, but she wished the circumstances had been better. Whatever had happened to Clara must have been unbearable, since she wouldn’t talk about it to anyone.

  Stephanie sighed. What Clara needed more than anything was a man like George. Dependable, kind, loving, reliable George.

  The house phone rang, making her jump. It had to be a business call, since most of her personal calls came through her cell phone. Still thinking up adjectives to describe her beloved husband, she hurried over to the couch and picked up the receiver. “Hello!”

  A soft, female voice answered her. “I’d like to speak to George, please.”

  “George isn’t here. Can I take a message?”

  There was a short pause on the line, then the voice spoke again, sounding flustered now. “Oh . . . er . . . isn’t this where George works?”

  Stephanie frowned. “No, this is his home. Who’s this?”

  “I’m sorry, I must have the numbers mixed up. Please excuse me.”

  “Wait—” The line clicked in her ear, and Stephanie replaced the receiver. A knot was beginning to form in the middle of her stomach. Stop it, she told herself. It was nothing. She was overreacting. Her George would never look at another woman.

  The caller ID number was staring at her from the message panel on the phone. After hesitating for several seconds, she snatched up the receiver and dialed the number. A recording answered her.

  “This is Annabelle. Please leave a message.”

  Annabelle. Stephanie felt sick. George had been preoccupied lately, as if something was on his mind. Was it this Annabelle person? Abandoning the vacuum cleaner in the middle of the room, she walked slowly into the kitchen and opened the freezer. Reaching inside, she lifted out a carton of ice cream and carried it to the kitchen table. A glance at the clock told her she had at least an hour before Michael got home from school. After fetching a spoon, she sat down, opened the lid on the ice cream and began to eat.

  Tim was in the front office when Clara walked into the police station. He lifted a hand in welcome when he saw her.

  “Hi there! What can we do for you?”

  “I need a word with Dan.” Clara glanced down at the door to Dan’s office. “Is he in?”

  Tim got a weird look on his face. “He is, but I’m afraid he won’t talk to you.”

  “Why not?”

  Tim shrugged. “He said to tell you, if you came in again, that his office is off-limits.”

  Clara tightened her lips. “Really. Well, you can tell Dan that I have information about Scott Delwyn’s death that will incriminate a suspect. If he wants to catch a killer, I suggest he listens to what I have to say.”

  Tim looked worried. “Scott’s death was an accident, Clara.”

  “So everyone keeps saying. I happen to know that it was murder.”

  “Dan doesn’t like it when you talk like that, remember?”

  Clara leaned her hands on Tim’s desk. “Listen to me. I have evidence now that will convince Dan that Scott was murdered. I need to talk to him.”

  “I don’t know.” Tim glanced around as if afraid of being overheard. “He said he’d have my badge if I let you bug him again.”

  Clara straightened. “What are you going to do? Arrest me?”

  “Uh . . . well . . . I . . .” Tim ran a hand through his hair.

  “I thought so. Sorry, Tim, but I have to talk to Dan.”

  Feeling the eyes of everyone in the place following her, she marched down to Dan’s office and rapped on his door.

  His sharp command to enter unnerved her for a moment, then she braced herself. Once he heard what she had to say, he’d be apologizing to her. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door.

  Dan didn’t even look up from the papers he was studying on his desk. “What is it?”

  “I have something important to tell you.”

  At the sound of her voice he paused, then rubbed his fingers across his forehead. “Of course you do.” He looked up at her, and his expression was enough to freeze a volcano. “How did you get past my deputy?”

  “He understood the urgency of my visit.”

  “Did he, now?” Dan’s voice was heavy with sarcasm.

  Clara winced. “I found Scott Delwyn’s cell phone. At least, I know where it is.”

  “And where is it?” His tone suggested she better have a good answer.

  “It’s in the hands of . . .” She hesitated.

  “Yes?”

  “I . . . er . . . don’t remember his name.”

  “No kidding.”

  Clara was beginning to feel just a little desperate. “His mother is Thelma something or other. She lives next door to Karen Delwyn, Scott’s widow.”

  Dan stared at her beneath his bushy eyebrows, blue eyes cutting into her mind. “You talking about Ray Hogan?”

  “Hogan, that’s it!” She slapped the desk. “Of course. Ray. I knew it was something short. Ray Hogan. Yes. He’s the one who has Scott’s cell phone.”

  “And you know this, how?”

  Excited now, Clara sat down, earning another fierce frown from the man across from her. “I was in the diner with Ray Hogan. Well, I wasn’t with him, exactly. He was at the other end of the diner and I was by the door, and—”

  “Get to the point?”

  “Oh, sorry. Yes, well, I called Scott’s cell phone and Ray Hogan answered. He said hello. Right in my ear.”

  “You called Scott’s cell phone.”

  “Yes. I got the number from Karen. There’s more.” She leaned forward. “Ray Hogan is driving a brand-new car—and a very expensive one at that. Since he’s unemployed, I have to wonder where he got the money to spend on a fancy new sports car.”

  Dan kept looking at her so long she started to squirm. Finally he let out a long sigh. “All right, I’ll have a word with Ray. Meanwhile, you are to stay far away from him. Understand?”

  “Of course, yes.”

  “You haven’t done a very good job of listening to me up to now.”

  “Sorry, but I had to find some evidence to make you . . . I mean . . . so that you’d realize Scott’s death wasn’t an accident.”

  “Hmm.”

  Clara got up. “So you’ll talk to him?”

  “I’ll talk to him. This doesn’t mean, however, that Ray had anything to do with Scott’s death.”

  “Then why does he have Scott’s cell phone?”

  “That’s what I’m going to find out. And you’re going to butt out, right?”

  “Right.” She head
ed for the door, then turned to look back at him. “You will tell me what he said?”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  She had to be satisfied with that. For now. She sent Tim a triumphant wave as she passed by his desk. He answered her with a resigned shake of his head.

  Heading back to the store, she replayed the conversation again in her head. Dan hadn’t exactly apologized, but he had said he’d talk to Ray. That was something. It had to be incriminating evidence. How else would Ray have Scott’s phone unless he was with him when he died?

  She waited until she was parked in the lot before calling Stephanie. The phone rang three times, and Clara was about to hang up when her cousin answered. The minute she heard Stephanie’s voice, Clara knew something was wrong.

  “What’s the matter? Are you sick?”

  “No. Yes. Oh God, Clara, what am I going to do?”

  Stephanie’s voice had risen on a wail. Alarmed now, Clara said firmly, “Whatever it is, we’ll deal with it. Did something happen to one of the kids?”

  “No.”

  Stephanie was crying now, intensifying Clara’s anxiety. “Is it George?”

  Instead of answering, Stephanie dissolved into wrenching sobs.

  “I’m coming over there.”

  “No . . . the bookstore . . .”

  “Molly can take care of the bookstore. I’ll be right there.”

  Clara made a quick call to Molly, then tore out of the parking lot with little regard for anything that might be coming down the road.

  Minutes later she was at Stephanie’s door, one finger on the bell.

  It seemed like forever until her cousin opened the door. Clara took one look at her and held out her arms.

  Sobbing, Stephanie fell against her. “I . . . don’t know . . . what to do!”

  “Let’s get inside.” Clara pulled her into the house and shut the door. Still holding her arm, Clara led her cousin into the kitchen and made her sit down.