A Sinister Sense

by Allison Kingsley

  Like some humans she knew, Clara thought, but resisted the temptation to say so. “Well then, I guess you won’t mind keeping an eye on him this evening.” She glanced at the clock. “I just came home to change. I’m meeting Steffie at the bowling alley in a few minutes.”

  Jessie stared at her in dismay. “What about dinner?”

  “I’ll grab something out there.” Clara headed for the hallway.

  “But I wanted to tell you about—”

  Clara waved a hand at her. “It’ll have to wait. I’ll be late if I don’t get going.” She dashed down the hallway and into her room before her mother could argue.

  Ten minutes later she was ready to leave. Her mother met her in the hallway, holding up her hand to prevent her passing.

  “I just wanted to tell you that the murder victim has been identified.”

  Clara paused in the act of opening the front door. Spinning around, she demanded, “Who is it?”

  “I can’t remember his name. Something Polish, I think.” Jessie frowned. “He worked in construction or something in Portland. Apparently he was here on vacation and was staying at one of those dreadful motels on the coast road.”

  “Who identified him?”

  “The manager of the motel. He didn’t see a photo of the victim until late this afternoon when he saw the front page of the newspaper. Apparently he doesn’t watch much TV.”

  “Do they know who killed him?”

  Jessie gave her a pitying look. “They’re still saying that they have no suspects in custody but that Rick Sanders is helping in their investigation. Carson Dexter was there again, demanding the police make an arrest. He more or less hinted that Rick should be arrested for the murder.”

  Clara grunted in disgust. “Carson Dexter is an idiot.” She opened the door and stepped outside. “I won’t be late.”

  Jessie moved forward to stand in the doorway. “Be careful, Clara. You have always been too trusting, you know.”

  Clara’s mouth twisted in a wry smile. “Not anymore, Mother. Never again. Believe me.” Without waiting for an answer, she fled down the path to her car.

  Stephanie had already arrived and was waiting in the doorway when Clara parked in front of the bowling alley. “We’re not really going to play, are we?” she asked anxiously as Clara led the way into the foyer. “I haven’t bowled since my teens and even then I was known as the gutter-ball queen.”

  The clatter of falling pins and the thumping of a heavy metal band made it hard to hear her. “Let’s get something to eat.” Clara grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the bar. It was relatively quiet in there, and she chose a table in the far corner, away from the door.

  “I’ve already eaten dinner,” Stephanie protested as Clara reached for the menu.

  “Then just have a glass of wine.” Clara scanned the items and decided on a chicken Caesar wrap.

  A young woman wearing jeans and a low-cut tank top ambled up to the table and flipped over a page of her notepad. “What can I get you?”

  Her tone of voice suggested she could care less, and Clara had a fleeting moment of nostalgia for the trendy New York bistro where she’d enjoyed so many delicious lunches. She ordered the wrap and two glasses of wine, then sat back to scan the bar.

  Several men were seated at the long counter, and the two bartenders were busy filling beer glasses. Clara watched the man and woman behind the counter for a long moment, then leaned forward and spoke in a low voice just loud enough for Stephanie to hear. “I think we need to talk to one of the bartenders.”

  Stephanie glanced over at the counter. “Do you think they know something?”

  “I don’t know. I’m just guessing it’s a good place to start.”

  “Didn’t the Sense tell you where to start?”

  Clara sighed. “No, it didn’t. All I know is that being here will help us find out something useful.”

  “Okay.” Stephanie studied the hustling bartenders for a moment. “Which one? They both look busy.”

  “Both of them. We’ll take one each.”

  “What will we talk about?”

  “The murder, of course. Just listen to anything they say and try to get as much out of them as possible.”

  Now Stephanie looked worried. “I’m not good at this. You usually do all the talking and asking.”

  Clara smiled. “I’m not good at it, either, but between us we should get something we can use.”

  Her cousin was unconvinced. “We’re not very good detectives.”

  “We’re not trying to be detectives. We’re just trying to help a friend, that’s all.”

  Stephanie’s frown vanished. “Ah well, when you put it that way, I—”

  She broke off as their server slapped two glasses of wine down between them. “Your wrap will be along in a minute,” she said, and sauntered off to the next table.

  Stephanie dragged a paper napkin out of the holder and mopped up the spilt wine. “I should make her pay for that,” she muttered.

  “I guess you heard that the murder victim has been identified?”

  Stephanie nodded. “On the news. The mayor was on there, too. He made it sound like Rick was guilty.”

  “So I heard.” Clara played with her wineglass, twisting it around so the light glimmered on the swirling liquid. “He’s just anxious to get an arrest. I read somewhere that he’s planning to run for governor in the next election.”

  “So that’s why he’s making such a big fuss about the murder. He wants credit for getting it solved fast.” Stephanie took a sip of her wine and winced. “Ugh. This tastes like it’s been watered down.”

  “It probably has.” Clara spotted the server strolling toward them once more, carrying a plate. “Here comes my wrap.”

  “I hope it’s better than the wine.”

  They were both silent until the young woman had left, then Stephanie murmured, “So what do you think about the victim—Frank Toski or something? They said he was a construction worker here on vacation, but doesn’t it seem strange that he would be here by himself?”

  Clara shrugged. “I dunno. There must be lots of people who go on vacation by themselves.”

  “I suppose. He just didn’t look like the type who would want to spend a vacation alone in a town like Finn’s Harbor.”

  Clara bit into her wrap and mulled over what her cousin had just said. “If you’re right,” she said, “then he must have come here for a reason.”

  “Exactly.” Stephanie beamed. “So, if we could just find out why he was really here, then we might be able to find out who killed him.”

  Clara raised her glass at her cousin. “I always said you were the brains in the family.”

  “I’m the ideas person, remember?”

  “How could I forget? Some of your ideas have had memorable consequences.”

  Stephanie raised her chin. “Like what?”

  “Like the time you thought it would be a good idea to teach old Nellie Hatcher’s cat to swim.”

  “I wasn’t going to teach him to swim. I just wanted to be sure he could. Nellie had that big pond in her yard, and the cat was always trying to catch the goldfish in it. I was worried he would drown if he fell in.”

  “So you took him into the ocean to see if he could swim?”

  Stephanie shrugged. “What did I know? I was only six. I meant to hold on to him in case he sank, but he jumped out of my arms when the first wave hit.”

  Clara shook her head. “I remember. We both nearly drowned trying to rescue him.”

  “He got back to the beach before we did.”

  “Well, I guess you found out he could swim, and better than we could at the time.”

  Stephanie grinned. “Our parents made us take swimming lessons after that, so something good came out of it. Not all of my ideas ended up in disaster.”

  “Okay, so now come up with an idea of why our guy was here.”

  Stephanie’s forehead creased in concentration. “Looking for a job? Construction work i
s in the pits everywhere. Maybe he decided to relocate here to find work.”

  “In Finn’s Harbor? I haven’t heard of any construction projects going on around here. Have you?”

  Stephanie shook her head. “Okay, he was meeting someone down here. A woman.”

  Clara grinned. “Always the romantic.”

  “It’s possible.”

  “If that’s so, why hasn’t the woman come forward? Or anyone else, come to that. If he was here to meet someone, they must have seen his picture in the paper.”

  “That’s a good point.” She thought about it for a moment. “I guess whoever he was going to meet didn’t want the cops to know about it.”

  “Exactly.” Clara lifted her wineglass. “Since he was apparently killed in this parking lot, he was probably meeting that person here in the bowling alley.”

  “They must have been up to some funny business, then.” She had a pained look on her face as she watched Clara swallow the wine. “Pretty bad, isn’t it?”

  “It’s not good.” Clara set down her glass. “So, what we need to do is find out who he was meeting here that night. I’m hoping the bartenders can tell us that.”

  Stephanie frowned. “Wouldn’t they have already told the police?”

  “Maybe not. Or maybe they didn’t tell them everything. There’s only one way to find out.”

  “So which one do you want to talk to?” Stephanie peered at the bartenders over the rim of her glass. “I don’t know either one of them. Do you?”

  Clara laughed. “I’ve been gone for ten years. You know the people here better than I do.”

  Stephanie shook her head. “A lot of people have left since you went away, and more people are moving in all the time. This bowling alley has only been open a couple of years. I’ve never been in here before.”

  “Ah well, the good thing is, the bartenders won’t know who we are, either. It might make it easier to get answers.”

  “Unless they’ve been in the bookstore.” Stephanie studied the man and woman behind the counter for a few more seconds. “Nope. They don’t look like readers to me.”

  “Then let’s get it over with. We’ll go over there, order a drink, and hope they’ve got time to talk.” Clara pushed her plate away and drained her glass. “Remember, don’t let on you know Rick personally. Just say you heard the news on the TV and you’re curious about it.”

  “Won’t it seem odd to them that both of us are asking questions about the murder?”

  Clara smiled. “Probably, but hopefully not before they’ve given us the answers we want.”

  “Okay, let’s go.” Stephanie fluffed her fair hair back from her face, squared her shoulders and marched over to the bar.

  Clara waited until she saw the woman take Stephanie’s order. She couldn’t hear what her cousin was saying, but apparently she’d caught the bartender’s attention, as the woman paused and said something over her shoulder before filling a glass with more of the tasteless wine.

  Satisfied that Stephanie was handling her side of it, Clara headed for the opposite end of the bar, where the young bartender was joking with a couple of male customers. He left them immediately as Clara sat down at the counter.

  “What can I get for you, sweetheart?”

  He leered at her, and she had to fight the temptation to tell him she was not his sweetheart and to get lost. Instead, she ordered the chardonnay and waited for him to bring it back to her. She had mixed feelings when he rested his elbow on the counter and gave her another sickly grin.

  He shook his head when she offered him her credit card. “It’s on the house. We like to take care of our new customers.”

  I bet, she thought, managing to give him a smile. “Thanks!” She lifted the glass and took a sip, trying not to make a face.

  “So, what brings you in here? I haven’t seen you around before. On vacation?”

  She ignored the questions and gave him her sweetest smile. “This is a real nice bowling alley.”

  “Yeah.” He glanced around. “We do all right. So, where’re you from?”

  “New York.” It was only half a lie, and she felt justified in telling it.

  “No kidding.” The bartender held out his hand. “I’m Jason, and I’m real happy to meet another New Yorker.”

  She should have known from the accent. Bracing herself, she returned his strong handshake. “Clara. I heard someone was murdered out there in the parking lot the other night.” Her shudder was deliberately exaggerated. “Not something I expected to hear in a town like this.”

  Jason nodded, his face sober. “Not good for business, I can tell you.”

  “Did you know him?” She put down her glass. “The victim, I mean.”

  “Nope. He was from out of town. Portland, I think.” Jason reluctantly left her to fill another customer’s order.

  While she waited, Clara glanced down the counter. Stephanie sat at the far end of the bar with an unhappy look on her face. The bartender was farther up the counter, chatting and laughing with two young men. Apparently her cousin had struck out with the questions. So now it was up to her.

  She kept an eye on Jason and smiled at him when he glanced her way. As she’d hoped, he took that as an invitation and strolled back to lean on the counter in front of her. “So, how long are you in town?”

  “Awhile.” She looked deep into his eyes. “That’s if there aren’t any more murders going on around here.”

  Jason grinned. “I can promise you, you’re safe here. The cops have got the guy who did it.”

  “Really?” She opened her eyes wide.

  “Yeah. He owns the hardware store on Main Street. He was in here having a couple of beers that night. Didn’t look like the kind of guy who goes around beating up people. Just goes to show, you never know who you’re dealing with these days.”

  Clara gasped. “That must have been awful, finding out one of your customers had been killed right on your doorstep.”

  Jason shrugged. “Yeah, well, like I said, I didn’t know the dead guy. Never saw him before that night. Though one of my regulars recognized him the minute his pic came up on TV.”

  Clara hid her leap of excitement by gulping down a mouthful of wine. She swallowed too fast and spent the next few seconds coughing and spluttering to clear her throat. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Stephanie staring at her from the other end of the bar and prayed her cousin would stay put just a little longer.

  “That must have been a shock for him,” she said, her voice sounding raw and croaky. “Or is it a her?”

  “I promise you, Buzz is definitely a him.” Jason tipped his head on one side. “You okay?”

  Eyes watering, she nodded. “He’s one of your regular customers?”

  “He’s here most nights, yeah.”

  “Is he here tonight?”

  Jason looked around. “Nope. Can’t see him anywhere.”

  “He was here the night of the murder?”

  “Yeah, I think so.”

  “Buzz? That’s a weird name. Is he in show business or something?”

  Jason laughed. “The only way you’d see Buzz Lamont on TV is if he got arrested.” His face changed, as if he’d just realized he’d said too much. “Forget that,” he added sharply. “Why all the questions, anyway? You a cop or something?”

  Clara managed a light laugh as she slid off the bar stool. “No thanks. I wouldn’t want to be a cop for a million dollars.”

  Jason stared at her, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

  “Gotta go.” She flapped her hand at him. “Thanks for the drink.” She turned and fled across the room to the door, still coughing as she barged out into the foyer.

  “What happened?” Stephanie sounded out of breath as she charged out of the bar. “I thought you were going to throw up in there.”

  “So did I.” Clara grabbed her arm and dragged her out into the parking lot. She waited until she could speak without croaking before adding, “I found out something.”

 
“Good,” Stephanie said, her voice low with disgust. “I’m glad somebody did. That woman behind the bar is a total moron. I asked her if she knew the murder victim and she acted like I’d asked her if she’d slept with him. She went all tight-lipped and told me she didn’t waste her time gossiping about stuff that had nothing to do with her. Sheez! Everyone around me went all silent too, like they were afraid I’d arrest them or something. Honestly—”

  “Steffie.”

  She paused, her face looking white in the neon lights of the parking lot. “What?”

  “Don’t you want to know what I found out?”

  “Oh! Of course I do.” She glanced around as if checking to see if anyone else was listening. “Okay, go on. Tell me. What did you hear?”

  Clara recounted her conversation with the bartender.

  Stephanie looked disappointed when she’d finished. “I don’t see how that helps, just because the guy recognized the murder victim.”

  “Doesn’t it seem odd to you that he didn’t call the police to identify the victim? They were asking all over town if anyone knew him.”

  Stephanie’s face lit up. “Oh, I get it. He kept quiet because he could be the guy the murder victim came here to meet.”

  “Right.” Clara started heading toward her car. “I think we need to have a word with this Buzz Lamont.”

  Stephanie trotted after her. “Isn’t that going to be dangerous? What if he’s the killer?”

  “We’ll have to be extra careful where we talk to him. It had better be in broad daylight somewhere where other people are around.”

  “Did you find out where he lived?”

  “I was lucky to get a name. We’ll have to find out where he lives on our own.” She paused at her car and looked across the parking lot to where a row of sycamores lined the railings. Beyond them could be heard the dull popping of rifles from the shooting range. The sound seemed to add to the sinister atmosphere and she shivered, in spite of the warm, humid air surrounding them. “Right now all I want to do is get out of this place and go home.”

  A car pulled in and parked in the far corner, and Stephanie turned to look at it. “Me, too. It gives me the creeps, knowing someone was probably murdered just a few feet away.”