“Again,” Clara said, “we don’t know that for sure.”
“Which leaves us with opportunity.” Stephanie fixed Clara with another hard stare. “We have to find out if any of our suspects have alibis.”
The doorbell jingled, making them all jump.
Mrs. Riley poked a disapproving face around the door. “I heard you got Wayne Lester’s new book in,” she said, glaring at Molly.
“Yes, we do. I’ll get it for you.” Stephanie twisted around and disappeared down the aisle.
“Keep that woman away from me,” Mrs. Riley said, still hovering in the doorway. “I don’t want her anywhere near me.”
“Don’t worry,” Molly muttered, turning her back on the elderly woman. “I don’t want to be around you, either.”
Clara was about to answer when Stephanie reappeared with the book in her hand. She laid it on the counter, saying to Mrs. Riley, “I’ve heard it’s just as good as his last one.”
The words seemed to ring a bell in Clara’s head. Even as she reached for the book, her hand began to tingle. The voices were soft, quiet, whispering in muffled tones that made no sense.
Out of habit, she began to shut them out, but then she remembered her promise. Closing her eyes, she relaxed her mind, concentrating on the elusive words. Something to do with the book and the words Stephanie had spoken. I’ve heard it’s just as good as his last one.
Stephanie had said pretty much the same words to Frannie. Two days ago. The voices whispered louder. Clara frowned, trying to hear them. What were they trying to tell her?
“Well, are you going to stand there all day or are you going to take my money?”
Mrs. Riley’s voice scattered her thoughts. Clara blinked, and the voices faded away. Behind the irritated customer, Stephanie was staring, her face full of expectation.
“I’m sorry.” Clara snatched up the book and slid it across the scanner. “That’ll be twenty-one ninety-five.”
Mrs. Riley uttered a sound of disgust. “Ridiculous price for a book. I could buy three paperbacks for that price.” She snatched the bag from Clara and, still muttering to herself, marched out of the shop.
Stephanie barely waited for the door to close behind her before bounding over to the counter. “You heard something, didn’t you? The Quinn Sense. I saw it in your face.”
Clara sent a wary look at the aisles, but Molly had disappeared. Hopefully, she was finishing her coffee in the Reading Nook. “Shhh!” Clara scowled at her cousin. “You swore you’d keep quiet about that, remember?”
“Sorry.” Stephanie glanced over her shoulder. “I got excited.” She leaned forward and added in a whisper, “You did hear something, though, right?”
Clara gave her a brief nod. “Not much, though. It was more a feeling than actually hearing anything. It had something to do with what you said to Mrs. Riley.”
Stephanie looked bewildered. “Mrs. Riley? Surely you don’t think she could have killed Ana? She’s just a frail old lady.”
“It wouldn’t take much strength to lift that bust and bring it down hard enough to kill.”
Stephanie puffed out her breath. “Now you’re being ridiculous. We’re beginning to suspect everybody who comes into this store. You’ll be saying next that I could have killed Ana.”
Clara tilted her head on one side. “You do have an alibi, don’t you?”
“Of course I do! What—” She broke off with a laugh. “Okay, enough of the dark humor. This is serious business. We have to find out where everybody was that night and what they were doing.” Her expression grew serious. “You have to go out with Rick Sanders now. It’s the only way we can find out where he was.”
Clara rolled her eyes. “I’m leaving. I have an apartment to look at.”
She headed for the door, and Stephanie followed her. “I thought you decided to stay at home with your mom.”
“I changed my mind.” Clara paused at the door. “When I got home last night, I found some of my stuff in my room had been moved around. My dear mother said she was tidying up the house, but I know she was snooping. I’ve got to find somewhere where I can have some privacy.”
Stephanie made a face. “I’m sorry, Clara. I’m sure she’s just concerned about you.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not sixteen years old anymore. She can ask me what she needs to know instead of poking around my personal stuff.”
Waving good-bye, Clara stepped out into the street. The familiar smell of damp sand and seaweed greeted her, and she stood for a moment, enjoying the soft touch of the sea breeze on her face.
She’d lost count of the times she’d stood on a busy corner in Manhattan amid the rank odor of diesel fuel, burning tires and exhaust fumes, longing to be back in Finn’s Harbor breathing clean, cool sea air.
Now she was home, with a whole day to enjoy the waning summer, and she intended to do just that. Forget the morbid events of the past few days, ignore the Quinns’ bizarre family gift, if it could be called that, and just be a normal, contented person with a few hours to kill in one of the most picturesque towns in New England. With that, she set off down the hill to her car.
7
Clara drove along the coast road until she’d left the town of Finn’s Harbor behind. Ahead of her, still out of sight, lay Sealwich Bay, a small fishing port known for its abundance of lobsters.
She hadn’t had a lobster roll since the last time she’d visited from New York, and just the thought of them made her mouth water. The best lobster rolls in the world were made at Hannegan’s, a small restaurant overlooking the ocean, and she couldn’t wait to taste one again.
As the scenery unfolded in a never-ending display of mountains, craggy shoreline and tiny islands dotting the ocean, she reminded herself again how lucky she was to be living in such magnificent and peaceful surroundings.
True, there were occasions when she missed the stores, the theaters and the crowded restaurants of the big city, the excitement of never knowing what was around the corner, the ever-changing scenarios of people from all walks of life and from all over the world filling the crowded sidewalks.
Not enough to go back, however. Right now she was supremely happy to be sailing along the coast road, with nothing but sea and sky to distract her mind.
Pulling into Hannegan’s tiny parking lot, she was pleased to see only two cars and a pickup parked there. That meant she’d have a good chance of a window table.
The spicy aroma from the busy kitchen tantalized her appetite as she pushed open the door and walked inside. A cheerful young woman dressed in a pink uniform showed her to the last vacant table by the window, and Clara settled down to enjoy her lunch.
From where she sat, she could just catch a glimpse of the light twinkling from Cape Neddick’s Light. She watched it, mesmerized by the insistent flash every six seconds, and didn’t notice the tall figure approach her table until he spoke.
“This is a pleasant surprise!”
She looked up, straight into the eyes of Rick Sanders.
For a wild moment she thought Stephanie must have sent him, then remembered her cousin had no idea that she had driven to Sealwich. Realizing she’d gone far too long without answering him, she blurted out, “What are you doing here?”
Apart from a slightly raised eyebrow, Rick seemed unaffected by the abrupt question. “I’m picking up supplies for the store. The warehouse where I get my garden tools only delivers once a week, and I had a run on pitchforks and rakes. Guess people are getting ready for the fall.”
It was none of her business, of course, and all she could do was keep nodding throughout his long explanation. When he paused, she felt obligated to return the favor.
“I came up here for a lobster roll. They make the best ones on the coast here.”
“Ah, well then, I’ll have to give it a shot.” He gestured to the vacant chair opposite her. “Mind if I join you?”
Yes, she did mind. She wanted to be alone, to think things through and decide how she was going to han
dle her cousin’s daunting expectations of her.
It would be rude to turn him away, though, especially after their previous encounter. Already he was getting the uncomfortable look on his face that people got when they suspected they’d made an embarrassing mistake. “Sure.” She waved a hand at the chair.
He still looked uncertain as he sat down, and she began to feel ashamed of her behavior. Bad enough that she’d practically run away from him in the street. But now she was acting as if he were intruding on her privacy.
In an effort to make amends, she smiled at him. “I hear the hardware store is doing well.”
“It is.” His face relaxed a little. “Then again, I’m the only hardware store in town, so I guess I have a bit of a monopoly.”
“So who’s looking after it now?”
“Oh, I have someone who comes in now and again when I need to take off. John’s an old fogy, but he gets the job done.”
“John?”
She’d asked the question idly, more to keep the conversation going than anything. She was taking a sip of water when he answered.
“John Halloran. He used to own a candy store on Main Street, where the Pizza Parlor is now, so he knows how to handle a store.”
Clara choked on the water, and had to gasp for air, while Rick watched her with an odd expression on his face.
“You okay?” he asked at last, and she nodded.
Her voice sounded hoarse when she answered. “I remember the candy store.”
“Oh, you know John, then.”
“Yes.” She hesitated, then added quickly, “Not very well, though.”
Rick’s gaze seemed to be probing her mind. “Anything I should know?”
She could feel her cheeks growing warm. She couldn’t tell him she suspected John Halloran of murdering Ana Jordan. After all, Rick was a suspect as well. She could hear Stephanie’s voice in her head. Get what you can out of him.
She had to say something. Anything. He was looking at her again with that weird look on his face. She opened her mouth to speak, but just then the waitress brought her lobster roll.
To Clara’s relief, Rick transferred his attention to the waitress while he ordered his roll and a beer. She tried to think clearly, striving for a way to find out what he was doing on Friday night.
“Can I get you something else?”
At the sound of his voice, she looked up with a start to find him watching her again. “Oh, thank you, no.” She glanced at the waitress, who was unashamedly sizing up her new customer.
“That’ll be it, then,” Rick said, giving the young woman a smile that sent her dancing off for his order.
“Sure you’re okay?”
Clara avoided his gaze. “I’m fine.” It had come out a little too abrupt and she hurried to add, “Just a little preoccupied, I guess.”
“I can imagine. The shock of finding Ana’s body and all. It takes a long time to get something like that out of your head.”
“Exactly.” She felt herself beginning to relax. “That’s why I came out here. To get away from it all for a little while.”
“Has Dan made any progress on finding the killer?”
Her nerves tightened again. “I wouldn’t know. He doesn’t confide in us.”
“I just wondered if you’d heard rumors.”
“Such as?”
He shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know. People talk.”
She didn’t like where this conversation was going. He seemed much too interested in knowing if there’d been any developments in the case. Or maybe she was just overreacting again. She seemed to be doing that a lot lately.
She took a big bite of her lobster roll, spilling some of the lobster pieces onto her plate. “That’s the problem with these things,” she mumbled. “You can’t look elegant while you’re eating them.”
“You could look elegant hauling lobsters out of the ocean.”
He was smiling. He really did have a nice smile. She couldn’t help smiling back. “Thank you. I think.”
The waitress arrived with Rick’s order, giving Clara time to recover her composure. She waited until he had started on his roll before saying as casually as she could manage, “What really surprises me about Ana’s murder is that apparently no one saw anything, or noticed anything unusual. Dan said she was killed sometime between nine and eleven on Friday night. There must have been people on the street around that time.”
Rick lifted his glass. “What do you mean by unusual?”
“Well, you know, Ana going into the bookstore after hours. Maybe forced to go in by someone.”
“How do you know she went in after hours?” He tilted the glass and drank several gulps of his beer.
Clara paused, her roll halfway to her mouth. “Are you saying you believe the rumors that Molly killed her?”
She couldn’t read his expression as he looked at her. “It’s obvious you don’t.”
“Of course I don’t.” She put down her roll, her appetite for it fast disappearing. “I think the whole idea is ridiculous. Molly had nothing to do with Ana’s murder.”
“She told you that.”
“Yes, she did.”
“And you believed her.”
“Absolutely. I can usually tell when people are lying.”
“Then you’re lucky. Personally, I think there are far too many good liars in this world.”
The bitterness in his words was impossible to ignore. Someone somewhere must have hurt him badly. She knew how that felt. She could literally feel the resentment steaming out of him. It was such a contrast to his usual disposition that it shocked her into silence.
“Sorry.” He grinned, and in a flash once more became the cheerful, agreeable man she thought she knew. “As a matter of fact, I agree with you. I just can’t see Molly bashing someone over the head with a masterpiece she’d just created.”
Clara’s shoulders sagged in relief. With or without the Sense, she was ready to believe that Rick Sanders was not the killer either, and until the voices told her otherwise, she intended to hold on to that. “So who do you think might have been responsible?”
“Could have been anyone, I guess.”
He turned to look out of the window, giving her an opportunity to study his profile. Strong nose and chin. She liked that.
“So, have you met the formidable Roberta Prince?”
His question took her by surprise, especially since he looked back at her and once more caught her staring at him. He had to think she was totally juvenile. “Yes, she came into the store this morning and introduced herself. Sort of.”
Rick smiled. “Gave you a hard time?”
She hesitated, remembering the flamboyant woman’s words. Just ask the hunk who owns the hardware store across the street.
“Not really. As you said, though, she’s a bit . . . intimidating.”
“I know what you mean.”
He’d sounded grim, and Clara frowned, wondering who to believe. Roberta had made it sound like they were on hugging terms. Come on, Sense, where are you when I need you? “She mentioned you, actually.”
She’d unsettled him. His eyebrows twitched, and his fingers did a little dance on his glass. “Really. What did she have to say about me, exactly?”
“Not a lot. Just that she’d cooked dinner for you.” She was feeling uncomfortable herself now. He must know she was fishing for information. Then again, that’s what she was supposed to do. It had nothing to do with her own personal interest. It made her feel better to think that, anyway.
“Yes, she did.” He uttered a soft sound that could have been disgust. “She manipulated me into it, if you want the truth. She arrived on my doorstep with bags of food and proceeded to take over my kitchen. I couldn’t throw her out without looking like a jerk, so I let her stay.” He looked out the window again, his lower lip jutting out.
He was holding something back. Something he didn’t want her to know. Had Roberta stayed the night?
She shut down the Sense before i
t could tell her anything else. There were some things she’d rather not know. She kept the conversation on safer ground after that, and it was a relief when Rick finally drained his beer and glanced at his watch.
“I’ve gotta go. They’ll be waiting for me at the warehouse.”
“Me, too. I’m supposed to be apartment hunting.” She reached for the bill, but he grabbed it first.
“My treat.”
“Oh, no, I couldn’t . . .”
“Of course you can. You can return the favor sometime.” He got to his feet, waiting for her to step out into the narrow space between the tables. “Maybe the Pizza Parlor for dinner some night?”
She nodded, anxious to escape the curious gazes of the young couple at the next table. Hurrying out into the bright sunshine, she headed for her car. Rick called out to her as she climbed inside, and she waved at him before turning on the engine. He was right behind her in a red pickup as she drove out of the parking lot and onto the road. He followed her for a couple of blocks before turning off onto one of the side streets, apparently on his way to the warehouse.
She thought about their conversation on the way back to town. Mostly about the few words they’d had about Roberta Prince. Apparently Rick and Roberta didn’t share the same vision of their relationship. Unless one of them was lying. Not that it mattered, of course. None of it had any bearing on Ana’s murder.
It occurred to her then that she still had no idea where Rick was on Friday night. Was he with Roberta? “Stop that!” she said out loud, angry with herself for the selftorture.
It wasn’t that she had any feelings for him, she assured herself. It was just that if the two of them were together that night, they would both have an alibi. Or maybe not. Again she shut down the voice. She just couldn’t accept the idea that Rick might have helped Roberta murder Ana Jordan.
She rounded a bend and came face-to-face with her favorite view—a huge sweep of the bay, with red roofs and white walls sparkling in the sun, and green mountains rising up behind them. The sight never failed to raise her spirits, and she was smiling as she drove into the little town of Finn’s Harbor.
Stephanie wandered into the living room and threw herself down on the couch, bouncing George hard enough to rattle his newspaper.
Mind Over Murder Page 8