Luckily her mother had plans for that evening, so Clara could at least escape an awkward conversation about why she was invited to dinner at Stephanie’s when Jessie was not.
Sharing a meal with the Dowds usually meant dealing with childish arguments, robust voices and a lot of laughter in between.
That evening was no exception, as Olivia and Ethan fought over whose turn it was to pick up after the dog, Michael insisted on singing painfully out of tune a song he’d learned at school and George somehow managed to pour gravy over the edge of his plate onto the white tablecloth.
“You’re worse than the kids,” Stephanie told him, while her offspring giggled. “Now you can clean it up.”
“Vinegar,” Clara said, mopping up the gravy with her napkin. “Works wonders, or so I heard.”
Stephanie rolled her eyes. “You heard that from me.”
“And from Frannie.” Clara paused, remembering why she was there.
Stephanie must have sensed her change of mood, as she put down her fork. “Clara and I have some things to talk over,” she announced, “so we’re going to my sewing room, and I don’t want to be disturbed by anyone for anything. Got that?”
All three kids nodded.
“What about the dishes?” George asked.
Stephanie sent him a sweet smile. “I thought you would do that for us, honey. Get the kids to help.”
Her words were greeted with groans and moans. George’s were the loudest of all.
Getting to her feet, Stephanie jerked her head at Clara. “Let’s go, before these poor souls break my heart.”
Clara followed her down the hallway to what once was a walk-in closet and now served as her cousin’s sewing room. The narrow room was confining yet cheerfully decorated with collages that used to be Stephanie’s passion and hobby before she bought the bookstore.
“So tell me,” Stephanie demanded, “what’s going on? What have you found out?”
Clara would have smiled if she hadn’t felt so tense. “I don’t know that I’ve found out anything. That’s the problem.”
Stephanie sat down on a fold-up chair in front of her sewing machine. “What does that mean?”
Clara dragged a bean bag chair around to face her cousin and plopped onto it. “You know how I used to be able to interpret dreams?”
“Of course. We were just talking about it the other day.”
“Well, I think I’ve interpreted someone’s dream, and it told me who killed Ana.”
“No way! Who is it?”
“I can’t tell you right now. I’m not sure if it was the Quinn Sense or if it was my own instincts kicking in again. I don’t want to say anything in case I’m wrong and another innocent person gets blamed for Ana’s murder.”
“Well, you can tell me, can’t you?”
“I’d rather not.”
Stephanie puffed out her breath. “Well, all right, be like that. What if I tell you I’ve come up with a plan to catch the murderer?”
Clara stared at her. “What kind of plan?”
“It’s simple, but effective.” Stephanie leaned forward, her face flushed with excitement. “You tell your suspect that we’ve found evidence that will incriminate the killer. That we’ve hidden it in a chocolate box on a shelf in the stockroom until Dan gets back. The killer will want to get to that evidence before the police get their hands on it. We’ll be waiting in the stockroom to catch the killer red-handed.” She sat back, beaming. “Clever, don’t you think?”
Clara gulped. “I think it’s insane. Not to mention dangerous.”
“Not with two of us there. I’ll take a picture with my cell phone while you call 911, and then we get out. I’ve got an empty chocolate box downstairs. It’s the perfect plan, really.”
“What if we have to wait up all night?”
Stephanie shrugged. “I can stay awake. What about you?”
“I mean what about George? Isn’t he going to wonder where you are? What you’re doing out all night?”
Stephanie’s face fell. “Crap.” She brightened. “I’ll tell him we’re taking inventory. I’ll say it will take most of the night because we can’t do it while the store is open.”
“And he’ll believe that?”
“Of course.” Stephanie grinned. “He’s very trusting, my George.”
Clara shook her head. “This is crazy. If we’re going to do something this dangerous, we should at least wait until Dan gets back.”
“May I remind you that the killer is trying to kill you, too? You could be dead by the time Dan gets back.”
“Thank you. That’s very comforting.”
Stephanie punched her cousin’s shoulder. “Come on, it will be like old times.”
“Not quite.” Clara rubbed her arm. “Remember when I said that if things looked dangerous we’d talk to Dan?”
“Dan’s not here.”
“We could talk to Tim.”
“And tell him what? You said yourself, you’re not sure if you’re right about this. That you don’t want another innocent person blamed for Ana’s murder. This way we can prove who the killer is and there’ll be no doubt. Tim can make the arrest and it will all be over by the time Dan gets back.”
Wavering, Clara murmured, “It does sound simple.”
“I told you it was.”
“But then your plans always do seem simple until we try to carry them out. Remember when we rounded up all the dogs in the neighborhood and took them to the park to play? We had a lot of really angry neighbors out all night looking for their pets, remember? That was a really good plan.”
Stephanie pouted. “We were five for pity’s sake. How were we to know the dogs wouldn’t do what they were told.” She started to grin. “It was fun, though.”
“Well, we’re not dealing with angry neighbors or runaway dogs now. We’re dealing with a dangerous and unpredictable killer. We could both get badly hurt, or worse.”
“So, what do you want to do? Wait for Dan to come back, and tell him you think you know who killed Ana because of someone’s dream?”
Clara buried her face in her hands. “All right. We’ll do it your way. But I don’t have to like it.”
“So now tell me who you think killed Ana Jordan.”
“No, it’s safer that you don’t know. When are we going to do this anyway?”
“Tomorrow night. Molly will be leaving at two, so we won’t have to worry about her finding out what we’re doing.” She paused. “It’s not Molly, is it?”
“No,” Clara said quietly. “It’s not Molly. At least, I don’t think so, and that’s all I’m saying. Now I have to go home and come up with an excuse why I won’t be home tomorrow night.” She opened the door, then paused. “What if my suspect comes into the shop while we’re open and gets into the stockroom?”
“You don’t tell the suspect about the evidence until ten minutes before we close. I’ll be in the stockroom already, waiting. You’ll have to leave by the front door, lock up, then sneak around the block and come in the back door.”
“Something tells me we’re both going to regret this.”
Stephanie narrowed her eyes. “Is it the Quinn Sense telling you?”
Clara smiled. “No. Just my own instincts this time.”
“Good. Then let’s do it. Here we go, the Quinn cousins on the trail of adventure again!”
It was all very well for Stephanie to make light of it, but Clara was filled with misgivings. So many things could go wrong.
Yet she, more than anyone, wanted the killer caught. She was tired of looking over her shoulder, wondering where the next attack would come from. Stephanie’s plan might just work, and on the surface, at least, it seemed no less dangerous than allowing whoever killed Ana the opportunity to kill again.
Sending up a silent prayer, she led the way back to the kitchen.
15
Rick came into the store the following afternoon. He said he was looking for a new cookbook but spent most of the time browsing through
the magazine rack. He was still there when John Halloran walked into the store, wearing a smirk that instantly rattled Clara.
“I thought I’d find you in here,” he said, walking up to Rick. “There’s a young lady across the street, asking for you. I told her I’d try to find you. She seemed pretty anxious to talk to you.”
Rick scowled. “Who is she?”
John shrugged. “She didn’t give me her name.”
Rick glanced at Clara, who immediately dropped her gaze.
Cursing herself for always getting caught staring at him, she ducked below the counter and pretended to be busy sorting out the catalogs.
“All right, tell her I’ll be right there,” Rick said, and a short moment later, the doorbell jingled.
Thinking they had both left, Clara shot to her feet and came face-to-face with Rick.
He stood on the other side of the counter, holding out a couple of magazines and wearing a silly grin. “I’ll take these,” he said, fishing out his wallet from his back pocket.
Wondering why the man always made her feel nervous, she took the bills he handed her and tried not to think about Stephanie’s words. You do get all twittery when you’re around him. It occurred to her that if Stephanie realized that, so might Rick, and the idea made her hand shake as she punched out the purchase on the cash register.
She handed him the change, trying not to flinch at the contact of her fingers on his palm. “Thank you, sir. I hope you enjoy them.”
“Oh, I know I will.” He lifted his hand in a mock salute and left her staring after him.
She watched him cross the street, and just as he reached the door of his store, a young woman flew out and wrapped her arms around his neck. They were still hugging when they disappeared inside.
Clara ignored the stab of disappointment. What else could she expect? Rick was a healthy, good-looking young man, and it would have been naive to think he had no girlfriends. Then again, it was only two days ago that he’d more or less told her there were no women in his life.
Which just goes to prove her theory, she told herself. No man can be trusted to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.
Her bad mood lasted the rest of the afternoon and into the evening. She had a hard time hiding it when Stephanie arrived, out of breath as always and talking nonstop.
When Clara wasn’t as responsive as Stephanie would like, she turned on her, demanding, “What’s the matter with you? I thought you would be excited about catching Ana’s killer. You’re not chickening out on me, are you?”
“Of course not.” Happy to blame her cranky response on their imminent venture, she added, “Guess I’d better go tackle phase one of your plan.”
Stephanie’s eyes narrowed. “You’re going next door to Jordan’s, aren’t you?”
“Maybe.” Clara headed for the door. “You’d better get in the stockroom before someone sees you. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
The sun hadn’t quite set when she stepped outside. Long shadows stretched along the sidewalk, and lights were popping up in windows all the way up the hill. Clara glanced at Parson’s Hardware out of the corner of her eye. The lights were still on, so Rick hadn’t closed up shop yet.
She wondered if the girlfriend was still there, then reminded herself it was none of her business. Determined not to waste time speculating on stuff that didn’t concern her, she turned her back on the store and paused in front of Jordan’s Stationer’s.
Every instinct urged her to walk away. It was a crazy plan and probably wouldn’t work anyway, and they’d be up all night for nothing. On the other hand, if it did work, they would be confronted by someone who had killed before and probably wouldn’t hesitate to kill again.
She couldn’t let her cousin expose herself to that kind of danger. Stephanie had kids to consider. If anything happened to their mother, what would they do? How would George manage?”
She half turned, but just then the door of Jordan’s opened and a customer walked out. Seeing Clara standing there, he paused to hold the door open for her.
Clara hesitated, then thanked him and walked into the store.
Alone in the Raven’s Nest, Stephanie wandered down the aisle to the stockroom, pausing to examine the shelves every now and then. The longer she put off actually going into the stockroom, the more nervous she felt about it.
The plan had seemed so simple when she’d first blurted it out to Clara. True, she hadn’t thought it through, but she’d seen it done on TV more than once, and it always worked. So why shouldn’t it work now?
She went over the whole scenario in her head, as she had done a hundred times since Clara had left the night before. All they had to do was choose a place to hide close to the back door, so they could scoot out the minute she took a photo.
The killer would be taken by surprise and blinded by the flash, which would give them plenty of time to get out and call 911. Then run like hell until they got to the parking lot.
Stephanie had considered parking her car across the street, but since parking there was illegal, it would be just her luck for Tim to come along and make her move it. Besides, it might tip off the killer.
No, it had to be this way. She only hoped she could still run as fast as she used to when she and Clara played softball. She caught her breath. That was sixteen years ago. Hard to believe. A few pounds had found their way to her hips since then. She hoped they wouldn’t slow her down.
Now that she was really thinking about it, the whole plan seemed a bit risky. Still, it was too late to change things now. Clara was probably next door, already halfway through her story, and the trap was about to be set.
Squaring her shoulders, Stephanie opened the stockroom door and flicked on the light. Studying the boxes piled up in the corner, she assured herself the little fort looked natural.
She’d decided that afternoon that the best place to hide was in the corner, by the back door. She’d moved some boxes around, piled them up a bit higher and created a perfect hiding place.
Now, all she had to do was wait for Clara to come back, and that should be any minute now. Standing behind the wall she’d built, she wondered how she would see the killer in the dark well enough to take a picture. Then again, the killer would surely have a flashlight in order to find the chocolate box, which she’d placed on a shelf clear across the room.
She should have thought to bring one. They might need one to find their way out in a hurry. Annoyed with herself for not thinking of it before, she hurried over to the door. She’d put a flashlight in a drawer under the counter the day she’d opened the store. It should still be there.
She flicked off the light and was halfway up the aisle when the shrill ringing of the phone startled her. A quick glance at the clock told her it was almost closing time. It had to be Clara. Something must have happened.
She rushed over to the counter and snatched up the receiver.
It wasn’t Clara’s voice that answered her, however. It was the voice of her husband, and he sounded unusually agitated.
“Steph? I’m sorry, honey. I’m at the hospital.”
“Hospital?” She felt sick. “What happened? Are you hurt?”
“It’s not me.” His pause filled her with dread. “It’s Olivia. She’s had a really bad accident.”
Stephanie let out a cry of anguish. “Oh, George! I’ll be right there.” He went on talking, but she didn’t wait to listen. All she could think about was getting to her daughter’s side as quickly as possible.
Snatching up her purse, she flew out the door, not even bothering to lock it behind her.
Clara walked cautiously up to the counter, where Roberta stood sorting through some papers. Frannie hovered nearby and sent her a smile, while Roberta looked up with her usual stiff-upper-lip expression.
Clara had rehearsed her speech, but a lot depended on the responses she got. Ad-libbing was not one of her strongest points, so she could only hope and pray that the conversation went the way she wa
nted it to go. “I noticed the other day that you had some calendars for next year,” she told Roberta. “Do you have any with pictures of New York? I want to find one for my mother.”
Roberta looked as if she couldn’t care less. “I’m not sure. Frannie will take a look for you.”
“Oh, that’s okay.” Clara smiled at Frannie. “I can look for myself. I just thought you might save me hunting through them, that’s all.”
“The calendars are over there,” Frannie called out, pointing across the room.
“Thanks.” Clara turned back to Roberta. “So, I’ve been meaning to ask you. How are things going? Do you need any help with anything? It must be so hard, having to take over from Ana after the way she died.”
“It hasn’t been easy, but we’ve managed, thanks.” Roberta went back to shuffling her papers.
“It makes me sick to think of the killer still roaming free out there. Kind of creepy.” Clara’s shudder was just a little exaggerated.
“I should think he’s probably long gone by now,” Roberta muttered.
“Oh, do you think so? Well, I hope he hasn’t gone too far.” Clara looked around, then leaned across the counter and just slightly lowered her voice. “In any case, he won’t be free for much longer.”
Roberta gave her a suspicious look. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, he’s going to be arrested any day now.” She looked around again at the empty store, as if making sure no one else could hear her. “Stephanie and I just found evidence that will put him behind bars for the rest of his life.”
She had Roberta’s full attention now. The woman’s eyes seemed to glaze over, and she ran the tip of her tongue over her lips before asking, in a voice thick with tension, “What kind of evidence?”
“Well, I can’t really say.” Clara leaned closer. “We’ve hidden it in a chocolate box.” She briefly closed her eyes, aware of how silly all this must sound. Why would anyone believe such nonsense? It was too late to back out now. All she could do was hope she sounded convincing. “Stephanie put it on a shelf in the stockroom for safety,” she went on, “just until Dan gets back to town. Then we’ll give it to him, and you can bet he won’t waste any time going after the killer.”
Mind Over Murder Page 17