She was talking too fast and saying too much, she thought, as she watched conflicting emotions crossing Tyler’s face. She waited, uncertain as to what she was waiting for, and hoping she hadn’t scared him off altogether.
“Do you have the hots for my brother?” Tyler asked, sounding incredulous.
She almost laughed. Her cheeks burned as she shook her head. “No, no, of course not. He’s not . . . I mean . . . I’ve never met him.”
To her utter dismay, Rick’s voice spoke from right behind her. “That’s a relief.”
She spun around, confusion making her voice come out in a high squeak. “Rick! I didn’t see you there. I was just talking to your new assistant.” She glanced at her watch. “Goodness, look at the time. I’d better get going. Stephanie will wonder where I am.”
She turned back to find Rick’s assistant looking at her as if she’d grown horns. “Nice to meet you, Tyler.” She spun back and smiled weakly at Rick as she rushed past him. “See you later!” Feeling like an utter fool, she dashed out into the street.
She was sure that the gazes of both men were burning into her back as she stood poised on the curb, waiting for a car to pass so she could hurtle across to the bookstore.
Stephanie was at the counter when Clara rushed in the door. She glanced up at the clock murmuring, “What’s your hurry? You’re early.”
“Am I?” Clara took a deep breath. “I thought I was late.”
Stephanie gave her a sharp look. “What happened at the site?”
“Nothing.” Thankful for the diversion, Clara slung her purse on the shelf behind the counter and shrugged out of her coat. “There was a security guy at the gates and he wouldn’t let me in without written permission from the contractors.”
“You couldn’t talk to the men through the fence?”
“Nope. They were too far away.”
“Bummer. What do we do now?”
“We could go over there tomorrow evening and catch the guys as they’re leaving the site.”
Stephanie sighed. “All right. But that’ll be right around dinnertime. I’ll think of something to tell George.” She picked up a sheaf of invoices and slipped them into a drawer. “I don’t think he’d appreciate me abandoning him and the kids at mealtime to go talk to a bunch of construction workers.”
“I know.” Clara felt a stab of guilt. “Look, I can do this on my own. You don’t have to lie to George again. I know it’s tough trying to get out of the house when you’ve got a family to worry about.”
“Normally it’s not a problem. George is the most understanding man in the world. It’s just . . .”
She hesitated, and Clara stared at her. “Something wrong?”
“No, not really. At least, I don’t think so. It’s just that George seemed a bit distant last night. Like he had a lot on his mind. Stuff he didn’t want to talk about. Usually he tells me if something’s bothering him. Now I’m kind of worried about him.”
“I’m sure it’s nothing. If it were serious, he’d tell you. Why don’t you ask him?”
“I did. He said I was imagining things.”
“Well, maybe you are. Look, if you’d rather not go with me tomorrow, it’s okay. Like I said, I can do this on my own.”
Stephanie shook her head. “No, I don’t want you going on your own. Especially at night in the dark. I’ll figure something out.”
“Well, don’t worry if you can’t make it. I’ll be fine.” She combed her fingers through her wind-tossed hair. “I’d better do something with this mess. I’ll be right back.”
Stephanie looked hopeful. “I don’t suppose the Sense is telling you anything?”
Clara rolled her eyes. “If it were, you’d be the first to know.”
“Okay. Just thought I’d ask.”
Shaking her head, Clara headed for the bathroom.
It was the middle of the afternoon, long after Stephanie left for the day, when Clara heard the news.
The moment she saw Roberta Prince prance through the door, Clara knew something big had happened.
Roberta looked elegant as always, in a violet sweater and black pants beneath a gorgeous white fur jacket. She’d covered her ears with purple earmuffs, and her pale blue eyes looked huge beneath curly false eyelashes.
Clara avoided the woman as much as possible. There was something about Roberta Prince that caused her hackles to rise. It had nothing to do with the fact, of course, that Roberta was dying to get her hooks into Rick Sanders.
“Did you hear the news?” Roberta strutted up to the counter in her ridiculously high heels and leaned both hands on the surface for support. “The bank at the bottom of the hill has been robbed!” Her face looked pale under her makeup, and the crow’s-feet at the corners of her eyes were more pronounced than usual.
Clara’s jaw dropped. “The bank? Was anyone hurt?”
Roberta clutched her throat. “I don’t think so, though Janice, you know, that pudgy clerk with the gray frizzy hair? Well, she was held up at gunpoint. Poor thing. She’s scared to death.” She shuddered. “I was late getting there to make my deposit. Just think, if I’d been on time, I’d have been in the bank when it happened. Oh, my God! I could have been shot!”
No such luck, Clara thought, then immediately felt ashamed of herself. “Who robbed it? Do they know? Did he get away?”
Roberta pulled off her earmuffs and laid them on the counter. “I don’t know. Dan and Tim are still down there, interviewing everyone. I’m shaking so hard . . .” She dabbed at her eye with the back of her forefinger. “I can’t cry. It will make my mascara run.”
In spite of her dislike of the woman, Clara could tell Roberta was genuinely upset. Her compassion won. “Let’s go down to the Nook. I’ve got coffee and aspirin there.” She wasn’t sure how much help that would be, but it sounded sympathetic, at least.
Roberta seemed to agree, since she headed off down the aisle to the Reader’s Nook.
Clara followed, thinking about the teller who’d been held at gunpoint. Janice Phillips was in her mid-fifties, a dumpy, quiet-spoken woman who always seemed fearful of being reprimanded for talking to the customers. Definitely not the kind of person who could deal with a gun being waved in her face. She had to be badly shaken and Clara felt sorry for her. Something like that could haunt the poor woman for years.
She reached the Nook, and as she was about to turn the corner to go in, without warning a cold wind blasted across her face.
She was no longer in the bookstore. She could hear the wail of a police siren in the distance, and the roar of the ocean as waves crashed onto the beach just a few yards away. There was the bank, sunlight glinting on the windows. The street was empty except for one man, standing alone in front of the doors, peering inside.
She flinched as a woman screamed somewhere inside the bank. The man turned his head, then twisted around to look at her. Her stomach heaved when she saw his face. It was Scott Delwyn, his skin colorless, his eyes wide and staring.
He took a step toward her, then turned back to look at the bank. She could hear shouting now from inside—a man’s voice, harsh with anger.
“Whatever’s the matter with you?”
Clara blinked as the ocean, the bank and Scott Delwyn vanished. Roberta was peering at her around the end of the aisle, her face taut with concern.
Inwardly cursing the Quinn Sense, Clara rubbed a hand across her stomach. “Sorry. Indigestion. Must be the bologna sandwich I had for lunch.”
Roberta made a face. “Ugh. How do you eat that stuff?”
Clara followed her into the Nook, still disoriented from the sudden transformation of her surroundings. Walking over to the table that held the coffeepot, she opened the small drawer and took out a bottle of aspirin.
“Do you want to take this with coffee, or would you rather have water?”
“Coffee’s fine, thanks.” Roberta took the bottle from her and shook three pills out into her hand. “I don’t usually take this stuff but I can’t seem
to stop shaking.”
Clara knew exactly how she felt. Her own hand shook as she poured coffee into two mugs. She’d never seen a ghost before. At least, not one she recognized. There was no doubt in her mind that Scott Delwyn was trying to tell her something.
Was the robbery connected to his death? If so, how? This was something that Dan should know about, and soon. But she had no idea how she could convey that information without a whole lot of awkward questions.
She carried the coffee over to Roberta and sat down. “Tell me more about the robbery. Did you talk to Janice? Did she know who he was?”
Roberta shuddered. “I couldn’t talk to Janice. She was talking to Dan when I went in there. Talking and crying at the same time.” She took a sip of her coffee. “You can’t imagine how awful it was in there. No one was speaking. Everyone looked sick to their stomachs. I got out of there as quickly as I could.” She shuddered again. “I’ll have nightmares for weeks.”
Clara leaned back, her mug in her hand. “I guess it will be on the news tonight. We might know more then.”
Roberta sat up, her thin eyebrows arched high. “On the news? Of course! Why didn’t I think of that? I should have hung around. I could have been interviewed.”
Clara resisted the impulse to roll her eyes. “I should think they’d only interview the people who were there when the robbery took place.”
“You think so?” Roberta looked disappointed. “I suppose you’re right. I guess it’s not worth going back there now. The reporters have probably left, anyway.” She took another sip of coffee. “I think I will have that water, thanks. The coffee’s too hot to swallow pills.”
Clara got up and went over to the sink. She could still see Scott Delwyn in her mind, his face devoid of expression and his vacant eyes staring at her. What was he trying to tell her? Damn the Quinn Sense. If it was going to whisk her away and drop her in the middle of a crime scene, the very least it could do was leave her there long enough to figure out exactly what she was looking at and why.
She was relieved when Roberta finally decided she was well enough to leave.
True to form, however, she couldn’t resist a parting shot. “I ran into Rick last night,” she said, pausing to pick up her earmuffs from the counter. “He was entertaining the ladies down at the bowling alley.”
Clara smiled. “I didn’t know you bowled.”
“Oh, I don’t.” She headed for the door. “I saw his truck in the parking lot as I drove past.” She disappeared outside, leaving Clara frowning after her.
How the heck, she fumed, as she walked behind the counter, could Roberta know he was talking to women if she wasn’t in the bowling alley? What difference did it make to her if he was, anyway? He was a big boy. He could talk to whomever he wanted.
Having settled that in her mind, she logged onto the computer and started entering the receipts for the day. She’d hardly begun when her cell phone buzzed in her pocket. Guessing it was her cousin calling, she pulled it out and flipped it open.
Stephanie’s voice was shrill with excitement. “Guess what! There was a bank robbery here this afternoon.”
“I know. The bank at the bottom of the hill. Roberta told me.”
“Oh.” Stephanie sounded disappointed. “Well, he got away with a large sum of cash, according to the news.”
“Thank goodness no one was hurt.”
“What’s wrong? You sound weird.”
Clara sighed. She might have known she couldn’t keep anything from her cousin. Although she was alone in the store, she walked out to look down the aisles, just in case.
“Clara?” Stephanie’s voice rose in alarm. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” Having satisfied herself that no one was there to overhear her, she added, “I had another vision.”
Stephanie gasped. “You did? What was it?”
“I saw Scott Delwyn. He was standing outside the bank.”
Another gasp. “You saw his ghost?”
“Yes. I think he was trying to tell me something.”
“Ugh! Did he look creepy?”
Clara sighed. “That’s not the point. I think his death and the robbery are connected somehow.”
“No way! Scott wouldn’t rob a bank.”
“I don’t mean he was actually involved with the robbery.”
“Then what do you mean?”
“I don’t know. I just know he wanted to tell me something about the robbery.”
Stephanie was silent for a long moment before she said quietly, “Sometimes the Sense doesn’t make sense at all.”
“You’re telling me,” Clara said grimly. “Just try living with it for a while.”
“I wish I could.”
“I wish you could, too.”
“So what are you going to do? Tell Dan?”
“I guess.” Clara stared out the window. It was getting dark and the lights were bright inside the hardware store across the street. She could see someone moving around inside, but couldn’t tell if it was Rick or a customer. “I talked to Tyler Whittaker this morning.”
“You did? Why didn’t you tell me? What did he say?”
“Not much. I tried to ask him about his brother, but he thought I was asking because I was interested in him.”
Stephanie chuckled. “I bet that was awkward. Was Rick there?”
Clara briefly closed her eyes. “He came in and interrupted me so I didn’t get much out of Tyler.”
“Too bad.”
“Did you think of an excuse to tell George about tomorrow night?”
“Not yet. I will.” She paused, then added in a rush, “I gotta go. The kids are much too quiet. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
Clara closed the phone and moved over to the window. As she reached it, she saw the front door of the hardware store swing open and a figure stepped outside. Recognizing Tyler, she watched as he paused for a moment on the sidewalk, then he pulled on a red wool hat, turned up his collar and loped off down the hill.
Tomorrow, she told herself, she’d try to meet Tyler’s brother and talk to him. She didn’t know why, but it seemed important that she question him.
That night, she dreamed she was on the beach with Tatters when farther along the shore a man who looked vaguely familiar started waving at her. At first she ignored him, but then he began running toward her, flailing his arms and shouting something she couldn’t understand.
Tatters started barking and she struggled to keep him quiet, anxious to hear what the man had to say. He was almost close enough when a huge wave rushed onto the sands, cutting him off.
He stood for a moment watching her, before he pulled a red wool hat from his pocket, tugged it on and walked off in the opposite direction.
Frustrated, she called out after him, “Wait! Wait! What did you want to tell me?”
Tatters growled, and she opened her eyes to find the dog’s nose close to hers, his breath warm on her face.
“It’s all right, boy,” she murmured, and patted his furry head. “Lay down and go back to sleep.”
He grunted, pawed around for a moment, then flopped down with a thud that shook the bed.
She lay still, staring at the faint light creeping through the blinds. It seemed that Scott wasn’t the only one anxious to tell her something. The stranger in her dream had looked enough like Tyler Whittaker to be his brother, and the red hat seemed to confirm it. She was more anxious than ever to talk to Ryan Whittaker.
8
Stephanie loved her husband more than anything else in the world—next to her kids, anyway—which is why she tried so hard to spare him the worry that she was sure he’d feel if he knew she was helping Clara track down a killer.
Sometimes she wondered if it wouldn’t be better if she just told him in the hope that he’d have enough faith in her to know she’d be careful and not get into too much trouble.
The problem with that was that he’d probably try to talk her out of it, by pointing out that he and the children needed her,
and if anything bad happened, they’d be lost without her. Not that she didn’t already know that, and agonize over it at times, but as long as it wasn’t out there in front of her, spoken in so many words, she could put it out of her mind long enough to get the job done.
Then again, she suspected that George knew all along what she and Clara were up to, which was probably why he’d been so preoccupied lately. He most likely figured she’d go ahead and do it anyway whether he objected or not, and it was probably better not to get in a fight about it. Since she thoroughly agreed with that, it was better that she didn’t tell him.
Having won that argument with herself once more, she left a note for George on the table, telling him that she was going over to Clara’s house and would order pizza when she got back.
After dropping the kids off at her mother’s house, Stephanie convinced herself that she’d be gone no more than the hour—or so she’d promised everyone—and headed out to meet her cousin.
Clara, meanwhile, had spent most of the day trying to catch up on chores while entertaining Tatters. Jessie arrived home just in time to meet Clara on her way out the door.
“Where are you going?” Jessie demanded as Clara passed her on the step. “I thought you’d be home for dinner.”
“I will be.” Clara started down the path. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”
“But we always eat together on your day off.”
“Sorry, Mom.” Clara spotted Stephanie’s car heading toward her. “I’m going out with Stephanie for a while. I won’t be late.” She hurried down the path before Jessie could ask any more questions.
Stephanie pulled up at the curb and waited for her to climb in and get settled. “What did you tell Aunt Jessie?” she asked as Clara fastened her seat belt.
“Just that we were going out for a while.” Clara glanced at her cousin. “What did you tell George?”
“Same thing.” Stephanie slid the gear lever into drive. “He wasn’t home so I left him a note.”
“You have a very tolerant husband.”
Trouble Vision Page 9
