Extra Sensory Deception

by Allison Kingsley

  After a shocked pause, Jessie found her voice first. “Nonsense,” she said, sounding a little uncertain. “It was an accident. No one could have known that would happen.”

  Grace shook her head. “He wouldn’t have been at that bar at all if it wasn’t for me. We had a fight that night and he stormed out of here. I had no idea where he was going. He must have gone to the pub to drown his sorrows or something. He probably got drunk and never saw that truck coming.”

  For once Jessie seemed speechless.

  Clara sat down on the other side of the weeping woman and put an arm about her shoulders. “It wasn’t your fault. It could have happened anywhere, anytime.”

  Grace made an effort to control her sobs. Hunting in the pocket of her pants, she pulled out a wad of tissues and blew her nose. She dabbed at her eyes, muttering, “It was that lousy rodeo that started it all. I wish it had never come to town.”

  Stunned by the widow’s words, Clara dropped her arm. “The rodeo? What does that have to do with anything?”

  Jessie held up her hand. “Maybe Grace doesn’t want to talk about it right now.”

  Grace shook her head. “No, it’s all right. It will be good to talk about it. I haven’t been able to say anything to Nancy about it. She gets so upset.” She took a shuddering breath. “Seth wanted to go to the rodeo the first night it opened. He knew I wouldn’t want to go, so he went on his own. I wasn’t happy about it.”

  “That he went without you?” Jessie asked, with a hint of disapproval.

  “That he went at all.” Grace turned to the window, her face lined with pain. “He knew how much I hated the rodeo. My father died in one after being gored by a bull. I saw the whole thing. I was seven years old, and it took years to get that image out of my mind. Even now . . .” she shuddered, obviously reliving the memory.

  “I’m so sorry,” Clara said. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

  “No, it’s okay.” Grace wiped another tear from her eyes. “When I met Seth, he was a rodeo clown. He was one of those guys who distract the bulls so they won’t attack the riders.”

  Clara barely heard the last words. Seth had been a rodeo clown. She replayed her vision in her mind. She saw the parking lot again, and the clown being tossed through the air like a bean bag. So that was what the Sense had been trying to tell her. It was Seth Ferguson who’d been in danger that night. But how was she supposed to know that? Until this moment she’d had no idea Seth was remotely connected to the rodeo.

  Did that mean that Seth’s death was no accident, after all? He was at the rodeo the night of the murder. Had he seen something, or heard something incriminating? Had he been silenced because he knew the identity of Lisa’s killer?

  All at once Seth’s death had become far more significant than she had imagined. If she was right, then there were now two murders to solve.

  “Clara?”

  Clara blinked, realizing that both women were staring at her. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

  She directed the question at Grace, though she was fully aware of her mother’s gaze boring into her head.

  “I just asked if you’d been to the rodeo,” Grace said. “If so, you must have seen the bullfighters. It’s what they call the clowns who distract the bulls.”

  “Yes, I did see them.” Clara suppressed a shiver. “It scared me to watch them.”

  “Then you can understand how I felt when I met Seth. I fell in love with him almost at first sight. I tried to put him out of my mind. I knew there was no way I could ever have a meaningful relationship with a bullfighter, not after watching my dad die that way. But I guess you can’t always control what your heart wants.”

  Clara almost smiled at that. She knew, only too well, what it was to listen to her heart instead of her head.

  “Anyway,” Grace went on, “I begged Seth to give up the rodeo. It took a while, but when he proposed and I told him I wouldn’t marry him unless he gave it up, he finally agreed. Maybe it helped that the very next night he had a close call with a bull. That’s when he decided he was going to invest all his savings in boating supplies.” She hiccupped, and it turned into a sob. “I still can’t believe he’s gone.”

  Jessie leaned forward. “Perhaps we should go. Can we get you anything?”

  “Oh, goodness. I’m so sorry.” Grace started to get up. “I should have offered—”

  “No need.” Jessie halted her with a swift gesture of her hand. “We’re just about to leave.” She looked at Clara. “Aren’t we, Clara?”

  “Yes, in a moment.” Clara looked at Grace, who had sunk back in her chair. She just had to know the rest of the story. “So what happened at the rodeo?”

  A shadow crossed Grace’s face. “Nothing, as far as I know. Seth came home late. I was already in bed. He didn’t say much, probably because he knew I wouldn’t want to talk about it. He smelled of the rodeo.” She shivered. “Like he did when I first met him. How I hate that smell. He must have been hanging out with the bullfighters. He knows most of them. Anyway, he went off to work the next morning and I decided to do the laundry. That’s when I found the money.”

  Jessie looked startled. “Money?”

  “A big wad of cash. It was tucked into his jeans pocket. He’d hung them up to wear them again but I wanted to wash them. I needed to get that smell out of his clothes. When he came home I asked him about the cash. He wouldn’t tell me where it came from. I got worried. I figured he’d started gambling or something.”

  “Seth? Gambling?” Jessie shook her head. “No, I can’t believe that. He was too down-to-earth to get caught up in that mess.”

  Grace’s face creased in pain. “I thought so too, but I know the store wasn’t doing so well. He had a lot of overhead, and he was worried about the bills. I thought he might have done something crazy to get some extra cash. We ended up yelling at each other, and he stormed out.” She shuddered. “That was the last time I saw him. The police called me later that night with the news.”

  “So you never found out where the cash came from?” Clara asked, earning a stern shake of the head from Jessie.

  Tears rolled down Grace’s cheeks. “No. I should have just let things be. Seth would have told me eventually. If I hadn’t nagged him he wouldn’t have left, and . . .” Once more she broke down in heart-wrenching sobs.

  This time Jessie jumped to her feet and hugged the woman’s shaking shoulders. “You can’t blame yourself for what happened. You didn’t tell him to leave. He left of his own accord. It was that drunk’s fault. That sleazebag who didn’t even stop to see if Seth was okay. He’s the one to blame. Not you.”

  “I wish I could stop blaming myself.” Grace turned a tearstained face up to Jessie. “Thank you for coming. And for the groceries. I really appreciate it.”

  It was a dismissal, and Clara stood up. “Please let us know if there’s anything we can do. Or if you just want to talk.”

  “Yes, of course,” Jessie added, giving the widow one more hug. “I’ll call in a day or two to see how you’re doing. Let us know when and where the funeral will be held. We’ll be there.”

  Following her mother out of the house, Clara thought about Grace’s story and wished she knew the truth about Seth’s death. If it wasn’t for her pesky visions, she would have had no trouble accepting it as an accident.

  She just couldn’t rid herself of the feeling that somehow it was all connected. But she couldn’t imagine how. Maybe if she had the answer to that, she’d be closer to finding Lisa Warren’s killer.

  Arriving at the bookstore later that morning, she was surprised to see a long line of customers waiting to be served. Joining Stephanie behind the counter, she studied her cousin’s flushed face. “What’d you do? Advertise on TV?”

  “No, it’s a new book by Andrea Garnett. You know, she writes about angels who help women get back the lives they thought they’d lost foreve
r. Great series.”

  “Oh, right.” Clara threw her purse down on the shelf and smiled at the next customer in line. “Can I help you?”

  The woman thrust two books at her. “When are you going to get her here for a book signing?” she demanded.

  The cousins exchanged glances. “We haven’t actually thought about book signings,” Stephanie began, “but—”

  “Well, why not? All decent bookstores have book signings.”

  “Yeah,” a teenaged youth said from farther down the line. “How about having George R. R. Martin in here to sign books?”

  Some murmurs of “Cool!” answered him.

  “I guess we need to have a book signing,” Stephanie muttered.

  “I’ll get Molly on it next week.” Clara smiled at the customer as she handed her the bagged books. “We’ll see what we can do. We’ll put a poster in the window when we get a signing set up.”

  Apparently satisfied with that, the customer left, and the cousins were kept busy with the rest of the line. An hour later, the last of the customers had been rung up, giving them some breathing space before the next onslaught.

  “Wow,” Stephanie said, plopping down on the couch in the Reading Nook, “that woman’s series is going ballistic.” She looked up at Clara. “Do you think she’d come and sign books for us?”

  “I guess the only way to find out is to ask her.” Clara glanced at her watch. “Shouldn’t you be getting home? George will be going nuts trying to watch your three hellions.”

  Stephanie made a face. “Only Michael and Olivia are hellions. I barely know Ethan is in the house. He’s always shut away in his room on the computer, or in the den playing video games. Sometimes I wonder who the stranger is at the dinner table.”

  Clara grinned. “Well, your other two make up for it.”

  “You can say that again.” Stephanie got up. “But you’re right. I’d better get home. Before I do, though, we need to move those boxes of returns. They’re blocking the shelves behind them and I want to clear those off so we have room for more books.”

  “Isn’t that where we keep the Halloween and Christmas decorations?”

  “Yes, but since we only use them once a year, I thought I’d put them in the shed out back. We have plenty of room in there for them, and that will give us more shelves for books in the stockroom.”

  Clara shook her head. “You do like to make work for yourself.”

  “You know me. Have to keep busy.” Stephanie was walking toward the stockroom as she spoke. “Come on. It won’t take a minute to move those boxes.”

  Following her, Clara gave up her vision of a leisurely break in the Reading Nook before the next round of customers arrived.

  It actually took closer to fifteen minutes to get the stack of boxes moved. They were down to the last half dozen or so when a soft sound made them both pause.

  Clara exchanged a startled glance with her cousin. “Did you hear that?”

  “I did.” Stephanie stared at the boxes. “It sounded as if it came from them.”

  Clara backed away. “I’ve heard that sound before. I think it might be a rat.”

  Stephanie squeaked. “I hate rats!”

  “Have you ever seen one?”

  “No, but I know what they look like.” She stared fearfully at the boxes. “They bite, don’t they?”

  “Only if they get the chance.” Clara looked around for the broom, and found it propped up by the back door. “Okay, you move the boxes, and I’ll get ready to sweep it out the door.” With her free hand, she opened the door.

  Stephanie looked at the boxes again. “Why don’t you move them and I’ll do the sweeping.”

  “You really want to do that?” Clara held out the broom. “Go ahead.”

  “Wait!” Stephanie’s panicked gaze swung back and forth between the broom and the boxes. “Can’t we just call an exterminator or something?”

  “We could, but—” Clara broke off as another sound interrupted her—a sound she recognized. “That,” she said carefully, “is no rat.”

  “It sounded like a cat,” Stephanie said, her voice shaking just a bit.

  “It did.” Clara took down the top box and peered over the stack. “And it is.”

  Stephanie’s gasp sounded more like relief than surprise. “Where? Let me look.” She leaned over the stack of boxes. “How in the world—?”

  Clara stared at the striped face of the tabby cat looking up at her. It seemed perfectly comfortable sitting in a box lined with a pink blanket and a navy blue shawl that Clara recognized. Nearby was a litterbox, a bowl of milk and a saucer of half-eaten cat food. “I think,” she said, trying to keep the amusement out of her voice, “that you need to talk to Molly.”

  “Molly?” Stephanie’s voice was a squeak. “Molly’s keeping a cat here?”

  “Well, that’s Molly’s shawl. She wore it a couple of times last winter when we were having all that trouble with the furnace. She hated it. She said it made her feel like a granny.”

  Stephanie rolled her eyes. “So she gives it to a cat? And brings it in our store? Doesn’t she know I have allergies?”

  “You don’t have allergies and you don’t know for sure that Molly is responsible for the cat, although I don’t think he set all this up for himself.”

  “Well, we’ll soon find out.” Stephanie glanced at the cat again as she pulled her phone from her pocket. “Poor thing. It’s been trapped behind these boxes all this time. Why would she imprison it like that?”

  “So it wouldn’t come out into the store and then we’d find out about it?”

  “Oh, right.” Stephanie thumbed a number, then held the phone to her ear. “Molly? How are you doing?” She paused, obviously listening to Molly’s answer. “Oh, that’s too bad. So you still don’t feel like coming out with us tonight? Okay. Well, I hope you feel better soon. By the way, guess what we just found in the stockroom.”

  Clara listened to the one-sided conversation with amusement, while Stephanie relayed the important points. Apparently Molly had seen the cat wandering the street on a bitterly cold night and taken pity on it. She’d fed it and left it on the doorstep of the bookstore, but the next night she’d seen it again. After the third night she’d taken it into the stockroom. Since she wasn’t allowed pets in her apartment, and Clara had Tatters, and Stephanie had allergies, or at least her kids had allergies, Molly was afraid that if she told the cousins about the cat, they’d insist on taking it to a shelter. So she kept it hidden and took care of it as best she could.

  “She’s crying,” Stephanie said, holding out the phone to Clara. “She doesn’t want Edgar to go to the shelter.”

  “Edgar?” Clara smiled as she took the phone from her cousin. “Molly? Hold on a minute.” She looked at Stephanie. “She calls the cat Edgar?”

  Stephanie nodded. “After Edgar Allan Poe. She has good taste in names.”

  “Well,” Clara said carefully, “we can’t possibly take a cat named Edgar to a shelter. Why don’t we just let him stay here, since he’s obviously feeling at home? He won’t be any trouble. Cats are very independent creatures.”

  “What about my allergies?”

  “You don’t have allergies.”

  Stephanie sighed. “Oh, all right. But I don’t want him wandering around getting under customers’ feet.”

  Clara spoke into the phone. “Did you hear all that, Molly?”

  Molly was still sniffling. “Thanks so much, Clara. I’ll take care of Edgar, I promise. Would you mind giving him some fresh milk until I get back? It’s in the fridge, and his cat food is in the broom closet behind the box of cleaners.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll see to him.” Clara hung up and handed the phone back to her cousin. “Guess the Raven’s Nest bookstore now has a resident cat named Edgar. At least we shouldn’t have to worry about rats and mice a
nymore.”

  Stephanie brightened. “There’s that. But for heaven’s sake, don’t bring that hound of yours into the store. He causes enough chaos when he’s around. Can you imagine what would happen if he caught sight of Edgar?”

  Clara could, and shuddered. “Point taken. Now why don’t you get on home? I’ll take care of the rest of this.”

  “Yeah, I’d better run. Especially since we’re going out for dinner tonight. I’m really looking forward to that. Too bad Molly’s going to miss it.” She got to the door and looked back. “By the way, how did the visit with Seth’s wife go? Was it real bad?”

  “No, not really.” Clara frowned, recalling Grace’s words. “I guess the Sense did warn me about the accident, after all. I just didn’t realize it meant Seth.” She repeated most of the story Grace had told her.

  “Whoa,” Stephanie murmured, when Clara was finished. “That’s so weird. Why would you see Marty in the vision instead of Seth?”

  “I have no idea. Anyway, we can’t worry about that now. We need to concentrate on finding out who killed Lisa.”

  Stephanie shook her head. “If Dan doesn’t know by now, how are we going to find out who did it?”

  “There’s still the vision I had of the person in the red shirt. I actually saw the killer, Steffie. I just wish I could see his face.”

  “Maybe you’ll have the vision again.”

  “Maybe. Though unless he turns around I still won’t see his face.”

  “You still think it’s Wes, don’t you?”

  “I know that Dan thinks Wes is the killer. He’s just having trouble proving it. I wish I could help, but the only clue I have right now is the vision that I can’t tell him about.”

  “What about Anita? She had Wes’s red shirt for a while.”

  “She gave it back to him before the murder, remember? He was wearing it that night.”

  “Oh, yeah. Frustrating.” Stephanie opened the door. “Maybe we’ll find out tonight that Paul Eastcott was lying about being at the restaurant. That would make him a suspect, right?”