It was on the tip of Clara’s tongue to tell John that Seth used to compete in the rodeo, but for some reason, she felt reluctant to share that bit of knowledge with him.
“I was going to ask him what the heck he saw in that rowdy, messy show,” John went on, “but he had someone else with him, and he shot off like he didn’t want to talk about it.”
Probably because he knew his wife wouldn’t approve, Clara thought, remembering Grace’s story. A thought occurred to her, and she asked carefully, “Who was with him? A woman?”
John’s look of disgust quickly told her she was wrong. “What’s wrong with you people, jumping to conclusions all the time? No, it wasn’t a woman. It was a man, and by the looks of him he had a belly full of beer.” He wandered off, muttering to himself.
Clara watched him disappear down the aisle, wondering who was with Seth that night, and whether he’d still be alive had he not decided to go to the rodeo without his wife.
In the next instant she was no longer in the bookstore.
She was at the rodeo, but she seemed to be completely alone—no cheering crowds in the seats, no cowboys chasing calves, not a sign of movement anywhere. The night sky twinkled with stars overhead, and beyond the arena, darkness shrouded the landscape.
Clara glanced at the steps, afraid she would see Marty toppling down them. All she could see was the dust stirred by the wind, and a single piece of paper fluttering nearby. She reached for it, but it slipped out of her fingers. As it floated away she could see Marty’s eyes staring at her and realized it had been torn from a rodeo poster.
A movement caught her eye, and she looked back at the arena. A clown was jogging toward the chutes. At first she thought it was Marty, but this clown wore a bright blue suit, and his face was painted blue and red. He wore no hat, and his bright red wig gleamed in the overhead lights.
When he reached the middle of the arena he paused, his head on one side as if he were listening. Then she heard it—the scraping of hoofs and the snorting of fiery nostrils.
The clown looked up at her, his hands outstretched as if pleading with her. Without warning the bull burst from the chutes, heading straight for the clown.
Clara surged to her feet. She tried to shout but her voice was no louder than a whisper. Frantically beckoning with her arms, she raced down the steps.
The clown seemed unaware of the bull bearing down on him. He pushed his hands in her direction, as if commanding her to stay away.
Her legs felt weak, and no matter how hard she ran, she couldn’t seem to get any closer. Again she tried to shout a warning, but the wind snatched the words from her mouth. She felt a desperate sense of helplessness as the bull drew close, and she closed her eyes, unable to watch the horrific scene unfolding in front of her.
“You really need to do something about that indigestion.”
Clara snapped her eyes open to find herself back in the Raven’s Nest, with Rick standing on the other side of the counter, his face creased in concern. She swallowed, forced a smile and said unsteadily, “I’ll take some antacids.”
“Good idea.” He moved closer. “Seriously, you might want to check things out with your doctor. You look a bit fragile.”
She actually managed a light laugh. “No one’s ever called me that before.”
He grinned back at her, though his eyes still held a trace of anxiety. “Is everything okay at home?”
Feeling guilty for worrying him, she walked around the counter and slipped a hand through his arm. “Couldn’t be better. Why don’t you come and see for yourself?”
He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close. “Are you inviting me to your house?”
She hadn’t meant that at all, but now that the words were out there, she didn’t know how to take them back. “Come to dinner,” she said, hoping she wasn’t making one huge mistake. “My mother has been panting to meet you.”
“Oh, we already met. She came into the store.”
Shocked, Clara drew back to look at him. “You’re kidding. She never said anything to me.”
“Charming woman.” He looked as if he were enjoying surprising her. “She thinks the world of you.”
Clara was getting an uncomfortable feeling in her stomach. “What did she say about me?”
“Only that you’re really smart, and she can’t understand why you gave up a promising career as a literature professor to live here in Finn’s Harbor and work in a bookstore.” He gave her a long look. “I take it she still doesn’t know about what happened in New York.”
Annoyed that her mother had been discussing her behind her back, Clara answered sharply, “No one does. You are the only person who knows what happened. I’d like to keep it that way.”
There was no way she wanted her mother to know she had planned to get married in New York. She’d wanted a quiet, intimate wedding with just a couple of friends, and had figured on surprising everyone with the news afterward. As it turned out, it was just as well she hadn’t told anyone.
“I know,” Rick said, pulling her close again. “Trust me, I won’t breathe a word to anyone else. Especially your mother. A mother would tend to overreact when her daughter was badly mistreated by a lousy jerk who didn’t know what a fantastic woman he’d let get away.”
Her relief made her smile. “Thank you. You obviously know my mother well.”
He shook his head. “No, as a matter of fact, I only talked to her once. I meant what I said, though. She really cares about you. I could tell by the way she was sizing me up, trying to decide if I was good enough for her daughter’s attention.”
Clara pulled a face. “Not that she has any say in the matter. I make my own decisions.”
“So now that we have that straight, does the invitation still stand? I’d like to get to know your mother so she can see what a great guy I am.”
She laughed up at him. “You’d have to be a saint to impress my mother.”
“As long as I impress you. That’s all I care about.”
“Oh, for pity’s sake, get a room.” John Halloran’s voice swiveled both their heads in his direction. “This is supposed to be a bookstore, not a dance floor. If you want to snuggle, go find an empty car.”
Clara pushed herself away from Rick. “Sorry. Did you find what you’re looking for?”
“I found these.” John shuffled forward and thrust two books at her. “They look decent enough. I guess they’ll do until my order comes in.” He gave Rick a lethal stare. “Who’s looking after the hardware store, then?”
“My assistant, Tyler.” Rick winked at Clara. “He’s a good kid, but not as thorough as you used to be, John.”
John sniffed. “Kids today don’t know what work is. When I worked for you I had everything in shipshape order. I knew where everything was on the shelves and could put my hand on it in seconds. That assistant of yours couldn’t tell you where the restroom is, much less any of the merchandise.”
“You’re right, John,” Rick said solemnly. “I do miss your expertise. Anytime you want to come back and work for me, just let me know.”
John grunted. “Can’t stand on my feet all day anymore, or I would.” He turned to Clara, who had bagged the books and was waiting for him to pay for them. “I can’t hang around here talking all day, either. Got things to do.” He swiped his card, waited for his receipt then left, mumbling to himself as he went out the door.
“I guess you haven’t heard any more about the murder,” Rick said, as the door closed behind John.
“Nothing helpful.” Clara filed the copy of the receipt and entered it in the computer. “We tried to find out last night if Paul Eastcott had eaten dinner at the Pioneer Inn the night of the murder. Everyone we spoke to didn’t remember seeing him, but we don’t really know if they were just trying to protect their customers. So we still don’t know for sure if his alibi holds up.”
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br /> “He must have told the cops the same thing, and I’m sure Dan would have checked it out.”
She stared at him. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of that. That could be why nobody wanted to tell us anything.”
He gave her a long look. “So you did go there to ask questions. You’re not giving up on this thing.”
“Nope.” She walked around the counter and laid a hand on his arm. “Don’t worry, I’ll be careful. I know what you went through when you were accused of murder. If Wes is innocent, I want to help clear his name.”
“That means a lot to me. Wes’s career is on the line. It’s his whole life. I don’t know what he’d do if he couldn’t compete.”
“I know.”
“But that doesn’t mean I want you risking your life to save my buddy.”
“All I’m doing is asking a few questions.” She grinned up at him. “Besides, with Steffie and Tatters at my side, what harm can come to me?”
He still looked worried. “Well, okay. But promise me, at the first sign of trouble, you’ll get out of the way and let Dan handle it.”
“I promise.” She decided not to mention that she planned on talking to Diane Eastcott. If she got anything useful from Paul’s wife, she’d tell him afterward.
“I see you have a new assistant.” Rick nodded at Edgar, who was now snoozing with his jaw on his paws.
Clara grinned. “Meet Edgar. Molly had been hiding him in the stockroom. Steffie and I found him when we were moving boxes around.”
“Ah, so that explains the scuffling sounds you heard in there.”
“Right. I guess my worries about rats and mice are over as long as Edgar is around.”
“He looks capable enough.” He glanced at his watch. “So when should I come for dinner, and what can I bring?”
“Tuesday night? It’s my day off, so I’ll have plenty of time to prepare. You don’t need to bring anything.”
“Tuesday night it is. I’ll have Tyler close up. Around seven?”
She smiled, though her stomach was churning with doubts. “Seven is fine. Tatters will be overjoyed to see you, so brace yourself.”
“I’m looking forward to it.” He blew her a kiss and headed for the door.
Several minutes after Rick left, Tim appeared from one of the aisles, carrying a book. Handing it to Clara, he muttered, “It’s for my mom.”
Hoping fervently he hadn’t overheard her conversation with Rick, she took it from him and glanced at the cover. Another fantasy romance. It was the fourth book in the series he’d bought in the last month. Taking it over to the counter, she wondered if Tim was really buying the books for his mom, or if he was reading them himself.
She was sorely tempted to ask him about Paul’s alibi, but that would lead to questions of how she knew about the alibi in the first place. Besides, her reasons for wanting to talk to Paul’s wife went beyond the alibi thing.
If Mrs. Eastcott suspected her husband was having an affair with his assistant, that could well be a motive for murder. Clara was very anxious to meet Paul’s wife to find out what kind of person she was, and if she seemed capable of killing someone.
The moment the deputy left, Clara turned to the computer and entered Paul’s name in the search engine. It took only a minute or two to find his address, and she quickly wrote it down on a sticky pad and pulled off the page. Tucking it into her pocket, she left the counter and headed for the first aisle. It was time to tidy up the shelves, then close up shop.
Half an hour later she was in her car in the parking lot, her phone pressed to her ear.
Stephanie answered on the second ring. “Are you okay? Is everything all right at the store?”
Clara sighed. “Why do you always assume something is wrong when I call?”
“Because it usually is when you call.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“I know. Just a minute.” There was a pause, then she added, “Oh, it’s okay. For a minute there I thought Michael had drowned the cat, but I just saw it running out the door.”
“Drowned the cat?” Clara shook her head. “Why would you think that?”
“Because he keeps saying Jasper needs a bath. I caught him in the bathroom this morning, trying to give him one in the toilet bowl.”
“It’s a miracle that cat survives.”
“It is, indeed. So why are you calling just as I’m getting dinner?”
“I thought we could go visit Paul’s wife tonight. That’s if you’re not busy.”
“I’m always busy. What if Paul is there?”
“He won’t be. He’ll be at the rodeo. He’s there every night according to the article I read on the local news website.”
“Except for the night of Lisa’s murder.”
“So he says. Now’s our chance to find out.”
“If we’re lucky. So what’s our excuse for our visit?”
“The one we always use. We’re doing an article.”
“What kind of article?”
“I don’t know.” They were both silent for a moment, until Stephanie suggested, “How about an article on influential women in Finn’s Harbor?”
“There’s a whole bunch of articles like that on Diane Eastcott. We need to find something unique so she doesn’t brush us off.”
“All right, what if we tell her we’re doing an article for a fashion magazine and want to feature not only her, but her home as well. I bet she’d go for that.”
Relieved, Clara let out her breath. “Perfect. I’ll call her and see if I can set it up for tonight. I’ll call you back.” She stabbed the end button and fished in her pocket for the sticky note.
Diane Eastcott answered right away. She sounded impatient at first, but when Clara explained why she was calling, Diane’s tone changed. “I was planning on a quiet evening,” she said. “Could we make it one night next week?”
“I’m sorry,” Clara told her, “but I have a strict deadline. I just got the go-ahead from the magazine and I need to start work on it tomorrow. Of course, if you’re busy, I could ask someone else—”
“On, no, don’t do that.” Diane hesitated, then added quickly, “I guess tonight will be okay. What time?”
Clara glanced at her watch. “Would eight p.m. work for you?”
“That will be fine. You have the address?”
After assuring her that she had all she needed, Clara hung up and hit Stephanie’s speed dial.
“Did she go for it?” her cousin asked, the second she answered.
“Of course. We’re expected there at eight p.m. I’ll pick you up around seven thirty.”
Stephanie sounded worried when she responded, “What shall we do if she asks which magazine it is?”
“We’ll tell her it’s for Vogue.”
“She’s going to want a copy of the article.”
“We’ll just have to tell her they decided not to buy it.”
“What about photographers?”
“Bring your camera.”
“My phone is my camera.”
“I mean that big old clunker you used to wave about at parties.”
“That’s my father’s camera, and it’s almost as old as I am. It needs film, for pity’s sake, and I don’t have any. I don’t even know if they make film like that anymore.”
“Diane Eastcott won’t know that. Besides, it looks authentic.”
Stephanie’s sigh echoed down the line. “You know we’re becoming accomplished liars, don’t you?”
“I know. It bothers me, too. I guess I could always submit the article to Vogue. They’ll probably turn it down, but at least it won’t be an outright lie.”
“Does that mean I have to take real pictures?”
“Maybe you could take a few with your phone when she’s not looking.”
“T
his is getting so ridiculous.”
“Yeah, but it’s all for a good cause.” Clara was smiling as she hung up, though she had to admit to a disquieting sense of guilt. She didn’t like the pretense and lies any more than her cousin did, but there were times when they had no other option.
Diane Eastcott was not going to discuss her husband’s whereabouts with complete strangers off the street. They had to gain her confidence and trust if they were going to learn anything useful.
Pulling out onto the street, Clara refused to acknowledge that all her hopes were pinned on the possibility that Paul Eastcott was the killer, thus clearing Wes of the crime. She had to keep an open mind if she were to get at the truth. She was running out of time, and if Wes was innocent, his career had to be saved.
If he was guilty, on the other hand, she really wanted to see him arrested before the rodeo left town. Either way, she would feel she’d done her best for Rick, though every fiber of her being prayed that Wes was not the killer. If he was, and she was the one who found the evidence that led to his arrest, that might affect her relationship with Rick. And not in a good way.
A little after seven thirty that evening, Clara picked up her cousin and headed for Diane Eastcott’s home. She was a little startled to see Stephanie wearing a royal blue cocktail dress sparkling with crystals and a fake diamond–encrusted comb pinning up her blonde hair. “You look like you’re going to a New Year’s Eve party.”
“Too much?” Stephanie pouted. “I was going for the professional fashion photographer look.”
“It’s more like a high school prom look.”
“That bad?” Stephanie pulled the flap down to look in the mirror. “I could take out the comb.”
“Good idea. What did George say when he saw you dressed like that?”
“He asked me who was getting married.” Stephanie dragged the comb from her hair and combed the strands back into place with her fingers. “Did you tell Aunt Jessie where we’re going?”
“Yeah. She wanted to come with us.” Clara glanced at the camera bag sitting on her cousin’s lap. “Do you remember how to work that thing?”
Extra Sensory Deception Page 14
