“You heard right.” Rick walked over to the shelves and straightened up some boxes of patio lights.
Clara followed him. “He must be from out of town.”
Rick dropped his hand and turned to face her. “You’re not going to quit until I tell you everything. Right?”
She grinned. “Right.”
“Okay. Apparently a truck driver going past my house early this morning spotted the body in the back of my pickup and called the cops. Dan asked me a lot of questions about where I was and what I was doing last night. I told him I was at the bowling alley until around ten or so, then left and went home. I have no idea how or when the body landed in my truck. Dan said he’d been killed with a blunt instrument. So far they haven’t found the murder weapon, but they’re searching the area around the bowling alley.”
Clara could tell now that although Rick was putting on a brave face, underneath he was worried. As well he might be. “We’d better hope they don’t find it there,” she murmured.
“Exactly.” Rick strode over to the counter and opened up a box of miniature flashlights. “Things look bad enough for me right now, but if they find the murder weapon anywhere near that bowling alley, I’ll be calling my lawyer.”
Clara was about to answer him when she was interrupted by whining, accompanied by scratching, from the door that led into the rear of the shop. “You’ve still got Tatters!”
“As if I don’t have enough problems.” Rick glanced at the door. “I still can’t make up my mind what to do with him. I could take him to the pound in Portland, I guess—”
“No!” Clara’s cry of distress cut off his words. “You can’t do that! He could be put down.”
As if to echo her words, the whining and scratching intensified.
Rick lifted his shoulders in a resigned shrug. “What else can I do? He’s not happy locked up back there, and he’s even more miserable shut up in the garage at home. I don’t know what else to do.”
Clara drew a deep breath. “What if I helped take care of him?”
She regretted the words the moment they were out of her mouth, but it was too late now. Rick was looking at her as if she had thrown him a life preserver. “That would be great! What do you have in mind?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t thought it through yet. I just…” She threw a glance at the door, which was still bearing the brunt of Tatters’ claws. “I can’t bear the thought of him going to the pound.”
“Look, you don’t have to do anything.” Rick gestured at the door. “He can be a handful, and you have to work and probably don’t have time to deal with him. If you feel that bad about it I won’t take him to the pound. I’ll try to find him a home somewhere.”
Now that she’d embraced the idea, she was reluctant to let it go. “I’ll work out something, I promise.” She started for the door. “Give me some time to think about it.”
“Why don’t we talk about it over dinner? Do you like Italian food? Angelo’s is pretty decent, and they make a great tiramisu.” He was following her out the door, seemingly intent on getting an answer from her.
She paused on the street to look back at him. When she’d first started working at the Raven’s Nest, he’d invited her out more than once. She’d turned him down so often he’d finally given up asking her. She’d never quite decided if she was sad or sorry about that.
Now he was asking her again, but this time it seemed less threatening, more of a business meeting than an actual date. She saw his expression change, as if he had already accepted her refusal. Before he could speak, she blurted out, “I love tiramisu. It’s my favorite dessert. When did you want to go?”
The surprised pleasure on his face warmed her. “No time like the present. Tonight?”
She hesitated. “Tomorrow’s my day off. Can we make it then?”
“Sure. Want me to pick you up?”
Clara had a vision of her mother hovering over him at the door. “Why don’t I meet you there?”
“Fine. Eight thirty?”
She smiled. “I’ll be there.”
Something in his eyes made her nervous. With a quick wave she spun around, intent on dashing across the road to the bookstore. Instead, she almost ran into Roberta Prince.
The woman stood right in front of her, blocking her way. “I was wondering when you were going to give someone else a chance to get through the door,” she snapped, her eyes blazing with hostility.
“Sorry,” Clara muttered, and darted around her to cross the road. Reaching the door of the Raven’s Nest, she glanced back, just in time to see Roberta disappearing into the hardware store.
“Good timing,” Molly said from behind the counter. “I was just getting ready to leave.”
“Sorry,” Clara said again, letting the door close behind her. “I was talking to Rick about the murder.”
Molly halted her rush to the door. “What’d he say? Do they know who did it? Who the victim is? Do they think Rick did it?”
Clara leaned her back against the counter. “No, no and especially no. They’re still looking for the murder weapon.”
Molly gave an exaggerated shiver. “It’s hard to believe we have another murder in Finn’s Harbor. At least this one wasn’t in our store.”
“Neither is it anyone we know.” Clara moved behind the counter. “I guess that’s some reason to be thankful.”
“Yeah, but there’s still a murderer running around out there.” Molly paused again on the doorstep. “I’m locking my windows tonight.” She wagged a finger at Clara. “Just be careful when you walk down the hill to your car. You never know who could be lurking about, looking for another victim.”
“Personally, I think it’s all kind of exciting.”
The soft voice had spoken from behind her, and Molly spun around so fast she almost lost her balance.
John Halloran appeared at her side, his teeth bared in a grin. “Going somewhere?”
Molly gave him her best scowl and disappeared into the street.
Bracing herself, Clara greeted her customer. “What can I do for you?”
John sidled up to the counter, looking over his shoulder as if checking to see if they were alone. “A little bird told me you had a new Wayne Lester book in.”
“We do, though they’re not out on the shelves yet. If you want to wait a minute, I’ll go and get you a copy.” She moved to the end of the counter, then stopped as John edged up alongside her.
“So, what do you think about this murder business then?” His dark eyes gleamed at her through the lenses of his black-rimmed glasses.
She backed off a little. John’s attempts to comb his gray hair over his bald patch left it in little spikes along his forehead. He looked a little like an aging clown. Clara was not fond of clowns. “I hope they catch whoever did it and put him in jail.”
“Strange that the body ended up in Rick’s truck, don’t you think?”
Clara stiffened. She couldn’t imagine why Rick would hire John Halloran to work in his store. The man seemed to get a perverse delight out of other people’s troubles. “I guess the killer had to hide the body somewhere. It must be horrible for Rick.”
“Even worse for the guy in the back of the truck.” John chuckled at his own ghoulish joke.
“I’ll get that book for you.” Clara rushed past him and down to the stockroom. It took her a while to find the book, and by the time she carried it back to the counter, John was talking to another customer.
Clara wasn’t really surprised to hear the two of them discussing the murder with disgusting relish. Mrs. Riley was a notorious gossip. She and Roberta Prince made a fine pair.
The elderly woman was hanging on to John’s words as if he were reading a long-awaited will.
“Can’t say I’m all that surprised,” John was saying. “Rick’s a bit of a mystery. Doesn’t talk much about his personal life. I always say quiet guys like that have something to hide.”
“I heard he used to be married,” Mrs. Riley murmured.
“Wonder what happened to his wife.”
“She’s alive and well,” Clara said sharply. She darted behind the counter and rang up the purchase, then waited for John to swipe his card.
“Do you know her then?” Mrs. Riley’s sharp eyes probed Clara’s face.
“I know she just gave Rick a dog.” Clara bagged the book and handed it over to John with his receipt.
He took it with a smirk. “Guess you know him better than any of us.”
Clara scowled. “What exactly does that mean?”
“Nothing!” John sauntered over to the door. “Nothing at all. But if I were you, I’d be careful who I trust around here.”
He was out of the door before she could answer.
Mrs. Riley sniffed. “You never know who you’re dealing with these days, that’s what I say.” She trotted off down the aisles, leaving Clara fuming behind the counter. Everyone was so quick to judge. The same thing that had happened to Molly was happening now to Rick. She hoped fervently that Dan would find out who killed that poor man and put an end to all the speculation before some real damage was done.
She was still seething about the injustice of it all when she arrived home that evening. Jessie had fixed a shrimp salad for her, and she ate it in the kitchen, while her mother poured a couple of glasses of wine.
“I saw on the news that your friend at the hardware store is in trouble,” she said as she sat down opposite Clara at the kitchen table.
Clara swallowed a mouthful of lettuce before answering her. “He’s not in trouble. Someone dumped a dead body in his truck, that’s all.”
Jessie raised her perfectly plucked eyebrows. “You don’t find that unusual?”
Clara regarded her mother with a jaundiced eye. For the past year Jessie had been striving to regain some of her youthful looks. She’d had her hair cut and dyed in a short, flip-up style with highlights. She spent numerous hours at the gym and bought her clothes with a keen eye for fashion. Tonight she wore a red, low-cut top and white pants that clung to her hips. It was obvious to Clara that her mother was phasing out the mourning period and was ready to move on with her life. The thought both pleased and worried her. Jessie was apt to be impulsive at times, and not always discreet. In a town the size of Finn’s Harbor, very little escaped the grapevine.
“I think,” Clara said slowly, “that Rick’s truck was in the wrong place at the wrong time. If he’d killed that man, why on earth would he leave the body out in the open for everyone to see? “
“Perhaps he was waiting for the right moment to get rid of it.” She paused. “You know that they think they’ve found the murder weapon, I suppose.”
Clara almost choked on her dinner roll. “No, I didn’t know that.”
“It was found in the bushes alongside the parking lot between the bowling alley and the driving range.”
The voices. They were echoing in her head. Whispering, as they always did, insistent and disturbing. She shut them off before she could make sense of the words. “I have to call Stephanie.” She glanced at the clock as she pushed her chair back. “She’ll be wondering where I am.”
Her cousin must have been waiting for her nightly call, as she answered on the first ring. “Clara? Did you see the news? It’s all over the TV.”
“I haven’t seen it yet.” Clara’s fingers tightened on her cell. “Mom told me they’d found the murder weapon.”
“The police think it’s the murder weapon. It was found in the parking lot of the bowling alley.”
“So I heard.”
“It looks as if the dead guy was killed there.”
“Probably.”
“While Rick was there.”
Clara briefly closed her eyes. “Just because the body ended up in his truck doesn’t mean he killed the guy. Whoever killed him must have dumped the body in there to get rid of it.”
“Funny that Rick didn’t see it when he drove home.”
“He probably didn’t look in the back. It was dark when he went home.”
“You know everyone is going to think he did it, don’t you?”
“More than likely. I have faith in Dan and his guys, though. They’ll find the real murderer.”
“They don’t even know the name of the victim. They had Rick down at the station again tonight to see if he knew the guy. Deanne Summers interviewed him on the way out. Rick said he’d never seen the guy before.”
The voices again. Only one this time. She tried to ignore it, but the words sounded clearly in her ear. He’s lying.
Rattled, she spoke out loud. “What the heck does that mean?”
Stephanie’s startled voice banished the whispering. “I think it means he didn’t know…oh, wait a minute.” Her voice faded as she moved away from the phone. “Olivia! How many times do I have to tell you not to put Jasper in the laundry basket. No, he doesn’t like it. That’s why he claws his way out of there. Olivia! Take him out. Now!” There was a pause before she spoke again. “I’ve got to go. The cat’s got his claws stuck in a sweater. Is everything okay in the shop?”
“Everything’s fine. Hope your sweater’s okay.”
“So do I.” Again Stephanie paused, then added in a rush, “Clara, if Rick is in trouble, be careful, okay?”
“I’m always careful. Go rescue your sweater.” Clara closed her cell, her forehead creased in a frown. She did her best to ignore the voices, but every once in a while there was nothing she could do to shut them out. The Quinn Sense was unpredictable and spasmodic at best. Yet it was never wrong. It might not always be there when she needed it, but when the voices spoke, they spoke the truth.
It was a relief when her mother announced she was going to bed early to read. Jessie worked at the local library and was never short of reading material. Clara wished her good-night, then settled down in front of the TV to watch one of her favorite cop shows. She found it hard to concentrate, however, and instead her mind kept wandering back to her conversation with Rick that afternoon.
She could hear him now, his voice tense with concern. If they find the murder weapon anywhere near that bowling alley, I’ll be calling my lawyer. Had he called his lawyer? she wondered. Had it gone that far? If so, the gossips’ tongues would be wagging overtime.
Poor Rick. What would happen to Tatters if his master got arrested? In the next instant she chided herself. Of course Rick wouldn’t be arrested. He’d done nothing wrong. Yet again she heard his voice. I need someone here to take over full-time when I’m away. It was as if he expected to be gone for a length of time.
With a start she realized that her show had ended and the news was on. The top story of the night was, of course, the murder. There was a picture of the bowling alley and a rerun of Rick’s interview with Deanne Summers.
It was obvious the news reporter had ambitions. She kept waving the microphone in Rick’s face, demanding he answer her questions. The few words he did say came out more from frustration than anything.
The scene switched back to the studio, where Tom Wright, the news anchor, was commenting on the interview. “Breaking news,” he said, sounding as if he couldn’t wait to wrap up the broadcast and go home. “The murder weapon found in the vicinity of the Harbor Bowling Alley has been identified. It’s a specialty hammer, apparently obtained from Parson’s Hardware Store. Police also found spatters of blood that confirm the victim was killed in the parking lot of the bowling alley. The owner of the hardware store, Rick Sanders, also owns the truck in which the body was found. The police have been questioning him—”
The voices spoke, loud and clear. Suspect number one.
Determined not to listen to the annoying whispers in her ear, Clara grabbed the remote and turned up the volume. Tom had introduced Carson Dexter, the mayor of Finn’s Harbor. Carson looked as if he’d just fallen out of bed. His light brown hair, usually combed neatly back from his forehead, flopped over his eyebrows, and he kept rubbing his chin as if he needed a shave.
“This is utterly disgraceful,” he exclai
med, his eyes wide and staring at the camera. “A murder here in our little town of Finn’s Harbor is totally unacceptable. I have demanded that the police department make every effort to hunt down the perpetrator of this vicious crime and bring down on him the full power of the justice system. I urge each and every one of you to come forward with any information that might be helpful in this case, no matter how trivial it might seem. Together we will find this brutal killer, so that the citizens of this town may once more sleep peacefully in their beds.”
He’s afraid, Clara thought. No doubt worried about his two young daughters. She’d seen pictures of the girls, both preteens, and both resembling their mother with their long, silky-straight blonde hair and expensive clothes. It must be difficult being a father while in the public eye. The chance of his children being a target for a disgruntled constituent had to be forever in his mind—one of the drawbacks of being a politician.
She turned off the TV, her mind drawn back to Rick as she got ready for bed. Things looked bad for him. She couldn’t seem to silence the voice that kept repeating in her ear. He’s lying. She didn’t want to believe that. Why would Rick lie if he had nothing to hide?
She slept badly that night and awoke to hear her mother tapping on her bedroom door.
“I’m just leaving,” her mother called out when Clara answered her knock. “You might want to read the Chronicle before you leave. It’s full of news about the murder.”
Clara rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling until she heard the front door snap shut. Ten minutes later she was still wide awake and burning to see what was in the newspaper.
She made herself wait until she was showered and dressed before settling down at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee. Picking up the paper, the first thing she saw was a picture of the murdered man on the front page. Underneath, the caption explained that although the police were reluctant to print a picture of a dead man, all attempts to identify him had failed and they felt that publishing the photo might help them in their investigation.
Clara was grateful to note that whoever had taken the picture had taken care to disguise the head wounds that had killed the victim. She studied the photo but could see nothing familiar about the face. He appeared to be a fairly young man, about her own age, with fair hair and a scruffy chin. Clara hoped that his relatives would learn of his death before seeing it splashed all over the front page of a newspaper. How sad for his parents. Had he left behind a wife and children? She hoped not.
A Sinister Sense Page 3
