Clara couldn’t have agreed more. “Then let’s go home.”
Stephanie laid a hand on her arm. “Clara, before we go any further, are you absolutely sure Rick had nothing to do with that man? I mean, Dan wouldn’t keep him down at the station unless he had good reason, don’t you think?”
Fighting down her own doubts, Clara said firmly, “I saw the fight. In a vision. I know it wasn’t Rick.”
Stephanie’s eyebrows shot up. “Then you saw who did it?”
“I wish I had. I couldn’t make out the faces.” Clara smiled at her. “Don’t worry, Steffie. I wouldn’t be doing all this if I didn’t feel certain that Rick is innocent.”
That seemed to satisfy her cousin and she dropped her hand. “What am I going to tell George? He’s bound to ask me how the bowling went.”
“Tell him we had dinner and we got to talking and before we knew it the time had flown by and it was too late to bowl.”
Stephanie nodded. “I’ll tell him you had dinner. He’ll know I wouldn’t eat all that much after already eating dinner at home.”
“Sounds good.” Clara opened the car door. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Are we going to tell Molly about this?”
Clara paused and looked back at her. “Do you really want to?”
“I hate keeping secrets from her. Besides, it’ll be hard hiding everything we’re doing from her, and we could really use her help.”
Clara gave in. “I guess you’re right.”
“Good!” Stephanie waved, and ran over to her own car, a couple of slots away.
Clara waited until she saw her cousin pull out of the parking lot before following her onto the road. She could hardly blame Stephanie for having doubts. Dan had to have some kind of evidence to hold Rick at the station. She just wished she knew what it was.
If it hadn’t been for the vision, she might have doubted him, too. Even now, she found it hard to trust the Sense. Was the vision real, or was it just wishful thinking on her part? Was she so eager to defend Rick Sanders, she’d conjured up the image in her mind? If only she could be sure.
Watching the rear lights of Stephanie’s car ahead of her, she wrestled with her misgivings as they swept along the coast road. She could see the faint outline of the mountains against the star-studded sky, and the rocky coastline sweeping around the bay.
Tatters would be waiting for her when she got home. Maybe she’d take him for a walk before going to bed. She wondered if the dog missed Rick. She’d miss him herself if he ended up in jail. Horrified at the thought, she dragged her attention back to the road.
The Rick she knew was not a killer. She believed that with all her heart. Whatever had happened that night at the bowling alley had nothing to do with him. He was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. Whether or not the vision was real, she’d vowed to do everything in her power to find out the truth and nothing was going to stop her.
Jessie was already in bed when Clara arrived home. Tatters had obviously been waiting for her. Freed from the formidable gaze that had held him in check all evening, he threw himself at Clara the minute she stepped through the door.
With her back against the wall, Clara tried to avoid the wet tongue lashing at her face. “Sit!” she hissed, and when that didn’t work, she raised her voice. “I said, sit!”
Jessie’s voice called out from down the hallway. “Tatters! Don’t make me come out there!”
Tatters whined and lowered his haunches to the floor.
Shaking her head, Clara scratched his neck then headed for the kitchen, the dog padding close on her heels.
Mindful of disturbing her mother any further, Clara switched on the small TV on the counter and turned down the volume. Opening the fridge door, she took out a can of soda and carried it to the table. Tatters watched her, his tail swishing back and forth in expectation. “I don’t have anything to eat,” she told him, “so you can quit the pathetic eyeballing.”
Tatters stuck his tongue out the corner of his mouth and started panting.
Clara ignored him as Tom Wright’s voice caught her attention. The news anchor looked earnestly into the camera as he announced, “Rick Sanders, the owner of Parson’s Hardware on Main Street, continues to be held for questioning in the murder of Frank Tomeski, the Portland construction worker murdered in the parking lot of the Harbor Bowling Alley. We are awaiting further developments and will keep you informed. Stay tuned for…”
Clara stared at the TV, trying to drown out the voices whispering urgently in her head. They were trying to tell her something. Possibly something she didn’t want to know. How she hated having to listen to them. If they could ease the awful ache of worry in her chest, however, she had no choice but to hear what they had to say.
She closed her eyes and made herself relax, concentrating on the whispering words.
The voices kept fading in and out, like gentle waves washing ashore. She couldn’t make out what they were saying. She heard Tatters’ soft whine and opened her eyes, laying a hand on his head to reassure him. The walls of the kitchen seemed to fade and dissolve, lost in a white fog that swirled around her.
She quickly closed her eyes again and immediately saw the ocean, the waves rushing in to cover the sand. A sign came into view, swinging in the wind. She could see letters on it but couldn’t make them out. W-i-n…f-t…m…e-l…
Tatters whined again, louder this time. The vision vanished, and when she opened her eyes, the walls were back in focus.
She got up and hurried over to the counter. In the top drawer she found a notebook and pen and quickly scribbled as much of the letters as she could remember. W-i-n-f-t-m-e-l.
She stared at them for several long moments, trying to figure out what they meant. When nothing came to her, she gave up. Looking down at a hopeful Tatters, she muttered, “I might as well take you for a walk before I go to bed.”
The words were hardly out of her mouth before the big dog leapt through the kitchen door and bounded out into the hallway.
Following him, Clara picked up his leash from the hall table and fastened the clip to his collar. One hand on the doorknob, she bent down to speak in his ear, just on the chance he really could understand what she said. “Any future walks at night will depend entirely on how you behave tonight. Do I make myself clear?”
Tatters licked her nose.
Taking that for agreement, Clara opened the door. Tatters dashed out onto the step, dragging her after him. It took three more lectures before she finally got him to walk at a pace she could keep up with, by which time she’d circled the block twice and figured that was enough for the first night.
In the morning, she decided, she’d take him for a run on the beach before she went to work. He’d have to make that do until she got home again.
Returning home, she showed him his bed in the utility room. Leaving him there with the scruffy ball, she made another mental note to buy him a couple of decent toys. She’d hardly closed the door of her bedroom when she heard him whining.
Hoping he’d settle down quickly, she ignored the mournful sound and got ready for bed. She had just climbed under the covers when Tatters let out a howl of protest.
She was opening her bedroom door when she heard her mother’s voice.
“That dog shuts up now, or he’s gone in the morning.”
Clara sighed, and called out, “I’ll take care of it.”
Opening the door of the utility room, she stood in the doorway, barring Tatters’ escape. Hands on her hips, she looked him in the eye. “This is not acceptable behavior. If you want to stay here, you will have to abide by the rules. You sleep in here.” She pointed at the bed. “I don’t want to hear another sound. Is that clear?”
Tatters whined.
Clara shut the door and had barely gone a few steps when the dog howled again.
Jessie’s outraged roar echoed down the hallway.
Wincing, Clara opened the door again. The dog’s tongue was hanging out of the corne
r of his mouth in the familiar grin.
Clara leaned forward and gripped his collar. “I’m too tired to deal with you now, so just for tonight, you sleep with me. Just for tonight, you understand?” Tatters wagged his tail.
Sighing, Clara led him into her bedroom and closed the door. Knowing she was going to regret her weakness, she watched Tatters leap onto the bed and settle himself down on her pillow. At the first opportunity, she promised herself, she’d have a talk with him. Right now, however, she was exhausted and just wanted to crawl into bed and forget about everything—the murder, Rick’s involvement, the strange letters in the vision, the problems with the dog—everything. At least until morning.
She spent most of the night wrestling with the dog for space on the pillow before falling into a fitful sleep. Waking up again with a start, she saw sunlight sparkling between the slats of the blinds at her window. She could hear an odd sound, like the distant rumble of a freight train. It took her a moment or two to realize it was Tatters’ snoring that had disturbed her sleep.
Which was just as well, as a quick glance at the clock confirmed that she’d overslept. Jessie must have already left for work. Clara hoped her mother hadn’t checked the utility room and realized that Tatters was sharing her daughter’s bed. She’d have plenty to say about that if she had.
After swallowing a couple of slices of toast and a cup of coffee, Clara took Tatters for a quick walk around the block. “I’ll take you to the beach when I get home from work,” she promised him, trying to ignore the pleading look in his eyes when she closed the bedroom door on him.
Stephanie was waiting for her when she walked into the Raven’s Nest a few minutes later. “We have to talk,” her cousin said as Clara stuffed her purse under the counter. Without waiting for an answer, she marched off down the aisle, leaving Clara to follow.
Molly was talking to a customer at the counter and gave her a quick wave as she passed. Clara wondered if Stephanie had already asked for her help with their efforts to clear Rick’s name. In light of the latest news that they were still holding Rick at the police station, however, Clara wasn’t sure if Stephanie was still willing to go ahead with it.
She entered the Nook to find her cousin pouring out two mugs of coffee. Stephanie handed her one of the mugs and sat down on the couch. “Have you heard any more news?”
Clara sank onto the nearest armchair. “Not since last night.”
“So what do you think?”
Clara leaned back, cradling the mug in her hands. “I just wish I could talk to Rick and get his side of the story. So far all we’ve heard is Dan’s side of it.”
“Carson Dexter seems to think the case is about to be solved.”
“He’s certainly not helping matters,” Clara said, letting a note of bitterness creep into her voice. “Anyone listening to him would think that Rick has already been tried and convicted. What happened to the law that says that every person must be presumed innocent until proven guilty?”
“It still stands, the last I heard.”
“Well, listening to our honorable mayor, you’d never know it even existed.”
Stephanie heaved a heavy sigh. “So, what are we going to do? Did you find out where this Buzz person lives?”
“Buzz Lamont. Not yet.” Clara stared gloomily into her mug. “I don’t think we’ll get much out of him. If he didn’t want to talk to the police, he sure won’t talk to us. All we know so far is that he recognized the victim on TV. By the way, the dead guy’s name is Frank Tomeski.”
“Oh, right! How did you remember that? So do you think he came to Finn’s Harbor to meet this Buzz Lamont person?”
“Maybe, though I doubt Mr. Lamont would tell us if he did.”
Stephanie sipped her coffee before answering. “I guess you could just ask him, and maybe the Sense will help you tell if he’s lying. You’ve done that plenty of times before. Like the time Old Man Thompson told you he kept a wolf in his house to scare off trespassers. You knew he was lying and climbed through a window of his house to prove it.”
Clara gave her a withering look. “I climbed through the window because you dared me to do it. I got caught and ended up getting grounded for a week. You didn’t even get yelled at.”
Stephanie shrugged. “I wanted to know if you could really tell when someone’s lying.”
“Sometimes I can and a lot of times I can’t.”
She hadn’t meant to sound so bitter. Stephanie reached out to pat her arm. “I’m sorry, Clara. I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories.”
Clara nodded. She’d given her cousin a brief version of what had happened in New York, but had told no one the whole story. The truth was, she wasn’t ready to talk about it. Or even think about it. Maybe she never would be ready. “Well, I guess it won’t hurt to give it a shot with Buzz Lamont. If we can find out where he lives.” Her memory prodded, she dug in her pants pocket for the note she’d scribbled the night before. “Speaking of which, I had a sort of vision last night.”
Stephanie sat up, her eyes bright with expectation. “Another one? What was it?”
“Nothing much. Just a sign swinging in the wind. Some of the letters were too faded to read, but here’s what I remember of it.” Handing the note to her cousin, she added, “See if this means anything to you.”
Stephanie studied the note. Frowning, she shook her head. “It doesn’t make sense.”
“Try and imagine it with other letters in between.”
Stephanie started muttering. “Winfutmel…Winningfutmel…Windingfutmel…”
Molly’s voice made them both jump. “What are you doing?”
Stephanie quickly folded the note and shoved it in the pocket of her blue smock. “Just playing word games. Did Mrs. Riley buy anything?”
“No, but she ordered a couple of books.” Molly wandered over to the counter and picked up the coffeepot. “It’s quiet out there today.”
Stephanie questioned with her eyes, a message Clara instantly understood. Her cousin wanted to know if it was okay to tell Molly about their investigation. She gave her a quick nod of approval. Stephanie answered with a finger jabbed in her direction.
Taking that to mean she was to open the conversation, Clara said lightly, “I guess you heard the latest news about Rick?”
Molly nodded as she walked over to the couch. “I still can’t believe it. He seems such a nice guy.” She shot a wary glance at Clara. “You must be really upset about all this.”
“I’m upset at people jumping to the conclusion he’s guilty,” Clara said, her voice sharp with annoyance. Catching her cousin’s quick frown, she added more calmly, “Stephanie and I plan to do something about that.”
Molly looked at Stephanie, who beamed at her. “We thought you might like to help, too.”
A multitude of expressions crossed Molly’s face. It was obvious she was struggling between her conviction of Rick’s guilt and her loyalty to her friends.
Clara decided to help her out. “He didn’t do it,” she said firmly. “We are quite sure of that.”
“I really want to believe you, but the cops say—”
“Never mind what they say,” Stephanie said, beating Clara to the punch. “It’s what we believe that matters. You can’t have forgotten that you were in the same boat last year, Molly. Everyone thought you were guilty until we found the real murderer.”
Molly’s face turned pink. “Of course I haven’t forgotten. I owe you guys a lot. It’s just that…well, the mayor sounded so convinced…”
Clara made a guttural sound in her throat. “Don’t get me started on that. He’s just looking for a boost to his political career. Rick didn’t kill that man, and we’re going to prove it. Are you in or not?”
Molly stared at her for a long moment, then shrugged. “What do you want me to do?”
Both cousins let out a sigh of relief.
“See if you can make sense of these letters,” Stephanie said, handing Molly the note.
Molly studied
it, her brows drawn together as she concentrated. “What is it?”
“I saw it on a sign somewhere,” Clara said quickly, before Stephanie could answer. “Some of the letters are missing. We were wondering if you recognized it.”
Molly shook her head and handed the note back to Stephanie. “Sorry. It doesn’t mean anything to me.”
“Oh, well, we tried.” Stephanie tilted her head to one side as the jingle of the front doorbell interrupted her. “Sounds like a customer.”
Molly put down her mug and jumped up. “I’ll go.” She actually looked relieved as she sped out of the Nook, and Clara made a face at her cousin. “I don’t think she’s going to help that much.”
Stephanie got up from the couch and handed Clara the note. “Give her a chance. She’ll come around. I’d better get going. My mother will be waiting for me to pick up the kids.”
Clara followed her up the aisle to the front of the shop, her nerves tightening when she saw Molly at the counter talking to Roberta Prince. That was all she needed.
Roberta seemed agitated, talking very fast and loud, while Molly just stood there nodding her head. Stephanie hurried forward, saying, “Can I help you?”
No one can help that woman, Clara thought, then felt guilty for being uncharitable. She hung back, ready to step in if Stephanie needed her.
“I just can’t believe it!” Roberta flung a carefully manicured hand at Stephanie in a dramatic gesture that would have gone over well on the stage. “What the hell was he thinking?”
Stephanie looked at Molly for help and received a shrug in answer. “Who are we talking about?”
“Rick, of course!” Roberta tugged at the colorful silk scarf that decorated her white shirt. “How could he have bludgeoned a man to death? I know he has a bit of a temper, but I never thought he would go this far.”
Clara closed her eyes, willing herself to stay silent.
To her surprise, she heard Molly say firmly, “Rick hasn’t actually been charged with murder. He’s just being questioned, that’s all.”
“Yeah,” Stephanie added, “that doesn’t prove a thing. All it means is that so far he’s the only one with any connection to the victim.”
A Sinister Sense Page 8
