Clara wasn’t too sure about that but couldn’t think of a better idea. Carefully, she opened the gate and stepped inside the yard. The muffled sound of deep barking made her pause. “There’s a dog around somewhere.”
Stephanie looked around. “I can’t see one. Just keep going.”
Clutching the pad to her chest, Clara walked up the driveway. The barking grew louder, though still muffled, and she thought it might be coming from inside the house. Quickening her step, she headed across the lawn to skirt the front windows.
She had just reached the far wall when a man in green coveralls stepped out in front of her. Startled, she dropped the pad and bent to retrieve it, while Stephanie came to a halt at her side. Straightening, Clara looked at the “Belgrave” badge sewn into the man’s uniform. She gave him a smile. “Would you happen to be Buzz Lamont?”
The man’s thin features stiffened with suspicion. “Who’s asking?”
Stephanie eased back a step, unsettling Clara. Maybe they were taking too much of a chance confronting a possible killer. It was too late now, however. They were face-to-face with Buzz Lamont, and the chain saw in his hand was a formidable lethal weapon.
Clara pulled in a deep breath. “My name is Clara Quinn,” she said quickly, “and I’m a friend of Rick Sanders.”
The man’s frown intensified. “Is that supposed to mean something to me?”
Clara felt Stephanie’s fingers stabbing her in the back. Ignoring her she answered, “He’s the man accused of killing Frank Tomeski.”
The gardener’s expression grew hostile. “What’s that got to do with me?”
“I believe you were acquainted with Mr. Tomeski.”
“Who told you that?”
Clara lifted her chin. “Never mind who told me. Is it true?”
“Are you a cop?”
Clara shook her head. “No, Mr. Lamont. I told you, I’m just a friend of Rick Sanders. I’m trying to find out what I can about Frank Tomeski, because I don’t believe Rick killed him. I’d be very grateful if you could tell me what, if anything, you know about him.”
The gardener tilted his head to one side and studied her for a minute, then looked at Stephanie. “What about her?”
“She’s my cousin. We work together in her bookstore. She’s helping me find out what happened the night Frank Tomeski was killed.”
Stephanie stepped forward, holding out a hand that wasn’t quite steady. “I’m pleased to meet you.”
Lamont stared at her as if she’d lost her mind. “What do you want to know?”
Clara moved closer to the wall to get out of the sun’s searing glare. The barking had stopped. She hoped that meant the dog had settled down again and wasn’t roaming around the yard looking for them. Stephanie scuttled over to join her, watched closely by the gardener.
“When did you last see Frank Tomeski?”
“About five years ago.” Lamont shifted his position so he had his back to the sun. His skin had been burned to leather, and his light blue eyes seemed like twin laser beams as they raked Clara’s face.
“Was he coming here to see you?” Clara watched him closely, hoping to read something in his face that would tell her if he was lying, since it seemed the Sense was absent as usual.
For a long moment she was afraid he wasn’t going to answer, then he seemed to make up his mind about something and shook his head. “I didn’t even know Frank was in town until I saw his face on TV. I’d been at the shooting range for a couple of hours, and I went over to the bowling alley for a beer or two. That’s when Frank turned up on the news. Believe me, that was some kind of shock.”
“It must have been a bigger shock to realize you were in the bowling alley the night he was killed.”
Buzz narrowed his eyes. “You been talking to Jason? He needs his mouth sewn up with catgut.”
Clara hurried on. “Do you remember anything about that night that might have seemed unusual? Like someone acting weird?”
“The only thing I remember about that night is nearly being run over by a black SUV. If I hadn’t stepped out the way pretty quick, I would have ended up next to Frank in the morgue.”
“How well did you know Frank?”
Buzz shrugged. “Not that well. We used to do business together when I lived in Portland.”
“What kind of business?”
The gardener pursed his lips. “Personal business.”
Clara let that go. “Did you keep in touch with him after you left Portland?”
“Now and then. Not a lot. We’d exchange e-mails once in a while. Frank didn’t have many friends.”
“So you have no idea who he might have been meeting when he came here.”
Buzz uttered a short laugh. “I can guess. I reckon he was here meeting some bimbo he picked up online. He was always chatting with women on the Internet. Sent me a pic now and then. I always figured he’d get into trouble one day over some woman. If you ask me, I’d say a jealous boyfriend or husband whacked him.”
Clara let out her breath. “Why didn’t you tell all this to the police? You must have seen their announcements on TV asking if anyone knew the victim.”
Buzz stuck his hands in his pockets. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I didn’t call the cops because I’ve got a record. The cops are quick to jump on ex-cons. I’ve been straight for six years now. I’ve got a good job, and a wife and family. If news got out about my past, I could kiss all that good-bye.” He took a step toward Clara, making Stephanie scrunch up closer to the wall. “If you so much as breathe one word of this to anyone else, I’ll make you sorry you ever set eyes on me.”
Clara held up her hands. “I’m not going to tell anyone anything. I just want to find out what happened that night and clear Rick’s name.”
Seemingly satisfied, Buzz drew back. “You might want to look at Frank’s girlfriend, Stella Wilkins. He’s been dating her on and off for ten years. I can understand why he never married her. She’s a bad-tempered witch. Thinks she owns him. I can just imagine what she’d do if she found out Frank was down here banging some dame. Probably kill them both.”
Clara was about to answer when a low growl made her freeze. Glancing at the corner of the house, she saw a fierce-looking German shepherd, legs braced apart, head lowered, teeth bared and growling.
“Oh crap,” Stephanie said, sounding as if she were about to cry.
“Lay down, King,” Buzz Lamont said sharply.
The dog stopped growling and raised his head, though he still stared at the Clara with a warning in his eyes.
Clara held out her hand and started toward the dog.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Buzz said, sounding worried. “That dog’s got a mean streak.”
Clara kept moving slowly toward the dog. “It’s all right, boy,” she said softly. “We’re leaving.”
The dog pushed his nose forward and sniffed her hand, then sat, his gaze still watchful on her face.
“Let’s go, Stephanie.” Clara gently laid a hand on the dog’s head. “Thank you, Mr. Lamont, for all your help. I promise you, no one will know you spoke to us. Good luck with everything.”
Stephanie hurried past her and headed down the driveway without looking back.
Clara gave the dog a final pat on the head, then walked after her cousin.
She had gone just a few steps when Buzz called out, “Good luck to you, too. Sanders is a lucky guy.”
She waved in answer, smiling to herself as she followed Stephanie out of the gate.
“So, do you think he did it?” Stephanie asked as they drove back down the lane.
Clara frowned. “I don’t know. He seemed to be telling the truth, but it was hard to tell.”
“So what happened to the Quinn Sense?”
“The same thing that happens most of the time. I told you it was unpredictable.”
Stephanie slumped back in her seat. “We’re no closer to finding out who killed Frank Tomeski. No wonder Dan is having so mu
ch trouble solving this murder.”
Clara pulled onto the highway and sped up. “We have Frank’s girlfriend’s name. That might help.”
“How? She lives in Portland. Are you planning on going there to find her?”
Clara shrugged. “Not yet. I think we should go down to the tavern tonight and talk to the bartender. I’d like to know what happened when Stella Wilkins caught up with Frank in there.”
“Do you think we should tell Dan who she is?”
Clara thought about it. “If we do that,” she said at last, “we’d have to tell him about Buzz Lamont. If Buzz was telling the truth, and he’s really worried about losing his wife or his job, or both, I really don’t want to be the one who causes all that.”
“What if he’s not telling the truth? What if he killed Frank Tomeski and told you a bunch of lies to throw suspicion on someone else?”
Clara shrugged. “I guess we’ll find out eventually. In the meantime, I’d really like to talk to someone at the tavern about that fight.”
“Okay.” Stephanie glanced at the clock. “Oh crap, look at the time. The Reading Nook will be packed by now. Molly must have her hands full.”
“We’ll be there in five minutes.” Clara put some pressure on the accelerator. Her mind was already forging ahead to that evening, rehearsing the questions she would ask. One thing she’d learned from her sparse investigative experience: people were inclined to tell her things they wouldn’t tell the police. Between that and the elusive Quinn Sense, she was hopeful they would uncover enough solid evidence to set Dan on the track of the real killer.
When they arrived at the Raven’s Nest a few minutes later, it was to find Molly dashing out of the Nook, her red hair flying around her flushed face. Clara muttered a quick apology and got to work serving the two customers waiting at the counter.
The next hour or so went by quickly as they all washed mugs, refilled the coffeepot and served up donuts and Danish. When the last customer walked out the door, Molly leaned on the counter with a sigh. “That was crazy. We haven’t been that busy since we opened the Reading Nook.”
Stephanie grinned. “Isn’t that great? I just love the summer and all the tourists. We did really well in sales so far today.”
Clara patted her on the back. “You’d better get going. Your kids are probably wondering where you are.”
Stephanie made a face. “They’re probably making the most of the extra time with Grandma. You’re right, I’d better get over there before things get out of hand.” She darted over to the door, calling out over her shoulder, “Tell Molly about tonight, okay? I haven’t had a chance to talk to her.” With that, she was gone.
Molly raised her eyebrows at Clara. “Tonight?”
Clara sighed. “Stephanie and I are going to the tavern on Laurel Street this evening. We thought you might like to come along.”
Molly’s eyes lit up. “Are we investigating?”
“Sort of.” Clara filled her in on the events of the morning, while Molly’s eyes grew wider as the story progressed.
“Wow,” she muttered, when Clara was finished. “You two sound just like those detectives on TV.”
Clara laughed. “Which ones?”
Molly waved a hand in the air. “All of them! Weren’t you scared when you saw Buzz Lamont holding a chain saw?”
“A little, I guess.” Clara walked over to the table where an untidy stack of cookbooks lay and started straightening them. “We were taking a chance, but this is about a murder, and we’re not going to solve it without taking a few chances.”
“I guess not.” Molly sounded subdued. “Do you think it will be dangerous tonight?”
“Not really. We’ll be in a crowded place, and there will be three of us. As long as we stick together and don’t get separated, we should be just fine.”
Molly hugged her arms. “This is exciting. I’ve got goose bumps!”
Clara walked over to her. “Let’s not forget why we’re doing this. Rick’s whole future could be on the line. It’s important we get as much information as we can, without upsetting anyone. Okay?”
Molly nodded. “Okay! What time are we going?”
“You and Stephanie can go when you like. I have to close up here, so it’ll be around eight fifteen by the time I get there.”
“I’ll call Stephanie later and find out what time she wants to go. I can’t wait!”
“Whatever you do,” Clara warned, “don’t start asking questions without me.”
Molly grinned. “Don’t worry, we’ll wait for you.”
Clara left her and walked down to the Nook to clean up after the coffee crowd. She still wasn’t too comfortable about Molly coming with them to the tavern, though she wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was because Molly was a few years younger than the cousins, and a little more impulsive, though what harm that could do, Clara wasn’t sure.
Deciding that she was being way too negative about the whole thing, she put the thought out of her mind and concentrated instead on cleaning up the Nook.
Halfway through the afternoon, just as Clara was about to take a ten-minute break, her cell phone rang and her mother’s voice screeched in her ear. “Did you not take this dog out for a walk before you left for work this morning?”
Tatters! Clara slapped a hand over her mouth. She’d completely forgotten about the dog. “Oh, poor thing! Is he all right?”
“He’s perfectly fine. I, on the other hand, am definitely not all right. If you’d seen the mess I had to pick up just now, neither would you be.”
Clara rolled her eyes at the ceiling. “I’m so sorry. I had errands to run this morning and didn’t have time to get back to the house before I had to start work.”
“Well, I refuse to come home to this disgusting mess again. The next time I walk in here and find it like this, I will simply turn around and walk right out again and leave it for you to clean up. If this is the best you can do in taking care of this animal, I suggest you find him a home with someone else.”
Clara gripped the phone. Until then she hadn’t realized how very much she would hate having to find another home for Tatters. “I’m sorry, Mother. I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again, and if it does, I’ll take care of it.”
“You can be quite sure of that.” Her mother paused, then added, “He needs a walk. You can take him when you get home.”
Clara almost groaned out loud. “Er…I’m sorry, but I have to go out tonight. I should be home around ten or so. I don’t suppose you could take him?”
“Are you out of your mind?” Jessie’s voice had risen to a squeak. “If you think I’m going to let that huge beast drag me around the block, you had better think again. He can go when you get home tonight. Where are you going, anyway?”
Clara hesitated a bit too long. Her mother’s angry voice rang in her ear. “All right, don’t tell me. I don’t know why you have to be so secretive about your life. I am your mother, you know.”
“Stephanie and I are taking Molly out for a drink,” Clara said, wondering why everything had to be so complicated. “I won’t be late.”
“Well, why didn’t you say that in the first place?”
“I was going to, but you didn’t give me a chance.”
Jessie answered more quietly, “All right. I’ll take the dog for a walk. Though heaven knows where he’ll drag me.”
Clara had to smile. “You know very well you can control that dog better than I can.”
“If you say so.” Jessie paused again. “Have fun.”
Clara’s smile turned rueful as she closed her cell phone and slipped it in her pocket.
She had to admit to feeling a little unnerved at the prospect of the trip to the tavern. Laurel Street was on the edge of town, and the tavern was notorious for drunken brawls and the occasional arrest. Not the kind of place she’d choose for an evening out. Definitely not the kind of place she should be taking a vulnerable young woman like Molly.
It was too late now, however. The plans
had been set, and she could hardly back out now. Putting her doubts aside, she joined Molly at the counter. “You might as well take off,” she said, glancing at the clock. “Your shift is almost over, and there’s not much going on here.”
Molly wasted no time in grabbing her purse and heading for the door. “See you around eight!” she called out and disappeared into the street.
Left alone, Clara wandered down the aisles, checking the shelves for books that were out of order or otherwise misplaced. She was at the far end of the store when she heard the front doorbell ring. Welcoming the distraction, she hurried to the front of the shop to greet the customer.
Her pulse jumped a little when she saw Rick standing by the cookbook table, his gaze concentrated on the heavy volume in his hands. Immediately reminded of her cousin accusing her of being twittery around him, she made an effort to sound indifferent. “See anything you like?”
He looked up at her, his gray eyes brimming with laughter. “Definitely. This cookbook looks interesting, too.”
Much to her annoyance, she felt her cheeks warm, and she rushed over to the counter, hoping he wouldn’t notice. “It just came in a few days ago. Knowing how much you like to cook, I knew you’d appreciate that book.”
“I see it has a number of recipes from northern Italy.” He turned a couple of pages. “My favorite kind of Italian cooking.”
“There’s a difference?”
He closed the book and walked over to the counter. “A big difference. Northern Italian cuisine doesn’t rely on tomato sauce like the cooking in central and southern Italy does. The northern Italians use chopped herbs in wine or broth for their sauces.”
“Mmm. I think I like it.”
He grinned. “I’ll have to cook a northern Italian meal for you sometime. I still owe you for taking Tatters off my hands. How are things going, by the way? No major catastrophes, I hope?”
Clara closed her mind against the picture of her mother cleaning up after the dog. “Tatters is a sweetheart and he’s behaving like a gentleman.”
A Sinister Sense Page 12
