A Sinister Sense

by Allison Kingsley

  “I can!” Molly looked excited. “Let me ask Jake about the fight. Rosie won’t notice me. She’s not looking over here anymore. She’s busy talking to those guys at the bar.”

  Clara glanced over to the table by the door. Jake was still there, talking to the other couple seated with him. His girlfriend, it seemed, had left the table. “I guess Vera’s in the bathroom.”

  Stephanie frowned. “Who’s Vera?”

  “Jake’s girlfriend.” Clara nodded at the table.

  “Well, now, here’s your chance!” Stephanie jabbed her with her elbow. “Go talk to the girlfriend in the bathroom. She’ll probably tell you more than that brute over there, and Rosie won’t see you asking questions.”

  Clara looked at her. “Why don’t you go?”

  “Because you’re better at this than me. I’m the ideas person, remember?”

  Clara pushed her chair back and got up. “I don’t know why I listen to you.”

  “Because you know I’m right.”

  “Then why are we always getting into trouble?”

  Stephanie grinned. “Because we like a little excitement in our life.”

  Shaking her head, Clara headed for the ladies’ room. She found a “Women” sign on a door at the end of a long hallway and pushed it open.

  Vera stood at the sink, peering into the mirror as she tweaked her spiky blonde hair. Her bare arms looked like sticks, and her orange tank top hung on her skinny frame. With the dark circles under her eyes and sunken cheeks, she looked like a refugee from a prison camp.

  When Clara walked over to the sink next to her, she could smell nicotine on the woman’s clothes. Turning on the faucet, she began washing her hands. She saw Vera’s puzzled glance in the mirror and smiled at her. “Can’t be too careful,” she said cheerfully, lathering the liquid soap until it formed bubbles.

  Vera’s mouth twitched in a resemblance of a smile, and she turned to leave.

  Clara stepped back at the same time and bumped into her. “Oh, excuse me!” She peered into Vera’s face. “Didn’t I see you in here the other night? The night of the big fight?”

  Vera’s face turned white under her makeup, and her eyes grew wide. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Yes, you do.” Clara moved closer. She was several inches taller than the other woman and once again blessed her height. It helped to give her some authority. “I’m talking about the fight between your boyfriend Jake and Frank Tomeski.”

  Vera backed up against the wall. There was genuine fear on her face, and Clara felt terrible about intimidating the poor woman. She was about to apologize when Vera blurted out, “If you think my Jake killed that man you’re dead wrong. The cops already talked to him, and I told them Jake was with me the night that guy got killed—all that night. We went straight home from here, and we never went out again until the next morning.”

  Clara puffed out her breath. “Okay, I’m sorry I—”

  “If you wanna know, ask the dead guy’s girlfriend. She’s a real mean bitch, and with a temper like hers it wouldn’t surprise me if she’d clobbered him.” With that, Vera pushed past her and rushed out the door.

  Clara’s hands shook as she dried them on a paper towel. She’d never been very good at asserting herself, and bullying definitely wasn’t her style. Vera had seemed scared to death, though maybe part of her fear stemmed from her relationship with her boyfriend. Even so, Clara felt guilty. This investigative work was a lot harder than it seemed.

  She left the bathroom and headed back to her table. On the way she saw Vera talking earnestly to Jake and nodding in her direction. Sensing trouble, Clara hurried over to her table and grasped Stephanie’s arm. “Come on,” she said, jerking her head at Molly. “We’re leaving.”

  “I haven’t finished my beer,” Molly complained.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Clara saw Jake standing up. “Let’s get out of here. Now!” She tugged so hard Stephanie let out a yelp of pain.

  Both women stood, but by then, Jake was heading in their direction.

  “Now what?” Clara muttered.

  Stephanie uttered a soft, “Oh crap,” while Molly simply looked scared.

  Clara squared her shoulders. “I’ll handle this. Just let me do the talking.”

  She sat down again and signaled the others to do the same. It seemed less provoking somehow.

  Jake looked even bigger as he loomed over her. His face was set in stone, and the look in his eyes sent a shiver of fear down her spine. “My girlfriend said you were asking her questions about the fight the other night.”

  She tried to smile, but her mouth seemed to be frozen. “I…was just making conversation.”

  He leaned in closer until she could smell the beer on his breath. “That’s not the way I heard it.”

  Before she could answer him, Molly jumped up and rushed around the table. “I know you,” she said, her voice rising in excitement. “You’re that new rapper I saw on that TV talent show!”

  Jake straightened, confusion all over his face. “What? Lady, I think you’ve got me—”

  Molly didn’t let him finish. “You were so good! I just knew you were going to win. Can I please have your autograph?”

  Jake shook his head. “Listen, I’m not—”

  She tugged at his sleeve. “Oh, please? I’d just die if you don’t give it to me!” She snatched up the menu off the table. “Here, you can sign this.” She turned to Clara, who was still trying to figure out what was going on. “He’s an awesome rapper. You’ve just got to hear him.”

  Jake took a step backward. “I’m trying to tell you, lady, I’m not—”

  Molly leapt toward him. “Oh, please, do one for us now! The one you did on stage. We’d just love to hear it again, wouldn’t we, girls?”

  Stephanie nodded.

  “Love to,” Clara managed weakly.

  Molly turned to the next table, where a group of young women were all watching Jake with great interest. “You should hear this guy. He’s phenomenal!” She spun around to face Jake again. “Come on, mister! We’re all waiting, aren’t we?”

  The women nodded and one of them started clapping. Molly joined in and several other people started applauding.

  Clara felt an urge to laugh as Jake’s face turned red. He muttered something under his breath and glared at Molly. “Get out of my way, you crazy nutcase.”

  Molly quickly shifted to one side, and Jake took off, head bowed as the applause followed him all the way to his table.

  “Let’s go,” Clara said, snatching a couple of bills from her purse. She dropped them on the table and headed for the door, followed closely by Stephanie and Molly.

  Once outside, she leaned against the door of her car and let out her breath. “That was a close one.”

  Stephanie tucked her arm in Molly’s. “That was fantastic. Whatever made you think of that?”

  Molly shrugged. “I saw someone do it in a TV movie. I thought it was worth a shot.”

  “Well, it worked, thank goodness.” Stephanie looked at her cousin. “Whatever did you say to that woman in the bathroom?”

  Clara shook her head. “Nothing much. Actually she did all the talking. She said that Jake was with her the night Frank Tomeski was killed.”

  “And you believe her?”

  Clara pursed her lips. “I don’t know. I don’t know who to believe anymore. Everyone we talk to seems to have a reason to be mad at Frank Tomeski, but I don’t know if any of it was enough to kill him.”

  “Maybe whoever attacked him didn’t mean to kill him,” Molly said, sounding subdued. “Maybe he or she just wanted to teach him a lesson and it got out of hand.”

  “That could be,” Stephanie agreed. “The killer probably panicked and threw the body in the closest hiding place—Rick’s truck.”

  “Well, whoever it was, it doesn’t look as if we’re going to find him. Or her.” Clara looked gloomily down the street. “We suck at this.”

  Stephanie patte
d her arm. “No we don’t. If Dan can’t find out who the killer is, what chance do we have? You’ve done your best, Clara. I guess we just have to leave it up to the police to solve the case.”

  “Meanwhile, Rick is under suspicion everywhere he goes.” Clara shook her head. “I can’t leave it like this. I just can’t. I have to keep trying.”

  “We’ve run out of people to ask,” Stephanie said, her face serious under the streetlamp. “If one of the people we’ve already questioned did it, I don’t see how we can prove anything.”

  “We haven’t talked to Stella Wilkins yet.” Clara saw Stephanie’s frown and added, “Frank Tomeski’s girlfriend.”

  “Oh, right.” Stephanie laid a hand on her arm. “You’re not going to Portland to find her, are you? Why don’t you just tell Dan her name and let him question her?”

  “I don’t know if Dan can question her if she’s out of his jurisdiction.”

  “Then let Dan worry about that. There must be some way he can get to her.”

  Clara rubbed her eyes. “I have to get home. Tatters is probably locked up in the utility room by now and making all kinds of noise. I’ll worry about all this in the morning.”

  Stephanie still looked concerned. “Promise you won’t do anything rash without talking to me first?”

  Clara smiled. “I’m not exactly a rash person, remember?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. You’ve had your moments.” She turned to Molly. “Did I ever tell you about the time—”

  “I’m going home,” Clara said firmly and opened the car door. “And if you don’t want Jake to come storming out here after you, I suggest you both do the same.”

  Molly sent a fearful glance at the tavern door. “You’re right. See you in the morning!”

  She started toward the edge of the building, and Stephanie called out after her. “Wait for me! We parked in the back,” she added as Clara climbed into her car.

  “Then be careful.” Clara fastened her seat belt. “Don’t hang around back there.”

  Stephanie nodded and took off after Molly. Puffing out her breath, Clara turned the key and started the engine. They had spent the entire day and evening asking questions, and in spite of what they’d learned, they were no closer to figuring out who had killed Frank Tomeski. It was frustrating, to say the least.

  Driving down the highway, she went over in her mind everything she’d heard that day. There had to be a clue somewhere in all that, but for the life of her she couldn’t think what it might be. Maybe tomorrow, after a good night’s sleep, she’d be able to see things more clearly.

  What bothered her the most was knowing she was letting Rick down. If she couldn’t figure out what happened that night, he could well end up in jail for a crime he didn’t commit. She just couldn’t let that happen.

  Arriving home a few minutes later, Clara was relieved to hear nothing but silence as she let herself in the house. It seemed that Tatters had accepted his banishment to the utility room at night and had settled down in there. She resisted the temptation to open the door and take a look. Much as she would have loved to see him, disturbing him would only unsettle him and probably wake up her mother. She wasn’t in the mood to deal with Jessie’s complaints tonight.

  After switching on the kitchen TV, she poured a mug of coffee and sat down at the table to watch the news. To her relief, no mention was made of Frank Tomeski’s murder. Apparently it was now old news, and the dismal state of the economy and its effect on the town had taken its place.

  Carson Dexter’s stern face once more filled the screen. He complained bitterly about the lack of tourists and urged everyone to do their part to help bring more visitors to Finn’s Harbor. “We need everyone to get involved,” he declared, shaking his fist at the camera. “We need to put our little town on the map. Get on the social websites, tell everyone what a gorgeous, friendly, entertaining town we live in, and describe everything we have to offer. We are proud of our community and rightly so, and we need to tell the world!”

  Clara rolled her eyes at the TV and stabbed the off button on the remote. Yawning, she rinsed her cup in the sink and dropped it in the dishwasher. A good night’s sleep, that’s what she needed, and with Tatters in the utility room, maybe tonight she’d get one.

  Quietly she tiptoed down the hallway and opened her bedroom door. A low Woof! greeted her. Turning on the light, she saw Tatters sprawled on her bed, his tail thumping the pillow.

  Clara muttered a word her mother would not approve of as she closed the door. Crossing the room to the bed, she whispered, “You’re supposed to be in the utility room.”

  Tatters rolled over onto his back and waved his legs in the air.

  Clara groaned, then got undressed, her hopes for a restful night disappearing. Settling down as best she could with a big hairy head on the pillow next to her, she drew the covers over her shoulders and closed her eyes. Almost immediately the tingling sensation began to creep over her. A vision slowly formed in her mind, shadowy at first, like a gray fog being swirled around by the wind. As the shadows disappeared she saw a black Suburban careening across a dark parking lot, narrowly missing a streetlamp as it charged out onto the road. Tires squealing, it spun around in a sharp turn and disappeared into the night.

  Catching her breath, Clara sat up and switched on the bedside lamp. She had no doubt in her mind that it was the SUV Buzz had mentioned, something she had forgotten about until now. She’d dismissed it at the time, thinking it unimportant. Apparently the Sense was telling her otherwise.

  She lay back down, wishing she could have seen the license plate. Had the vehicle belonged to the killer? If so, it would be tough to track down. There had to be dozens of black Suburbans driving around Finn’s Harbor. Worse, if the killer was from out of town, he or she had probably left by now.

  Clara frowned, wondering if there was a way she could find out if Stella Wilkins owned a black Suburban. Maybe she should talk to the motel manager again. He might have seen the car Stella was driving. Or maybe someone at the tavern saw her getting in or out of her car.

  Not that she wanted to go back to the Laurel Street Tavern. In fact, the thought of a second visit turned her stomach.

  She drew the covers up to her ears and tried to ignore Tatters’ snoring.

  To her surprise, she slept fairly well, all things considered, and woke up to hear her mother moving around in the kitchen. Tatters was awake, staring at her with expectant eyes. “I suppose you need to go outside,” she said, sitting up.

  Tatters leapt from the bed and padded over to the door. Sighing, Clara pulled on a robe and opened the door for him. At least this morning, she told herself, she had time to take him for a walk.

  Her mother had just sat down with a bowl of cereal when Clara wandered into the kitchen. “You were late last night,” she said, her tone mildly disapproving.

  Clara wondered what her mother would say if she knew her daughter had spent the evening at the Laurel Street Tavern. “I didn’t get there until eight thirty,” she said, slipping two slices of bread into the toaster. She frowned at her mother. “You left Tatters in my room last night.”

  Jessie rolled her eyes. “I tried leaving him in the utility room. He howled like a banshee. I was afraid the neighbors would complain, so I shoved him into your room. He settled down right away.”

  “Well, why wouldn’t he?” Clara poured a mug of coffee. “He had a nice, soft, cozy queen-size bed to sleep on. Incidentally, he takes up most of the room and hogs all of the covers. Not to mention his snoring.”

  Jessie gave her a condescending smile. “I told you it was a mistake bringing that animal home here.”

  Instantly regretting her lapse, Clara sought to change the subject. “I saw the mayor on TV again last night. He’s worried about the lack of tourists in town. Have you noticed there’s less people here than usual this summer?”

  Jessie shook her head. “If you ask me, Carson Dexter is grabbing every chance he can to put his face on the television s
creen. He wants to be as visible as possible. I think he’s planning to announce he’s running for governor in the next election. He’s ambitious, our mayor. He won’t stop until he has a seat in the Senate.”

  Clara munched on a piece of toast. “Would you vote for him?”

  Jessie shrugged. “I guess it would depend on who else is running. I’ve got nothing against Carson. He’s a good mayor, and I think he’s genuinely fond of the town. Of course, it’s his wife’s hometown, so he has to be loyal to it. If it wasn’t for his wife, he wouldn’t be where he is today. It’s her money that’s paying for his ambitions.”

  “Then he’s lucky to have her.” Clara reached for her coffee. “Personally I think he’s just a tad too aggressive. He’s going to bulldoze through everything and heaven help anyone who gets in his way.”

  Jessie smiled. “You just described the average politician.”

  Clara got up and took her plate and mug to the sink. “Well, I don’t have much time for politicians, period.”

  “You’re just prejudiced because Carson wants Rick Sanders arrested for murder.”

  “Maybe.” Clara rinsed her mug and put it in the dishwasher. “But I can’t respect anyone who uses his authority to ruin an innocent person’s reputation.”

  “He’s not the only one who thinks Rick is guilty.” Jessie got up from the table and joined her at the sink. “Dan only let Rick go because he didn’t have enough evidence to hold him.”

  Clara turned on her. “That’s because there is no evidence against him. I keep telling you, Rick didn’t kill that man.”

  “Then why was the body found in Rick’s truck?”

  “Anyone could have put it there.”

  “Why? Why not just leave the body lying on the ground?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know any of the answers. I wish I did. I just know that Rick is innocent.”

  Jessie’s face softened. “All right, honey. Just don’t let your personal feelings get in the way of your common sense, okay?”

  “Don’t worry. I won’t.” Clara dried her hands on a paper towel, squashing the urge to tell her mother that the Quinn Sense had convinced her of Rick’s innocence. She had kept her secret for so long, hoping that by doing so she could ignore its presence and perhaps get rid of it altogether. Instead she had spent most of her life fighting it when it was there and cursing it when it wasn’t.