Clara stared at the words on the screen. It was all very interesting, but she didn’t really see how any of it connected to Frank Tomeski’s murder.
Without warning the familiar sensation swept over her. She tensed, waiting for the voice to tell her what she needed to know. Time. It’s all a matter of time.
She sat up, frowning in frustration. “What the heck does that mean?”
Lying on the bed, Tatters raised his head and whined.
“It’s okay, boy. We’ll go in a minute.”
The dog lowered his nose to his paws and kept his gaze on her.
Ignoring him, Clara gazed at the article again. As she did so, the words on the screen faded, to be replaced by a scene of a darkened parking lot. Two men struggling in the shadows. One dragging the other across the ground. Then a black SUV careening across the parking spaces and narrowly missing the fence as it plunged into the street.
Clara blinked and found herself once more staring at the words of the article. If only she’d been able to see the faces of the men. Or even the license plate of the SUV.
The memory of the mayor stepping out of a red Ferrari snapped into her mind. Was the Sense trying to tell her she was on the wrong track? Then what was all that about it being a matter of time?
Losing patience, she clicked off-line and stood up. Tatters was at the door before she’d taken a step. “Okay, boy.” She opened the door, and he shot down the hallway. He halted at the front door and stood looking at her, ears back and tail wagging furiously.
“Wait a minute,” she told him. “I have to get your leash.”
The light was still on in the living room, though the TV had been turned off. Jessie was in the kitchen, rinsing out the coffeepot. She looked up as Clara walked in. “Oh, I thought you’d gone to bed.”
“No, I’m going to take the dog for a walk first.” Clara glanced around the kitchen. “Where’s the leash?”
“I left it on the TV. The news was on when I came in from taking the dog for a walk. Carson Dexter was on there, still complaining about Dan and his police department. He’s not happy that there’s been no arrest in the murder case.”
Clara grunted in reply.
Jessie frowned at her. “Still convinced that your hardware man didn’t do it?”
“He’s not my hardware man, and yes, I’m still convinced. What’s more, I think it’s disgusting the way the mayor rolls around town, accusing innocent people without any justification whatsoever. I know what I’d like to do with his red Ferrari.”
Jessie raised her eyebrows. “My, we are belligerent tonight. What has Carson done to upset you?”
“Nothing, except try to put an innocent man in jail.” Clara headed out into the living room.
Jessie followed her. “By the way, that red Ferrari doesn’t belong to Carson. It’s his wife’s car. He borrows it now and then when she’s out of town. I’ve often wondered if she knows he’s driving it. According to what I hear, she’s terribly possessive about her belongings.”
Clara stopped short. “If it’s not the mayor’s car, then what does he drive?”
She really didn’t need to hear the answer. She already knew.
“Oh, haven’t you seen him driving around in it?” Jessie picked up the dog’s leash and handed it to her. “Carson drives a black Suburban.”
Clara had walked all the way down to the harbor before the message sent by the Quinn Sense became clear. She could hardly wait to get back to the house, and poor Tatters had his walk cut short as she hurried back to her computer.
She read the articles again carefully and checked the dates they were written. Then she pulled up the website of the Harbor Chronicle. It took a while but she eventually found what she was looking for: an article about Melinda Wingate Dexter returning to her hometown and buying back the family mansion that her father had sold years earlier.
Carson had told the reporter that he had suggested the move back to his wife’s hometown because of their concerns about a healthy environment for their children. The air was so much cleaner in Finn’s Harbor, Carson had maintained, and the lifestyle so much more beneficial to their well-being.
Once more Clara checked the dates, then sat back on her chair, heart thumping. Amy Tomeski had killed herself one week after Carson Dexter had left town. Buzz Lamont had e-mailed Frank Tomeski after recognizing the mayor as having worked at the same company where Amy had worked.
Could it be that Carson was the father of Amy’s unborn baby? Had Frank found out where Carson was, five years after Amy’s death, and come to Finn’s Harbor seeking revenge? Could Carson Dexter have killed Frank in self-defense? If so, why hadn’t he simply gone to Dan and explained everything?
The memory of words spoken by Buzz Lamont clicked into her mind. 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.
Of course. Carson Dexter would probably lose everything, including his ambitions for the governor’s office and the Senate, if his wife and the residents of Finn’s Harbor found out he’d had an affair with Amy Tomeski.
Clara got up. She had to talk to Rick again. Maybe it wasn’t too late to call him. She picked up her cell phone and began punching in numbers. Before she hit the last one, however, she snapped her phone shut.
She couldn’t get his hopes up yet. Although her theory neatly linked together everything she had discovered, she still had no way of proving it. She could go to Dan with all the facts, but was it enough to convince the chief of police that his mayor, and close friend, was a murderer? It seemed highly unlikely.
She wanted to call Stephanie to test her theory, but it was getting late. It would just have to wait until tomorrow.
She slept late and awoke to the sound of her cell phone jingling. Yawning, she reached for it and snapped it open.
Stephanie’s voice answered her. “Were you asleep? It’s almost nine thirty.”
“I was up late.” Clara yawned again. “What’s up? Everything okay at the store?”
“Yes, everything’s fine.”
“What is it, Steffie? Are you all right?” Alerted by the odd tone of her cousin’s voice, Clara struggled to sit up, dislodging Tatters, who was lying on her feet. He huffed out his breath and settled down again at the bottom of the bed.
Stephanie cleared her throat. “Clara, I wanted to tell you before you heard it on the news. Rick has been arrested. They found his DNA in a bloodstain on Frank Tomeski’s clothing.”
Clara clutched the phone so hard her knuckles turned white. “I don’t believe it. There has to be some explanation.”
“I’m sorry, Clara. I know—”
“No! I won’t believe it. I’ve got to go. I’ll talk to you later.” She snapped the phone shut and swung her legs off the side of the bed. Grabbing her robe, she headed for the living room. Jessie had already left for work, and the smell of coffee brewing in the kitchen drew Clara in there.
Propped up in front of her coffee mug was a note from her mother saying she was going out to dinner with a friend after work and would be home late. Clara wondered briefly if her mother was going on a date, but her worries about Rick chased away any thoughts about Jessie’s love life.
She turned on the TV and poured a mug of coffee, bringing it back to the table to sit down. Scrolling through the channels, she found one showing the news, but it was national news, and after a few moments she turned it off.
The coffee burned her throat, but she kept drinking, needing the jolt of caffeine to clear her mind. Rick arrested. It didn’t make sense. Why would he kill a complete stranger?
He didn’t, of course. She was almost certain that Carson Dexter had killed Frank Tomeski, probably in self-defense. It would certainly explain his frantic efforts to get Rick arrested for the crime. With Rick in jail, Carson was free and clear.
How the devil was she going to prove it? She had nothing to go on, except for Buzz Lamont almost being run over by a black Suburban, and her own visions that no on
e in their right mind would take seriously.
Well, maybe her family, but they weren’t the police, and Dan Petersen dealt in facts, not weird fantasies and whispering voices. Clara buried her face in her hands. What was she going to do? How could she save Rick from being imprisoned for something he didn’t do?
No matter how hard she concentrated, no voices answered her. No visions appeared in her mind. Nothing.
Frustrated beyond belief, she picked up the newspaper that Jessie had left on the table and threw it across the room. Damn the Quinn Sense. For all it was worth, she’d be better off without it. Much better off.
Just as Clara reached the bookstore later that morning, Stephanie flew out the door. “I’ve got to get groceries,” she said, “and the kids are waiting for me to pick them up. Molly’s got her hands full in the Nook, and there are a couple of customers in the aisles—”
“Don’t worry, I’ve got it.” Clara opened the door. “Can you come over to my house tonight? My mother won’t be home and we need to talk.”
“Sure! George will be home so I can leave the kids with him.” Stephanie paused to peer up at Clara’s face. “Are you all right?”
Clara nodded. “Don’t worry about me. Get going yourself.”
Stephanie hovered a moment longer, then with a wave, dashed down the street.
Feeling a sense of impending doom, Clara walked into the bookstore.
She was busy most of the day, which was a good thing, as it helped keep her mind off her troubles. She had about an hour left to go when Roberta Prince walked into the store, pretending to be interested in a display of a bestselling fantasy novel.
Since Clara knew for a fact that Roberta didn’t read fantasy, or much fiction at all come to that, it was pretty obvious that the woman was there to talk about Rick.
It didn’t take long for her theory to be proven correct.
“I suppose you know Rick has been arrested,” Roberta said, running a finger along the counter as if she were testing for dust. “They found his DNA on the murdered guy.”
“So I heard.” Clara pretended to sort through the day’s receipts, hoping that Roberta would take the hint and leave.
“I guess he’ll be charged with the murder.”
Clara bit her lip to keep quiet.
Roberta waited for several seconds for Clara to answer, then blurted out, “I don’t know what I ever saw in that man. To think I actually bought the stupid stationer’s so I could be close to a murderer. I should have known. I always thought there was something creepy about him.”
Clara could keep silent no longer. “You wanted to marry him,” she said, striving to keep her voice low. “You didn’t think he was so creepy a week ago.”
Roberta shrugged. “Just goes to show you can never tell what someone is really like. Thank God we found out before one of us did something really stupid.”
“Like what?”
“Like falling in love with him or something.” Roberta stalked to the door. “I always thought you might be interested in him.”
“He’s a good friend.” Clara dropped the receipts and walked out from behind the counter. “Not that it’s any of your business. I will tell you something, however. I don’t care what the police say, Rick didn’t kill that man. I believe in him, as do many other people, and when this is all over and the cops find out the truth, Rick is going to know who his friends are and who stood by him when he was in trouble. I guess that won’t be you.”
Roberta sniffed. “I’m surprised at you, Clara. I thought you had more intelligence and common sense than that. I feel sorry for you.” She opened the door and marched outside.
Clara had a childish urge to stick out her tongue. Instead she stomped down the aisle to the Nook and poured herself a cup of coffee. In spite of what she’d said to Roberta, she had the uncomfortable feeling that most of the people in town would feel as Roberta did.
Some of them had already condemned Rick, and this would only reinforce their convictions. Many more would follow in their footsteps, if she didn’t do something to prove that Mayor Carson Dexter was the one the police should have in custody.
She arrived home that evening to find Tatters once more locked up in the utility room. He showed his appreciation for being freed by leaping up at her in an attempt to lick her face. His enthusiasm quite literally bowled her over, and she landed on her back in the hallway.
It reminded her of when Roberta landed in a heap on the street, and being reminded of Roberta did not put her in the best of moods. She yelled at the dog, who slunk away with his tail between his legs. Instantly regretting taking out her annoyance on Tatters, she went after him and found him curled up on her bed. It took a few minutes of soothing words and constant petting before he finally lifted his head and licked her face.
“I’m sorry, boy,” she said, cuddling an arm around his neck. “You were so happy to see me, and I didn’t mean to be such a grouch. How about we share a sandwich to make up for it?”
Tatters’ ears pricked up, and he leapt from the bed, tail swishing back and forth. He followed her across the living room and into the kitchen, and stood close to her while she spread mayonnaise on bread and stuffed ham and cheese between the slices.
After opening a jar of pickles, she fished out a couple and added them to the plate. “That’s good enough,” she muttered, and Tatters whined in response.
She had just finished eating and was cleaning up the kitchen when the doorbell rang, making Tatters bark. He rushed over to the front door and stood there, waiting expectantly with quivering ears as Clara opened the door.
Stephanie stepped forward and then halted as Tatters uttered a low growl. “Wow,” she murmured. “Good watchdog.”
“It’s all right, boy.” Clara smoothed the ruffled hair on the back of the dog’s neck. “She’s family.”
Tatters stopped growling and started wagging his tail instead.
“Impressive.” Stephanie stepped into the hallway and closed the door. “He understood what you said.”
Clara smiled. “Tatters, this is my cousin, Stephanie. Steffie, meet Tatters.”
Tatters sat down and offered his paw.
Stephanie gaped, and even Clara felt a jolt of surprise. “You’d better shake it,” she said, “or you’ll offend him.”
Stephanie gingerly grasped the paw and gave it a little shake. “Pleased to meet you.”
Tatters yawned, got up and strolled back into the living room.
“He gets bored easily,” Clara said, watching her cousin’s eyebrows rise.
“I guess so.” Grinning, Stephanie followed the dog into the living room.
“You want a cup of coffee?” Clara crossed the room to the kitchen.
“What, no wine?”
“I was hoping you’d say that.” She opened the fridge and took out a bottle. “I just happen to have a bottle of chardonnay on hand.”
“Good.” Stephanie walked over to the table and sat down. “So, how are you holding up?”
“Not bad, all things considered.” Clara pulled out the cork with a loud pop that made Tatters jump.
Stephanie watched him in amusement. “You were right. He’s a big dog.”
“Tell me about it. You want to try sleeping with him.”
“No, thanks. I have enough trouble fighting George for the covers.” Stephanie held out her hand to the dog and received a wet lick. “How does Aunt Jessie get along with him?”
“She adores him, though she’d be the last one to admit it.” Clara brought two wineglasses to the table and sat down. “She keeps threatening to ban him from the house, but I know she’d be devastated if anything happened to him. I think she enjoys the company. She’s been lonely since Dad died.”
“Oh, I thought she was going out with Tony Manetas.”
Clara rolled her eyes. “Bite your tongue. I wouldn’t want that man for a stepfather.”
Stephanie laughed. “He’s harmless. Just obvious, that’s all. Besides, I can’t see Aunt
Jessie allowing anyone to get the better of her.” She took a sip of wine and nodded her appreciation. “Do you think she’ll ever get married again?”
Clara felt a stab of apprehension. “I don’t know. I don’t want her to be lonely, but I’d hate to see her tied to someone who might make her unhappy.”
“What about you? Don’t you want to get married?”
Clara frowned. “When did this get to be about me? What kind of question is that?”
Stephanie gazed at her over the rim of her glass. “You’re not getting any younger, you know.”
“Thanks. I’m only thirty-one. Not exactly ancient.”
“Like I said before, I just don’t want you to let one bad experience put you off ever getting married.”
“I’ll bear that in mind.”
Obviously realizing that she was pushing the wrong buttons, Stephanie put down her glass. “All right, tell me why you wanted me to come over tonight.”
Thankful for the change in subject, Clara told her everything she’d learned from her research on the computer.
When she was done, she sat back, anxiously waiting for her cousin’s reaction.
“Wow,” Stephanie said, her eyes wide with shock. “It does look like Carson Dexter could be the killer.” She paused, apparently thinking it over. “But the mayor, Clara. How are we ever going to convince Dan of that?”
“I was hoping you’d come up with one of your brilliant ideas.”
“You always say my ideas get us into trouble.”
“Well, now and then you come up with a good one. I—” She broke off as Tatters uttered a menacing growl. “What is it, boy?”
Tatters got up, ears quivering and tail standing straight up like a banner.
“Yoo-hoo! I’m home!”
Clara rolled her eyes as Jessie’s voice rang out from the hallway.
Tatters barked in excitement and tore out of the kitchen.
A Sinister Sense Page 17
