Mind Over Murder

by Allison Kingsley

“The back door? Can you get out that way?”

  Again she’d have to cross in front of the stairs. How much time would she have before he was flying down them to reach her?

  Her legs trembled at the thought. “No, I . . .” She broke off with a gasp. “He’s coming down. Please hurry!”

  She shoved the phone in her pocket and grabbed the iron again. Okay, it was up to her now. Praying Dan would get there in time, she tiptoed over to the fridge again.

  The iron was heavy, and her hand shook, rattling the water inside it. He’d hear it the moment he came into the kitchen. She tried to steady her hand and prayed for the strength to hit him hard enough.

  He was almost at the kitchen. She could hear his footsteps on the hardwood floor. Raising the iron, she got ready to strike.

  “Steph? Stephanie? Where are you?”

  With a cry she dropped the iron. It crashed to the floor inches from her foot, but she didn’t even notice. She was too busy wrapping her arms around the neck of her surprised husband.

  “George! What are you doing home? I thought . . . I thought . . .” She gulped, then burst into noisy tears.

  George gathered her in his arms, and it felt so comforting she managed to calm her sobs to loud sniffles. “I got off early,” he said, nuzzling her ear. “I thought you might be feeling a bit shaky after what happened this morning, so I asked for the time off.”

  “Why didn’t you call me?” She sniffed and wiped her nose on her sleeve.

  “I figured you’d be lying down since the kids aren’t here. I didn’t want to disturb you.”

  She sniffed again, and pulled out of his arms to find a box of tissues. “I thought you were the killer coming after me.”

  “Oh, honey, I’m sorry—” He broke off and raised his head. “What’s that?”

  Stephanie’s stomach took a nosedive. “What?” A sudden screeching of tires turned her head toward the window.

  “That,” George said, and headed out of the kitchen.

  A car door slammed, and Stephanie heard George open the front door. Then she remembered. “Oh, crap,” she muttered, and hurried out after him just in time to see Dan charging up the driveway, with Tim right behind him.

  Dan pulled up when he saw George, then looked at Stephanie.

  “So, where’s the intruder?”

  George looked down at her, frowning. “Intruder?”

  Stephanie sighed. “Come on in, Dan, and I’ll explain.” Feeling like a complete idiot, she led them into the kitchen.

  “I guess George had a lucky escape,” Dan said, when she finished telling him what happened. He looked across the table at George. “You might wanna wear a hard hat when you come home in future.” There wasn’t so much as a glimmer of a smile on his face, though Tim looked as if he was struggling not to laugh.

  Stephanie puffed out her breath. “Okay, so I overreacted. But I was scared. I had a dead body lying in my stockroom this morning. That’s enough to put anyone’s nerves on edge. By the way, while we’re on the subject, why on earth would you think that Molly had anything to do with it? You know very well she couldn’t have killed Ana.”

  Dan pinched his lips together, and Tim shot him an uneasy glance. “No,” Dan said, in his slow drawl, “I really don’t know that.”

  “There was no sign of a break-in,” Tim put in, “and Molly was the last one in the shop and the only one with a key. She—”

  He broke off as Dan gave him a scathing look.

  “I have a key, too.” Stephanie glared at Dan. “Does that make me a suspect?”

  “You left the store at three. Doc Weinberg says that Ana Jordan died sometime between nine and eleven.”

  “I could have gone back.”

  “But you didn’t,” George said, sounding anxious. “You were here with me and the kids. Why are you trying to incriminate yourself?”

  “I’m just trying to show that it could have been someone else other than Molly.” Stephanie turned back to Dan. “What if someone came into the stockroom and hid in there until Molly left?”

  George answered her before Dan could speak. “That doesn’t explain why Ana was in there.”

  “Maybe he lured her in there. It could happen.”

  Dan sighed. “Anything’s possible, and we’re considering all the options. I’m not saying that Molly meant to kill Ana, but if she did, accident or not, she’s going to answer for it. She’s scared right now, and I can understand that. Sooner or later, if she’s guilty, she’ll own up to it.”

  “And what if she’s not?” Stephanie glared at him.

  “What if someone did intend to kill Ana, and we have a dangerous murderer running around? What about fingerprints? Did you look for those?”

  George laid a hand on her arm. “Honey . . .”

  She ignored him. “There must be fingerprints somewhere in there.”

  “We found plenty. All smudged. Nothing we could use.” Dan nodded at George. “Don’t worry; we’ll get to the truth eventually. We always do.” He got up from the table and gestured to Tim with a jerk of his thumb. “Now we’d best be getting back to the station. Meanwhile, I suggest you stop worrying about it and leave the police business to us.” He nodded at George. “Glad everything’s okay here.”

  “Thanks for coming.” George followed him out of the kitchen. “Sorry for the false alarm.”

  Dan said something Stephanie didn’t catch, but she did hear Tim laugh as they went out the door. Scowling, she went back to the ironing board. They might be laughing at her right now, but if Finn’s Harbor’s killer struck again, that would wipe the silly smiles right off their faces.

  If there was one thing she was certain of, it was that Molly didn’t kill Ana Jordan. That meant that someone else did, and until he was found, they were all in danger.

  “What I don’t understand,” Jessie Quinn said, placing a glass of iced tea on the kitchen table in front of Clara, “is how Ana got into the stockroom without Molly seeing her or the killer. It just doesn’t make sense.”

  “No, it doesn’t.” Clara picked up the glass. “None of it makes sense.”

  “Do you think Molly was lying?”

  “I don’t know.” Clara sipped her tea. “I don’t know Molly well enough to tell. The important thing is that Stephanie believes Molly’s telling the truth.”

  Jessie shook her head. “Why was Ana in the bookstore in the first place? I’d heard she’d sworn never to set foot in there. She called it a den of iniquity, or something like that.” She sat down at the table and took a sip from her glass. “Makes the Raven’s Nest sound like a stripper club or something.”

  Clara smiled. “It’s hardly that. Stephanie said that Ana was afraid the occult books would turn children into demons.”

  Jessie snorted. “Just the kind of thing she would say. We shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, but that woman could poison the mind of a saint. No wonder nobody liked her.”

  “That’s sad.” Clara wiped the condensation from the side of her glass with her thumb. “She must have been a very unhappy person.”

  “Unhappy, perhaps, but that doesn’t excuse some of the spiteful things she’s done.” Jessie put down her glass, rattling the ice inside. “Look at what she did to poor John Halloran. Just about ruined his whole life.”

  Clara frowned. “John Halloran? Isn’t he the guy who owned the candy store?”

  “Yes, the Sweet Spot, right down the street from Jordan’s. It’s the Pizza Parlor now.”

  Clara nodded. “Oh, that’s right. Stephanie and I went there the last time I was home. We met the new owner. Tony something.”

  “Manetas. He’s Greek.” Jessie laughed and lifted a hand to fluff her hair. “Very good looking for his age, and quite the lady’s man, if you want my opinion.”

  Clara eyed her mother’s flushed cheeks with interest. Maybe the mourning period was over after all. “So what did Ana do to John Halloran to ruin his life?”

  “Ah, yes.” Jessie reached for her glass again. “Well
, when John first opened that store, he sold mostly candy. He and Ana were great pals back then. I remember when her father was in the hospital, John used to close up Jordan’s for her so she could visit the old man.”

  “So what happened?”

  “Well, John decided to expand a little. He started with Christmas decorations, then got into gift wrap and greeting cards.”

  “I remember. He sold those really cute cards designed by a local artist.”

  “Yes, well, apparently, those greeting cards were so popular they were cutting into Ana’s sales. She started spreading rumors about John, hinting that he was a child molester or something. His business went down like a popped balloon. He sold the shop, his wife divorced him and took the kids to California. He never sees them. It’s really sad.”

  “But surely people who knew him didn’t believe the rumors? His wife must have known it was all lies?”

  Jessie shrugged. “You know what they say, where there’s smoke . . .”

  Clara stared at her. “You believed it?”

  “At first I did.” Jessie twisted the glass in her hands. “Then Frannie went to work for Ana, and she found out that John lost his business because of Ana’s lies. The word soon got out.”

  “I wonder how Frannie learned about that. I doubt Ana confessed.”

  “Who knows? The important thing was that John could hold up his head again in Finn’s Harbor. Though it was too late to save his business.”

  “Or his marriage, apparently.”

  “Yes, well, that was on shaky ground anyway from what John told me.”

  Clara shook her head. “What a terrible thing to do to someone. Why didn’t he sue Ana for libel?”

  Jessie shrugged. “Maybe he’d had enough of all the finger-pointing and didn’t want to bring it up again. Or maybe he simply couldn’t prove it. I guess something like that would be hard to prove. Whatever. It looks as if the hand of justice stepped in for him now, though, doesn’t it?”

  Clara didn’t answer. She was seeing again the vision of Ana Jordan lying in a pool of blood. The hand of justice, or was it John Halloran’s hand that had finally gotten even?

  “Not a very good start to your new job, I’m afraid.” Jessie lifted her glass again. “I can’t believe something like this would happen in our sleepy little town. Once word of this gets out, it will kill the tourist trade. Not that I’d mind, of course. Tourists can be such a headache, cluttering up the sidewalks and littering the beaches. Not to mention the cars tearing down our streets.”

  “The tourists help to keep this town alive,” Clara reminded her. “Without them, I don’t know if anyone would stay in business.”

  “Well, Stephanie seems to be doing well, I’m happy to say.” Jessie gave her a speculative look. “She’s fortunate you decided to come back here to live. She must be thrilled you’re helping her out in the bookstore.”

  “She knows it’s only temporary, until she finds someone permanent.”

  “I still don’t know why you left New York. I thought you were doing so well there.” Jessie reached for the jug and refilled her glass. “This is such a dinky little town. It must seem like the back of beyond after living in the Big Apple.”

  “It’s peaceful here.” Clara pushed her chair back and picked up her empty glass. “At least, it was, until this morning.”

  “Clara, when are you going to tell me why you really left New York?”

  Clara paused, nerves tightening all the way down her back.

  “I already told you. I got tired of all the hassles. I missed home. I missed my family. I’d had enough of big-city life.”

  “I know what you told me.” Jessie got up and carried her glass and the jug over to the counter. “I just can’t help thinking there’s a lot you’re not telling me.”

  Clara walked over to join her at the sink. “Quit worrying, Mom. I’m not a kid anymore. I’m a grown woman. I know what I’m doing, and right now I’m doing what I want to do. I’m happy to be home. Can’t we just leave it at that?”

  Jessie looked disappointed, but she put down the jug and patted Clara’s arm. “Oh, very well. I suppose you’ll tell me eventually. As a matter of fact, I never did understand why you left here in the first place. One of these days you’ll have to satisfy my curiosity on that, too.”

  That, Clara thought, as she opened the dishwasher, was never going to happen. No one would ever know that she’d inherited the Quinn Sense. No one except Stephanie, anyway. And even Stephanie didn’t know the real reason she’d left New York. That was something else she intended to keep to herself.

  Shutting down the painful memories, she placed the glass on the rack and closed the dishwasher.

  4

  Clara arrived at the Raven’s Nest shortly before noon the next day. The yellow tape and the notice had been taken down, and the store seemed crowded with teens and parents taking advantage of the back-to-school sale.

  Clara was relieved to see Molly standing behind the counter, ringing up a purchase for a couple of young customers. She looked up without her usual smile as Clara approached. “Steph’s in the back,” she said, jerking her head in that direction. “Talking to Mrs. Riley.” She handed the bag of books over to the giggling girls and waited for them to leave before adding, “She didn’t want me helping her. Can you believe that?”

  Clara raised her eyebrows. “Stephanie?”

  Molly rolled her eyes. “No, Mrs. Riley. She said she’d feel more comfortable if Steph found her a book. I guess she thinks I killed Ana, and now she’s afraid of me.”

  “That’s nonsense.” Clara walked behind the counter and stashed her purse on a shelf. “Dan would never have let you go if he thought you were a murderer.”

  “That’s just it.” Molly turned mournful green eyes on her. “He does think I did it. He just can’t prove it.”

  “Did he say that?”

  Molly picked up a stack of bookmarks and started loading them into a wooden holder. “Someone told him I threatened Ana that morning.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “He said that I was the last one to leave the store and the only one with a key. There was no sign of a break-in. He thinks Ana was mad at Stephanie and came into the store meaning to cause damage or something and that I tried to stop her.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “It’s what everyone else is thinking, too. The whole town believes I murdered Ana.”

  “Of course they don’t.” Clara put an arm about Molly’s shoulders and gave her a hug. “We know you didn’t do it, and anyone who knows you will know it, too.”

  “A lot of people heard me yelling at her yesterday.”

  “That doesn’t mean you killed her.”

  Molly’s eyes filled with tears. “I didn’t like her, Clara, but I’d never want her dead. I didn’t kill her, I swear it.”

  The words seemed to fill Clara’s mind, swirling around and settling down like snowflakes tossed by the wind. The voice in her head whispered, soft and insistent. She shut it down, refusing to listen. “I know you didn’t,” she said, squeezing Molly’s shoulders again before letting her go. “And so will everyone else.”

  As if to contradict her, Mrs. Riley’s voice rang out loud and clear as she walked up the aisle with Stephanie. “I’m not giving my credit card to that young woman. I just don’t trust her.”

  “I’ll see to it,” Stephanie said, and hurried up to the counter. “Molly, would you please stock the cookbook shelves for me? There’s some boxes that came in last week. I left them under the table over there.”

  Molly gave Clara a look that clearly said, I told you so, and hurried off.

  Clara smiled at the elderly woman as she reached the counter. “I’ll take that for you,” she said, holding out her hand.

  The woman scowled at her. “Who are you?”

  “This is my cousin, Clara Quinn.” Stephanie hurried around the counter. “You must remember her. She went to New York to live, but she’s back now.” She looke
d at Clara. “You remember Mrs. Riley, don’t you?”

  Clara exchanged a meaningful glance with her. She remembered the woman all right. The town gossip. If you wanted to dig up dirt on people in town, you asked Mrs. Riley. “Of course,” she said, still smiling. “It’s nice to see you again, Mrs. Riley.”

  “Do I know you?” Mrs. Riley peered closer. “Oh, yes, now I see. You look older.” She ran a critical glance over Clara. “Lost weight, too. You must have been starving in New York City.”

  Clara held on to her smile. “May I take your card?”

  Mrs. Riley handed over her card, and Clara rang up the purchase. After slipping the book into a bag, she held it out to the impatient woman.

  Mrs. Riley practically snatched it out of her hand. “Thank you, and if you want my advice, you’ll get rid of that nasty-tempered witch before she does something dreadful to someone else.” She marched off, sticking her nose in the air as she passed Molly on her way out.

  “What did I tell you?” Stephanie demanded, her voice low and fierce. “Everyone thinks Molly killed Ana. We have to find out who really did it. Dan’s convinced it was Molly; he’s not even going to look for anyone else. She needs us, Clara! She needs the Quinn Sense!”

  Clara winced. This was exactly what she’d been afraid of—being forced to deal with the dratted curse again. All her life she’d been unable to say no to her cousin, even when she knew it would end badly. This time certainly seemed to be no exception.

  Stephanie’s pleading eyes, however, were impossible to ignore. “All right. We’ll look into it, though I don’t know what we can do that Dan can’t. You do know that messing in police business, especially murder, can get us in a whole lot of trouble?”

  Stephanie’s smile wavered on her face. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

  “Maybe not,” Clara said grimly, “but this could be real trouble. The kind where you get hurt. Or worse.”

  Stephanie looked across the room to where Molly stood, head down, her face hidden by her hair. “If it will help to clear Molly’s name, it’ll be worth the risk.”

  “What about George? What will he say when he finds out you’re hunting down a killer?”