She drove along the coast road, watching the frothy waves turn to silver in the moonlight. No, she’d done the right thing. No more involvements. At least, not for a long time. Long enough for her to forget everything that had happened in New York. Long enough to let go of the past. Until she could do that, she wasn’t ready to trust her heart again.
6
Roberta Prince arrived in town the following day. Clara caught sight of her as she strode past the window of the Raven’s Nest that afternoon. Stephanie had just left for the day, and Clara was rearranging the window display when the tall blonde passed by.
Frannie was right, Clara thought, as she watched the woman stoop to open the door of Jordan’s Stationer’s. Roberta Prince did look as if she’d just leapt off the cover of a magazine.
The doorbell rang just then, and she pulled back to greet the customer. To her intense embarrassment, it was Rick Sanders, and he didn’t look too happy.
“Is Stephanie here?” he asked, looking around as if he expected to see her pop out from one of the aisles.
“No, she left.” Clara did her best to smile as she made her way back to the counter. “Is there something I can do for you?”
“No . . . Yes . . . No. Thanks.” Rick turned back to the door. “I just wanted a word with her, but it can wait.”
“I could give her a message.” Clara bit her lip. Why was she doing this? Why didn’t she just let him go? Because she felt guilty, she answered herself. Should she apologize for cutting him off so rudely last night? Or would that just make her look pathetic?
Rick chose that moment to swing around to face her, catching her off guard. Once more she’d been caught staring at him. Heat rushed to her cheeks, and she started stammering. “I’ll be seeing Stephanie later on. I just wondered—”
“Look,” Rick began at the same time. “I’m sorry about last night—”
They broke off together, and Clara uttered a sheepish laugh.
“Sorry.”
“No, I’m sorry.” He walked closer to the counter. “I must have scared the heck out of you.”
“You didn’t.” Her violent shake of her head made it spin. “It was just . . .” She trailed off, realizing she couldn’t tell him about the misunderstanding.
“It’s okay. You don’t have to explain.” He jerked his head at the wall. “Did I just see Roberta Prince opening the door of Jordan’s?”
“You did.” Clara pretended to rearrange a stack of tarot cards. “I heard she just bought the business.”
Rick groaned. “I was afraid of that. That woman scares me.”
Clara looked up. “She does? Why?”
“I don’t know.” He headed for the door. “There’s just something about her. She’s so . . . intense. That much determination can’t be good.”
Clara smiled. “For her or for you?”
He glanced at her as he opened the door. “For everybody. I’m telling you, that woman’s trouble with a capital T.”
The door closed behind him, leaving Clara staring at the space where he’d been. He’d sounded genuinely disturbed by the new owner of Jordan’s Stationer’s. She wondered what had gone on between those two to upset him so much. Had she been pressuring him, too, about selling his business?
When she called Stephanie later to tell her about the encounter, her cousin seized on Rick’s words. “Whoa—a tough woman. Maybe Frannie wasn’t so far off base, after all. I wonder if she was in town last Friday?”
“If you’re expecting me to ask her, you’re out of luck.”
Once more she was treated to Stephanie’s exaggerated sigh.
“We’re getting nowhere fast. We need to sit down together and work out what we’re going to do. I know it’s your day off tomorrow, but come over to the store in the morning for coffee. Molly will be there, and hopefully we won’t be busy and we can all get together.”
“All right. I’ll see you then.” Clara closed up her phone, wondering what her cousin hoped to accomplish. They might as well face it. They were amateurs, messing in business best left for the police. Frannie was right. They should just forget about it and let Dan handle it.
Hoping to take her mind off things, she spent the evening with her mother watching a TV crime movie. Not that it helped much, since Jessie insisted on making sarcastic comments about the stupidity of the investigators.
Arriving at the Raven’s Nest the next morning, Clara was all set to persuade Stephanie to give up on the investigation. She was barely inside the door, however, when Stephanie rushed over to her.
“Thank goodness you’re here. There are no customers right now. We’ve really got to get moving on this.” She took Clara’s arm and steered her down the aisle to the Reading Nook.
Molly sat slumped in an armchair, her face drawn in misery.
Clara sat down next to her, while Stephanie hurried over to the coffee urn to fill up the mugs.
“Molly’s been kicked out of her reading group,” she said, handing a steaming mug to Clara.
Clara turned to Molly, who gave her a miserable nod. “Why on earth would they do that?”
“They think I killed Ana, of course.” Molly pushed her bangs back with an unsteady hand. “Pretty soon everybody in town is going to boycott me.”
“Did they actually say that was the reason?” Clara asked her.
“Not in so many words.” Molly took the mug from Stephanie’s hand. “What they said was that they no longer felt I fitted in with the group, and it would be better for everyone if I didn’t come again.”
Clara groaned. “This is ridiculous.”
Tears glistened in Molly’s eyes as she put down her coffee.
“I can’t even walk down the street without people staring at me and whispering to each other. I don’t know how much more of this I can take.” She got up from her chair and fled around the corner.
“Do you think she’s gone back there to cry?” Stephanie worried at her bottom lip as she gazed after her friend. “I feel so bad for her. What are we going to do?”
Clara sipped her coffee before putting it down. She’d heard the note of reproach in her cousin’s voice and knew it was directed at her. “We’re doing everything we can,” she said quietly.
“No, we’re not.” Stephanie turned to her, blue eyes accusing. “Not everything.”
Clara drew a deep breath. Somewhere in the back of her mind she’d known it would come to this. To help Molly, she would have to sacrifice her own peace of mind—everything she had fought against for years—with no guarantee that she could solve Molly’s problem.
“All right. I get it.” She shook her head. “I don’t like it, but I get it. I can’t make any promises, but I guess I can try. It’s just that it’s been such a long time, and I don’t know how well it will work anymore.”
Stephanie sat up, excitement now gleaming in her eyes. “You’ll do it? You’ll use the Quinn Sense?”
Just hearing the words spoken made Clara shiver. “I’ll try. That’s all I can tell you. But I should warn you, you might not like what you hear.”
Stephanie frowned. “What does that mean?”
Clara hesitated, then said slowly, “Molly. I heard the voices, just briefly, when she said she’d gone straight home from here on Friday night. I don’t know what they were trying to tell me because I shut them out, but I do know that Molly wasn’t telling the truth.”
Stephanie was about to answer when Molly returned, her eyes red and weepy. “Sorry,” she muttered. “I don’t usually let things get to me like that.”
Stephanie reached for a box of tissues on the counter next to her and handed it to Molly. “It’s all right. Sit down and take a deep breath; then answer a question for us.”
Molly frowned. “What’s the question?”
“Are you quite sure you didn’t see anything unusual on Friday night?”
For a moment it seemed that Molly wasn’t going to answer; then she let out her breath in a rush. “I already told you I didn’t. Why?
What have you heard?”
“Nothing.” Stephanie exchanged an uneasy glance with Clara.
“It’s just that, well, you seemed a little unsure of yourself when Dan questioned you and—”
“Oh, all right!” Molly blew her nose and tucked the tissue in her pocket. “Maybe I didn’t go straight home that night.”
Stephanie’s eyebrows shot up. “You lied to Dan?”
“I had to.” Molly sniffed and stared at the floor. “I was meeting Jason.”
Clara looked at her cousin for help.
Stephanie looked as if she were about to explode. “Molly Owens! I thought that was over long ago.”
Molly shrugged. “We got back together.”
Clara leaned forward. “Who’s Jason?”
“A very bad influence on a young woman,” Stephanie said, in her prim mom’s voice. “He’s a biker, and he’s trying to turn Molly into a biker babe.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that!” Molly protested.
“There is when you’re riding with someone who drinks too much, probably takes drugs and likes to beat up people.”
“I take it you’ve met this Jason,” Clara said.
Stephanie rolled her eyes. “Yes, and I don’t like him.”
“I’m twenty-one,” Molly pointed out. “Old enough to take care of myself. It’s nobody’s business but mine who I go out with, and I wasn’t breaking any laws.”
“Then why did you lie to Dan about going home?”
Molly paused, then muttered, “I didn’t want to get Jason into trouble.”
“There, you see?” Stephanie flung out a hand in a dramatic gesture. “Now who says you had nothing to hide?”
“It’s just that Dan has it in for Jason, and he’ll use any excuse to come down hard on him. I just thought I would save everybody a lot of hassle if I kept quiet about seeing him that night.”
Clara waited, torn between hoping to hear the voices and fearing that she would. When her mind remained silent, she asked, “Where did you see Jason?”
“We met down at the harbor.” Molly flashed her a defiant look. “If you’re thinking that Jason might have had something to do with Ana’s death, you’re dead wrong. He didn’t go anywhere near here. He lives in West Ridge, in the opposite direction. I saw him leave. Besides, he didn’t even know Ana.”
“All right, I—” Clara broke off as the doorbell jingled. “A customer.” She got to her feet. “I’ll go.”
Stephanie flapped a hand at her. “Let whoever it is look around first. The longer they browse, the more likely they are to buy.”
Clara sank back on her chair. “Good thinking.”
“That’s why I’m successful.” Stephanie turned to Molly. “Look, I’m sorry, Molly, but you shouldn’t have lied to the police. I think you should—”
“Hell-o-o-o!”
The woman’s voice had floated down from the front of the store. Clara pushed herself up from the chair. “Stay there. I’ll see what she wants.”
Hurrying up the aisle, Clara caught a glimpse of the customer. Short blonde hair, pale beige suit, bright orange shirt under the jacket. She didn’t need to see the woman’s face to know that they were being honored with the presence of the new owner of Jordan’s Stationer’s.
“Good morning!” Clara stepped up behind the counter and gave the woman a bright smile. “What can I do for you?”
A pair of sharp blue eyes dissected her from head to waist.
“Who are you?”
Clara raised her chin. “I’m Clara Quinn. Who are you?”
“I’m the new owner of the store next door. Roberta Prince.” She sent a disparaging glance around the shelves, lingering on the raven for a moment or two before turning back to Clara. “Are you the owner of this store?”
“No, she isn’t. I am.”
Stephanie had crept up on them unheard, and Roberta Prince swung around to look at her. “What time do you close?”
Stephanie looked confused. “Excuse me?”
“I said, what time do you close?” Roberta waved a perfectly manicured hand at the door, rattling the gold charm bracelet on her wrist. “I don’t want to close before you do, but on the other hand, I don’t want to hang around there all night, either.”
“We close at eight,” Clara answered for her cousin. “Six on Saturdays and Sundays.”
The piercing gaze swung back to her. “Fair enough. What about the hardware store across the street?”
Stephanie moved closer. “What about it?”
The look she got from Roberta would have shrunk an armadillo. “What . . . time . . . does . . . he . . . close?”
Clara held her breath as Stephanie’s cheeks flushed at the patronizing tone. “Same as us, of course.”
“Fine.” Roberta narrowed her eyes as she gazed at the table holding the cookbooks. “I thought you sold that weird paranormal stuff.”
“We do. We also sell craft books and cookbooks.” Stephanie paused, then added, “Though I’m sure none of that could possibly have any interest for you.”
As if recognizing an adversary when she saw one, Roberta’s bright-red mouth twisted in a humorless smile. “Actually, I’m an excellent cook. Just ask the hunk who owns the hardware store across the street.”
Stephanie still hadn’t closed her mouth when the door closed behind Roberta with a soft thud.
Clara was trying to analyze the ache in her midriff when her cousin exploded. “Of all the nerve! Who does she think she is waltzing in here with her designer suit and expensive perfume and insulting us like that?”
“Take no notice of her.”
“How can I ignore that?” Stephanie stared at the door as if she expected the offending woman to walk back in at any minute. “What was all that about asking Rick if she’s a good cook, anyway?”
Again the ache. Clara rubbed her stomach. “I imagine she was trying to let us know that she’s cooked dinner for him or something.”
“What?” Stephanie almost choked on the word. “I don’t believe it. Rick would never go for that puffed-up phony. She’s got to be lying.”
Remembering her last conversation with Rick, Clara was inclined to agree. On the other hand, Rick could have said all that stuff about Roberta to hide the fact that they were close. “Not that it matters to us, of course,” she said, knowing deep down that it mattered to her. “It’s none of our business who she invites to dinner.”
“It is our business when they’re both murder suspects.”
“Who’s a suspect?” Molly joined them at the counter. “Who was that just now?”
“That was the new owner of Jordan’s Stationer’s.” Stephanie quickly filled Molly in on everything Frannie had said about Roberta Prince. “It also seems she’s on intimate terms with Rick Sanders,” she said, while Clara pretended not to hear that.
“They could be conspirators,” Molly said, looking hopeful. “Maybe they were working together to get rid of Ana.”
Clara sighed. “All this speculation is getting us nowhere. We need to do something constructive if we’re ever going to find our killer.”
“I thought we were doing something constructive,” Stephanie said, giving her a meaningful look.
“Besides that.” Clara hoped her frown would warn her cousin not to say anything about the Quinn Sense. “For instance, if Molly didn’t let Ana into the store, then someone else must have. Someone who must have had a key, since there was no sign of a break-in.”
Molly’s face brightened. “I would think the new owner would have the keys.”
“She wasn’t the new owner until after Ana died,” Stephanie said.
“We don’t know that.” Clara leaned her elbows on the counter. “What if Ana had already signed over the store to her? She could have given Roberta the keys then.”
Stephanie dismissed that with a wave of her hand. “Then why would Roberta Prince need to kill her?”
“Maybe she killed her for some other reason. Think about it. Roberta too
k over the store awfully fast after Ana died. I wouldn’t think a business could change hands that quickly, with all the red tape and paperwork involved.”
Molly nodded. “She’s right. It would have taken longer than a couple of days.”
“So let’s assume that Roberta had the keys.” Clara tapped the counter with her fingers while she concentrated. “Also assuming she had a motive, why would she kill Ana in here? Why not in her own store and make it look like a robbery or something?”
“Maybe she wanted to put the blame on someone else.” Stephanie glanced at Molly. “She could have heard about the fight you had with Ana that morning. After all, enough people heard you threaten her. Maybe she lured Ana into the stockroom and hit her over the head with your bust hoping you’d get the blame for it.”
“It’s possible,” Clara said, grasping at any straw that would eliminate Rick Sanders as a suspect.
Stephanie gave her a hard stare. “Anything?”
Knowing that her cousin was asking about the voices, Clara shook her head. Molly’s curious glance unsettled her, and she said quickly, “Okay, so who else might have a key to the store?”
“John Halloran,” Molly said, moving closer to them. “He used to shut up shop for Ana when she was out of town. He must have had a key at some point. He could have kept it all this time.”
Clara grabbed that straw, too. “Right! He could have heard Molly threaten Ana and decided to make use of the key.”
“Also possible,” Stephanie murmured. “But what about Rick Sanders? He used to work for Ana’s father. He could have kept a key as well. He could have easily overheard Molly’s screaming match on Friday morning. He was outside his store, remember?”
Clara’s shoulders sagged. “Right. I remember.”
“So,” Stephanie said brightly, “we are right back where we started. Three suspects, all with possible motives. This is getting really complicated.”
“Well, they could all have had the means,” Molly put in. “The key to the store.”
Mind Over Murder Page 7
