He lowered it and stared at her over the rims of his reading glasses. “What’s up now?”
“Nothing.” She sighed and leaned back against the couch’s firm cushions. “Everything. The kids hate school, the back-to-school sale fizzled out and we’re no closer to finding out who killed Ana and clearing Molly’s name.”
George wrinkled his brow. “Ethan and Olivia always hate school the first week or so after summer break. They’ll settle down. What about Michael? I thought he’d love kindergarten.”
“Well, he doesn’t.” Stephanie reached for her soda and took a long drink from the glass. “He misses Olivia. You know he’s followed her around everywhere ever since he could walk.”
George shook his newspaper and retreated behind it again. “It will do him good to go it alone. Make him more independent.”
Stephanie glared at him through the back page. “George Henry Dowd, put that newspaper down. I need to talk, and we never seem to get more than five minutes together lately.”
George sighed and slowly folded up the newspaper. “All right. I’m all ears.”
Stephanie resisted the temptation to tease him. George was sensitive about his prominent ears. “I’m worried about the bookstore. We had only four customers today, and only two of them bought anything.”
“You’ve had slow days before.”
“I know.” She studied her feet, wondering if her slippers would hold up until Christmas, when she would get a new pair from her mother, as usual. “But this time it feels different. I think people are avoiding the store because of Ana’s murder.”
“I think you’re worrying about nothing, as usual.” He slipped an arm across her shoulders. “Everything will turn out all right; you’ll see.”
“It won’t if the customers stay away.”
“You just had a slow day, that’s all. You’ve had plenty of them before, and then people always make up for it and you’re rushed off your feet.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“Of course I’m right. Aren’t I always?”
She smiled up at him. “Of course you are, George.”
“So will you stop worrying now?”
Her smile faded. “I’ll stop worrying when Ana Jordan’s killer is behind bars.”
“I guess Dan hasn’t gotten any further with the investigation, or we would have heard something.”
“He still thinks Molly killed her.”
George hesitated and she braced for his next words. “Honey, you know there’s always a chance that Molly—”
“No!” She turned on him, unable to stem her frustration. “Why is everyone so quick to condemn Molly? What has that girl ever done to deserve all this accusation?”
“She threatened Ana the morning she died,” George said quietly. “It wasn’t the first time she’d yelled threats at her, either.”
“Just words, that’s all. You know Molly. She’s got a quick temper, and she’s vocal when she’s mad, but you know she’s not a killer.”
“Who knows what anyone is capable of, given enough provocation?”
“Well, Ana Jordan was good at provoking people. I’ll say that for her.” Stephanie slumped back against the cushions again. “There are plenty of people out there who could have hated her enough to kill her. Even you.”
George’s voice rose a notch. “Me? What does that mean?”
“You went out with her in high school before you started dating me, didn’t you?”
“Well, yes, but I–”
“And you dumped her. And why was that again?”
“I’ve told you more than once. She got too possessive. She wanted to know what I was doing every minute I was away from her. When she started questioning my friends about where I was and what I was doing, I decided she wasn’t worth the hassle.”
“And she made your life miserable for weeks after that, right?”
“Well, yeah, but it was worth it to be rid of her.” He pulled her closer. “Besides, by then I’d spotted this hot little cheerleader and was getting to know her better.”
Stephanie grinned. “I remember that skinny basketball player leering at me from across the court.”
“Leering?”
“Leering. Like this.” She gave him her best imitation of a teenage ogle.
He shook his head. “If I looked at you like that, I’m surprised you ever agreed to go out with me.”
“You were the star basketball player. How could I resist?” She leaned her head against his shoulder. After a moment she murmured, “I just wish all this Ana business was over with, and we could get back to normal.”
“Dan’s a good cop. He’ll get at the truth eventually.”
“I hope you’re right.” She was almost tempted to tell him that she and Clara were on the trail of the killer with Molly’s help, but she knew what his reaction would be—nothing short of an erupting volcano. George Dowd was as sweet a man as she’d ever met, but his red hair matched up to the myth. Upset him enough and his temper was spectacular.
Best to keep quiet about it and just hope that he never found out what they were up to, or the sparks would fly for sure.
8
After spending the evening helping her mother clean house, Clara was looking forward the next morning to retreating to the peace and quiet of the Raven’s Nest. Jessie had been even more difficult than usual, giving Clara all kinds of advice about finding a man and settling down before she got too old to raise a family.
“You’re wasting your life burying yourself among all those musty old books,” she’d declared, ignoring Clara’s pleas to change the subject. “I don’t know why you left New York. There are so many more opportunities there.”
Clara knew that was her mother’s way of saying there were more eligible men in the city. More men perhaps, but the right man had been just as elusive there as in Finn’s Harbor. In fact, she was beginning to doubt there was a right man anywhere out there for her. A man she could respect and trust with her heart. That kind of man was tough to find.
Stephanie greeted her at the door with the news that Molly was sick and hadn’t come in that morning. “I have to leave pretty soon to pick up Michael from kindergarten,” she added, following Clara behind the counter. “It’s been pretty quiet, so you should be okay on your own. If you get really swamped, call me, and I’ll try to get back here.”
“I’ll be fine,” Clara assured her. More than fine, she thought, as Stephanie grabbed her purse and flew out the door. She would have the whole place to herself for the rest of the day. At least, in between customers.
After straightening the shelves, which took no time at all since they had been barely touched, she wandered to the Reading Nook and brewed a fresh pot of coffee. She had no sooner sat down with the local newspaper when the doorbell’s chimes announced a customer.
Sighing, Clara dropped the Harbor Chronicle on the coffee table and hurried to the front of the store. Frannie stood at the counter and seemed surprised to see her.
“Oh, I thought Stephanie would be here,” she said, looking past Clara’s shoulder as if expecting Stephanie to appear.
“She had to leave.” Clara walked behind the counter and gave the nervous little woman a smile. “Can I help you with something?”
“Yes, I . . . ah . . . Maybe I should wait until Stephanie comes back.” Frannie glanced back at the window and turned to leave.
“She’s gone for the day, I’m afraid.”
Frannie answered her, but her words seemed to come from a long way off.
Clara clenched the desk in front of her as the dreaded familiar sensations crept over her. She could hear the voices, whispering, trying to tell her something. Habit prompted her to close her mind to them, but they were insistent.
Frannie knew something. Something important.
“Ah . . . Would you like a cup of coffee? It’s fresh. I just made it.”
Frannie paused, obviously trying to make up her mind.
Clara tried again. “I cou
ld use some company. It gets lonely on my own. Things have been really quiet in here lately.”
With noticeable reluctance, Frannie turned to look at her. “Well, all right, but only for a few minutes. Roberta doesn’t like me taking long breaks.”
“Oh, of course.” Clara led the way down the aisle. “I thought Jordan’s wasn’t opening again until Monday.”
“That’s our opening day, but there’s a lot to do before then.” Frannie took the corner seat and huddled down on it as if she were cold. “Roberta is changing a lot of things.”
More out of curiosity than anything, Clara asked, “Has the sale actually gone through, then? It seems awfully fast. Roberta must have a very good lawyer.”
Frannie took the mug Clara handed her and swallowed a mouthful of coffee, apparently without noticing it was steaming hot.
Clara winced when she saw Frannie’s eyes watering. That must have stung.
“Yes, well, that’s what I came to tell Stephanie.” Frannie looked over her shoulder, her eyes switching from side to side as she skimmed the aisle. “I guess it’ll be okay to tell you, only please, don’t tell a soul you heard it from me.”
Intrigued now, Clara held a hand to her chest. “Of course. I swear.”
Frannie put the mug down on the table. “I did some filing for Roberta this morning.”
Wondering where this was leading, Clara nodded. “That’s nice.”
“She had a lot of official papers among the bills and correspondence. I was sorting through them when she came into the office and snatched them out of my hand.”
Clara raised her eyebrows. “Snatched them?”
Frannie nodded, and for a moment Clara thought she might start crying, but then she raised her chin. “She said she’d left them on the desk by mistake and that she’d take care of them herself.”
Clara was beginning to see a glimmer of light. “Ah. They were papers she didn’t want you to see.”
“Yes.” Frannie leaned back as if she’d just got a load off her shoulders.
Clara hesitated, then ventured a guess. “You think there was something suspicious about that?”
“I don’t think. I know.”
Excitement rippled through Clara’s veins. This was what the Sense had been trying to tell her. Frannie did know something. “You read the papers.”
“One of them, yes.” Once more Frannie glanced up and down the aisle. “It was a contract, and Ana had signed it. It said that Roberta lent her a lot of money to settle her debts, on condition that if Ana couldn’t turn the store around in six months, or if something happened to her that she couldn’t manage the store, then Jordan’s Stationer’s would automatically belong to Roberta.”
Clara held her breath so long her ears started to buzz. There it was. The motive. “Jordan’s was showing a profit before Ana died?” It was more a statement than a question.
Frannie picked up her coffee and took a cautious sip. “Yes,” she said, as she lowered the mug. “Ana was excited that things seemed to be turning around. She was even talking about celebrating with a trip to Portland.” She stared earnestly at Clara. “Do you think I should tell Dan? He was in the store yesterday, asking a lot of questions. He said if I thought of anything else to call him.”
Clara shifted on her chair. “I think you should do whatever feels right,” she said at last.
Frannie seemed disappointed with her answer. “It just seems weird that just when things were doing better and it looked like Ana would keep Jordan’s after all, something really bad happens to her, and Roberta ends up with the store.”
Secretly Clara agreed with her, but without more proof, she drew the line at actually accusing the woman of murder. “Well, I guess it wouldn’t hurt to mention it to Dan. Though I think it will take a lot more than that for him to actually do anything about it.”
“What I’m afraid of is that he’d tell Roberta that I told him. She’d waste no time in firing me, I’m sure. Or worse.” Frannie glanced at her watch and got up. “I thought perhaps Stephanie could tell him, without mentioning she heard it from me.”
Pushing herself up from her chair, Clara said as evenly as she could manage, “I don’t think Stephanie would want to do that. If you feel threatened, then the best thing to do is not say anything to anyone. If Roberta did kill Ana, Dan will eventually find out and come asking questions. Then you can tell him what you saw.”
Frannie obviously wasn’t happy when she muttered, “Okay, but I tell you, that woman will do just about anything to get what she wants. Anyone who takes classes in auto repair just to meet men is not my idea of a good person. Thanks for the coffee.”
Clara barely waited for the door to close behind her before calling Stephanie. “What do you think?” she said, after she’d finished repeating the entire conversation with Frannie. “Do you think Frannie should tell Dan about the contract?”
Stephanie’s sigh echoed down the line. “Well, it does give Roberta a motive to get rid of Ana. But enough to kill her? I don’t know what Dan could do without proof. He must have questioned Roberta, and we don’t even know if she was in town that night.”
Rick would know. For a moment the voice was so clear Clara thought she had said the words out loud. She closed her eyes, refusing to listen, and jumped when Stephanie’s voice rang in her ear.
“Clara, are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” She shook her head to clear it.
“I thought I heard you groaning.”
“I bumped my elbow on the counter.”
Stephanie accepted the lie, much to Clara’s relief. “Ouch. I know how that hurts. So, what are we going to do about Roberta?”
The doorbell jangled, startling her again. It didn’t help to see John Halloran walking toward her. “I have to go,” she said quickly. “I have a customer.” She hung up before Stephanie could answer.
John raised his hand at her and disappeared down one of the aisles.
Clara waited for him to return, trying to look busy by going through a pile of books that had been reserved by customers and not yet picked up.
The one on the top was Wayne Lester’s astrology book. Clara picked it up, and immediately the voices started whispering again.
She stared at the cover, trying hard to hear what it was the Sense was trying to tell her. Something about the book. No. Something about Frannie.
She closed her eyes, concentrating. Frannie had come into the shop asking for the book. When was that? Monday. Molly’s day off. Stephanie had been rushed off her feet, unpacking boxes and stocking shelves.
Rick had come into the store and that was when Stephanie had told her to go on a date with him. Frannie had come in while they were in the middle of the argument.
The voices in her head spoke louder. Frannie asked for the book. Clara shook her head. What was wrong with that? She opened the book, struggling to understand the insistent voices. Frannie asked for the book.
Then it dawned on her. Of course. Frannie’s words: I’d like a copy of the Wayne Lester book that just came in.
Just a few minutes earlier, Stephanie had been stocking the shelves. Clara heard her cousin’s voice, as clear as if she were by her side. We haven’t put any new fantasy books out since . . . before Dan closed the store.
So the big question was—how did Frannie know Wayne Lester’s book had arrived?
Before she could think about the consequences of the question, John Halloran’s voice scattered her thoughts. “I’m looking for Steve Ratchet’s Searching for a Ghost. I can’t see it on the shelves.”
Clara did a quick check on the computer. “It’s sold out. We’re waiting for new copies now.”
“Put one by for me when they come in, please?”
“Of course.” She entered his name on the list. “There. We’ll let you know when it comes in.”
She hoped he’d leave, but he wandered over to the counter, pausing to pick up a publisher’s brochure of new titles. “Molly took another day off?”
&nbs
p; “No, she called in sick.”
His mouth twisted in his unpleasant smile. “She didn’t look sick to me.”
Clara’s fingers paused on the computer’s keyboard. “Sorry?”
“I said she didn’t look sick to me.” He moved closer. “I just saw her a little while ago, heading out of town on the back of a motorbike.”
Clara pinched her lips. It wasn’t the first time Molly had lied. In spite of her best efforts to prevent them, the doubts started creeping into her mind. Molly’s temper was apparently legendary. She was the last one in the store that night. No sign of a break-in. It was so easy to imagine Ana storming into the stockroom and Molly . . . No. She couldn’t go there.
As if reading her thoughts, John spoke again. “No more news on the murder?”
Clara swallowed hard. “Not that I’ve heard.”
He studied the brochure for a moment, then murmured, “Dan was in the store yesterday, asking questions.”
She felt a quiver of apprehension, though she wasn’t sure why. “In the hardware store?”
“Uh-huh.” He looked up, his eyes looking faded behind the lenses of his glasses. “He was in here, too. I guess he went into all the stores around here. He doesn’t seem to be having much luck in finding Ana’s executioner.”
His mouth twitched, and Clara had the uneasy feeling he was trying not to smile. “He will find him eventually,” she said, moving a little farther along the counter. “Dan’s a good cop. He won’t give up until he has the killer behind bars.”
John met her gaze. “Let us hope so.” He looked down again at the brochure. “Funny thing is, whoever wanted to get rid of her could have just waited a little longer.”
The last thing Clara wanted was to prolong the unsettling conversation, but she felt compelled to ask, “Wait? For what?”
“For Ana to move.” He looked up again, and edged closer to the counter, sending chills down Clara’s arms. “She was looking at property in Portland, you know. She was planning to relocate.”
Clara stared at him. “Relocate? When?”
Mind Over Murder Page 9
