Trouble Vision (2 page)

Clara waited until her cousin was inside the house before pulling away from the curb. She didn’t want to think about protests, or problems that might arise from the new construction. Or what had caused the strange feeling of impending doom that had attacked her twice that evening.

All she wanted to do was take Tatters for a walk, check her e-mail, maybe watch the news on TV and go to bed.

The thought of Tatters waiting anxiously for her to get home made her smile. The big, shaggy dog had become so much a part of her life, she couldn’t imagine existing without him now. Tatters belonged to Rick Sanders, who owned the hardware store across the street from the Raven’s Nest.

Rick’s ex-wife had dumped the dog on him, and when he had threatened to send Tatters to the pound, Clara had offered to take care of him. Since she didn’t have to be at the bookstore until noon, and her mother arrived home around four, it meant far less hours that the dog was alone than Rick could manage.

Tatters, it turned out, had a zest for activity and a mind of his own—a combination that, given his size, was quite a challenge for both Clara and her mother. Jessie, however, seemed to have found a way to control the turbulent animal, much to her daughter’s surprise and admiration.

Arriving home, Clara opened the front door to be met with a huge furry body and a floppy, wet tongue. After assuring the dog that she would take him for a walk just as soon as she changed her shoes, Clara looked into the living room. Her mother sat in front of the TV, a folded newspaper on her lap and a half-empty glass of wine at her side.

“Oh, there you are.” Jessie took off her glasses and peered up at her daughter. “So, how did the meeting go?”

Clara walked into the room, followed closely by Tatters, his breath warm on her calves. “It was a bit unruly.”

“I’ve just been watching it on the news.” Jessie picked up the remote and switched off the TV. “Seems as though you had some excitement down there. I saw Tim escorting Bob and Eddie Hatchett off the premises. They were both making too much noise, as usual.”

Clara raised her eyebrows. “You know them?”

“Bob Hatchett is an electrician. As a matter of fact, he was the one who wired that new chandelier in the dining room a month ago.” Jessie reached for her wine. “While he was here, his son came looking for him. He seemed upset about something. I could hear them shouting at each other out in the driveway even with the front door shut.” She took a sip of her wine and put the glass down. “That son of his has a nasty temper.”

“I got that impression listening to him tonight. He was still shouting when Tim ushered him out the door.” Clara headed back to the hallway. “I’m going to take Tatters for a walk.”

“Well, dress warmly. I wouldn’t be surprised if it snowed again.”

Clara wrinkled her brow. She’d had enough of the snow. Roll on summertime, when she could shed her heavy coat and boots and frolic with Tatters on the beach.

Walking briskly down the street a few minutes later, she felt a sharp longing for the warmer weather. Summer in Finn’s Harbor was a joy—lots of sunshine, clean, fresh air and sea breezes to make the heat bearable. The winters, however, could be brutal, when temperatures often slipped below zero and stormy winds lashed the coastline.

These were the times she missed New York the most—the lights, the crowded sidewalks, the spacious restaurants and shops where she could always find refuge from the cold. Thinking of New York, however, brought back memories she’d sooner forget, and she shut her mind to them.

Turning up the collar of her coat, she shook Tatters’ leash. “Come on, big fella, let’s run.”

The dog obediently took off, so fast she had trouble keeping up with him. She let out the length of the leash and he tore around the corner, then sat waiting for her, tongue hanging out the side of his mouth. She stumbled to a stop, gasping for breath. “I think it’s time we went home,” she said, when she could find her voice.

Just when it was getting exciting.
Tatters stood, raised his nose in the air, then trotted off, leaving her staring after him.

Pulled along by his leash, she shook her head. Of all the surprises the Quinn Sense had given her, none matched the discovery that she could read Tatters’ mind. It unnerved her, and although it didn’t happen that often, she lived in dread that Stephanie or her mother would realize the fact. Either one would be a disaster. Her cousin would be constantly asking her what the dog was thinking, while her mother would finally find out that her daughter possessed the Sense.

So far, Clara had managed to hide it from everyone except Stephanie, who had sworn on pain of death to keep her cousin’s secret. Even though she couldn’t understand why Clara was so intent on ignoring her gift, when Stephanie would have traded her firstborn to have it.

Clara had done her best to explain that she couldn’t stand the idea of people thinking she was nuts. She hated how the Sense came and went without warning, disrupting what she was doing and forcing her to cover up what was happening to her.

Worst of all, she had started to rely on it until she hadn’t known if it was the Sense or her own instincts working, and in the end she hadn’t been able to trust her instincts when she’d needed to the most.

Letting herself into the house, she called out a good-night to her mother and went directly to her room. She had long ago given up on persuading Tatters to sleep in the utility room, and now he shared the bed with her every night. Although shared was perhaps too generous a word, since he took up most of the room. She’d become used to his warm body now, and knew she would miss him if he wasn’t there.

She spent the next hour or so on the computer, then got ready for bed. Tomorrow she would be back at the Raven’s Nest for her regular shift. At first she’d been reluctant when Stephanie had offered her the job. She’d hoped to get a teaching position when she’d come back to Maine, but when nothing suitable had come up the first few weeks she was home, she accepted her cousin’s offer.

Although the bookstore carried mainly paranormal literature, and Clara tended to avoid anything remotely mystical or magical, she’d managed to come to terms with the idea and soon settled down. Now she enjoyed her job so much she couldn’t imagine doing anything else. At least, not in the immediate future.

She enjoyed talking to the customers, and seeing Rick Sanders across the street every day didn’t hurt, either. Thinking of him put a smile on her face, and she fell asleep with it still there.

The next morning, Clara arrived at the Raven’s Nest shortly before noon to find a line of customers waiting at the counter to be served. Business had started to pick up on Wednesdays, and today was no exception. Molly was frantically bagging books, her red hair flying around her face as if she’d been caught in a windstorm.

Stephanie was nowhere to be seen, presumably taking care of a customer somewhere in the aisles. Clara hurried over to the counter, dragging off her coat on the way. There would be time to hang it in the stockroom later. Right now, Molly could use her help.

Clara smiled at the elderly woman standing second in line. “Mrs. Riley! How nice to see you again. Are you feeling better? The last time you were in here, you had a nasty cold.”

The wrinkles on the woman’s face deepened. “It took me weeks to get rid of it.” She moved forward to the counter, sniffed and hunted in her pocket until she drew out a wad of tissues. “It still hasn’t gone completely.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Clara held out her hand for the purchase, hoping there weren’t any germs on it. “Ah, I see you have
The Child Hunters
. It’s at the top of our list of fantasy novels.”

Mrs. Riley blew her nose. “I need something good to keep my mind off what’s happening out there on the bluff.”

Clara nodded in sympathy. “People seem really worried about the effect the new resort will have on Finn’s Harbor.”

“We have a right to be worried.” Mrs. Riley stuffed the tissues back in her pocket. “That whole project is bad luck and it will bring nothing good to the town. I always knew something really bad would happen up there and now it has.”

Clara’s hand froze as she took the credit card the woman handed her. The voices started whispering in her head, warning her of imminent bad news. She had trouble phrasing the question, and waited for an answer she already knew. “What happened?”

Mrs. Riley stared at her. “You don’t know? They found the foreman’s body up there last night. They say he fell from the scaffolding.”

Still trying to absorb the shock, Clara could think of nothing to say. Molly appeared at her side, muttering in a low voice, “It’s all over town. Scott Delwyn’s wife called the police when Scott didn’t come home from work. Dan found him at the foot of the scaffolding.”

Mrs. Riley nodded. “Slipped and fell right off that thing. Always knew it was bad luck.” She scowled at Clara. “Are you going to swipe that card or not?”

The voices.
They were clamoring in her head now, like the chattering of squirrels on the hunt for food. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. After a moment or two, one voice came through loud and clear:
He was murdered.

Seconds ticked by while Mrs. Riley stared at Clara as if she were looking at some kind of apparition. Clara briefly closed her eyes, and felt Molly’s fingers on her arm.

“Are you okay?”

As if they’d been shut off by a remote, the voices stopped. All Clara could hear now was a passing truck outside, and the quiet murmur of conversation from a couple of women at the cookbook table. Quickly she swiped her customer’s card and bagged the book.

Just as she handed the package over, Stephanie emerged from the middle aisle and darted over to the counter. “We need to talk.”

Clara glanced at Molly.

“It’s okay.” Molly gave her a little push. “I can handle this.”

Clara smiled her thanks, then followed Stephanie down the aisle to the Reading Nook. Finding two customers sitting there sipping coffee, Stephanie kept going and pushed open the door to the stockroom.

“In here. We need privacy.”

Clara followed her into the dimly lit room, where cartons and stacks of books lined the walls. She was still shaken by the news she’d just heard, and entering that room with its cold floor and dark shadows didn’t help. Not too long ago, she’d found the dead body of Ana Jordan, the owner of the stationers next door, lying on that floor, right where Stephanie was now standing.

Shuddering, Clara stared at her cousin. “Did you know? About Karen Delwyn’s huband?”

Stephanie nodded. “I didn’t get a chance to tell you until now. I suppose Molly gave you the news.”

“Actually it was Mrs. Riley.” Clara rubbed her upper arms. “How did you hear about it?”

“Customers. They must have seen it on the news this morning.” She tilted her head to one side. “That feeling you got the other night at the town hall meeting. It was about Scott, wasn’t it? You knew this was going to happen.”

“I felt something bad was going to happen. I didn’t know it would be another murder.”

Stephanie’s gasp seemed to echo around the room.
“Murder?”

Clara silently cursed her slip of the tongue. “I thought that’s what Mrs. Riley meant.”

Her cousin narrowed her eyes. “Dan ruled it an accident. No one said anything about a murder.”

Clara shrugged. “Then Dan must be right. It was an accident.”

Stephanie stepped closer. “You had a vision, didn’t you?” She slapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh my God. Scott was
murdered
?”

“Shhh!” Clara glanced at the door. “You can’t say anything about this. I could be wrong.”

“You’re never wrong. At least, the Quinn Sense is never wrong.”

Clara uttered a cynical laugh. “That’s a debatable point.”

“If you’re talking about what happened to you in New York, you can’t blame the Sense for that. You said yourself you ignored the warnings.”

“I don’t want to talk about that now.” Clara reached for the door handle. “Isn’t it time you left? Your mother will be waiting for you to pick up the kids.”

“The kids are in school.” Stephanie crossed her arms. “What are we going to do about the murder?”

“
We
are not going to do anything. If it was murder, Dan will no doubt find out and he’ll investigate. After all, he’s the chief of police. It’s his job.”

“I told you, he believes it’s an accident.”

Clara let out her breath on a heavy sigh. “What do you propose I do about it?”

“At least go and tell Dan what you know.”

“Tell him what? That voices in my head told me Scott was murdered? Imagine what he’d say to that.”

Stephanie frowned. “You don’t have to tell him that. Think of another way.”

“There isn’t another way. I don’t have the slightest reason to suspect it was murder, except for the stupid Sense in my head.”

“Then we’ll have to find a reason. We can’t let a murderer get away with killing Scott Delwyn. Think what his family must be going through right now.”

Clara struggled with indecision, knowing she was fighting a losing battle. Whenever Stephanie got a bee in her bonnet about something, it usually ended up getting them into trouble. Still, her cousin had a point. “How would we even get started?”

A slow smile spread across Stephanie’s face. “The same way we solved two other murders: by asking questions.”

Clara groaned. “Oh no. Not again. Have you forgotten the messes we get into when we do that?”

“Remember what our parents always said when we were kids? Trouble is our middle name.”

“Yeah, and they were right. No matter how good our intentions were, we always managed to screw things up.”

Stephanie got that faraway look on her face that meant she was about to dredge up yet another childhood memory. “Like the time we helped that old lady get across the street and onto the bus.”

Clara couldn’t help a rueful smile. “Well, she did say she was trying to catch the Mittleford bus. How were we to know that she meant the bus coming from Mittleford and not going to it?”

Stephanie nodded. “I shall never forget her banging on the window as the bus drove by.”

Clara laughed. “Well, at least the driver stopped and let her off before she got too far. Good thing she realized she was going the wrong way before she got all the way into Mittleford.”

“Not so good that she yelled at us and nearly chased us down the street.” Stephanie tilted her head to one side. “So, we’re going to check out Scott’s death?”

Clara gave in. “All right. I’ll think about it. But let’s wait a day or two and see what happens with Dan. If he hasn’t changed his mind about it being an accident by then, we’ll ask some questions, though I haven’t the faintest idea where we’d start.”

“I’m sure the Sense will tell you.”

Clara jumped as the door suddenly opened and Molly stuck her head in. “Things have calmed down a bit now,” she said, opening the door wider. “I’m going to take a break.”

“Right.” Clara shot what she hoped was a warning look at Stephanie. “We were just discussing the spring sale. I’ll take over for you now.”

“And I have to go home.” Stephanie followed her outside. “Call me later?”

Clara gave her a nod and headed up the aisle to the counter.

She was busy enough most of the afternoon, which helped to keep her mind off the death on the construction site. It was during the dinnertime lull that she finally had time to take a break in the Nook.

Seated in a deep, comfy armchair, a mug of steaming coffee by her side, she stretched out her aching feet. Now that she had the opportunity to dwell on it, her heart went out to Scott Delwyn’s wife. Karen Delwyn was a frequent customer at the Raven’s Nest. Both her daughters were avid readers and loved all things paranormal. The sixth and seventh graders loved the Raven’s Nest.

Every time they came in they checked out the lifesize figure of the fortune-teller, gazing into her crystal ball, hoping to see something in there. They fingered the rows of colored beads, and called out to the stuffed raven perched on the light fixture. They fought each other to stand in the reflection of the swirling crystals on their golden cords, and often their mother would have to order them out of the store when it was time to leave. In a lot of ways, they reminded Clara of her childhood and growing up with Stephanie.

Clara felt a deep ache spread across her chest. How awful it must be for them all, to lose a husband and father. Her fingers curled in her lap. Stephanie was right: if Scott Delwyn’s death wasn’t an accident, they must find whoever was responsible and make him pay for depriving those little girls of a father.

Her throat grew tight. She’d lost her own father a few years ago, and she still felt the pain at times. She could hardly imagine the agony Scott’s family was going through now.

So deep in thought was she that she failed to notice the chime of the front doorbell or the customer approaching until a deep voice murmured, “Well, there you are. I thought you’d all gone home.”

Looking up, her heart gave the little leap it always did at the sight of Rick Sanders. She and Rick had become good friends, drawn even closer now that she was taking care of Tatters. Although she had practically adopted the dog, she still thought of him as belonging to Rick. Part of that, she knew, was because she enjoyed the bond it formed between them.

It was a comfortable bond—close enough that she could take pleasure in Rick’s company without the pressure and uncertainties of a romantic involvement. She’d been content with that, for a long time. She’d returned from New York with a broken heart, and she wasn’t ready to trust it again to anyone. Not even to a hunky, good-looking hardware store owner with a flair for cooking that threatened to add inches to her waist.

Lately, however, she’d started wondering what it would be like to be in love with someone like Rick. Not that she intended to do anything that crazy, but it didn’t hurt to fantasize now and then.

She grinned, happy to see him. “Just taking a break. How about you? Closing the store early tonight?”

“Nope.” He walked over to the armchair next to her and flopped down on it. “My new assistant started today, and I figured he could handle things for ten minutes while I steal a cup of coffee.”

He started to get up again, but she stopped him with a hand on his arm. “I’ll get it. I need a refill, anyway.” Walking over to the table that held the coffeepot and an assortment of pastries, cookies and cheese crackers, she added, “How’s he working out?”

“Pretty good. He’s got a lot to learn about hardware, but he seems willing enough.”

“He’s young?”

“Early twenties, I guess.”

She carried the steaming mug over to him. “Want a snack?”

“No, thanks.” He took the mug from her. “I suppose you heard the news about Scott Delwyn.”

The moment Rick spoke the deceased’s name, the voices started whispering again. She shut them out and sat down, cradling her mug in her hands. “It’s awful. I feel so bad for his family.”

Rick took a sip of his coffee and put the mug down on the side table. “He was a really nice guy. He came into the store a lot. He loved to talk—he was big on camping and fishing—and was crazy about his family. I’ll miss him.”

Clara hesitated, then said cautiously, “I heard he fell from the scaffolding.”

“Yeah.” Rick stretched his long legs out in front of him and studied his shoes. “It was raining last night. Must have been slippery up there.”

“I’m surprised no one saw him fall.”

Rick shrugged. “From what Dan said in the past, he was usually the last one to leave the site. He liked to check things out after everyone had gone. He must have fallen while he was doing his last-minute rounds.”

The Sense crept over her like a thick, menacing cloud of evil. She resisted, trying to think of something to say that would banish the vision before it had time to form. She was helpless in its grasp, however, and she could only wait for the image to appear.

Vaguely she heard Rick’s voice in the distance, still talking in normal tones. Praying that he wouldn’t notice her detachment, she concentrated on the swirling fog surrounding her. The walls of the Nook melted away.

She was outside, in the dark. The wind caught her hair and whipped it around her face. She could feel the icy rain stinging her cheeks, and the boards creaking beneath her feet. She was up high, the ground maybe thirty feet below her.

Panic caught her under the ribs, and her fingers closed around a cold, wet railing—all that stood between her and the ground below. She jerked up her chin and saw two figures in front of her. They were carrying something, half dragging it along the boards to the end of the scaffolding.

As she watched, the taller figure dropped his end of the object they carried. And now she could make out the shape. It was a man, his head lolling back, his arms flopping around. For a moment the two figures paused, as if unsure what to do next. Then, with one quick movement, they shoved the man off the edge of the scaffolding.

Clara closed her eyes as she heard the
crunch
of the body hitting the ground below. She felt sick, dizzy and deathly afraid. She gripped the railing harder and prayed the two figures wouldn’t see her.

“Are you all right?”

Her body jerked, and she opened her eyes. She was back in the Nook, and Rick was staring at her as if she had turned purple.

For a moment or two she couldn’t speak, but nodded at him instead. Her right hand gripped the arm of her chair, while the other still held the coffee. She carefully put the mug down on the table, relieved to find her fingers relatively steady. Her voice, however, shook when she finally was able to speak.

“A bout of indigestion. Too much coffee, I guess.” She forced a grin.

He still looked worried. “You’ve turned pale. Sure it isn’t something more serious?” He leaned forward. “You’re not having a heart attack, are you?”

Now she was able to laugh. “No, I’m fine.” To her immense relief, the bell on the front door jingled. “Well, there goes my break. I’d better go and take care of my customer.”

She got up, and he leapt to his feet with her. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Positive.” She patted his arm. “It was nothing. I’m fine. Really. Why don’t you stay and finish your coffee.”

“No, I’d better get back and see what Tyler is up to over there. He’s probably waiting to go home to eat.” He looked at her and smiled. “Speaking of which, when are you coming over for dinner again?”