Trouble Vision (3 page)

She turned to leave, looking back at him over her shoulder. “When you ask me.” She flapped her hand at him then headed up the aisle to the front of the shop.

Her customer turned out to be a middle-aged woman who Clara dimly recognized as a previous shopper, though she couldn’t remember her name or what she’d bought. As the woman explained what she was looking for, Rick passed them by on his way out.

She met his gaze just before he closed the door, and felt a surge of warmth when he winked at her and blew a kiss. It went a long way to restoring her shattered nerves, though she couldn’t quite put the incident out of her mind, and she was still thinking about it as she closed out the register at the end of her shift.

Arriving home, she spent a few minutes doing her best to calm Tatters down before joining her mother in the living room.

“I left a pot of stew on the stove,” Jessie said from her usual spot in front of the TV. “Put what’s left in the freezer when you’re done.”

“I will. Thanks.” Clara crossed to the kitchen with Tatters hot on her heels.

“I already fed the dog,” her mother called out after her. “Don’t give him any more. He’s putting on too much weight around his middle.”

Look who’s talking.
Tatters sat down on the kitchen floor.

Unsettled by his thoughts once more speaking in her head, Clara wagged a warning finger at him. Opening the fridge, she found a half bottle of wine and poured herself a glass. She took a hefty sip of the pinot before setting the glass down on the table.

The stew smelled heavenly, and in spite of all the upset earlier, she was actually hungry. She ladled a good portion onto her plate and sat down at the table. Tatters settled himself at her knee, his golden gaze searching her face.

Sighing, she fished a cube of steak off her plate and dropped it in his waiting mouth. His tail swept the floor as he licked his lips.

She was rinsing her plate under the faucet when her cell phone buzzed. One glance confirmed what she’d expected. It was Stephanie, obviously too anxious to wait for her cousin’s nightly call.

Ignoring the vibrations in her pocket, she finished cleaning up the dishes, then walked back out into the living room, just as the news anchor announced that the autopsy on Scott Delwyn showed no signs of foul play. “Finn’s Harbor’s chief of police, Dan Petersen, is satisfied that the death was an unfortunate accident. Questions have been raised, however, about the safety of the construction site, and all activity there will be shut down until the premises have undergone a thorough inspection.”

“Such a dreadful shame,” Jessie murmured. “They really should be more careful. I’ve seen the way those construction workers scramble all over the scaffolding. It’s a wonder more of them don’t fall off.”

Clara shuddered, the memory of her vision still hovering in her mind. “I’ve got some work to do on the computer,” she said as she crossed the room.

“Well, don’t sit up half the night.” Jessie switched channels on the TV, allowing an auto dealer’s commercial to blare across the room.

Clara lifted her hand in response and escaped into the hallway. Closing the door to her room, she ordered Tatters to lie on his pillow, then quickly thumbed Stephanie’s speed dial number on her cell phone.

Her cousin answered on the first ring. “There you are. I called you a little while ago.”

“I know. I was in the kitchen. I didn’t want to talk within earshot of my mother.”

“Oh, good thinking. So, what’s the plan?”

“What plan? You’re usually the one with all the ideas. I just get to follow along, remember?”

“Well, you don’t have to sound so bitter. I don’t have the freedom that you have.”

Clara relaxed her shoulders. “I know. I’m just tired.”

Her cousin’s voice changed to one of concern. “What’s wrong? Has something happened? I saw on the news that Dan still thinks Scott’s death is an accident. Did you know they’re shutting down the construction site for inspection?”

“Yes, I heard.”

“Clara, something’s going on with you. I can tell.”

After another moment’s hesitation, Clara told her about the vision. Stephanie kept gasping and exclaiming all the way through it, especially when Clara got to the bit about Rick worrying about her having a heart attack.

“Do you think Rick suspects anything?” Stephanie asked when Clara was finished with her tale.

“No, how could he? He doesn’t know anything about the Quinn Sense.”

“There are quite a few people in Finn’s Harbor who know there’s something odd about the Quinns. Some of them might know the truth.”

“But no one knows I have it, except you.” She paused, then added, “I think it’s getting stronger.”

Excitement bubbled in her cousin’s voice when she answered. “You do? Why?”

“I’ve had visions before, but I’ve always been on the outside, sort of looking in, like watching a movie. This time I was actually there.” Clara shivered at the memory. “I could feel the rain and the wind, and I heard the sound of Scott’s body hitting the ground. I was actually standing on that scaffolding, high up in the air. It was terrifying.”

“Oh,
how
I wish I could do that!” Stephanie made a sound of disgust in her throat. “It’s just not
fair
.”

Having heard all that before, Clara muttered, “Believe me, I wish I could transfer it all to you. I
never
want to do that again.”

“Could you tell what these people looked like?”

Clara closed her eyes, seeing again the two dark figures sending a husband and father to his death. “No, it was too dark and misty with the rain.”

“Well, you just
have
to tell Dan now.” Stephanie gasped, then sounding farther away from the phone, added, “What? No, I was talking about the spring sale.” She spoke into the phone again, her voice almost a whisper. “That was George. He wanted to know what we had to tell Dan.”

“Well, for heaven’s sake, don’t say anything to him about this.” Clara brushed dark bangs out of her eyes with impatient fingers. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll think of something to tell Dan, though I don’t know what I can say to him. I’m sure as hell not going to tell him about the Sense. Not that he’d believe a word of it, anyway.”

“When will you go see him?”

“Tomorrow, before I start work. I’ll let you know what happens when I get to the bookstore.”

“I should go with you.”

“No, it’s better if I go alone. Less conspicuous.”

“Okay. I take it everything went all right at the store?”

Clara spent the next five minutes giving Stephanie a report of the afternoon’s business. After wishing her cousin a good-night, she sat down at the computer, but found it impossible to concentrate.

Images from her vision kept coming back to torment her. She let go of the mouse and leaned back in her chair. Dealing with the family curse had been bad enough when the voices had interrupted her, or she’d seen vague pictures in her mind. Being snatched away from her surroundings and dumped into a murder scene was something entirely different.

If that happened too often, she could just imagine the havoc it would cause in her life. Even worse, keeping her secret would become that much more difficult. There were a lot of people she’d rather not have learn about her weird abilities. Right at the top of that list was Rick Sanders, and that thought disturbed her most of all.

Was she starting to care a little too much for Rick despite her efforts to prevent it? If so, she was in more trouble than she thought.

Many years ago, before Clara was born, the building that now contained Finn’s Harbor’s police station had been a small theater. All that was left of the original interior was the ornate ceiling, where huge baskets of roses and rainbows had been carved into the plaster. The Rainbow Theater, as it was called, had been built before the turn of the twentieth century, and once, when Clara was a lot younger, while visiting the police station on a class project, she’d noticed an overpowering odor of stale tobacco and perfume. It had shaken her to discover that she was the only one who could smell it.

She half expected to confront it again as she walked inside that morning, but all that greeted her was the faint, musty scent of damp wood and aging carpet. The ghost, or whatever it was that had disturbed her so much, must have long departed.

The sloping floor led down past several cubicles to Dan’s office in the rear, and when she knocked on the door, his booming voice answered her.

“Yeah?”

She opened the door and poked her head in the gap. “Hi, Dan. Got a minute?”

He leaned back in his chair and dropped the pen he was holding. “I’ve always got time for a pretty lady.”

She smiled and opened the door wider.

Although Dan was the chief of police, he never let his position get in the way of his attitude toward the people he served. He was a big man, both in build and attitude. He greeted everyone with a smile and a friendly word, though his pale blue eyes never stopped probing and assessing what he saw. Nothing much got past Dan, and he’d earned a great deal of respect from the residents of Finn’s Harbor.

He was watching Clara now as she walked toward him and took the chair in front of his desk. “What brings you here this morning?” he asked as she tried to relax her shoulders. “Not trouble, I hope?”

She shrugged, doing her best to appear unconcerned. “Depends what you mean by trouble. I heard about Scott Delwyn’s . . . accident.”

He must have noticed her slight pause. His bushy gray eyebrows shot up. “What does that have to do with you?”

She shifted on her chair, feeling like a wayward student hauled in front of the principal. “I was just wondering if you’d considered the idea that it might not be an accident?”

Now Dan was frowning. Not a good sign. “That’s always a possibility in a case like this. I did a thorough investigation, however, and I’m satisfied that it was an accident. The M.E.’s report confirmed that.” He laced his fingers together and leaned forward. “Do you have any reason to suggest otherwise?”

She swallowed. “Er, well . . . I was just thinking, you know, with all the protests going on and all the bad feelings between the construction workers and the protestors, that perhaps. . . .” Dan’s gaze was slicing through her head and she let her voice trail off.

“Do you have any evidence whatsoever to support your suspicions?”

She dropped her chin. “No. I just thought—”

Dan groaned. “Clara, Clara, Clara . . . what am I going to do with you?”

Now she was actually squirming. “I just had this really strong feeling. . . ”

“Uh-huh. And you thought now was a good time for Clara Quinn, the intrepid investigator, to step in.”

Again she shrugged.

Dan leaned back in his chair again. “Clara, honey, listen to me. I know you’ve had a couple of good results from poking your cute little nose into police business”— Clara winced—“but that doesn’t mean you should go off on a crusade every time someone dies. If you’re that anxious to be a crime-solver, why don’t you apply for a position with the police force? You can work your way up to detective in no time.”

Annoyed that he was being more than a little patronizing, Clara got up from her chair. “Believe me, I wouldn’t be a cop if they paid me a million dollars.”

Dan grinned. “Very wise, m’dear. Very wise.”

She reached the door and paused when he added, “Don’t worry about Scott Delwyn. It’s sad and tragic, and devastating for his family, but it was an accident, pure and simple. These things happen.”

She gave him a brief nod and closed the door. So much for letting Dan know what she knew. Scowling, she trudged up the tilting floor and walked out into the stiff, cold wind blowing off the ocean. There was only one thing she could do now and that was find some evidence to convince Dan to open an investigation. Easier said than done.

Stephanie was near the counter, stacking books on a shelf when Clara arrived at the bookstore. She pounced the minute Clara walked inside. “Well, did you see Dan? What did he say?”

Aware of customers who were browsing nearby, Clara shook her head in warning. “Later. I’ll call you tonight.”

Stephanie frowned. “He didn’t believe you.”

“No, he didn’t.” Clara glanced over at the counter, where Molly was holding the phone with one hand and checking something out on the computer with the other. “We’ll talk tonight.”

“What are we going to do?”

Sighing, Clara beckoned Stephanie to follow and headed down the aisle to the stockroom. Once inside, she closed the door behind her cousin, saying, “Molly is going to wonder what on earth we are up to, if we keep closeting ourselves in here.”

Stephanie waved a hand at the unopened cartons. “It’s not like there’s nothing to do in here.”

Clara groaned. “I forgot it was delivery day. I’ll get to them as soon as I can.”

“Not until you’ve told me everything that Dan said.”

Clara repeated the conversation, or what she could remember of it.

Stephanie’s frown deepened as she listened. “Sounds as if he wasn’t too thrilled about your visit,” she said when Clara was done.

“It could have gone better. Let’s face it: he’s never going to take us seriously unless we have something solid to give him.”

“So how are we going to do that?”

“I don’t know.” Clara glanced at her watch. “I need to think about it. I suppose we should look for some kind of evidence that at least suggests Scott may have been murdered.”

Stephanie snorted. “It will have to be really good evidence to convince him. He thinks we’re just a couple of busybodies who got lucky a couple of times.”

Clara had to smile. “That’s pretty close to the truth.”

“Hey! More than once, we’ve put ourselves in the line of fire to catch those killers.”

“Yep, we have. Even though neither of us really knows what we’re doing. It’s been more by luck than good judgment that we’ve come out of these escapades unhurt. I’m afraid that if we keep this up, sooner or later our luck is going to run out.”

A cloud of concern passed across Stephanie’s face then she shook her head. “Nah, not when we have the Quinn Sense and Tatters to protect us.”

Clara laughed in spite of her niggling worry. “Okay. You win. We go looking for evidence.”

“Where?”

“I guess a good place to start is with the protestors. They’re the most likely to have caused trouble. Maybe Scott took a swing at somebody and it got out of hand.”

“Good idea. Which ones?”

Clara frowned. “What do you mean, which ones?”

“Well, there’s Josh Millstone and his girlfriend. They’re the leaders of the conservation group that are protesting the construction because they’re afraid the builders will destroy the habitat.”

Remembering the meeting, Clara’s frown cleared. “You mean the guy with the straggly red hair? How do you know him?”

Stephanie shrugged. “He’s a new teacher at the kids’ school. I recognized him when we came out of the meeting the other night and heard them talking about protesting. Ethan’s always talking about Mr. Millstone and his fight to save the endangered species.” She smiled. “I think Ethan is taking an interest in environmental concerns.”

“Okay, so there’s a place to start. Who else were you talking about?”

“Lionel Clapham.”

Clara raised her eyebrows. “The owner of Searock Inn? Why him?”

“He’s heading a group of the local businessmen in a protest. According to something George read in the paper, Lionel’s been causing trouble up at the site. He got into a fistfight with someone. George says that Lionel’s afraid the new resort will take his business.”

Clara pursed her lips, then murmured, “That’s a pretty good motive to get steamed up about the construction.”

“Have you met him?”

“No, but I have a feeling I’m about to.” She paused, working out in her mind the questions she might ask.

“There’s just one thing,” Stephanie murmured. “Josh and his protestors were at the meeting the night Scott died.”

“But Scott supposedly fell at the end of the shift when he was doing his rounds. That would be what . . . around six or so?”

“Something like that.”

“The meeting didn’t start until seven thirty. Plenty of time for someone to kill Scott and get to the meeting before it started.”

Stephanie’s brow cleared. “You’re right. You’re not going to see these people without me, I hope?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Nope.” Stephanie grinned. “How about tomorrow morning? Molly can take care of things. I’ll meet you here around nine; that’ll give me time to open up. Maybe we can talk to both Josh and Lionel and still get back here for your shift at noon. “

Clara sighed. “There goes my beauty sleep again.”

Stephanie gave her a hefty nudge. “You don’t need it.”

“Thanks.” She looked at her watch again. “I’d better get out there. Molly will be wondering what the heck I’m doing all this time.”

“You’re unpacking cartons.” Stephanie nodded at the boxes. “I’ll tell her. She can let you know if she needs your help. It’s pretty quiet out there right now.”

Clara headed for the cartons. Opening the boxes was her favorite part of the job. She loved the smell of brand-new books, the colorful covers, and the smooth feel of them in her hands. Although she’d probably never read any of them since most of the titles were paranormal, just knowing that great adventures awaited their eager customers put a smile on her face.

She heard the door close behind Stephanie, then silence settled over the room. She pulled the first box toward her and reached for the box cutter on the shelf. Seconds later, she pulled back the flaps to reveal rows of flashy blue covers with a white-faced vampire snarling at her.

Blinking, she lifted one of the books for a closer look. The title screamed at her in red letters dripping with blood:
The Games Vampires Play.

Clara shivered and took out another four of the books. Stephanie liked the books to be stacked five deep on the shelf, replacing them as they were sold. Clara dropped the books onto the rollaway carts they used to transfer the books from stockroom to aisles.

As she did so, she heard a faint scuffling in the corner of the room by the rear door. Skin prickling, she peered into the shadows but could see nothing but cartons, a vacuum cleaner, a box of cleaning supplies and a ladder.

She waited, muscles tensed to leap for the inner door if anything moved. All was still, and gradually she let her shoulders relax. Either she’d dreamed it, or the Raven’s Nest was harboring mice.

She made a mental note to mention it to Stephanie. Mice ate books, didn’t they? Or was that rats? Either way, she’d rather not come face-to-face with them. She started cutting open the cartons with a feverish speed, hauling books onto the rollaway until it was full. Then, with a last look over her shoulder, she opened the door and shoved the loaded cart out into the aisle.

Stephanie was waiting for Clara when she arrived at the bookstore the next day. She must have been watching from the window, since she met Clara on the doorstep with her coat collar turned up and a scarf wound around her head.

The bitter wind swirled dust and dried leaves around their feet as they walked back down the hill to the parking lot. “You could have called me from the car,” Stephanie said as they crossed the lot to where Clara had parked her car.

“I need the exercise and fresh air.” Clara pressed her key to open the doors. The car answered with a faint
beep
and the
click
of locks releasing.

Stephanie trudged around to the passenger side, raising her voice as the wind buffeted her face. “If the air gets any fresher, we’ll be blown right off our feet.”