Trouble Vision (8 page)

In spite of her dislike of the woman, Clara could tell Roberta was genuinely upset. Her compassion won. “Let’s go down to the Nook. I’ve got coffee and aspirin there.” She wasn’t sure how much help that would be, but it sounded sympathetic, at least.

Roberta seemed to agree, since she headed off down the aisle to the Reader’s Nook.

Clara followed, thinking about the teller who’d been held at gunpoint. Janice Phillips was in her mid-fifties, a dumpy, quiet-spoken woman who always seemed fearful of being reprimanded for talking to the customers. Definitely not the kind of person who could deal with a gun being waved in her face. She had to be badly shaken and Clara felt sorry for her. Something like that could haunt the poor woman for years.

She reached the Nook, and as she was about to turn the corner to go in, without warning a cold wind blasted across her face.

She was no longer in the bookstore. She could hear the wail of a police siren in the distance, and the roar of the ocean as waves crashed onto the beach just a few yards away. There was the bank, sunlight glinting on the windows. The street was empty except for one man, standing alone in front of the doors, peering inside.

She flinched as a woman screamed somewhere inside the bank. The man turned his head, then twisted around to look at her. Her stomach heaved when she saw his face. It was Scott Delwyn, his skin colorless, his eyes wide and staring.

He took a step toward her, then turned back to look at the bank. She could hear shouting now from inside—a man’s voice, harsh with anger.

“Whatever’s the matter with you?”

Clara blinked as the ocean, the bank and Scott Delwyn vanished. Roberta was peering at her around the end of the aisle, her face taut with concern.

Inwardly cursing the Quinn Sense, Clara rubbed a hand across her stomach. “Sorry. Indigestion. Must be the bologna sandwich I had for lunch.”

Roberta made a face. “Ugh. How do you eat that stuff?”

Clara followed her into the Nook, still disoriented from the sudden transformation of her surroundings. Walking over to the table that held the coffeepot, she opened the small drawer and took out a bottle of aspirin.

“Do you want to take this with coffee, or would you rather have water?”

“Coffee’s fine, thanks.” Roberta took the bottle from her and shook three pills out into her hand. “I don’t usually take this stuff but I can’t seem to stop shaking.”

Clara knew exactly how she felt. Her own hand shook as she poured coffee into two mugs. She’d never seen a ghost before. At least, not one she recognized. There was no doubt in her mind that Scott Delwyn was trying to tell her something.

Was the robbery connected to his death? If so, how? This was something that Dan should know about, and soon. But she had no idea how she could convey that information without a whole lot of awkward questions.

She carried the coffee over to Roberta and sat down. “Tell me more about the robbery. Did you talk to Janice? Did she know who he was?”

Roberta shuddered. “I couldn’t talk to Janice. She was talking to Dan when I went in there. Talking and crying at the same time.” She took a sip of her coffee. “You can’t imagine how awful it was in there. No one was speaking. Everyone looked sick to their stomachs. I got out of there as quickly as I could.” She shuddered again. “I’ll have nightmares for weeks.”

Clara leaned back, her mug in her hand. “I guess it will be on the news tonight. We might know more then.”

Roberta sat up, her thin eyebrows arched high. “On the news? Of course! Why didn’t I think of that? I should have hung around. I could have been interviewed.”

Clara resisted the impulse to roll her eyes. “I should think they’d only interview the people who were there when the robbery took place.”

“You think so?” Roberta looked disappointed. “I suppose you’re right. I guess it’s not worth going back there now. The reporters have probably left, anyway.” She took another sip of coffee. “I think I will have that water, thanks. The coffee’s too hot to swallow pills.”

Clara got up and went over to the sink. She could still see Scott Delwyn in her mind, his face devoid of expression and his vacant eyes staring at her. What was he trying to tell her? Damn the Quinn Sense. If it was going to whisk her away and drop her in the middle of a crime scene, the very least it could do was leave her there long enough to figure out exactly what she was looking at and why.

She was relieved when Roberta finally decided she was well enough to leave.

True to form, however, she couldn’t resist a parting shot. “I ran into Rick last night,” she said, pausing to pick up her earmuffs from the counter. “He was entertaining the ladies down at the bowling alley.”

Clara smiled. “I didn’t know you bowled.”

“Oh, I don’t.” She headed for the door. “I saw his truck in the parking lot as I drove past.” She disappeared outside, leaving Clara frowning after her.

How the heck, she fumed, as she walked behind the counter, could Roberta know he was talking to women if she wasn’t in the bowling alley? What difference did it make to her if he was, anyway? He was a big boy. He could talk to whomever he wanted.

Having settled that in her mind, she logged onto the computer and started entering the receipts for the day. She’d hardly begun when her cell phone buzzed in her pocket. Guessing it was her cousin calling, she pulled it out and flipped it open.

Stephanie’s voice was shrill with excitement. “Guess what! There was a bank robbery here this afternoon.”

“I know. The bank at the bottom of the hill. Roberta told me.”

“Oh.” Stephanie sounded disappointed. “Well, he got away with a large sum of cash, according to the news.”

“Thank goodness no one was hurt.”

“What’s wrong? You sound weird.”

Clara sighed. She might have known she couldn’t keep anything from her cousin. Although she was alone in the store, she walked out to look down the aisles, just in case.

“Clara?” Stephanie’s voice rose in alarm. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” Having satisfied herself that no one was there to overhear her, she added, “I had another vision.”

Stephanie gasped. “You did? What was it?”

“I saw Scott Delwyn. He was standing outside the bank.”

Another gasp. “You saw his
ghost
?”

“Yes. I think he was trying to tell me something.”

“Ugh! Did he look creepy?”

Clara sighed. “That’s not the point. I think his death and the robbery are connected somehow.”

“No way! Scott wouldn’t rob a bank.”

“I don’t mean he was actually involved with the robbery.”

“Then what do you mean?”

“I don’t know. I just know he wanted to tell me something
about
the robbery.”

Stephanie was silent for a long moment before she said quietly, “Sometimes the Sense doesn’t make sense at all.”

“You’re telling me,” Clara said grimly. “Just try living with it for a while.”

“I wish I could.”

“I wish you could, too.”

“So what are you going to do? Tell Dan?”

“I guess.” Clara stared out the window. It was getting dark and the lights were bright inside the hardware store across the street. She could see someone moving around inside, but couldn’t tell if it was Rick or a customer. “I talked to Tyler Whittaker this morning.”

“You did? Why didn’t you tell me? What did he say?”

“Not much. I tried to ask him about his brother, but he thought I was asking because I was interested in him.”

Stephanie chuckled. “I bet that was awkward. Was Rick there?”

Clara briefly closed her eyes. “He came in and interrupted me so I didn’t get much out of Tyler.”

“Too bad.”

“Did you think of an excuse to tell George about tomorrow night?”

“Not yet. I will.” She paused, then added in a rush, “I gotta go. The kids are much too quiet. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

Clara closed the phone and moved over to the window. As she reached it, she saw the front door of the hardware store swing open and a figure stepped outside. Recognizing Tyler, she watched as he paused for a moment on the sidewalk, then he pulled on a red wool hat, turned up his collar and loped off down the hill.

Tomorrow, she told herself, she’d try to meet Tyler’s brother and talk to him. She didn’t know why, but it seemed important that she question him.

That night, she dreamed she was on the beach with Tatters when farther along the shore a man who looked vaguely familiar started waving at her. At first she ignored him, but then he began running toward her, flailing his arms and shouting something she couldn’t understand.

Tatters started barking and she struggled to keep him quiet, anxious to hear what the man had to say. He was almost close enough when a huge wave rushed onto the sands, cutting him off.

He stood for a moment watching her, before he pulled a red wool hat from his pocket, tugged it on and walked off in the opposite direction.

Frustrated, she called out after him, “Wait! Wait! What did you want to tell me?”

Tatters growled, and she opened her eyes to find the dog’s nose close to hers, his breath warm on her face.

“It’s all right, boy,” she murmured, and patted his furry head. “Lay down and go back to sleep.”

He grunted, pawed around for a moment, then flopped down with a
thud
that shook the bed.

She lay still, staring at the faint light creeping through the blinds. It seemed that Scott wasn’t the only one anxious to tell her something. The stranger in her dream had looked enough like Tyler Whittaker to be his brother, and the red hat seemed to confirm it. She was more anxious than ever to talk to Ryan Whittaker.

Stephanie loved her husband more than anything else in the world—next to her kids, anyway—which is why she tried so hard to spare him the worry that she was sure he’d feel if he knew she was helping Clara track down a killer.

Sometimes she wondered if it wouldn’t be better if she just told him in the hope that he’d have enough faith in her to know she’d be careful and not get into too much trouble.

The problem with that was that he’d probably try to talk her out of it, by pointing out that he and the children needed her, and if anything bad happened, they’d be lost without her. Not that she didn’t already know that, and agonize over it at times, but as long as it wasn’t out there in front of her, spoken in so many words, she could put it out of her mind long enough to get the job done.

Then again, she suspected that George knew all along what she and Clara were up to, which was probably why he’d been so preoccupied lately. He most likely figured she’d go ahead and do it anyway whether he objected or not, and it was probably better not to get in a fight about it. Since she thoroughly agreed with that, it was better that she didn’t tell him.

Having won that argument with herself once more, she left a note for George on the table, telling him that she was going over to Clara’s house and would order pizza when she got back.

After dropping the kids off at her mother’s house, Stephanie convinced herself that she’d be gone no more than the hour—or so she’d promised everyone—and headed out to meet her cousin.

Clara, meanwhile, had spent most of the day trying to catch up on chores while entertaining Tatters. Jessie arrived home just in time to meet Clara on her way out the door.

“Where are you going?” Jessie demanded as Clara passed her on the step. “I thought you’d be home for dinner.”

“I will be.” Clara started down the path. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

“But we always eat together on your day off.”

“Sorry, Mom.” Clara spotted Stephanie’s car heading toward her. “I’m going out with Stephanie for a while. I won’t be late.” She hurried down the path before Jessie could ask any more questions.

Stephanie pulled up at the curb and waited for her to climb in and get settled. “What did you tell Aunt Jessie?” she asked as Clara fastened her seat belt.

“Just that we were going out for a while.” Clara glanced at her cousin. “What did you tell George?”

“Same thing.” Stephanie slid the gear lever into drive. “He wasn’t home so I left him a note.”

“You have a very tolerant husband.”

“I know.” Stephanie sighed. “Sometimes I feel bad about not telling him what we’re doing.”

“I know.” Clara patted her arm. “But he’d only worry if you did.”

“He’d want me to stop.”

“Do
you
want to stop?”

Stephanie gave her a startled look. “Of course not! We’re in this together. We always have been and we always will be.”

Clara smiled. “Spoken like a true cousin and soul mate.”

Ahead of them, the road wound around the shore line, and already pinpricks of light from the next town were popping up across the bay. As always, Clara felt uneasy about questioning strangers about a murder. Especially when all she had to go on was her unpredictable, unreliable Quinn Sense.

“I had a dream last night,” she said as the car swept around the rocky slopes of the hills.

“You did?” Stephanie sounded surprised. “Why didn’t you tell me before? What was it about?”

“I don’t know if it meant anything. I dreamed a man in a red wool hat was trying to tell me something.”

“Who was he?”

“I’m not sure, but I think it was Ryan Whittaker.”

“Tyler’s brother?” Stephanie laughed. “You’re not getting interested in him, are you?”

“I’ve never met him.”

“So what did he say in the dream?”

“That’s just it. He was too far away for me to hear what he said. But I think we need to talk to him.”

“You think he might have killed Scott?”

Clara sighed. “I don’t know what to think. Let’s just hope that someone says something soon that will help us, or we might never know the truth about Scott’s death.”

“That would be a shame.”

“Yes, it would.” She fell silent, going over in her mind the vision she had of Scott standing outside the bank as it was robbed and her gut feeling that somehow the two incidents were connected.

“There’s the construction site up ahead,” Stephanie said, sounding a little tense. “I hope we’re in time.”

“It said on the news that Scott was killed around five thirty, shortly after the shift ended.” Clara glanced at her watch. “It’s five twenty, so they should start coming out soon.”

“Okay, just to get our story straight: we’re doing an article about the new resort, putting a positive slant on it in the hopes of pacifying the protestors so the construction workers can get on with their job.”

“Right. We—” Clara broke off. “I don’t believe it.”

“What?” Stephanie peered through the windshield. “What’s the matter? Oh, crap.”

She had apparently seen what Clara had seen—a large group of people, some of them carrying placards, surrounding the gates of the construction site.

“We’re never going to get through that lot.” Clara sunk back on her seat. “Just our luck the protestors picked tonight to hold a rally.”

Stephanie pulled onto the gravel clearing that served as a parking lot and cut the engine. They could hear the chanting of the crowd, though it was too garbled to make out what they said. It was obvious, however, from the angry tone of the voices that the protestors were fired up about the project and were doing their best to shut it down.

A white van with the local television station’s call letters on it shot past them, coming to a halt just short of the crowd. Two men jumped out, one with a spot light, the other a camera, and began shooting the scene.

“Let’s get out of here,” Stephanie muttered. “I don’t want to end up on the evening news.”

“Right.” Clara sat up. “We’ll just have to come back another night.”

“Maybe Molly will fill in for you and we can try again tomorrow.”

“Good idea. I’ll ask her.” Clara frowned. “I’ll have to think of some way to repay her.”

Stephanie grinned. “Don’t you mean bribe her?”

“Okay, smart mouth. This is for a good cause, remember?”

“I know.” She was silent for a while, and then added quietly, “I just hope the Quinn Sense is right about this.”

“So do I,” Clara muttered. “Believe me, so do I.”

Clara’s head felt clear for a change when she joined her mother in the kitchen the following morning.

Jessie greeted her with a smile, and leaned forward to scratch Tatters’ ears. “You’re up early. Sleep okay?”

“Like a baby. Did you?”

“I usually do. You’re the one always having the nightmares. You talk so loud in your sleep sometimes, I’d swear there’s someone in the bedroom with you.”

Dismayed to discover her mother could hear her at night, Clara tried to shrug it off. “Only Tatters. You probably hear me talking to him.”

Her mother gave her a knowing look. “You were talking in your sleep long before that dog got here. I do wish you wouldn’t let him sleep with you. It’s not healthy.”

The change of subject was a relief and Clara jumped on it. “I like having him there. He keeps me warm.”

“It’s a wonder he doesn’t smother you with all that hair in your face.” Jessie shook out the newspaper. “I see that Dan hasn’t had any luck catching that bank robber. What nerve that man has—holding up a bank in broad daylight. Though, of course, this is such a dinky little town. No one here ever expects something as dramatic as a bank robbery so the police aren’t prepared for it. Not like a big city that’s crawling with cops.” She peered up at Clara. “I suppose you were used to bank robberies in New York.”

Clara’s back stiffened, and she made an effort to relax as she poured coffee into her mug. “Not really. If fact, this is the closest I’ve ever been to something like this.”

Jessie grunted. “Well, I certainly hope Dan catches the thief. With everything else going on, the last thing we need is a criminal running around robbing people. What if he came into the library and pointed a gun at me? I’d faint dead away. I think Dan should have extra police patrolling the town until they catch that thug.”

Clara carried her mug over to the table and sat down. “I doubt that a robber would expect to find much cash in the library, or the bookstore, for that matter.”

“You never know.” Jessie rattled the newspaper. “In this economy, people get desperate and they’ll go after anything.”

Clara thought about her mother’s comment on the way to work. The bank job certainly seemed to have been an act of desperation—a lone robber hitting the bank in broad daylight. What had driven a man to such great lengths he had risked everything to get his hands on that money?

She was still thinking about it when she walked into the Raven’s Nest. A couple of customers stood in one of the aisles, browsing the shelves. Molly waved at her from behind the counter, where she was setting up a display of bookmarks. Stephanie was probably in the stockroom sorting out the new deliveries.

With a wave back at Molly, Clara headed down the aisle, smiling a greeting at the customers as she passed. As predicted, Stephanie was in the stockroom surrounded by half-emptied boxes.

“I’ve been waiting for you to get here,” she said as Clara closed the door behind her. “I talked to Molly this morning.”

Clara tugged her arms out of her coat sleeves and hung it up on the hook. “Did you ask her about tonight?”

“We don’t have to go tonight.” Stephanie grunted as she lifted an armful of books from the box in front of her. “Molly had a great idea. She said that some of the construction workers usually go down to the tavern for happy hour on Fridays. If we want to talk to them that would be the best place to do it.”

Clara rolled her eyes. “Don’t tell me. The Laurel Street Tavern again, right?’

“Wrong. It’s that bar out on the coast road. Not everyone lives in Finn’s Harbor. Some of the guys live in Mittleford, so they go to the Blue Bayou near the construction site.”

Clara took the books from her cousin’s arms. “Well, I hope they serve better beer there than on Laurel Street. Or at least some decent wine.”

Stephanie grinned. “I take it we’re going to make Happy Hour at the Blue Bayou on Friday night?”

“I guess so. Is Molly coming?”

“I’m sure she’d love to.” Stephanie looked at her watch. “Uh-oh. I have to run. I have a hair appointment in a half hour and I have to go home first. Put those cookbooks out on the table for me, please?”

“Sure.” Clara followed her out into the store. “Talk to you later.”

She was talking to thin air as her cousin flew down the aisle, shouted something to Molly and disappeared out the door.

Molly was only too happy to talk about the Blue Bayou when Clara asked her about it later. “It’s a lot nicer than the tavern on Laurel Street,” she said as she poured herself a cup of coffee in the Nook. “Not as noisy, better music, smells a lot sweeter and the women don’t have muscles and tattoos.” She grinned. “Well, they probably do, but they’re a lot more discreet.”

“Stephanie said the construction workers go there on Fridays.” Clara took her mug of coffee over to a chair and sat down.

“Yeah, I’ve seen them in there a couple of times. When Stephanie said you planned on trying to talk to them as they were leaving the site, I figured the bar would be a better place to do it.”

“So, do you want to come with us on Friday?”

Molly’s eyes lit up. “Really? Cool! You know how I enjoy helping you guys do detective work.”

“Well, we have to be careful what we say there. As I said before, we don’t really know for sure what happened to Scott.”

“Right. I’ll remember. I—” She paused. “Was that the front doorbell?”

“I think so.” Clara put down her coffee. “I’ll go. You can clean up here and then it’ll be time for you to go home.”

Heading up the aisle, she felt a jolt of apprehension when she saw Dan Petersen standing at the counter. She hurried forward, hoping someone hadn’t complained about her hanging around the construction site.