Extra Sensory Deception (4 page)

Clara stared at him. “He is? But the audience seems to love him.”

“Yeah, but he’s not putting a hundred percent into it like he usually does. I tried to talk to him earlier, but he took off before I could say anything. Guess he’s feeling under the weather tonight. Happens to the best of us.”

Uneasiness rippled through Clara’s body. If Sparky was sick, maybe that’s why she kept seeing him in trouble. “I’m sorry to hear that. It must be hard to act funny when you’re not feeling good.”

“Yeah.” Wes rose to his feet as Rick appeared on the steps. “Well, enjoy the rest of the show.”

“Thanks. I know we will.” She watched him pause to speak to Rick, then he disappeared into the group of people below.

Rick handed her a cup of beer and sat down. “Wes is in the next-to-last event. Calf roping. You’ll enjoy that.”

Clara took a sip of the cold beer. “I’m looking forward to seeing your friend compete.” She actually did enjoy it, once Rick assured her that the calves were not hurt. It was easy to pick out Wes in his red shirt, and she applauded with enthusiasm when he won the event.

When Marty’s last turn in the arena ended without mishap she finally relaxed. Maybe her visions were simply about him not feeling well—like he was coming down with a cold or something. It didn’t seem as if he was in actual danger, though she found it impossible to totally let go of her anxiety until the final parade wound its way around the ring amid tumultuous applause from the crowd.

“You can unclench your teeth now,” Rick said, as they filed down the steps behind a group of chattering kids.

“Thanks.” She gave him a rueful smile. “Was I that obvious?”

He grabbed her hand as they reached the walkway. “No, not really. I could tell you weren’t exactly lapping it up, though.”

“Sorry. I did enjoy parts of it, but I guess I was afraid someone would get hurt.”

“Nothing wrong with having a soft heart. I like that.”

She gave his fingers a grateful squeeze. They had reached the ground now. Their seats had been on the opposite side of the arena, near the concert stage. Clara gazed at it as they passed, remembering how it looked with a glowing backdrop and lights, lasers flashing and musicians writhing in front of the microphones.

Without warning her thoughts were shattered as a piercing scream rang out above the chatter of the crowd.

Rick halted, pulling her to a stop. “What the heck was that?”

More screams erupted, and now the people in front of them were turning toward the stage, muttering to one another.

Clara was closest to the corner of the stage. Staring into the darkness she saw a teenage couple rush out from behind the structure. The girl was crying, waving her arms, sobbing out words that Clara couldn’t understand.

Her boyfriend shouted, “Somebody call 911! There’s a dead body back there!”

Rick muttered something unintelligible, and Clara stood rooted to the spot, once more seeing the body of Sparky the clown tumbling headfirst down the steep rows of the stands. It was her fault. She should have warned him. Now Marty Pearce was dead and it was too late to save him.

Clara slept badly that night and woke up to find Tatters pawing her arm. “Sorry, boy,” she muttered, as she clambered out of bed and reached for her robe. “I guess you need to go out.”

Tatters grunted and trotted over to the door. Clara opened it for him and followed him down the hallway to the kitchen.

Seated at the table with a newspaper spread out in front of her, Jessie looked up. “Oh, there you are. I was just about to bring you a cup of coffee.” She narrowed her eyes. “You look miserable. You must have had a bad night.”

“I did.” Clara opened the back door, and Tatters rushed outside. “Have you seen any news about the murder?”

“Murder?” Jessie picked up the newspaper. “What murder?”

“At the rodeo last night. I don’t know too much about it, but from what we heard, someone found a dead body behind the concert stage.”

“No kidding!” Jessie turned the pages. “Oh, here it is! I’m surprised it didn’t make the front page.” She began reading aloud. “The opening performance of Finn’s Harbor’s fledgling rodeo was marred by the discovery of a dead body. Lisa Warren, assistant to production manager Paul Eastcott, was found strangled to death. The police are investigating, and so far there are no suspects. This is the first time the Hometown Rodeo Company has visited Finn’s Harbor, and Mr. Eastcott has expressed his deep regret to the patrons for the unfortunate beginning to the six-day event.”

Clara walked over to the coffeepot and poured herself a cup. Before the security guards had ushered them out last night, she’d overheard rumors that the victim was a young woman. It had been a relief of sorts to know it wasn’t Marty Pearce.

Carrying her coffee, Clara walked over to the table and sat down. The Sense had been trying to tell her something, however. Since Lisa Warren hadn’t appeared in any of her visions, the young woman couldn’t have been the one being warned. Clara had a bad feeling that Marty was still in danger. Maybe from the same person who had killed the production assistant. Somehow she had to find a way to warn him.

“So how was your date with Rick?” Jessie picked up the newspaper again and tried to look indifferent.

Clara wasn’t fooled. Her mother avidly waited for details after every date. “It was great. I didn’t think I would enjoy the rodeo, but it turned out to be a lot more fun than I’d expected. Though I have to admit, watching the clowns being chased by an angry bull was a little unsettling.”

Jessie smiled. “You’ve always hated clowns. I remember one birthday party when your father insisted on hiring one. You and Stephanie hid in your bedroom closet and refused to come out until the clown left.”

Clara shivered. “There was something weird about that clown.”

“All clowns are weird, darling. That’s part of their getup. Did Rick enjoy the show?”

“Yes, he did. I think rodeos are more a guy thing, anyway.”

Jessie laughed. “You may be right.” She glanced up at the cuckoo clock on the wall. The clock had belonged to Clara’s great grandmother, and the cuckoo had been silenced with age, much to Clara’s relief. “Oh, goodness. Is that the time?” Jessie folded the newspaper and stood. “I suppose you’ll be working late, as usual?”

“I’ll be home soon after eight.”

“I’ll make a salad.” Jessie reached the door and looked back at her. “Try not to worry about the murder, darling. Let the police handle it. I can’t for the life of me imagine what you find so fascinating about solving murders, but you do tend to run into trouble when you get involved.”

Clara nodded. If only it were that simple. She couldn’t ignore her visions, especially if they could help find a killer. “Have a good day, Mom.”

Jessie sighed. “You, too.”

On her way to the Raven’s Nest later, Clara tried to put the conversation out of her mind, but the memory of Sparky the clown tumbling through the air refused to go away. Stephanie pounced on her the moment she entered the bookstore, which didn’t help matters.

“So what happened last night?” Stephanie demanded. “Did you hear about the murder? Did you see anything?”

Clara dumped her purse behind the counter and smiled at a customer waving at her from one of the aisles. “No, I didn’t see anything. All I know is what’s in the
Chronicle
.”

Her cousin looked disappointed. “Oh, I thought you would have at least tried to get a peek at the body.”

“Nope. The security guards were there in seconds. Besides, I’ve sworn off chasing after killers.”

“Since when?”

“Since I nearly got killed by one.”

Stephanie pulled a face. “I just thought you’d want to know what was going on.”

“I’ll watch the news.”

Giving up, Stephanie switched subjects. “So what did you think of the rodeo? Did you get to meet the cowboys?”

“I met Wes, Rick’s pal.” Clara picked up an invoice and studied it. “And I met Sparky the clown.”

Stephanie raised her eyebrows. “Really? The one on the poster?”

“Yep.” Clara tried to ignore the little flutter of apprehension.

“You didn’t run away from him?”

“No, I didn’t. I’ve grown up since that birthday party.”

“You still don’t like clowns.”

“Neither do you.”

“So what’s he like?”

“Nice. Harmless. Friendly.” Clara waved the invoice at her. “So Jane Rancher’s next fantasy book is in. We’ve got four customers waiting for that one.”

“I know.” Stephanie took the invoice from her. “I was going to pull the copies from one of the boxes but haven’t had time. Can you take care of it?”

“Sure.” Clara glanced at the clock. “Don’t you have a dentist appointment?”

“Crap. I’m already late!” Stephanie rummaged under the counter for her purse. “Call me tonight?”

“Don’t I always?”

Grinning, Stephanie rushed to the door and opened it. “You haven’t said anything about your date with Rick.”

Clara sighed. “I’ll tell you everything tonight.”

Apparently satisfied, Stephanie left.

Moments later, just as Clara was on her way to the stockroom, the door opened again and Rick walked in. His usual cheery grin was absent, and he greeted her with a heavy tone that boded trouble.

She walked over to him, glancing over her shoulder to make sure no one was nearby. “What’s wrong?”

He moved closer to her, muttering in a low voice, “Wes has been taken in for questioning. They think he killed that woman last night.”

Clara let out her breath in a rush of dismay. “Oh no. I’m sorry, Rick.”

He shook his head. “He didn’t do it. Wes is like a brother to me. I know him. He’d never hurt anyone intentionally, much less kill someone.”

Clara struggled to find words to reassure him. “Well, if he’s innocent, Dan will know it and let him go. He’s a good police chief.”

“I hope so. Even good cops make mistakes. I know that for a fact.”

Seeing the pain in his eyes, she laid a hand on his arm. It wasn’t that long ago that he’d been under suspicion of murder, and questioned by the police himself. He’d gone through untold misery until his name had been cleared.

“Try not to worry. I’m sure things will work out all right. How did you find out about Wes?”

Rick gave her fingers a grateful squeeze. “I ran into Tim and asked him about the murder. He told me Wes was at the station being questioned.”

“Why do they think Wes killed that woman?”

“They found Wes’s pigging string wrapped around her neck.”

“His
what
string?”

“Pigging string. It’s what the calf ropers use to tie down a calf after they’ve wrestled it to the ground. Some of them are distinctive. Wes’s was handmade—red, white and blue—the only one like it in the rodeo.”

Clara shook her head. “Surely that can’t be enough to arrest him? Anyone could have taken it and used it.”

“That’s what I told Tim, but he said that Wes couldn’t account for half an hour of his time last night. What’s more, a couple of the barrel racers said they heard him fighting with Lisa earlier that afternoon.”

Anxious to take away his look of despair, Clara tried again. “Police need proof before they can bring charges. They’ll test DNA and—”

“And Wes’s DNA will be all over the pigging string.”

“So will that of whoever killed her.”

“Maybe.” Rick looked unconvinced. “Anyway, I’d better get back to the store. Tyler’s waiting to go on a break.”

She watched him go, wishing she could have said something to take that look off his face. Walking back to the stockroom, she thought about the tour Wes had given them. She’d liked the charismatic cowboy, and it was hard to visualize him as a ruthless killer.

Still, she knew from past experience how dumb it was to judge a book by its cover. She’d been fooled before by a friendly face and a captivating manner. All she could hope was that Dan was wrong about Wes and the real killer would soon be caught.

She opened the door to the stockroom and switched on the light. There was a small window at the back of the room, but it never gave enough illumination to read the labels on the boxes. Stephanie had stacked the ones she wanted opened in the middle of the room, and Clara walked over to the pile, curious to see the new books that had arrived that morning.

Just as she reached for the first one, a soft sound made her pause. She lifted her head, listening intently. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard an odd sound in the stockroom, but she’d never been able to figure out where it was coming from.

As always, the sound wasn’t repeated, and, shaking her head, she took her box cutter out of her pocket.

The next instant she was out in the evening sun. Dusk was settling all around her, and a familiar smell hung in the air. Horses. She was at the rodeo, standing behind some kind of structure—the concert stage.

Her nerves jumped as she saw a figure lying on the ground. The woman’s long, dark hair dragged in the dust, and someone in a red shirt and jeans stood over her, holding a thin, brightly colored rope.

Clara blinked, trying to recognize the lean cowboy. He had his back to her, and his cowboy hat hid his head. One thing she did know. As far as she could remember, Wes was the only contestant wearing a red shirt that night. Things were not looking good for Rick’s high school buddy.

—

Later that afternoon, Tim Rossi wandered into the store and waved at Clara as he headed for the aisles. Tim rarely bought anything. He was more interested in whatever snacks were left over in the Reading Nook.

This time, however, he returned to the counter carrying a book. “I never thought my mother would be interested in fantasy,” he said, as he handed Clara the book. “She’s really happy you recommended this series.”

Clara smiled. “I’m glad she’s enjoying it. There’s a couple more on the shelves when she’s finished this one.”

Tim swiped his credit card and put it back in his wallet. “Rick said you were at the rodeo last night. What did you think of it?”

“I enjoyed it more than I thought I would.” She hesitated, wondering if she should bring up the subject of the murder. She needn’t have worried. Apparently Tim was only too eager to discuss it—a trait that had landed him in trouble with the police chief more than once.

“Too bad someone had to ruin it,” he said, slipping his wallet into his jacket pocket. “I hope the murder won’t make people too anxious to go to the fairgrounds. If the rodeo doesn’t do well they won’t be back, and that would be a bummer.”

“So you’re a big rodeo fan, then?”

“Yeah. Saw a lot of them when I was out West.” He took the bagged book from her. “Guess I’ll be seeing a lot of this one. Dan and I have been questioning everyone, though I’m pretty sure we’ve got the perp.”

Clara’s spirits sank. “You’ve got proof?”

Tim grinned. “I keep forgetting you’re an amateur detective.”

“Not really. Just interested in the law and how it works, that’s all.”

“That’s not what Dan calls it. He calls it interfering with the law. You have to admit, you do seem to get involved with our local murder investigations.”

“Dumb luck, I guess.” She met his gaze squarely. “So you’ve arrested Lisa Warren’s killer, then?”

Tim sighed. “All right, I’ll tell you what I know, but only if you swear you won’t start running around questioning people.”

Clara faked a look of hurt innocence. “Why would I do that if you’ve already arrested the killer?”

Tim glanced over his shoulder, then, apparently satisfied, leaned over the counter. “We haven’t actually arrested him yet, but it’s only a matter of time. One of the barrel racers at the rodeo saw the victim heading toward the concert stage around eight fifteen. Our guy is a calf roper, but I figure you already know that, seeing as how he’s a friend of Rick’s and you’ve met him. Anyway, he was last seen in the stands about that time. No one saw him after that until he turned up at the chutes around ten minutes to nine. He said he was talking to fans, but no one can verify that.”

Clara frowned. “It doesn’t sound like much to go on. As a matter of fact, I was talking to Wes around eight. He gave us free tickets for the show.”

“Yeah, I know. Rick told me. That still would have given Carlton plenty of time to get down to the stage and kill Lisa Warren. It was his rope that was wrapped around the victim’s neck, and it was no secret that he had the hots for her. Dan figures Lisa gave him the brush-off and he turned nasty. Some of these rodeo boys can be pretty hotheaded.”