Trouble Vision (14 page)

Her rush of relief made her sound breathless when she answered. “There’s nothing going on between Tim and me. We’re just friends, that’s all. I was upset over something Dan said to me and Tim was trying to make me feel better. He’s a nice guy, but I’m not interested in him in that way.”

She looked up to find him gazing at her, with a look in his eyes that made her pulse speed up.

“Good,” he said softly. “Because I have to tell you, I got worried.”

She was having trouble breathing. “You did?”

“Yes, ma’am. I did.”

He leaned toward her, and then she was in his arms, with his mouth firmly on hers.

After a really satisfying moment or two, he let her go. “I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he said, keeping one arm around her shoulders.

She smiled up at him. “Then why didn’t you?”

He didn’t answer at once, and she felt a trickle of concern.

After a moment or two, he said quietly, “From some of the things you’ve said, I know that you had some kind of bad experience when you were in New York. I got the impression that’s why you came back to Finn’s Harbor to live. Whatever happened back there must have hit hard, because you’ve had a fence built around you covered with warning signs to keep out. Much as I wanted to get closer to you, I figured it would be better if I waited until you were ready to take down those signs. I didn’t want to scare you off before I’d even had a chance to show you what a terrific catch I am.”

The tension broken, she burst out laughing. “Modest, too, I see.”

Looking into his eyes, her heart skipped at what she saw there. Sobering, she looked away, pretending to search for Tatters. He was just a few yards off, sniffing at something in the sand.

She wanted to tell Rick about Matt and her broken heart, but couldn’t find the words to begin. When she’d stayed silent for too long, she forced out words. “I was going to marry him.”

Rick took a while to answer. “You don’t have to tell me. What happened back then has nothing to do with us now.”

“I want to tell you. It’s just . . .”

“I know.”

She tried again. “I didn’t tell anyone I was getting married. Not even my mother. I guess deep down I must have sensed something could go wrong.”
Where had the Quinn Sense been then? Why hadn’t she listened to her instincts?

She took a deep breath. “I found out the night before the wedding that he’d left town with someone else. He didn’t even have the guts to tell me himself.”

She hadn’t noticed the tears in her eyes until one trickled down her cheek.

“Not all men are jerks.” Rick turned her to face him. “I know it’s hard to trust again. I thought I’d found the love of my life, too. I guess we married too young. She missed the single life—the parties, the dates, all the excitement. I wanted kids, she didn’t. She kept saying she was too young to mess up her figure. One day, she just left, saying she was going back to her old life. I guess we just wanted different things.”

Clara dashed at her cheek with the back of her hand. “I’m sorry.”

“Me, too. But life goes on and we have to move on with it.” He lifted her chin with the tips of his fingers. “I can’t think of anyone I’d rather move on with than you.”

His kiss lasted longer this time. Clara closed her eyes and gave herself up to the moment. Until a voice spoke in her head.

It’s about time.

She pulled away from Rick, and saw Tatters sitting just a few feet away, his tongue hanging out of his mouth and his ears twitching.

“I think he approves,” Rick said, following her gaze.

“You might be right.” She stood up. “I guess it’s time I took him home.”

“Too bad.” Rick got slowly to his feet. “Things were just getting interesting.”

Clara smiled. She felt light-headed, as if she’d drunk a little too much wine. The ache that had lurked in her heart for so long was no longer there. Rick was right. It was time to move on and she was more than ready.

She watched him bend down to clip the leash to Tatters’ collar. He was a good man. An honest man. Learning to trust again was hard, but with Rick she felt reasonably sure she could get there. Right now, that was enough for her.

On her way to work the next morning, Clara was almost at the parking lot on the hill when she saw the car. It was cruising toward her—a gleaming red beast on dazzling silver wheels. Sleek and low to the ground, it shouted speed and excitement, with more than a hint of danger. The sort of car a hunk would drive.

Curious to see the man behind the wheel, she eased her foot on the brake. As the car drew level with her, she threw a glance sideways. What she saw disappointed her. The driver was kind of scruffy looking, wearing a fur-lined jacket and a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes.

She could see a shadowy figure sitting in the backseat, and as the car flashed past her, she caught a glimpse of his face. He looked a lot like Scott Delwyn.

She dismissed that immediately, figuring that the dead man was on her mind so much she was imagining things.

The driver, however, had also looked vaguely familiar, and as Clara pulled into the parking lot, her mind worked furiously to remember where she’d seen the man before. Had he been one of the protestors? She tried to remember what Josh’s followers looked like, but no one stood out.

Walking up the hill, she mentally went over everything she’d done and every place she’d been since she’d first heard that Scott Delwyn had died. Still nothing came to mind. She must have been frowning as she walked into the Raven’s Nest, since Stephanie looked at her with concern in her eyes.

“Are you okay? Has something happened?”

“No . . . yes . . . I don’t know.”

Molly was busy with a customer, and Stephanie beckoned to Clara to follow her down the aisle to the storage room. “We just got a new shipment of books,” she said, waving her hand at the pile of cartons in the middle of the room. “I’m anxious to see what’s here.” She pulled a box cutter from her pocket and carefully slit open the top carton.

“Did you happen to see that red car go past here a few minutes ago?” Clara walked over to her and started taking books out of the carton.

“What red car?”

Clara shook her head. “I guess you didn’t see it, or you would have known what I was talking about. It’s the kind of car you usually only see in a dealer’s window.”

Stephanie pulled out a book and read the cover. “It probably belongs to one of the bigwigs who own the resort project.” She turned the book over. “This looks interesting. It’s a debut time-travel series about a newly discovered kingdom that no one knew existed.”

“Sounds good.” Still thinking about the car, the memory of her meeting with Karen popped into Clara’s head. What would Scott’s widow have to do with a luxury sports car? Was it because the passenger in it had looked like Karen’s dead husband? Or was it the Quinn Sense trying to tell her something?

Stephanie said something else, and Clara murmured, “Uh-huh.” Somehow she couldn’t get rid of the idea that the car and Karen were connected. She tried to remember their conversation. It was about the cell phone. No, that wasn’t it. Something later. What had they been talking about when Thelma rang the doorbell and interrupted them?

Thelma. It had something to do with Thelma.

“Are you okay? Are you having another vision or something?” Stephanie sounded excited. “Where are you?”

Clara shook her head. “I’m right here. I just can’t— Oh!”

Stephanie stared at her. “What? What? Tell me!”

Clara let out her breath. “The guy driving that fancy car down the hill. I remember now where I’ve seen him before. It was Thelma’s son. I can’t remember his name, but I do remember his face.” She clutched her cousin’s arm. “Where do you think an out-of-work guy would get a fancy car like that?”

“Maybe he stole it.”

“Or maybe,” Clara said slowly, “he robbed a bank.”

Stephanie dropped the book she was holding back into the box. “You mean we have another suspect.”

“Yes, I think we do.” Clara slipped out of her coat and hung it on the hook. “What’s more, Thelma told Karen they were moving. If her son is the bank robber, we have to move fast, or they’ll be gone and we’ll never find out if he’s the one who killed Scott.”

“Oh, I keep forgetting you think it’s all connected.” Stephanie frowned. “But if Scott is connected to the bank robbery, doesn’t that make him a criminal, too?”

“I don’t know.” Clara hung her scarf over the hook on top of her coat. “All I know is that I saw two people shove Scott off the scaffolding. I wish I did know more than that. This whole case is so confusing. I wish the Sense would either give me something to point me in the right direction or stay out of my mind altogether.”

“Well, maybe Dan will see that guy driving around in a fancy car and figure out there’s something fishy.”

“Maybe, but even Dan can’t do anything without evidence, and there seems to be a shortage of that around.”

“We could just be jumping to conclusions about this. After all, we’ve suspected just about everybody remotely connected to Scott.”

“I know. I can’t help feeling we’re just grasping at straws and that we’re missing something important.”

“I’m sorry, Clara. I wish there was something I could do to help. Right now, though, I have to go clean the house before my kids get out of school. Once they come home, nothing gets done.”

Clara gave her a little push. “Go ahead. I’ll figure it out.”

“Okay. Meanwhile, if you could get some of those books out on the shelves . . .”

“Sure.” Clara waved her off, then turned back to the cartons. She needed something to do to keep her mind off things. All this effort of trying to figure things out was giving her a headache.

A half hour later, she had the books out on the shelves. She was helping Molly rearrange the window display when the phone rang. It was Stephanie, and she sounded excited.

“I saw that red car,” she said, “outside the diner on the waterfront. Your friend must be having lunch there. That’s some car.”

Clara glanced at the clock. “I wonder if he’s still there.”

“You’re not going to accuse him or anything, are you?”

“No, I have a better idea.”

“What is it?”

“I’ll tell you if it works out.”

Hanging up the phone, Clara called out to Molly. “Can you hold down the fort for a few minutes? I’ve got an errand to run.”

“Sure.” Molly waved a hand at the aisles. “We’re not exactly swept off our feet here.”

Clara wasted no time in dashing back to the stockroom for her coat and scarf. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” she called out as she tore out the door.

She was looking back as she said it, and didn’t see the woman on the steps until she smacked right into her.

Momentarily out of breath, she flinched when Roberta Prince snapped, “Why don’t you look where you’re going?”

“I’m sorry.” Clara edged around her. “I’m in a hurry and—”

“I can see that.” Roberta brushed her sleeve as if getting rid of a distasteful bug. “You nearly knocked me off my feet.” She switched her purse to the other hand. “If you’re going to see Rick, I can save you the trouble. He’s not in the shop.”

“I’m not going to see Rick, if you must know.” Clara started down the steps. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

“Oh, my, we are touchy about it, aren’t we? Did you two have a disagreement, then?”

Clara was so tempted to turn around and tell Roberta about the kiss she’d enjoyed last night, then thought better of it. She hadn’t even told her cousin yet. It was something she wanted to keep to herself for a while.

To her relief, she heard the door to the bookstore slam shut.
Let Molly deal with the witch
, she thought, as she hurried down the hill to her car. She had bigger fish to fry.

It only took a few minutes to drive down to the waterfront and park in the diner’s cramped lot. The red car was still at the curb, where Stephanie had seen it. Thelma’s son had apparently decided not to park it with the other cars.

She couldn’t really blame him. The car was beautiful—a gleaming mass of shiny red metal and chrome. It still had the sales sticker in the window, and temporary plates. He must have just bought it.

Before she got out of her own car she flipped open her phone and dialed Karen’s number. The widow answered right away.

“One quick question,” Clara said, after asking how Karen was doing. “What was Scott’s cell phone number?”

Karen gave her the number, and Clara keyed it into her address page. “Thanks,” she said when she was done. “I can’t talk now but I’ll get back to you.” She hung up before Karen could ask any questions.

Minutes later, she was seated in the diner with a cup of coffee and a donut in front of her. At the opposite end of the room, Thelma’s son sat talking to a man dressed in a poorly fitting suit and no tie.

It could have been the man she saw in the back of the car, except he looked nothing like Scott Delwyn. In fact, Clara was now convinced that she’d seen Scott’s ghost again, and that he was still trying to tell her something.

She took a sip of coffee, then pulled a tissue from her pocket. She let it float to the floor and bent down to pick it up. Both men’s feet were hidden from sight, and frustrated, she sat up. She’d have to get closer if she wanted to take a look at their shoes.

After taking her cell phone out of her pocket, she dialed the number Karen had given her and waited. Seconds later, she saw the driver of the car dig in his pocket and come up with a cell phone. Holding it to his ear, he spoke into it.

His voice echoed in the phone at Clara’s ear. She quickly closed her phone and slipped it back in her pocket. She didn’t need to see his shoes now. Thelma’s son had Scott’s cell phone. Now she could go back to Dan.

Stephanie hummed as she pushed the vacuum cleaner around the living room carpet. Life was good. Business at the bookstore was slowly picking up after the post-Christmas lull, the kids were doing well in school, spring was just around the corner and she and Clara were in the middle of another adventure. What more could she ask for than that?

A couple of things, she amended. One, that they find out who killed Scott Delwyn, and two, that Clara find someone who could make her happy for the rest of her life.

Clara had never told her the full story about what had happened in New York. Stephanie knew it had to do with a guy who had apparently treated her cousin bad enough to send her running back to Finn’s Harbor.

Not that Stephanie wasn’t happy about her cousin’s return, but she wished the circumstances had been better. Whatever had happened to Clara must have been unbearable, since she wouldn’t talk about it to anyone.

Stephanie sighed. What Clara needed more than anything was a man like George. Dependable, kind, loving, reliable George.

The house phone rang, making her jump. It had to be a business call, since most of her personal calls came through her cell phone. Still thinking up adjectives to describe her beloved husband, she hurried over to the couch and picked up the receiver. “Hello!”

A soft, female voice answered her. “I’d like to speak to George, please.”

“George isn’t here. Can I take a message?”

There was a short pause on the line, then the voice spoke again, sounding flustered now. “Oh . . . er . . . isn’t this where George works?”

Stephanie frowned. “No, this is his home. Who’s this?”

“I’m sorry, I must have the numbers mixed up. Please excuse me.”

“Wait—” The line clicked in her ear, and Stephanie replaced the receiver. A knot was beginning to form in the middle of her stomach.
Stop it
, she told herself. It was nothing. She was overreacting. Her George would never look at another woman.

The caller ID number was staring at her from the message panel on the phone. After hesitating for several seconds, she snatched up the receiver and dialed the number. A recording answered her.

“This is Annabelle. Please leave a message.”

Annabelle.
Stephanie felt sick. George had been preoccupied lately, as if something was on his mind. Was it this Annabelle person? Abandoning the vacuum cleaner in the middle of the room, she walked slowly into the kitchen and opened the freezer. Reaching inside, she lifted out a carton of ice cream and carried it to the kitchen table. A glance at the clock told her she had at least an hour before Michael got home from school. After fetching a spoon, she sat down, opened the lid on the ice cream and began to eat.

Tim was in the front office when Clara walked into the police station. He lifted a hand in welcome when he saw her.

“Hi there! What can we do for you?”

“I need a word with Dan.” Clara glanced down at the door to Dan’s office. “Is he in?”

Tim got a weird look on his face. “He is, but I’m afraid he won’t talk to you.”

“Why not?”

Tim shrugged. “He said to tell you, if you came in again, that his office is off-limits.”

Clara tightened her lips. “Really. Well, you can tell Dan that I have information about Scott Delwyn’s death that will incriminate a suspect. If he wants to catch a killer, I suggest he listens to what I have to say.”

Tim looked worried. “Scott’s death was an accident, Clara.”

“So everyone keeps saying. I happen to know that it was murder.”

“Dan doesn’t like it when you talk like that, remember?”

Clara leaned her hands on Tim’s desk. “Listen to me. I have evidence now that will convince Dan that Scott was murdered. I need to talk to him.”

“I don’t know.” Tim glanced around as if afraid of being overheard. “He said he’d have my badge if I let you bug him again.”

Clara straightened. “What are you going to do? Arrest me?”

“Uh . . . well . . . I . . .” Tim ran a hand through his hair.

“I thought so. Sorry, Tim, but I have to talk to Dan.”

Feeling the eyes of everyone in the place following her, she marched down to Dan’s office and rapped on his door.

His sharp command to enter unnerved her for a moment, then she braced herself. Once he heard what she had to say, he’d be apologizing to her. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door.

Dan didn’t even look up from the papers he was studying on his desk. “What is it?”

“I have something important to tell you.”

At the sound of her voice he paused, then rubbed his fingers across his forehead. “Of course you do.” He looked up at her, and his expression was enough to freeze a volcano. “How did you get past my deputy?”

“He understood the urgency of my visit.”

“Did he, now?” Dan’s voice was heavy with sarcasm.

Clara winced. “I found Scott Delwyn’s cell phone. At least, I know where it is.”

“And where is it?” His tone suggested she better have a good answer.

“It’s in the hands of . . .” She hesitated.

“Yes?”

“I . . . er . . . don’t remember his name.”

“No kidding.”

Clara was beginning to feel just a little desperate. “His mother is Thelma something or other. She lives next door to Karen Delwyn, Scott’s widow.”

Dan stared at her beneath his bushy eyebrows, blue eyes cutting into her mind. “You talking about Ray Hogan?”