A Sinister Sense (10 page)

Jason grinned. “I can promise you, you’re safe here. The cops have got the guy who did it.”

“Really?” She opened her eyes wide.

“Yeah. He owns the hardware store on Main Street. He was in here having a couple of beers that night. Didn’t look like the kind of guy who goes around beating up people. Just goes to show, you never know who you’re dealing with these days.”

Clara gasped. “That must have been awful, finding out one of your customers had been killed right on your doorstep.”

Jason shrugged. “Yeah, well, like I said, I didn’t know the dead guy. Never saw him before that night. Though one of my regulars recognized him the minute his pic came up on TV.”

Clara hid her leap of excitement by gulping down a mouthful of wine. She swallowed too fast and spent the
next few seconds coughing and spluttering to clear her throat. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Stephanie staring at her from the other end of the bar and prayed her cousin would stay put just a little longer.

“That must have been a shock for him,” she said, her voice sounding raw and croaky. “Or is it a
her
?”

“I promise you, Buzz is definitely a
him
.” Jason tipped his head on one side. “You okay?”

Eyes watering, she nodded. “He’s one of your regular customers?”

“He’s here most nights, yeah.”

“Is he here tonight?”

Jason looked around. “Nope. Can’t see him anywhere.”

“He was here the night of the murder?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“
Buzz?
That’s a weird name. Is he in show business or something?”

Jason laughed. “The only way you’d see Buzz Lamont on TV is if he got arrested.” His face changed, as if he’d just realized he’d said too much. “Forget that,” he added sharply. “Why all the questions, anyway? You a cop or something?”

Clara managed a light laugh as she slid off the bar stool. “No thanks. I wouldn’t want to be a cop for a million dollars.”

Jason stared at her, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“Gotta go.” She flapped her hand at him. “Thanks for
the drink.” She turned and fled across the room to the door, still coughing as she barged out into the foyer.

“What happened?” Stephanie sounded out of breath as she charged out of the bar. “I thought you were going to throw up in there.”

“So did I.” Clara grabbed her arm and dragged her out into the parking lot. She waited until she could speak without croaking before adding, “I found out something.”

“Good,” Stephanie said, her voice low with disgust. “I’m glad somebody did. That woman behind the bar is a total moron. I asked her if she knew the murder victim and she acted like I’d asked her if she’d slept with him. She went all tight-lipped and told me she didn’t waste her time gossiping about stuff that had nothing to do with her.
Sheez!
Everyone around me went all silent too, like they were afraid I’d arrest them or something. Honestly—”

“Steffie.”

She paused, her face looking white in the neon lights of the parking lot. “What?”

“Don’t you want to know what I found out?”

“Oh! Of course I do.” She glanced around as if checking to see if anyone else was listening. “Okay, go on. Tell me. What did you hear?”

Clara recounted her conversation with the bartender.

Stephanie looked disappointed when she’d finished. “I don’t see how that helps, just because the guy recognized the murder victim.”

“Doesn’t it seem odd to you that he didn’t call the
police to identify the victim? They were asking all over town if anyone knew him.”

Stephanie’s face lit up. “Oh, I get it. He kept quiet because he could be the guy the murder victim came here to meet.”

“Right.” Clara started heading toward her car. “I think we need to have a word with this Buzz Lamont.”

Stephanie trotted after her. “Isn’t that going to be dangerous? What if he’s the killer?”

“We’ll have to be extra careful where we talk to him. It had better be in broad daylight somewhere where other people are around.”

“Did you find out where he lived?”

“I was lucky to get a name. We’ll have to find out where he lives on our own.” She paused at her car and looked across the parking lot to where a row of sycamores lined the railings. Beyond them could be heard the dull popping of rifles from the shooting range. The sound seemed to add to the sinister atmosphere and she shivered, in spite of the warm, humid air surrounding them. “Right now all I want to do is get out of this place and go home.”

A car pulled in and parked in the far corner, and Stephanie turned to look at it. “Me, too. It gives me the creeps, knowing someone was probably murdered just a few feet away.”

Clara couldn’t have agreed more. “Then let’s go home.”

Stephanie laid a hand on her arm. “Clara, before we go any further, are you absolutely sure Rick had nothing to do with that man? I mean, Dan wouldn’t keep him
down at the station unless he had good reason, don’t you think?”

Fighting down her own doubts, Clara said firmly, “I saw the fight. In a vision. I know it wasn’t Rick.”

Stephanie’s eyebrows shot up. “Then you saw who did it?”

“I wish I had. I couldn’t make out the faces.” Clara smiled at her. “Don’t worry, Steffie. I wouldn’t be doing all this if I didn’t feel certain that Rick is innocent.”

That seemed to satisfy her cousin and she dropped her hand. “What am I going to tell George? He’s bound to ask me how the bowling went.”

“Tell him we had dinner and we got to talking and before we knew it the time had flown by and it was too late to bowl.”

Stephanie nodded. “I’ll tell him you had dinner. He’ll know I wouldn’t eat all that much after already eating dinner at home.”

“Sounds good.” Clara opened the car door. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Are we going to tell Molly about this?”

Clara paused and looked back at her. “Do you really want to?”

“I hate keeping secrets from her. Besides, it’ll be hard hiding everything we’re doing from her, and we could really use her help.”

Clara gave in. “I guess you’re right.”

“Good!” Stephanie waved, and ran over to her own car, a couple of slots away.

Clara waited until she saw her cousin pull out of the parking lot before following her onto the road. She could hardly blame Stephanie for having doubts. Dan had to have some kind of evidence to hold Rick at the station. She just wished she knew what it was.

If it hadn’t been for the vision, she might have doubted him, too. Even now, she found it hard to trust the Sense. Was the vision real, or was it just wishful thinking on her part? Was she so eager to defend Rick Sanders, she’d conjured up the image in her mind? If only she could be sure.

Watching the rear lights of Stephanie’s car ahead of her, she wrestled with her misgivings as they swept along the coast road. She could see the faint outline of the mountains against the star-studded sky, and the rocky coastline sweeping around the bay.

Tatters would be waiting for her when she got home. Maybe she’d take him for a walk before going to bed. She wondered if the dog missed Rick. She’d miss him herself if he ended up in jail. Horrified at the thought, she dragged her attention back to the road.

The Rick she knew was not a killer. She believed that with all her heart. Whatever had happened that night at the bowling alley had nothing to do with him. He was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. Whether or not the vision was real, she’d vowed to do everything in her power to find out the truth and nothing was going to stop her.

Jessie was already in bed when Clara arrived home. Tatters had obviously been waiting for her. Freed from the formidable gaze that had held him in check all evening, he threw himself at Clara the minute she stepped through the door.

With her back against the wall, Clara tried to avoid the wet tongue lashing at her face.
“Sit!”
she hissed, and when that didn’t work, she raised her voice. “I said,
sit!
”

Jessie’s voice called out from down the hallway. “Tatters! Don’t make me come out there!”

Tatters whined and lowered his haunches to the floor.

Shaking her head, Clara scratched his neck then headed for the kitchen, the dog padding close on her heels.

Mindful of disturbing her mother any further, Clara switched on the small TV on the counter and turned down
the volume. Opening the fridge door, she took out a can of soda and carried it to the table. Tatters watched her, his tail swishing back and forth in expectation. “I don’t have anything to eat,” she told him, “so you can quit the pathetic eyeballing.”

Tatters stuck his tongue out the corner of his mouth and started panting.

Clara ignored him as Tom Wright’s voice caught her attention. The news anchor looked earnestly into the camera as he announced, “Rick Sanders, the owner of Parson’s Hardware on Main Street, continues to be held for questioning in the murder of Frank Tomeski, the Portland construction worker murdered in the parking lot of the Harbor Bowling Alley. We are awaiting further developments and will keep you informed. Stay tuned for…”

Clara stared at the TV, trying to drown out the voices whispering urgently in her head. They were trying to tell her something. Possibly something she didn’t want to know. How she hated having to listen to them. If they could ease the awful ache of worry in her chest, however, she had no choice but to hear what they had to say.

She closed her eyes and made herself relax, concentrating on the whispering words.

The voices kept fading in and out, like gentle waves washing ashore. She couldn’t make out what they were saying. She heard Tatters’ soft whine and opened her eyes, laying a hand on his head to reassure him. The walls of the kitchen seemed to fade and dissolve, lost in a white fog that swirled around her.

She quickly closed her eyes again and immediately saw the ocean, the waves rushing in to cover the sand. A sign came into view, swinging in the wind. She could see letters on it but couldn’t make them out.
W-i-n…f-t…m…e-l…

Tatters whined again, louder this time. The vision vanished, and when she opened her eyes, the walls were back in focus.

She got up and hurried over to the counter. In the top drawer she found a notebook and pen and quickly scribbled as much of the letters as she could remember.
W-i-n-f-t-m-e-l.

She stared at them for several long moments, trying to figure out what they meant. When nothing came to her, she gave up. Looking down at a hopeful Tatters, she muttered, “I might as well take you for a walk before I go to bed.”

The words were hardly out of her mouth before the big dog leapt through the kitchen door and bounded out into the hallway.

Following him, Clara picked up his leash from the hall table and fastened the clip to his collar. One hand on the doorknob, she bent down to speak in his ear, just on the chance he really could understand what she said. “Any future walks at night will depend entirely on how you behave tonight. Do I make myself clear?”

Tatters licked her nose.

Taking that for agreement, Clara opened the door. Tatters dashed out onto the step, dragging her after him.
It took three more lectures before she finally got him to walk at a pace she could keep up with, by which time she’d circled the block twice and figured that was enough for the first night.

In the morning, she decided, she’d take him for a run on the beach before she went to work. He’d have to make that do until she got home again.

Returning home, she showed him his bed in the utility room. Leaving him there with the scruffy ball, she made another mental note to buy him a couple of decent toys. She’d hardly closed the door of her bedroom when she heard him whining.

Hoping he’d settle down quickly, she ignored the mournful sound and got ready for bed. She had just climbed under the covers when Tatters let out a howl of protest.

She was opening her bedroom door when she heard her mother’s voice.

“That dog shuts up
now
, or he’s gone in the morning.”

Clara sighed, and called out, “I’ll take care of it.”

Opening the door of the utility room, she stood in the doorway, barring Tatters’ escape. Hands on her hips, she looked him in the eye. “This is
not
acceptable behavior. If you want to stay here, you will have to abide by the rules. You sleep in
here
.” She pointed at the bed. “I don’t want to hear another sound. Is that clear?”

Tatters whined.

Clara shut the door and had barely gone a few steps when the dog howled again.

Jessie’s outraged roar echoed down the hallway.

Wincing, Clara opened the door again. The dog’s tongue was hanging out of the corner of his mouth in the familiar grin.

Clara leaned forward and gripped his collar. “I’m too tired to deal with you now, so just for tonight, you sleep with me. Just for tonight, you understand?” Tatters wagged his tail.

Sighing, Clara led him into her bedroom and closed the door. Knowing she was going to regret her weakness, she watched Tatters leap onto the bed and settle himself down on her pillow. At the first opportunity, she promised herself, she’d have a talk with him. Right now, however, she was exhausted and just wanted to crawl into bed and forget about everything—the murder, Rick’s involvement, the strange letters in the vision, the problems with the dog—everything. At least until morning.