A Sinister Sense (5 page)

She turned off the TV, her mind drawn back to Rick as she got ready for bed. Things looked bad for him. She couldn’t seem to silence the voice that kept repeating in her ear.
He’s lying.
She didn’t want to believe that. Why would Rick lie if he had nothing to hide?

She slept badly that night and awoke to hear her mother tapping on her bedroom door.

“I’m just leaving,” her mother called out when Clara answered her knock. “You might want to read the
Chronicle
before you leave. It’s full of news about the murder.”

Clara rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling until she heard the front door snap shut. Ten minutes later she was still wide awake and burning to see what was in the newspaper.

She made herself wait until she was showered and dressed before settling down at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee. Picking up the paper, the first thing she saw was a picture of the murdered man on the front page.
Underneath, the caption explained that although the police were reluctant to print a picture of a dead man, all attempts to identify him had failed and they felt that publishing the photo might help them in their investigation.

Clara was grateful to note that whoever had taken the picture had taken care to disguise the head wounds that had killed the victim. She studied the photo but could see nothing familiar about the face. He appeared to be a fairly young man, about her own age, with fair hair and a scruffy chin. Clara hoped that his relatives would learn of his death before seeing it splashed all over the front page of a newspaper. How sad for his parents. Had he left behind a wife and children? She hoped not.

The article also mentioned that Rick’s truck was involved and that the murder weapon had come from his store. The reporter had been careful not to suggest that Rick was responsible for the murder, but the insinuation was there.

Feeling depressed, Clara washed down a slice of toast with the rest of the coffee. It was Wednesday, her day off, and she had nothing to do except perhaps go on another fruitless hunt for an apartment. Idly she turned the rest of the pages and saw an ad for a farmer’s market on the seafront. She was still trying to decide whether to brave the heat and visit the market or spend the day in air-conditioning when her cell phone sang its tune.

“Clara! Have you seen the newspaper?” Stephanie was almost choking with excitement. “It has a picture of the victim in there.”

“I saw it.” The last thing she wanted right then was to discuss the murder.

Stephanie, however, seemed determined to talk about it. “Did you recognize him? George said he looked familiar but wasn’t sure. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him around here. He must be a tourist, don’t you think? Did you hear that the murder weapon came from Rick’s store? “

“Yes, I did.” Clara took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Steffie. I’m just on my way out. I’ll call you later, okay?”

Stephanie sounded disappointed as she said good-bye, and Clara felt guilty for cutting their chat short. She just wasn’t in the mood for conversation and decided the best thing she could do was take herself off to the market and get some fresh air to clear her mind. Since she and her cousin had agreed to take only one day off a week, she might as well make the most of it.

Arriving there a few minutes later, she instantly regretted her impulse. There were so many people milling around it was close to impossible to get near any of the stalls. After jostling for space in front of a fruit stand, Clara bought a bag of cherries, then fought her way through the crowd to the seafront.

Sitting on the seawall facing the ocean, she popped a cherry in her mouth. The water shimmered in the sun, making her blink in spite of her sunglasses. On the distant horizon she could see a fuzzy line of gray. Possibly a storm brewing.

The cherry was sweet and juicy, and she reached for another. Just at that moment a familiar voice called out
her name. Inwardly groaning, Clara spat out the pit and dropped it in the bag before greeting the woman standing behind her.

As always, Roberta Prince stood out in the crowd. Wearing an orange silk shirt and short beige skirt, her sleek blonde hair tucked into a wide-brimmed hat, Roberta could easily have passed for a famous movie star. More than one bored husband slid a sly glance her way as he passed, and although Roberta gave no sign she’d noticed, Clara knew she was eating up all the attention.

“How come you’re not at the bookstore?” For a moment it seemed that Roberta would sit down next to her, but then she paused and looked in disgust at the grubby wall.

“Day off,” Clara said briefly.

“Ah!” Roberta stared out across the bay, where a man on skis swooped back and forth behind a speeding boat. “I hear that Rick may be in trouble with the police.”

Clara fought down her irritation. “Oh? Where did you hear that?”

Roberta looked at her as if she had lost her mind. “How could you not know? It’s all over the TV and the newspapers. He’s suspected of murdering that poor man.”

“He’s not a suspect, as far as I know.” Clara ignored the whispering in her ear. “He’s just helping the police in their investigation, that’s all.”

Roberta rolled her eyes. “Clara, dear. Everyone knows that’s police jargon for suspecting him of murder.”

“They haven’t arrested him.”

“Only a matter of time.”

Clara glared at her. “You know as well as I do that Rick would never hurt anyone, much less kill someone.”

Considering that the woman was supposed to be madly in love with him, she wasn’t displaying much loyalty as to his innocence. Roberta had made no secret of the fact that she had pegged Rick Sanders to be her third husband. The fact that Rick was strongly resisting all her efforts to convince him of that hadn’t deterred her at all. She never missed an opportunity to remind Clara that he was off-limits, despite the fact that Clara had never given her any indication that she was interested in him.

“Of course I know that.” The wind caught the brim of Roberta’s hat, and she lifted a hand to straighten it. “The police, however, don’t know him as well as I do. Carson Dexter is demanding they arrest someone for the murder, and he’s putting pressure on Dan. Rick is the only suspect he has, and it’s only a matter of time before he arrests him to keep the mayor off his back.”

There was a grain of truth in what she said, and that worried Clara. She wasn’t about to give Roberta that satisfaction, however. Besides, neither one of them knew the whole story. She would see Rick that evening. Maybe she’d know more then. It occurred to her that Roberta would not be happy to hear Clara was having dinner with her intended.

For a moment Clara was tempted to tell her, then decided she had enough on her mind without antagonizing the woman. She got up from the wall and brushed the back of her shorts. “Well, I’m sure everything will get sorted out once the police identify the victim.”

“Maybe. But I have a feeling that things are going to get messy for Rick before this is over.”

Clara answered that with a farewell wave and headed off to her car. The words stayed with her, however, and it didn’t help that they were echoed by the voices of the Quinn Sense whispering in her ear.

She spent the rest of the day driving to the outlet mall in nearby Mittleford to find something to wear for her meeting with Rick that night. She refused to think of it as a date. It was safer that way.

After browsing through the racks of the fashion outlets, she finally decided on a sleeveless ruffled top in tropical blue to go with her white pants, and just because she liked it, a bright yellow sundress. Happy with her purchases, she drove home, trying not to think about the cloud hanging over Rick’s head. Maybe tonight, for a little while at least, she could take his mind off his troubles.

Jessie, as usual, hovered near the front door as Clara prepared to leave that night. “You look nice,” she said, viewing the blue top with a critical eye. “That color goes well with your dark hair and eyes. You certainly don’t take after your father’s side of the family. The Quinns are all like Stephanie—fair-haired and blue-eyed. It must be their Irish inheritance. We can thank the Irish side of the family for the Quinn Sense. Your father told me it was a gift from the leprechauns.”

Clara stared at her mother. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard the supposed origin of the Sense, by any means. It was, however, the first time her mother had mentioned
her father in almost a year. It was also the first time she had mentioned the Quinn Sense since before Clara had left for New York eleven years ago.

Why now? She was on the verge of asking her mother that question, when good sense prevailed. This wasn’t the time for a discussion on the subject. Even Jessie didn’t know that her daughter had inherited the strange powers, and Clara was determined to keep it that way.

She murmured, “Thank you,” instead, and opened the front door.

She had almost escaped through it when Jessie called out, “You didn’t tell me where you’re going.”

Clara sighed. She’d hoped to avoid the inevitable inquisition that would follow when her mother learned about her meeting with Rick. At least she could postpone it for the time being. “I’m meeting a friend for dinner,” she said, closing the door. “I won’t be late.”

Climbing into her car, she felt guilty for leaving her mother in the dark. Jessie would probably pout all evening until her daughter came home and filled in all the details. Until then, Clara told herself, she would put everything out of her mind and concentrate on the evening ahead.

The sun had begun its descent behind the mountains as she drove along the coast road to the restaurant. Angelo’s sat on the very brink of the bay, hovering above the ocean at the edge of the cliffs. It afforded a great view of the ocean on one side, and the red roofs and white walls of Finn’s Harbor on the other.

By the time she’d parked and had been escorted to a
table by the window, however, the sun had set and all she could see was a faint outline of the mountains and the twinkling lights of the town reflected on the water.

Rick had not yet arrived, and she fidgeted with her wineglass, trying to ignore the fluttering feeling in the region of her stomach. She had no reason to be nervous, she told herself. This wasn’t a date. Not a real date. Besides, it wasn’t as if she didn’t know Rick.

Do you really know him?
Clara started, unprepared for the whispering in her ear. Was that the Sense, or her own instincts kicking in?

She’d asked herself that same question so often it was automatic. There had been a time when she had trusted her instincts and relied on them far more than her infamous inheritance. Until she’d met the man she’d wanted to marry, until he’d betrayed her in the worst way. Neither her instincts nor the Sense had saved her from the pain and humiliation of that relationship. Now she no longer trusted either of them and strove with all her might to ignore the voices that intruded and tormented her.

“You’re looking really fierce,” a deep voice said above her head. “Am I that late?”

She glanced up to see Rick looking down at her. He was smiling, but she could see the uncertainty in his expression and was immediately apologetic. She’d turned him down so many times it was no wonder he was uneasy.

“No, of course not.” She smiled up at him. “I was thinking about…” She was going to say the murder, but under the circumstances, that didn’t seem a good way to
open the conversation. “My mother,” she said after a short pause.

Rick didn’t look too convinced as he took a seat opposite her. “Sorry I kept you waiting.” He glanced at his watch. “Tatters decided to make a run for it as I was coming out the door. I had to chase him around four blocks before I finally got hold of him.”

Clara hid a grin. “Have you been taking him for walks?”

Rick raised an eyebrow. “Walks? That dog doesn’t know the meaning of the word. His idea of a walk is to lunge at everything that moves, and if it looks like it’s getting away from him, he takes off after it, dragging me with him.”

She studied him for a moment before answering. He didn’t look like a man accused of murder. In fact, now that he’d been reassured she wasn’t going to jump up and run away, he seemed perfectly relaxed and ready to enjoy the evening. “How are you doing?” she asked, trying not to sound as if doomsday were just around the corner.

“I’m doing fine. How are you doing?”

“You know what I mean.”

The humor faded from his gray eyes. “I think I could be in a lot of trouble.”

“I’m sorry.” She had an insane urge to reach across the table and grasp his hand. Resisting it with some difficulty, she added, “They still haven’t identified the victim?”

“As far as I know.” He glanced around the room, as if
to make sure no one could hear him. “They found the murder weapon. It came from my store, and it was found just a few yards away from where my truck was parked.”

“Yes, I know. I saw it in the paper.”

“Unfortunately the killer had gone to the trouble of wiping it clean, so no prints. Dan wanted me to take a look at the body. I told him I’d never seen the guy before. I also told him I think someone is trying to frame me.”

Shocked, she stared at him. “Who would want to do that?”

“I have no idea. I don’t have any enemies. At least, I thought I didn’t.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Why else would someone use a tool from my store to kill someone and dump the dead body in my truck?”

“I can’t imagine. I—” She paused as the whispers interrupted her thoughts.
They’re not related.
Not sure what that meant, she struggled to finish what she was going to say. “I…they may not be related.”

She hadn’t meant to repeat what the voice had told her. Rick was looking at her as if she’d said something radical. “What does that mean?”

She wished she knew. Groping blindly for an explanation, she said slowly, “Well, think about it. Parson’s Hardware is the only place in town that sells specialty hammers, so it’s not surprising the murder weapon came from your store.” She frowned. “How did the police know that’s where it came from?”

“It still had the price tag attached to it.”