Mind Over Murder (15 page)

“I don’t. Not really.” Clara pretended to be examining a box of books. “It’s just a feeling, that’s all.”

“Aha! The Quinn Sense!” Stephanie looked excited. “You’ve been hearing it, haven’t you?”

“Just a whisper now and then. Nothing major.”

“But it told you Frannie is in danger.”

“No, that was purely a guess on my part. It’s just that she seems so afraid every time we mention the murder. I just have a feeling that she knows more than she’s willing to admit. She might even know something incriminating. If so, the killer will eventually find out she knows and might decide to get rid of her.”

Stephanie shivered. “Stop. You’re creeping me out.”

“Good. Then don’t you think it’s time we had a talk with Dan?”

“I guess.” She looked hopeful. “Why don’t you call in at the station and talk to him? I can hang on here for another hour or so.”

Clara ignored the little flip of anxiety. “I thought we might go together.”

“Well, you know I would, but I still have a ton of books to shelve and—”

“Never mind. I’ll go.” Clara left before she vented her frustration on her cousin. She wasn’t about to admit, even to herself, that the reason for her bad mood could be her conversation with Roberta Prince the night before.

It didn’t help to see Rick standing outside his store, talking to John Halloran. She was beginning to wish she’d never agreed to help Stephanie in the bookstore. She’d come home to Finn’s Harbor for some peace and quiet, and the last thing she needed was this kind of aggravation.

She was about to head down the hill to the police station when she spotted Dan’s car outside Jordan’s. Deciding to wait for him, she pretended to study the bookstore’s windows.

Stephanie had draped filmy, multicolored gauze behind the displays, creating a somewhat eerie effect that was heightened by a crystal ball perched on a spindly table in the center of the window.

Among the gauze were scattered tiny crystals and sequins. They caught the light and twinkled as a draft slowly swayed the drapes back and forth. Clara tilted her head to better enjoy the spectacle and out of the corner of her eye caught sight of Dan leaving the stationer’s.

She hurried over to him, still conscious of Rick talking on the sidewalk across the street.

Dan greeted her with a gruff “How’re you doing?”

“Fine, thanks.” She glanced at the stationer’s but couldn’t see anyone inside. “Could I have a quick word with you?”

“Sure.” His shrewd gaze raked her face. “You wanna talk here or in the car?”

She hesitated, then said quickly, “In the car if that’s okay.”

For answer he opened the door of the passenger side and waited for her to slide in.

She shivered as the door shut with a thud. It was the first time she’d been inside a cop car. There seemed to be an awful lot of gadgets. She was intrigued to notice that instead of an armrest, the car was fitted with a swivel mount to hold a laptop computer.

Dan climbed in the other side of her and closed the door.

He must have noticed her apprehension, as he said quietly, “Don’t let this thing scare you. It’s just a car.”

Conscious of the steel mesh wall behind her, she gave him a weak grin. “Then why does it feel like I’m on my way to prison?”

“It’s designed to scare the heck out of lawbreakers.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Notice that the roof back there is lower?”

She twisted her head to look. “Why’s that?”

“It’s so a perp doesn’t have much room to lunge about, but it’s also a bit threatening to have to sit there hunched down like that. Takes some of the pep out of ’em.”

“I never thought about that.”

“See this?” He reached up and switched on the interior lights. Then he switched them again and they turned from white to red. “That’s so the lights don’t mess with your night vision. It helps when you have to read a driver’s license at night.”

Aware that he was trying to put her at ease, she nodded. “That makes sense.”

He gave her another of his long looks. “So, little lady, what did you want to talk to me about?”

Now that she was actually talking to him, she began to worry that her overactive imagination was blowing everything out of proportion. Still, she could hardly back out now. “This may be nothing at all,” she began, “but I thought I should mention it, anyway.”

Dan nodded, his eyes watchful. “Go on.”

“It’s about Frannie.” She hesitated, then blurted out in a rush, “I think she knows something about the murder, and she’s afraid to tell anyone.”

Dan’s expression remained exactly the same. Not even a muscle twitch. “What makes you think that?”

Clara shifted on her seat. “It’s just that every time anyone mentions anything about the murder, Frannie acts kind of terrified, as if she’s afraid to talk about it.”

Dan seemed to think that one over. “Well,” he said at last, “I’ve talked to her a couple of times, and I’m pretty sure she would have told me if she’d known who was responsible. I reckon Frannie is the kind of woman who gets spooked pretty darn quick, and she’s shook up real bad over Ana getting killed like that. She just doesn’t like talking about it, I guess. Some people would rather bury their heads in the sand than face what’s real. Frannie’s the type who thinks if she pretends it didn’t happen, then it never did.”

The voice came from nowhere, so clear it made her jump. She felt an urgent need to get out of that car, away from all the gadgets and mesh wall and threatening roof.

“Okay, then I won’t worry about her.” She reached for the handle and pushed open the door. “Thanks for listening. Sorry if I wasted your time.”

“It’s never a waste of time to spend a pleasant moment or two with a pretty lady.”

Dan’s smile was genuine, and she grinned back at him. “Flattery will get you everywhere.” She closed the door and watched him drive off. Just before she turned to go back into the Raven’s Nest, she glanced across the street.

Both Rick and John Halloran stood staring at her.

She waved at them and didn’t wait to see if they waved back.

Stephanie and Molly looked up as she walked into the bookstore. “That was quick,” Stephanie said, glancing at the clock on the wall. “Did you get to see Dan?”

“I saw him come out of Jordan’s, so I talked to him in his car.”

“Oh, man,” Molly said, shivering. “I had to ride in it when he took me to the station. It’s so creepy.”

Knowing how much worse it must have been in the backseat, Clara felt bad for her.

“So, what did he say?” Stephanie demanded.

“Not a lot.” For some reason, Clara felt uncomfortable talking about it in front of Molly.

Stephanie didn’t seem to have any qualms about it. “Did you tell him you thought Frannie might be in danger?”

Molly gasped. “Is she? From what?”

“We don’t know,” Clara said, giving Stephanie what she hoped was a meaningful look. “She just acts scared, and I thought she might be frightened of something. Or someone.”

Molly looked disappointed. “Frannie is always scared of something.”

“That’s what Dan said.” Clara stowed her purse under the counter. “Anyway, I feel better about it now. Did you guys know that a police car’s inside lights can be turned to red at night?”

She went on to explain why, thankful for having successfully changed the subject. For no matter what Dan said, she couldn’t shake the idea that Frannie knew something about the murder and was too afraid to tell anyone. Maybe Frannie was right in suspecting Roberta. If so, they were up against a formidable foe.

Apparently the Sense agreed with her, as later that night, just as she was leaving, the word
danger
kept repeating itself over and over in her mind.

The day had been unusually cool for September, and the evening breeze carried a promise of fall as it drifted in from the ocean. The sun had already set, leaving just a faint, thin line of purple above the horizon. Even as she watched, that, too, disappeared, and the sea turned black.

As she walked down the hill, she could see a faint circle of mist shrouding each of the streetlamps. A sure sign that the summer was dying. Soon the nights would be crisp and cool, and the days just pleasantly warm.

It was her favorite time of the year, especially in Finn’s Harbor, when the trees were bathed in red and gold, painting the hills with glorious color.

Immersed in anticipation of the approaching holidays, she was smiling as she walked across the parking lot to her car. At the far end she saw a red pickup turn onto the street, its taillights eventually vanishing into the darkness.

It made her think of Rick, and she wondered if he’d gone to the Pizza Parlor the night before. Maybe he’d taken Roberta.

Angry with herself, she dragged the car door open and flung herself onto the seat.
Forget Rick
.

Good advice, but it was a little tough to do that when he was in her face every day. Roberta’s voice seemed to ring in her ears.
It gives me the golden opportunity to be in his face every day, and trust me, eventually I’ll wear him down
.

Clara shook her head as she turned the key in the ignition.

She had no doubt at all that Roberta would succeed. Any woman who had gone to such great lengths to get her man wouldn’t give up easily. She wasn’t sure whom to feel sorry for the most, Rick or herself.

There she went again. Irritated, she slammed the car into reverse and shot out of the parking space, only to be brought up short by the thick hedge behind her. Shaken, she gave herself a mental shake.
Calm down.
The last thing she wanted to do was wrap the car around a lamppost.

She pushed the gear into drive and pulled out of the parking lot onto an empty street. Her headlights lit up the sidewalk as she started down the hill toward the harbor. She was almost at the bottom, gathering speed, when a cat darted across the road in front of her.

Her foot automatically smacked down on the brake pedal, and she braced for the screeching halt. The next moment, panic hit her full force. She was still racing down the hill.

Clinging to the steering wheel, she pummeled the brake over and over, while the car headed straight for the harbor wall and the ocean beyond.

Her first thought was that she was about to die. Hot on the heels of that thought came the determined vow to live, no matter what it took.

She shoved the gear into park and shut off the engine. The emergency brake had no affect as she hurtled downward, her hand on the horn. Frantically she looked right and left, hoping to see something that would bring her car to a halt with a reasonable hope of surviving the impact.

Stores whizzed past her on both sides at an alarming speed.

Her only hope, she decided, was the vacant lot on the corner of Main and Harbor. It was coming up fast on her right. Praying as she’d never prayed before, she spun the wheel.

The car bucked and swerved, and for a terrifying moment she thought it would turn over. Then the tires grabbed and she shot over the curb, flying through the air for several feet before she bounced down hard on the uneven surface.

It was open ground before her and flat, but bordered on two sides by brick buildings. She had little room to maneuver, and she turned the wheel hard, hoping to keep the car moving in a circle until it slowed down.

She almost made it. The rear end of the car just nicked the corner of a building, sending her fishtailing across the lot. She saw another wall coming at her and threw both her arms in front of her face.

The last thing she remembered was the awful sound of tearing metal and somewhere in the distance the piercing shriek of brakes. Then nothing.

Stephanie finished putting the last dish away in the dishwasher and pulled a sheet off the paper-towel holder to dry her hands. Glancing at her watch, she frowned, then called out to George in the living room. “Honey? What’s the time?”

The babble of voices on the TV faded to a quiet hum. George’s tired voice answered her. “What was that?”

“I said, what’s the time?” Stephanie poked her head into the living room, where her husband sat sprawled on the couch. “My watch says ten fifteen, but it can’t be that late, can it?”

“I don’t see why not.” George nodded at the mantelpiece. “Ten fifteen on the dot. Time marches on.”

“That’s weird.”

“That time marches on or that you can’t keep track of it?”

“Very funny.” She made a face at him and walked over to sit down next to him. “It’s just that Clara usually calls me when she gets home to let me know everything’s okay at the shop.”

“Well, maybe she’s not home yet.”

“Then where would she be?”

“Why are you asking me? I’m not her keeper.”

She stirred uneasily, a niggling worry beginning to attack her mind. In the old days, before Clara moved to New York, they could usually sense when one or the other was in trouble.