Mind Over Murder (19 page)

“Need a ride?”

He’d come up behind her, so quietly she had no idea he was there until he’d spoken.

She swung around, her heart bumping as she came face-to-face with John Halloran. She glanced across the street. Lights still blazed in the windows of Parson’s Hardware. That meant Rick was still there. All she had to do was cross the street.

Before she could move, John laid a firm hand on her arm. “You don’t look well. Let me help you down to my car, and I’ll take you home.”

“No!” Realizing she’d raised her voice, she made an effort to lower it. “Thank you, but I’m waiting for a ride.”

John had dropped his hand the second she’d yelled at him. “Ah, yes. Well, then. I just thought . . .”

Out of the corner of her eye she saw the lights go out in the hardware store. “It’s very kind of you,” she said firmly, “but Frannie will be here any minute to pick me up.”

John jerked his head in surprise. “Frannie? Oh, I thought—”

At that moment Rick stepped out into the street. Catching sight of them, he waved, and she waved back, beckoning him to join them. He held up his hand in acknowledgment, then stooped to lock the door.

“Well, then, I’ll be off,” John Halloran said, and calling out good-night to Rick, he shuffled off down the hill.

Clara watched him go, wondering exactly what it was he’d thought. She didn’t have time to dwell on it, however, as Rick was striding across the street toward her.

“How’s the headache?” he called out before he reached her. “You took off so fast this afternoon, I didn’t get a chance to ask you.”

“Oh, it’s okay. I’m taking pills for it.” She fished the bottle out of her pocket to show him.

He took them from her and peered at them in the light from the streetlamp. “Vicodin! Good stuff. But be careful. They can make you fall asleep standing up if you take too many.”

“I’m taking halves right now, so I should be okay.”

“Good.” He paused, then moved a little closer. “So, was there something you wanted?”

His face was in shadow now, and she couldn’t quite tell his expression. “Ah . . .” She had no idea why she’d signaled to him like that. Maybe she just didn’t want to be alone on the street with creepy John. That would sound weird if she said that, though. Especially since he was apparently Rick’s trusted employee.

“You forgot, right?” Rick bent his neck to look into her face. “That happens sometimes with concussion. Maybe you’d better get checked out at the hospital.”

“No, no, it’s okay.”

“Well, in any case, I’ll walk you to the bus stop. Or did you call a cab?”

“Neither. Frannie’s on her way to pick me up.”

“Frannie? I didn’t know she had a car. She always rides a bike to work.”

“I don’t think she uses it much.” She looked down the hill and saw the lights of a car coming up. Praying it was Frannie, she said lightly, “I was just going to ask you . . . ah . . . if you knew of a good place to rent a car.”

“Ah.” He seemed disappointed as he straightened. “Well, there’s the rental agency at the bottom of the hill, but I’ve never rented a car so I don’t know if—” He broke off as the approaching black sedan screeched to a halt across the street.

Frannie rolled down the window and waved. “Sorry it took me so long. I had trouble getting it started.”

Clara waved back. “I’d better go,” she said, edging away. “Thanks, anyway.”

Looking somewhat puzzled, Rick nodded. “Sure. Any time. Oh, wait! Here’s your pills. You’ll be needing them tonight.”

She thanked him again and left him standing on the curb as she scrambled into Frannie’s car.

All the way down the hill Frannie apologized for the condition of the car. “It’s old, and it’s been sitting around a lot,” she said, as she deftly turned the corner at the bottom of the hill. “At least the brakes work.”

She said it just as they passed the vacant lot, and Clara shivered.

“I’m sorry,” Frannie said, sounding upset. “I shouldn’t have said that. I wasn’t thinking.”

“No, it’s fine.” She tossed around for something to change the subject and seized on the only thing that came to mind. “Stephanie mentioned that you have a son. How old is he?”

It was a dark stretch of road, and she couldn’t see Frannie’s face, but she knew by the sudden tense silence that she’d mentioned a touchy subject. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly, “I—”

“It’s all right.” Frannie’s voice sounded surprisingly harsh. “Kevin is twenty-three. I don’t see much of him now.”

“He doesn’t come and visit?”

“No one visits me anymore. Sometimes I feel as if I’m floating in a tiny boat all alone on an endless ocean.”

Guessing that Frannie and her son were estranged, Clara was relieved when Frannie pulled up in front of an apartment complex.

“This is where I live,” Frannie said, her voice still sounding weird. “You can keep the car as long as you like. I hope it runs okay. It’s not all that reliable.” She opened the door and scrambled out.

Worried now that she’d upset the woman, Clara slid over into the driver’s seat. “Are you okay? I didn’t mean—”

“I’m all right.” Frannie raised her hand in farewell and hurried across the parking lot to the building.

Still feeling bad, Clara pulled out onto the street and headed for the corner. The sedan was a lot bigger than the compact she was used to, and it took her a few minutes to feel comfortable driving it.

The steering wasn’t as positive. In fact, when she reached the corner, she had to give the wheel almost a full turn before the big car fully responded.

Thankfully, nothing was coming in the opposite direction, and she steered the car into the lane, vowing to remember the sluggish response.

Once home she called Stephanie, who answered with her usual out-of-breath “Hello?”

“I forgot to ask you today,” Clara said, coming straight to the point, “what happened with Frannie and her son?”

“Can this wait?” Stephanie paused, then yelled, “Michael! How many times do I have to tell you—no basketball in the
house
.”

Clara heard the faint sound of a crash and a tinkling of glass, then her cousin’s voice again,
“Michael
! I knew it. Wonderful. I gotta go. See you tomorrow.” The line went dead, leaving Clara still without an answer.

She laid the phone down on the dresser, and as she did so, the weird shivery feeling she knew so well crept over her.

There was no doubt in her mind. The Quinn Sense was back, and she had better pay attention to it this time. For something told her that if she didn’t, she could very well live to regret it.

“So, what are you going to do about a car?” Jessie asked, leaning her elbows on the dining-room table. “How did you get home tonight, anyway?”

Clara told her about Frannie’s offer. “She was so nice about it,” she added when she was finished. “She made it sound as if I was doing her a favor.”

Jessie nodded. “Frannie’s like that. Always anxious to please. I think she craves attention and goes out of her way to be nice to people so they’ll like her.”

“What happened to her son?” Clara laid her fork down on her plate and reached for her water glass. “She got real defensive when I mentioned him.”

“Frannie’s son is what they refer to now as mentally challenged.”

Clara murmured her dismay. “How sad for her. She must have had a tough time raising him.”

“She did. Her husband, Norman, took off when Kevin was five. I think he got tired of taking second place to the child all the time.”

“That was terribly selfish of him.”

“Yes, it was.” Jessie absently fished a shrimp out of the salad left in the bowl and popped it in her mouth. “You know what was strange about that, though? When Kevin left high school, he went to live with his father. We never could understand why. Frannie wouldn’t talk about it, and nobody really knows what happened. Though I did hear that he’s working for his father in his construction business and doing really well.”

Clara frowned. “Maybe Frannie was too strict or something, and her son felt he had more freedom with his dad.”

“Maybe.” Jessie yawned behind her hand. “Whatever happened, I don’t think Frannie has seen much of Kevin since he left.”

“That’s what she said.” Clara drained her glass of water. “It’s so sad, though. Those years raising him alone must have been really hard for her. She must have sacrificed a lot for that kid, and that’s the thanks she got for it. No wonder she seems so depressed all the time.”

“Well, you know, if she’d kept up her appearance, she might have had a second chance at love. With all that long stringy hair and the shoddy clothes she wears, it’s no wonder she can’t get a man. You have to look hot if you want to snag a mate these days.”

Clara squirmed on her chair. Jessie’s words brought up the mental image of the pizza cook breathing down her mother’s cleavage. It was a little too much to swallow. “Well, I think I’ll do the dishes and go to bed.” She pushed her chair back and stood.

“Leave the dishes.” Jessie flapped purple fingernails at her. “I’ll do them. You go to bed. You look like death warmed up. A good night’s sleep will do you good. Take a couple of those Vicodin. I guarantee you won’t wake up until the morning.”

That was exactly what the doctor ordered, Clara thought, as she bent down to plant a kiss on her mother’s cheek. Now, if she could just stop worrying about whoever it was who wanted her dead, she might just get that good night’s sleep.

A few minutes later she shook a few pills from the bottle into her hand. Spotting a half pill, she picked it out and swallowed it down with a full glass of water.

She was about to climb into bed when she had second thoughts. Half a pill probably wasn’t going to do the trick. Maybe she should take the other half that was still in the bottle.

Much as she despised taking medications, she hated the idea of a sleepless night even more. Reluctantly, she trudged back to the bathroom, where she’d left the bottle of pills.

Shaking them into her hand once more, she looked for the half pill. It wasn’t in her palm, and she shook out the remaining pills. Still no sign of the half pill.

Frowning, she thought back over the day. She’d taken a half right after she’d got to the store, and broke another pill in half that afternoon. There should have been two halves in the bottle.

She turned the bottle upside down and shook it. Nothing fell out of it, and she stared at the pills still in her hand. Now that she was really looking at them, there didn’t seem to be that many.

She looked at the label. The doctor had prescribed twenty-five pills. She counted the ones in her hand. Eighteen. Plus the one and a half she’d already taken and the missing half. There were five and a half pills missing.

Her mind reeling, she walked back to her bed and sat down on the edge of it. The pills had been in her pocket all the time, except for the hour or so she’d left them on the table in the Nook. Someone must have taken the pills out of the bottle.

Her heart began to thump as she tried to remember who had been in the Nook that afternoon. Lots of people. Most of whom she didn’t know. As well as three people she did know. Molly, Frannie and John Halloran.

A sudden vision popped into her head, of Rick standing in the shadows, her bottle of pills in his hand.

No!
It could have been anyone. Most likely someone alone in the Nook. Maybe Ana’s killer? Waiting for an opportunity to drop the pills into her coffee, perhaps?

Now she felt scared. First thing tomorrow she’d talk to Dan. Though short of locking her up in jail, she couldn’t see what he could do to help.

Maybe she should join forces with Frannie, since she seemed to be in danger, too. What about Stephanie? Could she be a target for the killer, as well? Then again, Stephanie had George to protect her.

She was feeling sleepy. Her mind felt fuzzy, and once more it hurt to think. Abruptly she got up from the bed, went back into the bathroom and swallowed another pill. Her head had barely touched the pillow before she was asleep.

She awoke the following morning with the same fuzzy feeling and staggered out of bed wishing fervently that she’d stuck with the half pill the night before.

It took three cups of strong black coffee to make her feel awake enough that she could safely drive the black monster parked in the driveway.

She left the house early, intending to stop by the police station on her way to the Raven’s Nest. She drove carefully, aware of the big car’s sloppy steering.

Arriving at the police station, she parked the car and walked across the parking lot to the front door. The offices were housed in what had once been a small theater. A golden arch adorned the redbrick front, upon which billboards had announced the shows. Inside the building, the sloping floor and ornate ceiling were all that was left of the original decor. The stage and seating had been torn out and partitioned off into cubicles.

A couple of small holding cells occupied what was once backstage, and a kitchen had been added onto the existing bathrooms.

Clara had been inside the police station only once before, on a grade-school tour.

It was long before she’d left for New York, and she still remembered hearing voices and smelling the overpowering odor of tobacco and perfume.

It wasn’t until she’d mentioned it to Stephanie that she’d realized it was the Quinn Sense at work, and no one else had any inkling of what she could hear and smell.

Stepping inside the door now, she held her breath, waiting for the voices to disturb her again. Her shoulders sagged in relief when she could hear nothing but the ringing of a telephone and the tapping of computer keyboards. Even the smell had disappeared, leaving behind only the musty aroma of an old building.

She headed for Dan’s office and knocked on the door. He called out to her, and she went in, taking the chair he offered her.