Mind Over Murder (23 page)

The plan had seemed so simple when she’d first blurted it out to Clara. True, she hadn’t thought it through, but she’d seen it done on TV more than once, and it always worked. So why shouldn’t it work now?

She went over the whole scenario in her head, as she had done a hundred times since Clara had left the night before. All they had to do was choose a place to hide close to the back door, so they could scoot out the minute she took a photo.

The killer would be taken by surprise and blinded by the flash, which would give them plenty of time to get out and call 911. Then run like hell until they got to the parking lot.

Stephanie had considered parking her car across the street, but since parking there was illegal, it would be just her luck for Tim to come along and make her move it. Besides, it might tip off the killer.

No, it had to be this way. She only hoped she could still run as fast as she used to when she and Clara played softball. She caught her breath. That was sixteen years ago. Hard to believe. A few pounds had found their way to her hips since then. She hoped they wouldn’t slow her down.

Now that she was really thinking about it, the whole plan seemed a bit risky. Still, it was too late to change things now. Clara was probably next door, already halfway through her story, and the trap was about to be set.

Squaring her shoulders, Stephanie opened the stockroom door and flicked on the light. Studying the boxes piled up in the corner, she assured herself the little fort looked natural.

She’d decided that afternoon that the best place to hide was in the corner, by the back door. She’d moved some boxes around, piled them up a bit higher and created a perfect hiding place.

Now, all she had to do was wait for Clara to come back, and that should be any minute now. Standing behind the wall she’d built, she wondered how she would see the killer in the dark well enough to take a picture. Then again, the killer would surely have a flashlight in order to find the chocolate box, which she’d placed on a shelf clear across the room.

She should have thought to bring one. They might need one to find their way out in a hurry. Annoyed with herself for not thinking of it before, she hurried over to the door. She’d put a flashlight in a drawer under the counter the day she’d opened the store. It should still be there.

She flicked off the light and was halfway up the aisle when the shrill ringing of the phone startled her. A quick glance at the clock told her it was almost closing time. It had to be Clara. Something must have happened.

She rushed over to the counter and snatched up the receiver.

It wasn’t Clara’s voice that answered her, however. It was the voice of her husband, and he sounded unusually agitated.

“Steph? I’m sorry, honey. I’m at the hospital.”

“Hospital?” She felt sick. “What happened? Are you hurt?”

“It’s not me.” His pause filled her with dread. “It’s Olivia. She’s had a really bad accident.”

Stephanie let out a cry of anguish. “Oh, George! I’ll be right there.” He went on talking, but she didn’t wait to listen. All she could think about was getting to her daughter’s side as quickly as possible.

Snatching up her purse, she flew out the door, not even bothering to lock it behind her.

Clara walked cautiously up to the counter, where Roberta stood sorting through some papers. Frannie hovered nearby and sent her a smile, while Roberta looked up with her usual stiff-upper-lip expression.

Clara had rehearsed her speech, but a lot depended on the responses she got. Ad-libbing was not one of her strongest points, so she could only hope and pray that the conversation went the way she wanted it to go. “I noticed the other day that you had some calendars for next year,” she told Roberta. “Do you have any with pictures of New York? I want to find one for my mother.”

Roberta looked as if she couldn’t care less. “I’m not sure. Frannie will take a look for you.”

“Oh, that’s okay.” Clara smiled at Frannie. “I can look for myself. I just thought you might save me hunting through them, that’s all.”

“The calendars are over there,” Frannie called out, pointing across the room.

“Thanks.” Clara turned back to Roberta. “So, I’ve been meaning to ask you. How are things going? Do you need any help with anything? It must be so hard, having to take over from Ana after the way she died.”

“It hasn’t been easy, but we’ve managed, thanks.” Roberta went back to shuffling her papers.

“It makes me sick to think of the killer still roaming free out there. Kind of creepy.” Clara’s shudder was just a little exaggerated.

“I should think he’s probably long gone by now,” Roberta muttered.

“Oh, do you think so? Well, I hope he hasn’t gone too far.” Clara looked around, then leaned across the counter and just slightly lowered her voice. “In any case, he won’t be free for much longer.”

Roberta gave her a suspicious look. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, he’s going to be arrested any day now.” She looked around again at the empty store, as if making sure no one else could hear her. “Stephanie and I just found evidence that will put him behind bars for the rest of his life.”

She had Roberta’s full attention now. The woman’s eyes seemed to glaze over, and she ran the tip of her tongue over her lips before asking, in a voice thick with tension, “What kind of evidence?”

“Well, I can’t really say.” Clara leaned closer. “We’ve hidden it in a chocolate box.” She briefly closed her eyes, aware of how silly all this must sound. Why would anyone believe such nonsense? It was too late to back out now. All she could do was hope she sounded convincing. “Stephanie put it on a shelf in the stockroom for safety,” she went on, “just until Dan gets back to town. Then we’ll give it to him, and you can bet he won’t waste any time going after the killer.”

From farther down the counter, Frannie uttered a quiet whimper.

Roberta seemed not to hear her. Her gaze was locked on Clara’s face as she crumpled the papers in her hand. “Do you know who killed Ana?”

Clara shook her head and started backing up to the door. “No, not me. I don’t want to know. Let the police do their job, that’s what I say. I’m going home and plan to forget all about it until tomorrow, when Dan gets back.”

“What about the calendar?” Frannie called out.

“I’ll come in tomorrow. I’ll have more time to look then. I have to go back now and lock up.” With a quick wave of her hand, Clara was through the door and hurrying back to the bookstore.

Once inside, she looked around for Stephanie. Finding no sign of her, she figured her cousin was waiting for her in the stockroom. At least so far the plan seemed to be going along okay.

Now all they had to do was wait for the killer to show up. That was the part that Clara was nervous about. Still, she’d come this far, she might as well go through with the whole thing now.

Quickly she checked out the cash register, locked everything up securely, then made herself walk casually to the front door and step outside.

The keys rattled in her hand, and she had trouble fitting one of them into the lock, but finally she got it all locked up. The wind was stronger now, blowing her hair into her eyes as she zipped up her jacket and headed down the hill.

When she reached the corner of the block, she threw a quick glance over her shoulder to make sure no one had followed her, then darted around the corner and fled down the street to the wide alley that ran behind the stores.

Grabbing the handle of the back door to the Raven’s Nest, she gave it a sharp turn, but it refused to budge. Frowning, she rattled it. Stephanie must have forgotten to unlock it.

She rattled it again, waiting impatiently for her cousin to open the door.
Where was Stephanie?
She had to be in the bathroom or something. Again she rattled the handle. Still no response.

Something was wrong
. The Sense was so strong, she could actually feel Stephanie’s fear. Surely the killer couldn’t have gone into the store and found her cousin while she was racing around the block?

Panic swept over her, and for an instant her mind blanked everything out.
Stephanie’s in trouble. Get back inside the store
.

Clara twisted around and ran back around the block to the front door. Feverishly she unlocked it, glancing over her shoulder at the windows of Jordan’s Stationer’s. As she looked, the lights went out.

Without turning on the lights in the bookstore, Clara slipped inside and quickly closed the door, locking it from the inside.

“Stephanie?” She hissed the name in a loud whisper. “Are you in here?”

Her heart thumping, she listened for an answer.
Nothing
.

A faint glow from the streetlamps outside threw dark shadows down the aisles. She could barely see to the end of them, and she crept along each one, fearing to see the limp body of her cousin lying somewhere on the floor.

Having satisfied herself that Stephanie was nowhere in the store, Clara moved slowly toward the stockroom. Stephanie had to be in there. If she was, there had to be a reason why she hadn’t opened the back door.

Clara swallowed hard. She wouldn’t think about the possible reasons. Stephanie had to be in that stockroom, alive and waiting for her. She just had to be.

The door handle twisted silently in her hand, and she eased the door open. As she did so, the beam of a flashlight swept across the floor.

Annoyed with her cousin for frightening her, Clara grunted and flipped on the stockroom light. “Stephanie! You scared me! Why on earth didn’t . . . you . . .” Her voice faded into silence.

Standing before her, flashlight in one hand, the chocolate box in the other, was Frannie.

Stephanie’s first thought when she saw her youngest son’s stricken face and Olivia lying in the hospital bed was that her daughter was dying. None of George’s assurances would convince her, and it wasn’t until Olivia sat up and asked for ice cream that she dared to think that the child would recover.

“It’s just a broken arm,” the doctor said, showing her the X-ray. “A clean break. A few weeks and she’ll forget it ever happened.”

“
I
won’t forget,” Stephanie said, glaring at George. “In fact, I’d like to know exactly how it happened.”

George looked uneasy. “Olivia was roughhousing with Michael and wouldn’t quit when I told her to, so I sent them both to their rooms.”

Olivia started to say something, but Stephanie hushed her with a sharp lift of her hand. “So then what happened?”

George looked up at the ceiling. “She wanted to go see you at the store. I told her she couldn’t.”

“Mom, I—” Olivia began, and again was shushed by her mother’s threatening hand.

“And . . . ?”

“She fell out the window,” Michael said.

“I didn’t
fall
out of the window,” Olivia said scornfully. “I climbed out. It was the tree I fell out of.”

Stephanie clutched her stomach. “Oh, my God. You are
never
to do that again, you hear me?”

Olivia nodded. “I won’t,” she promised. “It hurts when you fall out of a tree.”

“I meant you are never to climb out of your
window
again.” Stephanie shook her head. The memory of her and Clara climbing out of a bedroom window was all too clear in her head.

Clara
. “Oh,
crap
!” She’d said it so loud two nurses frowned at her as they walked by.

“What now?” George said, alarm ringing in his voice.

Stephanie didn’t answer. She was too busy scrabbling for her cell phone.

Time seemed to freeze as Clara stared at Frannie’s frightened face. There were so many things she wanted to say, but none of them presented themselves in words. All she could do was stand there, waiting for Frannie to say something—anything—that would break the tension holding them fast.

Finally Frannie lifted the box in her hand and shook it. “It’s empty.”