Mind Over Murder (7 page)

“We have to start asking questions,” Stephanie said. “Like, who was on the street late Friday night and what were they doing there?”

“Motive and opportunity.” Clara frowned. “What’s the third thing?”

“Means!” Molly looked pleased with herself. “I read a lot of mysteries. It means the murder weapon.”

“Good. I’m glad someone knows what she’s doing. Only in this case, anyone could have had the means bit. It wouldn’t have been that hard to lift the bust and hit Ana over the head with it.”

Stephanie nodded her agreement. “It would help if we knew why or how Ana was in the stockroom in the first place.”

“Good point. I guess it wouldn’t be that hard to lure her in there. It seems that just about everyone knew she wanted to shut down the bookstore. All the murderer would have to do is tell Ana there was something in the stockroom that would help her do that, and she’d follow him right in.” Clara turned her head as the bell jangled. “There’s a customer. I’d better get back to the counter.”

Molly got up from her chair. “Well, I’m going home.” She looked down at Clara. “Sure you’ll be okay here on your own? I mean, you’re not nervous or anything?”

“I think I know enough to manage.” Clara glanced at Stephanie. “I can always call my cousin if I’m not sure about anything, right?”

Stephanie didn’t answer her. She was peering toward the front of the store, a strange expression on her face.

Molly turned her head to see what she was looking at and drew a sharp breath. “It’s John Halloran,” she said, in a low whisper. “Now’s your chance to question our first suspect, Clara. Get what you can out of him.”

Clara had a sudden urge to hide. “I have no idea what to ask him.”

“Think fast.” Stephanie gave her a little push. “Use your talents. You’ll come up with something.” She ducked her head, avoiding Clara’s glare, and slipped past her. “I have to get home to my kids,” she said, following Molly, who was headed for the door. “Call me if you have any problems.”

Clara watched them leave, the sinking feeling in her stomach growing worse by the minute. She’d been abandoned, left alone in the store with a possible murderer.

Very slowly, she walked up to the counter, conscious of her heels clicking on the polished floorboards. John Halloran was nowhere to be seen, though she could hear shuffling footsteps at the lower end of one of the aisles. He was awfully near the stockroom. Was he waiting for a chance to slip inside there to make sure he’d left no incriminating evidence behind?

Scolding herself, she moved behind the counter. She was being ridiculous. Even if the killer had left some kind of evidence behind, Dan would surely have found it by now. Even so, she strained her ears, listening for the possible closing of the stockroom door.

“It’s nice to see you again, Clara.”

The soft voice spoke from just a yard or so away, making her jump so violently her teeth clicked. She’d been so intent on listening, staring down at the counter, she hadn’t seen him emerge from the aisle.

“Oh! Mr. Halloran!” Her voice sounded squeaky, and she coughed. “It’s nice to see you, too.”

He walked toward her, carrying two books under his arm. “I heard that you were working for your cousin. How nice that the two of you can enjoy this together.” He waved a hand at the aisles. “Stephanie has done a good job with the store. Very impressive.”

Clara cleared her throat. “Thank you. I’ll tell her you said that.”

“Oh, please do.” He turned his head to look up at the crystals, revealing a large bald patch in the center of his light brown hair. “Nice touch.”

“We like them.” She kept staring at the bald patch, wondering how on earth she was going to find out where he was and what he was doing on the night of the murder. She couldn’t just come out and ask him.

He turned toward her, and she quickly forced a smile. “I see you’ve found a couple of books. Can I ring those up for you?”

“Sure.” Instead of handing them to her, however, he stared at her through the lenses of his black-rimmed glasses. “It must have been quite a shock for you young ladies to find Ana Jordan’s body like that.”

Clara swallowed hard. “Yes, it was.” She could feel the pulse in her throat throbbing and swallowed again. “Quite a shock.”

“Not the sort of thing you imagined coming home to find.”

“No, not at all.”

“Do the police have any idea who did it?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Someone said Dan was questioning Molly.”

Clara raised her chin. “Dan questioned a lot of people. Molly had nothing to do with it.”

John Halloran smiled. “Of course she didn’t.” He moved closer to lay the books on the counter, bringing with him the too-sweet scent of his cologne. “I wonder who did, though. Why in here? Unless whoever killed her wanted the police to think it was one of you. After all, Ana wanted to shut down the store, didn’t she? And we all know how good she was at getting her own way. Who else had such a strong reason to want her out of the way?”

Clara curled her fingers into her palm. “Plenty of people, from what I hear.”

His eyes narrowed just a bit. “Yes, I don’t suppose there’ll be too many mourners at her funeral.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Well, I’m sure Dan will find our killer soon enough. This is a small town. Not a lot of places to hide, right?”

His laugh sent chills down her spine. Quickly she scanned the purchase and swiped his card. After handing him the sales slip, she dropped the books into a bag and pushed it toward him. “Thank you, Mr. Halloran.”

“Oh, please, call me John. Everyone does.” He picked up the bag and tucked it under his arm. “Good day, Clara. I’ll be seeing you soon.”

It sounded more like a threat than a promise. She managed a weak smile, conscious of Molly’s words pounding in her head.
Get what you can out of him
. It was a lot easier to say it than to do it.

He was almost at the door when she blurted out, “I don’t suppose you happened to see anything the night Ana was murdered?”

He paused so long she dug a channel into her palms with her nails. Then he turned, his pale gray eyes gleaming behind the glasses. “See anything?”

“Unusual, I mean. Something that could help us find out who did this awful thing.”

“If I had,” John Halloran said in his soft voice, “I would have certainly told the police.”

“Oh, of course.” Clara nodded her head at him, and then couldn’t seem to stop nodding. “I was only wondering, that’s all.”

“We’re all wondering.” He turned back to the door and opened it. “All except the murderer, of course.” He started chuckling as he went out the door, and it closed behind him.

Clara let out all the breath she’d been holding in one big gasp and propped her elbows on the counter. So much for this detective work. It was a lot harder than she’d thought.

At least she hadn’t heard voices in her head while she was talking to him. Just for a moment she almost wished she had. She might have learned something useful. As far as she could tell, John Halloran hadn’t actually lied, though now that she thought about it, he hadn’t said much at all.

Stephanie and Molly would probably be disappointed in her, though she couldn’t see what more she could have done, other than ask him outright if he’d killed Ana. Not that he was likely to admit it, of course, but the voices might have been able to tell her if he’d lied.

There she went again. Darn the Quinn Sense. It was nothing but trouble when it was there, and it was never there when she could use it. Her biggest fear about coming back to Finn’s Harbor was that she’d get it back full strength, and thinking about it all the time didn’t help.

Annoyed with herself, she charged out from behind the counter and headed for the Reading Nook. Maybe a spurt of cleaning up would help take her mind off things. If there was one thing she didn’t need, it was the Quinn Sense coming back to haunt her.

Stephanie called just as Clara was putting away the coffee cups. “So? What did you find out about John Halloran?” she demanded, when Clara picked up the phone.

“Not much.” Clara told her what she remembered of the conversation. “I tried to find out where he was on Friday night, but he wasn’t too helpful.”

“Maybe you didn’t ask the right questions.”

“I’m not a cop, Stephanie. There are some things I can’t ask without seeming nosy, or just plain accusing.”

“I suppose.” There was a pause, then Stephanie added, “Well, did he act suspicious at all? Did he seem nervous when you asked questions?”

Clara thought about it. “He was kind of creepy,” she said at last. “The truth is, he made
me
nervous. I can’t say that’s incriminating, though. He really didn’t say anything specific.”

“Crap. We’ll have to think of another way to find out this stuff.”

“That’s what I was afraid you’d say.”

“Come on, Clara. Where’s your sense of adventure?”

“Ten years in New York. That’s what happened to it.”

She hadn’t meant to sound so caustic, and Stephanie caught on right away. “What’s that supposed to mean? What happened to you in New York, Clara? Why won’t you tell me?”

Clara attempted a light laugh. “Nothing happened to me. I just grew up, that’s all.”

Stephanie was silent for so long Clara thought she’d hung up. Then she said in a small voice, “That’s a shame, Clara. That’s a real shame. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Clara had the uneasy feeling that once more she’d let her cousin down, but before she could answer, Stephanie hung up.

Molly had Mondays off, and when Clara arrived at the Raven’s Nest late the next morning, it was to find Stephanie red-faced, her arms full of books and her bangs sticking to her forehead.

“I just got a big delivery,” she said, hoisting the heavy pile in her arms, “and I need to get them in the stockroom and get the shelves restocked. We haven’t put any new fantasy books out since . . . before Dan closed the store.”

Clara held out her hands. “Here, I’ll take them.”

“No, you watch the counter. I’ll be quicker. I know where everything goes.”

She tore off, and shaking her head, Clara moved behind the counter and stashed her purse. There must have been a rush of customers that morning, as sales slips lay scattered on the shelf instead of filed away in the drawer, and a couple of plastic bags had drifted to the floor.

Clara bent over to pick them up, grunting as she straightened. She tucked the bags into the slot where they belonged and turned back to the counter, coming face-to-face with the amused gaze of the man from across the street.

Suspect number two.
Clara sent a frantic glance down the aisle, but could see no sign of Stephanie. “Er . . . good morning. Can I help you?” She swiped back a chunk of her hair and tucked it behind her ear.

“Well, technically it’s afternoon,” Rick Sanders said, glancing at the grandfather clock. “But I guess if you haven’t had lunch yet, it must feel like it’s still morning.”

She stared at him, trying to figure out if he meant anything by all that. “Yes,” she said at last. “I suppose you’re right.”

He stuck out a hand. “Hi. I’m Rick Sanders. I own the hardware store across the street. You must be Stephanie’s cousin.”

His smile made her feel a little less defensive. She tentatively gave him her hand, and it was immediately swallowed up in his. His strong grasp hurt a little, but strangely, it was a pleasurable kind of pain. “Yes, I’m Clara Quinn.”

“Home from New York.”

“Yes, I am.” She seemed to be saying yes a lot. She struggled to think of something halfway intelligent to say, but it was hard to think with her hand still clasped in his.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Clara. Stephanie talks about you all the time.”

Really.
She would have to ask Stephanie what she’d told him. “I hope she wasn’t too explicit,” she said, then wished she hadn’t said that. It sounded a bit racy.

Rick’s eyes gleamed with amusement. “Don’t worry. It was just general stuff.”

He really did have nice eyes. Dark brown and soft, like a puppy’s. Nice mouth, too, especially when he smiled. Thick dark hair, cut short. She wondered if he colored it, then dismissed the thought. Strong men didn’t color their hair.

She curled her fingers as, without warning, the voices started whispering in her head.
Wait
! What was she doing? He was on their list of suspects. A very short list. Dragging her hand out of his grasp, she shut the voices down. She didn’t want to hear what they had to say. She would far rather suspect John Halloran of murder than this man with the quiet voice and the pleasant smile.

“So, what’s the verdict?”

Confused, she frowned at him. “Sorry?”

His grin widened. “Well, you’ve been sizing me up pretty good. I was just wondering if I passed the test.”

Oh, help
. She could feel the blood rushing to her cheeks.