Extra Sensory Deception (10 page)

Clara paid little attention to what he was saying. The news that Marty and some of the rodeo guys were at the bar the night Seth was killed raised a chilling possibility. What if Seth’s death wasn’t an accident? What if someone had intended to kill Marty and had killed Seth by mistake? They were both roughly the same height and weight, and it was dark in the parking lot.

Clara froze. If she was right, whoever wanted to harm the clown would realize he’d killed the wrong man, and could still be after Marty. “Can you remember who was there when you left? Was anyone wearing a red shirt?”

The words had popped out before she’d had time to think. Marty let go of her arm and stepped away from her. After an awkward pause, he asked quietly, “Okay, so what’s this all about?”

To cover her confusion, she ordered Tatters to come over to her, then bent down and fastened his leash. When she straightened again, she found Marty staring at her, tension lining his face.

She searched her mind for several long seconds, trying to find the right words without giving too much away. “Two deaths in as many nights is unnerving,” she said at last. “I just think you should be very careful and stay on guard. Don’t go out alone again at night.”

Marty’s frown deepened. “You sound like my mother. What makes you think I’m in some kind of danger?”

“I think everyone connected to the rodeo is in danger until Lisa’s killer is found.”

He nodded, slowly, as if thinking things over. “Are you telling me your friend’s death wasn’t an accident?”

“I didn’t say that.”

He stared at her long enough to make her uncomfortable. “If it was one of our guys who ran down your friend, and I hope to high heaven it wasn’t, he was most likely drunk and didn’t see the guy in the dark. Let’s hope he owns up to his mistake and takes his punishment like a man. As for whoever murdered Lisa, I’d say he’s probably hightailed it out of town and is far away by now. The cops will catch up with him eventually. They always do.”

“I hope you’re right.” Clara tugged on Tatters’ leash as he strained to walk down the street.

“My truck’s right down here.” Marty nodded at a pickup parked at the curb. “Good thing it’s not a stick shift. I only need one foot to drive it.”

“Will you be okay?” Clara looked anxiously at the truck. “I don’t have my car here, but if you want to wait while I go get it—”

“Thanks, but I’ll be just fine.” He patted her arm. “You’ve been a good pal, and I appreciate it.” He looked down at Tatters and tentatively held out his hand. The dog ignored it, and after a moment, Marty pulled his hand back. “Lucky for me you were out here.”

“We usually go for a walk around this time.” Clara laid a hand on Tatters’ neck. “I’m just happy we were able to help. I hope your leg’s okay.”

“Thanks to you and your dog, there’s not much harm done. A night’s rest and I’ll be good to go tomorrow.”

“You might want to get it looked at,” Clara called out after him as he limped off.

He answered her with a wave of his hand, and she watched him until he hauled himself into his truck and drove away.

Jessie had gone to bed when Clara arrived home, and she had to spend twenty minutes in the utility room combing sand out of Tatters’ coat before she could let him into her bedroom. The dog slept with her on her bed, much to her mother’s disgust, and Clara had no wish to spend the night brushing sand off the covers.

Tatters wasn’t too happy with all the attention, and kept shifting away from her. “Stand still,” she told him, hauling him closer for the fourth time. “You’re not going to sleep until I get all this stuff out of your coat.”

Bummer.

She eased the comb through the tangled fur. “You need a bath.”

No kidding.

“You did good tonight, Tats. Rescuing Marty like that. Though you could have been a bit more sociable. He’s a nice man.”

Tatters grunted.

Clara shook the comb on the sheet of newspaper she’d spread on the floor. “I know you prefer females, but it wouldn’t hurt you to be a bit nicer to the men you meet.”

Tatters grunted again.

Thinking about Marty brought back their conversation. Maybe he was right. Maybe Seth’s death had been nothing more than an accident. Maybe the clown wasn’t in danger after all. But there was that vision she’d had of him tumbling down the steps at the rodeo.

She paused, holding the comb above Tatters’ fur. As if sensing her preoccupation, the dog moved slowly out of reach.

Barely noticing, Clara recalled the vision. Could it be that Marty’s fall down the steps was nothing more than his tripping over the rocks tonight? Maybe her interpretations of the visions were exaggerated.

She had to stop worrying about the clown and concentrate on finding out more about Lisa’s death. So far it seemed the police were having no luck in finding the killer. Maybe Marty was right, and he’d already left town. Maybe it was someone with no connections to the rodeo. After all, Lisa lived in Mittleford now. It could have been anyone who hated her enough to kill her. If only she could find out who Lisa was meeting behind the concert stage that night . . .

Hey!

Clara jumped. Apparently Tatters was getting tired of being ignored. “Okay, okay. I guess I’m done. But heaven help you if I wake up tomorrow with a bed full of sand. I don’t know why you have to roll in it, anyway. You—”

She broke off as Jessie’s voice called out from the hallway. “Clara? Is that you?”

No, it’s the tooth fairy.

Ignoring the dog, Clara pushed the door open wider. “I’m coming. I was just cleaning off Tatters.”

Jessie appeared in front of her, dressed in a robe, her face covered in a white cream. “I heard you talking. I thought maybe you’d brought someone home with you.”

The wistful note in her voice told Clara her mother had hoped the someone was Rick. “No, just Tatters.”

“Talking to that dog again. One of these days you’ll do that in public and someone will call 911.”

Clara smiled. “I’m glad you’re up. I wanted to ask you if you’d like to see Grace tomorrow. We could go together. Take her a card or something.”

“Don’t you have to work?”

“Not until noon, and you don’t have to go to the library. I’ll get up early.”

Jessie’s eyes misted. “Really? I’d like that. We should probably call her first, though.”

“I’ll let you do that.” Clara glanced at her watch. “I have to call Steffie now before she goes to bed.” She planted a quick kiss on her mother’s cheek. “Sleep well.”

“You, too.” Jessie disappeared into her room and Clara led Tatters into her own bedroom, closing the door quietly behind him.

He immediately jumped on the bed and settled down, his head on his paws, his brown eyes watching her.

Sitting down at her small desk, Clara turned on her computer and brought up the file she’d sent from the bookstore. Then she dialed Stephanie’s number and waited.

Her cousin answered almost at once. “Have you heard the news?” she demanded, before Clara had a chance to say anything.

“If you’re talking about Seth Ferguson’s accident, then yes.”

“It’s just terrible. Whoever did it never even stopped. His family must be in agony.”

“I know. Jessie and I are going to see Grace tomorrow morning. Do you want to come with us?”

“Can’t. Molly won’t be in tomorrow. She’s got the stomach flu—or maybe it’s something she ate.”

“Oh, sorry about that.” Clara hesitated. “Do you want me to come in early?”

“No, I’ll manage until you get there. It’s good that you’re going to see Seth’s wife. Tell her how sorry I am.”

“I will. Do you have a minute to listen to the review? I wrote a rough draft tonight.”

“Oh, okay. Shoot.”

Reading from the computer screen, Clara recited what she’d written.

“Sounds good,” Stephanie declared when she was done. “I don’t think Paul Eastcott will complain about that. Where are you going to post it?”

“On the city council’s website. On that page where they ask for people’s opinions on various events.”

“Oh, yeah. Do you think he’ll see it on there, though?”

“It doesn’t really matter. I told him I’d write the review. I never said where I was going to post it.”

“Oh, right.”

“By the way, I ran into Marty Pearce tonight on the beach.”

“The clown? Was he in costume? Ugh! How creepy.”

“No, he wasn’t.” Clara repeated as much of the conversation as she could remember.

“Wow.” Stephanie sounded uneasy. “You don’t really think someone deliberately ran down Seth, thinking he was Marty?”

“It sounds farfetched, I know. Marty didn’t seem too concerned about it when I suggested it.” She shook her head. “Part of me really wants to think it was just an accident, a coincidence that it happened at a place that was full of people from the rodeo.”

“But we both know that coincidences like that don’t happen often. Doesn’t the Quinn Sense tell you anything?”

“No, only that Marty is in some kind of danger. I tried to warn him, but he’s not taking me seriously, and I can’t blame him. I can’t give him any good reason why I think he’s in harm’s way.”

“Hmm. Tough one. Guess we’ll just have to hope he’ll listen to you enough to be on guard.”

“I hope so.”

Stephanie yawned. “I’ve got to get to bed. I’m dead on my feet. See you tomorrow. Don’t forget to give my condolences to Seth’s wife. Better yet, get her address for me, and I’ll send her a card.”

Clara promised to do so and clicked off her phone. She wasn’t looking forward to visiting Grace Ferguson. Talking to a woman who had just lost her husband was hard. It wasn’t the first time she’d done that, and she remembered how it felt to see a heartbroken widow suffering from her loss.

She dreamed that night that she was being chased around the rodeo arena by at least a dozen trucks. Rick was in the dream, calling out to her, but no matter how fast she ran toward him, he remained out of reach.

She woke up, sweating, to find Tatters’ warm back pressed against hers. A glance at her clock on the bedside table assured her she’d woken up early, and she reached out a hand to turn off the alarm.

Jessie was quiet throughout breakfast, and Clara guessed her mother was having the same qualms she was about seeing the grieving widow. When Jessie got up to call her friend, Clara took the dishes into the kitchen and stacked them in the dishwasher. She could hear her mother’s low voice in the living room, but couldn’t hear what was said.

Jessie walked into the kitchen as Clara was pouring detergent into the dishwasher cup. “I talked to Grace,” she said, her voice not quite steady. “She said she’s not very good company right now but if we want to stop by she’ll be happy to see us.”

“Great. What can we take her?”

“If it were me I’d want a bottle of scotch, but I guess that wouldn’t look too good. Flowers?”

Clara thought for a moment. “I don’t know. Flowers are more for the funeral home. How about we take her some kind of food? She probably doesn’t feel like cooking.”

“Or eating, if she’s anything like I was when your father died.” Jessie sighed. “I still remember that day as plain as if it were yesterday.”

A stab of pain hit Clara under the ribs. “Me, too.” She put an arm about her mother’s shoulders. “This will be hard for you.”

“Not as hard as it will be for Grace. Come on. Let’s get it over with. We’ll stop by the store first and see what we can find to take with us.”

In the end they decided on ham and cheese sandwiches, a plate of fresh fruit and a large tub of ice cream.

Nancy answered the door and looked relieved when she saw them. The teenager’s face was streaked with recent tears, and she wore no makeup. “Thanks for coming,” she said, as she let them into the house. “Mom’s in the living room. She’s a mess, so be prepared. She really needs someone to talk to right now.”

“Don’t worry,” Jessie said, giving the girl a hug. “We’ll do our best to help.”

There wasn’t a lot they could do to help a heartbroken widow, Clara thought uneasily as she followed her mother into the living room.

Nancy had disappeared, obviously unwilling to be part of what was likely to be a painful conversation.

A familiar-looking woman sat in a chair by a large window that overlooked a shady yard. Her white face had been ravaged by shock, grief and tears, but her short, dark hair was neatly combed and she wore a spotless cream shirt over khaki pants.

Through the window Clara could see maple trees spreading thick, leafy branches over a lawn edged with hydrangea shrubs, rose bushes and a myriad of colorful annuals. Obviously someone in the Ferguson family was an avid gardener.

“My dear Grace!” Jessie rushed over to the frail-looking woman and smothered her with her arms. “I’m so terribly sorry. If there’s anything we can do . . .”

Grace appeared to be fighting tears, though she managed a weak smile. “Thank you, but we’ll be fine. It’s just—” She swallowed, obviously unable to finish the sentence.

“Well,” Jessie said briskly, “we brought you some sandwiches and fruit for lunch.” She gestured at Clara, who still carried the bag of groceries. “Take them into the kitchen and put the ice cream in the freezer before it melts.”

“That’s very kind of you, but—” Grace began, but Jessie cut her off.

“You’re entirely welcome. I know what it’s like to lose someone you love. The shock, you know. It totally wipes out everything in your mind. You need to eat. It will keep your strength up.” She glanced at Clara again. “You’ve met my daughter, Clara?”

Grace stared at Clara. Her voice sounded dull, as if she were reciting a boring poem. “You work in the bookstore on Main Street.”

Clara nodded. “The Raven’s Nest. I’ve seen you in there a couple of times. My cousin, Stephanie, owns the store. She sends her condolences, by the way. We knew Seth quite well. He used to come in a lot. He was one of our best customers.”

Grace nodded, her voice thickening. “He loved science fiction, especially books about the future. He always said he wanted to have his body frozen so he could be brought back to life in the future to see what it was like.” Her voice broke on the last word. “Guess he’ll never know, now.”