Extra Sensory Deception (9 page)

“Let’s hope it’s sooner.” Wes held out his hand to Rick. “Thanks, buddy. It helps to know someone believes me.”

Rick shook his hand. “Come in any time. How about we grab a beer or two tomorrow night? I close up early on Saturdays.”

Wes managed a tired smile. “Sounds good to me.”

Rick tapped his fingers on Clara’s shoulder. “Wanna come?”

“Can’t. I’m having dinner with Steffie tomorrow.” Clara looked at Wes. “One last question. Melosa told me that Anita stole a red shirt from you.”

He snorted in disgust. “That woman is nuts. It’s my lucky shirt. The second it went missing I knew who had taken it. She’s taken stuff of mine before. I got it back, though.”

“When did she take it?”

“The first day we got here. I’d washed it and hung it outside the trailer and she grabbed it. I went after her as soon as I realized it was missing.”

Rick chuckled. “He was wearing it that night, remember?”

“Yes,” Clara said slowly. “I do.”

Wes gave her an odd look. “I’d better get going.” He waved a hand at Rick. “See you tomorrow night, then?”

“Yeah. I’ll pick you up at the trailer.”

With another nod at both of them, Wes disappeared.

Letting Clara go, Rick walked over to the wall behind his desk. “What was all that about a red shirt?”

She watched him unpin a sheet of paper from the wall and slip it into his desk drawer. “Oh, nothing, really. Melosa told me about the shirt and I wondered if it was significant in some way, that’s all. By the way, what kind of car does Wes drive?”

“He drives a truck, like most of the rodeo guys.” He stared at her for a long moment. “You think Wes killed Lisa.”

It was more of a statement than a question, and she was quick to answer. “I learned a long time ago not to take anything for granted. You asked me to look into the murder, and that’s what I’m doing.”

“Hey. Wait a minute.” He skirted his desk and hurried over to her. “I asked you to talk to Anita. I definitely remember saying I didn’t want you tracking down a killer. Why were you talking to Paul Eastcott, anyway?”

“Anita told me that Lisa said he was having an affair with her. Though Anita seemed to think it was wishful thinking on Lisa’s part. I wanted to know if they really were involved.”

“So did you find out?”

“Nope. Not yet, anyway. He seemed nervous when I mentioned Lisa, but he said he was at the Pioneer Inn when Lisa was killed, so I didn’t pursue it.”

Rick frowned. “You wouldn’t be going to the Pioneer Inn with Stephanie tomorrow night, by any chance?”

Clara shrugged. “It’s supposed to be a great place to eat.”

Rick took hold of her shoulders. “Clara, promise me you won’t go asking any more questions. I’m worried about Wes, sure, but I’m far more worried that you’ll end up in some kind of trouble. You did what I asked and talked to Anita. Now leave it alone and let the cops deal with it. Please?”

She patted the hand on her shoulder. “I’m just going to dinner, Rick. That’s all.”

He looked deep into her eyes. “Why doesn’t that make me feel better?”

She laughed. “Guess you’ll just have to trust me.”

Placing an arm around her shoulders, he gave her a hug. “I do. You’re sure you can’t come with us tomorrow night?”

“Nope.” She smiled. “I’ll take a rain check, though.”

“You’ve got it. Cash it soon, okay? Dinner at my place?”

For a brief instant she was tempted to invite him home for dinner. Then the image of her mother’s eager face flashed into her mind, and the impulse vanished. “It’s a date. Now I have to get back to the store. Molly’s waiting to go home.”

Rick heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Always running after someone, somewhere.”

“Yep, that’s me.” She left, waving at Tyler as she flew by him.

Pausing on the sidewalk for the traffic to clear, she recalled the vision she’d had of someone in a red shirt standing over Lisa’s body. If she discovered it was Wes, how could she report it to Dan, knowing how much it would devastate Rick?

Sending up a silent prayer that her suspicions were unfounded, she crossed the road and headed back to the store.

The evening lull in customers gave Clara an opportunity to work on her review, and by closing time she had a pretty good rough draft. Deciding to run it by Stephanie before doing any more to it, she sent the file to her e-mail and closed up shop.

Jessie was waiting for her when she arrived home. She’d barely set foot in the door when her mother called out to her.

Tatters bounded toward her as she walked into the living room, where her mother sat in front of the TV, her usual wineglass at her elbow.

Clara bent down and patted the dog’s head.

Tatters shot up his jaw and deposited a wet lick on her nose.
About time you got home. I’m going stir-crazy in here.

“I’ll take you for a walk after dinner.”

“Are you talking to me or the dog?” Jessie asked, sounding snippy.

Clara sighed. “Sorry. Did you want something?”

“Just to tell you that Seth Ferguson was killed last night.”

Clara felt as if all the blood had drained out of her head. Seth was the owner of the boating supplies store just down the street from the bookstore. She waved to him just about every morning while walking past his store to the Raven’s Nest. He’d often come into the bookstore for a cup of coffee and a Danish, and never left without buying a book.

“Seth? What happened?”

Her mother looked as shocked as she felt. “He was run over in the parking lot of Harry’s Pub, out on the coast road.” Jessie’s eyes filled with tears. “I was just talking to Grace in the library the other day. She adored her husband. She must be devastated.”

Clara went immediately to her mother and put both arms around her. It hadn’t been that long since Clara’s father had died, and she knew his loss was still fresh in Jessie’s mind. Hearing of her friend’s loss must have brought it all back. “I’m so sorry, Mother.”

Jessie nodded, hunting for a tissue from a box on the table at her side. “Poor Grace. What will she do without him?”

Clara let her go and picked up the empty wineglass. “I’ll get you some more wine.”

She hurried into the kitchen and opened the fridge. Taking out the half-full bottle of wine, she tried to make sense of what she’d just heard. Her hand shook as she poured the golden liquid into the glass.

How could her visions have been so wrong? She had seen the accident in her head, but she’d seen a clown tumbling through the air. Not Seth. What had the Sense been trying to tell her?

Carrying the glass back to her mother, she said quietly, “You heard about it on the news?”

“No.” Jessie took the glass from her. “Grace’s daughter, Nancy, called me. I was supposed to have lunch with Grace tomorrow, so Nancy called to cancel. I knew as soon as I heard her voice that something was wrong. She cried when she told me what happened. I couldn’t believe it. She said it was a hit-and-run. The driver just took off and never stopped, the miserable coward. The police are looking for him now. Someone saw a truck racing away from the scene, but didn’t get the license plate.”

A truck
.
Everything in her vision fit, except that it wasn’t Marty who had died in that parking lot. It was a good friend. A loving husband and father.

Tatters whined, and Clara gathered her thoughts. “Have you had dinner yet?” She laid a hand on her mother’s shoulder. “Can I get you anything?”

Jessie blew her nose. “I’ve already eaten. There’s a casserole in the fridge. You just have to heat it up in the microwave.”

Right then Clara had no appetite for dinner. She needed to get out in the fresh air and clear her head. Her mother, however, had gone to the trouble of cooking for her, and she wasn’t about to disappoint her.

Seated in the kitchen, she tried to ignore Tatters’ longing looks while she ate a fair portion of the casserole. Her mother was a great cook, and usually Clara enjoyed the meals, but tonight the food tasted like shredded paper, and even the glass of wine she’d poured for herself tasted sour.

Again and again she replayed her vision in her mind. There was no doubt she’d been looking at Marty lying in that parking lot. The black and white costume, the spiderweb lines drawn around the huge red eyes—there was no mistaking the clown.

Had the accident in her vision not yet happened? Would there be another one? In the next instant she was cursing her overactive brain. It was all this Quinn Sense stuff—it was playing havoc with her mind. Making her dream up all kinds of unrealistic scenarios. She was upset over Seth’s death. That was all. As for her vision, it wasn’t the first time the Sense had got things wrong, and it probably wouldn’t be the last.

After slipping some of the casserole into Tatters’ dish, she rinsed off her plate and glass and stuck them in the dishwasher.

Her mother was watching the news when she went out into the living room. “I haven’t seen anything yet,” she told Clara. “I guess it’s old news already.”

“Well, let me know if they do report it. I’m taking Tatters for a walk. I won’t be long.”

“Go ahead.” Jessie took a deep sip of wine. “Take that mutt out of here. He’s beginning to smell.”

Hey! You would smell too, if you hadn’t had a bath in weeks.

“I’ll give him a bath on my next day off,” Clara said, fixing a stern glare at the dog.

Tatters grunted, and padded to the door.

The night had closed in when Clara stepped outside, the streetlamps casting an orange glow on the sidewalk. Walking fast, with Tatters straining at the leash, she reached the harbor and paused at the steps leading to the beach.

Walking the sands at night was not one of her favorite things to do, but Tatters loved to run free without his leash, and the beach was one of the few places he could enjoy that freedom. Luckily the moon was bright enough that she could see right down to the water’s edge, and the scattered bonfires farther down the shore reassured her. Unsnapping Tatters’ leash from his collar, she murmured, “There you go, boy.”

Tatters shot down the steps and scampered across the sand to the water. Following more slowly, Clara tried to erase the vision that persisted in haunting her. She still found it hard to accept that it was Seth Ferguson and not Marty Pearce lying in that parking lot with the life seeping out of him.

She didn’t know Grace that well, but somehow she felt duty-bound to call on her and offer her condolences. Perhaps she and her mother could go together. Jessie would like that.

Feeling a little better, she watched Tatters splashing several yards away into the water, only to turn tail and race madly out onto the soft sand. He rolled onto his back, legs waving in the air as he wriggled from side to side. Clara closed her eyes, envisioning the struggle she’d have to get all the sand out of his shaggy hair before she could take him inside the house.

When she opened her eyes again, Tatters had vanished.

At first she couldn’t believe it. Peering into the shadows, she whistled, hoping to see his dark silhouette against the flickering flames of the bonfires. Nothing moved on that dark stretch of sand.

Where could he possibly have gone so fast? She’d heard no sound, except for the waves slapping the shore. Cupping her hands to her mouth, she called out his name. Ears straining for his answering bark, she stared at the churning ocean. Had he gone back into the water? Was he right now being swept out to sea, never to be seen again?

Horror gripped her heart. Not Tatters. Not Rick’s dog.

She started to run toward the water, shouting his name over and over. Stumbling in the sand, she fell to her knees, tears starting down her cheeks. It was in that moment that she realized how much she loved that dog. He wasn’t Rick’s dog anymore. He was hers. Not just a dog, but a friend. Family. She couldn’t lose him. She just couldn’t.

—

“Clara invited me out to dinner tomorrow night,” Stephanie said, handing her husband a beer. “We’re going to the Pioneer Inn.”

George took the can and flipped open the tab. “That’s a pretty fancy restaurant. What’s the occasion?”

“Nothing special.” Stephanie sat down on the couch next to him, avoiding his gaze. “You’re not watching the news?”

“I was just going to turn it on.” He reached for the remote, but kept it in his hand without turning on the TV. “You two don’t usually go for the expensive night out.”

Knowing she was not going to escape his questions that easily, Stephanie shrugged. “We haven’t been out together in a while. Clara wanted to take me somewhere nice for a treat. Neither of us have eaten at the Pioneer Inn, so we thought we’d go there.”

George narrowed his eyes. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with the murder of that woman at the rodeo, would it?”

Stephanie opened her eyes wide. “The murder? Whatever made you think of that?”

“Just a lucky guess. Knowing how you two love to go sleuthing, I figured a night out together probably had a connection somewhere.”

Stephanie shook her head. “We’re just going for a nice dinner.” She met her husband’s gaze and faltered. “Maybe ask a few questions, that’s all.”

“Uh-huh. I thought so.” George hit a button on the remote with his thumb. “Just promise me you’ll stay out of trouble, okay?”

“Of course. I—” She broke off as the voice of Spencer Barnes, the local news anchor, resonated in the quiet room. “Did he just say what I think he said?” She stared at the screen, unwilling to accept the words she’d heard.

“Oh God.” George turned up the sound, though it was already drumming in her ears.

“Ferguson was pronounced dead at the scene,” Spencer Barnes announced, sounding remarkably unmoved by the awful news. “The police are looking for the truck involved in the hit-and-run.”

“No, it can’t be. Not Seth.” Stephanie burst into tears and buried her face in her husband’s shoulder. Poor Seth. Poor Grace. It was just too much to bear thinking about.

—

Fighting the panic threatening to overwhelm her, Clara struggled to her feet. She couldn’t leave the beach without knowing what had happened to Tatters. Even if she stayed all night. Maybe he would swim back with the tide. Maybe he was out there, struggling to fight the surge of water taking him out to sea.

She took a step toward the water, then paused as she heard a faint bark. It seemed to have come from somewhere behind the rocks. Could it be?

Hope spurring her on, she tore up the sand toward a crop of craggy rocks. The barking was louder now, and she was almost certain it was Tatters. Her lungs ached and her ragged breathing made her voice hoarse as once more she shouted his name.

This time his bark answered her, and she heard the words in her head.
Help! Over here!

She scrambled around the rocks to where a patch of sand lay between the boulders. Tatters stood with his legs spread apart, tufts of hair in a ridge down his back. Lying in front of him was a man. Someone she recognized. “It’s all right, Tats,” she said quietly. “He’s a friend.”

“Thank the good Lord,” Marty Pearce said, sounding a little strained. “I thought your dog was going to attack me.”

Tatters, quiet now, sat down on his haunches.
Thanks for nothing.

“What happened?” Clara hurried over to Marty. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, I guess. I tripped over a rock. Twisted my bum leg.” He held out his hand. “Give me a hand up?”

Clara grasped the calloused hand and tugged.

Grunting, Marty climbed to his feet. “I was trying to get up when this hound came bounding in here barking his head off. I was afraid to move in case he lunged at me.”

“He would never do that,” Clara assured the clown. “He was trying to attract my attention by barking, that’s all. He was trying to help you.”

“Oh.” Marty sent a wary glance at the dog. “Well, thanks.”

Yeah. Well, okay.

Clara looked down at Marty’s leg. “Does it hurt much? Can you walk?”

“I guess so.” He tested his foot and grimaced. “I might need some help, though.”

“Here.” She offered him her arm. “Where’s your car?”

“Up on the road, just a little ways down. When the show ended, I figured I’d take a stroll on the beach before I settled in for the night. Should have known better than to try it in the dark.” He winced as he hobbled alongside her. “I might as well have gone down to the tavern again.”

Her arm jerked under his. “You were at a tavern last night?”

He paused for just a second or two, as if he were surprised by her question. “Yep. There was no show last night, so a bunch of us went down there.”

She tried to calm her voice. “I bet that was fun. Which one did you go to?”

“Er . . . Wally’s Pub, or Terry’s Pub, something like that.”

“Harry’s Pub? Out on the coast road?”

“That’s the one.” He sounded out of breath as they climbed the steps. “You know it?”

“I know of it.” She hesitated, then added, “There was a fatal accident there last night.”

He stopped short, staring at her as if she’d announced the end of the world. “An accident?”

“A hit-and-run. A friend of mine was killed.”

“You kidding me? Hell, that’s a real bummer.” He squeezed her arm. “Must have happened after we left. Or most of us, anyway.” He shook his head. “Some of those cowboys can drink all night long and wake up feeling just fine. Me? Three’s the limit or I’m a basket case all next day.”