Mind Over Murder (11 page)

She had to say something. Anything. He was looking at her again with that weird look on his face. She opened her mouth to speak, but just then the waitress brought her lobster roll.

To Clara’s relief, Rick transferred his attention to the waitress while he ordered his roll and a beer. She tried to think clearly, striving for a way to find out what he was doing on Friday night.

“Can I get you something else?”

At the sound of his voice, she looked up with a start to find him watching her again. “Oh, thank you, no.” She glanced at the waitress, who was unashamedly sizing up her new customer.

“That’ll be it, then,” Rick said, giving the young woman a smile that sent her dancing off for his order.

“Sure you’re okay?”

Clara avoided his gaze. “I’m fine.” It had come out a little too abrupt and she hurried to add, “Just a little preoccupied, I guess.”

“I can imagine. The shock of finding Ana’s body and all. It takes a long time to get something like that out of your head.”

“Exactly.” She felt herself beginning to relax. “That’s why I came out here. To get away from it all for a little while.”

“Has Dan made any progress on finding the killer?”

Her nerves tightened again. “I wouldn’t know. He doesn’t confide in us.”

“I just wondered if you’d heard rumors.”

“Such as?”

He shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know. People talk.”

She didn’t like where this conversation was going. He seemed much too interested in knowing if there’d been any developments in the case. Or maybe she was just overreacting again. She seemed to be doing that a lot lately.

She took a big bite of her lobster roll, spilling some of the lobster pieces onto her plate. “That’s the problem with these things,” she mumbled. “You can’t look elegant while you’re eating them.”

“You could look elegant hauling lobsters out of the ocean.”

He was smiling. He really did have a nice smile. She couldn’t help smiling back. “Thank you. I think.”

The waitress arrived with Rick’s order, giving Clara time to recover her composure. She waited until he had started on his roll before saying as casually as she could manage, “What really surprises me about Ana’s murder is that apparently no one saw anything, or noticed anything unusual. Dan said she was killed sometime between nine and eleven on Friday night. There must have been people on the street around that time.”

Rick lifted his glass. “What do you mean by unusual?”

“Well, you know, Ana going into the bookstore after hours. Maybe forced to go in by someone.”

“How do you know she went in after hours?” He tilted the glass and drank several gulps of his beer.

Clara paused, her roll halfway to her mouth. “Are you saying you believe the rumors that Molly killed her?”

She couldn’t read his expression as he looked at her. “It’s obvious you don’t.”

“Of course I don’t.” She put down her roll, her appetite for it fast disappearing. “I think the whole idea is ridiculous. Molly had nothing to do with Ana’s murder.”

“She told you that.”

“Yes, she did.”

“And you believed her.”

“Absolutely. I can usually tell when people are lying.”

“Then you’re lucky. Personally, I think there are far too many good liars in this world.”

The bitterness in his words was impossible to ignore. Someone somewhere must have hurt him badly. She knew how that felt. She could literally feel the resentment steaming out of him. It was such a contrast to his usual disposition that it shocked her into silence.

“Sorry.” He grinned, and in a flash once more became the cheerful, agreeable man she thought she knew. “As a matter of fact, I agree with you. I just can’t see Molly bashing someone over the head with a masterpiece she’d just created.”

Clara’s shoulders sagged in relief. With or without the Sense, she was ready to believe that Rick Sanders was not the killer either, and until the voices told her otherwise, she intended to hold on to that. “So who do you think might have been responsible?”

“Could have been anyone, I guess.”

He turned to look out of the window, giving her an opportunity to study his profile. Strong nose and chin. She liked that.

“So, have you met the formidable Roberta Prince?”

His question took her by surprise, especially since he looked back at her and once more caught her staring at him. He had to think she was totally juvenile. “Yes, she came into the store this morning and introduced herself. Sort of.”

Rick smiled. “Gave you a hard time?”

She hesitated, remembering the flamboyant woman’s words.
Just ask the hunk who owns the hardware store across the street
.

“Not really. As you said, though, she’s a bit . . . intimidating.”

“I know what you mean.”

He’d sounded grim, and Clara frowned, wondering who to believe. Roberta had made it sound like they were on hugging terms.
Come on, Sense, where are you when I need you?
“She mentioned you, actually.”

She’d unsettled him. His eyebrows twitched, and his fingers did a little dance on his glass. “Really. What did she have to say about me, exactly?”

“Not a lot. Just that she’d cooked dinner for you.” She was feeling uncomfortable herself now. He must know she was fishing for information. Then again, that’s what she was supposed to do. It had nothing to do with her own personal interest. It made her feel better to think that, anyway.

“Yes, she did.” He uttered a soft sound that could have been disgust. “She manipulated me into it, if you want the truth. She arrived on my doorstep with bags of food and proceeded to take over my kitchen. I couldn’t throw her out without looking like a jerk, so I let her stay.” He looked out the window again, his lower lip jutting out.

She shut down the Sense before it could tell her anything else. There were some things she’d rather not know. She kept the conversation on safer ground after that, and it was a relief when Rick finally drained his beer and glanced at his watch.

“I’ve gotta go. They’ll be waiting for me at the warehouse.”

“Me, too. I’m supposed to be apartment hunting.” She reached for the bill, but he grabbed it first.

“My treat.”

“Oh, no, I couldn’t . . .”

“Of course you can. You can return the favor sometime.” He got to his feet, waiting for her to step out into the narrow space between the tables. “Maybe the Pizza Parlor for dinner some night?”

She nodded, anxious to escape the curious gazes of the young couple at the next table. Hurrying out into the bright sunshine, she headed for her car. Rick called out to her as she climbed inside, and she waved at him before turning on the engine. He was right behind her in a red pickup as she drove out of the parking lot and onto the road. He followed her for a couple of blocks before turning off onto one of the side streets, apparently on his way to the warehouse.

She thought about their conversation on the way back to town. Mostly about the few words they’d had about Roberta Prince. Apparently Rick and Roberta didn’t share the same vision of their relationship. Unless one of them was lying. Not that it mattered, of course. None of it had any bearing on Ana’s murder.

It occurred to her then that she still had no idea where Rick was on Friday night.
Was he with Roberta?
“Stop that!” she said out loud, angry with herself for the selftorture.

It wasn’t that she had any feelings for him, she assured herself. It was just that if the two of them were together that night, they would both have an alibi.
Or maybe not
. Again she shut down the voice. She just couldn’t accept the idea that Rick might have helped Roberta murder Ana Jordan.

She rounded a bend and came face-to-face with her favorite view—a huge sweep of the bay, with red roofs and white walls sparkling in the sun, and green mountains rising up behind them. The sight never failed to raise her spirits, and she was smiling as she drove into the little town of Finn’s Harbor.

Stephanie wandered into the living room and threw herself down on the couch, bouncing George hard enough to rattle his newspaper.

He lowered it and stared at her over the rims of his reading glasses. “What’s up now?”

“Nothing.” She sighed and leaned back against the couch’s firm cushions. “Everything. The kids hate school, the back-to-school sale fizzled out and we’re no closer to finding out who killed Ana and clearing Molly’s name.”

George wrinkled his brow. “Ethan and Olivia always hate school the first week or so after summer break. They’ll settle down. What about Michael? I thought he’d love kindergarten.”

“Well, he doesn’t.” Stephanie reached for her soda and took a long drink from the glass. “He misses Olivia. You know he’s followed her around everywhere ever since he could walk.”

George shook his newspaper and retreated behind it again. “It will do him good to go it alone. Make him more independent.”

Stephanie glared at him through the back page. “George Henry Dowd, put that newspaper down. I need to talk, and we never seem to get more than five minutes together lately.”

George sighed and slowly folded up the newspaper. “All right. I’m all ears.”

Stephanie resisted the temptation to tease him. George was sensitive about his prominent ears. “I’m worried about the bookstore. We had only four customers today, and only two of them bought anything.”

“You’ve had slow days before.”

“I know.” She studied her feet, wondering if her slippers would hold up until Christmas, when she would get a new pair from her mother, as usual. “But this time it feels different. I think people are avoiding the store because of Ana’s murder.”

“I think you’re worrying about nothing, as usual.” He slipped an arm across her shoulders. “Everything will turn out all right; you’ll see.”

“It won’t if the customers stay away.”

“You just had a slow day, that’s all. You’ve had plenty of them before, and then people always make up for it and you’re rushed off your feet.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right. Aren’t I always?”

She smiled up at him. “Of course you are, George.”

“So will you stop worrying now?”

Her smile faded. “I’ll stop worrying when Ana Jordan’s killer is behind bars.”

“I guess Dan hasn’t gotten any further with the investigation, or we would have heard something.”

“He still thinks Molly killed her.”

George hesitated and she braced for his next words. “Honey, you know there’s always a chance that Molly—”

“No!” She turned on him, unable to stem her frustration. “Why is everyone so quick to condemn Molly? What has that girl ever done to deserve all this accusation?”

“She threatened Ana the morning she died,” George said quietly. “It wasn’t the first time she’d yelled threats at her, either.”

“Just words, that’s all. You know Molly. She’s got a quick temper, and she’s vocal when she’s mad, but you know she’s not a killer.”

“Who knows what anyone is capable of, given enough provocation?”

“Well, Ana Jordan was good at provoking people. I’ll say that for her.” Stephanie slumped back against the cushions again. “There are plenty of people out there who could have hated her enough to kill her. Even you.”

George’s voice rose a notch. “Me? What does that mean?”

“You went out with her in high school before you started dating me, didn’t you?”

“Well, yes, but I–”

“And you dumped her. And why was that again?”

“I’ve told you more than once. She got too possessive. She wanted to know what I was doing every minute I was away from her. When she started questioning my friends about where I was and what I was doing, I decided she wasn’t worth the hassle.”

“And she made your life miserable for weeks after that, right?”

“Well, yeah, but it was worth it to be rid of her.” He pulled her closer. “Besides, by then I’d spotted this hot little cheerleader and was getting to know her better.”

Stephanie grinned. “I remember that skinny basketball player leering at me from across the court.”

“Leering?”

“Leering. Like this.” She gave him her best imitation of a teenage ogle.

He shook his head. “If I looked at you like that, I’m surprised you ever agreed to go out with me.”

“You were the star basketball player. How could I resist?” She leaned her head against his shoulder. After a moment she murmured, “I just wish all this Ana business was over with, and we could get back to normal.”

“Dan’s a good cop. He’ll get at the truth eventually.”

“I hope you’re right.” She was almost tempted to tell him that she and Clara were on the trail of the killer with Molly’s help, but she knew what his reaction would be—nothing short of an erupting volcano. George Dowd was as sweet a man as she’d ever met, but his red hair matched up to the myth. Upset him enough and his temper was spectacular.