Mind Over Murder (14 page)

Limp with relief, Clara could have hugged her. Stephanie assured the anxious woman that there was no problem with the books and that they were just curious, that’s all, and after a few more reassuring words, Frannie nodded and darted off.

“Well, that’s that.” Stephanie sounded defeated as she returned to the counter. “We’re back to square one. Thank goodness we didn’t go to Dan with this. We’d have looked like fools.”

“Not to mention putting suspicion on three innocent people.”

“We don’t know that they’re innocent. All we know is that none of them have any incriminating evidence against them. It doesn’t mean one of them didn’t kill Ana.” Stephanie sent her an accusing look. “I don’t suppose you’ve had any luck with the Quinn Sense?”

Clara shrugged. “I told you it was unpredictable and unreliable. It comes and goes but so far hasn’t told me anything useful.”

“You used to be able to see into the future
and
interpret dreams.”

“Not all the time.”

“A lot of the time. You could always tell when someone was lying. I remember when Tommy Ridgeworth told you he couldn’t meet you that night because his car broke down. You marched into the movie theater, right up to where he was sitting with Veronica Kassell, and dumped a whole carton of soda and ice on his head.”

Clara had to smile at the memory. “So what are you suggesting? That I go ask all three of our suspects if they’ve murdered Ana and hope I can tell if they’re lying?”

“No, of course not.”

“Good, because I can tell you from past experience, the Sense doesn’t always come through for me, usually when I need it the most.”

Stephanie narrowed her eyes. “It let you down badly in New York, didn’t it?”

Clara turned away and her voice was short when she answered.

“Yes. It did.”

“Want to talk about it?”

Normally she would have changed the subject, but she was feeling vulnerable and the urge to share the past with her cousin was too strong to ignore. “It’s not unique. I met someone I thought I wanted to marry.”

“That’s the guy you never wanted to talk about when you came home to visit?”

“Yes.” Clara ran a finger along the counter to wipe away imaginary dust. “I guess somewhere deep inside I knew something was wrong. I just didn’t want to admit it. I wanted to be sure of him before I told anyone about him.”

“What happened?”

Clara waited until she could trust her voice before answering. “He forgot to mention there was someone else in the picture.”

“Oh, God. And you couldn’t tell he was lying to you?”

“No, I couldn’t.” Clara clenched her fist on the counter.

“That was the problem. I relied so much on the stupid Sense thing that I’d stopped listening to my own instincts. Now I’m not even sure I have instincts anymore.”

“Of course you do. You just have to learn to believe in them again.” Stephanie threw her arms around her and hugged her tight. “Men can be such monsters. I’m so lucky to have George.”

“Yes, you are.” Clara blinked hard. “Hang on to him. Those kind don’t come along every day.”

“No wonder you find it so hard to trust.” Stephanie let her go as the doorbell jangled again. “You’ll find the right man. He’s out there somewhere. You just have to find him.”

“Can I help?”

The familiar voice sent a rush of blood to Clara’s cheeks.

She turned to face Rick Sanders, her gaze skidding past his face and resting somewhere over by the door.

Stephanie made matters worse by saying lightly, “I don’t know. Can you?”

“Just say the word, and I’m your man.” He looked at Clara. “Lose your dog? Cat? Not a child, I hope?”

Clara sent a furious glance at her cousin before saying tightly, “We didn’t lose anything. We were just talking, that’s all.” She still couldn’t look at him, uncertain exactly how much he’d overheard.

“Well, I’d better get going.” Stephanie picked up the grocery sacks and headed for the door. “I’ll see you in the morning, Clara. Don’t forget your promise, now.”

By the time Clara realized what she meant, she had disappeared into the street.

The promise. Her idiot cousin still thought she’d make another date with Rick to find out if he had an alibi. Even after she’d told her she’d had lunch with him and couldn’t find out anything. Stephanie being Stephanie, however, couldn’t leave it there. Oh, no. She’d insisted that Clara try again. Well, Clara wasn’t about to—

“Was it something I said?”

Rick’s voice jerked her out of her thoughts. “Sorry?”

“You had such a fierce look on your face I thought you must be mad at me for something.”

“Oh, no, sorry. I was thinking about something else.” She made an effort to smile at him. “Can I get you something?”

“Maybe.” He sauntered over to the cookbook shelves and ran a finger along the back of the books. “How about a slice of pepperoni pizza?”

“Pizza?” She stared down the aisle in the direction of the Nook, wondering if Stephanie kept pizza somewhere she didn’t know about.

“Tonight.” He turned to look at her. “At the Pizza Parlor. That’s if your mother hasn’t prepared dinner for you already.”

She hesitated just a tad too long. He nodded, as if to confirm something to himself. “Too much, too soon, right?”

Feeling like a prize idiot, she said quickly, “No, it’s just—”

He held up his hand as he strode toward the door. “It’s okay. Really. I understand.” He was gone before she could answer.

Cursing under her breath, Clara watched him walk across the street and into his store. That was twice she’d rejected him.

She could hardly tell him that if and when she decided to go out with him—and it was a big if—she wanted it to be a real date, and not an excuse for an inquisition.

There was also the possibility that he’d been involved in Ana’s murder. Though the longer she was around him, the more certain she felt that he had nothing to do with it.

Last, and certainly not least, there was the question of his connection with Roberta Prince. Until all that was cleared up, she didn’t feel comfortable having any kind of relationship with him, casual or otherwise.

Having decided on that, she marched back to the Nook, wishing she didn’t keep having the persistent feeling that somehow she was missing something.

Soon after that she had a little rush of customers, and she welcomed them, thankful to have something to take her mind off her problems. She had just watched the last one walk out the door when one of her problems turned up on the doorstep.

Roberta Prince charged into the store as if she were riding into battle. Ignoring Clara behind the counter, she rushed over to the display of cookbooks and started picking them up, glancing at the cover before throwing each one aside to reach for another.

Unable to stand it any longer, Clara hurried over to her. “Were you looking for anything in particular? Perhaps I can help?”

Roberta’s glance flicked over her. “I don’t really know what I’m looking for. Rick said you have some excellent cookbooks, and I wanted to see for myself.”

Did he, really?
Clara ignored the voice. “There’s a lot to choose from there. Most of them are specialized, but if you’re looking for a general variety of dishes, this one is very extensive.”

She picked up the heavy tome, but Roberta shook her head. “I think something a little more Italian. Rick told me he’s fond of Italian cooking.”

Clara’s fingers tightened on the book, and she slowly set it down. “Yes, so I heard.”

Roberta turned to face her, her sharp eyes probing Clara’s face. “He doesn’t know it yet,” she said, her voice oozing confidence, “but Rick Sanders is going to be my next husband. I’m sure enough of that to have put a considerable amount of my divorce settlement into that dismal stationer’s next door. It gives me the golden opportunity to be in his face every day, and trust me, eventually I’ll wear him down.”

She walked off, leaving Clara standing there with her jaw hanging open. Reaching the door, she turned around, and Clara clapped her mouth shut. “Believe me,” Roberta added, “I’ll get what I want. I always do.” Her smile reminded Clara of the Cheshire cat’s—all teeth and no substance.

She waited until Roberta had closed the door behind her, then let out an explosive “Bitch!” Reaching for the phone, she stabbed out Stephanie’s number and waited impatiently for her cousin to answer.

Just before the line went to voice mail, Stephanie snapped an irritated “Hello?”

“It’s me.” Clara drew a deep breath. “Is this a bad time?”

“Yes . . . No . . . Oh, it’s okay. What’s up?”

“Roberta was just in here.”

“Oh?” Stephanie paused, then added, “Did something happen?”

“Not exactly.” Clara was beginning to wish she hadn’t called. It all sounded a bit juvenile now that she thought about it.

“So why are you calling?”

“I thought you’d like to know the real reason Roberta wanted Ana’s store.”

“No way! She told you? What is it?”

“She wants Rick Sanders.”

There was a short spell of silence, then Stephanie said cautiously, “You mean Rick’s store?”

“No, I mean Rick.” Clara repeated Roberta’s exact words. “That . . .
woman
made an excuse to come in here to warn me he was off-limits. Like I care.”

“You sound like you care.”

“Well, I don’t. I just didn’t like the way she spoke to me. What gives her the idea that I’m interested in him, anyway?”

“She must have seen you together.”

Clara frowned. “What does that mean?”

“Well, you do get all twittery when you’re around him.”

“Twittery? Is that even a word?”

“I think so. I think I read it somewhere. Anyway, it’s
my
word.”

Clara straightened her back. “I do not get
twittery
or anything else around Rick Sanders. I’m not in the least bit interested in him, and I couldn’t care less if he and Roberta Prince got married and had a ton of babies. Just as long as they don’t bring them all in here.”

Stephanie giggled. “Somehow the idea of Roberta Prince being the mother of a baker’s dozen seems ludicrous.”

“Yes, well, she certainly needn’t worry about me. As far as I’m concerned, she can keep Rick Sanders all to herself and good luck to them both.”

“Say that often enough and you’ll start to believe—” Stephanie broke off with a groan. Clara could hear her yelling from a distance, “Livvy?
Olivia
! Put the cat down! This minute! I mean right
now
!” Her voice sounded closer again when she added, “I’ve got to go. Olivia is trying to put Michael’s baby shoes on the cat. One of them is going to end up getting hurt. Don’t worry about Roberta. She’s harmless, and Rick is a big guy. He can take care of himself.”

She hung up, leaving Clara no chance to emphasize her complete indifference to the whole thing.

“Shut up!” she said out loud and went back to the Nook for another cup of coffee.

As Clara left the Raven’s Nest that night, she saw Frannie wheeling her bike across the sidewalk. She called out to her, and Frannie answered with a wave, hesitated, then turned and walked toward her, still pushing her bike.

“You might like to know,” she said, when she got close enough for Clara to hear her, “Roberta is putting the print cartridges on sale this weekend. Ten percent off.”

Touched by the gesture, Clara smiled. “Thanks for letting me know.” She eyed the bike. “You don’t ride that in bad weather, do you?”

Frannie laughed. “Not if it’s snowing or icy, no. Then I usually walk.”

“You don’t have a car?”

“Oh, I have one. I just don’t drive it much.” She glanced across the street. “There’s John leaving. He’s late tonight. He usually leaves around seven.”

Clara hesitated, then decided to seize the opportunity. “He was in Jordan’s late the night Ana died, wasn’t he?”

Frannie gave her a sharp glance. “Yes, he came in for some hanging files. He’s one of our best customers.”

“That’s nice.” Clara paused, wondering how to phrase the question, then figured she might as well come right out and ask.

“Do you remember if he was still there when you left?”

“No, I don’t remember. I told Dan I couldn’t remember. I think he was, but he might not have been.” She was backing away as she spoke, glancing down the road to make sure it was clear before wheeling her bike out into the road. “I wish people wouldn’t keep asking me questions. I want to forget what happened. All these questions upset me.”

Following her, Clara called out, “I’m sorry. It’s just that he told me he was the last one to see Ana alive. I was just wondering how he knew that, that’s all.”

“I don’t know, and I don’t want to know.” Frannie hopped on her bike and started pedaling furiously down the road. “No more questions, all right?”

Her voice floated back up the hill just as the whispering started in Clara’s head.
Frannie is afraid of something. Or someone
.

Did she know more than she was telling everyone? Clara frowned as she walked rapidly down the hill to the parking lot.

Was it possible Frannie knew for certain who had killed Ana and was too afraid to tell anyone? If so, she could be in danger. Whoever killed Ana would probably have no hesitation in killing anyone else who got in his way. Especially someone as vulnerable as Frannie.

The idea worried her, so much so that the moment she got to the Raven’s Nest the next day, she took Stephanie to the stockroom, leaving Molly to take care of the counter.

“I think we should mention it to Dan,” she said, when she’d finished telling her cousin about her conversation with Frannie. “She might need protection.”

“Dan’s shorthanded as it is. He probably won’t assign someone to protect her until he’s sure there’s something to protect her from,” Stephanie declared. “You know Frannie. She’s afraid of her own shadow. Whatever she knows, she’s not going to tell Dan or she would have done so by now.” She peered up at Clara. “How do you know she’s in danger, anyway?”