A Sinister Sense (20 page)

“I did have a vision last night, about the SUV Buzz mentioned.”

Stephanie joined her behind the counter. “Really? What did you see?

“Not much. I don’t know if there’s a connection there or not.”

“We definitely need to talk. How about coming over my house for dinner tonight?”

Clara shook her head. “Can’t. I’ve left Tatters with my mother for the last two nights. I have to be there this evening.”

“All right, I’ll call you. We can talk on the phone.” Stephanie glanced at the clock. “It’s time for me to leave. We’ll talk tonight.” She grabbed up her purse and patted
Clara’s arm. “Don’t worry. We’ll get to the bottom of all this somehow.”

Clara watched her go, wishing she could believe that. Right now it all seemed so hopeless. Maybe she’d been naïve, thinking that just because she’d solved one murder she could do so again.
Where are you, Quinn Sense? Give me just one tiny clue. Anything.

No voices answered her, and she walked back to the aisles. Maybe Stephanie was right. Maybe something they’d missed would occur to them when they talked. Feeling a little less dejected, she approached a customer and offered her help.

She arrived home that evening to find her mother deep into a book and Tatters lying in front of the TV. The dog raised his head when she walked into the living room. Getting up to greet her, his tail narrowly missed the lamp sitting on the end table.

Clara fondled his ears and shook her head at her mother. “How can you read with the TV blaring like that?”

Jessie shrugged and put the book down. “I shut it out.”

“Why don’t you just turn it off?”

“Tatters likes to watch.” Seeing Clara grin, she picked up the book again. “Besides, you know I like sound in the house when I’m alone.” She turned a page and adjusted her reading glasses. “There’s lasagna in the oven. You just have to warm it up.”

Thanking her, Clara crossed to the kitchen and turned on the stove. The newspaper lay on the table and she
picked it up. She had to turn three pages before she found what she was looking for—a short paragraph on the local page.

There are no new developments in the bowling alley murder case. Police are still investigating, and Rick Sanders, owner of Parson’s Hardware, is still considered a person of interest in the case. Mayor Carson Dexter continues to urge all residents of Finn’s Harbor to come forward with any information that may be helpful. You may contact the police or the mayor at City Hall.

Clara dropped the newspaper on the table and opened up a cupboard. Grabbing a plate off the shelf, she was about to carry it over to the stove when a voice spoke distinctly in her ear.
City Hall. City Hall. City Hall.

Frowning, Clara stood quite still in the middle of the kitchen.
What about City Hall?

The voice refused to answer. Frustrated, she walked back into the living room.

Her mother looked up as Clara headed for the hallway. “Are you all right? You look as if you’re ready to punch someone in the face.”

Clara made herself smile. “Just tired. I have some stuff to do on my computer. I’ll come back and eat in a little while.”

Jessie nodded. “Just don’t let the lasagna burn.”

“I won’t.” She walked down the hall, with Tatters padding behind her. He followed her into her room and jumped up on her bed, where he curled up with his nose
in his tail. His gaze followed her as she walked over to her desk and sat down.

“We’ll go out later,” she promised him. “Right after I’ve eaten.” Nudging on her computer, she stared at the monitor, waiting for it to boot up.
City Hall.
What the heck was the Sense trying to tell her? To go see Dan? Maybe tell him everything she knew? But she didn’t know anything that would help. Except the name of Frank Tomeski’s girlfriend and the police might already have that information. Was that what the Sense was trying to tell her? That Stella Wilkins had killed her boyfriend in a fit of jealous rage?

Logging on to the Internet, she hoped she’d at least get to eat before her cousin called. A quick glance at her e-mails showed nothing interesting, and she leaned back in her chair. She needed to balance her checkbook but couldn’t seem to drum up enough enthusiasm to do it. Instead, she pulled up the website for the
Chronicle
. Sure enough, there it was: the same paragraph that she’d seen in the newspaper. This time, however, no voice echoed the words
City Hall.

An idea struck her, and she scrolled up to the search engine and entered the name
Frank Tomeski.
After skimming through a couple of paragraphs that seemed to have nothing to do with the murdered man, a headline caught her eye:
YOUNG GIRL FOUND DEAD IN PORTLAND APARTMENT.
Curious, she read on. The article described the scene where a young woman, Amy Tomeski, was
found dead from an overdose of prescription drugs. The police found a suicide note, and the medical examiner reported that the woman had been pregnant. The baby did not survive.

Clara’s first thought was how sad that a young mother had been so desperate she’d taken her own life and that of her unborn baby. Her next thought was even more disturbing. Could this woman possibly have been a relative of Frank Tomeski?

She skimmed the rest of the page but could find nothing more. She tried to sort out her thoughts, but her mind seemed to be blank, and she raised her chin and stared at the ceiling. “Darn you, Quinn Sense. Where the heck are you when I need you?”

She hadn’t realized she’d spoken out loud until Tatters whined. She looked at him and he sat up, staring at her with anxious brown eyes. “It’s okay, boy,” she said softly.

He whined again in answer and jumped off the bed. She held out her hand, and he trotted over to her, where he nudged her hand with his cold nose.

“It’s okay,” she said again. “Let’s go eat.”

She got up and he followed close on her heels as she walked down the hallway to the living room. Her mother was still engrossed in her book and didn’t look up when Clara told her, “I’m going to eat. Do you want anything?”

Her mother simply waved a hand and went on reading.

After sharing some of the lasagna with Tatters, Clara stuffed the dishes in the dishwasher and had just finished
when her cell phone rang. Stephanie’s voice greeted her, and aware of Jessie listening in the living room, Clara answered quietly, “I’ll call you back in a minute.”

Her mother looked up when she walked back into the living room. “I suppose that was that hardware man calling you.”

Clara bit back a sharp response. “Nope,” she said carefully, “it was Stephanie.”

“Oh.” Her mother gave her an odd look. “Well, I don’t know why you can’t just talk to her with me here.” She squinted at her. “You’re not in trouble, are you?”

Clara smiled. “Not as far as I know.”

“Good. You’d tell me if you were, right?”

“Of course.” Clara headed for the hallway.

“I’m going to bed,” Jessie announced. “Do you want me to turn off the TV?”

Clara nodded. “I’m taking Tatters for a walk in a little while, and then I’m going to bed, too.”

“Glad to hear it. You stay up way too late in my opinion.” Jessie switched off the TV and got up. “You’ll be old before your time if you don’t get your rest.”

“Yes, Mother.” Clara continued down the hallway.

“And don’t let that dog sleep on your bed again. It’s not good for either of you.”

“Yes, Mother. Good-night!” Thankfully she closed the bedroom door, and Tatters jumped gleefully on the bed and settled down.

Clara pulled out her chair and sat down in front of the
computer. Opening her cell phone, she stabbed out her cousin’s number and waited for her to answer.

Stephanie’s voice was muted when she spoke. “George has gone to bed,” she said. “I think he’s coming down with a cold.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“So am I. He can be such a baby when he’s sick.” Clara heard the sound of ice clinking in a glass, then Stephanie added, “I just made him some iced tea. I can’t talk long.”

“It’s okay. I can’t, either. My mother is beginning to wonder what all the secrecy is about.”

“You didn’t tell her, did you?”

Clara rolled her eyes at the alarm in her cousin’s voice. “No, of course not. Though it’s only a matter of time before she finds out.”

“I remember how freaked out she got the last time we did this.”

“Well, hopefully she won’t find out until it’s all over.”

“What’s all over? We still don’t have any idea who did this.”

Clara leaned back on her chair. “No, we don’t. Though I did find out something interesting on the computer tonight.” She recited as much of the article about Amy Tomeski as she could remember.

“Oh, that poor woman,” Stephanie said when she was done. “She must have been in a terrible state to do that. Can you imagine thinking that you and your baby would be better off dead?”

She sounded close to tears, and Clara hurried on. “The thing is, she could be related to Frank Tomeski.”

There was a long pause while Stephanie thought about it. “That’s quite a long shot.”

“I know, but it’s not a very common name. I looked it up in the white pages for Portland. It’s not even listed in there.”

“Even if she was related, what would that have to do with Frank Tomeski’s murder?”

“I don’t know.” Clara frowned. “I just have a gut feeling about it.

Stephanie’s voice rose a notch. “The Quinn Sense?”

“Maybe. It told me I need to go to City Hall. I think we need to talk to Dan about this.”

“But none of it makes sense. When did this Amy person die?”

“According to the article, about five years ago.”

“I just don’t see how something that happened that long ago could have anything to do with the murder.”

Clara was inclined to agree, yet she couldn’t rid herself of the niggling feeling that she was onto something. “I think we need to find out for sure before we go to Dan.”

“How do we do that?”

“By talking with the one person we know who knew Frank Tomeski.”

“Buzz Lamont?” Stephanie’s voice rose another notch. “Are you sure you want to talk to him again?”

“No, but I don’t know what else to do.”

After another long pause, Stephanie’s sigh echoed down the line. “All right. When?”

“I’ll let you know.” She hung up, certain she was on the right track. Something was telling her that the key to the puzzle lay with Amy Tomeski’s death. Her last hope was that Buzz Lamont would be able to explain why.

After making a couple of calls the next morning and walking Tatters, Clara left the house early. She wasn’t too excited about talking to Buzz Lamont on her own, but having given it some thought, she’d decided if she was going to go against the wishes of the mayor and the chief of police, it was better she didn’t involve Stephanie this time. She’d fill her cousin in afterward on what she’d learned, if anything.

She was told at the landscaper’s office that Buzz was working at an insurance office. To her relief he was in full view of the street. He didn’t seem too happy to see her when she approached him. In fact, he turned his back on her and attacked the flower bed with his rake as if he were trying to kill everything in it.

She edged her way around him and spoke his name. “I’m sorry to bug you again, but I really need your help.”

He looked up at her, his leathery face set in a frown. “I’m busy.”

With a sinking feeling in her stomach, she tried again. “Please? It’s desperately important.”

“So is my job.” He glanced over his shoulder. “And my family. If someone sees me talking to you…”

“I’ll be really quick. I just need to know if Frank Tomeski was related to a young woman named Amy Tomeski.”

Buzz kept his head down, but she could tell by the sudden jerk of his shoulders that she’d hit a nerve. When he didn’t answer, she added softly, “Who was she?”

She had almost given up when Buzz muttered, “Amy was Frank’s sister. She killed herself when some guy got her pregnant and then left town.”

“Do you know who the father of her baby was?”

“No, I don’t.” Buzz turned on her so fiercely she stepped back a couple of paces. He followed her, drawing closer to speak in a low voice. “Listen, lady. I don’t know anything about Frank’s murder, and I don’t want to know. If you want my advice, you’ll drop it and quit asking questions before someone decides you’re getting too nosy.”

Every instinct urged Clara to do just that, but she had come this far, she wasn’t about to give up now. “Like who?”

Buzz looked as if he were about to explode. He took a deep breath, then let it out through his clenched teeth. “If I tell you something, will you swear to me you’ll never let on where you heard it?”

Hope rising, she crossed her hand over her chest. “I swear.”

Buzz looked around, then drew even closer. “About a month ago, I sent Frank an e-mail. I thought I recognized someone his sister used to work with, back in Portland. I sent Frank a pic and asked him if it was the same guy. Frank never answered me, and I figured he never got the e-mail.”

Clara felt a stab of excitement. “Who was the guy? Do you know his name?”

Buzz twisted his mouth in a wry smile. “Everyone knows his name.” He looked over his shoulder again, then added in a low whisper, “It’s Carson Dexter.”