Extra Sensory Deception (2 page)

“Then why are you so anxious to put up the poster?”

“I’m not anxious.” Clara picked up the poster again. “I’m just doing a favor for Rick. One of the calf ropers is an old buddy of his.” She stared at the garish photo of the rodeo clown that took up most of the page.

He wore black and white striped pants, a black and white checkered coat and a black vest with a splash of red beneath it. His face was white except for a bright red nose and large red circles around his eyes. Black lines spread out like spiderwebs across the circles and at the corners of his mouth, which had been painted with huge yellow lips.

A shiver slid down Clara’s back. There was something about clowns that rattled her chains. She was about to put the poster down when suddenly the walls of the bookstore melted away. Recognizing the onslaught of a vision, she braced herself.

She was in the dark. Stars blinked at her from a black sky, and only a sliver of a new moon looked down on her. The sound of a car engine split the silence with a dull roar, and she realized she was in a parking lot—one she didn’t recognize. The smells of hamburgers and barbecue sauce wafted from a well-lit building on the far side.

The roar grew louder, then a figure appeared before her, running. As he turned his face in her direction she saw two red circles around his eyes and thick yellow lips, glowing in the faint light from the far-off streetlamp.

The next instant a truck caught up with him, plowed into him and threw him into the air. She heard his scream and shut her eyes, unwilling to watch him smash into the ground.

“Clara! Speak to me!”

Stephanie’s urgent voice jerked her eyes open. She was back in the bookstore, the poster still trembling in her hands.

Her cousin’s eyes gleamed with excitement. “It happened, didn’t it? You had a vision. What was it?”

“Shhh!” Clara looked around in alarm, afraid someone would overhear. She had spent most of her life trying to hide the fact that she had inherited the family curse, as she called it. Many members of her family had some version of the Quinn Sense—a sixth sense that allowed them to interpret dreams, tell when someone was lying and occasionally see the future.

Clara’s version was unpredictable, and was rarely there when she needed it. The worst part of it were the visions, which popped up at the most awkward times, plunging her mind into the past or the future while her body remained, helpless, in the present.

Fortunately the episodes were usually brief, and she was able to attribute her odd behavior to a bout of indigestion. Her biggest fear was that someday she’d be “out” for so long her weird legacy would be revealed and people would consider her a freak. She couldn’t bear the thought of having to explain it all to Rick.

Stephanie was the only one who knew Clara had the Quinn Sense, and she had been sworn to secrecy. Since neither of them had siblings, they had turned to each other for company, and had grown up practically joined at the hip. They had shared everything, from toys and clothes to their deepest secrets.

Stephanie had waited in vain to develop the Sense, and bitterly resented the fact that Clara had inherited it while she hadn’t. Clara, on the other hand, would gladly give the wretched so-called gift to her cousin and be rid of it once and for all.

She met Stephanie’s gaze and sighed. “Yes, I had a vision, but I don’t know what it means.”

“So what did you see?”

“It was this clown. It looked like he was being run down by a truck.” She looked back at the poster and shuddered at the memory of the clown flying through the air. “I just hope it’s not an omen of something bad happening at the rodeo.”

Stephanie pulled a face. “Doesn’t something bad happen at every rodeo? I’ve never been to one, but I’ve seen bits of them on TV. There’s an awful lot of men being tossed off horses and bulls and narrowly escaping being trampled to death.”

Clara grinned. “Guess we’re just not big fans of rodeo around here.”

“I didn’t say that.” Stephanie picked up a handful of gift cards and began stacking them in a holder. “I think it would be fun—all those cowboy hunks showing off their muscles. I could go for that.”

Clara pretended to be shocked. “That’s no way for a married woman and mother of three to talk.”

Stephanie leered at her. “A woman can dream, can’t she?”

The doorbell jingled just then and Clara turned to see Rick in the doorway.

He looked relieved when he saw her. “Oh, great. You’re still here. You took off so fast I didn’t have time to ask you.”

Anticipation made her tingle. They hadn’t been dating long, and time spent with Rick was still new enough to be exciting. “Ask me what?”

He held up two tickets. “Come to the rodeo with me? Wes gave me free tickets and a promise of a tour if we got there early enough.”

Clara could feel Stephanie’s gaze on her. Having just declared her dislike of rodeos, she’d look like a hypocrite if she accepted Rick’s offer. Then again, her cousin would totally understand why she couldn’t turn down a date with him. “I’d love to go. When? What time?”

Before Rick could answer, the doorbell rang again, and Roberta sailed in. She was breathing a little hard, suggesting she’d made a mad dash to get into the bookstore before Rick left.

Gliding over to his side, she took the tickets from his fingers. “Oh, my,” she purred. “Tickets for the rodeo! I just
adore
the rodeo. Are these for sale?”

Clara gritted her teeth.

To her relief, Rick plucked the tickets back. “Sorry, but these were a gift from a buddy, and I’m taking Clara.”

Roberta raised her delicate eyebrows. “Really?” Her tone implied that Rick was making a grave mistake. “Too bad. I would have loved to see it. I don’t suppose your friend has any more tickets floating around?”

“I’ll ask him when I see him,” Rick said, then turned his back on the woman. “These are for opening night. That’s tomorrow. I’ll pick you up from here. Can you get away early?”

Clara looked at Stephanie, who was frowning at Roberta as if she were putting a curse on her. “Okay with you, Steffie?”

Her cousin waved a careless hand at her. “Of course. I’ll ask Molly to cover for you. She could use the overtime. She has her eye on a new car.”

“Then I guess we’re all set.”

“Great!” He looked at Clara. “Five thirty work for you?”

She nodded, trying to ignore the dark looks Roberta sent her way. “I’ll be ready.”

Rick was halfway out the door when Roberta called out, “Oh, Ricky! I need to talk to you.” She ran after him, slamming the door behind her.

Stephanie shook her head. “Does that woman ever give up?”

Clara laughed. “I doubt it. She’s wasting her time. Rick’s made it very plain he’s not interested.”

“Well, I shouldn’t think so. You two obviously have a good thing going.” She cupped a hand behind her ear. “Do I hear wedding bells sometime soon?”

“No, you don’t. We barely know each other, and it’s much too soon to even think about the future.” Deciding it was time to talk about something else, Clara held up the poster. “Where shall we put this?”

Stephanie nodded at the window. “If you think you can crawl past all that stuff, it can go in there.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

It took her several minutes to weave her way through strands of beads, crystals swinging on silver strings and the stuffed raven perched on a large portrait of Edgar Allan Poe. Across the street she saw Roberta standing in front of Rick’s store, barring him from entering. She was gesturing with her hand, gazing up at him while a torrent of words flowed through her lips.

Whatever she was saying apparently had no effect, since Rick placed his hands on her shoulders, gently moved her to one side and disappeared into the store.

Roberta paused for a moment, staring after him, then, with a toss of her head, marched back across the street to the stationer’s.

Smiling, Clara unrolled the poster, trying not to look at the clown as she taped it to the window. A couple of passersby paused to watch, and she gave them a wave before scrambling back into the store.

“So,” Stephanie said, as Clara joined her behind the counter, “you’re going to sit on grubby hard benches surrounded by screaming spectators watching a bunch of cowboys being flung to the ground.”

Clara punched her lightly on the arm. “Shut up. I’m going on a date with Rick. That’s all that matters.” And for the rest of the day, that’s all she could think about.

She spent the afternoon running errands then took an enthusiastic Tatters for a walk on the beach. The big dog strained at his leash the moment they hit the sand, dragging Clara along behind him.

“Stop that!” She dug in her heels and hauled on the leash. “You know very well you can’t run without a leash until after eight o’clock. It’s the law.”

Tatters turned his head to look back at her.
Poop on the law
.

Clara tightened her grip. She’d offered to take care of Tatters when Rick’s ex-wife had dumped the dog on him. As unnerving as it had been to discover she was able to read people’s minds, nothing had prepared her for the shock of finding out she could read Tatters’ thoughts. Or that he could understand every word spoken to him.

She had to restrain herself from answering him, knowing how ridiculous she looked holding a one-sided conversation with a dog. Instead she gave the leash a sharp, warning tug and prayed he’d behave.

To her relief he trotted along at her side, though every now and then he’d give a puff of frustration, his gaze on the seagulls circling overhead. Tatters loved nothing more than to charge down the beach, leaping and barking at the screeching gulls. Since that could only happen during the summer when the evening sky was lighter for longer, he made the most of it when given the opportunity.

Clara often wondered if he and the birds were actually having a verbal battle, flinging insults back and forth. If so, the seagulls were fighting a losing war.

By the time she arrived back home, her mother had started dinner.

When Clara had first left New York to return home, she’d moved in with her mother on a temporary basis, just until she found an apartment. The search had been more difficult than she’d anticipated. At first she’d resented her mother’s constant probing into her private life, both past and present, but gradually she’d come to realize that Jessie was simply being a little overprotective, and genuinely cared about her daughter.

They’d managed to compromise. Clara was making an effort to be less secretive, and Jessie was striving to be less intrusive. There were still times when one or the other stepped over the mark, but things in the Quinn household were a lot less tense than they had been—to the point where Clara no longer scanned the
TO RENT
columns in the
Harbor Chronicle
or combed through the ads on craigslist.

The moment she opened the front door, her mother yelled from the kitchen, “Wipe that dog’s feet before he comes in here!”

Tatters uttered a low, threatening growl, and Clara quickly laid a hand on his neck. “Down, boy. Give me your paw.”

Tatters lifted a front leg and Clara checked it out. The walk back had dislodged most of the sand, and she brushed off what was left. After a few grunts from the dog, and a soft warning from her, his paws were clean enough to satisfy Jessie.

Clara walked into the kitchen with Tatters at her heels. Her mother stood at the stove with a stir-fry sizzling in front of her. The smell of ginger and peppers reminded Clara she was hungry. “Need any help?”

Jessie glanced over her shoulder. “You can set the table for me, if you like.”

“Sure.” Clara walked over to the counter and opened a cabinet door. “Before I forget, I won’t be here for dinner tomorrow night.”

“Going out with Rick?”

“Uh-huh. He’s taking me to the rodeo.”

“Oh, I heard about it on the news. They had to renovate the fairgrounds for it. I hope they get their money back.” Jessie turned, a spatula gripped in her hand. “I didn’t know you liked the rodeo.”

“I don’t.” Clara took down a couple of dinner plates. “At least, I’ve never been to one. I know they have them occasionally in Maine, but I always thought it was more a Western thing. I like horses, though, so it should be okay.”

“And Rick will be there,” Jessie said slyly.

Clara was about to answer when a flash of light almost blinded her. Blinking, she found herself sitting on a hard bench, the sun full in her eyes.
Not again
, she thought, as she lifted a hand to shade her face from the glare. Two visions in one day was a little much.

In front of her she saw a huge arena, covered in sawdust. The seats were empty, the stands quiet. She was completely alone.

No, not quite. A movement to her right, high up in the stands, caught her eye. It was a figure in a black striped jacket and black and white checkered pants. He turned to look at her. Huge red circles surrounded his eyes, and a big red nose gleamed in the sunlight. He lifted a hand to wave at her, then, to her dismay, he slowly toppled forward and started bouncing headfirst down the stands.

An almighty crash made her jump. Her mother’s voice, high-pitched with alarm, demanded, “Clara? What the devil is the matter with you?”

Clara blinked again as the sunlight faded. She was back in the kitchen, pieces of a broken dinner plate lying at her feet and her mother’s horrified gaze on her face.

Although Jessie had learned about the Quinn Sense from Clara’s father, so far her daughter had managed to hide from her mother the fact that she had inherited the gift. Jessie was the last person in the world Clara wanted to know her secret. Her mother was a born gossip, and Clara was certain the news would be passed along to all Jessie’s cronies. It would only be a matter of time before Rick heard about it.

She had come close to being discovered more than once, but never this close. Staring down at the broken plate, she muttered, “I’m so sorry. It just slipped from my hands.”

Jessie frowned. “You’re not usually this clumsy. Are you feeling all right? For a moment there you looked as if you were in some kind of trance.”

“Heartburn, that’s all. I need to eat.” She dropped to her knees and began picking up the pieces.

“Wait! You’ll cut yourself.” Jessie reached under the counter for a dustpan and brush. “Here. Use this.”

Clara took it from her, trying to curb her resentment. She wished, fervently, that she could be rid of the Sense once and for all. It was ruining her life. Bending her knees, she began swiping the broken pieces into the dustpan.

Tatters got up from his mat, strolled over to her and pushed his nose into her arm.

Looking into his eyes, Clara murmured, “Thanks, Tats. I’m okay.”

“Tats?” Jessie sounded shocked. “Do you young people have to abbreviate every name you hear? You wouldn’t believe how many people call me Jess. It makes me sound like a board game.”

Clara straightened. “Actually, it’s a sign they like you. Like a show of affection.”

Jessie sniffed. “I can think of better ways to show affection.”

Clara had to smile at that. Tipping the broken pieces into the trash can, she said, “I’ll buy you a new plate tomorrow.”

“Don’t bother.” Jessie reached up for another plate. “I never liked this set, anyway. I’ll get out the best dishes. It’s time we used them instead of keeping them hidden away.”

Clara took the plate from her mother. “But they were a wedding present from Grandma. You only use those on special occasions.”

Jessie smiled. “Every time I have dinner with you, it’s a special occasion. You were gone for ten years in New York and I hardly saw you at all. Someday soon you’ll be announcing you’re getting married, and you’ll be gone again. So I might as well make the most of the time I have with you now.”

Clara could feel her cheeks growing warm. “What makes you think I’m getting married?”

“Your face when you come home from a date with Rick.” Jessie turned back to her stir-fry. “I’ve never seen you look like that before.”

Deciding there was no answer for her mother’s observation, Clara set the plates down on the kitchen table. “If we start using the best china we should eat in the dining room. We haven’t done that since Dad died.”

“We haven’t had dinner guests since your father died.” Jessie glanced over her shoulder at Clara. “How about inviting Rick here for dinner some night?”

It wasn’t the first time Jessie had suggested she invite Rick for dinner. So far Clara had managed to avoid the issue. She knew it was only a matter of time before she would have to either give in or deal with a barrage of questions from her mother.

In spite of Jessie’s good intentions, she would no doubt want to know every intimate detail about Rick’s life, both past and present. She’d be interrogating him all through the evening, and Clara wasn’t ready to face that embarrassment.

“We’ll see,” she said, and rummaged noisily in the cutlery drawer, hoping to distract her mother.

Jessie must have taken the hint, as she said no more, and Clara was able to enjoy a fairly peaceful meal. She offered to do the dishes while her mother settled in front of the TV to watch the news.

When Clara walked out of the kitchen, Jessie waved a hand at her. “Look at this. They’re talking about the rodeo.”

Clara gave the TV a wary glance. So far, whenever she’d seen a picture of the rodeo or it had been mentioned in detail, her mind had been whisked away somewhere. She was very much afraid that the clown in the poster was in danger, and she felt obligated to warn him. She just couldn’t figure out how to do that. Even if she could explain how she knew he was in harm’s way, it was totally unlikely he would believe her.

It was a problem she’d faced more than once in the past, and no matter what she did, the outcome had usually been awkward at best and downright unnerving at times.

Rick had told her that Wes had offered them a tour before the show. Perhaps, if she met the clown, she could say something that would put him on his guard. Considering how she felt about clowns, she was looking forward to that possibility with a certain amount of dread.

—

“Clara’s going to the rodeo tomorrow,” Stephanie said, nodding at the TV. The video of a cowboy thrashing around on the back of a bull was accompanied by roars of approval from the spectators in the stands, while blaring country music tried to drown them out.

Her husband sat on the couch next to her, apparently oblivious to the noise. His focus was on the phone in his hand, which emitted burps and bleeps with annoying regularity. So intense was his concentration, he failed to acknowledge his wife’s comment.

Stephanie leaned over and punched him in the arm.

The phone squawked, and George looked up. “You killed my avatar.”

Stephanie compressed her lips for a moment. “I didn’t kill anything, but if you keep ignoring me for that silly phone that might change.”

George sighed and leaned back. “Sorry. I was trying to relax my brain. It’s been a tough day.”

“How about relaxing it with some intelligent conversation?”

George looked around the room. “Your father is here?”

She punched him on the arm again. “Enough of the smart mouth. I want to talk about the rodeo.”

“What rodeo?”

Stephanie looked at the TV, only to see a news story about a protest at the town hall. “It was on the news just now. Clara’s going.”

“Good for her.”

“I’d like to go.”

“Why?”

“Because I think it would be fun.”

“For whom?”

She sighed. “You don’t like rodeos?”

“I don’t dislike them. I just think that if we’re going to fork out money for babysitters, there are better places I’d rather take you.” He stretched his arms over his head and yawned. “Like a fancy romantic restaurant and a movie?”

She thought about it. “We could take the kids.”

“Seriously? You want to sit in the stands at the fairgrounds for two and a half hours watching the kids fight over seats, beg for ice cream, throw popcorn at one another and—”

“Okay, okay,” Stephanie broke in. “It was just an idea.”

“A bad one.”

“So we’re not going to the rodeo?”

“Why don’t you go with Clara?”

“She’s going with Rick.”

“Ah.” George nodded as if he’d just realized something important. “Those two getting serious?”

Stephanie shrugged. “I have no idea. Clara doesn’t talk about it much.”

George gave her a sympathetic look. “What you mean is she won’t answer your probing questions.”

“Something like that.”

George reached out and pulled her close. “How about you and I plan a date night out? Somewhere quiet and romantic? Anywhere you want to go.”

Stephanie smiled. “Now I know why I married you.” She snuggled closer to her husband. Who needed a rodeo when she had all she really needed right there next to her? She pictured Clara sitting in the stands with Rick. That was what she wanted for her cousin—the kind of happiness she had with George.

Clara had some issues, though, that could ruin everything. What happened to her in New York had changed her. She had trouble trusting people. Then there was the Quinn Sense, making her feel like a freak. Yep, Clara had some work to do before she could be really happy.

“Is that a sigh of happiness, I hope?” George asked, breaking into her thoughts.

“Of course.” She grinned up at him. “Now, where shall we go for our date night?”

—

The following afternoon Clara had trouble concentrating on anything. Molly had happily agreed to stay and close up the bookstore. Almost ten years younger than Clara, the energetic redhead was into new clothes, makeup and a vast collection of CDs, all of which took money, so she usually jumped at the chance to make a little extra pay.

“I have tickets for the rodeo, too,” she said, when she learned why Clara needed the time off. “I’m going with Brad. You remember him—he worked up on the construction site.”

“Of course I remember.” Clara smiled. Molly had talked about little else for weeks. “What’s he doing now that the new resort hotel is open?”

“He was working at the fairgrounds, handling the stuff they needed done for the rodeo.” Molly’s pretty face clouded over. “Now that’s finished, Brad will have to find work on another construction site, and it’s not likely to be in Finn’s Harbor.”

“Well, I’m sure he’ll look for something close by.”

Molly stared gloomily at the pile of cookbooks displayed on a table near the door. “He might look, but that doesn’t mean he’ll find something.”

A customer passed by them, heading for the counter with three books under her arm. Saved from answering Molly, Clara hurried over to the cash register. She felt sorry for her friend. Construction jobs were hard to find in the coastal areas of Maine.

After chatting a few moments with her customer, Clara scanned the books and bagged them. Handing them over, she glanced at the clock. Another five hours to go before her date. It was going to be a long afternoon.

Time dragged as she restocked shelves, talked to a sales rep and tidied up displays. A few tourists strolled in, but they were mostly lookers. Most of their regular customers visited the bookstore in the mornings, when the coffee was brewing and a plate of donuts and pastries awaited them in the Reading Nook. The afternoons were generally quiet. In the winter months hardly anyone shopped on Main Street after dark, but now that the tourist season had begun, more visitors wandered in during the evening hours.

Clara had just finished serving a customer when Rick walked through the door. Surprised that the last hour had snuck up on her, she greeted him with a hasty wave of her hand. “Be right with you!”

He nodded in answer and strolled over to the cookbook table. Watching him out of the corner of her eye, Clara had to smile. Rick loved to cook, and had served up a couple of great meals for her. He was always on the lookout for new recipes and different ideas for dinners.

She grabbed her purse and went looking for Molly, who was down one of the aisles helping a customer find the newest book in the Hunger Games series. After telling her she was leaving, Clara joined Rick at the front of the store.

“Ready to go watch some bucking broncos?” he asked, opening the door with a grin.

She wasn’t, but she nodded anyway. “Lead on, Macduff.”

“Ah, Shakespeare, I believe.”

“Not exactly.” She stepped out into the street, and waited for him to join her. “Actually, the correct quote is ‘Lay on, Macduff.’ It was spoken by Macbeth, when he refused to quit fighting and challenged Macduff to fight to the death. So originally the phrase meant to go to battle. Someone changed it along the way and now it means lead and I will follow.”

Rick raised his eyebrows as they started down the hill. “Wow, I’m impressed.”

“Don’t be. It’s one of the few bits of literary knowledge I own. Stephanie is the whiz kid of books. She practically grew up with her head in one.”

Rick laughed. “But you work in the bookstore. You must know something about the books.”

“Not as much as I should, I guess. I’m not a huge fan of the paranormal stuff. I do like to read, but my taste runs more into a good thriller, or maybe a hard-boiled mystery. Especially the classics.”

“A Dashiell Hammett fan?”

“Absolutely.”

“Ah, so that’s why you like playing detective.”

“I don’t get involved intentionally. Somehow these things just happen.”

“Well, whatever the reason, you saved my neck once and I’ll always be in your debt for that.”

She smiled, remembering the time Rick had been accused of murder. In order to help clear his name, she and Stephanie had launched a full-blown investigation, much to the disgust and irritation of Dan Petersen, Finn’s Harbor’s stalwart police chief. He’d been only slightly appeased when the cousins had helped solve the crime, since it wasn’t the first time they had “interfered in police business,” as he put it.

Exchanging a warm glance with Rick, she said lightly, “You’ve done some rescuing of your own in the past. In fact, you always seem to turn up at the right moment whenever I’m in danger.”

“Then let’s call it even.”

“Done.” She turned her face to the sun. Most of the tourists had disappeared, no doubt enjoying dinner somewhere. The light breeze from the sea below drifted up to cool her skin. This was the time of year she loved best—before the sultry heat of summer made walking a misery of sweat and fatigue.

They reached the parking lot where Rick’s truck was parked. He’d cracked the windows, but the sun had heated the cab, and Clara inched onto the leather seat, conscious of the warmth through her light cotton capris.