Trouble Vision (7 page)

“Not every woman wants a wealthy playboy.”

He gave her a look that she felt all the way down to her toes. “No? What about you? What are you looking for?”

She stared at him, trying desperately to think of something cute and flip that would defuse what felt like a serious turn of the conversation. “I’m not sure I’m looking for anything in particular.”

“Uh-huh. So just any old thing that walks through the door would work for you?”

The doorbell rang again at that moment, and in walked John Halloran.

Clara took one look at him and burst out laughing.

Rick chuckled, too, and John looked from one to the other with an expression of pure bewilderment.

“What’s so funny?” He plodded over to the counter, shoulders hunched and hands buried deep in the pockets of his overcoat. “It’s cold enough out there to freeze the gates of hell. I’m going home to a warm fire and a good book.” He scowled at Clara. “I don’t suppose my Paul Wiley book is in yet?”

She straightened her face and walked behind the counter. “Not yet, I’m afraid. We did get a good sci-fi thriller in that you might like. It’s a new author, but from what I’ve heard, he’s destined for great things.”

John’s frown deepened. “What’s it about? Have you read it?”

“I haven’t, but I can tell you what it’s about.”

She looked up as Rick headed for the door. “Thanks for coming in.”

He gave her a mock salute. “See you later.”

The door closed behind him, and John shook his head. “If I were him, I wouldn’t leave that new assistant of his alone in that shop.”

Clara looked at him in surprise. “Why not? Rick seems happy enough with him.”

“Rick doesn’t know the family the way I do.” John gazed up at the ceiling. “The Whittaker boys have been in trouble ever since they learned to walk.” He looked back at her. “Lost their father when they were little. Fishing accident. Mother married again, but he and the boys never got along.”

“Oh, that’s sad. That must be hard for them all.”

“I once caught Ryan, the oldest, stealing candy from my store. He was only about eight or nine. I let it go, although I did threaten to have him arrested if he ever did it again.”

Clara felt a jolt of surprise. Somehow she’d never envisioned John Halloran as being that tolerant. “That was nice of you. I hope he appreciated it.”

John shrugged. “Didn’t do him any good. He got arrested a few years later. Him and his brother. They broke into a church and stole cash and a few other things. Tyler was underage, and they said he was under the influence of his brother. He got off with a few weeks of community service. Ryan went to jail for a couple of years.”

Clara wondered if Rick knew his assistant’s past history. If so, he should be commended for giving the kid a chance to prove himself. “Where is Ryan now?”

“He’s still in town. I see him now and then. I think he’s working up on the bluff at that construction site.”

Clara smiled. Apparently, Rick wasn’t the only one willing to give someone a second chance. “I hope he’s staying out of trouble.”

“Well, you know what they say.” John’s brown eyes gleamed behind the lenses of his glasses. “Once a thief, always a thief.”

“There’s always the exception.”

“Maybe, but the Whittaker boys?” He shook his head. “I don’t know. That Ryan’s got a mean streak a mile wide.” He looked up at the clock on the wall behind her. “Now, what’s this new book all about?”

Clara stared at him, the memory of her vision still fresh in her mind.
A mean streak a mile wide.
Mean enough, perhaps, to have pushed his foreman off the scaffolding? No, now she was jumping to conclusions. Unless Ryan Whittaker had a strong motive to kill Scott, he couldn’t be on her suspect list just because he’d been in jail and had a bad temper.

Aware of the curiosity in John’s expression, she turned to the computer. “I’ll pull it up for you. You can see the description for yourself.” She spun the monitor around so he could read the reviews of the book.

Somehow she and Stephanie would have to get on that site and talk to some of the workers. Someone could have seen something that might lead to whoever was on that scaffolding after dark, in the rain, with the body of Scott Delwyn.

“Sounds okay,” John said, disrupting her thoughts. “I’ll take it.”

“I’ll get it for you.” She glanced at her watch on the way down the aisle. Another hour or so to go before she could close up the shop. She could hardly wait until she could talk to Stephanie and figure out how and when they were going to question the construction workers.

After John left she had two more customers, and then at last it was time to close. The wind tore at her hair as she sped down the hill to the parking lot. She could just see the harbor below her in the swiftly gathering dusk. A dark gray ocean heaved choppy waves to the shore, and a few anchored fishing boats bobbed on the water.

In the summer months, the bay was full of activity, with numerous yachts dipping their colorful sails across the horizon. Clara could hardly wait for the warm sunshine and balmy breezes from a calm sea. Right now, her nose felt as if it had been jammed into an icebox.

She was almost home before the car finally warmed up. Letting herself into the house, she welcomed the blast of warm air that greeted her. Tatters was nowhere to be seen, which meant he was either closeted in the living room with her mother, or had behaved badly and was imprisoned in the utility room.

She opened the living room door carefully, prepared for the onslaught of a furry body. A soft whine warned her, and she put a hand through the opening. “Here, boy. Take it easy.”

“Tatters,
sit
.” Her mother’s firm voice was answered with another whine.

Clara grinned. Jessie had worked her magic with the dog again. Clara opened the door all the way and received a wet lick on her hand.

Tatters sat on his haunches, tail thrashing the floor. His entire body quivered with the urge to leap up and bestow soggy kisses all over her face. Clara patted his head, murmuring, “Good boy.” Her mother’s uncanny talent for doggy discipline never ceased to amaze her.

“I’ve got a roast in the oven,” Jessie said, folding up her knitting. “Dinner should be ready in a half hour.”

“Great. I have a couple of things to take care of on the computer. I won’t be long.” Clara hurried down the hallway to her room, with Tatters trotting close behind.

Sinking onto her bed, she kicked off her shoes and pulled out her cell phone from her pocket.

Stephanie sounded out of breath when she answered, which was nothing new. “Clara? How were things in the store today? Were you busy?”

“Actually, it was kind of slow. I did manage to sell that new thriller you liked to John Halloran.”

“I suppose he was complaining about waiting for his Paul Wiley book.”

“Not really. He was too interested in telling me about the lurid past of Rick’s new assistant.”

Stephanie’s voice rose with interest. “Tyler has a lurid past?”

“Kind of.” Clara hesitated then decided it was okay to repeat gossip to her cousin. She told Stephanie everything that John Halloran had said about the Whittakers.

“Hmm,” Stephanie murmured, when Clara came to the end of her saga. “Ryan Whittaker has a record, according to John he has a lousy temper and he works up at the construction site. Do you think he could be a murder suspect?”

“Anyone can be a murder suspect. Unless he’s got a motive, though, we don’t have any reason to think it’s him. He’s not the only one with a bad temper and connections to the construction site. Remember Lionel Clapham? Or even Josh Millstone’s protestors. Any one of them could have lost their temper and struck out at Scott.”

Stephanie’s sigh seemed to hang on the line between them. “This isn’t going to be easy, is it?”

“It never is, which is why I really wish there was some way I could convince Dan to investigate the death.”

“Like we said before, the only way is to find some evidence that could make him suspicious.”

“Which is why we need to get on the site and talk to some of the workers. Maybe someone there saw something.”

“Okay. When do you want to go?”

Clara leaned back against the pillows. “They start back to work tomorrow. That might be the best time to talk to them, while their minds are still fresh from the night Scott died.”

“I can’t go tomorrow. It’s Molly’s day off. Someone has to open in the morning. We already lost sales on Saturday afternoon. I’m hoping we’ll make up for that tomorrow.”

“Okay, then. I’ll go on my own before I start work.”

Stephanie’s cry of protest sounded urgent. “You can’t go on your own. It’s not safe.”

Clara laughed. “What could possibly happen to me in broad daylight with dozens of construction workers skulking around?”

“You never know. I don’t trust any of them up there. You said there were two people up on that scaffolding. What if it’s two of the workers and they get spooked because you’re asking questions and decide to get rid of you?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be careful,” Clara promised, sounding more confident than she felt. “I’ll tell them I’m writing an article for the newspaper to put people’s mind at ease about the project.”

“Oh, good thinking!” Her voice pulled away from the phone. “
What?
You’re kidding. Oh crap.” She spoke in Clara’s ear again. “I have to go. Michael’s got his head stuck in the banister again. You think he’d have learned a lesson from the last time. Talk to you later and be careful.”

She was gone before Clara could answer.

Clara slept badly that night, disturbed by dreams that she couldn’t remember when her alarm buzzed. Daylight filled the spaces between the slats of the window blinds. Tatters lay at her feet, twitching and uttering soft little whines as he chased something in his sleep.

She slipped out of bed and opened up the blinds to find sunlight warming the glass. The frost had already disappeared from the roofs and the lawn, though a part of the pathway that lay in shadow still had a glint of white.

A hot shower and a cup of coffee later, she felt ready to face the day. She’d dressed in a warm, fluffy white sweater to go with her black pants, anticipating a cold morning standing around the construction site talking to workmen. Pulling on her beige overcoat, she looked down at Tatters, who sat at her feet with a look of sorrow on his furry face.

“I’m sorry, Tatters.” She wound a white wool scarf around her neck and turned up the collar of her coat, trapping her shoulder-length hair inside. “I know I’m leaving you sooner than usual but I have errands to run. Jessie will be home early this afternoon and I’ll take you for a walk this evening. Meanwhile, you have to be good and not make a mess so that Jessie won’t send you to the pound.” She smiled, envisioning her mother’s face if she heard her daughter refer to her by her first name.

She and whose army?

Clara’s smile vanished. “Okay, that’s enough. Be a good boy and go lie down. I’ll see you tonight.” She closed the door of her room and hurried down the hallway. Maybe it was her fault she kept reading Tatters’ mind. After all, she talked to him like he was a human being and could understand what she said.

The unsettling thing was, she was pretty sure he did understand everything she said. And that was even more spooky.

The drive along the coast road lifted Clara’s spirits. Even in the depths of winter, the scenery could take her breath away. The blue smudge of mountains rising against a brighter blue sky, the rocky shoreline with its cozy houses nestled among the trees and the sweep of the bay as she rounded the bend—so very different from the busy streets of New York but in its way, just as exciting and memorable.

She was getting used to being home again, and the realization gave her a warm feeling that stayed with her as she parked the car and made her way over to the construction site.

The entire area had been fenced off, and a small wooden shack stood just inside the gates. As she paused in front of them, a guy wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses appeared in the doorway.

She smiled at him, blinking in the sunlight and wishing she’d brought her own shades. “Hi,” she called out. “I’m writing an article on the construction of the new resort and I was hoping I could talk to some of the guys out here.”

The man stepped out of the shack and walked over to her. “You have a press pass?”

She shook her head. “I’m freelancing. I’m hoping to sell the article to a magazine.” She widened her smile. “I promise I won’t be long or disrupt anything.”

He looked her up and down in a way that made her uncomfortable. “Lady, you’d be a distraction just walking in here.”

Her smile faltered. “Are you going to let me in or not?”

“Not.” He stuck both hands in the pockets of his windcheater. “Not without permission from the boss.” He poked his face up close to the gate. “Written permission, that is.”

She huffed out her disappointment. “Okay, who’s the boss? How do I get in touch with him?”

The guy nodded at a sign hanging on the fence. “Call that number. They’ll tell you who to talk to.” He turned away and sauntered back into the shack.

Frustrated, Clara glared at his back then took out her cell phone. The sign read, “Hastings Corporation, Contractors.” She quickly thumbed the number into the directory of her cell phone and slipped it into her pocket.

A quick glance at the shack assured her the guy with the bad attitude was nowhere to be seen. She might not be allowed into the site, but there was no law preventing her from walking around outside it.

Just to be sure, she skirted around the back of the shack and walked along the fence that divided the site from the road. She could see the workmen walking around, both on the ground and up on the scaffolding, but she was too far away to attract their attention.

She reached the end of the fence and turned the corner, only to be brought to a standstill. Right in front of her the ground fell away, down a steep rocky slope and into a narrow gully. The only way she could access the far side of the site was back the way she’d come, past the gates and around the other side.

She couldn’t see what lay on the other side from there, but a good guess would be the ocean. It seemed that if she wanted to speak to any of the workers, she would have to get past Prince Charming at the gates.

Since that wasn’t going to happen without the boss’s written permission, she reluctantly retraced her steps and made her way back to her car. Sitting behind the wheel, she stared moodily at the framework of beams and slats sketched against the sky.

There had to be another way. Tomorrow was her day off. She could wait until the workers were leaving and talk to them as they came out the gate. That might not be too practical. They’d be in a hurry to get home and would probably brush her off. Still, it was better than nothing. Maybe she could get Stephanie to come along. If there were two of them, the men might be more willing to talk.

With that hope in her mind, she pulled out onto the coast road and headed back to town.

With still an hour or so to go before she had to start work, Clara decided to pay a visit to Rick’s hardware store. It would give her an opportunity to talk to Tyler. She wasn’t sure exactly what the young man could tell her, but one thing she’d learned from past experience was never to leave a stone unturned.

Convincing herself that was the sole reason for her visit, Clara pushed the door open and walked inside.

A faint smell of fertilizer hung in the air as she approached the counter. Rick had to be somewhere in the back of the store, and the guy standing with his back to her had to be his new assistant. He was fiddling with something on the wall, and when he turned, she saw that it was a calendar, the familiar skyline of New York taking up half the page.

Today was the first day of March. February, it seemed, had left without her realizing it. She stared at the picture, torn between nostalgia for the places she missed, and memories she wished would vanish forever.

“Can I help you?”

Realizing she’d been staring way too long, she jerked her gaze back to the face of the young man in front of her.

Tyler Whittaker wore his dark hair too long, and looked as if he needed a shave. Thick, shaggy eyebrows dominated an attractive face, shadowing his navy blue eyes. He looked bored, yet fidgeted back and forth with a barely controlled energy—the kind of guy her mother would label “dangerous.”

For a fleeting moment Clara wondered if Molly had met Tyler. He was the young woman’s type, judging from the brief glimpse she’d had of Jason back in the Laurel Street Tavern.

“Is something wrong?”

He sounded edgy, and she dragged her thoughts back to the reason she was there. “I’m sorry. We haven’t met.” She thrust out her hand. “I’m Clara Quinn. I work in my cousin’s bookstore across the street.”

Tyler looked surprised, but took her fingers and gave them a quick squeeze. “Hi. Tyler Whittaker.”

“Yes, Rick told me you were working for him.” She glanced toward the back of the store but saw no sign of Rick. “How do you like working here?”

Tyler shrugged. “It’s okay, I guess.”

Something in his tone sharpened her interest. “But you’d rather be doing something else?”

“Yeah. How’d you know?”

“I don’t know. Instinct, I guess.” She smiled. “So what would you rather be doing?”

He looked as if he didn’t want to answer that, but after a moment’s hesitation, he muttered, “I would rather be in the navy.”

It was the last thing she expected him to say. She recovered her surprise, saying, “Really? So why aren’t you?”

The look of pain that crossed his face cut right to her heart. “They’re not interested.”

“I’m sorry.” Guessing that it had something to with his past, she sought to change the subject. Anything to take that awful look away. “I hear you have a brother working up at the construction site.”

His expression changed to one of suspicion. “Yeah, so what about it?”

“Oh, nothing.” She began to feel she was treading out of her depth. “I’m just fascinated by the new resort. I can’t wait to see it finished. I’ve seen the scaffolding. It’s pretty high. It’s going to be so fantastic when it’s done. Does your brother mind working so high up? I’d be scared to death.”

She was talking too fast and saying too much, she thought, as she watched conflicting emotions crossing Tyler’s face. She waited, uncertain as to what she was waiting for, and hoping she hadn’t scared him off altogether.

“Do you have the hots for my brother?” Tyler asked, sounding incredulous.

She almost laughed. Her cheeks burned as she shook her head. “No, no, of course not. He’s not . . . I mean . . . I’ve never met him.”

To her utter dismay, Rick’s voice spoke from right behind her. “That’s a relief.”

She spun around, confusion making her voice come out in a high squeak. “Rick! I didn’t see you there. I was just talking to your new assistant.” She glanced at her watch. “Goodness, look at the time. I’d better get going. Stephanie will wonder where I am.”

She turned back to find Rick’s assistant looking at her as if she’d grown horns. “Nice to meet you, Tyler.” She spun back and smiled weakly at Rick as she rushed past him. “See you later!” Feeling like an utter fool, she dashed out into the street.

She was sure that the gazes of both men were burning into her back as she stood poised on the curb, waiting for a car to pass so she could hurtle across to the bookstore.

Stephanie was at the counter when Clara rushed in the door. She glanced up at the clock murmuring, “What’s your hurry? You’re early.”

“Am I?” Clara took a deep breath. “I thought I was late.”

Stephanie gave her a sharp look. “What happened at the site?”

“Nothing.” Thankful for the diversion, Clara slung her purse on the shelf behind the counter and shrugged out of her coat. “There was a security guy at the gates and he wouldn’t let me in without written permission from the contractors.”

“You couldn’t talk to the men through the fence?”

“Nope. They were too far away.”

“Bummer. What do we do now?”

“We could go over there tomorrow evening and catch the guys as they’re leaving the site.”

Stephanie sighed. “All right. But that’ll be right around dinnertime. I’ll think of something to tell George.” She picked up a sheaf of invoices and slipped them into a drawer. “I don’t think he’d appreciate me abandoning him and the kids at mealtime to go talk to a bunch of construction workers.”

“I know.” Clara felt a stab of guilt. “Look, I can do this on my own. You don’t have to lie to George again. I know it’s tough trying to get out of the house when you’ve got a family to worry about.”

“Normally it’s not a problem. George is the most understanding man in the world. It’s just . . .”

She hesitated, and Clara stared at her. “Something wrong?”

“No, not really. At least, I don’t think so. It’s just that George seemed a bit distant last night. Like he had a lot on his mind. Stuff he didn’t want to talk about. Usually he tells me if something’s bothering him. Now I’m kind of worried about him.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing. If it were serious, he’d tell you. Why don’t you ask him?”

“I did. He said I was imagining things.”

“Well, maybe you are. Look, if you’d rather not go with me tomorrow, it’s okay. Like I said, I can do this on my own.”

Stephanie shook her head. “No, I don’t want you going on your own. Especially at night in the dark. I’ll figure something out.”

“Well, don’t worry if you can’t make it. I’ll be fine.” She combed her fingers through her wind-tossed hair. “I’d better do something with this mess. I’ll be right back.”

Stephanie looked hopeful. “I don’t suppose the Sense is telling you anything?”

Clara rolled her eyes. “If it were, you’d be the first to know.”

“Okay. Just thought I’d ask.”

Shaking her head, Clara headed for the bathroom.

It was the middle of the afternoon, long after Stephanie left for the day, when Clara heard the news.

The moment she saw Roberta Prince prance through the door, Clara knew something big had happened.

Roberta looked elegant as always, in a violet sweater and black pants beneath a gorgeous white fur jacket. She’d covered her ears with purple earmuffs, and her pale blue eyes looked huge beneath curly false eyelashes.

Clara avoided the woman as much as possible. There was something about Roberta Prince that caused her hackles to rise. It had nothing to do with the fact, of course, that Roberta was dying to get her hooks into Rick Sanders.

“Did you hear the news?” Roberta strutted up to the counter in her ridiculously high heels and leaned both hands on the surface for support. “The bank at the bottom of the hill has been robbed!” Her face looked pale under her makeup, and the crow’s-feet at the corners of her eyes were more pronounced than usual.

Clara’s jaw dropped. “The bank? Was anyone hurt?”

Roberta clutched her throat. “I don’t think so, though Janice, you know, that pudgy clerk with the gray frizzy hair? Well, she was held up at gunpoint. Poor thing. She’s scared to death.” She shuddered. “I was late getting there to make my deposit. Just think, if I’d been on time, I’d have been in the bank when it happened. Oh, my God! I could have been shot!”

No such luck,
Clara thought, then immediately felt ashamed of herself. “Who robbed it? Do they know? Did he get away?”

Roberta pulled off her earmuffs and laid them on the counter. “I don’t know. Dan and Tim are still down there, interviewing everyone. I’m shaking so hard . . .” She dabbed at her eye with the back of her forefinger. “I can’t cry. It will make my mascara run.”