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  PRAISE FOR

  Mind Over Murder

  “A delightful read&[A] winning addition to the cozy paranormal mystery realm.”

  —Yasmine Galenorn, New York Times bestselling author

  “The breakout must-read mystery of the fall season. [It] is a definite contender for best new cozy series of 2011…Kingsley’s inhabitants are a sensational cast of players with exhilarating and quirky personalities that vibrantly jump off the page, engaging the reader immediately.”

  —Seattle Post-Intelligencer

  Berkley Prime Crime titles by Allison Kingsley

  MIND OVER MURDER

  A SINISTER SENSE

  A

  Sinister

  Sense

  Allison Kingsley

  BERKLEY PRIME CRIME, NEW YORK

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.) • Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England • Penguin Group Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.) • Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.) • Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi—110 017, India • Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, Auckland 0632, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.) • Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa

  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  A SINISTER SENSE

  A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the author

  PUBLISHING HISTORY

  Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / July 2012

  Copyright © 2012 by Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  Cover illustration by Griesbach/Martucci.

  Cover design by George Long.

  Interior text design by Laura K. Corless.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  ISBN: 978-1-101-58101-8

  BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME

  Berkley Prime Crime Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME and the PRIME CRIME logo are trademarks of

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  ALWAYS LEARNING

  PEARSON

  To my husband, Bill,

  for all that you are, and all that

  you allow me to be.

  Acknowledgments

  Grateful thanks to my editor, Michelle Vega, for your wonderful suggestions and good eye. It’s a great pleasure to work with you.

  Many thanks to Sam and Alan Willey, for your constant support and help with the research. Your photos and descriptions of the Maine coast are invaluable to me.

  Special thanks to my good friend, Mr. Bill, whose watchful eye keeps me on my toes.

  Table of Contents

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  15

  Clara Quinn was in the act of rearranging a display of cookbooks when she heard the ruckus. It sounded like a big dog in a tizzy. A really big dog. After trying for several moments to ignore the commotion, she walked over to the bookstore’s window to get a better look.

  Outside, the afternoon heat shimmered on the cars passing by, dazzling her eyes. A group of summer visitors wandered along the storefronts, seeking the shade of the striped awnings as they hunted for souvenirs. Some of them paused to watch the cause of the disturbance—a shaggy black and gray dog leaping up and down, barking at a tall, blonde woman.

  Clara winced. Roberta Prince, owner of the stationer’s next door, would not appreciate being pawed by a dog. Roberta never appeared in public without perfect makeup, an impeccable hairdo and an immaculate outfit.

  One muddy paw print on that slim, white skirt or, worse, the coral silk shirt, and the image would be destroyed. Roberta’s day would be ruined, and everyone else around her would feel the repercussions.

  As Clara watched, the irate woman backed off into the road. The dog advanced, apparently determined to knock her down. Roberta must have lost her nerve. She turned tail and dashed across to the nearest haven, which just happened to be the Raven’s Nest bookstore.

  Unfortunately the door was on a strong spring. It didn’t close quite fast enough as Roberta charged through it, followed closely by her pursuer.

  Roberta yelped and rushed toward the counter. The dog chased after her, its tail thrashing wildly. Colliding with the table, it sent Clara’s intricate display of cookbooks tumbling to the floor.

  “Hey!” Clara flew over to the animal and grabbed its collar before it could do any more damage. The dog lunged forward, dragging her with it.

  “Tatters! Sit!”

  The loud bellow had come from the open doorway. In all the uproar, Clara hadn’t noticed Rick Sanders blocking out the sunlight. Rick owned the hardware store across the street and, by the looks of it, a very unruly animal.

  Clara let go of the collar, allowing the big dog to trot around the counter, once more in pursuit of Roberta.

  “Get that thing away from me!” Roberta flapped her hand at the dog, making it bark once more.

  “Tatters!” Rick slammed the door shut behind him and strode forward, one hand raised in the air. “Here, boy. Now!”

  Tatters ignored him and went on barking—loud, deep barks that seemed to reverberate throughout the shop.

  Clara moved around the counter, leaned forward and laid a hand on the back of the dog’s neck. “It’s all right, Tatters. Just calm down, baby.”

  Tatters whined and turned his head to look at her.

  Cautiously, Roberta moved around the end of the counter. “You need to control that monster,” she hissed at Rick as she hurried to the door and hauled it open. “It’s a menace.”

  Rick looked hurt. “He’s just a dog. He thought you had more cookies, that’s all.”

  Roberta brushed imaginary hairs from her skirt and sent a disdainful glare at the offending animal. “That’s not a dog. It’s a…big…hairy…horse.” With that, she swept out of the shop and disappea
red up the street.

  Clara met Rick’s gaze and burst out laughing. “I guess she’s not a dog lover.”

  Rick’s expression was grim. “I can’t really blame her. Look at him. He takes up more room than my truck. The thing is a menace.”

  Clara patted the silky coat and received a moist lick on her hand in gratitude. “Oh, he’s not yours, then?”

  “Not if I can help it.” Still scowling, Rick joined her behind the counter, where Tatters now sat panting, his tongue flopping out of his mouth.

  Snapping the leash he held onto the dog’s collar, Rick glanced up at her. “You seem to have a way with dogs.”

  The comment made Clara uncomfortable. She’d spent most of her life hiding the fact that the infamous sixth sense she’d inherited from her family gave her special insights into people’s minds. Not only people, it seemed, but animals as well. At least to the point where she could communicate with them in a way they understood. Some of the time, anyway.

  The family called it the Quinn Sense. Not everyone inherited it, much to the disgust of Clara’s cousin, Stephanie, who owned the Raven’s Nest, loved all things paranormal and never got over the fact that the family curse, as Clara called it, had bypassed her.

  Born just two months apart and more like sisters than cousins, she and Stephanie had grown up together, planned futures together, dreamed dreams together. They’d eagerly awaited the day when their powers would be fully developed. When they’d realized that Clara had the Quinn Sense and her cousin did not, it had caused an uneasy rift between the two of them. Unspoken, but there all the same.

  “Did I say something wrong?”

  Clara jumped, realizing that Rick was staring at her, no doubt confused with her silence. “I’m sorry, I was just thinking about Roberta and wondering why Tatters chased her across the street.”

  Rick made a sound of disgust in his throat. “She came into the store with a handful of cookies for the dog. I don’t know how she knew he was there. That woman doesn’t miss anything that goes on in Main Street. Or the whole of Finn’s Harbor, come to that.”

  Clare grinned. “She does have an ear for gossip. People are calling her Maine’s main mole.”

  A smile flicked across his face. “Cute. I like it.”

  “She doesn’t.”

  “Yeah, I can imagine.”

  “So she gave Tatters the cookies?”

  Rick nodded. “I warned her not to, but of course she didn’t listen. The dog wasn’t happy with what she gave him, so he started sniffing around her, looking for more. She backed off and he took it as a game. Before I could stop him, he’d chased her out of the store and across the street.”

  Clara couldn’t resist another grin. “Yeah, I saw her.”

  “I had a customer back there thinking about buying a very expensive lawn mower. There’s another guy asking where to find City Hall and someone else looking at garden tools. They’ve probably gone by now. Thanks to this brute.”

  Clare leaned down to pat the dog’s head. “Oh, poor Tatters. You just wanted to play, didn’t you?” She looked up at Rick. “Tatters?”

  Rick pulled a face at her as he led the dog over to the door. “My ex-wife called him Tatters because he looked a mess when we rescued him from the pound. Lisa fought tooth and nail to keep him after the divorce, and now, all of a sudden, she wants to dump him on me.” He hauled open the door, and Tatters made a leap for freedom, dragging Rick hard against the doorjamb.

  He grunted with pain, and Clara screwed up her face in sympathy. Rick, it seemed, was not having a good day, what with the disobedient dog and the bandage she’d just noticed adorning the forefinger of his right hand.

  Bracing his foot against the wall, Rick hauled on the leash. “She’s got a new boyfriend who hates dogs. To be more specific, he hates Tatters. So now I’m supposed to give him a home? What the heck does she think I’m going to do with him? I can’t leave him alone in the house. He’ll wreck the place the minute I’m gone.”

  Clara wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that. She’d known Rick just a few months, and they’d become friendly enough to talk about a few things on a personal level. This was the first time, however, that Rick had mentioned his ex-wife.

  Of course, there were a lot of things she hadn’t told him, either, but somehow an ex-wife seemed a very significant part of his past, and the fact he hadn’t once spoken of her suggested a pretty bad split between them.

  “I’m sure you’ll be able to work things out,” she said, mostly because Rick was looking at her as if he expected her to solve his problem. “He seems like a sweet dog and just needs a little attention, that’s all.”

  “He needs a lot more than attention. He needs discipline. Look at him. He’s just waiting for the chance to break free again.” He waved a hand at Tatters, who now stood looking at him, tail wagging, waiting for his master’s next move.

  Rick’s gray eyes were full of desperation when he looked back at her. “I don’t suppose you know anyone who could tame this tiger?”

  She hesitated, eager to help but unsure what it would entail. She liked Rick. Really liked him. If things had been different, if she’d never met the man of her dreams in New York, only to find out he was a cheat and a liar, she might have encouraged Rick to take their relationship further.

  The pain of her breakup, however, was still fresh in her mind. Even though it had been almost a year since she’d moved back to Finn’s Harbor, she was far from ready to trust her heart to anyone yet. No one, she’d vowed, was ever going to hurt her that badly again.

  As far as Rick was concerned, she’d managed to keep things uncomplicated, and he seemed to be comfortable with that arrangement. She enjoyed his friendship and was careful not to get into situations that could jeopardize that by letting something more personal creep in.

  She was still trying to figure out how she could work with the dog without spending too much time with his owner when Rick said quietly, “It’s okay. Forget I mentioned it. Maybe I’ll just try to find a home for him. Somewhere where he can run about without demolishing everything that he comes in contact with.”

  He gave her a quick wave before being dragged across the street by the enthusiastic Tatters.

  Watching them go, Clara suddenly noticed a tingling awareness washing over her. She knew the sensation well. She was about to hear voices in her head—voices that spoke in riddles and phrases she couldn’t understand. Voices that led her down paths she didn’t want to go, and put obstacles in her way to prevent her from following her instincts.

  Her reaction was automatic and swift. Closing off her mind, she hurried down to the Reading Nook, where a comfortable couch and a pot of coffee awaited her.

  Ever since she’d realized that she had the Quinn Sense and Stephanie didn’t, she’d felt isolated somehow. Although most of the family had some degree of psychic ability, she’d kept hers a secret. Far from being the empowering, exciting and liberating experience the cousins had imagined, being able to interpret dreams and occasionally read minds and foretell the future had made Clara feel like a freak.

  Desperate to regain some sense of normalcy, she’d left Maine to attend college in New York, where no one knew her or her family. She’d soon discovered that, hard as she tried, she couldn’t escape the infamous legacy. The Quinn Sense continued to interfere with her life and mess up her mind.

  Worse, it was unpredictable—never there when she needed it, and intruding when she least expected it. When the Sense had failed to prevent her from making the biggest mistake of her life, the betrayal was the last straw. On her thirtieth birthday she’d picked up the pieces and come home to Finn’s Harbor.

  Her cell phone sang out just then, shattering her thoughts. Stephanie’s voice buzzed in her ear, full of tension and anxiety as usual.

  “Clara! I just read in the Chronicle that the sales of e-books are taking over print versions. What are we going to do? I knew I shouldn’t have leased that store. What was I thinking? This is th
e absolute worst time to own a bookstore!”

  Clara sighed. She’d had this conversation with her cousin more than once, and each time Stephanie had been certain she was headed for bankruptcy. “Calm down, Steffie. The world isn’t going to end just because a few misinformed fanatics go around waving placards saying it is. Books are going to be around for at least as long as you’ll want to sell them.”

  “Yes, but if everyone is reading them on electronic readers, who’s going to buy print books?”

  “Everyone who doesn’t like electronic readers. More than enough people to keep you in business for a long time, I promise you.”

  Stephanie’s sigh echoed down the line. “I hope you’re right. George keeps telling me the same thing, but then husbands always tell their wives what they want to hear. I just can’t help feeling I should have opened a knitting shop instead.”

  Clara rolled her eyes. “You’ve never knitted anything in your life.”

  “What difference does that make?”

  “You’ve spent your entire life immersed in magic and all things paranormal. With all the interest in it now, opening a bookstore specializing in the occult was a brilliant idea, and you are the perfect person to do it, so stop obsessing over things you can’t control. The Raven’s Nest is doing just fine. Especially since you opened the Reading Nook. Half the town comes here for the coffee and donuts.”

  “I know you’re right.” Stephanie paused, then added in a rush, “I just wish I had the Sense, like you. It would have made planning things so much easier.”

  Deciding this was the perfect time to change the subject, Clara launched into a detailed account of Roberta’s confrontation with Rick’s dog.

  Stephanie laughed through most of it, until Clara mentioned that Rick was thinking of finding the dog a home. “Oh, you can’t let him do that!” Now her cousin sounded close to tears. “That poor dog has already lost one home. Think how awful it would be for him to go to strangers. Can’t you look after him?”