Murder In Her Dreams (14 page)

Sharon narrowed her eyes at his terse
description. “Was she pretty?”

He smiled — Sharon had been much too sure
about him. “I’m not sure. She had nice eyes.”

Glaring at him, Sharon sipped her vodka
martini.

“Anyway, I tossed her out and told her to
stay away. MaryLou won’t let her in again.”

Sharon nodded, but her eyes remained serious.
“You know, Ian, there are a lot strange people out there. With your
picture in the paper, a story like that could draw out some jealous
people.”

He patted her hand. “Don’t worry. I can take
care of myself. Besides, how much of a threat can one small woman
pose? She couldn’t weigh more than a hundred pounds, clothes and
all.”

As he sipped his whiskey, he remembered his
initial impressions of Cassie Blake. “You know at first, I almost
began to believe her. She was so serious, but then when she talked
about dreams and rabbits, I lost it. I’ll probably have to have the
carpet cleaned too.”

“The carpet?” Sharon raised one perfect
eyebrow. “Why?”

“As she started to leave, she suddenly
tackled me and dumped my coffee all over the floor. Just missed my
suit. Maybe I should send her the bill for cleaning the
carpet.”

“Well, it might teach her a lesson, but it
would mean contacting her again. I don’t think you should, Ian. If
she’s unbalanced, the less you see of her the better. Seeing you
would only reinforce her delusions, but why did she do it?”

He grimaced. “She claimed the coffee was
poisoned. I suppose after telling me someone wanted to kill me, she
wanted to prove her point.”

“By spilling your coffee?”

“Look, the woman was irrational. Who knows
what goes on in such a mind? You’re right, of course, about not
contacting her. One such encounter is more than enough. The carpet
needed cleaning anyway.”

Sharon sipped her martini. “Mom asked if you
would like to come for Easter dinner.”

Ian suppressed a groan. The one thing he
regretted about marrying Sharon was her mother. Mrs. Gannet had a
penchant for nonstop chatter about the stupidest things and
insisted everything be done her way. He and Sharon would either
split holidays between their respective families or, even better,
spend them away on their own.

“I can’t, Sharon.” He mentally scrambled,
trying to think of a good excuse.

“Are you going to your mother’s?”

“No, it’s too far for such a short time.” He
had to think of something. Then he remembered Bob Rantry’s letter.
“The Chamber of Commerce asked for volunteers. I told Bob Rantry
I’d spend a few hours serving dinners to the homeless.”

“Really, Ian, are you sure you want to do
that? You never know what kind of people might come.”

“Look, I’ve always turned them down in the
past, and, after the award they gave me, well, I think it’s time I
helped out a little.”

She frowned. “I suppose we could have a late
dinner.”

“I wouldn’t do that, Sharon. We may run late,
and then there’s the clean up. Tell your mother I’m sorry, but I
can’t make it.”

Ian leaned back, satisfied he had found the
perfect means to avoid Mrs. Gannet. Bob Rantry would be more than
happy to have another volunteer. He’d call Bob first thing
tomorrow.

“I’ve been working on a guest list for the
wedding,” Sharon said. “I should call your mother about anyone she
wants invited.”

“I suppose.”

“You don’t sound very enthusiastic. Having
second thoughts?”

“Of course not, it’s just that I hate big
affairs and fussing. Go ahead and call her. I’m sure she’ll be glad
to hear from you. I’ll be happy with whatever the two of you
decide.”

He hoped Sharon would keep it a small
wedding. His mother would probably insist on asking all the aunts,
uncles, and cousins, but, even with that, he couldn’t imagine more
than about twenty-five people. Besides, big weddings cost a lot of
money, and he had been putting everything he could back into the
business.

“About the honeymoon,” Sharon continued. “I
was thinking about St. Croix or maybe Aruba.”

“Oh?” Ian stared at her with surprise. “I
don’t make a good beach bum. What about London? We could take in a
few shows.”

“Ian, you need time to relax and unwind.
London can still be a little cool. I want you away from the
telephone and fax machine.”

He blinked. “Come on, Sharon, you really
think I’d do that on our honeymoon?”

“Well, I hope not, but my ex did. It’s one of
the reasons he’s ex. I want all your attention.” She held his hand
and smiled at him, her eyes now more green than hazel.

Squeezing her hand, he raised it and kissed
it. “I’ll do my best.”

Yet a sense of unease tugged at him. He
couldn’t get Cassie Blake and her frightened eyes out of his mind.
It only added to his feelings of being pushed in ways he couldn’t
identify. The wedding bore down upon him like an avalanche. He
still hadn’t talked to his brother David yet. The last time he had
tried to call, David had been out of town. He knew he should be
more persistent in trying to reach him.

Guilt nibbled at him and whispered in his
ear, ‘No best man, no wedding.’

What was the matter with him? He had always
met events head on. He had dealt with Harrison as soon as he
learned about the shortages. With his business back in order, he
had decided to focus on the future, on marriage, and on marriage to
Sharon. Nothing had changed.

Lately, he hadn’t been sleeping well.
Snatches of half-remembered dreams haunted him on waking, but he
could never quite make them out. Memories of excitement and fear,
but not the cause taunted him. At off moments in his office, he
stared at the tapestry trying to regain those images, but failed.
It irritated him to have experienced something and then lost
it.

“Ian, did you hear me?”

“What? I’m sorry, Sharon. What did you
say?”

“I asked if you wanted a sit-down dinner or a
buffet for the reception.”

“Either is fine with me.” Then he thought of
the number of people and the cost. “No, a buffet is probably
better. People will mix more.”

The hostess led a couple to a nearby table.
As they passed, Ian started. The young woman had long brown hair
and wore a floral print skirt. Had Cassie Blake followed him
here?

He peered toward the woman, trying to get a
better look. She raised her head and gazed back, an appraising look
in her eyes. Ian looked away at once. No, it wasn’t Cassie Blake.
Not nearly as pretty, and she had brown eyes instead of frightened
blue ones.

Chapter
Eleven

Easter Sunday, Ian arrived at the imposing
First Community Church at five minutes to ten to help with
Chamber’s Easter Dinner and parked in the lot. He followed the
signs advertising the event, 11 a.m. to 3 p.m., Sunday, to a door
in the activities building behind the church. Bob had told him,
because of the dinner, the church had held its sunrise service and
then three more, finishing the last at 9:30. Two more would be held
this evening. The volunteers were welcome to attend the service of
their choice.

Ian strolled past the activities building, a
cement block structure with a peaked roof. As he walked, he saw
classrooms through the windows, then a large kitchen, and at the
end a meeting hall. The door to the meeting hall stood open.
Inside, rows of white covered tables and folding chairs filled the
room. Near the entrance he glimpsed a cluster of people, and in
their midst, he spied the rotund figure of Bob Rantry with a
clipboard in hand.

Bob’s cherubic face split in a friendly grin
when he saw Ian. “Good, now our team’s complete.” He turned back to
the group. “We’ve already got the tables and chairs set up. The
hams and turkeys are roasting, but we could use a little help in
the kitchen.”

“I’m game.” Ian raised his hand as did
another man.

“Okay, McLeod, you and Kelton join the
kitchen crew. As for the rest, we need to organize the serving
tables and gets the plates, napkins, and tableware ready.”

Ian walked toward the kitchen accompanied by
his teammate. “I’m Ian McLeod.” He held out his hand to the sandy
haired man.

“I’m Will Kelton, pleased to meet you.”

The kitchen had a crew of six older women
checking ovens and stirring pots and a shapely young woman in jeans
at the sink washing dishes. A gray haired, grandmotherly type
looked up as the two men entered.

“Hello, ma’am, we’re part of your crew. Ian
McLeod and Will Kelton.” Ian held out his hand and Will did the
same.

“Jane Wentz. Good, we can certainly use a
couple of strong arms when it’s time to take out the hams and
turkeys. Meanwhile, would you mind bringing in some boxes for
us?”

Ian grinned. “Just tell us where.”

“Cassie? Will you go with these two gentlemen
and show them where the truck is parked? They’re going to bring in
the rest of the supplies.”

The shapely woman at the sink turned around
and blinked, followed by a blush when she saw Ian. “Of course, Mrs.
Wentz.”

Ian blinked too, amazed to see the crazy
woman who had ruined his carpet. He wondered what he had let
himself in for. He congratulated himself that he had only signed up
for a two-hour stint. With all these people around, things
shouldn’t get out hand in that short time. If she said one wrong
word, he’d get Bob to reassign him.

“If you’ll follow me?”

Cassie Blake led the way. Will hurried after
her while Ian lagged behind. She led them down a long corridor with
classrooms on either side and then out a rear door. A white panel
van sat just outside.

The Blake woman unlocked and opened up the
rear door of the van. “If you’ll carry these boxes inside and stack
them in the kitchen, it’ll help us later.”

She slid a box forward, but Will rushed to
her side. “Here, let me take that. You go on back. Ian and I will
take care of this.”

Cassie looked from Will to Ian. He
nodded.

“Okay, I’ll leave you two at it.”

Breathing a sigh of relief, Ian picked up one
of the cartons. Cassie propped open the building door as Will and
Ian began to ferry the cartons to the kitchen. It didn’t take them
long to empty the van. Finished, Ian closed the van while Will
removed the prop from the building door. Together they returned to
the kitchen.

“Thanks, gentlemen,” Mrs. Wentz greeted them.
“We need your help to move some of these large pots around. We have
to fill the steam trays. If you two could keep an eye on how fast
they need refilling and top them off, it’ll save the server’s
time.”

Using folded towels, Will and Ian spent the
next hour shuffling back and forth with large pots of mashed
potatoes and beans, trays of sliced ham and turkey, and pans of
rolls. The heavy pots soon tired Ian’s arms, and he burnt his hand
when he let the towel slip once. He didn’t do that again. At first,
Will worked with him, but after about a half hour Will went to lay
out the dessert table with slices of pie and cake.

Cassie Blake, her long hair tied neatly back
and her jeans and T-shirt covered by an oversized chef’s apron,
occupied front and center of the serving line and smiled at each
person. Ian decided she must have done this before as he watched
her greet the diners by name.

“Hi, John, where’s Elmer?” Cassie greeted a
tall man in a torn tweed jacket.

“Hi, Miss Cassie, won’t see him no more. Ol’
Elmer, he froze to death in the last cold snap. Told him to come to
the shelter with us, but he wouldn’t do it.”

Cassie looked grave. “I’m sorry to hear that.
I bet you miss him.”

John nodded. “We been buddies a long time,
but life’s hard sometimes.”

“Well, I’m glad to see you anyway. You take
care of yourself, John.”

“Thanks, Miss Cassie.” He shuffled past and
joined a group of men sitting at table near the serving line.

Ian admired Cassie’s neat, quick movements.
She looked like she enjoyed the work. For the most part, she
ignored him, except when she occasionally asked for a refill of
something that had run out before he had replenished it.

He had never been exposed to the homeless as
a group. He worked mainly with suburban clients and didn’t go
downtown often. He could not claim much sympathy for them. In
Arlington, too many jobs went begging, albeit low-paying fast food
or retail ones, but he doubted those people needed to line up for
Easter dinner. More than half the diners were men, most middle aged
or older, but with a sprinkling of younger men as well. He saw a
smaller number of women in mismatched clothes and even families.
The children looked wide-eyed at the food as their mothers urged
them along.

“Uh, Mr. McLeod,” Cassie called as he dumped
his pot of potatoes into the steam tray. “Could you ask someone to
help carry the children’s trays?”

“Sure.” Ian set the empty pot on a nearby
table.

At the head of the line, he saw a heavyset
woman with three kids hiding behind her skirt. Two trays rested on
the counter in front of her. He picked up the fullest tray.

“Where to, ma’am?”

She pointed to a table with two other
children.

“You get the children settled, and I’ll bring
the other tray.” He hurried off and set the tray down in front of
the two boys and went back for the second tray.

“Thanks, mister. Kinda hard to manage with so
many little ones hanging on. We sure ‘ppreciate this here
meal.”

“Enjoy.” Ian went back to retrieve his
pot.

After that, he watched as he ferried the pots
and sometimes trays for any others with children who needed
assistance. Cassie Blake smiled at him. Her smile lighted her face
and gave him a curious lift. The mothers added their thanks with
shy smiles.

The crowd grew as it approached noon. Ian
shuffled back and forth between the hot, bustling kitchen and the
serving line. As it neared one o’clock, he knew he could leave, but
after a quick head count of the remaining volunteers, he decided to
stay. He saw no sign of either Bob Rantry or Will Kelton.