Nightmares Can Be Murder (A Dream Club Mystery) (24 page)

27

“That has got to be one of the strangest meetings ever,” Ali said, sinking down into the sofa. Barney and Scout, who’d been eagerly waiting for the Dream Club ladies to leave, came scooting out of the bedroom and jumped into her lap. “Lucinda taking dance lessons from Chico? That’s the last thing in the world I would have imagined.”

“It was a bombshell, all right. First an online dating service and now this? The woman is full of surprises.”

“And Dorien,” Ali went on. “Let’s just say she was less than truthful tonight.” Ali was right. When Sybil said she’d “hopped” into a dream about Chico and Dorien enjoying a picnic lunch together, I’d expected Dorien to come clean and admit that she
had
brought dinner to Chico the night he’d died. Sybil’s dream wasn’t far-fetched; it contained some elements of truth. Instead Dorien had stonewalled, giggled nervously, and told Sybil that her dream was way off base. After a couple more dream interpretations and a spirited discussion of the baked goods, the meeting broke up early. Ali had packed up some samples for Minerva and Rose to enjoy at home, and Dorien swiped the last of the pretzel s’mores and wrapped them in a napkin.

“Do you think we should have confronted Dorien about her new catering business and her delivery to Chico’s the night he died?” A troubled frown flitted across Ali’s face. “Maybe we’re legally obliged to report what she told us.”

“No, I think we were smart to leave it alone. At least for now. Dorien gave me her word she’d inform the cops, so I think we should let them handle it. Either way, they already know she was there so it’s just a matter of time before they question her.”

Ali yawned and I found myself suddenly limp with fatigue. Both of us had experienced a major sugar rush—and subsequent crash—after sampling the goody tray. “I never thought they’d like
all
the choices for the Handheld Dessert Menu,” Ali said ruefully. “I thought beta tasters were supposed to give you an honest opinion and critique the selections.”

“They
were
honest, and they
did
critique them,” I told her. “All the desserts were spectacular. I don’t know how you’re ever going to decide what to put on the menu.” Ali had written up a list of “possibles” and posted it in the kitchen; there were no fewer than twenty choices.

“I suppose I could offer a dozen or so at a time and rotate them,” she said. “And maybe feature the most popular ones as a ‘special’ every week.” She pulled a throw over her legs, so Barney and Scout could snuggle together and resume their snoozing. “It might be smart to offer one half-price selection, just to get people to try it. And we could give customers a punch card. Buy nine desserts and get one free, something like that. I think it might increase sales and drive some traffic to the shop.”

“Ali,” I said in surprise, “you’re beginning to sound a lot like me. You’re looking out for the bottom line.”

She grinned, looking even younger than her twenty-six years. “You never think I take your advice to heart, Taylor, but I do, I really do!” She rubbed Barney’s belly as he flipped over in his sleep, snoring lightly. “Dana and I have been tossing around some marketing ideas and coming up with a budget for promotion. I want to learn from you, and I want this place to be successful. It means everything to me.”

I thought for a moment. I’ve played “Big Sister” so long to Ali that I tend to overlook the progress she’s made. I have an annoying tendency to jump in and take control, and this is something I know I have to watch. “I’m proud of you, Ali. I don’t want to change who you are, you know. I just want to share some strategies I learned in business school.”
And in the real world
, I added silently.

Ali nodded. “Wouldn’t it be funny,” she continued, “if I became more like you, and you became a little bit like me?”

I laughed. “You mean like a grown-up version of
Freaky Friday
? I think it might have already happened.”

“I do, too,” she said. “You seem calmer and more relaxed since you’ve been here. I think you’ve finally learned how to chill.”

“There’s something about the Savannah lifestyle that appeals to me,” I said. “The city is so beautiful, it practically forces you to slow down and smell the roses.” It was true. The balmy climate, the sunny days, the beautiful public squares with their inviting wrought iron benches had finally won me over. I felt like a different person from the frazzled corporate exec who’d flown in from Chicago. With each passing day, I was finding it harder and harder to imagine returning to the high-pressure lifestyle I used to enjoy.

Ali decided to turn in early to watch a Cary Grant movie on TNT, and I sat on the kitchen window seat, glancing idly at the street. So much had happened in my short time in Savannah. Was this going to be my new home? I’d have to make a decision about my Chicago apartment pretty soon. I couldn’t just leave it sitting vacant. I could sell it, or maybe sublet it. But I’d bought it at the top of the market, and now real estate prices had tumbled. Would I take a hit? Was I prepared to do that to move to Savannah?

The house phone rang and as soon as I said hello, a strange voice shook me out of my daydreams.

“Stop asking questions.” The voice was low and menacing, and I felt a little chill go down my spine. Was it a man? Was it a woman? The voice was electronically garbled, and I couldn’t tell.

“I think you have the wrong number,” I said coolly.

“I’ve got
your
number. You’ll be sorry. Mind your own business.” Click. My stomach clenched and I quickly slammed the receiver down.

“Was that for me?” Ali said, padding into the kitchen in her pajamas and slippers. She started to make herself cocoa and then stopped and gave me a searching look. “Taylor, is something wrong?”

“I hope not,” I said slowly. “That phone call . . . it sounded like a threat.” I gave a hollow laugh. “But I’m sure it’s nothing.”

“A threat? Who would threaten me? Or you?”

I shook my head. “I have no idea. The caller told me to stop asking so many questions and to mind my own business.”

“Is it something to do with the Dream Club?”

“I don’t see how it could be.” I was fibbing, but I didn’t want to alarm Ali. There’d been some interesting revelations tonight, and everyone had learned that Lucinda had been one of Chico’s clients. And Sybil had pointed the finger at Dorien, even though Dorien denied she ever had anything to do with Chico.

Was someone in the group uncomfortable with the discussion? Had they mentioned it to someone else? Dream Club discussions are supposed to be confidential, but anything could happen. I knew Minerva and Rose loved to gossip, and I wondered if they had said something to the wrong person. Someone who felt like retaliating.

“Well, it seems odd that the meeting broke up an hour ago and now you get a threatening message. Unless it’s just a prank call.”

“That must be it,” I said smoothly. There was no sense in worrying Ali, and I was sorry I’d mentioned it. I was seeing Noah and Sara for coffee tomorrow, and I’d run it by them.

28

“Tell me exactly what was said.” Noah’s eyes, dark and intent, were focused on mine.

“I’ve told you as much as I remember.” I toyed with a cappuccino, watching as Sara opened the door to Sweet Caroline’s, our favorite French bistro and greeted Caroline La Croix, the owner. Caroline pointed to our table, and Sara came rushing down the aisle, dropping her shopping bags in an empty seat next to me. She had her dog with her, a lovely rescue Labrador named Remy. The dog was so well behaved, she immediately scooted under the table after giving us a quick greeting. Most restaurants wouldn’t allow dogs, but Caroline said it is very common in France and none of the patrons seemed to mind.

“So sorry. This has been one of those days,” she said, looking frazzled. “What did I miss?”

“Someone has threatened Taylor,” Noah said, his tone grim. “I’m trying to persuade her to take it seriously.”

Sara gasped and took a sip of the sweet tea we’d ordered for her. “Someone threatened you and not Ali? That’s strange. When did this happen?” She reached into her oversized tote and pulled out a pen and notebook.

“I received a phone call last night. Shortly after the meeting of the Dream Club.”

Sara gave a wry smile. “I’m going to have to infiltrate this club of yours. Dreams, murders, death threats. Who knows, I might write a bestselling book about it someday.”

“Sara . . .” Noah said threateningly.

“Oh, honestly, Noah, I’m just teasing.” She turned to me. “Sorry, Taylor, you know I didn’t mean it.” She gave a broad wink. “I’d forgotten how overprotective Noah can be.”

“Can we please get back to the telephone threat?” Noah said.

Sara put on her rimless reading glasses and shot me a quizzical look. “Tell me about the call. You have Caller ID, right?”

“Yes, but nothing showed up. It just said ‘private number.’”

“Probably a burner phone. We’ll never trace it,” Noah said.

“And the person who called, male or female?” She opened her notebook and began scribbling.

“I have no idea. It sounded like a robot. I suppose the voice was altered electronically. I’m afraid I don’t have much to go on.” I anticipated her next question. “Someone told me to stop asking so many questions and to mind my own business. And then they hung up.”

“And we don’t even know if the message was intended for you or for Ali?”

“No idea. I’m the one who picked up the phone but I didn’t even identify myself.” I felt my stomach clench, remembering the eerie intensity of the voice. “I’m trying to downplay this with Ali, I don’t want to alarm her.”

“She needs to know the facts,” Noah said gruffly. “Did anything unusual happen at the Dream Club last night?”

I quickly filled him in on Sybil’s dream about Dorien and Lucinda’s confession that she’d taken dance lessons from Chico. Noah already knew that Dorien had admitted bringing dinner to Chico that night, but I repeated the information for Sara.

“Wow, this story gets weirder all the time.” Sara looked up briefly and ordered a
tarte de pommes
, one of the house specialties. Noah and I opted for buttery croissants, which Caroline makes fresh every day. “So Sybil dreamt that Dorien was having an outdoor picnic with Chico?”

“Close. What actually happened is that Sybil dropped in on a dream that Dorien was having. Dorien was dreaming about sharing a picnic with Chico in an open field.”

Sara raised a skeptical eyebrow. “I wish I could say I believe in this stuff, but—”

“I know, I know,” I said quickly. “You don’t believe in dreams. I’m not trying to convert you.”

Sara rolled her eyes. “I’m really having trouble with the idea that someone can just hop into another person’s dream. Even if it is true, and I’m not saying that it is,” she added quickly, “it seems like an invasion of privacy. How can you just drop into someone’s dream like you were watching a Lifetime movie?” She widened her eyes. “You can’t tell me that’s not intrusive.”

“Sara, I’m not trying to convince you of anything, I’m just telling you what happened. Sybil claimed she dropped in on Dorien’s dream.” I paused. “Why would she lie about that, as strange as it sounds?”

“Not lie exactly, but maybe Sybil is more clever than you think.” Her apple tart arrived, and she eyed it hungrily. “What if Sybil knew that Dorien had brought dinner over to Chico that night? And she invented the whole dream sequence, because she figured Dorien would break down and confess or melt in a puddle of tears?”

I had to laugh. Dorien drowning in tears? Sara didn’t know that Dorien was one tough cookie. Dorien refused to admit anything at the Dream Club and blew off Sybil’s dream, pretending it had no merit. So now we knew that Dorien was capable of lying in a very convincing way.

Sara offered me a bite of her apple tart, and I shook my head. Normally, I wouldn’t be able to resist, but I saw the server coming down the aisle with our croissants. “So,” Sara continued, “somehow this meeting of the Dream Club led to the threatening phone call last night. Someone wants you to stop investigating Chico’s death.”

“We don’t even know if the phone call was about Chico,” I said.

“But it must be!” Sara piped up. “What else would you be investigating? The message was
stop asking questions
. Nothing else dramatic has happened since you’ve been in town.”

She looked at her notes. “Well, this really adds another ingredient to the mix. Dorien delivering dinner and Lucinda taking dance lessons.” She blew out a little puff of air. “Anything else to report, or shall I tell you what I’ve dug up?”

“You have the floor.” I smiled at her. Sara looked very young and eager in a blue silk top from Chaps and skinny jeans.

“I don’t have a bombshell; it’s more of a firecracker.” She gave a dramatic pause. “Okay, here goes. I’m pretty sure that Jennifer Walton had something going on with Chico.” She gave us a moment to absorb this, and then ducked her head back to her notebook.

“Really? That’s interesting.” I glanced over at Noah but his face was impassive. I still couldn’t make sense of what I’d seen at the Walton dinner that night. Noah and Jennifer had seemed like they were pretty close, unless I was mistaken.

Sara nodded. “I’ve made friends with a local socialite who wants to start a gossip column, and she passed this tidbit on to me.”

“A gossip column? Surely not in the local paper.” I raised my eyebrows. Savannah has its share of eccentrics, but it’s basically a conservative town, and people value their privacy and their reputations.

“Oh, she doesn’t call it that, of course,” Sara quickly amended. “She thinks of it as a social column, Savannah’s version of Page Six. She wants to get invited to all the trendy parties, and she hopes the column will be her calling card.”

“Interesting. But the column is still in the planning stage, is that what you’re saying?”

“That’s right. She hasn’t gotten a contract from the newspaper yet; she’s just putting out feelers,” Sara said.

“But getting back to your source . . .” Noah prodded.

“Oh yes, here’s the juicy part,” she said, flipping the page. “I found out that Jennifer Walton is really jealous of Gina Santiago.” She paused and waited for our reaction. I noticed Noah didn’t change his expression. I hadn’t seen Gina since Chico’s memorial service; she hadn’t attended any of the Dream Club meetings and was supposedly visiting her sister in Charleston.

“She’s jealous because . . .” I said, hoping to hurry her along.

“Because she thinks Chico was cheating on her with Gina! Chico was seen dining out with Gina, and people said they looked very cozy.”

“Wait a minute. You said
cheating
on her? So that means that Chico and Jennifer—”

“Had hooked up,” Sara said solemnly. “Lots of people in town knew about it. The word on the street is that Jennifer was furious when she found out that Chico had something going on the side with Gina.”
So furious she might have killed Chico?

“Why are people convinced that Gina and Chico were involved?” I asked. I still wasn’t sure this was true. Gina and Chico had worked together for years. I had never sensed anything the least bit romantic between them. Maybe it was all just idle gossip? Maybe they had just grabbed a bite to eat after work and were spotted by some busybody? Two friends having a late supper? There was no need to make it into something it wasn’t.

“Apparently, Chico was dumb enough to brag about his conquests. Both Gina
and
Jennifer. And word got back to Jennifer. As far as Gina is concerned, if she worked with him every day, she probably knew he was a player.” She gave a wry laugh. “Men!”

I was still waiting for Noah to jump into the discussion, but he was silent. He was carefully spreading sweet butter on his croissant as if he wasn’t taking in every word we were saying.

“Oh, sorry, Noah, no offense. I didn’t mean you,” Sara said blithely.

“None taken.” He glanced at me and I grinned. “Do you want to hear what I’ve dug up?”

“Absolutely,” Sara and I chorused.

Noah opened a folder. “The tox screen is back, and it seems that Chico died of potassium cyanide. That’s the most likely explanation. But here’s the interesting part. They tested the remains of his dinner. The veal scallopini was clear. No trace of cyanide. And they tested the wine. Nothing.”

“So how was the poison administered?” Sara asked. “If it wasn’t in the food or drink, then that means he didn’t ingest it during dinner . . . so I’m stumped.”

“There’s another possibility,” Noah said. “The security cameras picked up Chico standing in the alley behind the studio, drinking something out of a bottle.”

I felt a rush of excitement. “Wasn’t Kevin Moore slowing down and staring at the alley in the early tapes? He could have met up with Chico and handed him something to drink.” My heart thumped in my chest. This might be the first solid lead we’d had.

“Except there’s no video of Chico and Kevin in the alleyway,” Noah pointed out. “The police can’t bring him in for questioning unless they find him.”

“Is he here in town?” Sara asked. I’d forgotten to tell her I’d spotted Kevin Moore with Persia.

“I think I saw him the other day,” I told her. “Sitting and talking to Persia Walker at an outdoor café.”

“Kevin Moore was sitting with Persia?” Sara frowned. “How does she fit into all this?”

“I have no idea; she’s one of the members of the Dream Club. I can’t imagine what her connection with Kevin could be. Or with Chico,” I quickly added. “There’s no reason she’d want to hurt Chico, I don’t think she ever met him. She showed up at the memorial service, but I think that was just because Gina is a member of our club.”

“Do you have a close-up shot of the bottle Chico was drinking from?” I asked.

“Not yet but they think it’s an energy drink of some sort.”

“Didn’t they run a screen on the contents of the bottle? That seems like the obvious thing to do.” Sara was making short work of her apple tart. It looked so good, I nearly changed my mind and asked her for a bite.

“That’s what’s odd,” Noah went on. “They never found the bottle. It wasn’t in the studio and it wasn’t in the alley.”

“Is it possible that Kevin Moore gave Chico the drink in the alley, stood there and watched him drink it, and then took the bottle away with him?”

“If that’s the way it happened, we’ll never know,” Noah said.

“And wouldn’t Chico think it was strange?” Sara offered. “If someone offered him a drink and then took the empty bottle away? That would make anyone suspicious!” she huffed.

“I think you’re right,” I agreed.

“And don’t forget,” Noah added. “There’s nothing on tape that shows anyone else in the alley. Just that one shot of Chico drinking a sports drink. That’s all we have to go on.”

“So now what?” I said.

“Someone should track down that rumor about Gina and Chico,” Sara suggested. “Taylor, you could do it, couldn’t you? You and Ali are friends with Gina; do you suppose she’d confide in you?”

“I’m not so sure. We’re not exactly friends, and you know how Ali is—she’s nice to everyone. She probably thinks she’s closer to Gina than she actually is. I’ll do my best, though.”

“I’ll keep working the case and try to get some more information from the police,” Noah said. “At the moment, they don’t seem to have any viable suspects. Three people visited Chico that night, but no one had a strong motive to kill him.”