by Mary Kennedy
For the life of me, I couldn’t imagine why Lucinda had gone to Chico’s studio, but I was convinced she’d been there. Sometime. There couldn’t be two Chelsea soup tureens with rabbits and snails in Savannah; a call to Gina had confirmed that the tureen had been a gift. A grateful client had given it to Chico a week before the murder, so that narrowed the time frame. I was convinced that Lucinda had been in Chico’s studio sometime in the seven days before his death. But why? It was baffling.
“I think you’ll find my dream quite intriguing, because it involves someone right here in this room.” Sybil’s tone was playful, but she was clearly champing at the bit. She barely hid a scowl while Ali fiddled with some “handheld desserts” she wanted to offer in the shop. Everyone’s attention had been focused on the platter of goodies on the coffee table, but after Sybil’s latest pronouncement, all eyes turned to her.
Minerva Harper shot me a glance and winked. She’s always taken a dim view of Sybil’s theatrics, and I’ve never been sure if Minerva really believes in the power of dreams. Sometimes I think she and her sister, Rose, only come for the social aspects of the club. Neither of them drives much anymore, and the meetings offer them a way to connect with their friends and neighbors. Plus Ali’s desserts are delectable. I was horrified to see that I’d gained five pounds since I’d moved in with my kid sister.
“How fascinating,” Persia offered. “Was it your own dream, or were you visiting someone else’s?”
“I dropped in on someone else’s dream, and I was in for quite a surprise,” Sybil said mysteriously.
I heard a sharp intake of breath, and glanced at Lucinda, who was sitting on my right. She had a deer-in-the-headlights look, and I saw the color drain right out of her face. She coughed on a chocolate-covered pretzel and quickly gulped down some sweet tea. Ali had been experimenting early in the day with a recipe for pretzel s’mores and I’d been dying to try one. I knew it involved round pretzels, dark chocolate squares, milk chocolate for dipping, and marshmallows. An unbeatable combination.
Dorien was fiddling over the desserts, taking a long time to make her selection. A slight flush crept up from her collarbone and she bit her lip. I was sure that both Dorien and Lucinda feared they were going to be the star attractions in Sybil’s dream account this evening.
“Is everyone ready?” Ali said brightly. The ladies were scarfing down the desserts like they were starving seagulls, and I was glad Ali had more trays ready in the kitchen.
“We’re ready!” Minerva sang out. “Let’s hear what Sybil has to say.” I noticed she’d filled her plate with half a dozen different desserts.
“Ali, everyone is waiting for you to sit down,” Sybil said pointedly. Ali—ever the perfect hostess—was scurrying around, making sure everyone had enough tea and goodies.
“I’m sitting down right now,” Ali said, scooting into a chair. “Let’s hear it, Sybil.”
“Well,” Sybil said, drawing out the suspense, “my dream involves Chico and a visit someone made to his studio one night.” She arched her eyebrows and looked around the circle. We were a small group tonight, because Sam Stiles had to work and Gina was out of town again. Sybil rested her eyes on each one of us, pinning us with her steely gaze. There was tension in the air, and I heard a few nervous giggles.
“I wonder who it could be,” she said, her voice low and taunting. I had a sudden image of a cat playing with a mouse. Dead silence as her eyes swept around the circle a second time. “It could be . . . anyone,” she said portentously. “Anyone.”
“Stop right there! I can’t stand this another minute!” Lucinda cried out, leaping to her feet. “I know where you’re going with this, Sybil, and I can save you a lot of time and trouble. Just let me tell the story my own way.”
“What story?” Sybil huffed. She glanced around the group, eyebrows raised. “Does anyone know what she’s talking about?”
“What’s wrong, Lucinda?” Rose asked in her raspy voice. “You’re white as a ghost, my dear. Perhaps you’d better sit back down.” She reached over and patted Lucinda’s arm sympathetically. “She must be confused,” she said to Sybil in a hoarse stage whisper.
“I’m not confused, but I do have a confession to make,” Lucinda said, her eyes welling up with tears. “And I’d like to get it over with, before Sybil drags this out any longer.” She sank back into her chair, her eyes glassy, her face deadly pale. “I know you’re talking about me, Sybil. And the answer is yes, I did go to Chico’s studio. And I danced with him.” She flushed. “That’s the truth. But it’s not what you think!”
Sybil blinked twice, her face as impassive as the Sphinx.
“Well, now I don’t know what to think,” Rose Harper piped up. “I’m thoroughly confused.” She turned to her sister. “Lucinda is confessing to dreaming about dancing with Chico? What’s the big deal?”
“The big deal might be that you tried to mislead us, Lucinda. Last week you told us about seeing a man with no face who was dancing with a woman in a beautiful ballroom.” Persia’s tone was sharp. “You even threw in that description of the Collier mansion. Did you make all that up just to trick us?” Persia shot Ali a pointed look, her face hardening. “I thought we insisted on strict honesty in this group. If members are going to make up stories, someone needs to address this.”
“No, it really happened,” Lucinda said, her face pink with humiliation. “I mean, it happened in real life and then it appeared in my dreams. In a slightly different form. My mind was reeling over Chico’s death, trying to make sense of it. I don’t know why the Collier mansion popped up in my dream. Somehow it all got mixed up together.” She gave a helpless shrug. “I never meant to be dishonest. That’s not the kind of person I am. And I had the same dream again last night.”
“When a dream is repeated, it usually means the issue is unresolved,” Persia said in a softer tone.
Ali leaned forward. “So that was you dancing in the earlier dream? Being twirled round and round the floor? You were the woman you described, wearing the flowing gown, dancing with the man with no face?”
“Yes, I suppose I was.” She allowed herself a wistful smile. “I guess the dream represented what I longed for in my life.”
“A wish fulfillment dream,” Sybil said quietly. “We all have them from time to time.”
“But Lucinda,” Ali said gently, “you said you had a confession to make. In your earlier dream, you said the man had no face. But this time, the man did have a face. The man was Chico.” She paused delicately. “And you said it happened in real life, so that means—”
“That means I went to the dance studio the night Chico died.” Lucinda’s voice was flat, devoid of emotion. I had to keep myself from gasping. My suspicions were right on target.
“Whatever for, my dear?” Minerva asked mildly. “Were you and Chico”—she stopped and blinked—“sweethearts?” She turned to Rose. “Is that what they call them these days?”
“We weren’t sweethearts,” Lucinda said with something approaching a ladylike snort. “I was there as a client.”
“A client? Oh my,” Minerva said. “That’s the last thing I would have guessed.”
“Yes, I”—she was turning beet red—“wanted to learn how to dance in case I decided to date someone.”
“Date someone? Surely you weren’t planning on dating Chico.” Sybil shook her head disapprovingly.
“No, of course not.” Lucinda leaned forward, her brown eyes intent. “I know you’re going to think this is terribly silly, but I joined one of those online matchmaking sites.” She looked at me, flushing, and I pretended to look surprised. “When I set up my profile I realized I had nothing to list under my photo. I don’t drink, I don’t play tennis or golf. And I don’t dance. No one clicked on my profile because I must sound really boring.” She looked miserable, hands clenched in her lap.
“Are all those things required?�
�� Rose asked, puzzled.
“No, but it makes you more marketable if you want to put yourself out there. Not that I have any personal knowledge of these things.” Sybil sniffed.
“What happened next?” Dorien asked, her eyes gleaming. Her beady-eyed stare and pinched features suddenly reminded me of a ferret.
“Nothing. I had a quick half-hour lesson with Chico, and I discovered I had two left feet. I paid him for the class and never saw him again.”
“Do the police know you were there the night he died?” Ali asked.
“Certainly not,” Lucinda said, stiffening her spine. “I think the less said about it, the better.”
“But you might know something that would help the investigation,” Persia pointed out. “It’s your duty to go to the police. Isn’t it a crime to withhold evidence?”
“I suppose I should tell them,” Lucinda admitted. “I’ll do it tomorrow,” she said with a note of conviction in her voice.
“Well now,” Ali said brightly, “since that’s settled, I suppose we can move to another dream. Minerva, would you like to go next?”
“Excuse me,” Sybil cut in. “I haven’t said a word about my dream.” She gave a small, sly smile, and I wondered what was coming next.
“But we’ve already heard everything from Lucinda,” Ali said puzzled. “What else is there to know?’
Sybil laughed. “Plenty!” She cocked her head to one side. “Because the person who was with Chico in my dream wasn’t Lucinda.” She waited for the reaction. “It was Dorien.”
Dorien gasped and flinched. Minerva and Rose were leaning so far forward, I thought they might tumble right off the low-slung sofa. Everyone stared bug-eyed at Sybil, and Persia froze in her seat. Lucinda let out a little sigh of relief. Ali and I stared at each other in confusion, unprepared for the sudden drama.
Sybil maintained a frightening smile for a full ten seconds.
Dead silence all around and my heart was pounding like I’d run a marathon. If this was an episode of Law and Order, there would be an ominous chuh-CHUNG right now and we would go straight to commercial.
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.