Murder In Her Dreams

by Nell DuVall

  Reaching over, Tula patted her hand. “Do you want me to read the Tarot cards?”

  The entry bell at the front rang, and Tula rose. “I’m having my Ides of March party Friday. I want you to come and meet a few new friends.”

  Cassie hadn’t been to a party in almost a year, not even one of Tula’s. “Maybe. I’ll think about it.”

  “You need to get out, Cassie. These dreams prove it. I’ll expect you. May you walk in light.” Tula’s hand slid from the sun pendant as she hugged Cassie and then she hurried off to greet her new customers.

  Cassie leaned back and sipped her tea. Maybe she should go to Tula’s party. It would be wonderful if the rabbit wasn’t a threat, but her instincts rejected that. The dream had been too intense and too real. The rabbit meant harm. Shuddering again, Cassie clutched the teacup in front of her. The warmth of the tea pulled her back to reality.

  People, lively conversation, and good food. Tula’s party would keep the rabbit and nightmares away. She might even find the man of her dream and solve this crazy puzzle. Next time, if she dreamed again, she vowed to control her dream and change it.

  Tula’s Special Blend always made the world seen a brighter, better place. Cassie finished her sandwich in a happier mood. Stopping to leave the money for her meal by the cash register, she nodded to Tula as she left. Maybe Tula would see something in the cards.

  Friday could solve her problems. Cassie snapped her fingers. So much for the rabbit and the man. She’d make them disappear next time.

  Chapter Two

  The setting sun bathed the office in a red light and turned Ian McLeod’s rolled-up shirt sleeves almost as red as the hair on his forearms. The freckles on his hands looked like scattered drops of blood in the dying light. He moved his arm, and the impression faded. Why should he have thoughts now about death and dying? Morbid thoughts had no place in his mind, not now when he planned to marry.

  Outside, the red sunset faded to black. Ian sighed and stretched. Reaping the rewards of his hard work gave him a sense of satisfaction. He never regretted effort that brought results.

  His business formed the core of his life. All through college, he had dreamed of starting his own company. Working in the large accounting firm of Deloitte and Touche only reinforced that desire. He wanted to control his life and his business. After passing his CPA exams, he dedicated everything he had to building the business.

  Once he neared the goal and started to think about a life beyond his business, his trusted right-hand man James Harrison had robbed him of those dreams. Two years ago, when Ian discovered Harrison’s theft from client accounts had almost bled the business dry, a murderous rage had consumed him. Harrison’s treachery nearly destroyed the company, but the man died before he could face prison.

  Harrison had done what all Ian’s competitors failed to do. Ian’s business faced bankruptcy. Deceived by a man he trusted hurt far more than the loss of the money. The money could be replaced. His trust could not.

  Everything Ian had believed in and relied upon gave way beneath him, and he had scrambled to survive. Depressed, he had struggled to find some path to recovery. It took all Ian’s savings, loans from his mother, and a year of concentrated work to cover the losses from Harrison’s theft.

  At least he had acted and moved forward. Angered by the betrayal, he had called the police to charge Harrison with felony embezzlement, but the man’s untimely death from a heart attack left Ian with no one to blame except himself. Neither he nor the police found any trace of the missing money, and he had been unwilling to sue the widow.

  To his surprise, he discovered Harrison had left her very little. Even their home had been heavily mortgaged. She had been as shocked as Ian by the theft. He wished somehow he could have helped her, but she had refused even to see him.

  At his insistence, the insurance company had paid her the full amount on Harrison’s policy. Much as Ian needed money, he could not leave her destitute. Unfortunately, not long after her husband’s death, she committed suicide.

  The theft forced Ian to redouble his efforts and put aside everything else. All in all, he congratulated himself on putting things back together. He still hated Harrison for his theft from the firm, but even more because he had stripped Ian of control over his own destiny. Never again would anyone put him in such a position.

  The sudden snap of the pencil he held in his hand startled him. Ian looked down in surprise at the jagged pieces. He consciously focused to slow his breathing. Harrison was dead and nothing could bring the lost money or him back. Now, neither mattered.

  The monthly reports told a satisfying story. He smiled. His long hours had paid off. A few more clients like Haskell Hardware and he could take some time off. The twelve and fourteen hour days of the last year had grown old.

  His mouth tasted stale. He sat back and shrugged his shoulders, rolling his neck from side to side to loosen the soreness there.

  Ian placed the reports in the Out tray for his administrative assistant, MaryLou Sanders, to file and left the Haskell file on the credenza behind his desk. The computer screen to his right still showed the last set of figures he had reviewed. He hit a key to call up the screen saver and flying dollar signs floated past.

  Glancing at his watch, Ian saw he had time for a quick microwave meal, but would have to wait until later for any news. The local and the network newscasts annoyed him. The news anchors’ hobbyhorses and causes bored him. He wanted his news straight and undiluted. Nowadays, too many shows featured talking heads spouting feel-good opinions and the latest fads. Sports got plenty of play, but international news kept shrinking.

  The sound of the door to his office opening drew his attention. Ian looked up to see Sharon Arthur, his fiancée, framed in the open door. Dressed in a pale green dress, she epitomized cool elegance as she arched a perfect eyebrow at him.

  “I thought we had a date for dinner. You said seven, didn’t you?”

  “Seven?” Ian stared at her for a moment and then frowned sheepishly. “Oh, seven.” He had completely forgotten about dinner with Sharon. “What time is it?”

  She held up her watch. “Seven forty-five. I thought at first you’d gotten caught in traffic, but then at twenty past I called the office.”

  “You called? No one told me.”

  Sharon gave a long-suffering sigh. “Justin answered the phone and said you were still reviewing the reports. I told him not to bother you.” She brushed her lips across Ian’s cheek in a quick kiss. “Well, are we going to eat?”

  “Oh sure, let’s grab a bite.” Ian rolled down his shirtsleeves, tightened his tie, and then grabbed his suit jacket off the brass hook from the back of the door. “How did you get here? I thought you planned to leave your car at home.”

  “I did. Karen dropped me at the restaurant on her way home. I took a cab here. You know me. I don’t walk unless I have no choice. Besides, these shoes aren’t exactly made for city sidewalks.”

  Ian glanced down at the high-heeled sandals Sharon wore. Green like her dress, this pair consisted of nothing more than a few straps of crisscrossed leather, soles, and four-inch heels. He could not imagine walking in them, let alone for several blocks.

  Of the few women he knew well enough to observe, only his mother refused to wear heels. She told him she had grown too old for them and preferred her comfortable walking shoes. Sharon had a thing about shoes, maybe not quite as bad as Imelda Marcos or some celebrities, but close.

  He accompanied her into the outer office where Justin Lord, the co-op student, sat at his desk with his head bent over a book. “Come on, Justin, time to go home.”

  The pony-tailed youth, a gold stud glittering from his ear, looked up. “Sure, Mr. McLeod.” He grinned at Sharon. “I see you broke him lose, Miss Arthur.” He turned back to Ian. “I’m studying for my exams. It’s quieter here than at home. Besides, Bert and I are going to the Y to lift weights.”

  “Did someone mention my name?” Bert Hansen opened the door next to
the desk where Justin sat. “Hi, Sharon.”

  Ian had not hired Bert for his muscular good looks, even though the blond young man looked more like one of the hunks from those bodybuilding ads than the stereotypical accountant. Ian had been more interested in Bert’s knack for keeping clients happy and his accounting acumen at saving them money.

  Sharon, however, gave Bert a lavish smile and touched his upper arm. “Justin was telling us you and he are off to lift weights.”

  He grinned back and pulled on Justin’s black ponytail. “Yeah, thought this bod here needed to shape up a bit. All study and no play, what a dud that makes. Right, dude?”

  “Yeah, right,” Justin muttered as he slammed the cover of his book.

  Ian liked both young men. Good workers and intelligent, they attacked every task he gave them with gusto. Sharon knew them both from frequent visits to his office, but she was being especially friendly tonight. Her way of getting back at him for forgetting their date? Feeling a little guilty, he ignored her flirtation.

  “Good luck then. Be sure to lock up when you leave.” Ian took Sharon’s arm, and they left the office.

  Only a few weeks ago, he had asked her to marry him and sometimes had to remind himself things had changed. He had looked for a fiancée the same way he evaluated new clients. He asked Sharon because she was talented, successful, financially sound, and very much in control of her own life. He congratulated himself that she had beauty and brains too. Love had not entered into it. He considered himself past the age for such a notion. He needed a wife who could help his business.

  Outside, they walked toward Ian’s Accord in the parking lot.

  “Justin’s a nice kid,” Sharon observed, “and handsome, too. So is Bert.”

  Ian gave her a sideways glance. “Oh, you like young men?”

  “No, I prefer men old enough to know better.” She gave him a teasing smile and squeezed his arm.

  He patted her hand in response. “Like me?” They had reached his gray Accord, and he unlocked the door for Sharon.

  “Just like you.”

  He drove to the Adams Tavern, located only a few blocks from his office, to save Sharon’s shoes, and so he would have the car convenient to take her home afterwards. This late he had no trouble parking near the entrance. In Columbus and its suburbs, people dined early. By eight, except for the new, trendy restaurants, the crowds thinned.

  The Tavern provided quiet, comfortable dining and food Ian liked. Its brick exterior matched well with the character of colonial Worthington. Sometimes he thought the town officials took too much pride and spent too much effort to retain the charm of its New England heritage.

  The town, established in 1803, had adopted a building code for the town square that required red brick and colonial style architecture. Even the big shopping mall north of the square echoed that design. The Tavern followed the same model. Inside, the dark wood and the uneven stone floor continued the colonial theme.

  A smiling hostess greeted Ian and Sharon as they entered. They followed her down a short entry hall, through a large room with a high ceiling whose heavy wooden beams called to mind a baronial hall, and then into a cozy den-like room. Leather upholstered booths lined two sides of the room and a field stone fireplace took up most of a third. A cheery fire burned on the stone hearth, giving off pleasant warmth and providing a welcome contrast to the dark wood paneling.

  The hostess led them past two white covered tables occupying positions adjacent to the windows of the fourth wall and two more tables in the center of the floor. The hostess seated them in a booth next to the fireplace. The large, brass coat hooks on tall posts at each high-backed booth reminded Ian of the hook on the back of his office door and work he had yet to complete.

  Sharon waited until the server, a fresh-faced young man dressed in the usual white shirt and black pants, took their drink orders and left. She studied Ian with cool green eyes that made him suspect she had not yet forgiven him for forgetting their dinner date.

  Determined to reassure her, Ian sighed and took her right hand. “My long hours have brought results. I think the company is over the hump now. Maybe I can take a little time off.”

  “Like for a honeymoon?” Now her green eyes had a bright sparkle.

  “We don’t need to hurry.” Ian squeezed her hand and flashed her a smile.

  Her words caught him unprepared. When he asked her to marry him, he had envisioned a long engagement. Did Sharon have other ideas? Confused, he looked down at the table and then at her hands. He studied them, trying to organize his thoughts.

  Like everything else about her, her hands reflected perfection. Sharon had beautiful hands with long, well shaped fingers and oval nails. He had never seen her with a broken nail or chipped polish. She kept them in tiptop condition.

  “Well...” Her voice drew his attention back to her face. “My biological clock is ticking and, unless you want to be an elderly father, we’d better get on with it.”

  Ian snorted. “Thanks. What’s wrong with elderly fathers anyway?”

  She grinned back, her eyes gleaming in the reflected firelight. “Not much, but they may have a hard time coping with their offspring, and they don’t get to enjoy retirement.”

  “Retirement?” His eyes widened as he stared back, then narrowed as he realized she had been teasing him. “I’m a long way from that. You’re just giving me a hard time for being late. “

  She surveyed him with an appraising smile, eyebrows arched, but at just that moment the waiter returned. He brought Sharon a dry Vodka Martini and Ian a single malt Scotch. After taking their dinner orders, he departed. Almost on his heels, the hostess entered followed by a young couple, and she seated them at a table by the window.

  The pair held hands and stared into each other’s eyes. To Ian, they epitomized young love, certain in their affection for one another and unworried about the future ahead. For a moment, he wished he could feel that way. Once his grandmother had told him he would gain his heart’s desire. Did he have such a desire and could it be Sharon?

  Sharon set her Martini down. “I know you’re a long way from retirement yet, but seriously, Ian, we aren’t getting any younger, and I’m ready to settle down.”

  She ran her finger around the rim of her glass. The firelight turned its contents to liquid gold.

  “Like in stay at home?”

  He stared at Sharon, surprised at this side of her. He had always considered her a successful woman dedicated to her career. He had trouble picturing her in a kitchen surrounded by demanding children.

  She shook her head and sipped her Martini before replying. “No, I’m hardly the type, but I want a child. I’ll work, but I just don’t want to be too tired to cope with my job and a family.”

  Ian frowned as he considered her reasons. The thought of children scared him even more than an immediate marriage.

  “I suppose you’re right. Somehow, I hadn’t thought we would marry so soon. With all the pressure at work, I sort of thought a December wedding would give me time to finish things.

  “December is too close to Christmas.”

  He took a deep breath. “When then?”

  “May 15th. My calendar’s clear, and it’s our slowest time. I can spare a week for a honeymoon before things get hectic again.”

  “A week?” He raised both eyebrows at that and mentally reviewed his calendar. “Well, I suppose I could get away. Taxes will be over and the first estimates won’t be due until June 15. I guess it would do.”

  “Better than June.” Sharon leaned forward and studied his face for a moment. “You sound a little uncertain. You haven’t changed your mind, have you?”

  “Of course not, it’s just that I’ve had other things on my mind. Spring is our busiest time.” Ian ran a hand through his hair. “I hadn’t given much thought to a wedding. I thought we might ... just stay engaged for a while”

  He grinned at her, feeling both stupid and in a box. He wanted marriage, but not just yet.
<
br />   She sniffed. “Sure, all the pleasures and none of the responsibilities. Just like a man.”

  “No, that’s not it. I haven’t thought much about a family.” He sipped his whiskey and savored the warm, smoky taste for a moment. “I suppose I figured on one someday. I just hadn’t expected it to be so soon.”

  “Ian, I want to get married and start a family. You asked me to marry you. We’ve known each other over two years now, so there’s no point in a long engagement. I said yes because I love you.”

  Her earnestness disconcerted him. He wanted to loosen his tie, but instead he clasped her right hand in both of his. He focused on her smooth white hand.

  “I asked you to marry me, but I want to be sure we have everything in order first. I want time to enjoy our marriage.” He released her hand and twisted his glass back and forth before looking up at her. “I guess May 15th is all right. It’s not like we have a ton of people to ask.”

  The green eyes studied him for a moment. “Perhaps not, but you have no idea all the things that have to be done even for a small wedding.” She sighed and leaned back against the booth.

  “Of course, that’s the bride’s responsibility,” he blurted out, as panic gripped him. This whole conversation caught him off guard. He couldn’t explain what bothered him because he didn’t know himself. He had thought he was ready for marriage, now he wasn’t so certain.

  He scrambled to remember what he knew about weddings. “Do I have to do anything else besides choose a best man and show up at the church on time?”

  Sharon sighed. “There’s also the rehearsal dinner, and the best man usually arranges a bachelor party. It’s your wedding too. Surely, you want to have a say in how it’s put together. By the way, who do you plan to ask to be best man?”

  Staring into the amber depths of his glass, Ian found no help there. “I don’t know. I’ve sort of lost touch with most of my old friends. I’ve been so buried, trying to get the company back on its feet.”