by Nell DuVall
She parked across the street and crossed with the traffic light at the entrance to the complex. As she hurried along the walkway, she passed colorful beds of bright daffodils and crocus. The cheerful spring flowers made her more hopeful that Ian McLeod would listen to her with an open mind.
Cassie entered McLeod’s offices at ten-thirty carrying a brown envelope. The dark haired secretary-receptionist, MaryLou Sanders according to the nameplate on her desk, smiled at Cassie as she entered.
“Can I help you?”
As always when confronted by a polished, competent professional, Cassie blushed. Such people made her feel like a little girl.
MaryLou Sanders wore her white silk blouse and brown suit like a fashion model. She had neat hands with short nails polished in a pale pink. Cassie envied the freedom of Miss Sanders’ stylish feathered hair. She could never muster the courage to cut her own long locks. If she didn’t like it, it would take months to grow out again.
She reminded herself she had come on legitimate business. More important, she had come to save Ian McLeod’s life. She could not let the polished Miss Sanders intimidate her. Cassie straightened her shoulders.
“Uh, yes, my name’s Cassie Blake. A friend recommended I see Mr. McLeod.” Cassie clutched the envelope tighter. Tula had insisted she come.
“Do you have an appointment, Miss Blake?”
“No, I don’t. I ... uh, I need someone to do my taxes.” Cassie looked down at the envelope clutched in her hands. She reminded herself Ian McLeod’s Yellow Pages ad had listed tax services.
“Please take a seat,” Miss Sanders motioned to the row of chairs along the wall to Cassie’s right. “I’ll see if Mr. McLeod can see you.”
She pushed a button on the desk. “Mr. McLeod, a Miss Blake is here to consult you about taxes.” She eyed Cassie who nodded. After listening a moment, she rose and motioned Cassie to follow her through a door next to the desk.
Cassie gazed wide-eyed at her surroundings. McLeod’s office, larger than the reception area, had a conference table to one side that would seat eight. A tapestry in blues, whites, and browns behind the table reminded her of the restless sea rushing over brown rocks.
When the auburn haired man at the desk in front of the windows rose to greet her, her heart stopped. He looked so like the man in her dream, even more so than the black-and-white picture from the newspaper. She fumbled the brown envelope and almost dropped it.
“Miss Blake, I’m Ian McLeod.” He held out his right hand and pointed with his left to the two chairs in front of the desk. Cassie took his hand, shifting the envelope to her left, and sank into the nearest chair. Like the dream man, he had a firm grip.
She stared down at the brown envelope, uncertain now whether coming had been wise. Just like Rod, he wouldn’t believe her. She rubbed her right thumb over her left, trying to regain her confidence.
“Would you care for some coffee?” His rich voice sounded the same as in her dream.
“Coffee? Uh, no, thank you,” Cassie muttered. With her luck, she’d spill it. Calm, cool, and collected, she reminded herself.
“I’ll have mine when we finish, MaryLou.”
Miss Sanders nodded and closed the door behind her.
* * * *
Ian McLeod resumed his seat behind his desk and leaned back in his chair. Cassie Blake had long brown hair, too long perhaps, and wore a baggy sweater over one of those floral print skirts. Definitely a far cry from Sharon’s cool elegance. He wondered about her finances. They couldn’t be very complicated, but she probably didn’t keep very good records. The image of that old woman who had dumped a shoe box of bills and receipts on his desk, only half of which were relevant rose in his memory.
He tented his fingers as he studied her. “How can I help you, Miss Blake? My assistant said you want help with you taxes.”
She gave a hesitant nod. “Uh, yes, that’s what I told her.”
She looked up at him with wide blue eye, and, for a moment, he felt suspended. The dark blue of her eyes echoed the tapestry on his wall. They had a translucent depth that intrigued him.
“Actually, I want to talk to you about a personal matter.”
Her words surprised him. “A personal matter?”
He frowned as he studied her face again. Not a bad face — an attractive face all in all. He liked the honesty implicit in her sea-blue eyes, but he couldn’t think of any connection she might have with him. Sales? He hoped not. MaryLou handled most of the salespeople.
“I’m not aware we’re acquainted, Miss Blake.”
“We’re not.” She sighed and stared at him. The force of her eyes held him again, compelling him to listen. “At least you don’t know me, but I know you.”
“You do?” Ian blinked and then steadied his gaze on her. To the best of his knowledge, he had never seen her before.
She nodded and blushed. It gave color to her face and made her look less mousy. “Yes, you’ve been invading my dreams almost every night.”
His eyes widened, and then he laughed. “I’m not used to being the subject of anyone’s dreams, especially a woman’s.”
“They’re not that kind of dream,” she snapped, her eyes giving off blue fire. “I’d much rather not have them at all.”
“Then what is this all about?” Confused, he couldn’t follow her train of thought.
What did she want? How in the hell did she latch on to him and in dreams for Pete’s sake? The man of her dreams? That sounded like some cheap romance.
“I’m here to warn you that...” She took a deep breath and looked down at her clenched hands.
“Uh, maybe I should start at the beginning. About eighteen months ago, I had a series of vivid dreams ... about Ellie Latham. Maybe you remember her kidnapping.” She looked to him for confirmation.
Ian nodded, but he didn’t recall the name at all.
“I dreamed about her several times, but ... well, it’s a long story. I didn’t contact the police until after my dream showed her body. Later, I found out, she hadn’t been killed until after my third dream about her.”
She turned haunted eyes to him. “Maybe if I had called the police earlier, she wouldn’t have died.”
Ian stared back, uncertain what to say. It sounded tragic. But dreams?
“Look, I can see how such an experience might bother you, but what does it have to do with me?”
She crimped the edges of the envelope in her lap and took a deep breath before looking at him. “Someone is trying to kill you.”
Ian’s eyes widened for a moment. He didn’t know what he had been expecting, but it wasn’t this. She sounded nuts. He shifted in his chair and eyed the phone. A physical attack seemed unlikely, but a gun might be another matter. Perhaps he should humor her, at least until he learned a little more.
“Kill me?”
She nodded.
“Who? Why?”
She looked confused and rubbed her right thumb over the left. “I don’t know. In my dreams—“
“Your dreams?” Ian raised both eyebrows.
She had a screw loose all right, maybe more than one. He leaned forward and moved his hand closer to the phone.
“You mean to tell me you’ve come here to warn me because of some weird dream you’ve had.” He didn’t bother to suppress the skepticism from his voice.
Cassie Blake gazed down at her clenched hands. “I didn’t want to come. You forced me.”
Startled, Ian stared at her. “I? I forced you? Lady, be real. I don’t even know you, and I think you should leave. Now.” He stood up to end her lunacy.
Encouraging more of it could be dangerous. Someone had told him never trust the mousy ones. He had no intention of becoming the object of her attention for any reason, particularly since she was obviously unhinged
She remained seated, but appealed to him with frightened eyes. “I know it sounds crazy, but something is going to happen to you. It’s just like Ellie Latham.”
He started to edge around
the desk. “I fail to see how. No one has kidnapped or threatened me.”
She waved a hand, brushing his reply aside. “No, it’s not like that. It’s different. The black rabbit is going to kill you.”
Ian emitted a harsh laugh. “Now I’ve heard everything. A rabbit is going to kill me?” He stared at her as he remembered the words ‘Beware the rabid rabbit’.
He glared at her with narrowed eyes. “You sent that note, didn’t you?”
“Yes, but you ignored it, so I had to come instead.” She clutched the brown envelope in her lap, her eyes dark with anxiety. “You’ve got to listen. This is serious.”
“A rabbit?” Ian hardened his voice. “There’s no way I can take that seriously or you.”
She shook her head. “You’ve got it all wrong. The rabbit isn’t really going to kill you, but someone or something the rabbit symbolizes is.”
“Yeah?” he sneered. "Then just tell me who or what.”
“I can’t. I don’t know.” She focused on him, anguish painting her features. “I’ve tried to figure it out, really I have. I don’t know about that rabbit just that it’s going to kill you.”
“Well, Miss Blake.” Ian took her by the arm and ushered her toward the door. “I think we’ve both wasted enough time. Thank you for your warning.”
He opened the door and dragged her through to the reception area. MaryLou stared at them as Ian escorted Cassie out of his office, his fingers like a steel vise on her arm.
“I’m sorry we can’t do business, Miss Blake. You’d best take your message elsewhere.”
* * * *
Disappointed and ashamed, Cassie nodded and moved toward the outer door. As she turned to say good-bye to MaryLou, she saw Ian reach for the white foam cup of coffee on the edge of the desk. The image of the figure in the cornfield clutching a white cup in one outstretched hand rose in her mind. As the image replayed, the brown liquid spilled from the cup and turned bright red.
“NO,” Cassie shouted.
She lurched toward Ian McLeod and grabbed for the hand holding the cup. The force of her attack knocked him backwards. The cup fell from his hand. Dark liquid arced downward. Coffee splashed all over the gray carpet and narrowly missed his suit.
“What the hell?” He looked at the brown liquid soaking into the carpet and then at her. “Are you crazy?”
Cassie stared down at the mess, aghast. “I’m sorry. It ... it was poisoned.”
“Miss Blake I’ve had enough of your nutty behavior. I want you out, now.” He grabbed her arm and literally shoved her out the door to the hallway. “And don’t come back.” He pulled the door shut with a snap, leaving Cassie staring back at the blank surface of the closed door.
* * * *
Brad, hiding behind the interior door that led to the rest of the office suite, made sure no one saw him. The other staff had appointments at client offices or were on errands so he didn’t have much worry about anyone seeing him. He heard the last of the new pot of coffee gurgle through the coffee maker as he eased the door open a crack. He had started the fresh pot as soon as he had seen MaryLou take Ian’s coffee to her desk. He wanted to leave no traces for anyone, especially the police.
He placed his eye to the crack just in time to see the strange woman shove the cup of coffee from McLeod’s hand. Damn! Who the hell was she and why did she have to interfere?
He didn’t recognize her. How did she know about the coffee? No one knew.
Then he remembered that crumpled ball of paper from Ian’s office. Could she be the one who had sent McLeod that dumb note?
The poisoned coffee had offered the ideal method to get rid of McLeod. MaryLou only drank tea, and, with the others gone, it would only affect McLeod. Just the same, he had already dumped the old pot and brewed a fresh one.
The fast-acting poison caused effects that resembled a heart attack, and, with nothing to indicate other than a natural death, no one would suspect murder, even in a man as young as McLeod. After all, with the long hours he kept, the paramedics would assume stress had just gotten to him.
Now this stupid bitch had spoiled his plans. He’d have to do something about her. He pulled the door closed, careful to make sure the latch didn’t click and hurried out the back way.
* * * * *
Cassie stood for a moment outside Ian McLeod Enterprises trying to slow the too-rapid beat of her heart. The dream memory had overwhelmed her, and instinct had taken over. She acted without thinking and pushed the cup away from McLeod. No wonder he thought she was crazy. No way could she take the chance it had been poisoned. Now, there was no way to tell. She had been responsible. She had acted even if he didn’t believe her.
Straightening her shoulders, Cassie walked to the corner to cross at the light. She waited for the Walk signal to flash and started to cross.
“Lady, look out,” a man’s voice yelled, almost drowned out by the roar of a motorcycle.
A black-helmeted motorcyclist bore down on her. Cassie jumped back on the curb just as the cyclist sped past. All she could see was black leather as he crouched low over his handlebars. He disappeared around the next corner leaving only the fading growl of his cycle and the lingering fumes of his exhaust.
“You okay, lady?” A stocky man in gray coveralls stood next to her.
“What?” Cassie looked up at him, still dazed from her near miss. “Oh, yes, I’m fine.”
His expression seemed to doubt her words.
“Really, I’m fine.” She gave a shaky laugh. “Guess he didn’t see the light change.”
The man snorted. “These kids don’t care. They make a game of scaring pedestrians. Someday they’ll hit one, and then they’ll be charged with murder.”
“Yeah, well thanks for yelling out. Bye.” Cassie hurried off, anxious to leave McLeod and the motorcyclist behind.
* * * *
Ian poured himself another cup of coffee from the full pot in the workroom and tried to relax. Cassie Blake riled him. He squirmed to think he had misjudged her just as he had misjudged James Harrison. Beware the meek — underestimate them and they take you for all you’ve got. He clenched his hands, angry, frustrated, and determined not to be taken in again.
As Ian returned to the reception area, MaryLou dumped the wet paper towels she had used to mop up the spilled coffee in the wastebasket. “She looked like such a nice person—what set her off?”
“Damned if I know. She carried on about dreams and someone trying to kill me. Something about a rabbit, and you saw how she reacted to the coffee. A screw loose somewhere.” Ian shook his head.
“She looked so...” MaryLou sat back down at her desk as she looked to Ian for help. “Well, so innocent.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean. Sort of naive.”
MaryLou nodded. “Maybe she’s a repressed old maid, although she’s not that old. She must have fallen in love with your picture in the paper. It was a nice picture. That photographer got your best side.”
“Thanks.” Ian grinned as he straightened his tie. “Which side is that? Seriously, though, I’m glad you said that bit about her and not me. You’d have accused me of male chauvinism for calling her repressed or even worse an old maid. What do they call them now anyway?”
“Hungry, uptight broads I guess. I’m not up on the rap slang.” She shook her head, her face solemn. “You see it in movies and hear about it in the news, but you never expect to know someone like that yourself — people who enjoy fantasizing about celebrities.”
“Oh, so winning an award makes me a celebrity?” He grinned at her.
“You know what I mean. Movie stars are too remote. You live in the same town.”
“Well....” Ian appraised her. “It’s your job to protect me from people like that.”
“If you can tell me how to recognize one, I will — otherwise you’re on your own.”
The telephone rang, and MaryLou answered it. “McLeod Enterprises, Miss Sanders speaking, how may I direct your call?”
Ian slipped back into his office. His first impression of Cassie Blake had been of a nice girl who hid her assets. Now, he thought of her as a weirdo, one he didn’t want to see again.
He turned to the mail MaryLou had left in the In Tray. He quickly scrawled his signature on several letters and initialed the invoices for payment. He glanced through the correspondence file. MaryLou had tagged a letter from Bob Rantry of the Chamber of Commerce. Shall I send the usual refusal? Ian stopped and read the letter.
Bob wanted a few volunteers to serve Easter dinner to the homeless. He started to scribble okay and then changed his mind and set the letter aside. He would probably let MaryLou send the refusal, but at least he would consider it overnight. He had never been able to free up time for volunteer work in the past, and he wasn’t sure he should start now.
He gazed over at the tapestry on the far wall. He didn’t go in much for art work, but something about it had struck a chord. He loved the blues and the wild surge of the water over the brown rocks.
His grandmother had always loved the sea and talked of it for hours on end. Ian had loved her tales of St. Brendan daring the great Atlantic in a hide-covered boat. Odd boats? Kon Tiki. Thor Hyerdahl. Hyerdahl had started out to prove a point, but had become increasing strange with his papyrus boat and the Egyptians as the progenitors of the Mayan pyramids. Some people never knew when to stop. Like Cassie Blake. Rabbits yet.
He had more important things to do than worry about killer rabbits. How ridiculous could anyone get? He hit the resume key on his computer and turned back to the spreadsheet he had been working on earlier. He did a few calculations, but his attention wandered.
A pair of frightened blue eyes kept intruding.
Chapter Ten
Cassie fumed as she walked from the side street where she had parked her car to Tula’s Tea Room. It wasn’t enough that Ian McLeod had dismissed her as a crazy woman and forcibly escorted her from his office. On top of that, that punk on the motorcycle had almost creamed her. Her stomach growled, reminding her she hadn’t eaten lunch yet. Not a good day.
She wanted someone to cheer her up, to tell her she wasn’t crazy. That meant Tula. No one else understood.