Murder In Her Dreams

by Nell DuVall

  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.

  At ten past one, Mrs. Wentz insisted the serving crew and Ian take a fifteen minute break. She commandeered part of the kitchen crew to fill the breach.

  The five-person crew sat on folding chairs around the large kitchen table and sipped mugs of coffee, tea, or plain water. Ian drank his coffee with plenty of milk and sugar. He watched, amused as Cassie watered her tea down and added a slice of lemon.

  “Ohh, that tastes good.” She wiggled her feet up then down. “I hadn’t realized how tired my feet were.”

  An old black man in army fatigues laughed. “The Cong used standing as a form of torture.”

  “Yeah, I guess that’s why I hate cocktail parties.” Cassie
gave him a small smile and warmed her hands on her cup.

  Ian studied her over the rim of his mug. Her face had a rosy glow, and a smudge of flour graced one cheek. She looked normal. He wanted to understand what had made her act the way she had in his office. Sharon had warned him to leave well enough alone, but it bothered him. He didn’t know how to start or what questions to ask. Small talk had never been his strong suit.

  Cassie gave him a shy smile, and he realized he had been staring. He worried that might set her off again. He had to say something, something not threatening or too challenging.

  “You seem to know a lot of the people.”

  She laughed. “I should, I’ve been doing this for ... let me see ... five years.”

  “That’s a lot of dinners. Don’t you have any family?”

  “Yes, but not in Columbus. My mother’s in Austin, and my brother’s in Orlando. The library’s closed on Easter so this is just a small way to make a little difference.” She sipped her tea, and closed her eyes a moment.

  Maybe that was it. No relatives nearby. What had MaryLou called her? A repressed old maid. Somehow, the old part didn’t fit. She didn’t look more than twenty-five. In fact, with the ponytail, she looked more like seventeen. Maybe she was one of those manic depressives, normal some of the time and out of control part of the time. Today must be one of the good days.

  “Most of the crew works every year. Right, Homer?”

  The black man grinned. “Right, Cassie. If you folks will give me your mugs, I’ll wash ‘em up.”

  Cassie drained the last of her tea and Ian did the same with his coffee. Homer gathered the five mugs and took them to the sink.

  Rising, Cassie stretched. Her jeans revealed a nice rounded figure, and her full breasts filled the T-shirt. Before, because of the baggy sweater, he had not been able to tell much about her figure at his office.

  “Oh,” she looked crestfallen, “I forgot about the Easter baskets.”

  “Easter baskets?” Ian stared after her, wondering what she meant.

  She walked to the corner and opened up one of the cartons he and Will had carried in earlier. She began to set the colorful cellophane-wrapped baskets on the floor next to the box.

  Curious, he joined her, towering above her kneeling form. “Can I help?”

  She looked up at him a moment, hesitating, then nodded. “I guess you can help carry these.”

  The cellophane crinkled as he filled his arms with the baskets and followed Cassie through the kitchen door. He watched as she scanned the room and walked toward the closest family group.

  “Mrs. Miller, I hope you’ll let the children have these Easter baskets.”

  Mrs. Miller, a red-faced woman with rough skin, looked up at Cassie. For a moment, she just stared and then bright tears filled her eyes. “Oh, Miss Blake, you shouldn’t.” She stood up and hugged Cassie, baskets and all.

  Cassie laughed. “It’s the least I can do.” She gave baskets to the small boy and girl with Mrs. Miller.

  The little girl looked down as if afraid to take hers. Cassie lifted one small hand and placed it on the basket and then the other. “It’s for you, Missy. The Easter Bunny came and left these in the kitchen for you and Joey.”

  The little boy bobbed up and down as he took his. He backed toward his mother and hugged the basket close to him.

  Mrs. Martin gave each child a little push. “Thank Miss Blake.”

  “Thank you, Miss Blake,” they mumbled in unison.

  “You’re welcome.” Cassie gave them each a dazzling smile before she turned to the next family.

  Ian followed behind with his armful of baskets. She worked her way through the hall until every child had an Easter basket and she had emptied Ian’s arms.

  As they walked back to the kitchen, Cassie sighed. “Too bad it’s not a new house or new Easter clothes. Holidays mean so much to kids, and it’s especially hard to feel the Easter Bunny or Santa or whatever has forgotten you because you don’t have a home anymore.”

  Ian nodded. “Perhaps, but such generosity must cost a lot, even wholesale.”

  Cassie stared at him, her face hard. “Money hasn’t anything to do with it. Anyway, I asked the local merchants to donate the baskets. If I had to, I’d buy them all. I can’t bear to see a child disappointed.”

  “Lucky for them.”

  This Cassie Blake had little in common with the fruitcake who had knocked his coffee all over the office carpet. If anything, she might be a little too nice. Maybe she wanted to impress him. Sharon had hinted Cassie might have designs on him. Still, he hadn’t seen any sign of such behavior today. Except for the request to carry the children’s trays, she had ignored him, only speaking when he asked her a question.

  By the time they finished with the baskets, Mrs. Wentz signaled for them to return to their serving duties. Ian grabbed a heavy pot of potatoes and headed for the serving line. As he filled the steam tray, Cassie slid into her position in the center of the line.

  On his next trip to the kitchen, Ian found a moment to chat with Mrs. Wentz. “Miss Blake said these volunteers work every year.”

  Mrs. Wentz sighed. “Don’t I wish.” She gave Ian an appraising look. “We’re always looking for helpers. The people in Cassie’s crew come back every year, but most volunteers come once and don’t come back. Some of them find it too depressing.”

  “Not Cassie Blake.”

  “You’re right. She’s a real treasure, that girl. She came at eight and won’t leave until we’ve washed the last dish. I wish I had more like her.”

  Mrs. Wentz sounded like someone who would know lot about Cassie Blake. Ian decided it wouldn’t hurt to prod a little. “She knows everybody.”

  “She volunteers a lot and tutors some of the adults in reading. That’s her dream.”

  “Dream?” Ian felt his stomach lurch. Cassie Blake had dreams all right. If only Mrs. Wentz knew.

  “To get all of them enrolled in the tutoring program. Not very realistic I’m afraid.”

  “She’s not realistic?” Ah, now he was getting somewhere. This began to sound more like the Cassie Blake he had met.

  “About getting them all into the program, yes, but in other ways she’s so practical. Yes, idealistic is probably the best word. She has this single-mindedness. Once she gets started on a project, she’s determined to see it through.”

  He nodded — he had already experienced that. “Stubborn?”

  Mrs. Wentz frowned. “That’s not what I meant. Cassie cares about people, especially the children.”

  “The Easter baskets.”

  “Yes, her own idea. I saw you helping her. Might we count on you for next year?” Mrs. Wentz gave him a winsome smile. “Cassie and her crew could always use another pair of hands.”

  Ian swallowed, suddenly wondering where Mrs. Wentz was taking the conversation. “Uh, I’ll think about it, but I’m getting married soon, and I can’t really say what I’ll be doing next year.”

  “Oh.” Mrs. Wentz looked disappointed.

  “I’d better get these potatoes in there before someone starts yelling.” Ian hurried off before Mrs. Wentz could say anything more.

  Her comments about Cassie had been mixed. A dreamer, stubborn, idealistic. Yet Cassie Blake’s behavior today had been humane and caring. She had said nothing about the confrontation at his office. It puzzled him. Why had she picked on him? He wanted to ask her about that, but Sharon’s warning held him back. In any event, their paths weren’t likely to cross again

  * * * *

  By four o’clock, they had washed up all the dishes and cleaned the kitchen. To Cassie’s surprise, Ian McLeod was one of the last to leave. He had pitched in willingly and done every job Mrs. Wentz had assigned him and several extra tasks as well. She couldn’t help admiring his dedication. She wished they had met here and not in his office. She cursed the dreams that had brought them together too soon and that dratted rabbit, the source of all the trouble.

  Just like Rod, Ian
McLeod couldn’t accept her dreams. He hadn’t said anything today, but she had caught him looking at her several times with a puzzled look on his face. She remembered her own reaction to the rabbit, disbelief at first. However, once she had experienced its menace, she couldn’t dismiss it as a joke. She had wanted Ian McLeod to believe her, to understand the danger threatening his life. She had had no more dreams. Perhaps her visit had ended the threat of the rabbit. Maybe she didn’t have to solve the puzzle after all.

  She couldn’t deny she found Ian more attractive in person than he had been in her dreams. She had wanted to reach up and push that lock of auburn hair off his face. He reminded her of Jimmy Wilson, but older and oh so much more sexy.

  He had worked hard and had appeared pleased to help with the Easter Baskets, but his suspicion of her still surfaced. She had smiled at his disappointed look when she told him the source of the baskets. She wondered if they would meet again in a more normal setting, one not determined or colored by her nightmares. She preferred to see him in person, not in her dreams. She wanted to know the man who joked with the children and made them smile. She longed to become friends with such a man and maybe, just maybe, something more.

  * * * *

  Easter Monday, Brad roared off, relishing the power of his bike and the wind rushing past. He shot on to Highway 315 and merged into the traffic flow. Ahead he saw a gray Accord just like McLeod’s. Damn! It reminded him he had failed in his attempt to kill McLeod.

  He hit the gas and swerved suddenly to the left. A horn blared from the car in the left lane as Brad slipped past. He laughed. Let ‘em honk.

  He pulled alongside and then zoomed ahead of the Accord. The driver, an old woman with fluffy white hair, ignored him. He dashed in front of her and slowed. He heard the screech of brakes and a horn blast. He speeded up and then slowed again. The car behind him slowed and dropped back.

  Smiling, Brad cut to the right into the exit lane and just ahead of another car. The driver honked and waved his fist.

  Brad roared to the stop sign, hesitated a moment, and then roared off just ahead of an oncoming driver. A line of traffic blocked the ramp ahead so Brad took to the berm. He hated traffic.