Dream a Little Scream (25 page)

28

“Of course I remember Sonia Scott and her visit to Java Joe's. What a charming lady she was.” Erica Morrison, the manager at Java Joe's, glanced at her watch before ringing up a sale. Ali and I were sitting at the counter with steaming lattes in front of us.

“Can you talk for a minute?” Ali asked. “We don't want to interrupt you. I know what it's like trying to take care of customers while someone's chattering away at you. My sister and I own Oldies But Goodies, the candy shop right off the square.” She pulled out a business card that Dana had designed and handed it to Erica.

“Oldies But Goodies. I've been meaning to stop by. I've heard great things about you.” Erica slipped the card into her apron pocket. “This is actually a good time for me to talk; I can take a quick break,” she said. “I just hired a new assistant, and from the looks of things, she's going to be wonderful.
This will change my life,” she added. She motioned to a young girl wearing a black Java Joe's apron to take over the cash register for her and then walked around the counter to sit with us.

“Thank you so much. We won't take up too much of your time,” Ali promised.

“I'm happy to talk about Sonia. What a surprise it was when she walked in that day! And so sad what happened afterward.” She paused. “What would you like to know about Sonia's visit? Was there something in particular? She was only here for a few minutes. Probably ten or fifteen minutes, all in all.”

“We'd love to hear your impressions of her,” I said quickly. “What you remember about the visit, anything at all. One of our friends is a journalist and she's thinking of doing a piece on Sonia's visit to Savannah. Maybe there are some anecdotes you could share.”

“Well, her visit was a complete surprise. We knew she was staying at the hotel right next door because the bellman had told us that morning. He stops in at seven thirty every morning like clockwork. He said everyone at the hotel was excited to have Sonia staying with them.”

“Do you have any idea why she stopped in here that morning?” Ali asked. “Hadn't they already checked out of the hotel?”

“Oh yes, they'd checked out, all right. I know that because we were watching the valet parking attendant pile their luggage into the back of the limo. We were all standing at the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of Sonia.”

“What happened next?” Ali asked.

Erica laughed. “Well, she spotted us and came right over to the front window and yelled, ‘Hi, y'all!' Some of the
baristas were waving for her to come inside and she did. That caused quite a stir, I can tell you. All the customers were applauding.”

“I suppose everyone wanted to meet her and say hello,” Ali offered.

“Oh, they did. And they wanted to take pictures, too. She was so charming and gracious to everyone. We knew she was in a mad rush to get to the book signing, but she still took some time to pose for a few photos. I have one, myself, if you'd like to see it.”

She went back behind the counter and opened a drawer. “I haven't had time to get it framed yet, but it's going to have a place of honor, right up on the wall near the cash register. And I'll have it enlarged, of course.” She pulled out a small photo of Sonia with her arm around her. They were standing in front of the coffee machine flanked by Olivia and a couple of smiling baristas. “I'm having copies made for everyone. This is probably the closest they've ever been to a real celebrity; it will mean a lot to them.”

“I'm sure it will,” I said, passing the photo to Ali. “Everyone looks so happy,” I commented. It was sad and ironic to think that Sonia would meet her death just a couple of hours later.

“A lovely picture,” Ali murmured, and then she gave a little gasp. “Taylor,” she said breathlessly, “look at that man in the background. Isn't it—”

“Jeremy Watts,” I blurted out. “Yes, that's definitely him.” He was in profile, staring out the coffee-shop window toward the limo parked outside. He must have been unaware he was caught in the photo; he looked moody and tense, not involved with the happy crowd gathered around Sonia.

“Is something wrong?” Erica asked as I slid the photo across the counter to her. “That man you're looking at”—she
tapped her fingernail on the photo—“I think he was part of the group, because they all came in together. He must have worked for Sonia.”

“Yes, he did. He was one of her employees. Nothing's wrong,” I reassured her. “We were just surprised to see him here, that's all.” I exchanged a glance with Ali. Jeremy had told us at the hotel that he'd returned home that night and wasn't able to attend the book signing the next morning. Yet here he was, still in town, just minutes before the book signing. So he had spent the night in town? What was going on? A simple change in plans or something more sinister?

In any case, I figured we'd learned as much as we could at Java Joe's, and after thanking Erica for her time, we stepped outside into the bright Savannah sunshine.

My cell was chirping and I glanced at the readout. Noah! As I mouthed his name to Ali, she scrambled for her own phone, which was playing “Material Girl.” Both of us ran under an awning to escape the heat, with our phones clasped to our ears.

“It's Sara,” Ali said, just as I answered my cell.

“You must be a mind reader,” I said to Noah, “because I was just going to call you.”

Noah's warm, sexy chuckle raced over the line. “Really? I'm glad to hear it. I was going to suggest lunch at Caroline's if you can slip away. I want to give you some updates on the case.” I heard phones ringing in the background and the whir of a fax machine. It seemed like business had picked up at the detective agency, and I wondered if Noah had finally settled on an assistant. “Lunch sounds perfect,” I began as Ali tapped my arm.

“Sara wants to meet us at Sweet Caroline's,” Ali said. “Is noon okay?”

“Wow,” I murmured, “we all got the same idea at the
same time. Tell her yes. Noah will be there, too.” I turned back to my cell. “Synchronicity,” I told Noah.

“Is that a code word for something?”

“No,” I laughed. “It just means there will be four of us at Sweet Caroline's, that's all. Sara's going to join us.”

“I
told
you he'd call,” Ali said archly as we continued our walk. The sun was high in the sky, the air soft and balmy as we headed for a stroll by the Riverfront.

“Yes, you did,” I told her. “But it's all business. He said he wants to give me an update on the case.”

“It can't
all
be business,” Ali said, determined to have the last word. “He could have gone over the details by phone, if that's all he wanted.” My sister, the eternal optimist.

•   •   •

Business was brisk
at Sweet Caroline's, but the hostess had saved us my favorite booth in the back. Sara and Noah were deep in conversation when Ali and I arrived. Remy, Sara's adorable dog, was lying quietly under the table. Caroline LaCroix, the owner, says that well-behaved dogs are usually welcome in cafés in her native France, and she decided to continue this tradition in Savannah.

As always, Sara had her notebook spread out on the table with an assortment of pens and highlighters. She has her own system of organizing her notes; quotes are highlighted in yellow, unless they're off the record, and then she colors them bright red.

“Noah's bringing me up to speed,” Sara said as we slipped into the booth. I saw that Noah had already ordered white wine all around. Ali looked at the label and grinned at me. I knew what she was thinking. She was impressed that Noah had remembered my favorite wine and had decided that our relationship was in its “on-again” phase. I didn't have the
heart to tell her the choice of wine wasn't as significant as she thought. It happens to be Noah's favorite as well.

The server appeared and everything on the menu looked tempting to me. The panini special sounded delicious, and we all decided to try it. Creamy goat cheese with roasted red peppers. Noah was already sampling Caroline's famous handmade potato chips while we waited for lunch to arrive. Caroline served them in a little basket lined with a red-and-white checkered napkin, and they were a huge favorite.

I idly thought of serving them at the shop and didn't know if Caroline could bear to part with the recipe. I know they're made out of russet potatoes, sliced paper-thin, because the server told me. And they're sprinkled with olive oil and baked in a very hot oven. But Caroline adds some sort of herb that gives them an extra kick. Maybe rosemary? I wasn't sure.

“So where do things stand with the case?” I asked as soon as we'd ordered.

“Have you talked to Sam Stiles?” Noah asked. He was eyeing the potato chips as if he was tempted to reach for a handful and was trying to restrain himself. Caroline's potato chips are seriously addictive, and I knew we'd have to order another basket at some point. The first basket is always on the house, and after that, they are considered a menu item and Caroline charges for them.

I shook my head. “I haven't had a chance to talk to her. What's up?”

“The police found the Java Joe's coffee cup.” He sat back with a smug smile.

“You're kidding!” Ali blurted out. “Taylor, did you hear that?”

“Yes,” I said, “I'm still trying to get my mind around it.”

“I can't believe you found out before we did,” Sara told him.

“I have my sources,” Noah said, smiling as the server poured the wine.

“But where was it? That day when Sam and the CSIs came over, they went through the whole shop with a fine-tooth comb.”

“They did find it, but somehow it got misplaced at the station house and never got logged into evidence.” Noah gave in to the urge and helped himself to a handful of potato chips. “But they have it now, and they can still run tests on it.”

“So that means the chain of evidence was broken,” I said. Noah nodded and I went on, “And that means it might not stand up in court. Tell me about the paper cup. Did they analyze it? Was there any evidence of sesame seeds in the cup?”

“It's possible but they're keeping this quiet for the moment,” he said, lowering his voice. “Don't go public with this, not even to the Dream Club.”

“I won't breathe a word,” Ali said solemnly. “So this is a dead end?”

“Maybe not,” I said, sitting up straight. “Ali, remember when Olivia turned up at the shop, looking for her day planner?”

“Yes, she seemed really upset that she didn't find it.”

“What if”—I leaned in across the table and lowered my voice—“what if she was really looking for the coffee cup? The day planner was just an excuse, something she made up on the spot.”

“It's certainly possible,” Noah offered.

For a moment no one spoke, and then Sara said, “But I don't still understand why she left the coffee cup in the shop. She could have shoved it in her bag and just taken it with her. “Maybe it wasn't possible,” I said, trying to re-create the scene in my mind. “Or maybe she forgot all about it in the heat of the moment. Everything was so chaotic, she
might have dropped it somewhere under the table where Sonia did the book signing. And then Sonia collapsed, and in all the commotion, she couldn't retrieve it.” Another thought bugged me.
If the chain of evidence was broken, how important was the coffee cup, anyway? Maybe we're going down a blind alley.
I really needed to talk to Sam Stiles myself and see what her take was on the coffee cup. Was it significant to the case or not?

“That's certainly a possible scenario,” Ali said. “If she really did slip something into Sonia's coffee, she knew she had to get that cup back right away. There was no way she could let the police find it. Her only hope was that the police missed it in their initial search. So that meant she had to come back to the shop with a phony excuse.”