Dream a Little Scream (8 page)

“What did it look like?” Ali said, sitting up straighter.

“Olivia said it's small, tan leather, about the size of a paperback book.” I gestured with my hands, as Olivia had done.

“But we
do
have her planner,” Ali said. “It got swept under the counter, and I rescued it.” When my jaw dropped, she added, “I left it down in the shop in the Lost and Found cabinet.”

I smacked my forehead in frustration. “I didn't even think to look in there.”

“I forgot to tell you about it,” Ali said apologetically. “There's not much in the cabinet,” Ali said. “A couple of binkies, a decoder ring, and some grocery coupons.” She laughed. “Plus a dog-eared copy of
Fifty Shades of Grey
. No one has come back to claim it; maybe they're too embarrassed.”

I was already on my feet, running down the stairs with Barney and Scout at my heels. For some reason, whenever I run, they feel compelled to gallop after me. Maybe it's a herd instinct, going back to the days when their ancestors hunted wildebeest on the savannah. Or maybe they remember that Ali keeps a big glass jar of cat treats for them down in the shop.

“Is it in there?” Ali said, peering over my shoulder. She'd come dashing down the stairs after me while I searched the cabinet. “It has to be! Unless someone swiped it, of course, and why would they?”

“You can relax; it's here,” I said, pulling out the tan
leather planner. I sat at the counter and as I flipped it open, a thin sheet of paper slipped out I quickly scanned the first few lines, written in a girlish, loopy handwriting in violet ink. “Here's a note Olivia wrote. No wonder she wanted to find the planner.”

“Really?” Ali plunked herself on the stool next to me. “What kind of note?”

“A very personal note. It's a love letter”—Ali's eyes widened—“and it's addressed to Jeremy Watts.” I folded the note, tucked it back in the planner, and carefully placed it in the small safe we keep in the storeroom.

“So Jeremy was having affairs with two women at once? Sonia and Olivia?” Ali asked when I'd returned to the counter. When I nodded, she gave a little sigh, her mouth turned down at the edges. “The plot thickens, doesn't it. What's going to happen next?”

“I'm turning the note over to the police,” I told her. “It could be evidence.”

“And motive,” she added. Ali looked unhappy at this new development, her eyes clouding, her expression downcast. If Jeremy was having an affair with Olivia, Olivia might want to get Sonia out of the picture. I decided it was time to call in the Dream Club.

9

Noah called me the following evening, just minutes before the Dream Club was to meet above the shop. My thoughts were swirling around the note I'd found in Olivia's planner. I'd sealed it in a manila envelope and dropped it off with the desk sergeant at the Savannah-Chatham Metro PD earlier in the day. It was evidence, but I didn't know if it was significant to the case.

We expected a full turnout, and Ali and I had readied the upstairs living room for the group. Ali was serving homemade cider—a new recipe—instead of the usual sweet tea, and I'd been experimenting with a recipe for “haystacks” with mixed results. The finished product didn't look quite as attractive as the one in the picture, and I wasn't sure I'd judged the amount of chocolate correctly. And I'd used high-fiber breakfast cereal instead of Chinese noodles. Sometimes you can fiddle with a recipe so much it bears no resemblance
to the original dish. I've learned the hard way that some dishes are classics and it's better not to tamper with them.

“The autopsy results are in,” Noah said. His voice was low and thrumming with energy. “They're just the preliminary studies, but I thought you'd like to be the first to know.”

I had Noah on speakerphone so I could continue to pry the frozen haystacks off the wax paper–covered tray as we talked. I felt a little frisson of excitement. “Any surprises, or is it what we thought?”

“Sesame seeds were found in Sonia's stomach contents. If she had a severe nut allergy, the sesame seeds would be enough to do her in. The ME said there's no sign of any other trauma, so we have to assume she died of anaphylactic shock. She didn't have a heart attack, a stroke, or a seizure. She ate sesame seeds and her throat became so swollen, her airway collapsed. Without the EpiPen, she didn't have a chance.” I winced, remembering the paramedics saying they'd found it impossible to intubate her. It seemed shocking that she could die so quickly, but I knew allergies—whether peanuts or sesame seeds—could be deadly.

“So it's just what we expected,” Noah went on, “but it still doesn't get us any closer to solving the murder.”

“Have they definitely classed it as a murder?” I was grateful that Noah had a close friend with the Savannah PD and could get inside information for us.

“There's still some debate about that,” he admitted, “but the PD wants to treat it as a homicide and launch a full investigation. But the ME thinks Sonia could have accidentally ingested the sesame seeds, so he's not ready to call it a homicide, at least not just yet. Of course, that could change as new information becomes available. We'd have to find some evidence that someone deliberately planted the sesame seeds
in one of the desserts.” I pondered this for a moment. I was sure that none of the recipes called for sesame seeds.

“What do you think really happened?” I trusted Noah's instincts.

“I think it looks suspicious,” he said without hesitation. “But it doesn't matter what I think; we need evidence.” He waited a beat and then said, “How's business at the shop? Any repercussions?”

“Things aren't so good,” I said glumly. “Nothing like a little murder scare to drive away customers. I think everyone believes Sonia died from food poisoning and not an allergic reaction.” I wanted to tell him about Olivia's surprise visit, her quarrel with Etta Mae, and the love note we'd found, but decided to save it for another time. I could hear voices and footsteps on the stairs as the Dream Club members made their way up to our apartment. I blew out a little sigh.

“You sound discouraged,” Noah said.

“I think things are at a stalemate. I have no idea what to do next.”

Unless we could prove that someone deliberately introduced sesame seeds into one of the dishes at the book signing, the investigation would be over. Sonia's death would be chalked up to natural causes, and no charges would ever be filed. Ali and I were just managing to turn the business around with a positive cash flow, and I felt like someone had thrown a monkey wrench into the works. Would we ever be able to clear the shop's name, or would a cloud of suspicion hang over us forever?

Noah laughed. “Don't give up just yet. This is usually the time something big breaks and turns the investigation in a new direction. I've seen it happen before.”

“Hope you're right,” I told him. I quickly wound up the
conversation with Noah just as the first guests made their way into the living room.

Etta Mae, predictably, was still smarting from her encounter with Olivia. “I told Rose and Minerva about that dreadful woman,” she said, throwing herself onto the sofa. “She was positively rude to me!”

“I'm sure she's still upset over Sonia's death,” I said soothingly. “After all, the two of them worked together for years and years. It must have been a terrible shock to see her collapse like that. And don't forget she was with her at the hospital when she died. That was probably traumatic for her.”

“Not to speak ill of the dead, but I hope Olivia realized there were two sides to Sonia.” Etta Mae's voice was bitter as she glanced around the circle. “Maybe she was upset, as you say, but I think it was just the shock of the moment. I doubt there was any love lost between those two. Olivia was probably angling for Sonia's job. Sonia bossed her around like she was a lowly assistant, not an important executive of the company. I saw it myself.” She nodded her head. “I Googled Olivia, and all the business magazines say the same thing. The word on the street is that Olivia was the brains and the energy behind the organization. Without her ideas and her hustle, Sonia Scott, Inc., would have stayed a little local company, with Sonia doing cooking displays in department stores and catering barbecue dinners at the local firehouse.”

I remembered that Sonia had come from humble beginnings and had created her empire with very little capital, relying mainly on sweat equity. In the early days, she'd delivered homemade pies and cakes to her neighbors, catered potluck suppers for church groups, and never turned down a job. She had earned every bit of her success, but could there be someone out there jealous enough to snatch it away?

I made a mental note to check out what Etta Mae was saying about Sonia and her treatment of Olivia. It would certainly take suspicion off Etta Mae if she could point a finger at her disgruntled employee. After all, Olivia had means, motive, and opportunity to knock off her boss. Etta Mae was right about a Sonia-Olivia rivalry; at one point, Olivia had actually sued her employer. Both the
Wall Street Journal
and
Forbes
had covered the lawsuit, and Noah discovered it was settled out of court. Sonia and Olivia had refused to discuss it in the media and both women claimed it had been settled amicably. But did bad feelings remain?

“If that's true, maybe that's why Olivia came off as so abrasive,” Sybil Powers said mildly. “She probably wasn't happy in her job and felt undervalued. I suppose it's only normal to lash out when you're stuck in a situation like that.” Sybil, dressed in a vibrant red-and-yellow cotton dress, was sitting with Persia Walker on the love seat, Dorien was sitting alone on a kitchen chair, and Lucinda Macavy had pulled up a wicker rocker. I could hear Sara Rutledge deep in conversation with Edward Giles as they walked up the stairs.

Almost a full house tonight. I quickly pulled over two of the ladder-back kitchen chairs and started pouring cider for everyone. Sam Stiles, our resident detective and club member, had called to say she was on duty and wouldn't be able to make it, but everyone else had confirmed.

“I don't even know where to start tonight,” Ali said, once the group had settled down and helped themselves to cider and pastries. She'd made some delicious apple cider donuts, which were an immediate hit. Several people asked for the recipe and she promised to e-mail it to them. “We need to include these on the dessert board downstairs,” she said to me
in a low voice. I nodded as I bit into a cider donut. It was delicious, both tart and sweet at the same time. The donuts were so good, they were practically addictive.

“I hope everyone has tried to process what happened to Sonia,” Dorien said in her abrupt way. I knew when Dorien said “process,” she was referring to dream work. People involved in dream work believe you can come to a deeper understanding of an event, especially a trauma, if you allow your subconscious mind to explore the event in a dream. Dreaming is a safe way to open a window to our innermost thoughts and feelings.

It seemed that outspoken Dorien was hijacking the meeting once again. I bristled a little. Ali is too kind to speak up for herself and always worries she'll offend someone. I don't think she realizes Dorien has a hide like a rhino.

“What a shock.” Dorien blew out a little sigh. “I was almost afraid to let my head hit the pillow last night.” She locked eyes with the two newcomers, Etta Mae and Edward Giles. “I never know where my dreams will take me,” she said self-importantly. Dorien is a self-proclaimed psychic and often makes predictions about the future. Sometimes her predictions are so oblique it's hard to know if she's really on target, but no one ever dares question her. Dorien can be prickly and is known for her sharp tongue.

“I feel the same way,” Sybil cut in. “I'm a little apprehensive myself. I don't really relish the idea of hopping into the head of a murderer.” She gave a little shudder.

“I think we need to approach this in an organized way,” Persia said, reaching for a lemon tart. Ali had tried a new recipe, and I was eager to see the group's reaction. Almost everyone in the group prefers the old classic “Southern” recipes, and I've learned that we shouldn't go too far afield.
No one was sampling my version of the classic haystack recipe, and I decided I must have missed the mark this time.

“What would you suggest?” Ali said politely. She tossed me a tiny eye roll and she probably realized she'd already lost control of the evening's agenda. Luckily, I knew she'd be a good sport about it and play along with whatever the group wanted.

“Well, I think we should go around the room and try to get a handle on any unusual imagery that popped up in last night's dreams. Why don't we start with the two new members, Etta Mae and Edward?” Persia leaned forward, her bangle bracelets clacking together.

Ali nodded and sat down. “That's a great idea. Go ahead, Etta Mae. You can be the first one up tonight.”

Etta Mae flushed and seemed to lose her composure for a moment. “Well, I don't want to go first,” she said weakly, casting me a pleading look. “Couldn't someone else take the lead?”

“Why in the world don't you want to start?” Dorien asked, a sharp edge in her voice. “You have some pretty strong opinions on Sonia, and I bet you've come up with a theory of what happened.”

“You'd be wrong if you thought that,” Etta Mae shot back. “Dead wrong.” She was showing a touch of her usual fire. “I have ideas, all right, but did it ever occur to you that maybe I'd like to keep them to myself? Don't you ever play poker? If you did, you'd know it's not a good idea to show your hand right off the bat.” She sat back and took a big swig of apple cider. “I'd like to just listen tonight and put in my two cents at the end, if there's time. If that's okay,” she added, turning to Ali. I nearly laughed out loud. Dorien had finally met her match in the feisty Etta Mae.

Ali tried to smooth things over, like a good hostess. “Of
course that's all right, Etta Mae. Please don't feel you have to share anything you don't want to. That's not what this group is about. We try to keep it loose and friendly here.”

“A little
too
loose and friendly, if you ask me,” Dorien muttered under her breath. I glared at her, but she refused to meet my eyes. Dorien is definitely a passive-aggressive type, throwing in little digs whenever and wherever she can. Usually I just ignore them, but I was feeling edgy tonight and I found it hard not to show my annoyance.