Nightmares Can Be Murder (A Dream Club Mystery) (28 page)

“This has to be where the poison came from,” I said, “but we still don’t know who gave him the bottle.”

“That’s what he was drinking?” Ali gasped. “High Test was his favorite drink; it’s a disgusting wheatgrass mixture.”

“They didn’t find any bottles of it in the studio,” Sara said. “I checked with Noah.”

“That’s because he was always running out. He drank that stuff by the gallon. I used to tease him that he was addicted to it.” For a moment, her eyes welled with tears. Whatever their relationship had been, I knew that Ali still missed him.

“But if the police didn’t find any bottles lying around—” I began.

“He kept them in an extra fridge in a storeroom in the back. He had to special order them by the case from Atlanta, since none of the local stores carry it.” Ali gave a tremulous smile. “He was always trying to get his students to drink it; he said it boosted his energy. No one could stand it. It looked like pea soup, smelled really foul, and had a bitter taste.”

“You know, that’s interesting,” Sara said. “A strong flavor would mask the taste of the poison. It would make it less likely that Chico would even notice it.”

“That’s true.” Ali took a sip of coffee. “He used to chug the stuff down as fast as he could. I think it was the only way he could tolerate it.” She paused. “It’s sad to think he was killed by a health drink. Sort of ironic, really.”

“A
poisoned
health drink,” I reminded her. “And come to think of it, how would the killer even know about High Test unless he knew Chico pretty well?”

“He wouldn’t,” Ali said, her eyes wide. “So there was nothing random about this, was there?”

“Poison is never random,” Sara said. She and I exchanged a look. It seemed that Ali just couldn’t accept the idea that Chico’s murder was personal. Her feelings for him had gone deeper than any of us had realized.

“Are you keeping Noah in the loop?” Sara asked, breaking into my thoughts. “You don’t need an excuse to call him,” she said devilishly. I knew she hoped Noah and I would get back together. I think she missed the days when all three of us were friends in Atlanta, and I missed them, too.

I nodded. “I’m touching base with him later today.”

32

Noah invited me for a quick lunch, and we met at Forsythe Square. It was such a perfect day, we decided to forgo a restaurant meal and buy baguette sandwiches filled with creamy Brie to eat outside. He handed me a bottle of iced tea, and I examined the label carefully.

“Don’t worry, it’s not poisoned,” he said wryly, scooting a little closer to me on the wrought iron bench. The square was filled with tourists admiring the fountain and snapping pictures.

“I have to admit, I’m looking at bottled drinks more carefully these days.” I quickly filled him in on my conversation with Sara, and it is turned out he had a surprise of his own.

“I did some checking on the financials,” Noah began.

“Follow the money,” I said.

Noah grinned. “Always. I see that I’ve taught you well.” He pulled out a tiny notebook and flipped it open. “Ever hear of the Rossiter Foundation?” When I shook my head, he went on, “Neither have I. That’s why I was surprised to see Thomas Walton was making regular donations to it. It doesn’t appear on any list of legitimate charities, and it’s not registered as a business.”

“Did you track it down?”

Noah wolfed down a bite of his sandwich before replying. “Of course. The money was going straight into Chico’s account.”

“What!” I nearly knocked over my iced tea. “Are you sure?”

“The amounts and dates match exactly. But here’s the interesting part. There was an intermediary. Walton actually wrote the checks to someone else who runs a dummy foundation and she funneled the money straight into Chico’s account.”

“Who?” I was stunned. Noah had said
she
and my mind raced through the possibilities and came up empty.

“Amber Locke.” He looked at me searchingly. “Do you know her?”

“I met her at the fund-raising dinner that night at the Waltons.” I remembered the dedicated young staff member with the silky hair and wide smile who didn’t seem to be well liked by Jennifer Walton. She’d been so enthusiastic about her politically ambitious boss. She’d positively glowed when she talked about him. But how far would she go to support him? Was she dedicated enough to set up a phony charity to funnel money for him? Or had Walton somehow finagled things so it was done without her knowledge?

“Walton was paying off Chico through Amber Locke?”

“It sure looks that way. The Rossiter Foundation only has one officer. Amber.”

“It had to be blackmail,” I said, suddenly sure of myself. “All those rumors were true, and Jennifer really was having an affair with Chico. Walton was paying him off to protect his reputation. It’s going to be a close race, and the last thing he needs is a scandal.” I waited until a group of tourists moved by us. I was happy to see that the kiddies were holding helium balloons from the shop.

“This puts a whole new spin on things,” I said slowly. “Walton must not have any regard for Amber if he’s willing to involve her in something so shady.”

“I don’t think he has any regard for anyone,” Noah said. “The word around town is that the guy’s a complete narcissist. He uses people and discards them.”

Just like Chico
, I thought. “I think Walton has just moved up the ranks on the suspect list.”

“It’s certainly a motive,” Noah agreed. “No one wants to pay a blackmailer forever. And it looked like Chico was getting greedy. The amount of the payments had steadily increased over the past few months. Maybe Walton thought it would be a one-time thing, but Chico had other plans.”

“Probably because Chico needed the money to buy up the block of buildings on Ali’s street,” I offered. “He might have needed a large amount of cash to make a lump sum payment for the real estate deal. He was most likely gouging Walton, forcing him to cough up as much as he could.”

“Exactly. And the way the money was going, the next payments were going to be huge. They were increasing by twenty percent each time.”

“Wow,” I said softly. “So someone put a stop to them.” I raised my eyebrows. “But who? Was it Thomas Walton or Amber Locke?” Could sweet, sincere Amber be the killer, the mystery guest, or both?

“Women and poison,” Noah continued. “Poison really isn’t a popular murder weapon with men. If there was any way Amber could have had access to a bottle of High Test that night, I think she’s the most likely suspect.” He shrugged. “Unless there’s another woman suspect, someone we haven’t looked at yet.”

“Jennifer Walton,” I said. “But I can’t imagine her getting her hands dirty.” I thought of the edgy Savannah socialite with the pricey highlights and couldn’t picture her as a killer.

We were silent for a moment. “What if Chico’s death was just a lucky break for Walton, and it had nothing to do with the blackmail scheme?” I mused. “We still have several other suspects, you know.”

But no proof
, I added silently.

I knew there were a couple of leads I had to pursue right away. No matter how many times I went over the facts, the trail kept winding back to the Waltons.

“You’ve got that look in your eye,” Noah said. A knowing half smile flitted across his face.

“What look?” I said innocently.

“The look that tells me you’re going to do something reckless. Or dangerous. Or both.”

“Nope, nothing like that at all. Just a little bit of old-fashioned detective work. I need to follow up on something.”

“A hot lead?”

“Maybe.” I had a hot lead all right. Thomas Walton. Could I get him to confess to making the payments to Chico? I could certainly rattle his cage. I’d struck out with my visit to Jennifer, but I hadn’t tackled the senator yet.

“Look, Taylor, maybe this is the time to back off on the investigation,” Noah began. A worried frown crossed his face, and he laid his hand on mine. “The closer we get to the truth, the more likely it is that someone could get hurt. I think it’s time to turn this over to the police. You’ve already had one threat.” Noah had taken the phone call more seriously than I did. The more I thought about it, the more convinced I was that it was just a prank.

“Oh, c’mon,” I said, “that wasn’t really a threat. It could have been kids fooling around.”

“Or it could have been a murderer who sensed you were getting too close to the truth.”

“Too late—you can’t convince me to back off.” I smiled and stood up. “Hate to cut our lunch short, but I have an appointment.”

He rose, too, and gathered me for a brief hug. “Just promise me you’ll be careful.”

“Always.” I tried to keep my voice steady. Feeling Noah’s arms around me brought back a rush of feelings. Sometimes I let myself think that nothing had changed, and the old magic was still there.

I gently released myself, trying not to get caught up in Noah’s dark, sexy eyes. They were gorgeous, hypnotic, even though they were clouded with concern for me. “We’ll touch base tonight. Right after the Dream Club.”

“I didn’t realize you were meeting today.”

“I’m asking Ali to call an emergency meeting. We have some things to sort out. Don’t worry, I’ll keep you posted.”

*   *   *

“I’m not sure
he has an opening this afternoon, Ms. Blake. Would you like to schedule an appointment?”

“Oh, I was just in the neighborhood and I thought I’d stop by,” I said. I hoped she’d think I was a socialite with a lot of time and money on her hands. Actually, it wasn’t a total lie. I had been in the neighborhood; I’d just left Noah half an hour ago back at Forsythe Square. “I met the councilman at the fund-raising dinner his wife hosted, and I’d like to find out a little more about his campaign. Maybe I could volunteer or host an event for him.”

That definitely got her attention. “Well, let me see what I can do,” she said, flashing me a million-dollar smile. “I’m Denise, by the way.” She extended her hand. “Do you live here in Savannah, Ms. Blake?” She started flipping through her appointment book with long, polished fingernails.

“Oh, please call me Taylor, I’m sure we’re going to be seeing a lot of each other. Yes, I’m new in town. I just moved here from Chicago to be near my sister. She’s a local businesswoman and a great supporter of Councilman Walton.” I paused. “I’d really like to get involved in local politics, and I know Mr. Walton has done so much for the community.”

“He’ll be so happy to hear it. I can give you some literature about the key issues. As you can see, we have a lot of young people involved in the campaign, both staffers and campaign workers.”

I glanced at the glossy brochure she handed me. “Why, that’s Amber Locke,” I said, recognizing the pretty girl with the strawberry blond hair.

Denise smiled. “Yes, she’s one of our most enthusiastic staffers. Amber does a lot of outreach with the Hispanic community for us. And that’s her boyfriend standing next to her, Nick Hayden. They’re such a nice couple.”

“And good-looking,” I couldn’t resist adding. Politicians always made sure attractive people were featured on their campaign literature. It also occurred to me that the Harper sisters had heard raised voices coming from the dance studio the night of the murder. Chico had been arguing in Spanish with someone. Could it have been Amber?

“Have a chocolate mint,” Denise said. “My aunt made them.” She gestured to a small glass dish on her desk.

“Thanks, but I think—”

“Denise, did you ever get a hold of Morrison on the zoning commission?” Thomas Walton strode quickly out of his office, studying a sheaf of papers. His scowl turned into a smile when he saw me. “Well, well,” he said heartily, “I didn’t know we had a visitor.” He walked briskly toward me and pumped my hand. It was obvious he didn’t have a clue who I was.

“This is Taylor Blake,” Denise said, scurrying around the desk in three-inch sling-back heels. “She met you at the dinner party Jennifer hosted the other night.” She raised her eyebrows and gave him a meaningful look. I’m sure Denise was a human Rolodex, supplying the senator with capsule biographies of people he’d met.

“Oh yes, yes, of course,” he said, turning a full-wattage smile on me. “How could I ever forget a pretty lady like you?” He was as phony as a three-dollar bill; there was absolutely no sign of recognition in those steely gray eyes. He looked me over appraisingly. “So glad you stopped by, always happy to see a constituent. What can I do for you?” His piercing gaze locked on mine, and I felt a little chill go through me.

“Why nothing, Councilman,” I said coyly. “You’ve done so much for the district, and I’d like to help with your campaign. Georgia needs you in the United States Senate; you can help more people, on a broader scale.” I stared at him and I saw his eyes widen with interest. I wondered if I was laying it on a little too thick, but that’s practically an impossibility with politicians. Like actors and rock stars, they crave endless approval. Nothing is over the top.

“Denise, I think we need to make this young lady part of our team,” he said, slipping an arm around my shoulders. It was supposed to be a friendly gesture, but it came off as creepy and I tried not to flinch. “Why don’t you come into my office and we can get to know each other a little better? Can I offer you something to drink? Denise can get you a soft drink or some iced tea.”

“Oh, no thanks, I can only stay a couple of minutes.”

“Well then, let’s make the most of them,” he said with a wolfish smile. He was obviously flirting with me and I saw Denise frown. She was probably used to the senator’s “shenanigans,” as my granny used to call them, and she turned back to her computer. She was tapping on the keys as the senator ushered me into his private office and I wondered if she was doing a Google search on me. She probably was wondering how I’d snagged an invitation to an A-list event if I was new in town. Or she might have been checking my net worth, hoping to hit me up for a major donation to Walton’s campaign.

Once we were in the office, he ushered me to a visitor’s chair and sat on the edge of his desk, so our knees were almost touching. It looked odd and somehow artificial, as if he were posing for a
Vanity Fair
photo shoot. He smiled a big toothy grin at me, flashing an impressive set of veneers.

“So,” he said, his smile never wavering, “we both know why you’re really here.”

We do?
My stomach dropped to my toes. Could he really have figured out that I was on to him? Or was this some cheesy opening line he’d learned from
The Bachelor
? I wish I’d thought to bring a tape recorder. I figured this conversation was going to turn hinky very soon.