Fatal Dreams (COBRA Securities Book 17)

by Velvet Vaughn

  “I’m sorry about Femi.”

  “Thanks. It was nice of you and your mother to attend the funeral.” She might not like the guy, but she could be gracious.

  “Do you want to go to dinner tonight?”

  She sighed, her shoulders slumping in defeat. “I can’t. I’ll be busy for several weeks taking care of Femi’s affairs.” It was a white lie, but she hoped she’d curb his attempts for a while without hurting his feelings. “Thanks again for coming, Bernie.”

  “Oh. Okay. See you later.”

  She felt truly sorry for the man as he slinked off to trail after Bernice. His mother didn’t let him stray far. The apron strings were short. She wouldn’t have minded being his friend, but there could never be more.

  “Esme.”

  Despite the gravity of the day, she was able to smile at her approaching group of friends. She hugged Lyra, Sophie and Joelle. Esme had contracted with Lyra Kee to provide pieces of jewelry to the gift shop Esme owned inside her aunt’s house. Lyra hadn’t known Femi long, but she still attended the burial. Sophie Hobson was a nurse and her best friend and tenant. Sophie rented the other half of Esme’s duplex. Joelle Sims was a college student Esme paid to update the website and add photos of new products. She’d gotten to know Femi over the two months she’d been working with them.

  “I can’t believe she’s dead,” Joelle said, her gaze fixed on the gaping hole in the ground.

  “Who would do such a thing?” Lyra asked.

  So far, the police had no leads. Femi was generally liked, but she was unapologetically straightforward and if she had a premonition of something bad happening, she told the person even if the news was upsetting. Too bad she couldn’t foresee her own death.

  Using the same philosophy as Lumi, Femi believed in being brutally honest with her customers. She’d upset more than a few people when she delivered bad news. Maybe one of them killed Femi seeking revenge. She assumed the police were looking into every aspect of Femi’s life to solve her murder.

  The minister who presided over the burial shook their hands and they slowly made their way down the small grass hill to their vehicles, dodging headstones and fresh graves. Thankfully Bernice and her doppelganger son were nowhere in sight.

  “Are you coming home tonight?” Sophie asked.

  Esme had purchased a duplex a few years ago with the intention of having a tenant to help pay the mortgage. Sophie had moved in a couple of months ago and they’d hit it off instantly. They spent many nights on the shared back deck, talking over bags of chips and bottles of wine, until Sophie had been switched to the night shift at the hospital. Even though they didn’t see each other often anymore, Esme was thankful for her friendship.

  “I’m going to stay with Aunt Lumi for a few more days. She’s still upset after Femi’s death.”

  Sophie hugged her. “I totally understand. Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

  “I will, Soph. Thanks.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Lyra said with a hug. “I’ll be in tomorrow to help with the shop.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

  Lyra had been a Godsend. Though she was currently working on contract, she’d been in the shop all week helping Esme run the business when she’d been distracted, first with Femi’s disappearance and then her death. Once Femi’s body had been discovered, they’d closed the shop, but they still had an online presence that needed to be fulfilled. Esme hired two local high school students who lived on the same street to come in after school and process orders, boxing up the items to ship.

  Business was booming and she planned on offering Lyra a full-time job if she was interested.

  “I’ll be there, too,” Joelle promised as she hugged her. She was a college student majoring in graphic design. Though she was a junior, she’d waited a few years before starting school, so she was older than Esme. The website she created for the shop was professional and Esme was pleased with her work.

  After waving goodbye to her friends, she made sure Lumi was settled inside her car before sliding behind the wheel and buckling her seat belt.

  “It was probably that evil Bernice Gorman who killed Femi,” Lumi accused as Esme navigated the narrow, bumpy roads of the cemetery. “She’s a fraud and everyone knows it. She can’t foresee anything but dollar signs as she bilks customers out of money. She’s been jealous of us for years.”

  That was true. Bernice had been trying to put Lumi out of business for as long as Esme could remember. Still, it was quite a leap to accuse her of murder.

  “Can you believe she and that good-for-nothing son of hers had the nerve to come to the ceremony?”

  “She was probably passing out cards to Femi’s customers, trolling for business.”

  Lumi gasped and grabbed Esme’s arm. “You’re probably right.” She flopped back in her seat. “I hadn’t even thought of that.”

  “I’m not sure either Bernice or Bernie have the constitution to commit murder, though. Especially Bernie. He’s too fragile.” She racked her brain, trying to come up with a viable suspect. “What about that strange man who used to come around all the time, asking Femi out?”

  “Vernon Watson?” Lumi considered it. “I don’t think so.”

  Esme thought he was definitely capable of violence. He’d book an appointment with Femi and then spend the entire thirty minutes trying to coax her into going out with him. She eventually quit scheduling him, and he stopped coming around. Esme wasn’t sure, but she thought Femi might’ve said something that scared him, like certain parts of his anatomy would shrivel up and fall off if he didn’t leave her alone. Hum. She wondered if that would work on Bernie.

  What was it about the psychic business that seemed to bring out the weirdos? Even Aunt Lumi had fallen victim to a shyster, dating a man for over two months who tried to use her to pick everything from lottery numbers to the winning trifecta at the racetracks. Lumi was good, but not that good. She didn’t have some magic window into the future to see all that would happen. If she did, Femi Gilland would still be alive.

  Chapter Two

  The day after Femi’s funeral, Esme stopped by the grocery store before heading to her aunt’s house. Things had been hectic all week and neither of them had found time to shop or wash clothes. The fridge was practically empty. She was picking up a few necessities to tide them over while Lumi tackled the laundry.

  She didn’t feel like cooking, so sandwiches were the easiest thing to manage. After selecting fresh tomatoes, lettuce and onions from the vegetable aisle, she placed an order at the deli for thinly sliced honey maple turkey and honey maple ham and some smoked provolone. The mustard potato salad looked good, so she added a pint to the cart, along with macaroni salad. The turkey bacon they preferred was on sale, so she grabbed two packages and tossed them in with the other ingredients.

  She pushed the cart into the bread aisle, intending to pick up a loaf of her aunt’s favorite wheat buns. What she did not intend was to run into Merle McDougal, the pastor of the Church of the Chosen Disciples. Merle’s non-denominational house of worship was located in a mostly empty strip mall on the west side of town. She didn’t know much about him except that he was a complete jackass.

  Esme first met Merle in line at a coffee bar two months ago. He’d dropped his keys and she picked them up for him. He struck up a conversation and after their drinks arrived, he invited her to sit with him. He was average looking, with dark hair, medium height and brown eyes. He’d been wearing a beige sweater-vest over a white button-down shirt with jeans and sneakers. It’d been an unusually warm spring day, so she’d stepped out in a light green short-sleeved top and black capri pants with sandals. She’d noticed Merle’s tendency to speak to her breasts instead of her face but since she hadn’t been on a date in forever, she accepted.

  Huge mistake.

  The conversation had been light at first, albeit one-sided. Merle dominated with tidbits about himself and his background. Then he dove in with stories about how he
used to drink excessively and how he’d lose days in drug-induced stupors. It wasn’t until he had an epiphany that his life completely changed. He claimed that God spoke to him and told him to clean himself up, quit partying and start the church. He had no training or experience. He hadn’t been inside a church since he was a little boy. But he heeded God’s call and quit drinking and shooting drugs. He rented space, purchased used folding chairs from a resale store and opened the doors.

  “Esme, you wouldn’t believe it,” Merle gushed. “All of a sudden, people started arriving and they were interested in what I had to say.”

  Esme hated to be cynical, but she didn’t know if she believed his story or if he used it to attract people to his church, i.e. donors. What she did know was that he was a complete and utter bore. He droned on about himself, his church, his flock, as he called the worshippers. She surreptitiously checked her watch several times, hoping to make a break for it, tried numerous times to no avail. He would not shut up. And he was still having a hard time keeping his gaze off her chest.

  When he finally gave his vocal cords a rest, she told him that she needed to be somewhere. He took her hand and she fought the instinct to yank it back.

  “I feel a strong connection with you, Esme,” he’d insisted. How could he when he knew nothing about her? “God has brought us together for a reason. I want to take you to dinner tonight, date you.”

  “I’m sorry, Merle. You seem like a nice man, but I’m not looking for a relationship. And I do need to leave.”

  He ignored her. “You’re elegant and exquisite and intelligent. You would make the perfect pastor’s wife.”

  She did jerk her hand back at that. How did he know she was smart when she’d barely said two words? Because he thought she was enraptured with him? And wife? Never.

  “Again, I’m going to decline. It was nice to meet you.”

  He grabbed her arm before she could get up. “Wait, Esme. You can’t leave me. I love you.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “What? Are you crazy?” She hadn’t meant to say that second part out loud. He’d caught her completely off guard.

  “Crazy in love.”

  She shook her head. “Merle, you don’t even know me.”

  “I know that when I look into your eyes, I see us together for the rest of our lives.”

  It’s not my eyes you’re looking at, she wanted to yell.

  “I’ve prayed for a woman exactly like you to come into my life. God has answered beyond my wildest dreams.”

  Oh man, he was delusional. “I’m sure the perfect woman for you is just around the corner. Unfortunately, I’m not her.”

  His brows knitted. “You’re turning my proposal down?”

  Did he propose? She rubbed at a sudden ache in her head. This conversation had veered straight down Alice’s rabbit hole. “If you did propose, I am turning it down. Sorry.”

  “But I love you.”

  Esme had to get out of there. He was seriously freaking her out. A sudden vision of a show she watched popped into her mind where a man kept his morose, wedding-dress-wearing bride chained in a basement. Her eyes darted around the shop, hoping to see a policeman or anyone who could help with no such luck. She was on her own.

  “Goodbye, Merle.”

  “You’re serious?”

  Deadly serious. “Yes.”

  His expression changed from puppy dog to pit bull. “I was wrong. You’re not the future Mrs. McDougal. You’re nothing but a siren in disguise. You lure men into your web and then you crush them, using their tender hearts like a pinata.”

  Really? She did no such thing. He grabbed her purse as she brushed by, scattering the contents on the floor. She considered cocking her arm back and socking him in the jaw. Was it against the law to hit a pastor, even a pseudo one?

  “What’s this?”

  He picked up one of her business cards after it fell from her purse. She jerked it from his hand, but not before he read the name.

  “You work at that place?”

  “Co-own, actually.”

  He jumped from his seat and pointed an accusing finger at her. “Witch! You’re a witch.”

  “This isn’t Salem in the seventeen-hundreds,” she’d quipped, hoping he was kidding. Only he was not. He made such a scene, she crammed the fallen items in her purse and fled the coffee bar, glad to be away from the fruitcake.

  Since then, Merle had made it his mission to shut their business down with vocal protests outside the doors using bullhorns and carrying torches. After one such demonstration with a handful of people that she thought he might’ve recruited from the local homeless shelter, she and Lumi had taken out a harassment restraining order prohibiting him from coming near their establishment again. It’d worked so far.

  She wasn’t sure how much of his venom was because she turned him down, but if there was one person in the world she didn’t want to run into, it was Merle of the Church of the Chosen Disciples.

  “Well, well, well, if it isn’t the Wicked Witch of the Midwest,” he sneered when she attempted to pass by him. She refused to react, so he backed up and blocked her. “What, nothing to say to that, Esmerelda? Even your name sounds like a witch.”

  “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

  Pure hatred filled his eyes and she took a step back. As the saying went, if looks could kill, she’d be dead. A thought struck. Could he have had something to do with Femi’s murder? Femi worked for the shop and he’d been trying everything he could to shut their doors. What better way to hurt Esme than to kill her friend?

  “You dance with the devil. God will punish you for your wicked doings,” he insisted.

  “And the courts will punish you for yours if you don’t haul your pompous ass out of my way right now.”

  “That potty mouth is not attractive on you, Esme.”

  “Yeah? Here’s another one for you, Pastor. Go to hell.” Sometimes her mouth had a mind of its own.

  “You’re a heathen.” He glared and she glared right back. Lifting her phone, she mimed dialing the police but after a shove of her cart, he stalked by her. She almost made a crack about the case of beer in his cart but held her tongue. It seemed as if he’d fallen off the wagon, if he was ever really on it.

  She beelined for the self-checkout, hoping to be out of the store before she had to see him again. Thankfully, she made it to her vehicle without another Merle McDougal sighting. She’d take the small victories any way she could get them.

  #

  Esme parked behind her aunt’s house and opened the back of her Toyota Rav 4 to retrieve the groceries. She’d finally calmed down after the confrontation with Merle. She really wished he’d pack up his belongings and move out of town, but she doubted that would happen anytime soon. She’d just have to resign herself to running into him from time to time. Hopefully she’d be able to keep her mouth shut instead of antagonizing him. She snorted. Yeah, like that’d happen.

  She’d just stepped inside when she heard raised voices. Placing the bags on the counter in the kitchen, she followed the sound to find her aunt arguing with someone. Though the woman’s back was to Esme, she recognized Marge Earnshaw. Marge dressed much the same as her aunt in a colorful flowing kaftan, bangles and scarves. She dyed her brown hair black and it was covered with a blue head wrap.

  “I’ve heard enough,” Lumi said. “You need to leave.”

  “But you need me,” Marge argued. “You’re down a reader after the unfortunate incident. I can help.”

  “Aunt Lumi,” Esme cut in. “Is everything okay?”

  “Esme.” Marge held out her arms and moved forward until she hugged her. “It’s so good to see you. You look lovely as always.”

  “Thanks, so do you. Why don’t you let me escort you to your car?”

  Marge waved that away. “I need to speak with Lumi.” She held up a hand when Lumi started to protest. “I know you fired me, and I deserved it. I was consumed with an evil spirit that caused me to do those dreadful things. But t
he demons have been exorcised by a druid priestess. I no longer have the urge to steal. With a cleansed aura, I feel like new. I’m able to provide accurate readings and my sight has never been clearer.”

  “I’m happy for you,” Lumi told her. “Really. But I’m not hiring you back.”

  “Even though you’re short-handed?”

  Lumi shrugged. “We’ll be fine.”

  Marge’s lips firmed. “Bernice Gorman offered me a job.”

  Esme almost laughed. They deserved each other.

  “Well then, congratulations,” Lumi said. “I wish you well.” With that, Lumi spun on her heel, her dress billowing out before fluttering around her again. Then she was gone.

  Thanks, Lumi. Now Esme was stuck with the clingy Marge. This must be her day for confrontation. All she needed was for Bernie Gorman to stop by and she’d hit the trifecta.

  Marge grabbed her hands. “Esme, you have to help me convince your aunt to let me come back.”

  No, she didn’t have to do any such thing. “Sorry, Marge, its Lumi’s call. I have work to do so let me show you out.”

  Marge wasn’t budging. “I’m in high demand. My readings are accurate. Come-on, Esme,” she cajoled, “this was the best job I’ve ever had.”

  Yet she jeopardized it along with her aunt’s reputation when she stole from their clients, some who never came back. The negative press stayed with them for months until her aunt, along with Femi’s help, were able to repair their reputation.

  “It sounds like you better take the job with the Gormans.” And good luck with that. “I know my aunt and she won’t change her mind.”

  “You’ve always been a little bitch, Esme.” Marge sneered. “You think you’re better than me? You’ll soon find out that you aren’t.”

  Esme gaped at the woman as she stormed past her. She’d never been anything but nice to Marge. Calling her a bitch was out of line. “Are you threatening me?” she shouted, but Marge ignored her and stomped to her Subaru before climbing inside and motoring away.

  What did Marge mean when she said Esme would soon find out she wasn’t better than her? Marge had spent time behind bars when she was caught grifting. Not long, and certainly a lighter sentence than she deserved. But prison had to change a person. Maybe she’d met hardened criminals inside the pen who would do her bidding. Esme shuddered at the thought.