by Mary Kennedy
19
“Does the name Kevin Moore mean anything to you?” Noah’s voice sounded ragged with fatigue, and I glanced at my watch. I’d dozed off watching Letterman and woke with a start when my phone chirped. I rubbed my eyes, feeling dazed and disoriented.
“Kevin Moore?” I searched my mind and came up with zilch. “Nothing, I’m afraid. But I can check it out with Ali and her friends tomorrow.” I shifted Barney off my lap to reach for a pen and notepad. “Can you tell me anything about him?” It was nearly midnight, and I was alone in the den. Ali, looking pale and exhausted, had turned in hours earlier. Noah knew I was a night owl so he didn’t hesitate to call me late in the evening.
“He was spotted on a traffic camera, making a few slow passes at the dance studio a couple of days before Chico died. Luckily for us, he ran a red light, so we have a good shot of his tags.”
“How much do we know about him?”
“Not a lot, but maybe we’ll get lucky. He drives a gray Lexus with California plates, and they traced him to an address in Los Angeles. A nice section of town, Los Feliz. Not much to go on, but it could be significant.”
“What was he doing that looked suspicious?” It occurred to me that a lot of people run red lights, and normally that’s the end of the story.
“They spotted him on the tapes from the security cameras outside the dance studio. The cameras picked him up three times. He kept circling the block, slowing down in front of the building and then speeding up. I think he was checking out the side of the building.” I remembered that there was an alleyway next to the dance studio. “Not enough to charge him with anything except the traffic violation, but it certainly got some attention down at the station house.” He gave a weary laugh. “And my cousin Chris really came through for me. He spent hours going over the security tapes.”
“It pays to have a friend on the force.” I thought about Sam Stiles, our Dream Club member who was a police detective. I figured she was in a difficult spot. She wouldn’t be allowed to comment on the case, and everyone knew Chico’s death would be the major topic of conversation. “Any description of the driver?” My pulse jumped, and I could feel a little buzz of adrenaline dispelling the cobwebs in my brain.
“The image on the traffic footage is pretty fuzzy, really bad resolution. But he’s a white male, maybe mid-thirties, with brown hair and a beard.” He paused, and I think he was stifling a yawn. “I have the photo from his driver’s license. Assuming, of course, it really was Kevin Moore driving the car. The image is pretty grainy, but I can send it to you. Are you online?”
I touched my tablet and it came to life. “Now I am.” Two seconds later, Kevin Moore popped up on the screen. He didn’t have a particularly memorable face, but at least we had a possible lead. “Do you know anything about him? What does he do for a living?”
“Nothing on that score,” Noah said. “All we have is the picture and the address. How did things go for Ali down at the station house?”
I lowered my voice and quickly filled him in on Ali’s interview with Detective Sanderson. “She’s pretty shattered by all this,” I said quietly. “Of course, we don’t even know if Chico was murdered, do we? I thought we were waiting for the results of the tox screen?” Persia had called me earlier that day and told me her boss said the coroner couldn’t release the body until the tox results were in. A moment’s hesitation and then my stomach clenched.
“Actually, the police have it right now,” Noah said softly. “It’s definitely been ruled a homicide. Chico was poisoned by an unknown substance. No needle marks on his body so they suspect that he ingested it. There was money in the safe and some valuable watches lying around—”
“So they’ve ruled out robbery as a motive, and it wasn’t a crime of opportunity,” I cut in. “That means it was personal. And premeditated. You wouldn’t poison someone on the spur of the moment.”
“Exactly. They pinpointed the time of death so it should be easier to narrow down the suspects.” He paused. “Anyone who visited the studio in the late afternoon or evening is going to be on the detectives’ radar screen.”
“This is bad news for Ali,” I said, thinking quickly. I had the horrible feeling the police might be focusing in on her with a laser-like intensity. At the moment, she was a “person of interest,” but all that could change in a heartbeat.
“Not necessarily.” Noah’s tone was gentle, and I suspected he was trying to reassure me. “The more information they have, the better. I think they’re widening the circle of suspects. There’s no reason for them to zero in on Ali. There probably were a dozen people who saw Chico on the day he died, and she was just one of them.”
I heaved a little sigh. “I’ll have to do some checking around tomorrow. I’ll find out what I can about Kevin Moore and check out some information about a woman named Lisa. She might be involved, but I’m not sure how.”
“Lisa?”
“She could be Chico’s ex-wife. It’s a long shot, but definitely worth pursuing.” I hesitated. “Sara said maybe the three of us could compare notes later in the week. Is that okay with you?”
“Absolutely. And I think we should do it sooner rather than later.”
On that ominous note, we said good night and I headed to bed with Barney and Scout trailing after me.
* * *
“I had the oddest dream,” Ali said, emerging from her room early the next morning. She looked very young in her T-shirt nightie with her hair tousled from sleep. It was barely seven, and she slipped into a chair at the kitchen table, rubbing her forehead. The apartment was quiet, and I’d opened the windows facing the street so Barney and Scout could sniff the soft morning air. Later in the day, the plantation shutters would be closed against the white-hot Savannah sun, but right now, I was enjoying the delicate fragrance of the magnolia tree in the front yard.
“A nightmare?” I poured coffee for both of us and took a seat across from her. Barney and Scout jumped down from the windowsill and gave Ali a long, slow blink, which is a sign of affection in the cat world. They’d spent the entire night snuggled under the covers of my bed, and after a quick breakfast, they’d decided it was time for another nap. It astounds me how much they can sleep, but the vet assured Ali it’s completely normal.
“No, not a nightmare, just a strange dream. You know how sometimes you have dreams that are just a series of disjointed images that don’t seem to be connected? The dream feels like a collection of snapshots from your everyday life?”
“Yes, I know exactly what you mean.” I suffered from night terrors and don’t dream the way most people do. But I remember what it was like to have dreams that were so vivid and terrifying, I was afraid to go to sleep at night. I’m glad that’s all behind me now. My heart went out to Ali, and I hoped that this dream hadn’t upset her. “You feel like someone is riffling through a giant file drawer in your head,” I went on, “scattering thoughts and pictures everywhere. Everything is random and chaotic. Important items are mixed together with trivial things, and it’s hard to make sense of any of it. It’s like a rummage sale inside your head.”
“That’s exactly what this dream was like.” Ali paused to sip her coffee. “I was going about my morning routine in the shop when a man with a beard wandered in. He seemed to know who I was, but I didn’t know who he was.”
“Was there something threatening about him?”
“No, not really. I didn’t feel like I was in danger. He didn’t say a word, just smiled at me and looked over the inventory. It was unsettling, maybe even a little creepy. He wandered around the shop for a while, taking his time, looking at everything. Finally, he bought some licorice and paid with a credit card. I remember the credit card because it had palm trees and a big yellow sun on it.”
An odd dream, indeed. A man with a beard. Palm trees, sunlight. Had Ali somehow tuned into the bearded man who’d been driving past Chico’s in a car
with California plates? It seemed impossible. Probably just one of those strange coincidences that we all experience. Still, it might be interesting to bring it up at the Dream Club.
“What emotion were you feeling?” From the little I’ve read about dream analysis, I know the emotional aspect is always more important than the specific details.
“Well, let me think,” Ali said, pursing her lips. “I know that I was calm, but I was definitely a little puzzled. At the end of the dream, he handed me a box and gestured for me to open it. When I lifted the lid, I realized it was empty. I had no idea what was going on, but he still didn’t say a single word. He just shook his head and looked really sad.” She reached for a buttery croissant from Back in the Day bakery and munched away thoughtfully. “Sometimes dreams are baffling.” She bit back a little sigh. “I don’t have a clue how to interpret this one.”
“Neither do it, but I bet I know where to start. We need another set of eyes on this. Gina’s stopping by later this morning and we can run it by her.”
Gina Santiago rang the bell downstairs an hour later. The shop doesn’t open till ten, but she’d ordered a selection of candies for her niece’s birthday party, and I had everything packed up for her. I greeted her in the shop and invited her upstairs.
“I threw in some party favors,” I told her as she looked over the selection of candy I’d assembled. “A vendor gave me some girly-looking goodie bags, and I thought you could give one to each guest.”
“They’re perfect,” she said, examining the glittery pink bags. She reached for her purse, and Ali laid her hand on Gina’s arm.
“Don’t go yet,” she said. “I need to run something by you.”
“Okay,” Gina looked surprised as I pulled out a ladderback chair for her. “What’s up?”
“Ali wants to tell you about a dream she had,” I said, reaching for the coffeepot. “And I want to show you a photo.”
“Now you’ve really got my curiosity up,” Gina said. She looked slim and attractive in her navy yoga pants and blue-and-white-striped sailor sweater. While Ali recounted the dream, Gina stared at her intently, her chin cupped in her hand.
“So that’s it. What do you think?” Ali sat back, her expression calm and expectant.
“The empty box is a classic dream image,” Gina said. “It can signify a lot of things, usually loss or disappointment. It goes along with the empty hand phenomenon.”
“Empty hand?”
“Do you ever dream that you’re holding something precious, and then when you open your fingers, your palm is empty? Whatever you’re holding has vanished. One minute it’s there, and then poof, it’s gone.”
“I’ve had that dream,” Ali said excitedly. “I never knew what it meant, but it was always troubling and I felt incredibly sad when I woke up. The feeling stayed with me for hours.”
“Here’s the photo I wanted to show you,” I said to Gina. I put my laptop on the kitchen table and angled the screen toward her. “Does he look familiar?”
Gina stared and her eyes widened. “That’s Kevin,” she said quickly. “He looks older than I remembered and he’s gained some weight, but I’m sure that’s Kevin Moore.”
“You know him?” I couldn’t believe we’d hit pay dirt so fast.
“He’s Chico’s partner in the studio. I mean, he used to be his partner,” she amended. “I guess you’d call him a silent partner. They had a falling-out when he realized Chico was swindling him. Chico had a dark side, you know.” She glanced at Ali and I wondered if she knew Ali had been briefly involved with Chico. This wasn’t the time to spare Ali’s feelings, and I wanted to make sure Gina told us everything she knew.
“Please, Gina, tell us as much as you can. Do you know what happened?”
“I don’t know all the details,” she said, shaking her head. “I know that Kevin fronted a lot of the money for the start-up costs of the studio. He figured all he had to do was put up the money and get his share of the profits. But somehow Chico cooked the books to make it look there never were any profits. He hired a shady accountant and paid him extra to fiddle with the accounts—that’s my theory.”
“But couldn’t Kevin just confront Chico and make him pay up? Or take him to court, demand an audit?” I asked. My business training was kicking in, and I know there are plenty of ways to fight “creative accounting.”
“It’s not that simple. Kevin has a history, and he wouldn’t want anyone scrutinizing him too carefully. He and Chico were alike in a lot of ways, always looking for a way to make easy money, a quick score.” She tossed an apologetic look at Ali. “I’m sorry to say this, Ali, I don’t know how much you really knew about him. Chico was a chameleon; he could be whatever you wanted him to be. He fooled a lot of people.” Gina gave a wistful smile, and I found myself wondering if she and Chico had been lovers at some point.
“I probably was naïve when it came to Chico, especially when I first moved to Savannah,” Ali admitted with a sad little smile. “He was always so charming”—she closed her eyes for a moment—“that it was easy to overlook the evidence that was right in front of me.” She sat up straighter and tightened her jaw. “But all that’s in the past. Nothing you can tell me about Chico will hurt me, Gina, so please tell us everything you know.”
As I listened to Gina, I realized Chico was more manipulative and cunning than I’d realized. He wasn’t just a rat with women; he scammed business partners, cheated investors, hid taxable income, and generally ran a shady operation. I’d originally thought a scorned lover (or an angry spouse) had been responsible for Chico’s death. But now I realized that the pool of potential suspects had widened.
It sounded like anyone who’d ever had business dealings with Chico might be out for revenge, and I hoped the police would home in on them. But would they? The department was short staffed, and Ali and I would have to do whatever sleuthing we could—with Sara and Noah’s help—to solve the case.
“Do we know for sure this was Kevin driving the car in the surveillance tape?” Gina asked as she gathered up her things to leave.
She made a good point. The image from the traffic camera showed a bearded man, but it was too grainy to prove that it was Kevin. I suppose it was possible that he loaned his car to someone or had even sold the car. I’d have to ask Noah to look into that.
“We don’t know for sure,” I conceded. I was considering what our next move should be when Gina jumped in.
“You know what we should do?” She tapped the computer screen with her long blood-red fingernail. “We could show this photo around town. Savannah’s a small place. If Kevin was back, it’s likely someone saw him. He must have booked a hotel room, eaten out, had a few drinks at a bar, made his way around town. If you really want to find out more about Kevin, I’d do some legwork.” She smiled and headed for the stairs. “Keep me posted,” she said solemnly. “I want to see Chico’s killer caught. He had his faults, but he didn’t deserve to die.” Her voice wobbled a little on the last word, and I was convinced that she was genuinely mourning him.
“She’s right, you know,” Ali said, the minute Gina left. “I have some errands to do, and Dana’s handling the store. Do you want to come with me? We can print out a few copies of the photo and bring it with us.”
“Good thinking.” She looked pensive, and I knew something was bothering her. She drained the last of the coffee from her cup and rinsed it at the sink, with her back to me. Her shoulders looked tense and her head was bowed. “Ali, is something wrong?”
She turned slowly to face me, twisting the dish towel in her hand. “This sounds really crazy”—she gave an abashed little smile—“but I’ve think I’ve seen Kevin Moore before.”
“You have?” I was so startled, I stood up too quickly, nearly catapulting Barney out of my lap. He gave an indignant squawk and I grabbed him just in time, cuddling him next to me as I slid back into my seat. “Do you
mean he’s here in Savannah?”
“Not exactly,” she hedged, licking her lips nervously “But I’m pretty sure I saw him right here in the shop.” She gestured to the stairs leading to the store.
“When was this?” I wondered why she hadn’t mentioned recognizing Kevin Moore when Gina was here.
“Last night.”
My hand froze on my coffee cup, and a cold ball formed in the pit of my stomach.
“You mean—”
“I mean I saw him in the dream I told you about,” she said in a rush. “He was the bearded man who walked into the shop.” The cold ball in my stomach squeezed tighter. “I’m sure of it.”
“Let’s head out,” I said, grabbing my purse and the photo. I told myself that it was impossible, it had to be a coincidence. But I couldn’t shake the feeling of dread that overtook me or the goose bumps that sprang up on my arms. “It’s probably nothing, you know,” I said lightly. “One bearded man looks like another.”
“Do you really think so?” Ali asked, her tone serious.
My mouth was dry and I swallowed hard. “Yes, I do, but let’s go into town and show this picture around. The sooner we get to the bottom of this, the better.”
20
Before heading into town, we made a quick visit to Lucinda’s house to drop off a tray of assorted chocolates for her weekly bridge game. Lucinda lives in an adorable cottage south of the Historic District, and she welcomed us with fresh-from-the-oven cinnamon buns and iced tea. I was eager to start showing Kevin’s picture around the local haunts, but Southerners take their hospitality seriously and I didn’t want to offend her. Plus the delicious smells wafting from the kitchen were so tantalizing, I was practically salivating. I had skipped out without breakfast, and my stomach gave a low growl of anticipation.
“Why don’t we sit in the sunroom,” Lucinda said, indicating a lovely octagonal room filled with tropical plants.
“This is gorgeous,” Ali murmured. “It used to be screened in, didn’t it?”
