Nightmares Can Be Murder (A Dream Club Mystery)

by Mary Kennedy

  33

  “You were crazy to meet with him,” Sara told me. “What did you hope to accomplish?” Sara and Ali and I were sharing a quick take-out pizza from Luigi’s later that night.

  I shrugged. “I guess I wanted to see if he would completely deny knowing Chico.”

  “Of course he denied it,” Sara said, rolling her eyes. “He’s a politician. He’ll deny everything and anything.” We were sitting in our backyard patio, and Sara had looped Remy’s leash around the table leg. Remy looked up with puppy eyes from time to time, begging for a piece of pizza, and Sara finally slipped her a small slice of pepperoni. That seemed to satisfy the friendly dog, who remained alert and curled up at Sara’s feet. Barney and Scout were safely tucked upstairs in the apartment and glancing down balefully at us from their window perch.

  “And now he knows you’re on to him,” Ali said disapprovingly. “Usually I’m the one who acts impulsively, not you. I think you took a terrible chance.”

  “What’s he going to do, have me killed?” I joked. My words hung in the air for a moment, and both Ali and Sara looked grim. “A poor choice of words,” I muttered. Even though it was a warm evening, I felt a little chill. Because the truth was that someone already had been killed, and it was entirely possible that Walton was the murderer. Ali was right—I’d acted impulsively and out of character. I’d been growing impatient with the slow progress of the investigation, and I figured I could speed things up by a direct confrontation. In hindsight, it was probably a bad idea. My visits to both of the Waltons had been unproductive and had tipped them off that I was interested in them.

  “How will things turn out for Walton with the campaign?” I asked Sara. “Don’t you think this investigation will stop him in his tracks?”

  She dabbed her lips with a napkin. “You never know. Voters are unpredictable; he may come out of this smelling like a rose. He’s got a loyal following, and as far as they’re concerned, he can do no wrong.”

  I shook my head. “It seems unfair. We know he was paying blackmail money. Or hush money, or whatever. He’s got to be guilty of something.”

  “I agree with Sara,” Ali piped up. “Being guilty and having someone prove it are two different things. Walton may still come out on top. As Chico used to say, ‘He who laughs last, laughs best.’”

  I nearly dropped my fork in surprise. “Chico used to say that?”

  “All the time. It was one of his favorite expressions,” Ali said calmly. “Why so surprised?”

  “Jennifer Walton has a little plaque with that saying posted right over her desk,” I said. “I spotted it when I visited the mansion. She has the Spanish version: “El que ríe último ríe mejor.” I knew it was significant but couldn’t remember why.”

  “Interesting,” Ali said wryly. “She probably thought about him every day.”

  “Going back to your visit with Walton,” Sara said, frowning, “I think you set yourself up as a target. Ali said you’re going to be on your own tonight—will you be okay?” She glanced up at the apartment above the shop. Gauzy white curtains were billowing out the second-story bedroom window, and the antique bricks were bathed in a golden glow. It was a picture postcard scene, and the air was fragrant with flowers.

  “Of course I’ll be okay.” I was going to be alone with the cats this evening. Ali was meeting a college friend in Charleston for dinner and staying overnight for a baby shower the next morning. I found myself looking forward to my time alone. I wanted to go over the list of “handheld desserts” Ali was planning to serve in the shop, and I hoped to drum up some more marketing ideas for her. Ali was on a roll, her enthusiasm was high, and I wanted to keep the momentum going.

  Noah called and invited me out to dinner at seven but I begged off, telling him I was right in the midst of a marketing campaign for Ali and I didn’t want to lose focus. He made a joke that I was always “on point,” teasing me about my workaholic, type A personality. I told him about my visit to Thomas Walton, and he agreed with Sara and Ali, telling me it was a mistake. After we chatted for a few minutes, I spent the next couple of hours checking the shop inventory with Dana, and finally headed upstairs for a grilled cheese sandwich and a lemonade.

  It was nearly ten when I turned in, propped up in bed with my notepad and pen. I was thinking of Dana’s patience with the children in the shop the other day and wondered if we could do a promotion involving kids. Maybe a candy-making class on a Saturday morning? We could use the back of the store and keep the recipes simple, perhaps no-bake candies. And we could limit the number of participants, and only have eight kiddies in each class. I made a note to run the idea by Ali the next day. I scribbled Kids Project? on my pad. It was a definite possibility.

  I also thought about bringing some candy baskets to nursing homes and assisted-living facilities in town. Seniors can certainly relate to candy from their childhood, and it might have some nostalgic appeal. Plus it would get our name out there.

  A short time later, the pen and notebook slipped out of my hands, and I decided to call it a night. Cuddling Barney and Scout close to me, I fell into a deep sleep.

  When I heard the noise in the kitchen sometime later, I wasn’t immediately alarmed.

  The room was pitch dark and the bedside clock read 2:06 a.m. Barney and Scout had left my side in the night and were probably snacking on crunchies in the kitchen. I thought I heard a pan fall to the floor and figured one of them was up on the kitchen counter again. Someone told Ali that spreading sheets of aluminum foil would discourage cats from leaping up on the counter, but it obviously hadn’t worked. I remembered I’d left a small saucepan next to the stove, and from the sound of the metal “thunk,” it had tumbled to the tile floor.

  I was all set to snuggle back under the covers when my blood froze. My bedroom door was cracked open, and I saw a flash of light in the kitchen. It happened so fast, it was almost subliminal. For a second the light was on, and then quickly extinguished. I swung my legs over the bed, my heart pounding in my chest. Clever as they are, there is no way Barney and Scout could use a light switch. The reality of the situation hammered in my brain: Someone is in the kitchen. A deep, primal fear went through me, and I stumbled backward, reaching for my cell phone on the night table. My mind reeled with shock when I realized I’d left it in my purse in the living room. There was no other phone in the bedroom; Ali and I had decided to save money and use cell phones instead of landlines in the apartment. The only landline was downstairs in the shop. There was no way I could creep down the stairs without alerting whoever was in the kitchen. I was trapped, but determined to save myself.

  I wondered if I could make it into the hall undetected and then lock myself in Ali’s room. There was a small shed beneath her bedroom window, and I was fairly sure I could jump on the roof if I had to. I cautiously padded to the bedroom door, my hands trembling as I clasped the knob and opened it silently.

  I flattened myself against the wall, inching my way down the hall to Ali’s room, when a dark figure appeared in the shadows. Whoever had been in the kitchen was running straight toward me. There was no place to go, and I instinctively threw my arms around my chest to protect myself.

  The intruder was too fast for me. A millisecond later, I felt a sharp elbow slam into my throat and a muttered curse. Was it a man or a woman? I had no idea. The figure was dressed in black, maybe sweatpants, and seemed well built. The first blow knocked the wind out of me, but the karate chop to the back of my head knocked me right on to the floor.

  I heard a cat shriek as the figure barreled out of the hallway and down the stairs leading outside. My head hurt so much I thought I was going to faint, but I pulled myself to my feet, holding on to the wall. My arms and legs were weak and as rubbery as spaghetti. I tried to call out, but only a gurgling sound rumbled out of my throat.

  The cats! I thought frantically. Had this monster taken them or harmed them? I willed my legs
into motion and staggered into the kitchen, fumbling for the light switch. I was moving gingerly, silently, doing a quick search for Barney and Scout.

  And then I heard a familiar voice in the downstairs hallway. “Yoo-hoo,” a quavery voice called. “Are you all right, dear? It’s Minerva and Rose.”

  Minerva and Rose? What were my elderly neighbors doing in the apartment in the middle of the night?

  “I’m up here,” I managed to say. My voice was hoarse, and my throat felt like it was on fire. Every word was an effort. I knew I sounded strange, distorted, and I hoped they understood me. “I’m trying to find the cats.” My eyes swept the tiny kitchen and living room. No sign of Barney and Scout. My heart thudded with dread.

  “Oh, don’t worry about the cats, my dear. They’re safe and sound. We’ll bring them upstairs to you.”

  Nothing made sense to me. I felt a sudden wave of dizziness and dropped into a kitchen chair as the two sisters made their way up the stairs.

  “Here they are, your very own kitties,” Minerva said, puffing a little as she deposited a nervous-looking Barney in my lap. Rose was holding Scout like a baby and he nestled in happily against her until she put him down carefully on the sofa.

  “How did you . . . what’s going on?” I asked. I touched the top of my head and felt a lump forming. Apparently the intruder had done some serious damage with that karate blow.

  “Why, we were up watching TNT, dear, when we happened to see the kitties in your front yard.” Minerva turned to her sister and nodded. “Rose was getting up to get us some warm milk, when she looked out the front window and spotted them.”

  “Taylor, is something wrong?” Rose said, her voice soft with concern. She came over and bent down to look at me. “You’re very pale—are you sure you’re all right?”

  To my embarrassment, I felt tears welling up in my eyes. Probably the stress of the home invasion and maybe the beginning of a concussion. I quickly wiped my eyes and sat up straighter.

  “I’ve had a bit of a shock,” I began uncertainly. “Someone broke in a few minutes ago. That’s why the cats were outside. He must have run out through the front door and left it open.”

  Minerva gave a little gasp and raised her hand to her mouth. She and Rose exchanged a look. “Yes, it was cracked open; we thought you’d forgotten to close it. Good heavens, Taylor, this is terrible.”

  “What shall we do?” Rose chimed in, wringing her hands. “A break-in, my word. What’s the world coming to?” she said, her voice rising to a nervous spiral.

  “Pull yourself together, Rose,” Minerva snapped at her. “It’s lucky we happened to look out the window when we did.”

  “It certainly is, you saved the cats,” I said, clutching Barney to my chest and stroking his soft fur.

  “What do suppose they wanted?” Rose asked. She looked around the tiny living room. It was obvious there was nothing of value there.

  “Who knows?” Minerva said irritably. “Let’s stop chatting, Rose. It’s time to call the police.” She picked up my cell phone and handed it to me. “Taylor?” she said questioningly.

  “I’ll talk to them,” I said quickly. “There’s nothing they can do, but they do need to come over, you’re right.” I felt like my mind was working in slow motion. Maybe that crack on the head had done more damage than I realized.

  I was relieved when Sam Stiles arrived a few minutes later. She was a composed, reassuring presence; her face was creased with concern. I heard Minerva greeting her in the downstairs hallway, and moments later, Sam came bounding up the stairs.

  “Don’t touch anything,” she said to Rose, who was standing uncertainly near the kitchen sink. “Taylor, are you okay? The call came in just as I was going off duty.” She peered anxiously at me and rested her hand lightly on mine.

  “I’m sorry to be making a big deal out of this, but I feel a bit sick,” I said. I told her what happened, and she whipped out her notebook. “I’m afraid I didn’t get a good look at him,” I explained. “Just a shadowy figure dressed in black.”

  “You’re sure it was a guy?” Sam was back in cop mode, her voice calm yet commanding.

  She’d already thanked Minerva and Rose for their quick action, told them they could go home, and closed and locked the front door after them. I noticed she’d slipped on a pair of gloves before touching the door handle.

  “No, I’m not sure of anything.” My head was throbbing and I had sharp twinges in my neck.

  “Height and build?”

  “I don’t really know—”

  “Use yourself for comparison,” she suggested, with her pen poised. “When he stood next to you, did he seem taller or shorter?”

  “Oh, well, he was about my height, I guess. I’m five-eight. And I think he was well built, but I couldn’t tell for sure because he was wearing a heavy sweatshirt. He was strong, very strong.” I gave a little shudder. “And I think he knows karate,” I added, remembering that sharp, well-placed blow to the back of my neck. “He seemed like a pro.”

  Sam raised her eyebrows. “Interesting.”

  “How so?” I carefully moved my neck from side to side. I didn’t have much range of motion, but I knew it could have been worse, much worse.

  “A lot of women are taking up karate for self-protection,” she said flatly.

  “I suppose it could have been a woman.” I winced in pain, and Sam quickly stood up.

  “We’re getting you to the ER,” she said firmly.

  “But—”

  “No buts about it. You have a head injury, and they need to check it out.” She grabbed my hand and pulled me to my feet. “I’ll call Ali for you and explain what’s happened.” She glanced around the apartment. “I’ll have a couple of crime scene techs sweep the place, but we may not get much.”

  “Okay,” I said, feeling suddenly passive. My head hurt too much to think straight. “But can I ask you a favor?” When she nodded, I continued, “Please don’t tell Ali until later this morning. There’s nothing she can do here, the cats are safe, and I’m fine. I don’t want to spoil her reunion in Charleston.”

  “If you insist,” Sam said with a sigh. “But we’re leaving for the hospital right now, and I don’t want to hear any more objections.”

  “Whatever you say,” I told her gratefully. It was good to have someone else make the decisions, and I was glad that Sam had taken control.

  34

  “I’ve been worried sick!” Ali exclaimed later that day. “Sam told me you wouldn’t let her call me earlier.” Ali had come flying home from Charleston and was by my side at noontime. “It’s amazing you don’t have a concussion—or worse,” she said ominously.

  “We’ve all been worried about you, dear,” Minerva said. She and Rose had come over to check on me, and Ali had insisted they stay for lunch. I didn’t have an appetite for the homemade cheese soup Ali had pulled from the freezer, but I managed to eat a few spoonfuls. I’d been given painkillers in the ER, and they were making me feel woozy.

  “You weren’t able to identify the attacker, were you?” Minerva asked, her blue eyes sharp and penetrating.

  I shook my head. “Not at all. I’m not even sure if it was a man or a woman. I just know the attacker must have been a street fighter,” I said, only joking a little.

  “A street fighter, my word,” Rose said. “That does sound alarming.”

  “It’s just an expression,” Minerva told her. “Don’t be so literal.” She paused. “Or do you really mean it was a trained assailant, Taylor?”

  I touched the back of my neck. Luckily I’d moved just in time to shield myself. The ER doc had said that if the blow had been a couple of inches either way, I could have been paralyzed.

  “It could have been. It was someone who knew how to do a lot of damage in less than a minute.” I was hoping we could change the subject. The attack was over and I didn
’t want to focus on it any more.

  Minerva bit her lip. “Women are taking up self-defense, you know,” she said thoughtfully. I nodded in agreement. That was exactly what Detective Sam Stiles had said. “I know how much Gina enjoys her Krav Maga classes.”

  She let the statement just sit there for a moment and waited a beat. “She’s certainly gotten in good shape; she says it’s quite a workout. Of course, she did all that dancing at Chico’s studio. She’s probably a natural at Krav Maga.”

  I conjured up a mental image of the fiery assistant with the long red hair. She certainly had a terrific figure and managed to be both toned and voluptuous.

  “You’re not suggesting Gina had anything to do with this,” Ali cut in.

  Minerva leaned back and smiled. “No, of course not, my dear.” She helped herself to some rosemary bread from the basket. “It would be awful to think that someone you knew did something so terrible. I just meant that self-defense classes are popular right now.”

  “I suppose it was just a random act of violence,” Rose offered. “You read about this happening all the time.”

  “Yes, you do.” Minerva gave me a thoughtful look, and I knew she didn’t believe a word of what her sister was saying. This wasn’t random; this was personal.

  “Has anyone seen Gina lately?” Ali asked. “I noticed she’s missed a few of the club meetings.” She was right. Gina had been off the radar screen for the past few days, and I wondered what was up.

  “She’s been busy with community activities,” Minerva offered. “Someone told me she’s been at loose ends since the studio closed, and she’s looking for another job. Right now, she’s doing a lot of volunteer work down at the Hispanic Center. Since she speaks both Spanish and Portuguese, she’s very valuable at the reception desk.”

  “That’s nice,” Rose said idly. “It’s good to be bilingual. Or in her case, trilingual.”