In Dreams

by Patricia Rosemoor

  “It wasn’t your fault.”

  “No,” Gran said.

  But Lucy knew Gran still felt responsible.

  Like she would feel responsible if she couldn’t keep Justin from dying because of her.

  And according to Gran, she couldn’t do anything to stop it from happening.

  Too much information! Certainly far more than she’d come to get. A little freaked, Lucy tried to hide what she was feeling with little success if the subtle shift in her grandmother’s expression were any indication.

  “Lucy, what is it?”

  “You just got me a little emotional here, is all.” That was true enough. “Now when did you want to have that grandmother-granddaughter hot night on the town?”

  Gran’s serious expression softened a bit. “I know you’re joking, but you might be surprised at some of the things I did when I was a young woman.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t tell me.” Lucy rolled her eyes. “Better I keep my illusions.”

  “THIS IS IT,” Justin said when they arrived at the Vaughn home on Esplanade late that afternoon.

  He tried to take Lucy’s arm as they ascended the steps, but she avoided him and rushed ahead, saying, “I still think you should have called first.”

  “Too easy for them to say no.”

  “Right, this is better,” she said as he caught up to her on the porch. “You’ll shock them into letting us in.”

  Now why was it that he’d missed Lucy Ryan practically the whole time they’d been separated? In the few hours he’d been alone, all he’d been able to think about was seeing her again. And now their being together should seem like the most natural thing in the world.

  If only Lucy was acting like herself…

  Ever since they’d hooked up at his place, she’d been by turns distant and sharp with him. Clearly her excursion that morning had put her in such a rotten mood, but he didn’t want to push her to talk about it until she was ready to.

  The door opened and a rumpled-looking man with tufts of dark hair poking out from a long, thin face, frowned at them. “Can I help you?”

  “Are you Mr. Vaughn?” Lucy asked.

  “Yes.”

  “It’s about Erica,” Justin said. “We’re investigating her murder.”

  “More new detectives? How is the NOPD ever supposed to solve anything if they keep switching you people around on cases?”

  “We’re not from the department,” Lucy admitted.

  “Then what the hell are you doing wasting my time? Reporters?” he spat, backing in and apparently meaning to slam the door on them.

  “Wait!” Justin said. “Erica may have mentioned me—Justin Guidry.” He was relieved when Samuel Vaughn hesitated with his hand on the door. “She hired me to find Theresa.”

  The sour expression lifted to one more hopeful, as Vaughn asked, “You found my baby?”

  Justin wished the man hadn’t jumped to the wrong conclusion. Gut knotted, he said, “I’m afraid not. But I’m convinced Erica’s murder is connected to Theresa’s disappearance and to the murder of another woman a few nights ago.”

  “No, that can’t be right.” Vaughn ran a hand through his hair, smoothing it so it lay flat on his head. “Erica was mugged for her money on the Moonwalk and she must have fought the guy. Then he knifed her.”

  “Something else has recently happened to convince me her death was premeditated murder.” Justin glanced at Lucy, who’d glanced away, as if she were thinking of something else. “Another woman, Sophie Delacorte was walking alone late at night, and she was also knifed to death, this time in a courtyard in the French Quarter. The thing is, Sophie and Erica knew each other.”

  He watched a range of emotions wash over the bereaved father’s face before he nodded and said, “Come in,” then stood back and let them pass.

  The beauty of the parlor, decorated with antique pieces was camouflaged by stacks of newspapers and dishes and cups on every surface. Bed pillows and a sheet were strewn on the couch, as if Vaughn had just been sleeping there. Apparently the place had gone to hell over the past several weeks. Justin didn’t blame the Vaughns. As the parents of one daughter dead, the other missing, they were in hell.

  Vaughn asked, “Does Homicide know about this connection between the two women?”

  “Not yet, but they will. Detective Mike Hebert is a friend of mine and I’ll be getting him up to speed tonight.”

  “Hebert. He seems like a straight-shooter.”

  “And a good detective.”

  “So why not leave it to him?”

  “I feel like I owe it to Erica to help if I can.”

  Vaughn turned his gaze to Lucy, who hadn’t spoken a word since they’d come inside. Justin was beginning to worry about her. Her being so quiet wasn’t like her, and now she’d turned ashen as she stared down at the stack of newspapers. Justin saw she was looking at a story covering Erica Vaughn’s murder.

  “You, Ms….” Vaughn said. “What about you?”

  “Lucy Ryan,” she said, suddenly coming to life, her voice trembling. “I—I wanted to find Sophie’s murderer. So Justin and I…we kind of hooked up.” She looked around at the mess. “Is Mrs. Vaughn home?”

  “Janet isn’t a well woman. Losing both our daughters was too much for her. She’s being taken care of away from the city. I’m not sure she’ll ever want to come back.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  Vaughn bobbed his head. “Maybe if the murderer was caught…and we found out what happened to our Theresa, she would… So, tell me how I can help you.”

  Justin said, “Let us see Theresa’s room, go through her things.”

  He hadn’t gotten around to that before. He’d wanted to, but Erica had thought it would be easier on her delicately nerved mother if she, rather than a stranger, searched her sister’s room. Now Justin regretted letting her have her way. Maybe if he hadn’t, Erica would still be alive.

  “Follow me.”

  Sam Vaughn led the way up the stairs and down the hall to a room overlooking the garden. While a little frilly, Justin got the idea those touches were left over from Theresa’s younger years. The girl had serious electronic equipment on a shelf and a laptop on her desk.

  A phone in the other room rang and Vaughn said, “I’m expecting a business call. I’m sorry but I have to take it. I can’t afford to lose my job. I may be a while.”

  “Take your time.”

  The man rushed out, leaving Justin alone with Lucy. She stood in the middle of the room and looked around as if she were in a daze.

  Justin moved in closer, asking, “Are you all right?”

  “What?” She met his gaze. “All right…yeah, sure.”

  “You seem a little out of it.” Or nervous. Around him? Why? “I thought maybe you were coming down with something,” he said in an effort to get her to open up.

  “Maybe a little tired. And distracted. As soon as we’re through here, I need to get over to Bal Masque. So let’s get on with it,” she said, walking over to the nightstand and checking the drawers.

  Whatever was bothering her, Lucy obviously wasn’t going to talk about it. Maybe it had to do with her shop. Or a disagreement with her business partner. Or not. It could simply be something personal.

  Uneasy without knowing why, Justin took his cue from her and sat himself down in front of the laptop. The police hadn’t touched it as far as he knew—they hadn’t had much interest in the case. Though Erica had gone through the computer files with no success, Justin knew she could have missed something and so searched for documents that might mention Theresa’s married lover.

  In between, he kept track of Lucy’s movements around the room as she silently searched every drawer from the nightstand to the chest of drawers to the dresser.

  She wasn’t acting like herself, no doubt about it. Justin wanted to take her in his arms and get her to tell him what was wrong. Not that he could do so here or now. Not that he even knew her well enough to have her trust him with her pro
blems, whether professional or personal.

  And yet…

  Justin felt as if he’d known Lucy far longer than their actual acquaintance. Spending so much time together must account for that, because he’d become familiar with all her nuances. And this change in her disturbed him. He cared for Lucy on a deeper level than made him comfortable. He tried to tell himself that such a close connection would inevitably happen with any two people thrown together in like circumstances, but he couldn’t quite swallow the rationalization.

  And so he put the puzzle to the back of his mind and concentrated on the case, beginning by going through Theresa’s e-mails. Clearly she didn’t kiss and tell. Or she’d done a good job clearing her hard drive of anything incriminating. And it would take a computer geek to get into it to find any e-mails that had been erased. Theoretically, anything deleted was still on the hard drive, waiting like a ghost to be resurrected.

  Justin spun around in the chair to find Lucy perched on the edge of Theresa’s bed, a book in hand. Her expression was intent as she read.

  “Find something interesting?” he asked.

  “Not so far, but I’m hoping.” Lucy held up what she was reading. “Theresa’s diary.”

  Justin rose and crossed to the bed. “Erica said she didn’t keep one.”

  “Check out the cover. A fake. It looks like a textbook.”

  “How did you know to look inside?”

  “I have a sister, too.”

  Justin sat next to Lucy. A mistake. The bedsprings squeaked and the mattress sagged, bringing them close enough that he inhaled her scent. He tried holding himself rigidly enough away from her that he wouldn’t be turned on, but it was no use. He was fighting a losing battle.

  “So, any revelations?” he asked.

  “Nothing tangible. References to her lover and descriptions of the things they did together.”

  Nothing he needed to read, Justin thought, knowing doing so would make being near Lucy unbearable. “But no names. Just a single initial—C.”

  “That’s a big help.”

  “Wait…” Then she looked up, her expression triumphant. “He’s a politician!”

  “Well, that narrows it down.”

  “Listen to this,” she said impatiently. “‘C is so handsome and charming that the reelection is a done deal. Then he can leave his wife and devote himself to me like he promised.”’ Her eyes sparkled with excitement as she said, “That does narrow it down! A handsome and charming politician whose name begins with C running for reelection. How many men can fit that description?”

  Justin couldn’t believe it. The lifting of her sour mood was turning him on. Though he was glad, he was also thankful that he had reason to get off the bed and put a safe distance between them.

  “Why don’t we find out?”

  Even as he asked it, Sam Vaughn came back into the room. “You folks find anything?”

  Lucy quickly reiterated what she’d just told Justin, asking, “Do you mind if I take the diary with me, Mr. Vaughn? Maybe if I keep reading, I’ll find something more specific about this mysterious politician.”

  “Politicians!” Vaughn cursed under his breath. “Take it, but promise me you’ll give this information to the detective. The police haven’t really done anything for us up to this point. Maybe if you tell them what you told me—”

  “We will,” Lucy quickly promised.

  Justin planned on it, though he didn’t know if it would set any wheels in motion or not. He hoped the Erica and Sophie connection might do the trick.

  “We should take the laptop, as well,” Justin said. “I couldn’t find anything in Theresa’s e-mails, but I would bet the man she was seeing sent her e-mails and even if she deleted them, an expert could probably pull them back up.”

  “Take what you need,” Vaughn said.

  “I want to thank you for your cooperation, and I promise that we’ll share whatever we learn with Detective Hebert.”

  “It’s you who should get the thanks. Both of you.” Vaughn’s eyes filled with tears. “I don’t know which is worse—having one of my daughters dead or not knowing the whereabouts of the other.”

  They left with the laptop and diary.

  “I think I’ll head straight for Bal Masque,” Lucy said, beating him down the steps. “So maybe you ought to take that stuff to your place and I’ll catch up with you later.”

  “Whoa, wait a minute. I’ll give you a ride.”

  She turned to face him, but kept walking backwards. “I need the exercise. It’ll feel good to stretch my legs.”

  Reluctant to let her out of his sight, Justin had to force him to say, “Fine. Later, then.”

  Justin got in the car, and sat there feeling oddly bereft as he watched Lucy head down the street. Only when she turned the corner and disappeared from sight did he start the car and head for his place.

  He had to get over this…well, whatever it was he was feeling for Lucy Ryan. She’d had a spring in her step quite different from the way she’d been earlier. He couldn’t help but think it was because of him—she couldn’t get away from him quickly enough.

  12

  WHEN LUCY arrived at Bal Masque the shop was busy, so she ignored her partner’s surprised expression and pitched in and took care of customers.

  But when the shop cleared out, Dana immediately jumped on her. “Okay, it’s just you and me here. How long do I have to stay at my sister’s?”

  “Hopefully not much longer.”

  “Oh, yeah, that’s real specific. What’s going on with you? Spill!”

  Lucy sighed. “Well, it all started when I dreamed about a woman being murdered. I tried to stop it from happening, but I was too late. And the murderer knows I saw.”

  She gave Dana an abbreviated version of her predicament, from being chased by the thugs straight into Justin’s arms to Gran’s insistence that she couldn’t change anything that she’d seen.

  “So according to your grandmother,” Dana said thoughtfully, “Justin is the man for you.”

  Amazed that her friend had chosen that specific piece of information to elaborate on rather than the deaths, Lucy said, “Yeah, until he gets shot and dies.”

  “Did you see him die?”

  “Well, no.” That didn’t mean he wouldn’t, Lucy thought morosely. In the shooting dream, Justin had been focused on her, and she hadn’t seen a weapon. He wouldn’t stand a chance, no more than either Erica or Sophie. “But Sophie Delacorte did, remember. I was hoping that if we could only figure out the identity of the murderer, we could have him arrested and Justin would be safe.”

  “Maybe he will be.”

  “Not according to what Gran said.”

  “So what are you going to do?”

  “I don’t have a clue. I was hoping that talking to someone practical like you would help.”

  “If I was truly practical, I wouldn’t believe in psychic dreams,” Dana said, brushing a strand of blond hair out of her eyes. “Then, again, I’ve been around you for too long not to.” She frowned, thought for a moment, then said, “The dreams give you an edge. Time to deal with things, to figure out how to handle the situations before they come up.”

  That was the Dana she knew, the one who could help her figure out this mess. “Maybe I could do something positive if I could control the dreams.”

  “Then you need to try. Either do that or get out of the city until the murder is solved. I know you. If you stay, you won’t leave it alone.”

  “How can I?”

  “You’re not responsible, Lucy.”

  “But I feel like I am.”

  “Maybe the dreams aren’t telling you to interfere but to get out while the going is good. Get out of the way and let the professionals handle it.” When Lucy didn’t respond, Dana said, “Uh-huh.”

  “You know I can’t.”

  “But you can be careful. And you can allow yourself to believe in the good dreams, too.”

  “Justin?”

  “Go for a cha
nce at happiness. Sleep with the man, for heaven’s sake.”

  Heat shot through Lucy. That’s exactly what she wanted. “But if I do, then the rest will come true.”

  “According to your grandmother, it will all come true no matter what you do or don’t do.”

  Her friend had a point, but still…

  “Do you like the man?” Dana asked. “Do you want to sleep with him?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Do you think he wants to sleep with you?”

  Lucy felt her face reddening and began straightening a table of inexpensive sparkly masks. “Maybe…I don’t know.”

  “He wouldn’t have pulled that love potion ploy yesterday, if having sex with you wasn’t on his mind. Do you see yourself making it with a Justin Guidry?”

  “In dreams, yes.”

  “Is that really the problem then?” Dana asked. “You don’t see yourself with him in real life. You’re not sure that a man like Justin could really be attracted to boring old you, so you won’t act on your own instincts.”

  “That’s ridiculous. None of that even entered my head.”

  “Well, maybe you should consider it. Your evaluation of yourself as a non-guy-magnet has been in your subconscious like forever. Well, as long as I’ve known you, anyway, which is almost all our lives. You’ve had this buddy thing going on long enough, don’t you think?”

  “That’s what guys seem to want from me, so what’s wrong with it?” Lucy asked. Not that she’d been virginal before Justin, but she’d gone into sexual relationships with men in a realistic manner. “Everyone can use friends.”

  Dana shook her head. “Lucy, Lucy, Lucy. It’s time you stopped second-guessing yourself. You’re talented and smart and attractive. What’s not to want?”

  Even hearing her best friend describe her like that made Lucy shift uncomfortably. “So you think I’ve put up some kind of a barrier because I don’t think I’m worthy.”

  Which was the biggest crock, Lucy thought. She had her share of confidence.

  “Unconsciously, you could be doing that, sure. Unless it’s something else keeping you from claiming the passion in your life that you deserve.”