by Mary Kennedy
Etta Mae, predictably, was still smarting from her encounter with Olivia. “I told Rose and Minerva about that dreadful woman,” she said, throwing herself onto the sofa. “She was positively rude to me!”
“I’m sure she’s still upset over Sonia’s death,” I said soothingly. “After all, the two of them worked together for years and years. It must have been a terrible shock to see her collapse like that. And don’t forget she was with her at the hospital when she died. That was probably traumatic for her.”
“Not to speak ill of the dead, but I hope Olivia realized there were two sides to Sonia.” Etta Mae’s voice was bitter as she glanced around the circle. “Maybe she was upset, as you say, but I think it was just the shock of the moment. I doubt there was any love lost between those two. Olivia was probably angling for Sonia’s job. Sonia bossed her around like she was a lowly assistant, not an important executive of the company. I saw it myself.” She nodded her head. “I Googled Olivia, and all the business magazines say the same thing. The word on the street is that Olivia was the brains and the energy behind the organization. Without her ideas and her hustle, Sonia Scott, Inc., would have stayed a little local company, with Sonia doing cooking displays in department stores and catering barbecue dinners at the local firehouse.”
I remembered that Sonia had come from humble beginnings and had created her empire with very little capital, relying mainly on sweat equity. In the early days, she’d delivered homemade pies and cakes to her neighbors, catered potluck suppers for church groups, and never turned down a job. She had earned every bit of her success, but could there be someone out there jealous enough to snatch it away?
I made a mental note to check out what Etta Mae was saying about Sonia and her treatment of Olivia. It would certainly take suspicion off Etta Mae if she could point a finger at her disgruntled employee. After all, Olivia had means, motive, and opportunity to knock off her boss. Etta Mae was right about a Sonia-Olivia rivalry; at one point, Olivia had actually sued her employer. Both the Wall Street Journal and Forbes had covered the lawsuit, and Noah discovered it was settled out of court. Sonia and Olivia had refused to discuss it in the media and both women claimed it had been settled amicably. But did bad feelings remain?
“If that’s true, maybe that’s why Olivia came off as so abrasive,” Sybil Powers said mildly. “She probably wasn’t happy in her job and felt undervalued. I suppose it’s only normal to lash out when you’re stuck in a situation like that.” Sybil, dressed in a vibrant red-and-yellow cotton dress, was sitting with Persia Walker on the love seat, Dorien was sitting alone on a kitchen chair, and Lucinda Macavy had pulled up a wicker rocker. I could hear Sara Rutledge deep in conversation with Edward Giles as they walked up the stairs.
Almost a full house tonight. I quickly pulled over two of the ladder-back kitchen chairs and started pouring cider for everyone. Sam Stiles, our resident detective and club member, had called to say she was on duty and wouldn’t be able to make it, but everyone else had confirmed.
“I don’t even know where to start tonight,” Ali said, once the group had settled down and helped themselves to cider and pastries. She’d made some delicious apple cider donuts, which were an immediate hit. Several people asked for the recipe and she promised to e-mail it to them. “We need to include these on the dessert board downstairs,” she said to me in a low voice. I nodded as I bit into a cider donut. It was delicious, both tart and sweet at the same time. The donuts were so good, they were practically addictive.
“I hope everyone has tried to process what happened to Sonia,” Dorien said in her abrupt way. I knew when Dorien said “process,” she was referring to dream work. People involved in dream work believe you can come to a deeper understanding of an event, especially a trauma, if you allow your subconscious mind to explore the event in a dream. Dreaming is a safe way to open a window to our innermost thoughts and feelings.
It seemed that outspoken Dorien was hijacking the meeting once again. I bristled a little. Ali is too kind to speak up for herself and always worries she’ll offend someone. I don’t think she realizes Dorien has a hide like a rhino.
“What a shock.” Dorien blew out a little sigh. “I was almost afraid to let my head hit the pillow last night.” She locked eyes with the two newcomers, Etta Mae and Edward Giles. “I never know where my dreams will take me,” she said self-importantly. Dorien is a self-proclaimed psychic and often makes predictions about the future. Sometimes her predictions are so oblique it’s hard to know if she’s really on target, but no one ever dares question her. Dorien can be prickly and is known for her sharp tongue.
“I feel the same way,” Sybil cut in. “I’m a little apprehensive myself. I don’t really relish the idea of hopping into the head of a murderer.” She gave a little shudder.
“I think we need to approach this in an organized way,” Persia said, reaching for a lemon tart. Ali had tried a new recipe, and I was eager to see the group’s reaction. Almost everyone in the group prefers the old classic “Southern” recipes, and I’ve learned that we shouldn’t go too far afield. No one was sampling my version of the classic haystack recipe, and I decided I must have missed the mark this time.
“What would you suggest?” Ali said politely. She tossed me a tiny eye roll and she probably realized she’d already lost control of the evening’s agenda. Luckily, I knew she’d be a good sport about it and play along with whatever the group wanted.
“Well, I think we should go around the room and try to get a handle on any unusual imagery that popped up in last night’s dreams. Why don’t we start with the two new members, Etta Mae and Edward?” Persia leaned forward, her bangle bracelets clacking together.
Ali nodded and sat down. “That’s a great idea. Go ahead, Etta Mae. You can be the first one up tonight.”
Etta Mae flushed and seemed to lose her composure for a moment. “Well, I don’t want to go first,” she said weakly, casting me a pleading look. “Couldn’t someone else take the lead?”
“Why in the world don’t you want to start?” Dorien asked, a sharp edge in her voice. “You have some pretty strong opinions on Sonia, and I bet you’ve come up with a theory of what happened.”
“You’d be wrong if you thought that,” Etta Mae shot back. “Dead wrong.” She was showing a touch of her usual fire. “I have ideas, all right, but did it ever occur to you that maybe I’d like to keep them to myself? Don’t you ever play poker? If you did, you’d know it’s not a good idea to show your hand right off the bat.” She sat back and took a big swig of apple cider. “I’d like to just listen tonight and put in my two cents at the end, if there’s time. If that’s okay,” she added, turning to Ali. I nearly laughed out loud. Dorien had finally met her match in the feisty Etta Mae.
Ali tried to smooth things over, like a good hostess. “Of course that’s all right, Etta Mae. Please don’t feel you have to share anything you don’t want to. That’s not what this group is about. We try to keep it loose and friendly here.”
“A little too loose and friendly, if you ask me,” Dorien muttered under her breath. I glared at her, but she refused to meet my eyes. Dorien is definitely a passive-aggressive type, throwing in little digs whenever and wherever she can. Usually I just ignore them, but I was feeling edgy tonight and I found it hard not to show my annoyance.
“Edward,” Ali said brightly, “why don’t you tell us about your dreams?”
Edward flushed and set his pastry dish down on the coffee table. “I’m not exactly sure how this works,” he began. “Do I just tell you what I recall about my dream, like I’m telling a story?” He paused, looking more uncomfortable by the minute. “And then what do I do? I’m afraid I’m a bit lost here. And I should warn you that usually my dreams are just bits and pieces. I don’t think they’ll be easy to interpret.”
“Don’t worry about that, Edward. You just describe your dream and then we’ll chime in with some interpre
tations.” Lucinda Macavy was giving Edward a wide smile, perching on the edge of the white wicker rocker. In fact, she was leaning forward so much, I was afraid she might topple forward. Edward and Lucinda are single and about the same age. Was shy little Lucinda thinking of Edward as a possible beau? She led a very restricted life during her years as the headmistress of a girls’ boarding school, and now that she’s retired, I think she’s in the mood for a little fun. And that might include some male companionship. She tried a national online dating site, with disappointing results, and we’ve encouraged her to look for a new relationship right here in town. “Don’t be intimidated, Edward,” she went on. “We all share our dreams. Sometimes when someone offers an interpretation, it resonates with us, and sometimes it’s completely off target. We’re all friends here, so anything goes.”
I nearly chuckled, thinking of Lucinda’s first night at the Dream Club. She’d regaled us with a dream about finding herself stark naked in the freezer aisle of the local Publix. That certainly had sparked a lively discussion. I doubted Edward, a conservative university professor, would have anything so entertaining to tell us, but I’ve learned never to prejudge people or their dreams. In dream work, as in everything else, still waters run deep.
“I don’t think this is relevant,” Edward began, patting his pocket. I knew he usually smoked a pipe, but in deference to our no-smoking rule, he was abstaining tonight. “I’m afraid I didn’t dream about anything important. Last night, I dreamt about the trade routes that brought exotic goods to the New World in the nineteenth century.”
“Trade routes? Exotic goods? Why in the world would you dream about something like that?” Dorien asked. “Isn’t that a little abstract?”
Edward flushed. “I told you it wouldn’t be exciting.” Edward looked as if he was tempted to bolt from the room, and I decided I’d better intervene.
“Edward, if you could just tell us about the images you saw in your dream, that would be helpful,” I said. “And maybe talk about whatever emotions you were experiencing.”
“Yes, Taylor’s right,” Lucinda said eagerly. “That would give us something to work with.” She was smiling brightly at him, and I was convinced she was hoping this might be the start of a budding romance. “We need some pictures, something visual.”
“All right, then. This is what I remember. I saw Savannah Harbor,” he began, “back in the late nineteenth century.” He stopped and looked around the group. I nodded enthusiastically, urging him to continue. “In the dream, it was stretched out before me, like a panorama. It was a bustling place; the wharf was teeming with people. The ships had just arrived—they were amazing vessels, filled with exotic fruits and vegetables, nuts and seeds. Only the very wealthiest people in town could afford them.”
“I saw a painting of the Riverfront in the old days, and it looked just like that,” Dorien cut in rudely. “In the old days, people had never seen anything like a pineapple or a banana, and they tried to figure out ways to use them in desserts.”
“That’s probably where the idea for Bananas Foster came from,” Sybil chimed in. “I have a wonderful recipe for that, if anyone wants a copy.”
“What do you think made you dream about the Savannah Harbor?” Ali asked. I could tell she wanted to get back on topic and not interrupt the thread of Edward’s story.
“We’re covering the history of trade in one of my classes this semester,” Edward replied. “So I suppose it was on my mind when I went to sleep. I’m afraid I didn’t have any emotional reaction to the harbor and the ships. It was like watching a scene in a movie.” He cast a worried glance at Dorien. “I’m afraid my dreams won’t be too revealing and will probably just reflect my academic interests.” Edward seemed so apologetic, I was worried he was going to drop out of the group.
“Did you see the Waving Girl in your dream?” Persia said suddenly. I knew the Waving Girl was Florence Martus, because there is a statue erected to her in Emmet Park. According to local legend, Florence would wave a welcome and farewell to each ship that visited Savannah Harbor in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries.
Edward smiled. “No, I’m afraid there was no sign of Florence,” he said. “It’s an interesting story, though. Her brother was rumored to be the lighthouse keeper on Tybee.” He reached for his apple cider and I could tell he was eager to stop talking and let someone else take center stage. “I’m afraid that’s all I have for tonight.”
10
“Anyone else have anything to add?” Ali said after a long pause. “Would someone like to go next?”
“I have something to report,” Sybil said. “I tried lucid dreaming for the very first time yesterday, and I think I’m a believer!”
“Lucid dreaming?” Sara asked. “Isn’t that like being half awake and half asleep?”
“When you have a lucid dream, you know you’re dreaming,” Sybil said. “It’s an amazing experience. It’s a lot like dreaming, but it’s more powerful.”
It’s also more vivid and realistic, according to some of the club’s members. Some researchers and neuropsychologists say different areas of the brain are activated during lucid dreaming than during regular REM dreaming. It’s a fascinating field, and there’s still a lot to learn.
“Yes, and you’ll never believe what happened.” Sybil lowered her voice. “I was dreaming that I was looking at myself in the mirror and suddenly the image shifted. I positively had chills.” She let her gaze wander around the group, and I could feel goose bumps rising on my arms. “A very strange feeling came over me, as if I was transported back to a different time.”
“Did you feel like you were awake or asleep while you were in this state?” I asked.
“I felt like I was awake, but not wide-awake, if you know what I mean. I knew I could direct the dream. That’s the advantage of lucid dreaming. I knew I could stop or start it any time I wanted. So I just took a deep breath and told myself there was no need to be frightened. I could bow out at any time.”
“Who did you see in the mirror, my dear?” Rose Harper asked.
“Well, first I saw myself, of course, and then the image changed. I was staring at a woman with a kerchief on her head. I couldn’t tell if she was from the present day or from the past. She was holding out a basket to me, and she kept nodding her head as if she wanted me to take it. It seemed like she wanted to tell me something or help me understand something.”
“The woman in the dream,” Persia said, reaching for a tiny cherry tart, “is it possible she was trying to tell you something about Sonia’s death?”
A look of understanding flooded Sybil’s face. “Yes, I think she may have been. But for the life of me, I don’t understand the message. She wanted me to look at something in the basket. It doesn’t make any sense, does it? The only thing in the basket was some sort of seed or nut. They were tiny and cream-colored; that’s all I can remember. The woman held some up in her hands and let them sift through her fingers as they fell back into the basket. She was watching me intently the whole time. There was something strange about her, and I felt uncomfortable.”
“Were they pistachio nuts?” Minerva asked.
“Oh no, they were nothing like that. They were very small, smaller than a grain of rice. They had to have been seeds.” Sybil was looking over our heads toward the front windows. The sun was bleeding on the horizon, sending bright ribbons of scarlet and gold over the sky. I couldn’t tell if she was admiring the sunset or was momentarily transported back into her dream.
“What happened next?” I asked. Seeds? Sonia’s stomach contents had contained seeds. Could the dream offer any insight into her death?
“The scene shifted and the woman faded. I realized I was standing on a dock. It was Savannah Harbor, I think. I don’t know what year. The ships looked different, sort of old-timey, so it must have been in the past.”
“Just like in Edward’s dream,” Lucind
a said excitedly. “You both dreamt about the same place and time period. What do you suppose this means?”
“I have no idea,” Sybil said slowly. “The whole thing seems very unusual. It’s almost as though I were dream-hopping.” Sybil insists that all the women in her family have this ability.
Sybil has been privy to a great number of “secrets” by dream-hopping, but she feels duty bound not to share them unless someone’s life or safety is at stake. She was giving Edward a keen look, and I wondered if she’d try to enter one of his dreams.
“There must be more to the story,” Lucinda pressed on. “This is fascinating.” I had the feeling she wanted to turn the floor back to Edward, or at least give him a chance to comment. I glanced over at the professor. He was sitting ramrod straight in his chair, his elbow on the armrest, his chin in his hands. He was studying Sybil as if she were a bug under a microscope, and I wondered what he was thinking. Edward is surely a man who plays his cards close to his vest, as my Granny used to say.
“Edward, do you have any thoughts on this?” Dorien asked.
Edward rubbed his hands together and took a deep breath. “I’m afraid I don’t.” I had the idea he didn’t like being the center of attention and didn’t enjoy being put on the spot.
For a moment, we all were silent. Then Ali said, “Can you tell us more about the woman? Somehow I think she’s the key to the dream.”
Sybil looked down at her lap and played with the bright rings she sported on nearly every finger. I had the feeling she was stalling for time, choosing her words carefully. I wondered if the memory might be hazy, but when she spoke, her voice was clear and strong. “I think she was speaking to me in Italian. I remember hearing the word ‘bene.’”
“Bene?” That got Sara’s attention. “Are you sure about that?”
Sybil gave a vigorous nod of her head. “Yes, she kept saying it over and over. ‘Bene, bene,’ and urging me to look into the basket. I have no idea what she meant.”
