by Mary Kennedy
“‘Bene’ means ‘fine,’ or ‘good,’ or ‘all right,’” Sara said. “Maybe she meant whatever she was selling was good.” No one said anything, and I wondered if we were all thinking the same thing. Sybil had dreamt about seeds, and we knew that Sonia had ingested seeds. Was this too much of a stretch? Dream interpretation is more of an art than a science, and it’s difficult to pin down the meaning that floats up from our subconscious. Dreams are very personal, and I’ve learned that what the dreamer brings to the story is just as important as the words and events in the dream. It’s what you read into it, your emotional reaction, that counts.
“It’s a mystery,” Ali said after a moment. “I’m afraid I don’t know what to make of it.” She smiled at Etta Mae. “Shall we move on?”
Etta Mae sat back, crossing her hands over her chest in a classic “closed” body-language position. She even swung her legs to one side, in the opposite direction of Ali. Her intentions were crystal clear. She was literally and figuratively tuning out the group. “I told you I’d like go last,” she said peevishly.
“Of course,” Ali said agreeably. “Anyone else?”
“I dreamt about jewelry,” Lucinda said eagerly. She glanced over at Edward to see if he was listening. Since Lucinda is a voracious shopper of a home shopping network, it’s not surprising that she dreamt about jewelry, I thought wryly.
“Jewelry again?” Dorien said snidely. “More cubic zirconia, I suppose?”
“Why, no, that wasn’t what I dreamt about at all,” Lucinda said, her smile fading. She had been so enthusiastic about sharing her dream, and now her expression made me think of a deflated balloon. All the energy and passion had been sucked right out of her by Dorien’s thoughtless remark.
I made a note to speak to Ali after the meeting. Surely there was some way to curb Dorien and her sharp comments. No one ever had the gumption to do it before, but things were getting out of hand. I noticed people were starting to glance at her before they began talking, as if they were censoring themselves. This couldn’t continue, and I vowed to do something before the next meeting.
Everyone should feel free to openly discuss dream content without being criticized or mocked. That belief is at the heart of the Dream Club. I idly wondered if Ali and I should try to come up with some rules for the club, although knowing Dorien, she would never think that they applied to her.
“Tell us about your dream,” I said encouragingly. “I want to hear about the jewelry.”
“Well, it was the strangest thing,” Lucinda said, warming to the story. “Someone gave me a very valuable piece of jewelry. It was a necklace. A pendant on a thin silver chain. I knew it was precious, and I wore it when I was strolling around the grounds of a mansion. There was a little pond, and when I stopped to look at some koi fish in the pond, the necklace slipped right off my neck and disappeared into the water. I looked for it, but suddenly the water turned very dark, almost black, and I realized it was gone forever.” Her shoulders slumped and she looked dejected. “It’s odd how a dream can evoke strong emotions, feelings that are still with you the next day. Logically, it makes no sense. You know the events in the dream weren’t real, but the feelings seem real.”
“I think everyone here can relate to that,” Ali piped up.
I’ve had the same experience myself. I had night terrors when I was younger. Whenever my dreams evoke strong emotions, they seem to linger in my mind for hours after I wake up. When I argue with someone in a dream, I find myself feeling angry and out of sorts with the person the next day. It makes absolutely no sense, but feelings are feelings and they take on a life of their own.
“How do you feel right now, Lucinda?” Ali’s tone was gentle.
“I feel so sad, like I’ve lost something precious and can never get it back.” Her gaze swept the group. “What do you think the dream means?”
“Dark water can mean death,” Minerva said. Her sister Rose nodded in agreement. “I remember when our aunt Tabitha passed, Rose and I had dreams about the ocean at night. They were so vivid and disturbing. The scene was bleak, with no moonlight shining on the waves. The water was black and forbidding. I still feel queasy just thinking of it. Do you remember that, dear? We both had the same dream.”
“I do,” Rose said. She gave a little shudder. “I have that dream when someone in my family is very sick or close to passing on. And I’m afraid at our age, that happens all too frequently.” She gave a rueful smile, and Minerva reached over and patted her hand. The sisters were devoted to each other and had lived together for decades. I always wonder what would happen if one of them passed away. It would surely be devastating for the remaining sister.
“Do the dreams go on for a long time?” Sara asked.
“No, they’re very powerful for a few days and then they’re gone. After the loved one has died and we’ve all grieved for them, the dream changes.”
“In what way?” I found myself intrigued and had a vague memory of dreaming of water before my parents died in a car crash. I wondered if Ali recalled having similar dreams. We were both hit hard by their passing, and sometimes I think Ali has never really recovered. This is one of the reasons I feel so protective of her.
“I still dream about water, but now there’s sunlight dancing on the surface. The dream has a totally different feel to it; it’s filled with light, not shadows. These dreams make me happy because I know my loved ones have moved on to a better place.”
We just had time for two more dreams, and Ali described a classic anxiety dream, probably because she’s worried about the future of the shop. She told us how she’d found herself alone on a train, in the dark of night and unsure of her destination. After the train sped out of the station, she realized she had no ticket and had left her luggage and purse on the platform.
So there she was, on a speeding train in the pitch dark, feeling more alone and vulnerable by the minute. Where was she headed? What would happen when she got there? It sounded terrifying, and her voice shook as she told the story. Dreams about a journey to an unknown destination commonly occurred when people were under a great deal of stress.
When she finished recounting the dream, Rose Harper reached over and rested her hand gently on Ali’s shoulder. “There, dear,” she said in a comforting tone, “all this turmoil will pass and everything will be all right. You’ll see.”
“Yes, buck up, my dear,” her sister Minerva added. “We’re all here for you and we’re not going to let anything happen to your shop.”
Ali smiled her thanks and started to ask Etta Mae if she’d like to share anything, but Etta Mae quickly pressed her lips together and shook her head.
The meeting wrapped up shortly after Minerva Harper reported dreaming about a rose garden, which wasn’t unusual since she and her sister own a flower shop right down the block. It was a light, happy dream and didn’t seem to lend itself to any particular interpretation. Dorien offered an interpretation involving “roses and thorns,” suggesting that danger lurked behind beauty, but she didn’t make any headway. Minerva insisted there were no thorns in her rose garden and there was no hidden agenda. Dorien gave a loud sigh, not at all happy to see her interpretation dismissed so readily.
As the group made their way down the stairs, I was surprised to see Edward huddled in a conversation with Persia on the landing. He was leaning close to hear her, and he seemed more animated and engaged than he’d been the whole evening.
I skipped down the stairs to the shop and grabbed a package of root beer licorice off the shelf for the Harper sisters. One of their great-nephews loved licorice and I always tried to set some aside for him. We have a new distributor in Atlanta who sends us wonderful licorice selections, including some new flavors I was eager to try—peach, grape, and candy apple.
I noticed Edward and Persia were continuing their conversation in the foyer. As I drew close, I heard Edward say, “Are you absolutely sure
it was ‘bene’ that you heard?”
“Yes, of course I’m sure,” she insisted. “Bene—that’s exactly what I heard.” She threw me a puzzled glance as Edward shook his head and took a step backward, a look of astonishment on his face. I could feel the sudden, subtle charge in the atmosphere.
“Is something wrong, Edward?” I asked. I watched as a muscle jumped along his jawline.
“No, of course not. I just realized I overlooked something,” he stammered. A look of consternation flitted over his face, and he quickly said good night and left.
“I wonder what that was all about.” Persia seemed amused with the mild-mannered professor and his abrupt departure. “He’s an odd duck, isn’t he?”
“I think he’s just uncomfortable with people he doesn’t know very well,” I told her. “I’ve heard he doesn’t get out much, apart from his classes at the university.” Edward might be socially awkward, but that wasn’t the whole picture. I tried to make sense out of Edward’s reaction. He had seemed shocked; his face had gone pale for a millisecond when Persia had repeated “bene.” There was definitely something going on here, but what?
“The word ‘bene’ doesn’t have any particular significance, does it?” Ali was showing some more guests out the door but moved close to talk to us.
“Not to me, but it certainly got Edward’s attention,” I said. I wondered what he was holding back. “In fact, more than interested—I think he was intrigued.” I was having trouble getting a handle on Edward, and I still wasn’t sure he’d be a good match for the club. We never exclude anyone who applies for membership, but we insist on a personal recommendation from a current member. Etta Mae, for example, was recommended by the Harper sisters. She was a frequent customer in their flower shop, and they’d been chatting over the power of dreams. Edward had been recommended by Sara Rutledge, our reporter pal, who met him at a university function and thought he would be an interesting addition to our group.
From time to time, a new member decides not to continue with us. In any case, we like to keep the group small because it makes for a livelier discussion and a more intimate gathering. I think people might be hesitant to share if we let the meetings get too big. A dream club requires a high level of trust among members, if it is to be successful. That’s probably the only ground rule we have: strict confidentiality. Anyone who breaches that is automatically expelled, and I’m happy to say that has never happened.
“‘Bene’ can mean a lot of things,” Rose Harper said as I handed her the bag of candy.
“It’s supposed to mean ‘fine’ or ‘all right’ in Italian,” I said, wondering if she hadn’t followed the conversation we’d just had upstairs. Rose is slightly hard of hearing but refuses to admit it.
“That’s one meaning, my dear,” she said, resting her hand lightly on my arm. “But there’s another.” She leaned closer, watching as the last guest departed. “She might have been referring to benne chips.”
“Benny chips?” I was drawing a complete blank. “Benny, like the name?”
“No, not the name Benny. It’s b-e-n-n-e,” her sister Minvera chimed in. “Back in the day, everyone made cookies with benne chips,” she said. “Take a look in any vintage cookbook and you’ll see loads of recipes using benne chips.”
“Really? I’ve never even heard of them.”
“Today they call them sesame seeds.”
“Sesame seeds! Do you suppose that’s really what Persia was dreaming about?” Maybe Persia had misunderstood. She thought she’d heard the Italian word “bene,” but maybe what she really heard was “benne.”
“It’s very possible,” Rose said. “Another area to investigate, you know.”
“It certainly is,” I agreed. I mentally ran down tonight’s dreams. Lucinda had dreamt about a missing necklace and dark water. Could the necklace be the silver chain with a pendant that Sonia always wore? And we know that dark waters can symbolize death, so no surprise there. Edward saw ships bringing exotic foods to Savannah, and Persia met a woman offering her a basket of benne bits, which are actually sesame seeds.
And sesame seeds are what killed Sonia.
I walked back upstairs to make myself a cup of soothing chamomile tea. No doubt about it; something deadly was afoot in dreamland.
11
After spending a restless night tossing and turning, I jumped out of bed at 7 a.m., listened to my one voice mail message, and called Sara Rutledge. I knew she’d be up and sitting at the computer. She’s been hard at work on a true crime novel, blocking out a couple of hours each morning to meet her goal of writing a thousand words a day.
“I hate to disturb you,” I began, and she quickly cut me off with a laugh.
“Disturb me? Don’t be silly; you’re doing me a favor. I’m beginning to wonder why I ever decided to write true crime. I’m so tempted to chuck the whole thing, but that would mean forty thousand words down the drain.” She groaned. “I could have written a dozen feature articles instead of wasting my time on a true crime novel. How did I get myself into this mess? I’m so stressed out, I can’t decide what to do.”
“Then I’m glad I caught you in time,” I said hastily. “When you’re so undecided, it’s better not to do anything. The right course of action is to take no action at all. You’ve got to trust me on this.” She was silent and I pushed the button on the coffeemaker. In a few moments, the kitchen would be filled with the delicious aroma of hazelnut latte, and I was practically salivating at the thought. “You may have hit a bump in the road with your book, Sara, but you can’t toss it down the drain. It would be better to step back from it. Take a wait-and-see attitude before doing anything so drastic.”
“It’s more than a bump in the road. I feel like I’ve fallen into a black hole,” she said with her usual flair for drama. “And I’m so ready for a break this morning. What’s up?”
“I had an idea about the case in the middle of the night,” I told her. Barney and Scout were winding around my legs, eager for their breakfast. I managed to open a can of Beef Bits with one hand by tucking the receiver under my chin. When I set the two dishes on the floor, the cats pounced on them as though they hadn’t eaten in days.
“A new lead?” Sara asked. She immediately jumped into high gear, and her voice crackled with energy.
“It could be. I’m thinking of calling on Jeremy Watts today. Would you like to come along?”
“Jeremy Watts.” A long beat. “Sonia’s married lover. That’s not a bad idea, but how will we track him down? Do we even know what city he’s in?”
“He’s right here in Savannah, at the Red Lion Inn.”
“Really? How did you find him?”
“Minerva Harper rises at the crack of dawn, and she left a message on my cell. She had a dream about Jeremy last night. She said a strange feeling came over her and she thinks he could be the key to Sonia’s death. She also had a strong sensation that he was close by, and I took that to mean right here in Savannah.” I trusted Minerva’s insights, and she’d been helpful before when we solved the murder of dance instructor Chico.
“That’s interesting that she feels that way, but it’s not exactly the hard evidence we’re looking for,” Sara said. “What did you have in mind?”
“Let’s meet for breakfast and we can talk it over. They have a nice coffee shop at the Red Lion Inn. It’s on the right as soon as you go into the lobby.” I glanced at my watch. “The Red Lion at eight? That way we can catch him before he goes out for the day.”
“I’m in,” Sara said.
The buzzer on the coffeemaker dinged, and the fragrant aroma of hazelnut coffee was so enticing, I couldn’t wait to taste it. I figured Ali was still sleeping, but I planned to leave a cup of coffee on her night table and then jump into the shower.
When I walked down the hall, Ali’s door was cracked open and she was sitting up in bed, stretching. She reached happil
y for the coffee and cradled the mug in her hands. “No eggs Benedict?” she teased. “Not that I’m complaining; coffee in bed is enough of a treat.”
“No time for eggs Benedict,” I told her. “I’m meeting Sara for breakfast this morning; do you want to come along? You’ll have to hustle, because we need to leave in half an hour.”
“I can do it!” she said, jumping out of bed. Ali is blessed with blond good looks that require very little maintenance. A touch of lip gloss, a hint of mascara, and she can turn heads, especially when she wears her hair flowing loosely down her back. She usually sweeps it into a French braid in the shop, but when she’s in casual mode, she likes to wear it in a high ponytail. Either way, she’s gorgeous.
• • •
“Tell me again why you think Jeremy Watts is registered here,” Ali said as we hurried into the Red Lion. It’s a small hotel near the Riverfront, popular with business travelers.
“Minerva Harper saw it in a dream. But I wanted to be sure, so I called and pretended I had a message for him.” I grinned. “He’s here, all right. Room two-oh-six. When the desk clerk offered to put me through, I hung up.”
“Minerva saw Jeremy at the Red Lion Inn in a dream?” she asked doubtfully.
“Well, it wasn’t spelled out specifically in the dream; it was symbolic. But the key elements were right there, and all I had to do was put them together.”
“What kind of symbolism are we talking about?”
“In Minerva’s dream, she saw Jeremy Watts at a red-carpet event. She didn’t know what to make of it, but she figured it had to be important, so she jotted down what she could remember and called me early this morning.”
“A red-carpet event? You mean like a Hollywood awards show?”
“Yes, exactly. I know it sounds unlikely, but she was very clear on what she’d seen.” I stepped up my pace. I was wearing a new pair of espadrilles and nearly tripping in them. I hardly ever wear heels since I’ve moved to Savannah; I tend to wear flip-flops or ballet flats in the store. “And he was standing under a huge poster of the MGM lion and photographers were snapping pictures of him. So I put it all together. Jeremy, the color red, and a lion.” I snapped my fingers. “Only one place in Savannah could fit the bill. The Red Lion Inn.”
