Dream a Little Scream

by Mary Kennedy

  Ali peered over my shoulder. “Blessing, hanging over me like a cloud, swaddling, a dark shroud, a spiderweb of lies.” She looked at Lucinda. “What in the world does she mean?”

  Lucinda gave a helpless shrug. “I have no idea. She jumps from idea to idea; I think she was trying to write in a stream-of-consciousness style. She certainly meanders.”

  “She starts out by saying ‘blessing.’ An odd choice of word.” A frown crossed Ali’s face. “‘Shroud’? ‘Spiderweb’? Such dark images.” She paused for a moment. “Why would anyone think these were blessings?”

  “Yes, it seemed strange to me, too,” Lucinda said. “The images are contradictory, aren’t they?” She paused to take a tiny bite of her donut cupcake. “Ali, these are brilliant,” she said, brightening. “You’ve outdone yourself. They really do taste like a cross between a donut and a cupcake.”

  “Thanks,” Ali told her, looking pleased. She blew out a little breath as if to shake off the depressing poem. “I’m so glad you like them. I was aiming for something like a Cronut.”

  “A Cronut? What in the world is that?” Rose asked.

  “A cross between a croissant and a donut. They’re new and very trendy. I might try out a recipe and add them to the menu someday.”

  “I think you’ve outdone yourself, my dear.” Rose sipped her coffee appreciatively. “They are delicious. I’m sure they’re going to be a huge hit.”

  “You know, I just thought of something,” Minerva said, tapping her finger on the lined paper filled with Trudy’s handwriting. “It could be that we’re looking at this in the wrong way. The word ‘blessing.’ She may not have meant it in a spiritual sense, like a gift. What if she meant an actual place?”

  “A place?” Lucinda asked.

  “She might be referring to the town. There’s a Blessing, Alabama, you know. It’s about halfway between here and Tuscaloosa.”

  “Are you sure? That certainly puts another spin on things.” Rose delicately lifted out another cupcake. She cut it in two halves and placed one half on her sister’s plate.

  Minerva smiled her thanks. “Rose, dear, don’t you remember that Sonia had an aunt living in Alabama? It was her mother’s sister Reba, I believe. And I think the town was called Blessing.”

  “Reba Miller,” Rose said. “Yes, I do. As I recall, Sonia was close to her aunt and thought of her as a second mother. It always surprises me that she never mentions her aunt Reba in interviews. Reba was such a big part of her life.”

  “Is there some reason Sonia might want to forget that part of her life?” I was puzzled at this revelation and intrigued by the mystery aunt.

  “I can’t imagine what it could be,” Minerva said. “I never heard anything about Sonia and Reba having a falling-out or anything like that. I don’t think she has any other family there, so maybe she doesn’t make many trips home to Alabama.”

  “It seems like a closed chapter in her life,” Lucinda said thoughtfully. She scanned the poem once more. “But it looks like something happened in Blessing that was hurtful. Something dark that led to secrets and betrayal. Or am I reading too much into this? Can anybody think of another interpretation?”

  She brushed a loose curl out of her eyes. Lucinda is every inch the Southern lady and was wearing a snazzy navy-and-white blazer with trim white pants and white ceramic earrings. She carried a navy-and-white bag and was coordinated all the way down to her white sandals.

  “It might just be that she was copying another poet,” Ali said thoughtfully. “When I was that age, I thought poetry was supposed to be very heavy and tragic, so I tried to write that way. I played a lot of sad music, moped around the house, and read Sylvia Plath.” She grinned. “It didn’t make me more creative; it just made everyone around me depressed.”

  “I remember that phase,” I said with a laugh. “Mom and Dad were happy it only lasted a few weeks.”

  “I couldn’t stand it any longer,” Ali admitted. “I guess I’m just a born optimist.”

  Our guests got up to leave and Minerva stopped downstairs to pick up some red velvet cupcakes and chocolate bridge mix. Minerva leaned over the counter and said, “I have a feeling that poem might be significant, Taylor, and I have no idea why.” She hesitated and then said, “Do you think it could be something more than just a teenager being a drama queen?”

  “I do,” I told her. “I think there’s something important here, but I can’t put my finger on it. I’m so glad Lucinda brought it over,” I said, handing her the package. “Actually, I have an idea I wanted to explore, but I didn’t want to say anything just yet.”

  “Let me know what you find,” she said.

  “Oh, I will, that’s for sure,” I told her. As soon as we closed the door behind them, I turned to Ali. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  “We’re going to Blessing,” she said without missing a beat.

  19

  “No listing for a Reba Miller in Blessing,” Ali said a few minutes later. “There’s a Floyd Miller, maybe he’s a relative. And it looks like a really small town, practically a whistle-stop.” She stared at the computer screen and tried not to jostle Barney, who insisted on curling up on her lap. The friendly tabby kept nudging her to pet him by bumping his head under her hand, forcing her fingers off the keyboard. She scooped him up briefly to kiss the top of his head and then replaced him in her lap. “What do you think we should do?”

  I poured the last of the hazelnut coffee into a thermos and grabbed two plastic mugs.

  “I think we should drive over there right now and check it out. How far is it, anyway? Didn’t Minerva say it was halfway between here and Tuscaloosa?”

  “It’s not quite that far. I think we can be there in a couple of hours.” I heard the shop door open downstairs. Dana was punctual as usual. She’d certainly exceeded our expectations for a college intern and had proven herself to be not only smart and reliable but highly creative. I decided it was time to assign her more challenging projects and give her more responsibility. Maybe even the cooking classes?

  “This will be quick trip,” I said idly. “We can easily get to Blessing by lunchtime and be back here in the early afternoon.”

  “Taylor, do you think this is a wild-goose chase? Maybe we should stay home and work on ideas for the cooking classes.” The dreaded cooking classes! Ali must have read my mind.

  I shook my head. “It’s not a wild-goose chase. I think something will turn up. I’ll drive and we can do some planning on the way. I’ve got a good feeling about what we’ll find in Blessing.”

  • • •

  Three hours later, we were trudging up Main Street in Blessing, hot and tired, and I had come to regret my hasty decision. We’d found Floyd Miller, who owned a convenience store out on the highway and lived on the edge of town. He lived practically out in the country and we had to travel down meandering dirt roads to find his white frame farmhouse. He said Reba “wasn’t kin” to him, even though they had the same last name. In any case, Reba had moved away a few years earlier. No one seemed to know what had happened to her and she had no family left in Blessing.

  We accepted his offer of a “Co-cola,” and sat on his front porch, fanning ourselves in the noonday heat. He couldn’t help us, but he was certainly chatty, sitting on his rocker spinning yarns with his hound dog, Russ, at his side. Letitia and Cyrus were his grown children, he told us, and proudly pulled out photos of his grandchildren. We dutifully admired them and minutes later, we were on our way.

  It felt like a dead end.

  Soon we were strolling up the main drag again with no plan in sight. Blessing was a typical Southern town, and Main Street was lined with small shops, two-story brick buildings, friendly people, and a couple of convenience stores. Not a shopping mall in sight. We passed three churches in four blocks, along with the firehouse, the sheriff’s office, and a tiny library. I spotted a WE
LCOME sign advertising that Blessing had a population of five thousand people, was “a good town to be from,” and was famous for an annual peach festival.

  As we trudged along the dusty sidewalk, my mind had sputtered and stalled. My spur-of-the-moment impulse to track down Reba Miller had led nowhere, and I was at a loss as to what to do next. Maybe Trudy Carpenter’s poem had no significance. Maybe Blessing had nothing to do with Trudy and she’d simply liked the sound of the name. I was ready to admit defeat when Ali broke into my thoughts.

  “Now what?” she said. There was a tiny hint of exasperation in her voice and her hair was hanging limp on her neck. She pulled a rubber band out of her purse and yanked her thick blond hair back into a makeshift ponytail. The midday sun was beating down on us and my only thought was to get into someplace air-conditioned as soon as possible. The three Rs. Regroup, review, reassess. My business school training had kicked in. Some frosty air and iced tea might jolt my brain back into action.

  “Well, we have two choices. We could try the library,” I suggested, “or maybe Shirley’s Drop-In Diner.”

  Ali’s eyes lit up at the word “diner” and her lips twitched. “The diner, please! I’m starving.” I should have guessed. Ali is a big fan of diners, with their wide selection of comfort food and oversized portions of homemade pie. “We might get some menu ideas for the shop. And who knows”—she raced on without taking a breath—“we might hear some interesting gossip. People in diners love to talk, don’t they? Everybody knows everybody in these small towns. And everyone shows up at the diner. If we strike out, we can always hit the library after lunch.”

  “I hope you’re right. Otherwise today has been a complete wash.” I pushed open the double glass doors and was rewarded with a blast of frigid air. Heaven!

  “Welcome to Shirley’s,” a plump waitress greeted us. “Would y’all like a booth instead of a table? We have one left in the back.” She was eyeing Ali’s laptop, peeking out of her tote bag, with some suspicion.

  “That would be fine,” I told her, following as she grabbed two enormous menus off the rack. Ali lingered to look at the array of pies in a refrigerated case, but I nudged her forward. “You can have pie later,” I promised.

  “Now, we do have Wi-Fi, but some days it’s uncertain,” our server said. So that was why she’d cast a nervous look at the laptop, I thought. I’d figured she was afraid we’d order two iced teas and spend three hours hunched over our electronic devices. Sometimes I have to remind myself not to be so cynical.

  “My name’s Flo,” she added with a wide smile. “Would you like to hear the specials?” Without waiting for us to reply, she reeled off a dizzying selection of typical diner food. Meat loaf and mashed potatoes, mac ‘n’ cheese, chef’s salad, club sandwich, turkey tetrazinni, chicken with dumplings, and four kinds of soups. And, of course, those ginormous pies, which were calling my name with their sugary little voices.

  Ali held up her hand, laughing. “They all sound really good, Flo, but tell me, what would you recommend?”

  “Well, now, that’s hard to say,” Flo said, sticking her pencil behind her ear. “Because I like everything on the menu. If I wanted something light, because I knew I was going to have a big dinner later on tonight, I’d have one of our new flatbreads.” She opened the menu and flipped it to the back page. “We just added these and they’re a big hit. It seems a lot of folks are watching their calories these days and looking for something light and tasty.”

  “They do sound good,” Ali said. “What are your favorites?”

  “The flatbread pizza with mushrooms and the spinach artichoke flatbread with feta cheese. You can’t go wrong with either one and they come with side salads.”

  “Let’s try them both, “I said. “And two iced teas, please.”

  When Flo had bustled away, Ali said, “We should add flatbreads to the menu at the shop. They’re very trendy and a lot of cafés and restaurants in Savannah are serving them.”

  Flo was back in a flash with our flatbreads, and just as she predicted, they looked delicious. Business had thinned out in the diner, and I thought this might be a good time to see if we could get any local gossip. After I complimented Flo on our choices, she asked genially, “Where are you folks from? I think I recognize a Northern accent.” She raised her eyebrows. “With a touch of Atlanta.”

  “You have a good ear,” Ali told her. “We’re originally from Chicago, and my sister lived in Atlanta for a while. But now we call Savannah home.”

  “Is that so?” Flo said, refilling our iced tea. “How do you like it there?”

  “We love it,” I told her. “We own a vintage candy shop called Oldies But Goodies, right off the Historic District.”

  “Oldies But Goodies?” Flo blinked, and I saw her eyes flicker with recognition. “I’ll have to check it out the next time I’m in town,” she said slowly. “When I have family visiting, we always take them to Savannah for the day. They love the Riverfront.” There was dead silence and Flo bit her lip. “Well, I guess I’ll just come right out and ask you—is that the place that Sonia Scott was poisoned? The name sure sounds familiar.”

  I glanced at Ali and saw her face crumple. Even people this far away knew that Sonia was murdered at our shop. “Sonia did die at a book signing at the shop,” I said quickly. “But it’s not what you think. She wasn’t poisoned; she had an allergic reaction. It could have happened anywhere.”

  “Well, that’s mighty sad. I didn’t know that.” Flo looked toward the front of the diner to make sure no one was waiting to be seated. “I remember her when she was a young ’un, barely out of her teens.”

  “You knew Sonia Scott?” Ali blurted out. “Do you mean you knew her here in Blessing?”

  “Why, yes, that’s exactly what I mean. I knew Sonia and I knew her aunt Reba. You couldn’t find a nicer lady than Miss Reba. She’d do anything in the world for you. Now, Sonia was something of a handful when she was coming up. She needed a firm hand, and I think Reba did the best she could, but there still were some problems.”

  Ali and I exchanged a look. Flo was turning out to be a gold mine of information.

  “Are you saying Sonia lived here?” I was surprised. I’d read Sonia’s press packet, and there was no mention of Blessing. As far as I could tell, she’d grown up in Savannah and Brunswick.

  “She was here for a while,” Flo said, lowering her voice a notch. “She came to visit Miss Reba in the summers and stay with her. I reckon her parents couldn’t handle her, so the minute school was out, she was back here in Blessing, hanging out at the local pool and flirting with all the boys. She was a looker, that’s for sure, with that long red hair and slim figure.”

  Ali raised her eyebrows. This wasn’t we’d expected. Sonia had spent her summers in a little one-stoplight town like Blessing? And how come her publicity people kept it a secret?

  “Flo,” I said softly, “did something happen to Sonia in Blessing?”

  She paused to look out the window and ran her hand over her chin. A long beat passed. A shadow crossed her face, and I wasn’t sure she was going to continue. “Something happened one summer,” she said finally. “It was the last time she came to visit Miss Reba. I’d say Sonia was sixteen or seventeen at the time.”

  “What happened?” Ali’s voice was barely a whisper. Both of us were leaning forward, straining to catch every word.

  “My sister was working as a nurse at Blessing Community Hospital,” Flo said. “She looked up to see Sonia walking in the front door, holding a baby. A beautiful red-haired baby. A tiny little thing, probably only a few days old.” She paused and I felt a catch in my throat. “And when Sonia walked out an hour later, she didn’t have the baby.”

  I felt like the breath had been sucked out of me. Trudy Carpenter. The red-haired baby was Trudy. But why hadn’t Sonia ever claimed her as her daughter? And did Trudy ever find out the truth that her �
��aunt” was really her mother?

  Ali looked shaken as I quickly paid the bill and left a hefty tip for Flo. I was happy to get in the car, switch on the AC, and try to make sense of all this as we drove back to Savannah.

  I was silent for a moment, mulling over the latest development.

  “Do you think Trudy would ever be so furious she would kill Sonia?” Ali asked. “It seems unthinkable, but . . .”

  “She might have considered it the ultimate betrayal,” I said. “That poem was so full of pain and longing. But Trudy as a killer? No, I don’t buy it. Everyone said she was a sweet, sensitive girl back in school. I think if anything, she turned her anger inward, into depression.”

  “Drugs can change a person, if she really did go down that road,” Ali said bluntly. She was right. Ali had known friends in college who’d succumbed to the lure of drugs and had made royal messes of their lives.

  “And she’s living with Reggie Knox,” I said. “Could they have planned this together, or did he force her to be an accomplice?” They had different motives. Trudy may have wanted revenge and Knox probably wanted money, but it still didn’t seem to fit.

  “I think we need to run this by Sara and Noah,” Ali said.

  “Definitely. We need to touch base and compare notes. Today was a bombshell, but maybe they have some surprises, too.” I glanced at my watch. We could easily be home in time to check things at the shop and then meet for dinner at one of my favorite spots in town.

  “Dinner at six?” She pulled out her cell and started punching in numbers.

  “It’s a date.”

  20

  Sweet Caroline’s was doing a brisk business when Ali and I walked in. I spotted Noah and Sara sitting at a table in the back and gave them a little wave before being engulfed in a hug by Caroline LaCroix, the owner. Caroline, chic in that way that only French women can manage, kissed me on both cheeks. “Oh, Taylor,” she said, her eyes welling with tears, “what a time you and Ali have had.” She looped her arm around Ali’s waist and shook her head. “I can’t believe the way things turned out. Who knew a visit from Sonia Scott would end in such a disaster! Quelle horreur!”