Dream a Little Scream

by Mary Kennedy

  “Me, either,” I admitted, “but now that we’ve met her, I feel pretty certain about ruling her out as a suspect, don’t you?”

  “Absolutely.” Dana emerged from the storeroom as Ali added, “That girl couldn’t hurt a fly, I’m certain of it.”

  “So where does that leave things?” Dana asked. She poured herself a glass of ginger tea and took a tiny sip. “Are you any closer to solving the murder?”

  “Not really,” I admitted. I suddenly remembered what was troubling me about the coffee from Java Joe’s. “Ali, if someone really spiked the Java Joe’s coffee with sesame seed powder, how could they be sure Sonia wouldn’t drink it right away? If she drank it in the limo, it would be obvious that it was the coffee that sent her into anaphylactic shock. Whoever was close to her at the time would surely be a suspect. Anyone who had access to the coffee cup would be a suspect. They’d be taking a huge chance of getting caught, and I don’t see why they’d risk it.”

  “That’s a good point—” Ali began when Dana cut in.

  “I think I know the answer to that,” she said excitedly. “Sonia always drank her coffee lukewarm, and Java Joe’s serves it steaming hot.”

  “Are you sure?” Ali asked, puzzled.

  “I’m positive,” Dana replied. “I offered to heat it up for her at the book signing and Olivia told me not to bother. She told me Sonia always waited until it was lukewarm to drink it. Apparently, Sonia would wander around holding a cup of cold coffee all day long and it drove her staff crazy.”

  “But how does this affect the case?” Ali continued.

  Dana put her glass down and stood up as some tourists wandered into the shop. “Don’t you see? Anyone who knew Sonia realized there was no way she would drink the coffee right away. Sonia would hold the cup in the limo—or maybe someone held it for her—but it was pretty certain she wouldn’t take a sip until she got to the book signing.”

  “And once they arrived at the book signing, there were dozens of fans milling around,” I said slowly. “The pool of potential suspects widens. And there was food there, the cookie trays, just to add to the confusion.”

  “The possibilities are endless,” Ali said softly. “And the coffee from Java Joe’s is a new element.”

  That’s what had been troubling me: the coffee. But I see now that it could have worked exactly the way Dana had just described. My mind raced on, ticking off the possibilities. Sonia was carrying a cup of coffee from Java Joe’s and any one of her staff members would have had time to spike it with sesame powder. They would have been safe, as long as she didn’t drink it in the limo.

  If this scenario was true, Lucinda’s cookies had nothing to do with anything. And Leslie’s visit to Lucinda’s kitchen had been completely innocent. Was I really back to square one? And without the coffee cup, how could we ever prove anything? It was all speculation.

  “Are we back to Olivia?” Ali asked as Dana checked in with the tourists to see if they needed help.

  “I think so. We really don’t know much about Sonia’s other staffers, but I’m sure the police ran a background check on them.”Ali picked up her sunglasses and purse.

  “Are you heading out?”

  “Yes, and you’re coming with me,” she said firmly. “We’re going to see Noah. But first we’re making a stop at Java Joe’s.”

  28

  “Of course I remember Sonia Scott and her visit to Java Joe’s. What a charming lady she was.” Erica Morrison, the manager at Java Joe’s, glanced at her watch before ringing up a sale. Ali and I were sitting at the counter with steaming lattes in front of us.

  “Can you talk for a minute?” Ali asked. “We don’t want to interrupt you. I know what it’s like trying to take care of customers while someone’s chattering away at you. My sister and I own Oldies But Goodies, the candy shop right off the square.” She pulled out a business card that Dana had designed and handed it to Erica.

  “Oldies But Goodies. I’ve been meaning to stop by. I’ve heard great things about you.” Erica slipped the card into her apron pocket. “This is actually a good time for me to talk; I can take a quick break,” she said. “I just hired a new assistant, and from the looks of things, she’s going to be wonderful. This will change my life,” she added. She motioned to a young girl wearing a black Java Joe’s apron to take over the cash register for her and then walked around the counter to sit with us.

  “Thank you so much. We won’t take up too much of your time,” Ali promised.

  “I’m happy to talk about Sonia. What a surprise it was when she walked in that day! And so sad what happened afterward.” She paused. “What would you like to know about Sonia’s visit? Was there something in particular? She was only here for a few minutes. Probably ten or fifteen minutes, all in all.”

  “We’d love to hear your impressions of her,” I said quickly. “What you remember about the visit, anything at all. One of our friends is a journalist and she’s thinking of doing a piece on Sonia’s visit to Savannah. Maybe there are some anecdotes you could share.”

  “Well, her visit was a complete surprise. We knew she was staying at the hotel right next door because the bellman had told us that morning. He stops in at seven thirty every morning like clockwork. He said everyone at the hotel was excited to have Sonia staying with them.”

  “Do you have any idea why she stopped in here that morning?” Ali asked. “Hadn’t they already checked out of the hotel?”

  “Oh yes, they’d checked out, all right. I know that because we were watching the valet parking attendant pile their luggage into the back of the limo. We were all standing at the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of Sonia.”

  “What happened next?” Ali asked.

  Erica laughed. “Well, she spotted us and came right over to the front window and yelled, ‘Hi, y’all!’ Some of the baristas were waving for her to come inside and she did. That caused quite a stir, I can tell you. All the customers were applauding.”

  “I suppose everyone wanted to meet her and say hello,” Ali offered.

  “Oh, they did. And they wanted to take pictures, too. She was so charming and gracious to everyone. We knew she was in a mad rush to get to the book signing, but she still took some time to pose for a few photos. I have one, myself, if you’d like to see it.”

  She went back behind the counter and opened a drawer. “I haven’t had time to get it framed yet, but it’s going to have a place of honor, right up on the wall near the cash register. And I’ll have it enlarged, of course.” She pulled out a small photo of Sonia with her arm around her. They were standing in front of the coffee machine flanked by Olivia and a couple of smiling baristas. “I’m having copies made for everyone. This is probably the closest they’ve ever been to a real celebrity; it will mean a lot to them.”

  “I’m sure it will,” I said, passing the photo to Ali. “Everyone looks so happy,” I commented. It was sad and ironic to think that Sonia would meet her death just a couple of hours later.

  “A lovely picture,” Ali murmured, and then she gave a little gasp. “Taylor,” she said breathlessly, “look at that man in the background. Isn’t it—”

  “Jeremy Watts,” I blurted out. “Yes, that’s definitely him.” He was in profile, staring out the coffee-shop window toward the limo parked outside. He must have been unaware he was caught in the photo; he looked moody and tense, not involved with the happy crowd gathered around Sonia.

  “Is something wrong?” Erica asked as I slid the photo across the counter to her. “That man you’re looking at”—she tapped her fingernail on the photo—“I think he was part of the group, because they all came in together. He must have worked for Sonia.”

  “Yes, he did. He was one of her employees. Nothing’s wrong,” I reassured her. “We were just surprised to see him here, that’s all.” I exchanged a glance with Ali. Jeremy had told us at the hotel that he’d returned h
ome that night and wasn’t able to attend the book signing the next morning. Yet here he was, still in town, just minutes before the book signing. So he had spent the night in town? What was going on? A simple change in plans or something more sinister?

  In any case, I figured we’d learned as much as we could at Java Joe’s, and after thanking Erica for her time, we stepped outside into the bright Savannah sunshine.

  My cell was chirping and I glanced at the readout. Noah! As I mouthed his name to Ali, she scrambled for her own phone, which was playing “Material Girl.” Both of us ran under an awning to escape the heat, with our phones clasped to our ears.

  “It’s Sara,” Ali said, just as I answered my cell.

  “You must be a mind reader,” I said to Noah, “because I was just going to call you.”

  Noah’s warm, sexy chuckle raced over the line. “Really? I’m glad to hear it. I was going to suggest lunch at Caroline’s if you can slip away. I want to give you some updates on the case.” I heard phones ringing in the background and the whir of a fax machine. It seemed like business had picked up at the detective agency, and I wondered if Noah had finally settled on an assistant. “Lunch sounds perfect,” I began as Ali tapped my arm.

  “Sara wants to meet us at Sweet Caroline’s,” Ali said. “Is noon okay?”

  “Wow,” I murmured, “we all got the same idea at the same time. Tell her yes. Noah will be there, too.” I turned back to my cell. “Synchronicity,” I told Noah.

  “Is that a code word for something?”

  “No,” I laughed. “It just means there will be four of us at Sweet Caroline’s, that’s all. Sara’s going to join us.”

  “I told you he’d call,” Ali said archly as we continued our walk. The sun was high in the sky, the air soft and balmy as we headed for a stroll by the Riverfront.

  “Yes, you did,” I told her. “But it’s all business. He said he wants to give me an update on the case.”

  “It can’t all be business,” Ali said, determined to have the last word. “He could have gone over the details by phone, if that’s all he wanted.” My sister, the eternal optimist.

  • • •

  Business was brisk at Sweet Caroline’s, but the hostess had saved us my favorite booth in the back. Sara and Noah were deep in conversation when Ali and I arrived. Remy, Sara’s adorable dog, was lying quietly under the table. Caroline LaCroix, the owner, says that well-behaved dogs are usually welcome in cafés in her native France, and she decided to continue this tradition in Savannah.

  As always, Sara had her notebook spread out on the table with an assortment of pens and highlighters. She has her own system of organizing her notes; quotes are highlighted in yellow, unless they’re off the record, and then she colors them bright red.

  “Noah’s bringing me up to speed,” Sara said as we slipped into the booth. I saw that Noah had already ordered white wine all around. Ali looked at the label and grinned at me. I knew what she was thinking. She was impressed that Noah had remembered my favorite wine and had decided that our relationship was in its “on-again” phase. I didn’t have the heart to tell her the choice of wine wasn’t as significant as she thought. It happens to be Noah’s favorite as well.

  The server appeared and everything on the menu looked tempting to me. The panini special sounded delicious, and we all decided to try it. Creamy goat cheese with roasted red peppers. Noah was already sampling Caroline’s famous handmade potato chips while we waited for lunch to arrive. Caroline served them in a little basket lined with a red-and-white checkered napkin, and they were a huge favorite.

  I idly thought of serving them at the shop and didn’t know if Caroline could bear to part with the recipe. I know they’re made out of russet potatoes, sliced paper-thin, because the server told me. And they’re sprinkled with olive oil and baked in a very hot oven. But Caroline adds some sort of herb that gives them an extra kick. Maybe rosemary? I wasn’t sure.

  “So where do things stand with the case?” I asked as soon as we’d ordered.

  “Have you talked to Sam Stiles?” Noah asked. He was eyeing the potato chips as if he was tempted to reach for a handful and was trying to restrain himself. Caroline’s potato chips are seriously addictive, and I knew we’d have to order another basket at some point. The first basket is always on the house, and after that, they are considered a menu item and Caroline charges for them.

  I shook my head. “I haven’t had a chance to talk to her. What’s up?”

  “The police found the Java Joe’s coffee cup.” He sat back with a smug smile.

  “You’re kidding!” Ali blurted out. “Taylor, did you hear that?”

  “Yes,” I said, “I’m still trying to get my mind around it.”

  “I can’t believe you found out before we did,” Sara told him.

  “I have my sources,” Noah said, smiling as the server poured the wine.

  “But where was it? That day when Sam and the CSIs came over, they went through the whole shop with a fine-tooth comb.”

  “They did find it, but somehow it got misplaced at the station house and never got logged into evidence.” Noah gave in to the urge and helped himself to a handful of potato chips. “But they have it now, and they can still run tests on it.”

  “So that means the chain of evidence was broken,” I said. Noah nodded and I went on, “And that means it might not stand up in court. Tell me about the paper cup. Did they analyze it? Was there any evidence of sesame seeds in the cup?”

  “It’s possible but they’re keeping this quiet for the moment,” he said, lowering his voice. “Don’t go public with this, not even to the Dream Club.”

  “I won’t breathe a word,” Ali said solemnly. “So this is a dead end?”

  “Maybe not,” I said, sitting up straight. “Ali, remember when Olivia turned up at the shop, looking for her day planner?”

  “Yes, she seemed really upset that she didn’t find it.”

  “What if”—I leaned in across the table and lowered my voice—“what if she was really looking for the coffee cup? The day planner was just an excuse, something she made up on the spot.”

  “It’s certainly possible,” Noah offered.

  For a moment no one spoke, and then Sara said, “But I don’t still understand why she left the coffee cup in the shop. She could have shoved it in her bag and just taken it with her. “Maybe it wasn’t possible,” I said, trying to re-create the scene in my mind. “Or maybe she forgot all about it in the heat of the moment. Everything was so chaotic, she might have dropped it somewhere under the table where Sonia did the book signing. And then Sonia collapsed, and in all the commotion, she couldn’t retrieve it.” Another thought bugged me. If the chain of evidence was broken, how important was the coffee cup, anyway? Maybe we’re going down a blind alley. I really needed to talk to Sam Stiles myself and see what her take was on the coffee cup. Was it significant to the case or not?

  “That’s certainly a possible scenario,” Ali said. “If she really did slip something into Sonia’s coffee, she knew she had to get that cup back right away. There was no way she could let the police find it. Her only hope was that the police missed it in their initial search. So that meant she had to come back to the shop with a phony excuse.”

  “So maybe she came up with that story about losing her day planner,” I said. I took a sip of white wine. It was just as delicious as I remembered. “It really seemed suspicious. I remember thinking that she wasn’t very convincing.”

  “It could have happened that way,” Sara said in her breathy voice. “Olivia was holding the coffee cup and could have slipped in the sesame powder whenever she had the opportunity. If that’s what happened, Olivia must be in a panic right now, wondering what happened to the cup. She’s probably terrified that it will turn up.”

  “But the chain of evidence was broken,” I piped up. “So the cup probably is
n’t even admissible.”

  “But Olivia doesn’t know that,” Sara retorted, raising her eyebrows. “Ali is right; Olivia doesn’t dare take a chance. If there is any way she thinks she can retrieve that cup, she will.”

  “How are the police going to handle this information?” I asked Noah.

  “They’re going to pretend that they’re launching a massive search for the coffee cup,” he told me, “along with some plastic plates and platters from the signing. They figure if they rattle a few cages, they might get some interesting results.”

  “This puts another whole spin on things,” I said. I tried to imagine Olivia holding the Java Joe’s coffee cup and slipping in sesame seed powder. I rolled the idea around in my mind. It wasn’t definite, but it was a possibility. Something nagged me about this theory, and I couldn’t quite identify it.

  Before I could figure out what was bothering me, Sara asked, “Did you mean the police actually ruled out any trace of sesame seed powder, or were the results inconclusive?”

  “Inconclusive,” Noah said. “The sample was too degraded, and there’s no way to know for sure if that’s the way the sesame seeds were ingested.” He turned to me while the server placed our lunches in front of us. “Is business still slow at the shop?”

  “I’m afraid so,” I told him. “No matter how many times we try to reassure people, they still seem to think we ‘poisoned’ Sonia somehow.” Noah nodded. We both knew that perception was everything, and how hard it was to regain the public’s trust once something like this happened.

  “What about the news closer to home?” Sara asked. “Where do things stand with Etta Mae and Edward Giles?” she added, referring to the two new Dream Club members whom we originally had considered as suspects.

  “Persia has been helping Etta Mae investigate whether Sonia’s company really did steal recipes from her family cookbook,” Ali said. “I talked to Persia this morning,” she said to me. “I didn’t get a chance to tell you.”