by Mary Kennedy
Everyone was silent for a moment. Minerva Harper said, “Nonsense, my dear. We all forget things from time to time. You shouldn’t worry about it.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Lucinda said in a downcast voice.
“As long as you’re not forgetting things that could be really important,” Rose said. “You’re not leaving things cooking on the stove, are you?”
Lucinda looked relieved and gave a faint smile. “Oh, nothing like that. That would be quite dangerous. No, these are just little things. Maybe it’s just carelessness; that could be it. The sesame seeds are a perfect example.”
Sesame seeds? Ali and I exchanged a look. “Do you mean finding the sesame seeds in the wrong spot on your spice rack?” Ali asked.
“Well, yes, that was the first thing I noticed. But then something else came up. I noticed the seal was broken, and I’m positive it was a brand-new bottle.”
“Then don’t use it, my dear,” Minerva urged. “It could be contaminated. Take it right back to the store and demand another one.”
“Normally, I would, but when I looked inside, I saw that half the sesame seeds were gone. You know how pricey they are. How could I have used up half a bottle and not remember doing it?” She looked around the group, but no one spoke up. Finally she waved her hand in the air like she was swatting a fly. “Let’s move on,” she said briskly. “Enough of my memory problems. We’re here to talk about dreams.”
I sat there, stunned at what Lucinda had just revealed. Should I follow up on it or wait until the meeting was over? I was trying to decide what to do when Dorien’s voice cut into my thoughts.
“I’d like to go first,” she said, taking the floor. Dorien started to describe what’s known as the classic “House Dream,” but my thoughts were elsewhere. I was so shocked by Lucinda’s story about the bottle of sesame seeds, I could hardly concentrate on the discussion.
I tried to picture the scene in Lucinda’s kitchen that night. Not only was the bottle stashed in the wrong place after Leslie Watts’s visit, but now Lucinda had admitted that half the contents were gone. Lucinda seemed clueless about what may have happened. And all I could think was, Leslie Watts. Leslie Watts. Her name echoed like a gong, over and over in my brain.
I forced myself to tune back into the group. Dorien was describing how she explored the stately mansion in her dream: to her delight, each room was more beautiful than the next. A typical wish-fulfillment dream, and very easy to analyze, I decided. The “house” represents our hopes and aspirations, and it wasn’t surprising that Dorien would dream of a glamorous mansion. Her own financial situation was grim, and her dreamworld let her fantasize about living in a beautiful house, even it was only for a few blissful moments.
The group is skilled at dream interpretation, and as soon as Sybil said, “It sounds like the House Dream to me, Dorien,” everyone chimed in and agreed with her. “Did you feel comforted by it?” Persia asked, and Dorien reported that she had. People usually enjoy experiencing the House Dream and hope to have it again.
“Who wants to go next?” Ali asked, and Lucinda timidly raised her hand.
“I’m still dreaming about roosters,” she said. “Bright red roosters on a blue-and-white background. I don’t know why I’m so fixated on roosters.”
I looked at Ali. Lucinda had brought that plate to the book signing and it had been piled with shortbread cookies, imprinted with the sailing ship. The cookies that might have been deadly.
“It was a weird dream,” Lucinda said. “I guess I’m still thinking about the signing and what happened to poor Sonia.”
“We all are,” Sara said. She gave me a steady look. She had been listening intently while Lucinda related the story about the bottle of sesame seeds, and I think our thoughts were running along the same track. Lucinda, on the other hand, still didn’t seem to make the connection.
The rest of the dreams were fairly mundane and could be analyzed quickly. Minerva had an anxiety dream, and she thought it was probably related to an upcoming visit to the eye doctor. Rose dreamt that she was driving an out-of-control car—even though she doesn’t drive—and Sybil reported dreaming about a fellow from the early nineteenth century who resembled Mr. Darcy in Pride and Prejudice. We all drew a blank on Sybil’s dream and agreed to discuss it again at the next meeting.
I glanced at my watch. The meeting was winding to a close, and still no word from Sam Stiles. Maybe the detectives on garbage-dump detail had been wasting their time after all.
And then my cell rang.
Ali looked at me questioningly and whispered, “Go get it. I bet it’s Sam.”
I hurried to the kitchen, my pulse racing. It wasn’t Sam after all; it was Noah. His voice was low and pressured. “I just heard from my source with the PD,” he said without preamble. “You know that Sam sent a couple of detectives out to a stakeout at the city dump, right?”
“Yes, she told me—” I began before he quickly cut me off.
“Well, they’ve been there for three hours and nothing’s happened. But now that it’s getting dark, they think they’ve spotted some action.”
“Action?”
“A dark blue sedan has circled the dump twice. The cops aren’t in the right position to see the plates, but someone is definitely interested.” My thoughts winged through the possibilities: Jeremy, Olivia, Leslie. Maybe Etta Mae. Was it just a coincidence that she’d missed the Dream Club meeting tonight?
“But why would the car be circling the dump?”
“Who knows? Maybe the driver’s waiting for it to get completely dark before making a move.” A loud burst of laughter from the living room made me jump. Sybil was telling a story about one of her dream-hopping adventures, and Ali had dashed out to the kitchen for another pastry platter.
“It’s Noah,” I said quietly to her. “He’s on his way to the city dump. The police think they’ve spotted someone lurking around. This could be it.”
“Go with him,” Ali hissed. “I’ll take care of everything here.”
“Noah,” I said into the phone. “Shall I come with you?”
“I’ll see you in five,” he said. “I’m calling from my car.”
32
Minutes later, Noah and I were heading east out of town, the buildings and houses falling away, acres of marshland lining both sides of the road. Dusk was falling and there was a special softness in the air that I’ve learned to associate with Savannah. I could hardly believe that the killer might be revealed in the next few minutes and there would be justice for Sonia. The idyllic scenery was at odds with the adrenaline spiking through my veins.
“So this could be it?” I said when a few moments had passed.
“I think so. The end of the chase,” Noah said. This was the first time he’d spoken since I’d slipped inside the car; his features were tense and his mouth was set in a grim line. I noticed his hands were clamped hard on the steering wheel and he was driving over the limit. He didn’t seem inclined to talk, but there were a dozen questions I wanted to ask him.
“I was surprised when you called,” I said finally.
“You were in on the beginning of the investigation,” he said shortly. “You need to be here at the end.” I nodded, unsure what to say next. “The detective agency,” he went on in a weary tone, “is taking longer to set up than I thought. That’s why I haven’t been in touch with you.” He took his eyes off the road for a split second and let his gaze sweep appreciatively over my lemon-yellow shift. His features relaxed, and he grinned. I’d worn that dress before with him, and it was one of his favorites. “Do you remember that day you dropped by the office and I was interviewing assistants?”
“I do. I wondered who you finally settled on. How did it go?” I pictured someone who was a top-notch assistant and just happened to look like a Victoria’s Secret model.
“I should have let you interview th
em for me. I made the wrong choice every time. I hired and fired three assistants during the first two weeks, and I finally settled on Mrs. Englethorpe.”
“Mrs. Englethorpe? I’m picturing an English nanny.”
“No, she’s American. But she was born in London and has very strict ideas on how to run an office. We were like oil and water at first, but now we’ve settled down to a comfortable arrangement.”
“Why do you call her Mrs. Englethorpe? Isn’t that a bit formal?”
“Well, for one thing, she’s old enough to be my mother. She’s very prim and proper. She wears sensible shoes and has a blue tint in her hair. Her first name is Edith, but I don’t know if I’ll ever get comfortable calling her that. You’ll have to meet her; you’d like her.”
“I like her already.” I chuckled, thinking of how I’d let my imagination get the better of me. Here I’d pictured Noah having dinner and drinks with a gorgeous blonde, and the truth was far different. It shows what happens when I let my imagination go into overdrive.
“Here they are,” he said softly, hitting the brakes. He pulled up behind a police cruiser, parked on the shoulder, lights off. “It’s Riggs and Morton. I know both these guys.” We were on the outskirts of town, but I couldn’t see the city dump. Night was creeping up on us and the road was dark, not another car in sight.
Noah got out of the car and motioned for me to stay put. “We may have to move the car. Let me see what’s going on.” I watched as he greeted the officers, talked for a few minutes, and then returned to the car. “They’re waiting for the signal to move,” he said quietly. “There’s another black-and-white at the entrance to the dump, and they’re just about ready to apprehend someone.”
My heart thumped in my throat. “They already have someone in their sights? Is it a man or a woman?”
“No idea. They’re watching someone in a dark gray hoodie approaching the front gate, and they’re getting ready to move in.” Just as he spoke, the police car zoomed off and Noah sprang into action. “That’s our cue. We can drive up to the edge of the perimeter, and then we have to stop.” I nodded, knowing Noah was eager to get as close to the action as possible.
A minute later, he pulled up behind the empty police cruiser and I saw two officers—presumably Riggs and Morton—taking someone into custody at the front entrance to the dump. The slim figure suggested it was a woman, but her face was shrouded by the hoodie, and I squinted hard, trying to identify her. It looked like she never made it inside the dump, because I could see the heavy chain locking the doors was still in place. A tool was lying on the ground next to her, possibly a bolt cutter—I wasn’t sure.
“Noah, can you see who it is?” I said, my voice tight with excitement.
“It looks like a female,” he said, and that moment, the hoodie fell off as the suspect was hustled into the police cruiser and I recognized a familiar face. Leslie Watts!
“It’s Leslie,” I said to Noah.
“Who?”
I suddenly realized Noah had never met Leslie. “Leslie Watts. She’s married to Jeremy Watts, Sonia’s director of communications.”
Noah’s cell phone chirped and he flipped it open. “It’s Riggs,” he said. He listened for a couple of minutes. “You’re kidding,” he said, shaking his head. “When it rains, it pours.”
“What is it?” I grabbed his sleeve the moment he flipped the phone shut. I could hear the wail of police cars in the background and decided it must be the CSIs. I glanced over to my right. Leslie looked small and vulnerable, huddled in the back of the police cruiser. Her hands were probably locked into cuffs, and her head was bowed as if she wanted to hide her face and burrow into her sweatshirt. I pulled my thoughts away from Leslie and turned to Noah, puzzled. If the police already had Leslie in custody, what else could be happening? “What’s going on?” I repeated.
“They stationed an officer at the back entrance of the dump, and he just took someone else into custody. Do you believe it? Two suspects showing up in one night.” He let out a low whistle. “What are the odds of that happening?”
“Two suspects?” I said, feeling like events were spinning out of control. “It can’t be anyone connected with the case; they already have Leslie in custody. So who else did they arrest?” And why is anyone else prowling around the dump in the dead of night? I wondered.
“Olivia Hudson. She was holding a pair of wire cutters and was trying to cut through the back fence of the dump.”
“Leslie Watts and Olivia Hudson? They can’t both be guilty,” I said, my mind reeling. “That’s impossible.”
Noah quirked an eyebrow at me. “Are you sure about that?”
His question stopped me dead in my tracks, my mind buzzing with possibilities. “At the moment, I’m not sure of anything.” Could Leslie and Olivia have been working together to kill Sonia? It didn’t seem possible. And why were they at opposite ends of the dump?
“I’m going to head down to the station house,” he said. “There’s nothing left to see here. Do you want to come with me?”
I shook my head. “No, it will take hours while they interview Leslie and Olivia. Just drop me off back at the shop, if you don’t mind. I have Sara and Ali waiting for me. I know they’re going to have a million questions.”
• • •
“Everyone’s left,” Ali said when I raced up the stairs to our apartment. She was collecting the empty cups and saucers and piling them in the sink.
“Sara?” I said, looking around. The door to the bedroom was open, so I guessed she’d taken Remy with her.
“She left, too. She heard what was happening and headed down to the precinct house. It’s going to be a long night for her.”
Ali pushed a cup of steaming ginger spice at me. “This is the last of the tea,” she said. “Shall I make another pot?”
“No, this is fine.” I accepted it gratefully. “You’re not going to believe what happened,” I said, still dazed by the course of events.
“From what Sara heard on the police scanner, the police made an arrest down at the dump.”
I sipped the tea, feeling a wave of exhaustion wash over me. “Not one arrest, but two.” I quickly filled her in on what had happened. “I have no idea what Leslie and Olivia told the cops. They’ll interview them separately, of course. They were both trying to break into the city dump.” But at different entrances, I reminded myself. I was still trying to wrap my mind around it. Could it be that neither one knew the other was there, and they were working independently? Anything was possible at this point.
“But what does it mean? Surely Leslie and Olivia weren’t working together to kill Sonia, were they? I figured they were mortal enemies, both in love with the same man.”
“I don’t think they were working together,” I said, “but I can’t come up with an explanation. None of this makes any sense.” I stood up, feeling slightly unsteady. “We won’t know anything till morning,” I told her. “Can we schedule a breakfast meeting of the Dream Club? We might have some news by then.”
Ali grinned. “I’ve already scheduled it for nine sharp. Right here. I bet we’ll have a full house; everyone is on pins and needles.” She gave me a sympathetic look, her features softening. “You look shattered,” she said.
“I am,” I confessed. “Let’s call it a night. I have the feeling tomorrow will bring a lot of surprises.”
• • •
“Do you mean they both were looking for something in the dump?” Etta Mae asked.
“Yes, that’s the amazing part about all this,” I answered. It was just after nine the following morning and Noah had called me with the details a few minutes earlier. “Leslie was looking for the plastic cookie tray, the blue one with the rooster—”
“The one I brought to the book signing!” Lucinda exclaimed.
I nodded. “Yes, she was afraid there might be traces of sesame
seeds left from cookie crumbs. The shortbread cookies.”
“Oh no,” Lucinda wailed. “So she did add sesame seeds to them? She admitted it? How could I have been so silly? I let her sit right there in my kitchen. I had no idea she’d tamper with the cookies. She was such a sweet girl.” She raised a handkerchief and dabbed her eyes. “I must be a very bad judge of character,” she said sadly.
“You couldn’t have possibly known,” Ali told her. “None of us did. I never thought she really had a strong enough motive to kill Sonia.”
“She was protecting her family,” Dorien said, “like a lioness with her cubs. She wanted to keep her family together, and I suppose she thought Jeremy was going to ditch her and marry Sonia.”
“I don’t think he ever would have,” Sybil said. “It was one of those workplace affairs, I believe. I don’t think it would ever have gone any further.”
“You may be right, but Leslie couldn’t take the chance. At least that’s what she told the police.”
“I still can’t believe it,” Lucinda said, her face pale. “To think I sat in my own kitchen with someone who was capable of murder. I must have missed a lot of clues along the way.” She paused. “But I still don’t understand how Olivia figures in all this. If she wasn’t working with Leslie to kill Sonia, what was she doing at the dump last night?”
“Love drew her there,” Ali said.
“Love?” Minerva and Rose chorused.
“Love for Jeremy,” Ali continued. “She was convinced that Jeremy had slipped some sesame powder into Sonia’s coffee at Java Joe’s, and she was afraid the police might do a sweep of the dump and find the coffee cup. If there was even a trace of sesame seed powder, that would be the end of Jeremy. Remember that picture of him holding the coffee cup at Java Joe’s? He had access to it, and she figured that’s when he made his move.”
