Sweet Dreams Boxed Set

by Brenda Novak

“How do you define a threat?”

  Her own question from the other day, turned back on her. The shrink was toying with her.

  Trying to, Micki amended. If Blackwood thought Michaela Dare was going to play mouse to her cat, she was in for a big disappointment. “Threatening a sworn officer is a chargeable offense.”

  She laughed, the sound silky. “Not a threat. A simple, rhetorical question.”

  “You had better hope that’s all it was.” She paused to let her words, their meaning, sink in, then went on. “Is there anything else I can do for you, Dr. Blackwood?”

  “Don’t bother me or my employee again.”

  Blackwood hung up, leaving an unspoken “Or else” hanging in the dead air.

  “What do you hold most dear?”

  Not what. Who.

  Hank.

  Suddenly, Micki was completely cold with fear. She dialed Hank. It rang once, then again and again.

  No answer.

  She redialed. Pick up, Hank. Pick up.

  He didn’t.

  He was working on the Nova, Micki told herself, fighting panic. He’d left his phone in the house. Or was visiting with a neighbor.

  None of those calmed her. The called rolled over to voicemail.

  Instead of leaving a message, she hung up and dialed a third time. And once again listened to the other device ring; once again, hung up without leaving a message. Grabbing her coat, she redialed and ran for the stairs.

  He answered just as she hit the lobby door. “Michaela?”

  “Hank! Thank God!” She stopped and sagged against the doorframe. “You’re okay?”

  “Except for almost breaking my fool neck trying to find this stupid device, I am.” He paused. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  She knew him well enough to know he was frowning. Concerned. How could she explain this stupidity? “I just had this feeling something was wrong,” she said. “When you didn’t answer, I was sure of it.”

  “I was under the Nova,” he said. “Covered in grease.”

  She let out a pent-up breath. “Sorry. I totally overreacted.”

  “Is everything all right.”

  She glanced into the lobby. Blackwood’s receptionist stood at the front desk, talking to the desk officer. What was she doing here?

  “Michaela?”

  She realized he was waiting for her answer. “Everything’s good. Sorry, Hank, but I’ve got to go.”

  She hung up and crossed to the receptionist. “Pam,” she said, “this is a surprise.”

  The woman turned. She burst into tears.

  Micki led her to a bank of chairs. “What’s wrong?”

  “Dr. Blackwood, she—” Pam drew a shaky breath “—she fired me. For talking to you.”

  Micki frowned. “She called me just a few minutes ago and didn’t say anything about firing you. In fact, she gave me the impression you told her we’d talked.”

  Pam shook her head, wiped her cheeks. “She’d looked at the overnight surveillance tapes. I didn’t know she did that and…I lied.”

  “Slow down. Tell me exactly what happened.”

  Pam nodded, took a deep breath. “She was already there when I arrived this morning. She was in one of her moods. Angry sounding. Sort of confrontational.”

  “This wasn’t the first time you’d come in to find her that way?”

  “No.” She wrung her hands. “It’s not every day, but once a week. I hate it when she gets like that.”

  “Go on.”

  “She point-blank asked me if I’d talked to you.”

  “And you lied.”

  “Yes.” She hung her head. “I hate myself for it.”

  “Why didn’t you just tell her the truth?” Mickie asked. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “I knew she wouldn’t like it. She was already in a mood and I…I didn’t want to deal with it.”

  “I’m sorry, Pam,” she said softly. “But you do realize what she did, right? She set a trap for you. Do you really want to work for a person like that?”

  “Easy for you to ask.”

  “True. But I saw how nervous she made you. How uncomfortable.”

  “She’s mean. To the bone mean. She knew how much I needed the job and enjoyed firing me. I saw it in her eyes.” Pam balled her hands into fists. Gleeful, that’s what she was.”

  “You’ll get another job.”

  Her shoulders slumped. “Not like that. Not one that pays so much.”

  “You were overpaid?”

  She nodded and fished a tissue out of her purse. “A position, with my skills and experience…anywhere else I’d make half what she offered.”

  “Why do you think she did that, Pam?”

  She looked startled by the question, as if she had never considered it before. “I don’t know, I was just so thankful.”

  “So thankful you never questioned it or anything else about the job? She bought your loyalty, Pam.”

  “She said she couldn’t have an employee she didn’t trust.” Bright spots of color bloomed in her cheeks. “Then she smiled.”

  “What else can you tell me about Bitty Vanderlund and Cherry Chablis?”

  “Nothing more than what I have already told you! That’s what’s so stupid. Why did she even care if I talked to you? Nothing I could say would have incriminated her.”

  “Let’s be certain of that.” Micki leaned toward her and lowered her voice. “Could she have somehow orchestrated the murders?”

  “You’re serious?”

  “I am.”

  Pam hesitated, as if to focus. “Would she have if there’d been a way? Yeah, she would’ve. Absolutely. Just for fun. But how?”

  Angry. Lashing out at her former employer. Hardly a reliable witness.

  But all she had.

  “That day my partner and I were interviewing Dr. Blackwood, I asked if she practiced hypnotherapy and she said no. I saw your face; you knew she was lying.”

  “Yes.” She looked down at her hands, then back up at Micki. “I didn’t know what to do.”

  “Why do you think she did that?”

  Pam frowned. “Maybe she was hiding something?”

  “Exactly what I think. She ever talk to you about what she does? About therapy in general or hypnotherapy in particular?”

  “Some. She once told me that in the wrong hands hypnosis could be a dangerous thing. Something like, she could just as easily instill anxiety and fear in a person as alleviate it.”

  Micki made a note and Pam went on. “She started quoting cases of ritualistic abuse in children and hypnosis being used to manipulate the mind of the abused. It creeped me out so much I almost quit then.” She looked down at her hands. “I wish I had.”

  “But you didn’t. Because of the money.”

  She inclined her head. “I think she got off on watching me squirm. I even told her I had kids and didn’t want to hear anymore, but she didn’t stop.”

  Pam shuddered and rubbed her arms. “I was never so happy to get out of anywhere. I felt like I needed a bath, it was that icky.”

  “Many therapists record their sessions with patients. Does she?”

  “I don’t know. She takes notes, but transcribes them herself because of patient privacy laws.”

  “Is there anything else you can tell me, Pam? Anything at all?”

  “Only one thing, it’s probably nothing…but I kept thinking how ironic it was.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The beauty parlor she goes to. It’s called The Queen Bee Salon.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  11:00 A.M.

  Ten minutes later, Micki had corralled Carmine with the promise of a late lunch, her treat. Now that she had him buckled in the Taurus and traveling seventy miles per hour, she figured it was safe to fill him in.

  “It’s been a busy morning,” she began. “Renee Blackwood called me. After she’d fired her receptionist, Pam. Who then paid me a visit at the Eighth.”

  For a long moment, he simpl
y gazed at her. She kept her eyes on the road but was aware of his stare.

  Micki glanced at him. “Say something.”

  “You’re a bit of a pit bull, aren’t you?”

  Not what she was expecting. “Meaning?”

  “You sink your teeth in, then you won’t let go.”

  Not the nicest mental picture, but she supposed an accurate one. “I can live with that.”

  “So my question is, why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why the call from Blackwood? Why’d she fire her receptionist and why did said receptionist pay you a visit at the Eighth?”

  She quickly explained it all—driving by Blackwood’s office, seeing Pam Barnes, stopping and questioning her. Then the fallout this morning.

  “Blackwood threatened me,” she said. “Asked how I’d feel if I lost what I held most dear.”

  “Son of a bitch, Dare. You call her on it?”

  “Of course. She laughed it off. Just a rhetorical question, she said. Here’s the thing, I don’t think she’s done.”

  “I don’t get it. Done with what?”

  “I think there’s going to be a third dead queen.”

  He didn’t respond, so she pressed on. “Bad things happen in threes. Isn’t that what your mama always told you?”

  “I played ball, Dare. Three strikes and you’re out.”

  His subtext wasn’t lost on her. “I know I’m right about this, Angelo. I know it.”

  “You’re sure this doesn’t have something to do with your history with shrinks?”

  She appreciated his candor. He thought it; he said it. She owed him the same. “Maybe at first. Not now. Not after this morning. Think about it, partner. Fire her receptionist? Just for talking to me?”

  “Because she lied about talking to you,” he corrected.

  She ignored him and went on. “Then she calls me, a police officer, and delivers a ‘back off or else message’? C’mon, what’s she trying to hide? It’s got to be something big to risk threatening a cop.”

  He sighed. “We’re not going to lunch are we?”

  “Sure we are. Just one quick stop first.”

  “Where?” he asked, tone cautious.

  “The salon where Blackwood gets her hair done. It’s called the Queen Bee Salon and Spa.”

  “Aww, shit. That’s just too frickin’ freaky to be a coincidence.”

  ***

  They were too late, Micki saw as the Queen Bee came into view. Four cruisers sat in front of the salon, lights flashing. One officer stood at the corner, diverting traffic around the scene, several others were taking statements from witnesses in various states of hair horror—tin foil, curlers, and caps. A CSI van parked directly in front and crime tape stretched across the salon’s front entrance.

  Their credentials got them through to the inner perimeter. The officer there held out the log. “You don’t have enough to do over at the Eighth?”

  He looked at Angelo when he said it. “Yeah, right,” he answered. “This one may be related to another case we’re working.”

  “Doubt it. Seems pretty cut-and-dry.”

  Angelo snorted at the pun. “Good one.”

  “Thanks.” He grinned. “I thought so, too.”

  “What happened?” Micki asked.

  “Stylist attacked the owner of the salon with a pair of scissors. Came right out of the blue. One minute everything’s fine, the next it’s pandemonium.”

  Bingo, Micki thought. “Owner’s dead?”

  “Nah, she managed to fight her off. Got cut up pretty bad, but nothing life threatening.”

  “She still here?”

  He shook his head. “The ambulance left with her just before you got here.”

  “The perp?”

  “Dead.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Turned the scissors on herself. Jammed them into her own throat.” He shook his head, expression disgusted. “Who does that?”

  “Body’s still here?”

  “In the tranquility room. That’s where she did it. Detective Parsons’ in charge. He’s the one wearing—”

  “—the orange tie,” Angelo finished for him. “We know each other. Thanks.”

  They crossed to the other detective, moving around techs in the process of collecting and documenting evidence. Angelo greeted Parsons with a slap on the back, then introduced Micki.

  He eyed them both suspiciously. “What’s up?”

  “This attack is similar to two others we’re investigating. Exploring a possible connection.”

  “This is a crazy one,” Parsons said. “Unique, as crimes go. Perp was cutting a client’s hair. Ms. Bea walked by, said something and our girl went nuts. Came at her with her shears.”

  “What’d she say?” Micki asked.

  “Apparently, something she says all the time. ‘It’s good to be a queen.’ I don’t know, seems pretty innocuous to me.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Yeah. One of the other stylists said it was part of her schtick. You know, since it was the Queen Bee Salon and she was the Bee. Beatrice LaTour.”

  “It’s kind of cute,” Carmine said. “You know, the play on words.”

  Parsons shrugged. “I think so, too. Apparently Ms. Schaefer had heard it once too often.”

  “How’d Schaefer end up dead?”

  He opened his notebook, skimmed his notes. “Half dozen witnesses said the same thing. LaTour fought, blood flew, and suddenly Schaefer was on her feet, running toward the spa area.”

  “Nobody stepped in to help? Or tried to stop her?”

  “It happened so fast, they said. Shampoo girl locked herself in the color closet and called 9-1-1.”

  “Mind if we ask the witnesses a few questions?”

  “I’m done for now, go ahead.”

  Micki and Carmine made the rounds. Every witness gave pretty much the same version of events. A sudden explosion of violence that ended as suddenly as it had begun.

  A short time later they sat in her car, engine running. Micki looked at Carmine. “What do you say we stop by the hospital, see if LaTour is up to answering a few questions?”

  “Works for me.” He snapped his seat belt. “I could blow off Blackwood’s connection to two dead queens, but not a third. Not yet.”

  “She’s involved somehow. I know it.”

  “Mad Dog,” he said.

  “Excuse me?”

  “That’s you. Mad Dog Dare.”

  She cocked an eyebrow, amused. “Don’t want to give pit bulls a bad name, is that it?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Great,” she muttered, and pulled away from the curb. The name was just awful enough to stick.

  Chapter Seventeen

  1:20 P.M.

  The doctors had admitted Beatrice LaTour for observation, even though her wounds were mostly superficial. Her husband and grown children were clustered around her bed; the woman looked pretty beat up.

  After introductions, Micki said, “Ms. LaTour, are you up to answering a few questions?”

  Her eyes filled with tears, her chin trembled, but she said she was. Micki looked at her family. “I’ll need you folks to wait outside while we interview her.”

  One of the young men began to protest; LaTour’s husband stepped in. “It’s okay. You kids go on.” He looked back at Micki, expression determined. “I’m staying.”

  She didn’t blame him and agreed. As the door shut behind them, she turned back to Beatrice LaTour. “I understand Liz Schaefer’s attack was completely unprovoked.”

  She nodded. Her husband caught her hand, curved his fingers around hers.

  “Do you remember the last thing you said before the attack?”

  “It’s good…to be—”

  “A queen?”

  “Yes,” she managed.

  “Fine. Ms. LaTour, Beatrice, do you recognize the name Renee Blackwood? She’s a local psychiatrist?”

  She indicated she did and Micki went on. “How do you know
her?”

  “A client,” she managed, voice thick, slurry.

  “Whose client?”

  Her chin wobbled some more. “Liz’s.”

  “Liz Schaefer’s? The woman who attacked you?”

  A look of horror sprang into her eyes. She seemed to press herself back, into the bedding.

  “Liz Schaefer?” she asked again, as gently as she could.

  “Yes.”

  “Was Liz also a patient of Dr. Blackwood’s?”

  She shook her head. “Not that I— I don’t think so.”

  “Were they friends?”

  She shook her head again. Micki looked at Carmine, frustrated. Working to hide her disappointment. She had needed Blackwood to be counseling Schaefer. It would’ve furthered the connection between the other cases and established means and opportunity.

  They were so close.

  But so damn far.

  Angelo stepped in. “Can you think of any other way Liz might have been interacting with Renee Blackwood?”

  For a moment, the woman stared blankly at him. Then she blinked. “There was something…”

  She went silent. Micki realized she was holding her breath and released it.

  “Ms. LaTour,” Angelo prodded gently.

  “That’s right, she was helping Liz—”

  “Helping her what?”

  “Quit smoking.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  1:55 P.M.

  “That’s it!” Micki exclaimed as they simultaneously slammed their car doors. “We’ve got the bitch.”

  “Not so fast, Dare. So Blackwood was helping her quit smoking. It doesn’t prove—”

  “The hell it doesn’t. How do shrinks help folks quit smoking, lose weight or whatever other nasty they’re trying to kick? They hypnotize them.”

  Micki flipped on the cherry light mounted to her dash. “The power of suggestion, partner. Instead of helping Vanderlund, Chablis, and Schaefer overcome their feelings of anger or jealousy, she fed their feelings. She put them under. Maybe she planted some sort of trigger? Something that made them…just snap?”

  “I like this,” Carmine said. “She would know their hot buttons. The thing that always set them off.”

  “In Schaefer’s case, there’s no doubt what hers was.”