She settled on the edge of the bed, and he grasped her hands in his, hoping the contact would drive the residual horrors from his mind.
Her fingers rested on his wrist. “Your pulse is galloping. Another dream?”
The faint light illuminated the delicate profile of her face and the soft wing of hair that covered one cheek. God, she was so beautiful and so brave. After all she’d been through the past few days, she still managed to radiate calmness and poise.
He’d had another dream, all right, but he hesitated to tell her. She already seemed convinced he was a lunatic. Now the only way to convince her he was sane and to guarantee her safety was to catch the killer.
“Yes,” he said, finally drawing breath enough to speak. “The killer’s closing in on Evelyn Granger. We don’t have much time.”
Chapter Seven
Jared left the stream of traffic headed toward Walt Disney World, turned off the interstate at Exit 73, and headed east into the rising sun toward Micanopy.
Tyler inhaled deeply as the car’s air conditioner churned out cold, crisp air, a welcome contrast to the muggy atmosphere that had enveloped them when they’d stepped out of the suite into the feeble dawn light. But even deep breathing couldn’t calm her this morning. She was not looking forward to their encounter with Evelyn Granger.
She smoothed the short skirt of her cotton floral dress, thankful she’d remembered to pack cool clothes in spite of the melting snow they’d left behind in the Smokies. Strange, how just a few hundred miles could produce such contrasts—from rugged mountain passes to rolling hills of Georgia clay, to wetlands thick with cypress and live oaks bearded with flowing manes of grizzled Spanish moss.
The one bright spot in her morning was the knowledge that the stranger who had run them off the road yesterday wouldn’t find them here. The highway, a winding country road, seemed abandoned after the interstate’s heavy traffic, but the peaceful, pastoral landscape of wide meadows interspersed with stands of slash pine and groves of ancient oaks provided little relief from her agitation.
Her uneasiness had begun when Jared’s scream awakened her from a sound sleep. She’d stumbled down the stairs to find him sitting upright in bed, gasping for air. A fine sheen of perspiration covered his bare chest, a sight that had sent her heart skipping and her palms itching to caress his smooth muscles.
His eyes glowed feverishly, and she’d felt his forehead and checked his pulse, fearful he was ill. Although his heart raced faster than her own, he wasn’t sick, but was suffering the aftermath of another nightmare. She’d longed to wrap her arms around him to ease his torment, but his impatience had curbed her desire.
After urging her to dress, he’d hustled her to the car without breakfast in his haste to reach Evelyn Granger. Now, alternating sun and shade played like a strobe light across the rigid planes of his face as the car passed beneath the trees that overhung the road. Except for a vertical crease between his dark eyebrows, his stoic expression gave no hint of his urgency.
“Do you have a plan?” she asked.
He started, as if roused from a sound sleep. “For what?”
She sighed with frustration. It was possible that she’d met the man of her dreams, but his dreams were making her crazy. His insistence on the validity of his wacko fantasies placed him on a fast track to the nut house—not to mention that he was prepared to scare an unsuspecting woman senseless in the process.
She struggled to keep the irritation from her voice. “You can’t just walk up to Evelyn Granger with an ‘Excuse me, but I believe there’s a killer out to get you.’”
“I’ll think of something.”
He flashed her a lopsided smile that reminded her why she stayed with him, in spite of his delusions. Handsome, intelligent, compassionate. Did those qualities cancel out lunacy, or was she the insane one?
“Please,” she begged, “why frighten the woman? Why don’t we just hang around and keep an eye on her?”
He shot her a withering glance. “Because I couldn’t live with myself if that monster comes after her and I didn’t at least try to warn her.”
Stark, staring crazy, that’s what he was. And the sexiest, most fascinating man she’d ever met. One thing she had to admit—working for Jared Slater was anything but dull.
“Okay—” She decided on a delaying tactic. “How about some breakfast? I’m starving, and I doubt Evelyn Granger’s even awake yet.”
When they entered the main street of Micanopy, the quaint turn-of-the-century brick buildings and canopied oaks that shaded the wide street provided a setting ill-suited for murder. A scruffy yellow dog, scratching halfheartedly, lay in a puddle of sunlight outside the Wild Flowers Café. He lifted his head with an inquisitive glance as they climbed out of the car, wagged his tail lazily, then laid his head on his giant paws and scrutinized them as they entered the restaurant.
In contrast to the empty streets, the café was packed with people mingling among the tables, calling greetings and joking with each other by first names, like folks who’d known one another for a lifetime. Sunlight glinted off multiple panels of decorative stained glass that adorned the walls and windows, and the heady aromas of brewed coffee, sizzling bacon and fresh bread made Tyler’s mouth water.
She contemplated the congenial surroundings with a surge of hope. Maybe the relaxing atmosphere of the sleepy town and interaction with the friendly townspeople would calm Jared’s fevered dreams. It was possible the dreams were a result of his self-enforced exile on his lonely mountaintop. Besides, she wouldn’t mind staying here awhile. The tiny village, off the usual roads traveled by tourists and residents alike, provided a perfect hiding place from the demented Blazer driver.
“Over there.” Jared pointed to a table by the front window and guided her by the elbow through the crowded room.
“You folks want coffee?” A waitress, sporting a teased coiffure of red-orange hair with gray roots, filled their cups from a glass carafe. “I’ll be back for your orders in a minute.”
“Where can we find Seminole Properties?” Jared flashed the woman an appealing grin.
The waitress countered with a flirtatious smile and patted her lacquered hair. “For you, mister, I’ll bring you Seminole Properties.”
She threaded her way between tables to a corner where a middle-aged woman sat, reading the Gainesville Sun. Wearing a burgundy business suit with a candy-striped blouse, she seemed overdressed compared to the rest of the café’s clientele. When the waitress spoke with a jerk of her head toward the window table, the woman folded her newspaper, tucked it beneath her arm, and crossed the room. Even her walk was businesslike.
The rosy cheeks of her plump face dimpled as she smiled and nodded, causing a slight bounce of her saltand-pepper curls. “I’m Bobbie Hendrix, owner of Seminole Properties. What can I do for you?”
Jared had shoved himself to his feet at her approach. After introducing himself and Tyler, he indicated an empty chair at the table. “Join us?”
Bobbie took a seat, and the waitress reappeared with another cup and the coffee carafe.
“Jared Slater.” Bobbie’s eyes lighted with recognition. “Didn’t I speak with you on the phone a couple of days ago?”
“I’m interested in an old Victorian house,” Jared acknowledged. “You said you had one here in town that fits my description.”
Tyler stared out the window, holding her breath and praying Jared wouldn’t divulge his crazy dreams.
Bobbie’s pleasant expression crumpled. “You’ve driven all this way for nothing. Evelyn Granger’s house isn’t for sale. I thought I made that clear on the telephone.”
“You did,” Jared said, “but we’d like to speak with Mrs. Granger anyway.”
Bobbie shrugged. “It won’t do you much good. Evelyn’s lived in that house over forty years. Came here as a bride, raised three children, buried her husband—all from that house. She isn’t about to sell.”
Tyler’s appetite suddenly waned. If Evelyn Granger
had lived forty years in Micanopy, a town as forgotten by time as Brigadoon, the likelihood of her connection with Stanwick and Molinsky diminished. And that meant Jared Slater was as crazy as she’d feared.
Jared leaned toward Bobbie, his expression a mixture of charm and embarrassment. “You misunderstand. My fiancée—”
Tyler’s eyes widened when he reached across the table and clasped her hand, squeezing it playfully.
“—and I,” Jared continued, “just want to see the house. We’ll describe it to our architect and have him build a reproduction, since the original’s unavailable.”
Bobbie’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “I thought you knew what it looked like. After all, you described it to me.”
“We only know the outside,” Tyler blurted, anxious to speak before Jared revealed his visions. “I’ve always dreamed of a house like this—maybe I saw a picture as a child. And then, one day, while passing through, we saw Mrs. Granger’s home. But if we’re going to build one, we’ll need some idea of the interior layout.”
Bobbie relaxed and took a sip of coffee. Maybe she was accustomed to off-the-wall requests in her business. “Guess it won’t hurt for you to ask Evelyn. She should be opening in about an hour.”
“Opening?” Jared asked.
“Evelyn operates Precious Memories Antiques and Collectibles in the next block. The shop opens at nine.” Bobbie rose and handed Jared a business card. “And if you run into a dead end with Evelyn, give me a call. I have a few other Victorians that might interest you.”
Jared watched the realtor return to her corner table and unfold her paper, then turned to Tyler with a tormented look. “A dead end is exactly what I’m trying to prevent.”
A FEW MINUTES AFTER nine, sated with a Belgian waffle topped with whipped cream and fresh blueberries, Tyler trotted to keep up with Jared’s long strides as he crossed the main street and headed down the block.
She was the one who needed her head examined for going along with Jared. Once he began spouting his strange tales, Evelyn Granger would probably scream for the men in the little white coats. Tyler wondered if there was such a charge as “insanity by association.”
She was beginning to suspect she really was losing her mind. As they covered the block to Precious Memories, she experienced an eerie feeling of déjà vu, of having walked this same street before. Everything seemed familiar, but she’d never been to Micanopy. The closest she’d come was eleven years ago when she and her grandmother had barreled past on the interstate toward Orlando and Walt Disney World.
A bell tinkled above the shop door as Jared opened it for her, and they stepped into a huge store with high ceilings, crammed baseboard to crown molding with every form of antique and collectible imaginable. Glass cases displayed Art Deco costume jewelry, Victorian beaded bags and railroad pocket watches.
Row after row of Chippendale and Hepplewhite butted clawed feet and finials with monstrous Victorian bedsteads and armoires. China bowls of potpourri were scattered throughout the store, mingling the fragrance of roses and lavender with the musty smell of age. In a rear corner, a human skeleton hung from a metal stand beside a cupboard of grotesque surgical implements and bottles of patent medicines.
A tiny woman, frail and birdlike, stepped from behind a counter. “You folks looking for something in particular, or just browsing?”
“Mrs. Granger?” Jared asked.
The woman nodded with a look of surprise, and Tyler’s stomach twisted at the prospect of scaring the fragile old lady with Jared’s horrid nightmares.
“Roseville pottery,” Tyler exclaimed in an attempt to forestall Jared’s disclosures. “I’m looking for a nice addition to my grandmother’s collection.”
Fearful of his reaction, she averted her eyes from Jared.
“I have several excellent pieces.” Mrs. Granger waved a hand gnarled with arthritis toward the window, where a set of low shelves displayed a variety of vases in muted shades of pink, blue, and green.
“They’re lovely,” Tyler murmured, all too aware of Jared’s annoyed look. He observed her with his hands shoved in his back pockets and his eyebrows elevated above impatient eyes. Tension crackled from his muscles. They were coiled like a jungle cat’s, ready to spring.
“These make me feel like an antique,” Mrs. Granger said with a pleasant laugh. “When I was a girl, my mother could buy these at the five-and-dime for a little over a dollar. This piece—” she selected a blue vase with a raised motif of white magnolia blossoms “—sells for three hundred dollars now.”
“We’ll take it.” Jared withdrew his wallet and extracted his charge card. His smile, subdued yet challenging, weakened Tyler’s knees. “I’m sure your grandmother will love it.”
She opened her mouth to protest, then clamped it shut, sensing her refusal would only make matters worse.
Mrs. Granger nodded toward the street. “Traffic is picking up now. I’ll be busier than a one-armed paperhanger by noon.”
Grateful to pursue any subject other than Jared’s dreams, Tyler plunged into conversation. “Micanopy is so isolated. How do people find this place?”
“It was a well-kept Florida secret until the movie came out.” Mrs. Granger punched Jared’s account number into her credit-card machine.
“Movie?” Jared asked in a tone more impatient than curious.
“Doc Hollywood, with Michael J. Fox.” Mrs. Granger returned his card and began to wrap the vase in tissue paper. “Business has boomed ever since they used our town for a location.”
Tyler heaved an inward sigh of relief. Her déjà vu hadn’t been an indication she was going bonkers. She’d seen the movie twice—once at the theater and later on television. No wonder the street seemed familiar.
Her relief was short-lived.
“I have a confession to make.” Jared accepted the padded bundle from Mrs. Granger. “We didn’t really come here to buy antiques.”
“But you did.” The little woman nodded toward the vase swathed in newspaper and graced him with a gentle smile. “And I thank you for your business.”
The bell tinkled behind them, and a couple, clad in shorts, tank tops and thong sandals and glowing with sunburn, entered the store.
“Jeez, look at all the Carnival glass, George.” The woman’s Brooklyn accent grated on Tyler’s Southern ears, but George didn’t reply. He headed toward the back of the store and a display of antique tools.
Tyler placed her hand on Jared’s arm. “Maybe we should be going.”
Jared ignored her. “I must talk with you, Mrs. Granger. It’s urgent.”
A low growl erupted at Tyler’s feet, where a Pekingese planted itself in front of Mrs. Granger and bared its teeth at Jared.
“It’s all right, Buffy,” Mrs. Granger crooned. “Go back to your bed.” She shooed the tiny dog behind the counter and turned to Jared. “Once I wait on these other folks, I’ll be happy to talk with you.”
Tyler assessed the cluttered shop, wondering if she could pull Mrs. Granger aside and assure her that Jared was harmless, but speaking with the woman without Jared overhearing appeared impossible.
Faced with the inevitability of Jared’s disclosure, she seized her only other choice. “I’ll wait for you outside.”
Without lingering for his reply, she hurried out onto the street.
Damn Jared Slater’s crazy dreams. He shouldn’t use them as an excuse to terrorize sweet little old ladies like Mrs. Granger. If Tyler intended to continue working for him, she had to convince him to seek professional help.
ONCE THE OTHER CUSTOMERS had left the shop, Evelyn Granger turned to Jared. “Now, young man, what did you wish to speak with me about?”
A trickle of nervous perspiration slid down his spine. He had to sound convincing. Her life depended on it. “I’m a reporter—”
“How nice.” Her pleasant smile lit her face. “And you want to do a feature on my shop?”
He shook his head. “I’m an investigative reporter. I’m trying to tr
ack down a murderer.”
“What does that have to do with me?” Her bewildered tone caused the Pekingese to stand in its bed behind the counter and issue a threatening snarl.
Jared rubbed the back of his neck as he searched for the right words. “In my investigation, I’ve come across evidence that this killer is after you.”
“Me?” Her trilling laugh echoed in the store. “You must be mistaken. I don’t have an enemy in the world.”
“I’m sure that’s what Mary Stanwick and Veronica Molinsky thought.” He watched her face for signs of recognition, but all he found was puzzlement.
“Do they live around here?” she asked.
“Mary Stanwick lived in Massachusetts, Veronica Molinsky in Washington, D.C.”
She shrugged. “Then I wouldn’t know them. I grew up in New York and moved here as a bride.”
Her disbelief was obvious, and his desperation grew. “You have to believe me, Mrs. Granger. You are on this killer’s hit list.”
Her eyes narrowed, appraising him. “Who is this killer?”
“We don’t know his name.” He avoided her eyes.
She shook her head sadly. “Then how can you possibly know he’s after me?”
“Through sources that I can’t divulge.” His heart sank at the continued skepticism in her expression. “Promise me that you’ll be careful, Mrs. Granger. Lock your doors and don’t go out at night alone.”
She reached across the counter and patted his hand. A kind sympathy shone in her eyes. “I’m always careful. Now, why don’t you go find that nice young woman who was with you earlier?”
She retreated to the back of the shop, and when Jared started to follow, the Pekingese barred his way.
TYLER AMBLED AIMLESSLY along the street, windowshopping at stores that sold books, cameos and handcrafted items. She passed an antique store that specialized in Depression glass and Florida citrus-crate labels. When she turned back toward Mrs. Granger’s shop, Jared stepped out, and she hurried to meet him.
“Come on.” He grasped her elbow and led her at a fast pace toward the car.
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