A Premonition of Murder (18 page)

“Who's going first?” Ali asked.

“Are we talking dreams or talking about the case?” Lucinda said, leaning forward. She was perched on the edge of her chair, dressed in one of her drab but expensive suits. I remembered her telling me she had a charity board meeting in town earlier today, so I supposed that was why she was dressed up.

“Well, either one,” Ali said, surprised. “If anyone has anything new to add to the case, I suppose we should deal with that now, and then turn to dreams.”

“I have some news,” Lucinda said. She was almost breathless with excitement and waved away the pastry tray when Dorien passed it to her. We had a full house tonight, and I was happy to see that Sara had managed to make the meeting.

“Well, don't keep us in suspense,” Sybil said.

20

“It's not a dream,” Lucinda said, drawing out the moment, “but it's a clue. At least I think it is. I suppose it falls under the category of
gossip
, now that I think of it.” Dorien gave a tiny eye roll, apparently impatient with Lucinda's theatrics. I feel more sympathetic to Lucinda and try to give her some leeway. She's rarely at the center of any gathering, and I could see she was enjoying her moment in the sun.

“Gossip isn't always a bad thing,” Minerva said gently. “Sometimes it gives us insights we wouldn't get any other way. We're eager to hear your news, Lucinda.” She nodded encouragingly, put down her sweet tea, and gave Lucinda her full attention.

“Some of you may remember that I have a nephew at Tulane,” Lucinda began. Her eyes flashed with excitement.

“Yes, we remember, dear; you must be very proud of him,” Rose said politely. “But how does this relate to the case?”

“I'm getting to that,” Lucinda said quickly. “I happened
to talk to Troy over the weekend, and he'd read about Abigail's death. So we chatted about that for a few minutes and then he dropped a bombshell.”

“A bombshell?” Sara asked. She was juggling a plate of pastries on her lap and had her tiny notebook balanced on the arm of an upholstered chair.

She'd brought Remy, who was curled up by the fireplace. Remy is, without a doubt, the world's best-behaved dog. She had stared inquisitively at the cats when she first met them, and then like a proper canine guest, had kept to herself and never looked at them again. She'd been dozing but woke up and gave a low woof when Sara spoke up. “Hush, Remy,” Sara said softly. She held her hand out, palm up, and Remy promptly went back to sleep.

“Troy told me he
knew
Angus! How odd is that?” Lucinda went on. “They're not really friends, of course—more like acquaintances; they travel in the same circles. Troy knew all about Angus going to grad school someplace in the northeast and snaring a summer job in Savannah. Apparently Angus is friendly with one of Troy's old fraternity brothers.” She paused. “And the fraternity brother gave Troy an earful about Angus.”

“An earful? What did he tell him?” Sara said. She quickly scarfed down a brownie and put her plate on the coffee table so she could take notes more easily. Sara is used to eating with one hand and taking notes with the other. When I try it, I end up with lemon meringue in my lap.

“Well, for one thing, Angus is hurting for money.”

“That wouldn't be unusual for a graduate student,” Rose said gently. “All these young people seem to be burdened with student loans these days. In my time, we never had to deal with debt like that. My heart goes out to them.”

“But this is more than just student loans, Rose,” Lucinda
said. “Apparently he was in such dire straits that he was going to have to drop out of school completely unless he figured out a way to make money over the summer.”

“Maybe he
did
figure out a way to make money,” I said wryly. Lucinda looked puzzled. I hadn't mentioned that I suspected both Nicky Dargos and Angus of selling off antiques from Beaux Reves. “Sorry,” I said when she stopped talking. “I was just thinking aloud. Please go on.”

“Now, this part may be gossip, because I'm not sure he was ever officially charged with anything . . .”

“Charged with something? Good heavens. You mean he has a police record?” Rose said excitedly. Lucinda's comment certainly had caused a stir in the room. Dorien's eyebrows had shot up in surprise, and Sara was scribbling furiously in her notebook.

“Not quite,” Lucinda admitted. “It seems there were some items missing from a local museum in Boston, one of the smaller ones. It was poorly staffed, and Angus was assigned to do an inventory.”

“An inventory!” Minerva said. She and Rose exchanged a look. “History repeating itself,” she said grimly. “Poor Abigail. She prided herself on being a good judge of character. She never would have hired Angus for the summer if she knew there'd been a hint of scandal in his past.”

“How did she find Angus?” I asked.

“She answered an employment ad placed in an art magazine,” Minerva said. “I remember she checked his references and they seemed fine. He was visiting Savannah this past spring, and she asked him to tea at the mansion. She said he had an impressive résumé, and when she took him on a tour of Beaux Reves, he seemed knowledgeable about the artwork and antiques. The fact that she met him in person is what
swayed her, I think. Normally, she would never hire anyone who didn't have a strong recommendation from someone she knew and respected.”

“Maybe Angus forged his reference letters,” Ali said. “I can't imagine anyone writing him a letter if they knew his history.”

“I suppose it's possible,” Rose said. “Abigail could be taken in by people, I'm afraid. She said her motto was,
Trust, but verify
. Yet at the same time, she relied heavily on instinct. If Angus turned on the charm during his meeting with her, that could have swayed her. She might not have checked his references too carefully.”

I found it hard to imagine Angus turning on the charm for anyone—he'd certainly been unfriendly with me—but maybe he could be personable if there was something to gain. And he'd managed to secure a spot at Beaux Reves, in spite of having been under suspicion at the Boston museum. Was he really innocent or had he talked his way out of it? As Minerva says, where's there's smoke, there's fire. Angus was a cool customer, and I found it hard to get a handle on him.

“There's something I'm puzzled about,” Sara said abruptly. “Did Angus have a firm alibi for the evening Abigail was murdered?”

“I think someone in the office said he was in Charleston that day.” Persia works as a paralegal, and Abigail's murder was the talk of the law firm.

“That's right,” Sara said. She riffled quickly through her notes. “But I thought I remembered there was something a bit off about his alibi? Or maybe I imagined it.” Sara is very organized with her note keeping and uses color-coded tabs to indicate direct sources, police reports, interviews, witness
statements, and more. “Wait, here it is!” She held up an index card triumphantly. “Angus told the police he had a late dinner at the Seven Sisters in downtown Charleston that evening. He paid by cash, so there's no record of it,” she added with a frown. “This doesn't sound too convincing to me. That's hardly a solid alibi. Most restaurants close before ten o'clock.”

I found myself wishing that Sam Stiles could have stayed for the whole meeting tonight. She'd excused herself early because she was needed back at the station. I would have liked to have heard her thoughts on Angus.

“Because if Angus had money problems and a shady past at a museum,” Sara went on, “he's looking better and better for Abigail's murder.”

Persia shrugged. “He does have an alibi. As far as being at the restaurant, I mean. He says he ran into someone from Beaux Reves who was having dinner at the same restaurant that night.”

“Who?” the Harper sisters chorused.

“Sophie Stanton.”
Sophie Stanton?
I was flabbergasted.
What are the odds of that happening?

“Are you sure about this?” I asked.

“Yes, that's what he told the police,” Persia said calmly. “Remember when Sophie Stanton said she was visiting a friend in Charleston on the night Abigail was killed? Apparently she had dinner at the Seven Sisters.”

“So they alibied each other?” I asked. “Didn't that raise some eyebrows with the Savannah PD?”

“Well, no one has ever discovered a connection between those two,” Sybil pointed out. “So I suppose it was just one of those odd things that happen in life. Probably the police didn't think too much of it. And neither Sophie nor Angus were considered suspects back in the beginning.”

“I have the feeling you don't think either one of them committed the murder,” I said to Sybil. “Did you have a dream? Or is this just intuition?”

“Just intuition,” she said. “And maybe a dream or two,” she acknowledged. “I've been having dreams about water ever since Abigail's death.” She paused and looked around the group. “And remember how we always believed that Desiree's death is somehow linked with Abigail's?” She sat back and folded her arms over her chest, her gold bangle bracelets clanking together. Sybil's voice was soft, hypnotic, and we waited for her to continue. “Well, I don't know about the rest of you, but I still believe it. Lucinda dreamt about the girl in the white slip dress walking along the riverfront at night, and that's when I started dreaming about dark water. I haven't given up on the idea of solving both murders at once.”

“You think they were murdered by the same person?” Dorien asked.

“I do. And I don't think it was Angus or Sophie. I think we're on the wrong track,” Sybil said flatly.

“Well, if they both have an alibi,” I said slowly, “I guess we could cross them off the list.” Yet I felt strangely reluctant to cross them off completely. Sybil might think they were innocent, but I had a gut feeling that something was off about those two. I had the strange sense that they were connected and that there was more to their relationship than met the eye. Did that mean they were murderers? Maybe, maybe not.

Minerva put down her glass of tea and blinked. “Wait a minute, everyone. Persia, did you say they were having dinner at the Seven Sisters in Charleston?”

“Yes, that's what I heard at the office. I know it seems odd that they both had dinner there the same night, but it's not impossible,” she added. “They ran into each other just by chance at the Seven Sisters.”

“Oh, but I'm afraid it
is
impossible, my dear,” Minerva said. “Totally impossible.”

“Yes, completely out of the question,” Rose echoed. “It never happened. I'm afraid someone is telling a fib.” She tut-tutted. “In fact, two people.”

“And why is that?” Ali was perched on the edge of the love seat and leaned forward to catch Minerva's reply.

“Why? Because we're friends with the owner, Marilyn Nettles,” Minerva said firmly. “Such a dear person. We go way back.”

“Yes, we do,” Rose agreed. “Why, I remember when Marilyn had her coming-out ball; she was such a sweet young thing. The prettiest girl in Savannah, they said. And there were some lovely contenders that year, as I remember. But Marilyn was the fairest of them all. She used to live right here in Savannah before she moved to Charleston, you see. So that's how we know her and her family.” That made sense. The Harper sisters seem to know everyone who has lived in Savannah for the past seventy-five years.

“But the restaurant,” I cut in quickly. “The Seven Sisters.” I didn't want to be rude, but this was no time for a trip down memory lane and I knew I had to get Rose back on track fast.

“Oh my, yes, the restaurant,” Rose said. Her eyes had taken on a faraway look. “Her dear mother started it and Marilyn continued it. She uses all of the original recipes, and you can feel her mother's presence in every dish she prepares.”

Dorien was practically vibrating with impatience. “But the restaurant,” she said bluntly. “What do her mother and her recipes have to do with Sophie and Angus? Either they ate there that night or they didn't.”

“Oh, but I was getting to that,” Rose said with a slight reproach in her voice. “You see, Marilyn's dear mother, Dianne
Nettles, passed away on May eighteenth. So every year, on that date, the restaurant is closed to honor her. It's a family tradition. Abigail died on the evening of the eighteenth. The police had no way of knowing about the memorial day for Dianne Nettles, but I assure you, Sophie and Angus are lying. They couldn't possibly have eaten at the Seven Sisters that night because the restaurant was closed.”

There was dead silence in the room, and Rose's words seemed to hang in the air.
The
restaurant was closed
. Dorien opened her mouth to say something and then snapped it closed quickly. All of us were trying to make sense of what we'd just heard. Angus and Sophie were lying, and each was protecting the other. I felt vindicated because I'd had the strong suspicion all along that something was going on with those two. Why did they lie about being at the restaurant? This put a new spin on things.