Nightmares Can Be Murder (A Dream Club Mystery) (23 page)

“A damaged reputation isn’t as bad as being charged with murder,” Noah said mildly.

“I’m not so sure. Here in Savannah, appearance is everything.”

And then I told him about Lucinda and the Chelsea rabbits.

Noah listened quietly, not interrupting. When the server appeared again, looking a bit frazzled, he ordered two lasagnas and then said quietly, “This is a game changer.”

“It could be a coincidence, right?” I desperately wanted to believe that there was a logical explanation for Lucinda’s comment.

“Not very likely, Taylor. If Lucinda was in the studio that night, she should have come forward with this information immediately. Her fingerprints might still be there,” he said thoughtfully.

“Nobody’s picked up on that yet, I guess.”

“Nobody will pick up on it. I’m sure she’s never been convicted of anything so her prints won’t be in the system.”

I nodded, remembering that Sam Stiles had told me that it was going to take a long time to process all the crime scene fingerprints. There were hundreds of fingerprints, and apparently dozens of clients visited the studio every day.

“Do you think Lucinda could be part of the real estate deal Chico was involved in?”

“I’m sure she wasn’t. She watches her pennies very carefully; she’s a retired schoolteacher and lives off a small pension.” I remembered that Lucinda told me she saves all year for a summer trip to Maine. There was no way I could imagine her being a player in a high-stakes real estate scheme.

Noah drained his wineglass and then drummed his fingers on the table. “Both Lucinda and Dorien visited Chico. Dorien visited him the night he died to deliver food he’d purchased, and Lucinda visited him”—he paused—“who knows when or why?”

A beat passed. “There’s still the question of motive,” I offered. I finished my roll and reached for another, suddenly hungry. “I can’t imagine any reason for either one of them to want to kill him, can you?” Noah shot me an enigmatic smile. “What?” I asked, wondering where his thoughts were headed.

“Follow the money, remember?” The server placed two steaming plates of lasagna in front of us; the smell of tomatoes and roasted garlic was enchanting. She offered to bring us another bottle of wine, but I didn’t dare indulge; I had to remain clearheaded.

“Follow the money?” I frowned. “But Lucinda and Dorien don’t have any.”

A sly half smile crossed his face. “Exactly,” he said.

“But what—”

He put his finger to his lips and shook his head. “Think about it,” he said cryptically.

26

“I had a very interesting dream last night,” Sybil announced dramatically. “I do hope I can go first tonight, while the details are still fresh in my mind.” She folded her hands neatly in her lap, her rings glittering. Sybil doesn’t believe in the adage “Less is more,” and was sporting opulent stones on every finger. The rings were dazzling in the light of the fat vanilla candles Ali had scattered around the living room. Her fingernails—so long they could do battle with a porcupine—were freshly painted blood-red.

“Well, of course you can go first,” Ali said distractedly. She paused with the coffeepot still in her hand. “Just give me a second to get everyone settled.”

“Take all the time you need. I can wait, my dear,” Sybil said serenely. She’d taken on a regal air as if she were royalty and Ali her loyal subject.

We’d called an impromptu meeting of the Dream Club for seven thirty this evening. It was the day after I’d had dinner with Noah, and my mind was still reeling from our conversation. I found it impossible to believe that either Dorien or Lucinda had killed Chico. At least Dorien had come clean that she’d visited Chico that night. Lucinda was still keeping secrets.

For the life of me, I couldn’t imagine why Lucinda had gone to Chico’s studio, but I was convinced she’d been there. Sometime. There couldn’t be
two
Chelsea soup tureens with rabbits and snails in Savannah; a call to Gina had confirmed that the tureen had been a gift. A grateful client had given it to Chico a week before the murder, so that narrowed the time frame. I was convinced that Lucinda had been in Chico’s studio sometime in the seven days before his death. But why? It was baffling.

“I think you’ll find my dream quite intriguing, because it involves someone right here in this room.” Sybil’s tone was playful, but she was clearly champing at the bit. She barely hid a scowl while Ali fiddled with some “handheld desserts” she wanted to offer in the shop. Everyone’s attention had been focused on the platter of goodies on the coffee table, but after Sybil’s latest pronouncement, all eyes turned to her.

Minerva Harper shot me a glance and winked. She’s always taken a dim view of Sybil’s theatrics, and I’ve never been sure if Minerva really believes in the power of dreams. Sometimes I think she and her sister, Rose, only come for the social aspects of the club. Neither of them drives much anymore, and the meetings offer them a way to connect with their friends and neighbors. Plus Ali’s desserts are delectable. I was horrified to see that I’d gained five pounds since I’d moved in with my kid sister.

“How fascinating,” Persia offered. “Was it your own dream, or were you visiting someone else’s?”

“I dropped in on someone else’s dream, and I was in for quite a surprise,” Sybil said mysteriously.

I heard a sharp intake of breath, and glanced at Lucinda, who was sitting on my right. She had a deer-in-the-headlights look, and I saw the color drain right out of her face. She coughed on a chocolate-covered pretzel and quickly gulped down some sweet tea. Ali had been experimenting early in the day with a recipe for pretzel s’mores and I’d been dying to try one. I knew it involved round pretzels, dark chocolate squares, milk chocolate for dipping, and marshmallows. An unbeatable combination.

Dorien was fiddling over the desserts, taking a long time to make her selection. A slight flush crept up from her collarbone and she bit her lip. I was sure that both Dorien and Lucinda feared they were going to be the star attractions in Sybil’s dream account this evening.

“Is everyone ready?” Ali said brightly. The ladies were scarfing down the desserts like they were starving seagulls, and I was glad Ali had more trays ready in the kitchen.

“We’re ready!” Minerva sang out. “Let’s hear what Sybil has to say.” I noticed she’d filled her plate with half a dozen different desserts.

“Ali, everyone is waiting for you to sit down,” Sybil said pointedly. Ali—ever the perfect hostess—was scurrying around, making sure everyone had enough tea and goodies.

“I’m sitting down right now,” Ali said, scooting into a chair. “Let’s hear it, Sybil.”

“Well,” Sybil said, drawing out the suspense, “my dream involves Chico and a visit someone made to his studio one night.” She arched her eyebrows and looked around the circle. We were a small group tonight, because Sam Stiles had to work and Gina was out of town again. Sybil rested her eyes on each one of us, pinning us with her steely gaze. There was tension in the air, and I heard a few nervous giggles.

“I wonder who it could be,” she said, her voice low and taunting. I had a sudden image of a cat playing with a mouse. Dead silence as her eyes swept around the circle a second time. “It could be . . . anyone,” she said portentously. “Anyone.”

“Stop right there! I can’t stand this another minute!” Lucinda cried out, leaping to her feet. “I know where you’re going with this, Sybil, and I can save you a lot of time and trouble. Just let me tell the story my own way.”

“What story?” Sybil huffed. She glanced around the group, eyebrows raised. “Does anyone know what she’s talking about?”

“What’s wrong, Lucinda?” Rose asked in her raspy voice. “You’re white as a ghost, my dear. Perhaps you’d better sit back down.” She reached over and patted Lucinda’s arm sympathetically. “She must be confused,” she said to Sybil in a hoarse stage whisper.

“I’m not confused, but I do have a confession to make,” Lucinda said, her eyes welling up with tears. “And I’d like to get it over with, before Sybil drags this out any longer.” She sank back into her chair, her eyes glassy, her face deadly pale. “I know you’re talking about me, Sybil. And the answer is yes, I did go to Chico’s studio. And I danced with him.” She flushed. “That’s the truth. But it’s not what you think!”

Sybil blinked twice, her face as impassive as the Sphinx.

“Well, now I don’t know
what
to think,” Rose Harper piped up. “I’m thoroughly confused.” She turned to her sister. “Lucinda is confessing to dreaming about dancing with Chico? What’s the big deal?”

“The big deal might be that you tried to mislead us, Lucinda. Last week you told us about seeing a man with no face who was dancing with a woman in a beautiful ballroom.” Persia’s tone was sharp. “You even threw in that description of the Collier mansion. Did you make all that up just to trick us?” Persia shot Ali a pointed look, her face hardening. “I thought we insisted on strict honesty in this group. If members are going to make up stories, someone needs to address this.”

“No, it really happened,” Lucinda said, her face pink with humiliation. “I mean, it happened in real life and then it appeared in my dreams. In a slightly different form. My mind was reeling over Chico’s death, trying to make sense of it. I don’t know why the Collier mansion popped up in my dream. Somehow it all got mixed up together.” She gave a helpless shrug. “I never meant to be dishonest. That’s not the kind of person I am. And I had the same dream again last night.”

“When a dream is repeated, it usually means the issue is unresolved,” Persia said in a softer tone.

Ali leaned forward. “So that was
you
dancing in the earlier dream? Being twirled round and round the floor? You were the woman you described, wearing the flowing gown, dancing with the man with no face?”

“Yes, I suppose I was.” She allowed herself a wistful smile. “I guess the dream represented what I longed for in my life.”

“A wish fulfillment dream,” Sybil said quietly. “We all have them from time to time.”

“But Lucinda,” Ali said gently, “you said you had a confession to make. In your earlier dream, you said the man had no face. But this time, the man
did
have a face. The man was Chico.” She paused delicately. “And you said it happened in real life, so that means—”

“That means I went to the dance studio the night Chico died.” Lucinda’s voice was flat, devoid of emotion. I had to keep myself from gasping. My suspicions were right on target.

“Whatever for, my dear?” Minerva asked mildly. “Were you and Chico”—she stopped and blinked—“sweethearts?” She turned to Rose. “Is that what they call them these days?”

“We weren’t sweethearts,” Lucinda said with something approaching a ladylike snort. “I was there as a client.”

“A client? Oh my,” Minerva said. “That’s the last thing I would have guessed.”

“Yes, I”—she was turning beet red—“wanted to learn how to dance in case I decided to date someone.”

“Date someone? Surely you weren’t planning on dating Chico.” Sybil shook her head disapprovingly.

“No, of course not.” Lucinda leaned forward, her brown eyes intent. “I know you’re going to think this is terribly silly, but I joined one of those online matchmaking sites.” She looked at me, flushing, and I pretended to look surprised. “When I set up my profile I realized I had nothing to list under my photo. I don’t drink, I don’t play tennis or golf. And I don’t dance. No one clicked on my profile because I must sound really boring.” She looked miserable, hands clenched in her lap.

“Are all those things required?” Rose asked, puzzled.

“No, but it makes you more marketable if you want to put yourself out there. Not that I have any personal knowledge of these things.” Sybil sniffed.

“What happened next?” Dorien asked, her eyes gleaming. Her beady-eyed stare and pinched features suddenly reminded me of a ferret.

“Nothing. I had a quick half-hour lesson with Chico, and I discovered I had two left feet. I paid him for the class and never saw him again.”

“Do the police know you were there the night he died?” Ali asked.

“Certainly not,” Lucinda said, stiffening her spine. “I think the less said about it, the better.”

“But you might know something that would help the investigation,” Persia pointed out. “It’s your duty to go to the police. Isn’t it a crime to withhold evidence?”

“I suppose I should tell them,” Lucinda admitted. “I’ll do it tomorrow,” she said with a note of conviction in her voice.

“Well now,” Ali said brightly, “since that’s settled, I suppose we can move to another dream. Minerva, would you like to go next?”

“Excuse me,” Sybil cut in. “I haven’t said a word about
my
dream.” She gave a small, sly smile, and I wondered what was coming next.

“But we’ve already heard everything from Lucinda,” Ali said puzzled. “What else is there to know?’

Sybil laughed. “Plenty!” She cocked her head to one side. “Because the person who was with Chico in my dream wasn’t Lucinda.” She waited for the reaction. “It was Dorien.”

Dorien gasped and flinched. Minerva and Rose were leaning so far forward, I thought they might tumble right off the low-slung sofa. Everyone stared bug-eyed at Sybil, and Persia froze in her seat. Lucinda let out a little sigh of relief. Ali and I stared at each other in confusion, unprepared for the sudden drama.

Sybil maintained a frightening smile for a full ten seconds.

Dead silence all around and my heart was pounding like I’d run a marathon. If this was an episode of
Law and Order
, there would be an ominous
chuh-CHUNG
right now and we would go straight to commercial.