Nightmares Can Be Murder (A Dream Club Mystery) (25 page)

“Unless it was the fourth person, Kevin Moore,” Sara said. “I can try to track him down, if you want. And I can try to figure out what his relationship was with Persia. That part is baffling.”

“The whole case is baffling,” I said. “I can’t believe I came to town to help my sister and ended up smack in the middle of a murder investigation.”

“How’s she doing with the shop?”

“Great!” I told them all about the “handheld desserts” idea that we planned, along with a few of Dana’s marketing ideas. Noah seemed preoccupied once we stopped talking about the case, and the fragile connection between us seemed to have vanished. I was puzzled by his on-again, off-again interest in me, and I wondered if this was the way it was going to be from now on. We finished up our pastries then and stepped out into the bright Savannah sunshine, ready to do our separate sleuthing.

I’d promised to see what I could find out about Gina’s relationship with Chico, but there was one place I wanted to try first. My mind still kept going back to Jennifer Walton. I felt certain there was more to the story than she was letting on. Was she involved with Chico? Were they lovers? And was she somehow connected to his death?

I decided to pay her a visit. I didn’t have any reason to barge in on her, but I decided to use an old Southern tradition. A courtesy call with baked goods. How could anyone refuse? All I had to do was catch her at home, and I’d have it made.

29

“Why, this is so sweet of you,” Jennifer Walton said. “What a lovely basket. Please come in.” She opened the massive double doors wider and gave me a dazzling smile. “I’ve just been catching up on my bills and my e-mail. One of those lazy days at home, you know.”

She was dressed in expensive designer duds: a creamy silk blouse and fitted black slacks with Leboutin low heels. She was wearing full makeup, and her streaky blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail. I wondered if this was her idea of “at-home casual,” and if all Savannah women lounged around their houses dressed like this. I glanced around the sitting room, filled with museum-quality antiques and priceless oriental rugs. I’d forgotten how impressive the historic mansion was, with its gleaming wood floors and elaborate millwork.

“I hope you enjoy the goodies,” I said, trying to sound as shy and innocent as I could. “We’re starting a new dessert menu at the candy shop, and I thought you might like to try some samples. All of the pastries are homemade and we only use Southern recipes.” I was going to add that they were “passed down from generation to generation,” and then decided that I was probably laying it on a little too thick.

Jennifer laughed. “You can’t beat Southern cooking,” she said. “I have some recipes I swear by; the kitchen is my favorite room in the house.”

Jennifer Walton as Rachael Ray? Since Andre told me Jennifer has a live-in chef and a staff of three, I found that hard to believe. I looked at her nails, beautifully buffed with a sophisticated French manicure. I doubted she’d ever done anything more taxing than press the start button on the Keurig.

“Let’s sit on the sunporch,” she said. A uniformed housekeeper appeared briefly, and Jennifer asked her to serve us tea.

“Unless you’d like something stronger? We have the makings for mimosas.” She had a hungry look in her eyes, and I wondered if tippling mimosas during the afternoon was something she normally did.

“Oh no, tea is fine,” I said quickly. “I’ve got a long afternoon ahead of me at the shop.”

“Yes.” She smiled, and I caught a look of pity. “I don’t know how you girls do it these days. Trying to work and have careers and keep up with your social engagements. And of course, finding time to take care of yourself.” She glanced at my casual white jeans and striped top. My outfit clearly wasn’t up to snuff in her world. “I just couldn’t do it,” she said, giving a little helpless wave of her hand. “Taking care of Thomas seems to be a full-time job. He’s running for office, you know.”

I smiled. “I know, I was at that lovely dinner you hosted for your husband and his supporters.” Hah, score one for Taylor.

“Silly me,” she said flushing. “I’ve been so frazzled by all the campaign activities, I’d forgotten you were there. And you had your sister with you, a lovely girl.” She paused. “That was very thoughtful, writing me that handwritten thank-you note. These days, so many people forget the social niceties.” I nodded sagely, as if I spent a lot of time pondering the demise of etiquette in America.

“Tell me, Taylor, would you like to get involved in the campaign? We have plenty of fun volunteer openings.”

Fun volunteer openings?
I knew exactly what she had in mind: licking envelopes, manning the phone banks, plus assorted copying, faxing, and filing. I’ve volunteered with election campaigns before and I know the drill. It’s grunt work, with very little “fun” at the lower levels.

“It certainly sounds tempting,” I said, “but I’m so involved with Ali and the shop, I don’t think I could manage it right now.” I decided it was time to try another topic. “I can see that your husband has attracted some very dedicated people to his team. I sat next to Amber Locke at dinner.”

Jennifer stiffened when I mentioned the young campaign worker and quickly plastered a bright, false smile on her face. “Isn’t she just the sweetest thing?” she purred. “I simply love her to death.” I’d been in Savannah long enough to know that “loving someone to death” is code for “I wish she’d take a bath with a toaster.” Jennifer paused, as if she wanted me to say more, but I just looked at her. “Taylor, honey, what all did you and Amber talk about, if I might ask?”

Time to put on what Ali calls my “earnest” look.

“Well, let me see. Amber told me how much she loves Washington and how she hopes to go there, once your husband is elected to the United States Senate. She’s very idealistic and I’m sure she believes your husband can make a difference.” I figured that was a safe thing to say and would cover almost any situation.

“Well, she’s young, isn’t she?” Jennifer said with a sneer. “Of course she thinks that.” I blinked in surprise, puzzled by the sudden change in tone. It seemed like my gracious hostess was no fan of Amber Locke, and I wondered why. Was she jealous of the bright young political aide? It was difficult to imagine why she would be. Unless Thomas Walton was fooling around with the young staffer, and somehow Jennifer had gotten wind of it. I remembered overhearing someone say “what’s sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander,” at the Walton dinner that night. So someone was suggesting that both Jennifer and Thomas Walton were having affairs.

The maid appeared with our tea, and I glanced at my watch. I couldn’t overstay my welcome, but I still hadn’t learned a thing about Jennifer and Chico. It was going to be tough to turn the discussion to the dearly departed dance instructor. I didn’t dare arouse her suspicions, and it wasn’t the kind of thing you could just toss into a conversation.

And then I had a lucky break. The French doors were wide open, and I glanced out at the gardens. I could see workers setting up for an “event,” probably another political fund-raiser. Someone had laid one of those temporary dance floors over the lush green grass, so Jennifer was obviously planning on having an orchestra.

She followed my gaze and said, “Yes, another event tonight.” She rolled her eyes. “They only seem glamorous when you’re not the one hosting them,” she added.

“You’re going to have dancing tonight!” I said as if this were the most exciting thing I’d ever imagined.

She smiled, probably at my naïveté. “Yes, it’s an evening called Dancing Under the Stars, and I’ve hired a local dance band.”

“I bet you’re a wonderful dancer,” I said softly, as if I were in awe of her.

“Me? You’ve got to be kidding. I’ve got two left feet.” She sneaked a peek at her watch, probably wondering how long this “courtesy call” was going to take.

I knew I had to speed things up. “You could take lessons, you know.” I added a bright smile.

She shook her head, not taking the bait. “I did once, when I was eleven. And then one more lesson last year.” She laughed.

Bingo!
Was she going to admit taking dance lessons from Chico?

“How did you do this time?” I said, careful to keep my voice neutral.

“You don’t want to know!” she said ruefully. It was one of those practiced laughs that had no warmth behind it. “Never again. It’s not for me. I’m happy to sit on the sidelines.”

She glanced at her watch again, and this time she didn’t bother to hide it. “So . . .” she said, perching on the edge of her chair. In another second, I knew I’d be ushered out the door. I had to move fast.

“Could I . . . uh . . . use your powder room?” I said, jumping to my feet.

“Of course.” She clamped down on her jaw as if she was literally biting back her annoyance. Then she reverted to charming-hostess mode. “Take the hallway on the left, then it’s the third door on the right.”

“Oh, thank you so much, I’ll just be a moment.”

Her BlackBerry chirped and she said, “Taylor, if you don’t mind, I’ll take this call. It seems there’s been a mix-up with the florist.”

“Oh, of course, please take your time,” I said as I hotfooted it out the double doors to the main hall.

What was I looking for? Something—anything—that would link Jennifer to Chico. It seemed like an impossible task, and I was going to have to rely on sheer luck. I darted down the wing on the left and zipped past the lavishly decorated powder room on the right. Decision time. Another set of wings, one going right and one going left. The house was enormous, a maze of wings and corridors and reception areas. I stood stock-still, listening for a moment. I could hear the maid, humming along with the radio, on the right, so that must be the kitchen area.

I took the left wing, hoping to find the master suite. I found something better, a room that had to be Jennifer’s study. It was too girly to belong to her husband, the politician. The door was half open and I zipped inside. It was tastefully furnished with pale green silk wallpaper and what looked like a Louis XVI mahogany desk. Swag curtains with a cranberry and green motif on the windows. A modern, custom-made wall unit of burnished teak housed a pricey computer and a filing cabinet.

I tapped one of the keys and the computer sprang to life. Would I be able to find something incriminating? And could I do it quickly? An old e-mail from Chico? Would she be careless enough to leave any evidence around?

A flashing screen asked for my password. My spirits plummeted to my feet. I was glancing frantically around the office trying to find something—anything!—that would connect her with Chico.

And then the sound of footsteps in the hall. “Well, where in the world is she?” I heard Jennifer mutter. The maid answered in a low voice. Just as they rounded the corner, I darted out of the office, remembering to pull the door behind me. Almost subliminally, I spotted a framed needlepoint over Jennifer’s desk.
El que rie ultimo rie major.
It sounded familiar; where had I heard that expression before?

“Here you are!” Jennifer said, her voice tight with annoyance.

“I must have taken a wrong turn,” I said, putting on my ditziest voice. “I used the little girls’ room”—I lowered my voice discreetly—“and then somehow I got turned around.”

“Well, I’m afraid I’m going to have to walk you out,” Jennifer said in an icy tone. “There’s a huge problem with the caterers and I have to deal with it immediately.”

“Oh, of course, I understand. I’ll just slip back to the sunroom to get my purse.”

“Lupe brought it for you,” Jennifer said flatly. The stone-faced maid passed me my tote bag, and I smiled as I was ushered out a side door. They didn’t even bother walking me down the Great Hall to the front door. “This path will take you to the front circle, where you parked,” Jennifer said. Her Southern hostess charm had vanished; I could have been peddling Amway products.

“Thank you for the lovely tea,” I said graciously as the door thumped shut behind me.

Jennifer didn’t bother thanking me again for the gift basket. That was fine with me; I’d accomplished my mission. My mind went back to the saying posted over Jennifer’s desk.
He
who laughs last laughs best
. Was it significant?

If I consulted a Magic 8 Ball, I knew it would say,
SIGNS POINT TO YES
.