Nightmares Can Be Murder (A Dream Club Mystery) (29 page)

“You’re new in town, you’re an attractive girl, and you’re probably looking for a business opportunity.” He let his eyes scan over me again, lingering a little too long on my lips. I felt decidedly uncomfortable but kept a polite smile plastered on my face. “I figure you for real estate, or maybe a job in marketing or PR. Am I right?” He sounded supremely confident, the kind of guy who thinks he’s never wrong. “I have plenty of connections, people who can help you,” he said smarmily. “All you have to do is say the word.”

“Actually,” I said, lowering my voice, “I am interested in real estate development. And in contributing to your campaign,” I added hastily.

His jowly face creased into a smile. “Tell me more, my dear.”

“I happened to hear of a really interesting opportunity just the other day.” I paused, wondering how much to reveal. “I’d like to follow up on a deal that Chico Hernandez was brokering. A string of commercial properties a few blocks from the Historic District? Perhaps you know about it?”

His nostrils flared and his jaw tightened at Chico’s name. He swallowed hard, his eyes never leaving mine. “Sounds interesting,” he said in an offhand way. “But I’m afraid I—”

“Surely you know Chico?” I cut in. I smiled innocently as he stood up. I felt unnerved with him looming over me, but I couldn’t back down now.
In for a dime, in for a dollar.
“Your wife took dancing lessons from him.” I lowered my eyes discreetly. “So sad about his passing. It must have been a shock to her.”

A muscle was now jumping in Walton’s jaw. The guy would make a lousy poker player; his emotions were too close to the surface and I’d hit a nerve.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said coldly. “My wife never dances,” he huffed. “And I’ve never heard of this Hernandez guy.”

“Really? Because that’s not what I heard—”

Before I could complete the sentence, Walton had slid his beefy hand under my elbow and pulled me to my feet.

“It’s been a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Blake,” he said curtly, “but I’m afraid I have another appointment. If you’d like to learn more about business opportunities here in Savannah, I suggest you contact the Chamber of Commerce. Denise can give you their phone number if you like. And of course, we’d like to see you volunteer for the campaign.”

He was propelling me toward the door so quickly, my shoulder bag thumped noisily against my hip. I had really upset Walton, and we both knew it. Seconds later, I was deposited in the waiting room, where Denise gave me a curious look.

“Make sure you call ahead for an appointment the next time,” he hissed into my ear. In a louder voice, he said, “Give Ms. Blake one of our volunteer applications, Denise.” Then he turned and disappeared back into his office, closing the door with a loud thunk.

“Well,” I said to a baffled Denise, “that went well.” She blinked and went back to her keyboard. This time she didn’t offer me a chocolate peppermint.

33

“You were crazy to meet with him,” Sara told me. “What did you hope to accomplish?” Sara and Ali and I were sharing a quick take-out pizza from Luigi’s later that night.

I shrugged. “I guess I wanted to see if he would completely deny knowing Chico.”

“Of course he denied it,” Sara said, rolling her eyes. “He’s a politician. He’ll deny everything and anything.” We were sitting in our backyard patio, and Sara had looped Remy’s leash around the table leg. Remy looked up with puppy eyes from time to time, begging for a piece of pizza, and Sara finally slipped her a small slice of pepperoni. That seemed to satisfy the friendly dog, who remained alert and curled up at Sara’s feet. Barney and Scout were safely tucked upstairs in the apartment and glancing down balefully at us from their window perch.

“And now he knows you’re on to him,” Ali said disapprovingly. “Usually I’m the one who acts impulsively, not you. I think you took a terrible chance.”

“What’s he going to do, have me killed?” I joked. My words hung in the air for a moment, and both Ali and Sara looked grim. “A poor choice of words,” I muttered. Even though it was a warm evening, I felt a little chill. Because the truth was that someone already
had
been killed, and it was entirely possible that Walton was the murderer. Ali was right—I’d acted impulsively and out of character. I’d been growing impatient with the slow progress of the investigation, and I figured I could speed things up by a direct confrontation. In hindsight, it was probably a bad idea. My visits to both of the Waltons had been unproductive and had tipped them off that I was interested in them.

“How will things turn out for Walton with the campaign?” I asked Sara. “Don’t you think this investigation will stop him in his tracks?”

She dabbed her lips with a napkin. “You never know. Voters are unpredictable; he may come out of this smelling like a rose. He’s got a loyal following, and as far as they’re concerned, he can do no wrong.”

I shook my head. “It seems unfair. We know he was paying blackmail money. Or hush money, or whatever. He’s got to be guilty of something.”

“I agree with Sara,” Ali piped up. “Being guilty and having someone prove it are two different things. Walton may still come out on top. As Chico used to say, ‘He who laughs last, laughs best.’”

I nearly dropped my fork in surprise. “Chico used to say that?”

“All the time. It was one of his favorite expressions,” Ali said calmly. “Why so surprised?”

“Jennifer Walton has a little plaque with that saying posted right over her desk,” I said. “I spotted it when I visited the mansion. She has the Spanish version:
“El que ríe último ríe mejor.”
I knew it was significant but couldn’t remember why.”

“Interesting,” Ali said wryly. “She probably thought about him every day.”

“Going back to your visit with Walton,” Sara said, frowning, “I think you set yourself up as a target. Ali said you’re going to be on your own tonight—will you be okay?” She glanced up at the apartment above the shop. Gauzy white curtains were billowing out the second-story bedroom window, and the antique bricks were bathed in a golden glow. It was a picture postcard scene, and the air was fragrant with flowers.

“Of course I’ll be okay.” I was going to be alone with the cats this evening. Ali was meeting a college friend in Charleston for dinner and staying overnight for a baby shower the next morning. I found myself looking forward to my time alone. I wanted to go over the list of “handheld desserts” Ali was planning to serve in the shop, and I hoped to drum up some more marketing ideas for her. Ali was on a roll, her enthusiasm was high, and I wanted to keep the momentum going.

Noah called and invited me out to dinner at seven but I begged off, telling him I was right in the midst of a marketing campaign for Ali and I didn’t want to lose focus. He made a joke that I was always “on point,” teasing me about my workaholic, type A personality. I told him about my visit to Thomas Walton, and he agreed with Sara and Ali, telling me it was a mistake. After we chatted for a few minutes, I spent the next couple of hours checking the shop inventory with Dana, and finally headed upstairs for a grilled cheese sandwich and a lemonade.

It was nearly ten when I turned in, propped up in bed with my notepad and pen. I was thinking of Dana’s patience with the children in the shop the other day and wondered if we could do a promotion involving kids. Maybe a candy-making class on a Saturday morning? We could use the back of the store and keep the recipes simple, perhaps no-bake candies. And we could limit the number of participants, and only have eight kiddies in each class. I made a note to run the idea by Ali the next day. I scribbled
Kids Project?
on my pad. It was a definite possibility.

I also thought about bringing some candy baskets to nursing homes and assisted-living facilities in town. Seniors can certainly relate to candy from their childhood, and it might have some nostalgic appeal. Plus it would get our name out there.

A short time later, the pen and notebook slipped out of my hands, and I decided to call it a night. Cuddling Barney and Scout close to me, I fell into a deep sleep.

When I heard the noise in the kitchen sometime later, I wasn’t immediately alarmed.

The room was pitch dark and the bedside clock read 2:06 a.m. Barney and Scout had left my side in the night and were probably snacking on crunchies in the kitchen. I thought I heard a pan fall to the floor and figured one of them was up on the kitchen counter again. Someone told Ali that spreading sheets of aluminum foil would discourage cats from leaping up on the counter, but it obviously hadn’t worked. I remembered I’d left a small saucepan next to the stove, and from the sound of the metal “thunk,” it had tumbled to the tile floor.

I was all set to snuggle back under the covers when my blood froze. My bedroom door was cracked open, and I saw a flash of light in the kitchen. It happened so fast, it was almost subliminal. For a second the light was on, and then quickly extinguished. I swung my legs over the bed, my heart pounding in my chest. Clever as they are, there is no way Barney and Scout could use a light switch. The reality of the situation hammered in my brain:
Someone is in the kitchen
. A deep, primal fear went through me, and I stumbled backward, reaching for my cell phone on the night table. My mind reeled with shock when I realized I’d left it in my purse in the living room. There was no other phone in the bedroom; Ali and I had decided to save money and use cell phones instead of landlines in the apartment. The only landline was downstairs in the shop. There was no way I could creep down the stairs without alerting whoever was in the kitchen. I was trapped, but determined to save myself.

I wondered if I could make it into the hall undetected and then lock myself in Ali’s room. There was a small shed beneath her bedroom window, and I was fairly sure I could jump on the roof if I had to. I cautiously padded to the bedroom door, my hands trembling as I clasped the knob and opened it silently.

I flattened myself against the wall, inching my way down the hall to Ali’s room, when a dark figure appeared in the shadows. Whoever had been in the kitchen was running straight toward me. There was no place to go, and I instinctively threw my arms around my chest to protect myself.

The intruder was too fast for me. A millisecond later, I felt a sharp elbow slam into my throat and a muttered curse. Was it a man or a woman? I had no idea. The figure was dressed in black, maybe sweatpants, and seemed well built. The first blow knocked the wind out of me, but the karate chop to the back of my head knocked me right on to the floor.

I heard a cat shriek as the figure barreled out of the hallway and down the stairs leading outside. My head hurt so much I thought I was going to faint, but I pulled myself to my feet, holding on to the wall. My arms and legs were weak and as rubbery as spaghetti. I tried to call out, but only a gurgling sound rumbled out of my throat
.

The cats!
I thought frantically. Had this monster taken them or harmed them? I willed my legs into motion and staggered into the kitchen, fumbling for the light switch. I was moving gingerly, silently, doing a quick search for Barney and Scout.

And then I heard a familiar voice in the downstairs hallway. “Yoo-hoo,” a quavery voice called. “Are you all right, dear? It’s Minerva and Rose.”

Minerva and Rose?
What were my elderly neighbors doing in the apartment in the middle of the night?

“I’m up here,” I managed to say. My voice was hoarse, and my throat felt like it was on fire. Every word was an effort. I knew I sounded strange, distorted, and I hoped they understood me. “I’m trying to find the cats.” My eyes swept the tiny kitchen and living room. No sign of Barney and Scout. My heart thudded with dread.

“Oh, don’t worry about the cats, my dear. They’re safe and sound. We’ll bring them upstairs to you.”

Nothing made sense to me. I felt a sudden wave of dizziness and dropped into a kitchen chair as the two sisters made their way up the stairs.

“Here they are, your very own kitties,” Minerva said, puffing a little as she deposited a nervous-looking Barney in my lap. Rose was holding Scout like a baby and he nestled in happily against her until she put him down carefully on the sofa.

“How did you . . . what’s going on?” I asked. I touched the top of my head and felt a lump forming. Apparently the intruder had done some serious damage with that karate blow.

“Why, we were up watching TNT, dear, when we happened to see the kitties in your front yard.” Minerva turned to her sister and nodded. “Rose was getting up to get us some warm milk, when she looked out the front window and spotted them.”

“Taylor, is something wrong?” Rose said, her voice soft with concern. She came over and bent down to look at me. “You’re very pale—are you sure you’re all right?”

To my embarrassment, I felt tears welling up in my eyes. Probably the stress of the home invasion and maybe the beginning of a concussion. I quickly wiped my eyes and sat up straighter.

“I’ve had a bit of a shock,” I began uncertainly. “Someone broke in a few minutes ago. That’s why the cats were outside. He must have run out through the front door and left it open.”

Minerva gave a little gasp and raised her hand to her mouth. She and Rose exchanged a look. “Yes, it was cracked open; we thought you’d forgotten to close it. Good heavens, Taylor, this is terrible.”

“What shall we do?” Rose chimed in, wringing her hands. “A break-in, my word. What’s the world coming to?” she said, her voice rising to a nervous spiral.

“Pull yourself together, Rose,” Minerva snapped at her. “It’s lucky we happened to look out the window when we did.”

“It certainly is, you saved the cats,” I said, clutching Barney to my chest and stroking his soft fur.

“What do suppose they wanted?” Rose asked. She looked around the tiny living room. It was obvious there was nothing of value there.

“Who knows?” Minerva said irritably. “Let’s stop chatting, Rose. It’s time to call the police.” She picked up my cell phone and handed it to me. “Taylor?” she said questioningly.

“I’ll talk to them,” I said quickly. “There’s nothing they can do, but they do need to come over, you’re right.” I felt like my mind was working in slow motion. Maybe that crack on the head had done more damage than I realized.

I was relieved when Sam Stiles arrived a few minutes later. She was a composed, reassuring presence; her face was creased with concern. I heard Minerva greeting her in the downstairs hallway, and moments later, Sam came bounding up the stairs.

“Don’t touch anything,” she said to Rose, who was standing uncertainly near the kitchen sink. “Taylor, are you okay? The call came in just as I was going off duty.” She peered anxiously at me and rested her hand lightly on mine.

“I’m sorry to be making a big deal out of this, but I feel a bit sick,” I said. I told her what happened, and she whipped out her notebook. “I’m afraid I didn’t get a good look at him,” I explained. “Just a shadowy figure dressed in black.”

“You’re sure it was a guy?” Sam was back in cop mode, her voice calm yet commanding.