A Premonition of Murder (19 page)

“Up until now,” Ali said slowly, “I had no idea there was any connection between Sophie and Angus.”

“I don't think any of us did,” Persia said. She gave the Harper sisters an admiring glance. “You two always amaze me. I just don't understand how you can know so much about everyone in Savannah.”

Rose laughed. “Well, there's no secret, dear.” She reached over and patted her sister's hand. “We've just lived here a long time. And we've kept our ears open. It's surprising how much you can learn about people when you listen. Savannah is like a small town in some ways. People love to talk, and everyone knows everyone else's business.”

We turned to dream interpretation then, and Etta Mae described another dream about a love letter written in “navy blue ink.” My mind shot back to the letter we'd uncovered behind the painting in Desiree's room. Could that be the
letter Etta Mae was dreaming about? This was the second time she'd had that identical dream.

“It's always significant when you return to the same dream material,” Sybil said. “Usually it means that the issue isn't settled in your mind, or that you didn't quite understand the meaning of the dream.”

“Well, I certainly don't claim to understand the meaning,” Etta Mae said a little defensively. “It's just a letter. I don't know what to make of it. It's sort of old and wrinkled, like someone wrote it a long time ago.”

“And you say it was written on cream-colored paper with navy blue ink,” I said softly.

“Yes, that's about the only part that's really clear to me.” Etta Mae twisted her hands in her lap. “I had the feeling I was supposed to do something about the letter, but that part's kind of hazy.” She shook her head and sighed. “Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever get the hang of this.”

“You will, I promise you,” Sybil said gently. “Maybe all you were supposed to do was tell us about the dream, and that's exactly what you did. You gave us a reminder tonight about the letter. Sometimes that's enough. You fulfilled the message in the dream.” She looked around the group. “Did anyone else have a dream about a letter?”

“No,” I spoke up, “but there
is
a letter involved in the case. Or it could be involved; we're not sure. We just discovered it.” I quickly filled everyone in on the letter we'd found in Desiree's room.

Persia clapped her hands delightedly. “You see, Etta Mae? That's got to be the letter you saw in your dream. You led Taylor and Ali right to it. Everything is connected, and it all comes out in dream material. This could be a major break in the case, and it's all because of you.”

I smiled and kept quiet. The dream about the letter could be sheer coincidence, but Etta Mae looked so pleased I didn't want to burst her balloon. Some people in the group think that every dream has some significance, but I tend to take a more stringent approach. Unless I absolutely can link a dream to a specific detail in the case, I don't pay much attention to it.

“So where do things stand?” Sybil asked, after we'd heard a couple of ho-hum dreams about traveling with pets. Some nights are slow nights for the Dream Club, and this was one of them. No one really had anything inspiring to report, and Minerva said she'd taken some allergy medicine and hadn't dreamt at all.

“Where do things stand with the case? I wish I knew.” I poured myself a final glass of sweet tea. I had the feeling Ali was going to wrap things up pretty quickly.

“Have you heard the news about Laura Howard's divorce?” Rose Harper asked. “Such a shame, after all those years. I've always had my suspicions that her husband would pull something like this. Of course, I couldn't say a word to Laura about him; she always defended him. Really a dreadful little man. Laura is much too good for him.” She paused and reached for the last lemon square with an apologetic glance at Minerva. “There are times when I really wish I hadn't been right about someone, and this is one of them.”

“We just heard the news about Laura's divorce today,” I said, giving a quick rundown on what Gideon had told us. “Gideon said Laura couldn't break the prenup, and it looked like she was going to be out in the cold—”

“But thanks to the tontine, she won't be,” Minerva said shrewdly. “She could sell off that piece of property tomorrow and make a fortune.”

“And make an even bigger fortune if she held on to it,” Rose chimed in. “I looked it up online last night and nearly died when I saw how much it was worth.”

“You looked it up?” Etta Mae asked.

“City tax records,” Rose said crisply. “Once you find out what the taxes are on a particular property, you have a pretty good idea what it's worth.”

“Rose, sometimes you amaze me,” Sybil said in a tone of wonderment. Rose is full of surprises. She's an octogenarian yet is so computer savvy she researches everyone's genealogy as a hobby.

“I do have a suspect that I'm leaning toward.” I hesitated. “But I don't know if the rest of you will agree with me. I'm not even sure Ali and I are on the same page about this.”

“Who is it? I thought you were circling back to Sophie Stanton, but you weren't clear on the motive.”

“I've moved away from Sophie Stanton as the killer,” I said mildly. “For the moment, at least. I've got someone else in my sights right now.”

“Even after what you've learned tonight?” Persia asked. “Sophie lied to the police. She covered up for Angus, and that tells me the two of them must be up to something. Doesn't that put her back at the top of the list?”

“Not necessarily. Sophie and Angus may be covering up something, and they do seem like shady characters. But does that make them killers?” I reached down to pat Barney, who was trying to climb up the side of the love seat. “I have someone else in mind. Every time I think about the case, I keep coming back to her.”

“Her?” Ali asked.

“Lucy Dargos.” Dorien gave a sharp cackle, Lucinda tut-tutted, and Ali looked perplexed.

It was obvious no one in the group agreed with me, but being Southern ladies, they were too polite to say so.

“Am I the only one who thinks she did it?” I asked. “Seriously?” A long beat passed.

Finally Minerva looked over at me and winked. “The cheese stands alone,” she said with a smile.

21

If Lucy Dargos suspected that I was harboring such dark thoughts about her, she gave no sign when I arrived at Beaux Reves the following morning. Ali had decided to stay in the shop and help Dana plan a series of tea tastings that we hoped would bring in some business.

I realized we'd been shoving a lot of extra work on Dana lately, expecting her to come up with new marketing campaigns, take charge of decorating the shop window, and generally run the place while we were absent. It was way too much work for one person, even for someone as energetic as Dana. So Ali urged me to go to the mansion by myself and said she'd touch base with me in the afternoon.

“Come in,” Lucy said, smiling as she opened the massive front doors to the estate. “Coffee is in the kitchen, and I just took some
ensaimadas
out of the oven.”

Lucy's
ensaimadas
are out of this world. I'd sampled them the last time I had coffee in the kitchen and was
tempted to ask her for the recipe. They're a Spanish version of sweet rolls and are basically buttery pastry brushed with cinnamon and honey before baking. I could smell the delicious aroma as I stepped into the front hall.

I looked up the beautiful walnut stairs to the second-floor balcony, and she followed my gaze. The coffee was tempting, but I hesitated.
There's so much work ahead of me. Do I really have time to be snacking in the kitchen?
She smiled and shook her head as if she'd read my thoughts. “You can work later,” she insisted. “The
ensaimadas
are best when they're hot from the oven.”

“You win,” I said, caving. Now that I saw Lucy in her work environment, so welcoming and friendly, it was hard to believe I'd pegged her as a killer just last night. There was something so disarming about her wide smile and embroidered apron that I wondered if my initial suspicions about her were off target.

The
ensaimadas
were calling to me with their sugary little voices, and I dutifully trotted after Lucy as she made her way to the kitchen. But then I stopped dead in my tracks.
The painting was still missing.
I gestured to the blank spot on the wall and tried to keep my voice casual. “It's still not back?”

“Oh, the painting,” she said dismissively. “I don't know why you trouble yourself with that.” She gave a wide smile, waggling her fingers at me. “
No importa, no importa
,” she said in her lilting voice. Was she trying to charm me? Or was I barking up the wrong tree with my missing-painting theory?

“They're still cleaning it?” I asked.

She sidestepped the question. “It will be back soon. Maybe later this week. Come, come,” she said, hurrying into the kitchen. “You can have coffee with Miss Sophie.”

Miss Sophie?
Another chance to talk to the cool mystery guest, and this time I was going to press her harder. I smiled and slipped into a chair directly across from her at the wide kitchen table. She put down her newspaper and frowned, a line appearing between her eyes.

“Hello, Sophie,” I said as Lucy slid a cup of coffee toward me. “How nice to see you again. I wasn't sure you would still be living at Beaux Reves.”

Sophie paused, probably wondering exactly how rude she dared be. “I'm here for the time being,” she said vaguely. “Since Abigail passed away, things are in a bit of disarray.”

“Disarray?” I tried to look puzzled. “It looks like Lucy has everything under control,” I said, which earned me a deeper frown.

“
My
plans, I mean,” she said irritably. “I expected to be here for the entire summer, but now”—her shoulders lifted in an elegant shrug—“things are a bit uncertain.”

She looked like a million dollars in a tailored white linen suit with trousers and a black silk blouse, open in a deep V neck, showing off a chunky gold necklace. I could picture her on a yacht in the south of France or maybe lunching outdoors at a ritzy hotel along La Croisette in Cannes. Her open tote bag was perched on the seat next to her, and I could see some papers peeking out of the top.
If only she'd excuse herself for a moment, I'd love to get a look inside that bag. Why is she really staying in Savannah? Is she waiting for the reading of the will?

Lucy was humming softly to herself, listening to a Latin song on the clunky boom box. Sophie wasn't in a chatty mood, so I helped myself to one of the
ensaimadas
and munched away, planning my explorations for today. I'd brought my inventory list with me and scanned it as I ate. I
could feel Sophie's eyes on me, but I refused to look up. She moved restlessly in her chair, and I knew she wanted to ask me something.

“You're going over certain rooms in the house? Both the public rooms and the private rooms?” She didn't hide her curiosity as she tried to read my list upside down from across the table. For once she sounded genuinely interested, not just irritable and unpleasant.

“Yes, I have a few items I need to track down today. I'd like to wind everything up by the end of the week, and I'm making a note of anything that seems to be misplaced.” I saw Lucy's back stiffen at the word “misplaced,” and her hand stopped in midair as she rinsed out the cups in the sink. I wondered if Nicky had been helping himself to the items I was looking for.

“Exactly what do you think may be misplaced?” Angus said, suddenly appearing in the doorway from the front hall. His face was creased in a scowl; I could see he wasn't thrilled at my choice of words.
He'd like the word
“missing”
even less
, I thought with grim amusement.

“Oh, just a few things here and there,” I said, refusing to be intimidated. “Of course, this is really early in the inventory process, so I have no idea what will turn up down the line.” I gestured to the list next to me. “Abigail was very precise about what items she wanted me to find. Since the items could be scattered all over the mansion, I suppose I'll have to go into every room.” I paused. “Are there storerooms somewhere where I might find some of the larger pieces? The ones that are no longer on display?”

“What larger pieces?” Angus said in the same argumentative tone. I could hardly believe he'd charmed himself into a position at Beaux Reves; he was one of the most unpleasant
individuals I'd ever come across. “You'll have to be more specific.”

I picked up the list and began reading. “Eighteenth-century Georgian mahogany slant-front desk with original Hepplewhite brass pulls, the writing compartment filled with small drawers and cubbyholes.” I glanced at Sophie, who'd stopped eating to listen. “I'd say that's pretty specific, wouldn't you? I didn't see that piece anywhere in the public rooms and I assume it's not in any of the bedrooms. So that made me think there must be a storeroom, maybe in the attic or the basement. And that's where I'll find the larger pieces.”

Sophie and Angus exchanged a look, and I was sure I saw a flash of fear in her eyes. Was Angus stealing from the mansion and Sophie was somehow involved? The missing items seemed to be the focal point of a web, drawing in more and more people. First it was just Angus and Nicky. And now I had the feeling that Sophie Stanton and Lucy Dargos might also be involved.

“There are a few pieces up in the attic,” he said grudgingly. He looked pointedly at my half-full coffee cup. “I can take you up there before I go out this morning,” he offered. “And there are some more in the basement.”

“That would be nice,” I said vaguely. “Are you going back to Charleston to do some research today?”

He shot a quick look at Sophie. I had definitely touched a nerve. “Why would you ask that?”

“No particular reason, I just wondered.” I sipped my coffee, letting him stew for a couple of minutes. Sophie went back to reading the newspaper, but I know she was hanging on our every word. “You had dinner in Charleston the night Abigail died, didn't you? I think I remember reading that somewhere.”

“Yes,” he said too quickly. “At the Seven Sisters.”

“Really?” I put my coffee down and stared at him. “At the Seven Sisters on High Street in Charleston?”

“Yes. Sophie was having dinner there, too,” he said, the words tumbling out in a rush.
Pressured speech
, they call it. I knew he was lying. I glanced at Sophie, who was a cooler customer than Angus. She stared right back at me coldly; her features could have been chiseled out of stone. “Tell her, Sophie,” he demanded, nodding in my direction.

Sophie gave a tiny catlike smile and placed her hands in front of her on the table. She'd seen this coming a mile away and was ready for it. “Not the
Seven Sisters
, Angus,” she said without taking her eyes off me. “It was the
Sisters
on Fairmont Avenue. Don't you remember?”
Score one for Sophie
. Either someone had tipped her off or she had done her research and discovered the Seven Sisters restaurant had been closed that night
. Nice save,
Sophie!

“I thought—” Angus said and then stopped abruptly. He was obviously out of his element. Sophie was what they call a “practiced liar,” and he wasn't. Clinging to his clumsy mistake only made things worse. It would have been smarter to follow Sophie's lead.

“It doesn't matter what you thought, Angus,” she said icily. “It was the Sisters restaurant. On Fairmont.”

Angus nodded, his expression tight. If they were working together, Sophie was clearly the brains of the operation.

“So . . . do you want to see the storerooms?” he asked bluntly, noticing my coffee cup was empty.

“That would be nice.” I stood up and tucked my inventory papers under my arm.

“Oh, Taylor,” Sophie said suddenly, “I've been meaning to ask you something.” I casually moved around the corner
of the table, where I had a clear view of her tote bag. I noticed she had one of those narrow little notebooks, the kind Sara had balanced on the arm of the chair last night.

“Is there something I can help you with?” The kitchen was very still, and the only sound was Lucy, who had started humming again to the low music from the boom box.

“I wondered”—for the first time Sophie seemed to falter—“would it be possible for me to attend a Dream Club meeting sometime?”

I hadn't expected this. “I'm sorry, but it's a closed group,” I said evenly. “We don't allow visitors.” The fact is, we go through a rigorous screening process and are very picky about who we allow in the group. Everyone has to vote on admitting a new member, and they have to have strong recommendations. Last year, we had one gentleman drop out of the group. He was a professor at the local university, and I'd thought he would be a good match. However, after a few sessions, he'd decided he wasn't really interested in dream interpretation and left the group.

“Oh, but I wouldn't expect to say anything,” Sophie said, fluttering her hands. “I would just sit there observing, soaking up the atmosphere.” She flashed what she probably thought was a winning smile. Like many people, Sophie can be pleasant when she wants something. “I would be as still as a church mouse,” she promised.

I shook my head. “I'm sorry, but it's impossible. Having an outsider would be very disruptive to our members. They insist on strict confidentiality, and they wouldn't feel comfortable sharing their dreams if you were sitting there. It's nothing personal; it's just the way we do things.”

Her lips formed a thin line, and she sat back in her chair. She blinked and blew out a little puff of air as if she were trying to get her feelings under control. “Oh, I quite
understand,” she said after a moment. What a transformation. The angry scowl had vanished, and she had morphed her features into what passed for a pleasant expression. “It was just an idea; no worries.”

“Are you ready to check out the storerooms?” Angus said curtly.
What a charmer
. He glanced at his watch.

“Of course. Lead on,” I told him.