Dream a Little Scream (11 page)

12

Jeremy Watts appeared just as we were finishing up breakfast. We'd ordered another pot of coffee and Ali and Sara were deep in conversation while I kept an eye on the French doors that led into the lobby. I watched in astonishment as a local television reporter and her photographer marched up to the front desk. The photographer was checking out the hand-painted murals and architectural details as if he was trying to find a good shot for background.
Photographers!
Just as Minerva had predicted.

“What are they filming?” I asked our server.

“Oh, they're doing a feature on haunted hotels here in Savannah.” She lowered her voice. “The Marshall House is really supposed to be haunted, but my boss hopes they'll include us in the piece. He's probably telling her he's seen ghosts walking up and down the corridors at night.” She grinned. “I don't believe any of it, but the tourists love this stuff. It's good publicity.”

A couple of minutes later, Jeremy Watts strolled into the coffee shop with a copy of the
Savannah Tribune
tucked under his arm. He was heading for a small table in the back when I jumped to my feet, blocking his way.

“Jeremy? I didn't know you were still in town.” I stretched out my hand and he clasped it, a look of pure bewilderment on his face. “I'm Taylor Blake. We met at the studio when Sonia taped her show.” He still looked blank. “My sister and I own a candy store. Sonia had a book signing with us?”

“I'm afraid I don't recall—” he began hesitantly.

“Oh, that's quite all right,” I cut in. “You met a ton of people at the studio.” I quickly introduced Ali to Jeremy and then insisted that he sit with us.

“I'm really in rather a rush,” he said tightly. I was sure he was lying. He'd strolled into the coffee shop like he'd had all the time in the world and had even bought a newspaper. I think he'd been looking forward to a nice leisurely breakfast without a pack of noisy women to disturb his peace.

“Sit right here,” I said, squeezing over on the red leather banquette to make room for him.

“But I was just going to have a quick cup of coffee,” he protested, and this time Sara broke in.

“That's perfect,” she said heartily, “because we just ordered a fresh pot.” She signaled to the server for an extra cup and Jeremy eased himself onto the seat, looking decidedly uncomfortable. “This is our friend Sara,” Ali added. “She's writing a feature on Sonia for the local paper.”

“It's so sad,” Sara said demurely, lowering her eyes. “The whole thing—I can hardly believe it happened,” she added. “I don't think you were there for the book signing Ali and Taylor hosted . . .” She let her voice trail off in a question.

Jeremy waited until the server poured him a cup of steaming coffee before replying. “No, I wasn't. I attended the taping,
but then I had some pressing things to do in Atlanta for the company.” He paused and arranged his features in a look of abject sadness. “I was as stunned as anyone else when I got the news from Olivia.”

“So it was Olivia who told you that Sonia had passed away?”

“Yes, she had just come out of the ER. I'll never forget that call.” He stopped and wiped an imaginary tear from his eye. “It was such a shock to all of us. She can never be replaced.” There was a false note in his rendition, something odd and off-key. I think Sara sensed it, because she exchanged a glance with me, her eyebrow arching a tiny bit.

“No, of course she can't be replaced. She was one of a kind,” Ali said, her voice warm with sympathy. She waited a moment and then said, “But life goes on, and the company will go on. What will happen to Sonia Scott, Inc., without its leader at the helm?”

“That's a good question,” Jeremy said, his mouth twisting. “I've never even considered it. I don't think anyone else did, either. It was her company, her brand. She tested every single recipe, she approved every piece of advertising . . .” He stopped and sipped his coffee. “We'll just have to muddle through without her; we owe that much to the stockholders.”

“Ah yes, the stockholders,” Sara said dryly. “It always comes down to that, doesn't it? Money, profits, the bottom line.”

“It's what Sonia would have wanted,” Jeremy said piously. “She was really concerned about her employees. She arranged the most generous benefits you can imagine, and her door was always open if there was a problem.” I tried to keep my expression neutral. Jeremy's description was at odds with the temperamental diva I'd seen at the taping. “It's a personal loss for me,” he said solemnly.

I bet it is!
I thought cynically. I tried to think of a way to delve into Jeremy's rumored romantic relationship with Sonia, but I couldn't think of anything that wasn't downright offensive. “Tell me,” I said finally, “did you work with Sonia for a long time?” An innocent question and I could only hope it would lead to some reminiscing on his part.

“Since the beginning,” he said, eyeing me with sudden interest. I wondered if he knew where my thoughts were headed. “We started out as colleagues and became”—just a hint of a telltale pause—“very dear friends.”

“I see,” Sara said. She pulled out her notebook and scribbled in it. “Very dear friends,” she repeated. She shot me a quick glance. It was obvious she didn't believe a word of it.

Jeremy was immediately on guard. “Hey, is this an interview or something?” He smiled to soften the comment, but there was an edge in his voice. “I'm speaking as one of Sonia's friends, not as a representative of the company. You'll have to check with the press office if you want an official statement.”

“Oh, you don't have to worry. This isn't official,” Sara said, her eyes clear, her voice soothing. “I just thought I might write a human-interest piece for the paper about Sonia and how the public loved her. And her cooking, of course. I loved the way she took vintage recipes and gave them a modern flair.” I wondered if she was goading him, hoping to get him to comment on Etta Mae and her family cookbook. But Jeremy wasn't taking the bait. She gave him a big, guileless smile, and he suddenly took a big swallow of coffee and glanced at his watch.

“Well, that sounds very nice, but I really should be going,” he began.

“Are you planning on staying in Savannah for a while?” I asked. “Maybe we could meet up again. You could give Sara
some more background details for her article.” He hesitated, so I added, “Think about it, Jeremy. You were probably closer to Sonia than anyone else—one of her inner circle. You must know wonderful stories about her that you could share. It would be a tribute, a way to memorialize someone we all admired.”

I was afraid I was laying it on a little thick, but Jeremy seemed to have run out of objections. At least for the moment. “Well, I am leaving town today, but I guess I can stay for a few more minutes,” he said peevishly. He looked directly at Sara. “What exactly would you like to know?” His tone was blunt, exasperated. No more Mr. Nice Guy for Jeremy.

“Just a couple of questions about your role in the organization,” Sara said sweetly. For the next few minutes, she peppered Jeremy with questions about the company, how it all began in Sonia's home kitchen, and his role in her empire. He was vague about his duties but admitted that he often traveled with Sonia “to deal with the press and make her life easier.”

I noticed he kept glancing toward the lobby. I followed his gaze but couldn't figure out what he found so intriguing. The camera crew must have moved to an upper floor. I couldn't spot them from the booth, and I had an excellent view of the lobby.

“It must be hard for you to travel so much,” Sara was saying sympathetically. “You still have young children at home, don't you?”

This time he didn't bother to hide his annoyance. “Yes, I do,” he said curtly. “Luckily my wife is a full-time homemaker, and she takes excellent care of them.”

“Your wife,” Ali said slowly. “We enjoyed meeting Leslie at the taping, and one of our friends, Lucinda, was so happy
to see her there. Lucinda used to be one of Leslie's teachers at the Academy.”

Jeremy's eyes flickered in surprise and then he nodded. “I remember Leslie introduced me to her former teacher from the Academy. Leslie is a big fan of the show and she tries to attend the tapings whenever she can. She always enjoys them. And now I really must go,” he said. “Thanks for the coffee.” He popped up like a jack-in-the-box. His movement was so abrupt the bench on the banquette wobbled dangerously and I nearly tumbled forward into my coffee.

“Are there any funeral arrangements in place?” I spoke quickly, afraid Jeremy was about to fly the coop.

“Nothing is firmed up yet; you'll have to check back with me.” Again I saw him glance toward the lobby, and this time I spotted something furtive in his look. Maybe there was more going on than just the camera crew, but what? He was definitely edgy, and he was drumming his fingers on the tabletop.

“I'll make sure we check back with you. We'd love to be there to honor Sonia,” Ali told him. “After all, we were the last ones to see her alive,” she added, and I was sure he winced. “Could we have one of your business cards?”

“Here, knock yourself out,” he said ungraciously. He reached into his pocket, tossing a few cards on the table. His fingers were trembling. He was as twitchy as a drug addict. I picked up a card and saw he was listed as director of communications—a lofty title. I wondered if that could be significant. Was that really his job description? He'd told Sara to contact the press office if she had further questions. But wouldn't he be the one running the press office? If so, he should be the one answering our questions. It must be an honorary title, I decided. Designed to make him feel important.

Maybe Jeremy was actually a well-paid gofer, sleeping with the boss. That sort of situation was bound to cause a
lot of resentment with other employees, and I wondered if we could find someone at Sonia Scott, Inc., who would be willing to talk to us. There must be someone—somewhere—who had the inside scoop on Jeremy and would be willing to dish.

“Just one more thing,” Sara asked as Jeremy was preparing to make his getaway. She reminded me of Columbo, the famous television detective. Asking “just one more question” was one of his favorite shticks, and he loved to catch his suspects off guard. “Did Sonia always wear a silver chain with a pendant?”

He blinked. “A silver chain? I have no idea.” He waved his hand in the air like he was batting away a gnat. “Why do you ask?”

“No reason.” Sara smiled and closed her notebook. “Just wondered.”

He glanced at his watch and bit back a sigh. “Is that it?”

“How is Olivia regarded in the company?”

“Olivia?” He shook his head. “She came on board long before I did. She was very close to Sonia, I think.” Sara started to interrupt him, but he held up his hand, palm out, like a traffic cop. “We have completely different responsibilities. As far as I know she has a good reputation in the company. What will happen now, that's not for me to say. Olivia seems to be a loyal employee; that's all I can tell you.”

When Jeremy left, Ali turned to me. “I think we're getting somewhere,” she said eagerly. “He admitted he spent a lot of time traveling with Sonia.”

“And he seemed annoyed when you mentioned his wife's name,” Sara pointed out.

“He did. I don't think he wants us to have any contact with his family.” Ali looked pleased, as if we had garnered some key pieces of information. I was less convinced.

I'm not sure how significant it was that the two of them frequently traveled together. What did it really prove? It certainly would have given Jeremy and Sonia some serious time for hanky-panky, if they were so inclined, but that didn't lead to a motive for murder. It looked like we were back at square one. Without a solid motive, Jeremy couldn't possibly be considered a suspect.