Murder In Her Dreams (12 page)

“Miss Blake, I’m Ian McLeod.” He held out his
right hand and pointed with his left to the two chairs in front of
the desk. Cassie took his hand, shifting the envelope to her left,
and sank into the nearest chair. Like the dream man, he had a firm
grip.

She stared down at the brown envelope,
uncertain now whether coming had been wise. Just like Rod, he
wouldn’t believe her. She rubbed her right thumb over her left,
trying to regain her confidence.

“Would you care for some coffee?” His rich
voice sounded the same as in her dream.

“Coffee? Uh, no, thank you,” Cassie muttered.
With her luck, she’d spill it. Calm, cool, and collected, she
reminded herself.

“I’ll have mine when we finish, MaryLou.”

Miss Sanders nodded and closed the door
behind her.

* * * *

Ian McLeod resumed his seat behind his desk
and leaned back in his chair. Cassie Blake had long brown hair, too
long perhaps, and wore a baggy sweater over one of those floral
print skirts. Definitely a far cry from Sharon’s cool elegance. He
wondered about her finances. They couldn’t be very complicated, but
she probably didn’t keep very good records. The image of that old
woman who had dumped a shoe box of bills and receipts on his desk,
only half of which were relevant rose in his memory.

He tented his fingers as he studied her. “How
can I help you, Miss Blake? My assistant said you want help with
you taxes.”

She gave a hesitant nod. “Uh, yes, that’s
what I told her.”

She looked up at him with wide blue eye, and,
for a moment, he felt suspended. The dark blue of her eyes echoed
the tapestry on his wall. They had a translucent depth that
intrigued him.

“Actually, I want to talk to you about a
personal matter.”

Her words surprised him. “A personal
matter?”

He frowned as he studied her face again. Not
a bad face — an attractive face all in all. He liked the honesty
implicit in her sea-blue eyes, but he couldn’t think of any
connection she might have with him. Sales? He hoped not. MaryLou
handled most of the salespeople.

“I’m not aware we’re acquainted, Miss
Blake.”

“We’re not.” She sighed and stared at him.
The force of her eyes held him again, compelling him to listen. “At
least you don’t know me, but I know you.”

“You do?” Ian blinked and then steadied his
gaze on her. To the best of his knowledge, he had never seen her
before.

She nodded and blushed. It gave color to her
face and made her look less mousy. “Yes, you’ve been invading my
dreams almost every night.”

His eyes widened, and then he laughed. “I’m
not used to being the subject of anyone’s dreams, especially a
woman’s.”

“They’re not that kind of dream,” she
snapped, her eyes giving off blue fire. “I’d much rather not have
them at all.”

“Then what is this all about?” Confused, he
couldn’t follow her train of thought.

What did she want? How in the hell did she
latch on to him and in dreams for Pete’s sake? The man of her
dreams? That sounded like some cheap romance.

“I’m here to warn you that...” She took a
deep breath and looked down at her clenched hands.

“Uh, maybe I should start at the beginning.
About eighteen months ago, I had a series of vivid dreams ... about
Ellie Latham. Maybe you remember her kidnapping.” She looked to him
for confirmation.

Ian nodded, but he didn’t recall the name at
all.

“I dreamed about her several times, but ...
well, it’s a long story. I didn’t contact the police until after my
dream showed her body. Later, I found out, she hadn’t been killed
until after my third dream about her.”

She turned haunted eyes to him. “Maybe if I
had called the police earlier, she wouldn’t have died.”

Ian stared back, uncertain what to say. It
sounded tragic. But dreams?

“Look, I can see how such an experience might
bother you, but what does it have to do with me?”

She crimped the edges of the envelope in her
lap and took a deep breath before looking at him. “Someone is
trying to kill you.”

Ian’s eyes widened for a moment. He didn’t
know what he had been expecting, but it wasn’t this. She sounded
nuts. He shifted in his chair and eyed the phone. A physical attack
seemed unlikely, but a gun might be another matter. Perhaps he
should humor her, at least until he learned a little more.

“Kill me?”

She nodded.

“Who? Why?”

She looked confused and rubbed her right
thumb over the left. “I don’t know. In my dreams—“

“Your dreams?” Ian raised both eyebrows.

She had a screw loose all right, maybe more
than one. He leaned forward and moved his hand closer to the
phone.

“You mean to tell me you’ve come here to warn
me because of some weird dream you’ve had.” He didn’t bother to
suppress the skepticism from his voice.

Cassie Blake gazed down at her clenched
hands. “I didn’t want to come. You forced me.”

Startled, Ian stared at her. “I? I forced
you? Lady, be real. I don’t even know you, and I think you should
leave. Now.” He stood up to end her lunacy.

Encouraging more of it could be dangerous.
Someone had told him never trust the mousy ones. He had no
intention of becoming the object of her attention for any reason,
particularly since she was obviously unhinged

She remained seated, but appealed to him with
frightened eyes. “I know it sounds crazy, but something is going to
happen to you. It’s just like Ellie Latham.”

He started to edge around the desk. “I fail
to see how. No one has kidnapped or threatened me.”

She waved a hand, brushing his reply aside.
“No, it’s not like that. It’s different. The black rabbit is going
to kill you.”

Ian emitted a harsh laugh. “Now I’ve heard
everything. A rabbit is going to kill me?” He stared at her as he
remembered the words ‘Beware the rabid rabbit’.

He glared at her with narrowed eyes. “You
sent that note, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but you ignored it, so I had to come
instead.” She clutched the brown envelope in her lap, her eyes dark
with anxiety. “You’ve got to listen. This is serious.”

“A rabbit?” Ian hardened his voice. “There’s
no way I can take that seriously or you.”

She shook her head. “You’ve got it all wrong.
The rabbit isn’t really going to kill you, but someone or something
the rabbit symbolizes is.”

“Yeah?” he sneered. "Then just tell me who or
what.”

“I can’t. I don’t know.” She focused on him,
anguish painting her features. “I’ve tried to figure it out, really
I have. I don’t know about that rabbit just that it’s going to kill
you.”

“Well, Miss Blake.” Ian took her by the arm
and ushered her toward the door. “I think we’ve both wasted enough
time. Thank you for your warning.”

He opened the door and dragged her through to
the reception area. MaryLou stared at them as Ian escorted Cassie
out of his office, his fingers like a steel vise on her arm.

“I’m sorry we can’t do business, Miss Blake.
You’d best take your message elsewhere.”

* * * *

Disappointed and ashamed, Cassie nodded and
moved toward the outer door. As she turned to say good-bye to
MaryLou, she saw Ian reach for the white foam cup of coffee on the
edge of the desk. The image of the figure in the cornfield
clutching a white cup in one outstretched hand rose in her mind. As
the image replayed, the brown liquid spilled from the cup and
turned bright red.

“NO,” Cassie shouted.

She lurched toward Ian McLeod and grabbed for
the hand holding the cup. The force of her attack knocked him
backwards. The cup fell from his hand. Dark liquid arced downward.
Coffee splashed all over the gray carpet and narrowly missed his
suit.

“What the hell?” He looked at the brown
liquid soaking into the carpet and then at her. “Are you
crazy?”

Cassie stared down at the mess, aghast. “I’m
sorry. It ... it was poisoned.”

“Miss Blake I’ve had enough of your nutty
behavior. I want you out, now.” He grabbed her arm and literally
shoved her out the door to the hallway. “And don’t come back.” He
pulled the door shut with a snap, leaving Cassie staring back at
the blank surface of the closed door.

* * * *

Brad, hiding behind the interior door that
led to the rest of the office suite, made sure no one saw him. The
other staff had appointments at client offices or were on errands
so he didn’t have much worry about anyone seeing him. He heard the
last of the new pot of coffee gurgle through the coffee maker as he
eased the door open a crack. He had started the fresh pot as soon
as he had seen MaryLou take Ian’s coffee to her desk. He wanted to
leave no traces for anyone, especially the police.

He placed his eye to the crack just in time
to see the strange woman shove the cup of coffee from McLeod’s
hand. Damn! Who the hell was she and why did she have to
interfere?

He didn’t recognize her. How did she know
about the coffee? No one knew.

Then he remembered that crumpled ball of
paper from Ian’s office. Could she be the one who had sent McLeod
that dumb note?

The poisoned coffee had offered the ideal
method to get rid of McLeod. MaryLou only drank tea, and, with the
others gone, it would only affect McLeod. Just the same, he had
already dumped the old pot and brewed a fresh one.

The fast-acting poison caused effects that
resembled a heart attack, and, with nothing to indicate other than
a natural death, no one would suspect murder, even in a man as
young as McLeod. After all, with the long hours he kept, the
paramedics would assume stress had just gotten to him.

Now this stupid bitch had spoiled his plans.
He’d have to do something about her. He pulled the door closed,
careful to make sure the latch didn’t click and hurried out the
back way.

* * * * *

Cassie stood for a moment outside Ian McLeod
Enterprises trying to slow the too-rapid beat of her heart. The
dream memory had overwhelmed her, and instinct had taken over. She
acted without thinking and pushed the cup away from McLeod. No
wonder he thought she was crazy. No way could she take the chance
it had been poisoned. Now, there was no way to tell. She had been
responsible. She had acted even if he didn’t believe her.

Straightening her shoulders, Cassie walked to
the corner to cross at the light. She waited for the Walk signal to
flash and started to cross.

“Lady, look out,” a man’s voice yelled,
almost drowned out by the roar of a motorcycle.

A black-helmeted motorcyclist bore down on
her. Cassie jumped back on the curb just as the cyclist sped past.
All she could see was black leather as he crouched low over his
handlebars. He disappeared around the next corner leaving only the
fading growl of his cycle and the lingering fumes of his
exhaust.

“You okay, lady?” A stocky man in gray
coveralls stood next to her.

“What?” Cassie looked up at him, still dazed
from her near miss. “Oh, yes, I’m fine.”

His expression seemed to doubt her words.

“Really, I’m fine.” She gave a shaky laugh.
“Guess he didn’t see the light change.”

The man snorted. “These kids don’t care. They
make a game of scaring pedestrians. Someday they’ll hit one, and
then they’ll be charged with murder.”

“Yeah, well thanks for yelling out. Bye.”
Cassie hurried off, anxious to leave McLeod and the motorcyclist
behind.

* * * *

Ian poured himself another cup of coffee from
the full pot in the workroom and tried to relax. Cassie Blake riled
him. He squirmed to think he had misjudged her just as he had
misjudged James Harrison. Beware the meek — underestimate them and
they take you for all you’ve got. He clenched his hands, angry,
frustrated, and determined not to be taken in again.

As Ian returned to the reception area,
MaryLou dumped the wet paper towels she had used to mop up the
spilled coffee in the wastebasket. “She looked like such a nice
person—what set her off?”

“Damned if I know. She carried on about
dreams and someone trying to kill me. Something about a rabbit, and
you saw how she reacted to the coffee. A screw loose somewhere.”
Ian shook his head.

“She looked so...” MaryLou sat back down at
her desk as she looked to Ian for help. “Well, so innocent.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean. Sort of
naive.”

MaryLou nodded. “Maybe she’s a repressed old
maid, although she’s not that old. She must have fallen in love
with your picture in the paper. It was a nice picture. That
photographer got your best side.”

“Thanks.” Ian grinned as he straightened his
tie. “Which side is that? Seriously, though, I’m glad you said that
bit about her and not me. You’d have accused me of male chauvinism
for calling her repressed or even worse an old maid. What do they
call them now anyway?”

“Hungry, uptight broads I guess. I’m not up
on the rap slang.” She shook her head, her face solemn. “You see it
in movies and hear about it in the news, but you never expect to
know someone like that yourself — people who enjoy fantasizing
about celebrities.”

“Oh, so winning an award makes me a
celebrity?” He grinned at her.

“You know what I mean. Movie stars are too
remote. You live in the same town.”

“Well....” Ian appraised her. “It’s your job
to protect me from people like that.”

“If you can tell me how to recognize one, I
will — otherwise you’re on your own.”

The telephone rang, and MaryLou answered it.
“McLeod Enterprises, Miss Sanders speaking, how may I direct your
call?”

Ian slipped back into his office. His first
impression of Cassie Blake had been of a nice girl who hid her
assets. Now, he thought of her as a weirdo, one he didn’t want to
see again.