Murder In Her Dreams (19 page)

Miss Blake shook her head. “I was afraid I
might miss you.”

“Come on then. Let’s go to Bob Evans. I’ll
drive.”

Ian took her arm and led her out of the
office. Just as he was relocking the door, he heard a familiar
voice behind him.

“Morning, Ian,” Bert greeted him. “Say, the
workmen left a mess on the ground.”

“I know. I’ll call the contractor.” Ian
stared at Bert with the beginnings of suspicion. “What brings you
in so early?”

“I have to meet Grayson downtown, and I need
some papers. Figured I could pick them up on my way.” Bert looked
with curiosity at Cassie Blake.

“Oh, yeah.” Relief coursed through Ian. It
had been ridiculous even to think Bert could have any involvement.
An accident, merely an accident, he reminded himself.

“Miss Blake, this is Bert Hansen, one of my
accountants. Bert, Cassie Blake.”

“Hi, Miss Blake, nice to meet you.” He held
out his hand as he studied her face. “Say, haven’t we met
before?”

She stared at him, her eyes narrowed, then
nodded as she smiled. “Tula Mohr’s party.”

“Yeah.” He snapped his fingers. “That’s
right. You’re the one who likes Georgia O’Keefe. Good to see you
again. I’d better get those papers if I don’t want to be late. See
you later, Ian, I’ll lock up.”

“Thanks. Come on, Miss Blake, I need that
coffee.” Ian took her arm and hurried her out the door and down the
walk to his car.

During the short drive, he replayed his
approach to the building in his mind. He had seen nothing as he
walked toward the building except for Cassie Blake as she paced
back and forth, but he hadn’t recognized her with her hood pulled
up.

Within a few minutes, Ian parked in front of
Bob Evans, a garish red building with white Victorian trim, a
popular restaurant for breakfast. Ian seldom ate breakfast there
because of the crowds, but this morning they arrived early enough
to beat the usual press. The hostess seated them in a booth.

Once the server brought coffee for Ian and
Miss Blake ordered tea, Ian studied her while they waited for her
tea, which soon came. The server took their orders and left.

Miss Blake’s presence at his office had been
too convenient. “All right, Miss Blake, why did you come to my
office this morning?”

She sighed and sipped her tea before
responding. Staring at him, she reminded him of a frightened
schoolgirl being reprimanded by the head nun.

“I ... I had a dream. I know you don’t
believe in them, but I do. I saw that rabbit again and it ... it
was throwing bricks at you.” Her eyes grew wider. “One brick hit
you and split your head open. The rest landed on top of you. I had
to warn you.”

She cupped her hands around her mug and
stared down into the milky surface of her tea. “After the last
time, I figured you wouldn’t believe me if I called you, so I
came.”

“Are you sure you didn’t arrange this?”

She bristled. “Don’t be ridiculous! Why?”

He shrugged.

“Why would I risk my own neck?”

Ian studied her for a moment with narrowed
eyes, but her indignant innocence rang true. “Did you see anything
or anyone?”

She shook her head, her eyes puzzled. “No, I
only saw the bricks begin to fall, and you were there. It was like
a slow motion film. I saw you walking and the bricks falling. I
shouted and jumped toward you. I thought we might both be hit.”

The heap of tumbled bricks rose unbidden to
his thoughts. “We could have been killed, or at least I could have.
A stupid accident.”

Her eyes looked like dark restless seas. “No,
it wasn’t an accident. I told you, the rabbit—"

“Look, a rabbit couldn’t move bricks.” That
damned rabbit again. She really was obsessed by it. He squeezed the
handle of his mug, unable to dismiss the fact she had saved his
life. He relaxed his grip.

“I know that. I’m not stupid.” She gazed up
at him. “Anyway, the rabbit isn’t really a rabbit. My subconscious
is using it as a symbol, but I don’t understand what it means. The
rabbit stands for someone who wants to kill you. I tried to tell
you that last time.”

“I remember. Then, it was the coffee.” He ran
a hand through his hair before continuing. “I hardly think someone
in my office would try to kill me. Besides, poisoning the coffee
wouldn’t guarantee I’d be the one to drink it. Someone else might
have been killed instead of me.”

He looked straight at her. “No, I don’t
believe it.”

Her mouth set in a stubborn pout. “Those
bricks were meant for you. Why did they fall just as you reached
the building?”

Ian frowned. The bricks were an unfortunate
accident. They fell, but a logical explanation existed. Why look
for anything else? Cassie Blake looked so concerned and earnest
that he wanted to believe her, but his rational mind demanded
facts.

“Maybe they weren’t stacked properly and some
vibration set them off.”

“Did you feel one?” Her sharp gaze impaled
him. “And at the precise instant you happened to be passing?”

Her words raised so many questions he
couldn’t answer. None of it made sense.

“Why? Who would want to kill me? I have no
disgruntled employees, no ex-wife after insurance, no injured
client. So far as I know, I haven’t any enemies.”

“But someone wants you dead. This makes the
second attempt.”

“If it was an attempt, it’s the first, and
this accident is nothing more than an unfortunate coincidence. I am
thankful to you for saving me from serious injury. I’ll have to
speak with the contractor and the building owner and warn my staff,
too.”

The server brought their orders.

* * * *

Cassie stared down at the plate of bacon and
eggs. Ian McLeod still didn’t believe her. “You should call the
police.”

“Call the police?” He stared at her. “And
exactly what am I supposed to tell them? A pile of bricks fell off
the roof. You saw no one. I found no one. Then I tell them you had
a dream. What do you think they would say to that? They would call
us frightened cranks. No, Miss Blake, I won’t call the police. No
one pushed the bricks. They fell.”

“Oh, men are so stubborn. If you can’t see or
touch it, you don’t believe in it. I only hope you learn better
before you die.”

“You’ve warned me, okay? Just let it go. Eat
your breakfast.”

He sounded just like Rod. For the life of
her, she could not figure out why she cared about Ian McLeod. “I’m
not hungry.” Cassie pushed the plate away and reached for her
wallet. “How much do I owe you?”

“Forget it. You saved my life so we’re more
than quits. Can I drop you somewhere?”

“My car’s at your office.”

“All right, if you wait just a moment until I
pay the check, I’ll take you back.” Ian picked up the check and
stood.

Cassie nodded and followed him to the
cashier. Why would such an attractive and otherwise sensible man
ignore her warnings?

She had failed to get Ian McLeod to recognize
his danger, but at least she had saved his life this time. She
shuddered.

She hated these dreams and wished they would
go away. Until she knew what or whom the rabbit represented Ian
McLeod would not listen to her. It was his rabbit, why didn’t he
recognize it? Let him and that ... that perfect Sharon Arthur
figure it out.

Chapter
Fifteen

Brad swore. That damned bitch had interfered
for the last time. How she knew where to be and when, he didn’t
know. No one knew of his plans. Too bad, he hadn’t taken her out
with his cycle that first time. The next time, the easiest way
would be to send her on a wild goose chase. Somewhere far enough
away so he could take care of McLeod before she could
interfere.

The ‘accident’ had failed to kill McLeod.
Worrying too much about the cops limited his choices. He needed a
change of tactics. No one could tie him to McLeod. If someone got
nosy and checked his records, they would stand up, even to police
scrutiny. The records should. They were real enough.

Brad laughed. He had done a fine job of
becoming someone else. The only thing that would give him away was
not kept as part of the records. Funny how the government could be
so nosy and yet make something like identity theft so easy.

He pulled on a pair of rubber gloves and drew
out the blue, snub-nosed pistol. It would make a large hole in
McLeod, and the police would never tie it to him. Brad caressed the
smooth grip. A little heavy, but so what? He would only carry it
for a short time. Just long enough to take out McLeod.

Despite the gun registration laws, if you
knew the right people, you could get a gun easily enough. It didn’t
pay to carry one around though, especially if you rode a cycle. The
local cops did random checks looking for drunken drivers. If they
found a gun in the vehicle, they hauled in the driver on concealed
weapon charges. If they discovered you didn’t have a permit, they
really hit you. He wasn’t stupid and had no intention of being
caught with a gun. It only took careful planning. He made his own
luck.

Remembering the note he had found in McLeod’s
office, Brad pulled it out and smoothed the crumpled edges.
Dreams don’t
... Could the interfering bitch who spilled
McLeod’s coffee and saved his life be some type of mind reader?
He’d heard about people who touched something of a person’s and
knew everything about them.

The newspapers said some psychic occasionally
worked with the cops. So far as he knew, most of the Columbus cops
brushed off such people and only called on them when everything
else failed. What if the bitch was a real mind reader? If she had
the power, then maybe she knew his identity. Why hadn’t she told
McLeod? The cryptic note said nothing about him. Maybe she didn’t
know.

He didn’t like the bitch or the note. If she
interfered again, he’d kill her.

* * * *

Ian arrived at Sharon’s place at seven for
dinner. Her apartment reflected the same neat perfection as her
appearance. The books on the coffee table stood in a neat stack.
The newspaper lay folded on a side table. Ian always liked the
restful feeling her favorite cool green on the walls and the
comfortable blue furniture provided. He thought the small tangerine
cushions a nuisance, but they brightened the room. He moved them
aside when he sat on the sofa.

Sharon gave him a quick kiss as she hurried
back to the kitchen. “I had a bad day today. The printer’s proof
for our new brochure had a number of errors, and the radio station
ran our announcement at the wrong time. I’ve spent most of the day
on the telephone.”

“I’m sure you got it all sorted out.”

“Eventually.”

Ian sat at the breakfast counter. “My day
started off with a bang.”

Sharon stared at him, the spoon she had been
using to stir a large pot in one hand. “What does that mean?”

Ian picked up a cheese pinwheel from the
plate of hors-d’oeuvres on the counter. “A stack of bricks fell off
the roof and just missed me.”

Sharon set the spoon down. “Oh, Ian, are you
serious? When?”

He nodded. “This morning as I was coming to
work. If it hadn’t been for Cassie Blake, you might be seeing me at
the hospital instead of here.”

“Cassie Blake?” Sharon frowned as if she
found the name unpleasant. “Isn’t she the young woman who received
that award last night?”

“One and the same. Lucky for me, she knocked
me out of the way.” Ian popped the cheese pinwheel into his
mouth.

“Well, I’m glad of that, but what was she
doing there?”

“She had a dream.” He licked his fingers.

“A dream? Isn’t she the crazy woman you told
me spilled coffee on your carpet?”

To his own surprise, Ian found the more he
considered Cassie Blake’s view, the less bizarre it sounded. “Yes,
but maybe she isn’t crazy.”

Sharon studied his face, frowning with pursed
lips. “Did it occur to you that she might have arranged the whole
thing?”

Sharon’s words hit him in the gut. He had
considered that possibility, but he had also quickly rejected
it.

“I don’t see how.” He frowned, remembering
the morning. “The building was locked. How would she get a key?
There’s no way she could have gotten onto the roof without a key.
Besides, she was near me when the bricks fell. She tackled me to
push me out of the way.”

“I don’t like it, Ian. She might have planned
it with someone else.”

Remembering the frightened look in Cassie
Blake’s eyes, he still couldn’t discount that. “Why? What would she
have to gain?”

Sharon stared at him for a long minute and
then looked at the pot on the stove. “She could be crazy like you
first suspected or...” She looked back at him. “Maybe she wanted to
meet you. How should I know?”

“We’d already met on at least three other
occasions.”

Sharon turned back to the stove and removed
the large pan. “It hadn’t worked out, so maybe she tried
again.”

“I don’t think so, Sharon.”

Ian shifted on the stool. Being cast as
Cassie Blake’s defender bothered him, and yet it appealed to him.
So caring and little, she spent too much time worrying about other
people, including him.

Sharon carried the pan to the sink and poured
off the liquid. She then placed the asparagus spears on two plates
before she faced him.

“Ian, it would be better if you didn’t see
that woman again. You never know what crazy people will do.”

“Until she had these weird dreams, I had
never met her. I don’t expect to see her again, but I am thankful
she was there this morning.”

“Just a tad too convenient if you ask me.”
Sharon removed a dish from the oven and set it on the counter next
to the plates. “Have you selected your best man yet?”

He cursed himself for not having called
David. He’d known she’d ask him. “I think my brother, David, will
do.”