Murder In Her Dreams (5 page)

Yes, she answered herself, you didn’t do
anything so it is your fault.

At the edge of the cornfield, the dried
cornhusks crunched under foot. Fear pushed her forward, but weighed
her legs down and made each step a struggle. Making her way through
the rows of stalks made her breathe just a little faster.

By the time she reached the middle of the
field, her breath came in ragged gasps as if she had run a long
distance. Then she stumbled.

She squeezed her eyes closed, fearing to look
down. But she had to look. She had to know.

When she peered down, staring blue eyes
reflected the moon high above. The blonde hair spread out like a
halo surrounded the face. The unclothed body looked virginal.
Cassie reached out a hand to touch the little girl and felt hard
flesh, cold and lifeless.

She screamed and screamed. Her voice echoed
in the cold, empty night, but no one answered.

* * * *

“Cassie, wake up.” Rod shook her.

She opened her eyes and stared at him for a
moment seeing nothing except the face of the dead child. Rod shook
her again, harder.

The words tumbled out of her mouth, unbidden.
“I was in a cornfield ... I saw her, Ellie Latham, the child who’s
missing. She’s dead.” Cassie rubbed her arms suddenly as cold as
the child’s flesh in her dream.

"She probably is,” Rod growled, “but there’s
nothing we can do about it.” He ran a hand through his hair.
“You’ve got to stop this. I can’t get a decent night’s sleep
because of your obsession. Go to sleep.” Rod turned away from her
and settled under the covers.

Cassie lay on her pillow, but sleep eluded
her.

The image of the moon reflected in those
staring eyes accused her. She had done nothing to avert the
tragedy.

In the morning after Rod left, Cassie called
the police from a pay phone. She told them she thought Ellie Latham
was dead and that they should look for the body in a cornfield near
some sort of communications tower. The police wanted to know her
name, where she had gotten the information, and which cornfield.
Frustrated, Cassie hung up the phone and went to work.

That evening on the news, the reporter
described the police finding the body of Ellie Latham in a
cornfield. The police had received an anonymous call from a woman
that morning and were looking for the caller.

Rod stared at her. “You called the police,
didn’t you?”

Cassie nodded, eyes cast down at her clasped
hands. “Yes, the dream felt so real.”

“Does it happen often?”

“Does what?” She gazed up to see his face,
hard and unyielding.

“Dreams that come true.”

“Sometimes, not often.”

“Can you read people’s minds?”

“What?” Cassie feared his hard gaze and where
his questions might lead. “No, what made you ask that?”

“All those times you seemed to know what I’ve
been thinking.”

“I’m a good guesser, that’s all.”

“But you do see things in dreams?” The dead
tone of his voice scared her.

“Sometimes. I told you that.”

He stood up and paced. “That’s creepy. I’m
not sure I can deal with that.”

Cassie twisted her hands in her lap as his
icy words penetrated her heart. “What do you mean, ‘deal with
that?’"

“Look,” he stopped and faced her. “I’m a
down-to-earth guy, both feet solidly on the ground. I don’t go for
all this Shirley MacLaine stuff. I don’t like wackos.”

“You think I’m a wacko?” She held her breath
and waited for his reply.

“That’s not,” he breathed out his words
slowly, “exactly what I mean, it’s just that it makes me ... it
makes me uncomfortable.”

“I make you uncomfortable?” She could only
repeat what he said. Her brain didn’t want to function.

“I didn’t say that,” he snapped.

Cassie snorted. “Maybe not, but it’s what you
meant.”

“See,”—he ran a hand through his brown
hair—"that’s what I mean. Don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what?”

“Don’t tell me what I’m thinking.”

“If you’re thinking it, why don’t you just
say it? Don’t make me guess.”

“Look, Cassie, we’d better cool things for a
while. I’ll call you. Okay?”

“Sure, Rod, you call. I won’t hold my
breath.” Cassie stalked from the room.

To hell with Rod. So sometimes dreams came
true, so what? It wasn’t as if she practiced witchcraft or fortune
telling. She didn’t ask for these dreams. They came whether she
wanted to dream them or not. Maybe she did find something in
Shirley MacLaine and some of the New Age stuff. That didn’t make
her crazy, just sensitive. Why should Rod get all hot about
that?

As Cassie cooled down, she began to
rationalize the break. Obviously, she and Rod weren’t as well
suited as she had thought. He never put her first. It was always a
drink with his buddies or the OSU football game. He never phoned to
tell her he might be late. He didn’t even like books.

If he couldn’t accept her as she was, then
they were better off apart. He never remembered she preferred tea
to coffee. Things always had to be done his way. He chose all the
movies and TV programs they watched.

The break up still hurt. Rod Malvern was the
first man she had shared herself with, and he left her feeling
used, used and rejected.

Now a year later, she found herself dreaming
of a stranger, a redheaded man.

Maybe she should accept Tula’s invitation.
She hadn’t been to a party in long time. New faces would take her
mind off Rod, the man in her dream, and this crazy vicious rabbit.
She needed distraction and a firm grounding in ordinary things.
Mingling with people who lived normal lives and didn’t worry about
what dreams meant would put things in perspective.

Chapter
Four

Monday afternoon, Cassie sat at the
Children’s Desk of the Upper Arlington Public Library, struggling
to concentrate on the newspaper in front of her. The page
blurred.

Images of the redheaded man and his look of
surprise as the black rabbit attacked his leg haunted her. Dreams
had no place at work because she had too much to do. She didn’t
know him and had no way to warn him. He wouldn’t believe her
anyway. Rod hadn’t.

“Hi, Miss Blake, how ya’ doing?”

Cassie blinked, and the images faded. She
looked up to see eleven-year-old Jimmy Wilson standing next to her
desk, grinning down at her. His brown hair kept falling over his
right eye just like the man in her dream. She tried to push all
thoughts of the man away and to focus instead on the boy.

She liked Jimmy and enjoyed his teasing. His
fondness for puns usually made her groan. She wondered what he
would try to stump her with today and smiled in anticipation.

“I’m fine, Jimmy. You?”

“Oh, okay.” He rubbed one foot over the
other. “I got this homework assignment to do. I gotta write a dumb
report on William ... uh, William Harrison.”

Class assignments repeated the same topics
every year. Cassie sighed. “Tippecanoe and Tyler too.”

“Huh?” Jimmy stared at her, his mouth
open.

About this time of year, the social studies
teachers assigned reports on the U.S. Presidents. Cassie had
learned the biography of everyone and especially those associated
with Ohio. The library kept lists and files of relevant information
at hand, but the goal remained to help the kids learn to find
things themselves.

“Harrison defeated the Shawnee Indian chief,
Tecumseh, in the Battle of Tippecanoe. Tecumseh sided with the
British in the War of 1812.”

“Tecumseh? Oh, yeah that’s that big outdoor
play they do with the canons. I remember now. Mom took me to see it
last summer.”

Cassie nodded. “It all happened almost two
hundred years ago. Anyway, all you have to do is look Harrison up
in the catalog. You remember how to do that?”

“Yeah, I guess so. Say Miss Blake, what do
you call a blue bag?” Jimmy grinned from ear to ear.

“A blue bag?” Cassie frowned. She didn’t want
Jimmy to feel too bad when she guessed his riddle so she made a
show of thinking.

“Hmm, I’m not sure. Knowing you, it has to be
a pun or some such. Let me see...” Cassie tapped a finger alongside
her chin. “A bag is a ... sack.” She suppressed a smile as she saw
Jimmy’s grin fade. “And blue is a color.”

Jimmy’s grin came back.

“Blue, hmm. Blue can also be how you feel,
sad. I know — how about a sad sack?”

Jimmy scuffed his foot against the brown
carpet. “Aw, Miss Blake, I made it too easy.” He grinned up at her,
eyes twinkling. “Bet ya, I’ll get you next time.”

“You’re on.” Cassie grinned back at him.
“You’d better get going on that assignment, and I need to finish my
work.”

She watched as he shuffled over to the
computer terminal and began keying in his inquiry. A quick scan of
the room revealed a few children at low tables reading books. The
plaster statue of Alice from
Through the Looking Glass
marked the entrance to the picture book area. It made a nice change
from the stuffed animals found in other libraries. The children
liked it, especially the little girls.

Waist-high bookcases separated the picture
book collection from the rest of the reading room. Inside the
square, several mothers helped their children select books.
Round-faced Tracy Bolin refused the book her mother offered and
chose another instead.

Cassie liked Tracy and her pretty mother.
They came to the library every week and took home a pile of books
and videos. Tracy had a stubborn streak, but today she smiled and
waved to Cassie, and she waved back.

Relieved nothing required her intervention,
Cassie focused on the newspaper in front of her. Jimmy’s project
and his silly pun had served for a few moments to distract her from
the disturbing thoughts of her dream, but now they returned. Like
the dreadful dreams of Ellie, the sense of hovering evil waiting to
happen gnawed at her.

Straightening her shoulders, she picked up
the newspaper, determined to focus on her work. The library kept a
pamphlet file in the Children’s Department and, as part of her
duties, she clipped the
Columbus Dispatch
and the
Upper
Arlington News
for items likely to be of interest. While the
newspapers had online databases, some children liked to use the
pamphlet file.

The Adult Department had access to an online
index for the
Dispatch
, but this paper file made it easier
for the younger children to find material. Soon, with the increased
emphasis on computer literacy and the availability of computers,
tablets, and smart phones at home and school, the print files would
disappear. Even now, fewer children used them.

She finished the
Arts
section and
started with the
Business
section. She seldom found much in
it, but occasionally they wrote up a local company or profiled some
new invention or discovery. She skipped over the stock market
reports and checked the articles.

As she turned to the front page of the
section, a photo in the middle of the page jumped out at her.
Gasping, she leaned closer. The man from her dream stared back at
her. Only this time he wasn’t smiling and the corner of his mouth
wasn’t quirked, but the picture showed the same man. In this
picture, instead of a bright shirt, he wore a dark suit, white
shirt, and striped tie.

Staring at the picture, Cassie willed it to
change into someone else, but nothing happened. The aura of the
dream had warned her. Somehow, she had known the dream man had to
be a real person somewhere, but to be confronted with him like this
scared her. She pushed her chair back and rose. With unsteady feet,
she stumbled to the ladies’ room.

Inside, she ran the water until it came out
icy cold and then splashed the water on her face. The chill made
her blink. She blotted her face dry with several tissues from her
pocket and tossed the wet, crumpled mess into the wastebasket. From
the large mirror above the basin, two black holes stared back from
a dead white face. Cassie shuddered as she punched the electric
dryer to warm her hands.

She couldn’t stop the trembling as she held
them up to the comfort of the hot air. She drew in a deep breath to
calm herself. Ellie Latham had prepared her, but seeing the face of
the real man still shocked her. When the dryer stopped, she held
her shoulders back, took a deep breath, and opened the restroom
door.

“You okay, Miss Blake?” Jimmy Wilson stood at
the drinking fountain and stared at her, concerned.

“I’m fine, Jimmy.” Cassie forced a
half-smile. “Maybe a touch of the flu.”

“Mom said there’s lots of it around. You sure
you’re all right?”

“I’m fine.” She sought to distract Jimmy and
focus his attention elsewhere. Struggling to remember the subject
of his project, she couldn’t quite reach it. “How’s your research
coming?”

“Uh, okay. I found a couple of books. We only
need two plus an encyclopedia.” He swung his left hand forward and
revealed the two slim books he held.

“Good luck then.” She turned and hurried back
to her desk.

Her knees still shook as she sank onto the
chair. In front of her, the picture of the man from her dream
stared back. She scanned the caption beneath the picture.
Tuesday, the Upper Arlington Chamber of Commerce awarded Ian
McLeod, President of McLeod Enterprises, its Young Businessman of
the Year award.

Ian McLeod? Well, the name fit with the red
hair. She had no idea where she could have seen his face. So far as
memory served, she hadn’t met him. Still, she must have glimpsed
his face somewhere, otherwise why would he haunt her dreams?

She read the small article next to the
picture. It didn’t add much, except to say McLeod headed an
accounting services firm. She pulled out the yellow pages and
looked up accounting services. Under the ‘M’s she found McLeod
Enterprises and a reference to a box ad. According to the ad, the
firm offered a full range of services including tax accounting. At
least now, her mysterious dream man had a name, not that it made
much difference.