Nightmares Can Be Murder (A Dream Club Mystery) (11 page)

I shook my head. “Well, that’s a bit up in the air at the moment,” I said. “Right now, I’m enjoying helping out in the shop and seeing a few of the sights.” Ali and I had never really discussed how long I’d be staying, and sister or not, I didn’t want to overstay my welcome. But I couldn’t forget that my condo, my job, and my friends were back in Chicago. At some point, I’d have to return and pick up my life there. I’d been managing to do a little work from my iPad for the time being, but that situation couldn’t continue indefinitely.

“But it would be a great
dommage
to not take the time to really explore this marvelous city,” Caroline said in her lovely French accent. I remembered from my high school French that
dommage
meant “shame.” She patted my hand. “If you need anyone to show you the sights, I’m here. There are twenty-two squares in the Historic District, did you know that?”

“Yes, I read it in the guidebook. And thank you so much.” She was the second person to offer to show me around Savannah, and I realized that Southern hospitality is more than just a myth.

“I really want to catch up with you, my
chère
Ali. But we’re catering a little event tonight at the Walton estate, and I have to finish up some desserts.”

Ali shot me a look across the table. “The Walton estate? What’s going on there?”

“Some political fund-raiser,” Caroline said, waving her hand in the air. “Thomas Walton”—she lowered her voice and leaned in close—“is pulling out all the stops. You know he’s running for the Senate, right? I think he’s falling behind in the polls, so he asked me to put together a series of intimate little dinners for the big donors. I’m doing round tables for eight, close to fifty people total at each dinner. And a cocktail party in the garden to start things off. That way everyone gets a chance to talk with him.”

“I’m sure it will be lovely,” Ali said. “What a wonderful setting.”

Caroline nodded. “Yes, the estate is magnificent. I’m using magnolias for the centerpieces with ivory and pale peach table linens. The ballroom is very large so there will be vanilla candles everywhere, both on the sconces and on the tables. That should banish any shadows; I want the whole effect to be light and airy.”

Banishing shadows
. I thought of what Rose Harper had said about Thomas Walton and the skeletons he had rattling around his closet. Was that just idle talk, or did the octogenarian really know something nefarious about him?

“Do you know the Waltons very well?” I asked Caroline. If she was surprised by the question, she covered it quickly, her expression bland, her smile never faltering.

“Not so well,” she said, darting a quick look at Ali. I was sure that the Waltons were the subject of pretty juicy gossip, but Caroline was far too discreet to reveal it. “I know Madame Walton, Jennifer, from the Ladies Auxiliary Guild. She is
charmante, très aimable.
How do you say it? Charming and very nice.” She stood then, and clasped my hand in her own delicate one. “Welcome again, Taylor. Think about making Savannah your home. It is indeed
merveilleux
. If I can make your stay more pleasant in any way, just say the word.”

14

“Caroline is lovely, isn’t she?” Ali said when we were back outside in the Savannah sunshine. “She’s really taken me under her wing.”

“Did you get the feeling Caroline knows more about the Waltons than she’s letting on?”

Ali laughed. “Absolutely. You know what French women are like, the soul of discretion. I think there’s a lot more to the story, and we’ll never hear it from Rose or Caroline. But there are two special people in Savannah who love to dish, and luckily we’re very close to their store.”

Ali linked her arm through mine and we turned west on River Street and hurried past the square to a posh antique shop. The outside was spectacular with purple clematis and fiery bougainvillea blossoming on a trellis made of twisted branches arching over the doorway. The frame building was painted a pale lemon yellow, and the shutters were cobalt blue. The front stoop was crowded with overflowing pots of ferns and dusty rose hibiscus, giving the whole place the look of an enchanted cottage.

“Welcome to Déjà Vu,” Ali said, pushing open the door. I stepped past a porcelain umbrella stand filled with lush pampas grass and followed her inside. “The owners are friends of mine. And”—she lowered her voice—“two of the most colorful people you’re going to meet in Savannah. Andre has a wicked sense of humor and Gideon . . . well, he’s a hoot, what can I say.”

“It’s gorgeous,” I said. “Someone has an eye for color and design.”

“Gideon studied floral design before he gave his heart and soul to the antique business,” Ali said. A bell tinkled softly when we entered the shop. I was immediately struck by the gleaming plank floors, the buttercream-colored walls, and the tin ceiling; the room seemed diffused with a soft golden light.

“Ali!” A tall, wickedly handsome man in his mid-thirties swept Ali into his arms. “It’s been way too long. I thought you’d forgotten about us.”

“Forget you and Gideon? Never,” Ali said, gently disentangling herself from his enthusiastic hug. “I brought my sister, Taylor, in to meet you. She’s visiting from Chicago.”

“The Windy City!” he said, pumping my hand. “I love the Miracle Mile. Gideon and I went there last Christmas to check out the store window displays.”

“Andre used to work as a set designer in Hollywood,” Ali said. “Then he gave it all up to move back to Savannah and open this shop with Gideon.”

“My roots are here, Ali, and I just couldn’t stay away. Plus Gideon’s acting career was going through a dry spell, he didn’t want to go back to floral design, and we figured this was the time for a change.”

“Gideon was an actor?”

“Daytime soaps mostly,” Andre said, “before that market dried up. He did have a walk-on part on the new
Dallas
, and there’s always a chance he could be called back for a guest shot, but nothing is definite.

“Working as an actor in Hollywood must have been an amazing experience for him,” I said, taking a quick look around the shop. It looked like they sold high-end European antiques with a sophisticated, cosmopolitan feel. A gorgeous Queen Anne settee in pale blue caught my eye, and when I glanced at the price tag, I nearly passed out.

“Oh, that it was,” Andre said. “Of course, it was also an emotional roller coaster. The stories he could tell . . .” He motioned us to a rose damask love seat while he packed up a place setting of Limoges china. “You don’t mind if I work while we talk, do you? I’m doing the tablescapes for an event at the Walton estate tonight.”

“Really,” Ali murmured, exchanging a look with me. “The Waltons? How interesting.” Our eyes met for a moment.
The perfect opportunity to find out more about the mysterious Thomas Walton
. This was either fate or an incredibly lucky coincidence. She edged into the conversation skillfully, Southern style, taking a meandering approach.

“This is certainly a beautiful place setting, Andre,” she said, admiring the delicate floral pattern on the creamy bone china.

“Very old, very precious,” Andre said, handling the dishes carefully. It looked like every place setting had half a dozen pieces, at least. “Jennifer has a dozen or so settings in this pattern, but not enough for a big crowd. So I offered to let her borrow mine, and she asked if I’d oversee the china and crystal tonight. They’re excellent customers,” he said with a conspiratorial grin, “so I figured it was the least I could do. Plus they invited me as a guest, so I figure I might make some good connections for the shop.”

“How well do you know the Waltons?” I asked, trying to sound casual.

“Well, Jennifer’s a peach, really a sweetheart,” he said. He stopped talking abruptly, and I could see he was going to need some persuasion.

“And Thomas?” Ali prodded.

Andre stood back for a moment, hands on his hips, and let out a short breath. “Well, far be it from me to gossip”—he gave a self-deprecating laugh—“but I don’t know how he made it in politics. Somehow he got lucky and picked up some well-heeled supporters. As my granny always says, even a blind hog finds an acorn now and then.”

“You don’t like him?” I asked.

“Honey, he’s a customer, I don’t like him or dislike him. Let’s just say I don’t trust him. I wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of him, that’s for sure.” He turned and let his gaze sweep over me. “Say, how would you two ladies like to come with me tonight?”

“We’d love to, but we don’t have invitations,” Ali said quickly.

“No problem.” Andre picked up a pale blue card with heavy embossing. “Gideon’s in Atlanta for an antique convention, and you can be my ‘plus one.’”

“‘Plus one’?” Ali gave a little moue of disappointment. “But there are two of us.”

“A minor point. You’ll be my ‘plus two.’ They can always squeeze in another guest.”

“Are you sure?” I asked doubtfully. As much as I was interested in seeing the estate, especially after hearing about Lucinda’s dream, I didn’t feel like being a gate-crasher.

“This is Savannah, honey chile,” Andre said with a grin. “We Southerners are used to making adjustments. I can make it happen with one phone call.”

“You’re a genius, Andre,” Ali said, hugging him impulsively.

“Now you two skedaddle and let me get back to work.” Andre gave us a wide smile. “I’ll meet you on the veranda at seven. They’re serving cocktails first and they’ve hired a string quartet. Don’t be late.”

“It sounds heavenly,” Ali said.

“Oh, it will be, girlfriend, it will be,” Andre promised. “A night to remember.”

As we left the shop, I found myself mulling over Andre’s last words.
A night to
remember
 . . . Where had I heard that expression before? And then it came to me. Oh yes.
A
Night to Remember
. A classic book about the
Titanic
. Was the evening going to be a total shipwreck?

*   *   *

“This is dazzling,”
I said, admiring the live oaks lining the long curving driveway to the Waltons’ estate. It was a perfect Savannah night, with a touch of softness in the air, and I caught a whiff of late-blooming jasmine.

“I must admit, I’ve really been looking forward to seeing this place,” Ali said. Her eyes shone and she looked beautiful in a navy blue cocktail dress. I was happy to see that her early melancholy had vanished and her sunny nature seemed to be reasserting itself. “It’s like something out of a storybook, isn’t it?” she asked. “An antebellum mansion, with porticos and balconies, and all these magnificent trees draped in Spanish moss. I can hear violin music coming from inside. It makes me think of Tara, the mansion in
Gone with the Wind
.”

She gave a little sigh as we pulled into a circle paved with oyster shells under the portico. The Waltons had valet parking, and a young man rushed to open the car doors for us and take the keys. Our hosts were clearly pulling out all the stops for this fund-raising event. “I wonder what it would be like to live here,” Ali said in a low voice as we made our way to the mansion.

A couple behind us was chatting about their recent trip to “the islands,” and debating the various merits of owning oceanfront houses on St. John and St. Barths. This was obviously a well-heeled crowd, and I wished I’d worn something a bit dressier tonight. My Ann Taylor sleeveless black shift was the only cocktail outfit I had in my suitcase. I’d managed to dress it up with some gold jewelry and a silk scarf I’d borrowed from Ali, but I couldn’t compete with all the designer fashions swirling around me.

“What would it be like to live here? It would be expensive,” I said wryly. “Can you imagine the upkeep on this place? The landscaping probably costs more than I make in a year.”

Ali laughed. “Taylor, you are always about the bottom line! Is that all you ever think about?”

“Most of the time, yes. I have the soul of an accountant, remember?” Ali had said that to me once in the heat of an argument, and now it was a running gag between us.

We were ushered into the foyer, and I caught a glimpse of twin stairways that spiraled up to the second story, a gleaming dark wood floor, tastefully faded oriental rugs, crystal chandeliers that sent sparks of light dancing around the room, and fragrant pots of magnolias everywhere. If
Architectural Digest
did a piece on Southern mansions, this would be a great place for a photo shoot.

And then I stopped dead in my tracks and suddenly the beautiful furnishings didn’t matter anymore. I was drawn to the sound of sweet violin music and soft laughter coming from the veranda. The French doors were swung wide open, and I could see guests sipping cocktails while waiters in black tuxedos circulated with trays of food. I thought I spotted a familiar face among the elegant guests.

I blinked and looked again. Were my eyes playing tricks on me?

My heart was thudding with excitement; this was a man I never expected to see again. A man who once was everything to me. Bittersweet memories flooded me and I took a deep breath, willing my voice to remain steady.

“Ali,” I said urgently, clutching her arm, “look over on the right, out on the veranda. The man in the navy blazer talking to the girl with long blond hair. Is that who I think it is?”

She followed my gaze to the tall, broad-shouldered man with coolly assessing eyes. He was raising a champagne glass to his lips and we saw him in profile, just a quick glance of finely aristocratic chiseled features and artfully tousled black hair.

Then the crowd shifted and he turned in our direction. For one long moment, our gazes locked and he nodded, his lips curving into a sexy, lazy smile that I remembered all too well. He gave me a long, slow, intimate look. I swallowed hard, trying to ignore the tingling feeling that was running up my spine. All my senses seemed to have gone on hyperalert, and I tried to tune out the cacophony of music and conversation so I could concentrate on what my sister was saying.

“Yes, it’s Noah,” she said softly. “Someone told me he was here in Savannah, but I wasn’t sure.”

“And you didn’t tell me?” My heart jumped again as I watched Noah murmur to the young woman in the low-cut black satin dress with spaghetti straps. He leaned in close to her, and she threw her head back and laughed, her caramel blond hair streaming down her back. My stomach clenched watching them, but I tried to keep my expression neutral.

“I wasn’t sure,” Ali said. “Someone said they thought he’d moved to Charleston or Hilton Head. He’s left the FBI, you know. He didn’t tell you?” She paused, watching me closely, her eyes clouded with concern.

Did she think I was going to fall apart because my ex and I happened to turn up at the same event? If he really did live in Savannah, we were bound to run into each other eventually. I would have liked to have had time to mentally prepare myself, but it was too late for that now.

I shook my head. “I have no idea what’s going on in his life. We didn’t stay in touch, Ali.” I took a deep breath as Noah said something to the girl and then turned to move toward us. She placed her hand on his arm in a playful gesture, as if to restrain him, and then grinned and released him. If this was his date for the evening, he was robbing the cradle, I thought sourly. Noah was my age, and the girl looked to be in her early twenties. And drop-dead gorgeous. She was toying with her glass, staring at me with frank curiosity.