Dream a Little Scream (20 page)

21

Sam Stiles called the moment we walked in the door to the apartment. I hadn't heard from her, and I was eager to hear the latest developments in the case, especially the final toxicology report. What Sam said next matched perfectly with the initial findings Noah had dug up when we first started investigating Sonia's death.

“Sonia's stomach contents show no trace of peanuts, but there's evidence of sesame seeds,” she said without preamble. “We sent the pastry samples off to the lab for analysis and stomach contents revealed sesame seeds along with flour, sugar, and butter. Do you know what that could be?” Sam asked. “It sounds like cookies, doesn't it?”

Shortbread cookies!
That was what Lucinda brought to the book signing. And it was one of Sonia's recipes, straight out of her cookbook. Would Sonia have knowingly included sesame seeds in one of her own recipes? I immediately discounted the idea; it was impossible. She knew she was deathly
allergic to peanuts, and peanut allergies and sesame seed allergies go hand in hand. Surely she would have known this. I listened as Sam went on with her description.

“Everything else seems pretty straightforward,” she said. “There also was evidence of cream cheese and cherries.”

“The cherry cheesecakes! That's what Ali and I made, mini–cherry cheesecakes. It's one of Sonia's favorite recipes, and it's right out of her cookbook.” I hesitated, bracing myself for what could be coming. “Was there anything else?”

“It's hard to say. Nothing else was out of the ordinary. Sonia had eaten pancakes for breakfast. She'd ingested a large amount of coffee, and something that looked like lemon pudding. It was only partly digested, so she must have eaten it at the signing.”

“Lemon bars,” I said quickly. “That was the other recipe Ali and I prepared. And that recipe was also straight out of the cookbook.”

“So there were only three types of desserts served at the book signing?”

“Yes, and they were all Sonia Scott classics. Shortbread cookies, mini–cherry cheesecakes, and lemon bars. We followed the recipes exactly.”

Sam was silent. “It's really hard to see how she ingested sesame seeds accidentally, if you're sure that's all she ate at the shop.”

“I know that's all she ate, because that's all we served.” I wondered how this news would affect our customers. The jury was in. It was no longer possible to say that Sonia hadn't died because of what she'd eaten in our shop; in fact, it was conclusive that what she
had
eaten in our shop had killed her. I felt a wave of exhaustion wash over me. Probably mental exhaustion, because it wasn't that late.

“Anything else?” I asked, putting the kettle on to boil. I
use tea as my “calm down” and “rev up” drink. I go through phases, and at the moment I'm hooked on a spicy mix of cinnamon, cardamom, and cloves. Ali had settled herself at the kitchen table, with Barney on her lap, thumbing through a copy of
Southern Living
while I paced back and forth with the phone clasped to my ear.

“We're still keeping tabs on Reggie Knox, but I think he's off the hook for the crime.”

“How come?” I stopped pacing, sank into a kitchen chair, and Ali looked up quizzically. “He was one of my top choices. Motive, means, and opportunity.”

Sam laughed. “Maybe motive and means, but he didn't have opportunity. He insisted on consulting a lawyer, so we had to get one of the public defenders over to interview him. Reggie finally came clean. He was in a chat room at the time of the book signing. There's no way he could have spiked Sonia's food.”

“A chat room? Can you be sure about that? Maybe someone else logged in with his name. You never know.”

“We know,” Sam said grimly. “He was on Skype. It was Reggie, all right.”

“A chat room,” I repeated. “You know what I'm thinking,” I said finally. “Underage girls, sexual predator . . .”

“You might be right, but we can't nail him on anything this time. He got in and out of the chat room pretty fast, before he incriminated himself. I think he probably has done this plenty of times before; he could be a regular in the chat room. That's why he wanted to consult with a lawyer before telling us what he'd been up to. We'll certainly be on the lookout for him from now on.”

“This is really a surprise.” I scrawled the word “Reggie” on a pad, scratched a line through his name, and passed it
to Ali. Her eyes widened and she shook her head. I'm sure she was hoping it was Reggie as well.

That left us with Olivia, Jeremy, Trudy, Leslie, and Etta Mae. Mentally, I scratched Trudy and Etta Mae off the list. I still didn't want to believe that Etta Mae was capable of murder, and I couldn't bear to think of Trudy killing her own mother. It just didn't seem right.

So we were left with Olivia and Jeremy, weren't we? If Olivia or Jeremy didn't kill Sonia, then everything was up for grabs. The murderer had to be someone who knew Sonia and knew about the nut allergy. My thoughts were going around in circles and my head started to pound.

“So we'll have to see what shakes out,” Sam said. “The toxicology is clear, but without more information, the DA isn't going to be able to charge anyone. It's one of those cases that may not go anywhere.” I could hear heated voices in the background with a metallic sound like a chair hitting the floor and a muffled curse.

Sam's words were nearly drowned out and I pressed the receiver closer to my ear. “Hey, put him in the holding cell,” she called to someone. “He's too disruptive. If he tries anything else, we'll charge him with resisting arrest.”

“Sam, are you okay?” I said worriedly. “What's going on there?” Anyone who thinks a cop's life is glamorous hasn't done a drive-along with the Savannah-Chatham Metro PD. Sara and I went along one evening when she was writing a piece on the department, and it was an experience I'll never forget.

“Sorry about the noise,” Sam said. “One of our rookie cops just broke up a bar fight and dragged both the contenders back to the station house. One of them is high on something and took a swing at the arresting officer. We'll stick
him in the tank to cool off before morning.” She gave a harsh laugh. “A night in the drunk tank is enough to make anyone adjust their attitude.”

“I hope he's okay,” I said, meaning the arresting officer.

“
She
,” Sam corrected me. “She's a petite little thing, probably weighs in at a hundred and ten, but she graduated first in her class at the police academy and she has a black belt in karate. I think she'll go far and move right up the ranks.” Sam has mentored several female officers and takes pride in their success.

“I better let you go,” I said. “It sounds like a madhouse there.”

“Yeah, it's a full moon,” she said with a laugh. “They're all out tonight.”

“Hey, come back to the Dream Club when you can. We miss you.”

“I will, just as soon as things settle down a little.”

She rang off, and I gave Ali a quick recap of the conversation.

“This feels like one step forward and two steps back,” she said. “Did you tell Sam about our trip to Blessing?”

“I texted it to her, earlier today. She didn't have any comment, so maybe she doesn't think it's relevant. Now that Reggie has been ruled out as a suspect, I don't think she's going to look at Trudy too carefully.” Unlike on TV crime shows, real police departments are low on funds and have to allocate resources where they'll be the most effective. By spending time on leads that seem iffy, they take time away from investigating the key suspects in the case.

“It doesn't sound like it,” Ali agreed.

“Tea?” I offered, deliberately changing the subject. Too much talk about murder and I'd never get to sleep tonight.

Ali shook her head. “I'm going to have hot chocolate.”
Ali collects samples from all over the world. We sell a fair amount in the shop, and we've talked about adding it to our holiday menu. It would be a nostalgia thing, since it never gets brutally cold here in Savannah. But Southerners are big on tradition, and a lot of folks think it isn't Christmas unless you serve hot chocolate and a mind-bending selection of Christmas cookies.

Ali and I turned in early, and Scout surprised me by nudging open the door to my bedroom and jumping into bed. She purred like a motorboat, rubbing her head against my face before burrowing down under the covers. I smiled to myself. I guessed I was officially part of the family. Being accepted by a cat is the ultimate seal of approval.

22

Ali and I spent the next morning finalizing the fliers for the cooking classes. Dana had done an excellent job with the design: it was simple yet eye-catching, and it featured a giant, luscious-looking chocolate cupcake right smack in the middle of the page.

After much debate, we decided that the adult classes would feature cupcakes, along with multipurpose tartlets that could be used for both sweet and savory treats. The kiddie classes would rely on no-fail snacks and a fun session learning how to decorate sugar cookies. Dana had come up with some kid-friendly designs that would be easy to duplicate.

I was still concerned about the cost of the free classes—we would have to pay for all the supplies—but I hoped we would reap rewards in terms of community goodwill. We hadn't bounced back after Sonia's death, and this might be a way to lure new customers into the shop.

When the last fliers were packed in cardboard boxes for
Dana to distribute in the district, I asked her if there was anything else we could do. She brushed her glossy black hair off her face and thought for a moment. “I'd still like to do a flier and a coupon we could e-mail to our regular customers. We've collected a pretty decent mailing list from our promotions, and it wouldn't cost anything.” Her tone was hopeful; she knew we were almost operating in the red.

“I think that's an excellent idea,” I told her. “What will we say in the e-mail?”

“Something along the lines of:
We've missed you! Please come back and see our new
menu and have a cookie on the house
. Something like that.”

“I love it!” Ali's enthusiasm was infectious. “Taylor, isn't that just the most clever thing you've ever heard of?” She gave Dana a quick hug. “What would we do without you? I don't want you to ever graduate from college,” she said feelingly.

“Unless she comes to work for us after graduation,” I said. “This time as a paid employee.”

“That would be nice,” Dana admitted. I knew she was struggling to make ends meet and worked in the university bookstore to help defray her tuition costs. I admired her talent and energy; she showed a lot of initiative and seemed to genuinely love the shop. It was more than just a job for Dana—it was a passion.

Dana left on her rounds, and Ali and I were idly unpacking a new shipment of gummy bears when Lucinda Macavy stopped by. “Glad I caught you,” she said, perching on a stool and helping herself to lemonade. “I've got out-of-town relatives arriving tomorrow night and I'm pressed for time. I'm planning a small dinner party for eight people. What would you recommend in the way of snacks and desserts?”

“Well, that depends on what you're planning for dinner,” Ali said.

“Oh, what I always have: a nice roast with potatoes and carrots, peas, corn, and some corn bread, or maybe homemade dinner rolls. Men always like meals like that—simple, you know.” She blushed a little and I suddenly got the picture.

“Lucinda,” I said, “are you inviting Edward Giles to your dinner party?”

Her eyes widened and she blushed. “Why, Taylor, you are positively psychic. How could you possibly know that?”

“Just a lucky guess,” I murmured. “I think that's a wonderful idea. He seems to be at loose ends, doesn't he? A bit of a recluse?”

“Well, I'm not so sure about that. I think he's just shy. I hope the Dream Club will bring him out a little, give him a reason to socialize.”

“Do you think he's going to stick with the club?” Ali asked. “I had the feeling he was on the fence about it. I'm not sure he even believes in dream interpretation.”

“Oh, I think he will. He asked if he could meet me for coffee and loan me another dream interpretation book, and that's when I got the idea of asking him over dinner. He seemed ever so pleased; I don't think he gets too many invitations.”

“I think you're right.” A customer came into the shop and Ali jumped up to greet her. “What are you serving to drink with your dinner, Lucinda?”

“White wine,” she said quickly. “My relatives are bringing it. I know you're supposed to serve red wine with meat, but they prefer white. Do you think that will be all right?” She bit her lip. “I suppose I could ask Edward what he likes to drink, but what if he doesn't drink at all, and disapproves of drinking?”

I tried not to smile. “Lucinda, I don't think there's much danger of that. This is a university town, after all, and Edward
must go to some events on campus—faculty parties, things like that. I'm sure he's not going to be shocked by the sight of white wine, if that's what you're worried about.”

Lucinda sighed. “I guess I'm making too big a thing of this dinner party, aren't I?”

“I think you should just relax and expect all your guests to have a wonderful time. Now,” I said briskly, “how about some cheese straws for an hors d'oeuvre and a nice lemon pie for dessert. The lemon pie is light and tangy, not overly sweet, and it will go well with the rest of your menu. I'll take it right out of the freezer and you can let it defrost at home. Keep it in the refrigerator overnight and it will be perfect for tomorrow.”

I reached into the freezer and pulled out a pie and a plastic bag of cheese straws. The cheese straws, along with the homemade potato chips, had become one of our most popular menu items.

“I think it sounds perfect,” she said.

I figured this was a good time to broach the subject of Leslie Watts. It was unlikely that Lucinda had any information that would be helpful, but it was worth a try.

“Lucinda, when you invited Leslie Watts home for a cup of tea, did she confide in you about anything?”

“Confide in me?” Lucinda looked puzzled. “I don't know what you mean.”

“I mean, did she talk about anything that was troubling her, her marriage, her family life, anything like that?” I knew I was grasping at straws, and Lucinda shook her head.

“Oh, heavens, nothing like that. We just chatted about her days at the Academy and what her former classmates were up to. It was mainly a lot of reminiscing, you know. I love hearing about my students' careers and families. Sometimes I wish I'd never retired,” she said sadly. “My life seemed a
lot fuller when I was headmistress. It was hectic, but there was never a dull moment.”

“I'm sure your students have a lot of fond memories about those days,” I said. “By the way, did Leslie happen to say anything about Sonia?”

Lucinda patted her hair. I could tell she'd just been to the beauty shop because her light brown curls made a perfect frame to her face. There was a long pause, and I wondered if she was trying to decide how much to reveal. “Nothing really,” she said finally. “She told me that her husband Jeremy travels a lot, but I suppose it goes with the territory. She seemed to accept the fact that his job would take him away from his family from time to time, and I suppose she makes the best of it.”

I felt like I'd hit a dead end. Either Leslie hadn't said anything of consequence or Lucinda felt duty bound not to betray a confidence. Still, I wasn't surprised that Leslie wouldn't confide in Lucinda. She hadn't seen the former headmistress in years, and she probably felt it would be inappropriate to lay her personal concerns on her.

I tried one more tack. “When you met with Edward,” I began tentatively, “did he tell you anything about his personal life? He doesn't reveal very much about himself at the Dream Club meetings, you know. I have to admit, I'm a bit curious about him. I wonder if he's as much of a loner as I think he is?”

Lucinda smiled. “He's rather reticent, isn't he? But I admire that in a man. You know, in this day and age, people go around telling perfect strangers their business. In my day, you kept your problems to yourself. It seems more dignified somehow.”

I sighed. I was getting nowhere with Lucinda, and there was no sense in badgering her for more information.

“I suppose you're right, Lucinda, I hadn't really thought of it that way. Let me ask a little favor of you.”

“Of course, anything,” she said brightly.

“If you do happen to hear anything more about Sonia from either Leslie or Edward Giles, will you tell me about it? As long as you're not breaking a confidence,” I added quickly.

“Why, of course, I will, Taylor.” She smiled. “But I don't think Leslie is one to gossip. She's just the sweetest girl, and we had had such a nice chat that evening. She even helped me in the kitchen. We're all trying to solve this case together, aren't we? I'm sure if either Leslie or Edward knew anything that might be helpful, they'd be glad to come forward with it.” Her smile was so bright and genuine, I didn't dare tell her that I seriously doubted it.

•   •   •

“That was sweet,
wasn't it?” Ali said a few minutes later, when Lucinda had left. “It seems that Lucinda has a ‘gentleman caller.'”

“Yes, it was.” I hesitated. “I didn't have the heart to tell her about the news from Sam about the cookies.”

“But Lucinda won't think she's responsible, will she? No one has any idea where the sesame seeds came from.” Ali said, sorting out a giant package of jelly beans. She'd decided to make a display and was arranging swirls of red, orange, and yellow in a sunset pattern. Dana had arranged green and blue Jelly Bellies in an ocean wave pattern and glued them onto a styrofoam board covered with fabric. All we needed was a sunset and a palm tree, and we'd have a homemade mosaic. Very eye-catching and perfect for the front window.

“There were only three kinds of desserts served at the signing,” I reminded her. “Lucinda's cookies, the mini–cherry cheesecakes, and the lemon bars. Sonia had pancakes
for breakfast at the hotel before coming here, and I'm pretty sure the hotel is off the hook.”

“Why's that?”

“Because Sonia's allergy was really severe. The effects would be immediate, according to the coroner. If the sesame seeds had been in the pancakes, she would have collapsed in the hotel dining room; she never would have made it to the book signing.”

“A cloud is going to hang over the shop until this is settled, isn't it?” Ali said softly. “It's very hard to change people's perceptions, even when they're wrong. I e-mailed a few of our former customers, and no one has gotten back to me. It's like there's a curse on me,” she said wryly. “I feel about as welcome as the Angel of Death.”

I understood exactly how she felt. It was impossible to estimate how much of a hit we'd taken because of Sonia's death. We both knew of restaurants that had gone out of business because of health scares—real or imagined—and this was our greatest fear. No matter how often we told people that Sonia had died of a food allergy, we always got the same response: a look of shock and incredulity, quickly followed by a slight shake of the head. They didn't seem to believe a word of it.

We had to turn things around and quickly. When Lucinda called later that day to say she had something to show the Dream Club, I jumped at the chance to schedule an emergency meeting for the following evening.