Dreamcatcher sacrifice, p.14
Dreamcatcher: Sacrifice, page 14
Thomas had already parked in his usual spot, and she was feeling a little frazzled since she’d hoped to get there before he did at least once this week. But in another act of defiance, her Siamese had tried to escape to be with his squirrel friends, and she had to resort to extreme measures to lure him back inside—yet another can of expensive albacore tuna.
“Good morning to you too,” she said, self-conscious at the fishy smell of her hands and wondering if the postman could smell the pungent aroma too. “I see your fellow postal workers are still out with their allergies.”
Quincy tugged down his official cap and made a noise of disgust, his nose twitching as he thrust his pen at her, much like an aged wizard with a magic wand.
“Follow me,” she said, ignoring his grumpy mood and his outstretched arm. “I need a minute to get settled and let Thomas know I’m here, please.”
“Oh, all right,” Quincy said, his patience stretching to the point of evaporation, “but I want that cold water you offered me yesterday.”
Thomas swiveled his chair to face the inner door when he heard his legal assistant arrive, but he didn’t get up. He was reorganizing the paperwork he needed to take with him to Savannah, and his desk was covered with sticky notes and half-filled manila folders.
He needed to hurry to get to Sam’s before the time he’d set with Charlie.
“Hello, Susan,” he called. “Hello there, Quincy. Another special delivery? From where?”
She took a pen from her desk and the package from the crotchety postman.
“Looks like New Orleans,” she called back, signing the return receipt. “Water’s in the refrigerator, Quincy. Get one from the top shelf, they’re cooler.”
Susan used the letter opener to slit the edges of the tape on the box, lifting the flaps carefully. She had no idea what she expected to find, but the standard white priority box looked harmless enough and she wasn’t much for hesitation, especially not when she was already late starting her day.
“New Orleans?” Thomas called back. “Did you order something for decorating?”
“No,” she said loudly. “Come in here, please. This is the strangest delivery I’ve ever seen. There must be some mistake.”
Thomas finally got out of his chair.
“What’s the matter?” he said. “What’s in the box?”
Susan held out her cupped hands in answer.
Thomas could see three chess pieces, from different sets but all white. He wasn’t quite sure from where he stood, but they looked like pawn, a bishop, and a knight.
“Well, if that doesn’t beat all,” Quincy said, twisting off the cap of the water bottle and poking his head over Susan’s shoulder. “It’s not even a full set. Who does that?”
“I agree,” Susan said. “Only three pieces. That’s crazy.”
“Is there a note inside?” Quincy asked.
Thomas picked up the box, flipping the container over to inspect the neatly printed shipping label as a plain white terry washcloth fell to the floor.
“There’s no name,” Quincy observed, pointing.
“I thought you were busy,” Susan said dryly. “Don’t you have deliveries?”
“Taking a break,” the postman retorted. “Besides, I’m curious. Only people I know from New Orleans are Charlie and Vicki the florist—do they play chess?”
“Charlie does,” Thomas muttered under his breath, a scowl darkening his face.
Cora said Brackett talked to her about chess. Are these from him? Does that mean he’s in New Orleans? This settles it. I can’t go to Savannah without talking to Charlie.
“Boss?” Susan said as she watched the color ebb and flow from her employer’s face, the crow’s feet around his eyes deepening. “Are you okay?”
“I’m just puzzled,” he reassured her, shaking the washcloth to see if there might be anything else wrapped inside. “There’s probably a perfectly reasonable explanation.”
“Seriously, boss.” Her voice had taken on a sharp tone of sarcasm as she rolled the pieces between the palms of her hands. “You are a terrible liar. I can get Ben Taylor on the phone if you don’t want to call him. This certainly qualifies as suspicious.”
The lawyer reached over and scooped the chess pieces out of his legal assistant’s hands, clicking them together before putting them in a neat triangle on the far corner of her desk.
“No, leave them right there where we can find them later,” he said, turning back into his office and thinking about Brackett’s phone call. “I’m sure it’s nothing important, but all the same you should take the rest of the day off and I’ll lock up. No reason for you to be here. I’ve got a meeting this morning, and I’m leaving for Savannah after lunch.”
“You heard him,” Susan said, affectionately turning the postman around by his broad shoulders and giving him a gentle push. “Take the water with you so I can finish up before my boss leaves. I hope your new hires get back to work soon. Have a good day.”
“Have a day yourself,” Quincy said, pocketing the receipt and re-capping the bottle, hitching the mail bag up. “I know when I’m not wanted, but if you ask me, I’d call the Chief. People who don’t put their names on packages can’t be trusted—and that’s the truth.”
Chapter 36
Cora took her morning tea into her office and sat down at her desk, rereading the dream list for the umpteenth time since Thomas left for work.
Marjorie and Jane had decided to decorate the dozen small pumpkins from their shopping expedition and had commandeered the kitchen island, which was littered with construction paper, markers, school scissors, white glue, and glitter.
Jane had balked determinedly at cutting the tiny gourds, so knives and any sort of cutters were out of the question. Marjorie was disinclined to argue.
Solomon sat under Jane’s stool, content with batting away the various pieces of colored paper as they fell to the floor.
Cora left her office door open so she could hear the muffled laughter and remind herself that the world was still turning in spite of Brackett’s return to her life.
The list seemed straightforward enough, even if she had no idea what it meant.
Sending Charlie back to New Orleans shouldn’t be a problem, but telling him to find a nameless girl and a candy bar just might be. Especially since she had no other clues to offer him.
Sending Jane with Marjorie seemed even more complicated.
Send her where? And why? Cora pondered. And when? After I’ve done the first three items or at the same time? Will I know when the time is right?
And what in the world was she supposed to say to Andrew Evans? She hadn’t spoken to him in almost a year. Not since Steve Wilton’s murder.
The postscript concerned her most of all.
What could that possibly mean? Someone with dreams like her own? Who could that possibly be?
A tension headache was beginning at the base of her neck, and the baby rolled restlessly inside.
And those thoughts brought her right back to Charlie, chess, and candy bars.
She knew that whether she understood or not, she needed to call Charlie. She didn’t expect him to help with any of her confusion, but she called anyway. Charlie answered immediately.
He’d just hung up from a cryptic conversation with Thomas and the cell phone was still warm in his hand.
“Hello, Cora,” he said. “Had a dream?”
“Yes,” she said, slightly surprised. “You’re awfully upbeat.”
“I’ve got an early lunch meeting at ten thirty,” he said. He wondered if she knew Thomas had just called, and decided not to bring it up. It wasn’t his place. “Then I’m spending the rest of the afternoon taking a hike with Elvira and going back to New Orleans in the morning. What do I need to know?”
“Well, there were three clues specifically about you,” Cora began, hesitating. “I’m supposed to remind you about the candy bar.”
Charlie scratched his unshaven chin thoughtfully.
“Can’t help you there.”
“And then there’s a girl you’re supposed to find.”
“Strike two,” he said. “And the third item on your list?”
He’d already said he was packing and going home, so she didn’t think that telling him he needed to leave was relevant. She was feeling foolish for calling him at all, but she decided she should follow all the instructions.
“Well, for some reason, you’re supposed to leave Balfour,” she said. “I know you said you were going, but the dream was specific. I’m supposed to tell you to go.”
“Haven’t your dreams always asked me to do something?” Charlie said, his detective senses tingling unpleasantly. “Why would they suddenly tell me to go away? It doesn’t make sense.”
“I don’t know why,” she said. “Maybe this time is different.”
“Well, I’m going to agree with you,” he said. “This time is certainly different. And I don’t like it. I don’t like it one little bit.”
And he hung up.
Cora tucked her dream notebook back into the drawer of her desk, cradled her unborn child with the palms of her hands, and waddled upstairs to shower.
Chapter 37
Andrew Evans was already irritated when he emerged from the financial meeting with the deacons, even before he discovered what had happened with his wife.
He saw Ginny, pale-faced and unable to finish her sandwich, sitting at the table in the break room. Alice and Donna were clucking over her like brooding mother hens.
It was obvious that something was wrong.
He began by chastising the two secretaries for not immediately getting him out of the meeting. Then he gave his wife a perfunctory pat on the shoulder, assuring himself that she was capable of walking, before he took her arm possessively and helped her up and out to his car.
“Your car will be fine overnight in the church parking lot,” he said firmly. “You’ll be getting off your feet and into bed for a rest.”
“Yes, dear,” she said weakly, leaning on him. “I suppose I did overdo things just a bit.”
“I’ll bring by some homemade chicken soup later,” Alice said, picking up Ginny’s purse from the table and trotting behind them out to the parking lot. “I keep a batch in the freezer for times like this. And I can have AJ bring the car over to your house if you’ll leave the keys.”
“Thank you,” Ginny said. “You can get them out of my purse. Right there on top. I hate to be such a bother.”
“No bother,” Donna said, close behind the three and feeling left out. “I can bake some fresh yeast rolls and make a garden salad.”
“You’re both very kind,” Ginny said. “Andy and I appreciate you.”
“Yes,” the preacher said, his focus clearly on his wife. “Thank you.”
But even after the evening meal of soup, hot rolls, and salad, a long warm bath, and unburdening her conscience with the truth about the automobile accident, Ginny still slept fitfully through the night, tossing and turning.
Andrew, afraid his own restless dreams would disturb what little sleep she might have, chose to spend the night awake in the armchair in the corner of their bedroom, reading his Bible, making notes for Sunday’s sermon on his yellow legal pad, and keeping watch over his wife.
A little after eight thirty, he woke her with a cup of hot tea and buttered toast.
“Time for your medications,” he said gently. “Have a little something to eat. How do you feel?”
“Weak,” she said, struggling up on one elbow while he put down the tray and adjusted the pillows at her back. “I’m just a little sore all over.”
“I don’t doubt it,” he said. “I’ve already called Donna. I’m spending the day at home with you. I put a call in to your doctor’s office in Griffith.”
“Oh, Andy!” she said. “You’re making such a fuss.”
“We’ll see if the doctor thinks so,” he retorted calmly. “I called Jack too.”
“I don’t need Jack standing over me,” she said. “You’re doing an excellent job all by yourself.”
“I called him to see if he could find a body shop that does repairs in Griffith,” he said. “Although if you insist on scaring me like you did yesterday, I might just ask him to help me keep tabs on you.”
“Repairs for my car?” she said, puzzled.
“Yes,” he said. “Since you won’t be driving for a couple days, it seemed like a good time to put it in the shop. Jack’s going to ask around at that coffee shop where he works to find a reputable place. Alice left a message on my cell phone that AJ will bring it by later this morning and leave the keys in the mailbox.”
“That’s very thoughtful of you, dear.”
The phone rang in the living room.
“That’s probably your doctor’s office,” he explained. “I told them to call the home number. Eat your toast. I’ll be right back.”
A few minutes later he came in to take her empty plate and cup.
“I’ll make more tea for you,” he said. “The nurse said you should stay in bed and see how you feel tomorrow. If you’re still having pain, we’ll call and they can see you.”
“Sounds practical,” she said, settling back and smoothing the blankets at her waist before pulling them up under her aching arms.
“Aren’t you going to argue with me?” he asked suspiciously.
“No, dear,” she said. “Another cup of tea with honey would be lovely. I would like for you to pull the curtains so there’s some sunshine in here though.”
He did as she asked.
“Ginny,” he said when he returned with a second cup of tea, “I’m worried about you.”
“I know, dear,” she said softly. “I can tell.”
Chapter 38
Thomas straightened his favorite blue tie, pulling at the knot, wondering if Cora would say he was subconsciously feeling strangled by his fear. No, fear was not the right word for what he felt. He didn’t know exactly how to describe it, but the emotion was darn uncomfortable.
He knew he shouldn’t have called Charlie to schedule a meeting without telling Cora, but he knew she would have objected and he didn’t want to argue.
His awkward anticipation grew more and more by the minute as he waited for his wife’s ex-husband to arrive, and he was beginning to wonder if he would be able to swallow, let alone eat. He still felt confident about asking Charlie to meet him, and the appearance of the chess pieces in his office only added to his certainty. Thomas was not a worrier by nature.
Instead, the lawyer let his mind drift, hoping to find a topic with less emotional baggage to occupy his mind until Charlie arrived. He knew he was early, but then Charlie was always punctual too.
They’d often joked about which one was the more compulsive about time, back in a time when they were able to joke with each other.
He recognized four women from the Emmanuel choir at a front window booth, and he supposed it was some sort of celebration. There were small gift bags with pastel tissue paper stuffed around the tops and tied with ribbons, and the table itself was littered with salad bowls, bread baskets, napkins, Mason jars of tea, and silverware.
The women were chatting together, as good friends do, and Thomas envied their easy comradery. He’d had precious few friendships like that, especially after he and Charlie graduated and grew apart.
But those thoughts brought him back to confusing feelings about Charlie, so he concentrated instead on his heavily sweetened coffee and Sam’s loitering interest.
On the other hand, Charlie’s entrance was clear and full of purpose. He walked directly to the Stone booth, which had been assigned to every Thomas Stone since the first one had been seated there by Samuel Simmons. The unlabeled booth was as well-known and well-respected in the town of Balfour, Georgia, as the Stone family itself.
The importance of this royal summons, as it were, from Thomas was not lost on Charlie. Something earth-shattering was happening, because, except for the necessity of speaking about Cora’s dreams, never in the years of Cora’s marriage to Thomas had Thomas spoken to him one-on-one in a social situation.
Especially not one that required sharing a meal together.
During the most recent investigations, they’d met over business in the office, the courthouse, or the police station, once here in Sam’s, even a crime scene that qualified as neutral ground. The two had a grudging mutual respect, but there was absolutely no sign of friendship, no fraternal feelings. Except for the explosive confrontation in Cora’s hallway about a hidden heirloom, there had been no outward expression of emotion in their meetings.
The boyhood friendship they had shared was a distant memory, and, since Cora came into their lives, an uncomfortable one at that.
As Charlie made determined strides toward the booth where Thomas sat, it was difficult for Sam not to notice the differences between the two men she had known since high school.
Thomas was mature, classically handsome, and clean cut.
Charlie exuded shaggy boyish charm.
Sam noticed the sharp juxtaposition.
Thomas wore an immaculately tailored black suit, starched white shirt with plain silver cuff links, silk tie, and highly polished black shoes. The platinum wedding band on his left hand, the only jewelry he owned other than the cuff links, was simple and had belonged to his grandfather.
Charlie wore faded jeans and an untucked, unbuttoned red plaid shirt, exposing the mildly inappropriate logo of the T-shirt beneath. The sleeves of the outer shirt, in deference to the heat, were carelessly rolled to his elbows. His worn sneakers gave little warning of his approach.
What Sam couldn’t see was that around his neck, invisible to anyone except Elvira, hung a sturdy gold chain on which he wore his own simple gold wedding ring. He’d taken it from his finger the day Lonora died and bought a chain the next day.
It hurt to wear it, but it hurt too much to leave it behind when he traveled, and he refused to examine his feelings too deeply about the reasons why.
Sam intercepted the scowling detective beside the table before he could sit down. She was carrying a Mason jar of sweet tea, the brim crowded with lemon slices, and two sets of silverware rolled in white linen napkins.
