Nightmares Can Be Murder (A Dream Club Mystery) (20 page)

He reached across the table and rested his hand on mine, just for a moment. It wasn’t a romantic gesture, more of a friendly one, but I felt a little buzz go through me. “I know you’re worried about your sister, Taylor, but this is no time to give up. We’re just getting started. I promise you, this is all going to work out okay.” He smiled, a familiar grin that reached his eyes and shook me down to my toes. “Now,” he said, gently withdrawing his hand from mine. “Who wants dessert?”

Sara beamed. “I thought you’d never ask.”

23

“We’re here today to remember Chico,” Gina Santiago said later that week. Lisa Ortez, Chico’s ex-wife, had finally come forward and posted a small notice in the
Savannah Herald
about a memorial service for Chico. She’d asked Gina to organize the event and to contact as many friends and clients as she could. Gina had told us that the actual funeral would take place in Colombia and Chico would be buried in his family’s plot. This was just a small gathering with coffee and cookies to share memories of the flamboyant dance instructor.

It was late afternoon and the studio was lit with dozens of candles. The crime scene tape was gone and no trace of the earlier tragedy remained. A soft, rose-colored light bathed the room, bouncing off the gleaming wood floors and silver candlesticks.

Rose and Minerva had brought a large wicker basket of artfully arranged lilies and hydrangeas, even though Lisa had stipulated “no flowers.” She’d requested that mourners make a donation to a Latin-American children’s charity instead.

Lisa had told Gina that she and Chico had a ten-year-old son but she had never seen a penny of child support.
Would that make her angry enough to kill him?
I wondered how long she’d been in town. It seemed odd that Lisa and Chico had been out of touch for years, and then she suddenly turned up during the week he was murdered.

I remembered Minerva and Rose claiming they’d overheard Chico shouting at someone in Spanish on the night he was murdered. Could his argument have been with Lisa?

“This ex-wife, she’s not at all what I expected,” I heard Minerva whisper to Rose as Ali and I slipped into folding chairs behind them. I glanced at the wooden podium that had been set up at the far end of the studio.

Gina introduced Lisa Ortez, who took her spot at the podium, looking composed. A drop-dead gorgeous Latina with glossy back hair that reached to her waist, she began speaking in a soft, heavily accented voice. “I’m going to play some of Chico’s favorite music,” she said after a short speech. The room filled with a familiar Latin beat while Gina and Lisa looked thoughtful.

“She’s glamorous, that’s for sure,” Rose sniffed. “Pretty enough to be a model, I’d say.”

“And she doesn’t look like she’s grieving,” Minerva said archly. “Or if she is, she’s certainly hiding it well.”

“Look, here’s Persia,” Rose said. “I didn’t know if she’d show up.”

“Hush, Rose, the ceremony is about to start.”

Sybil Powers and Lucinda Macavy were already seated in the front row, and Dorien and Persia were just arriving. A dozen rows of folding chairs had been arranged, and they were quickly filling up with mourners. My mind was still reeling with the knowledge that Dorien had appeared at Chico’s studio the night of the murder. She hadn’t said a word about it, and I was hoping to get an update soon from Noah and Sara. Surely the Savannah PD would interview her, wouldn’t they? I felt a tiny bit guilty over my part in naming her but told myself the police would have quickly discovered her identity anyway.

And what in the world had she been doing at Chico’s that night? Ali, ever the optimist, insisted there was some perfectly innocent explanation for Dorien’s visit, although she couldn’t come up with one when I pressed her for an answer.

I idly speculated if Jennifer Walton would appear. I wondered about her relationship with Chico and if there was any way to discover if she was having an affair with him. It seemed unlikely, but at this point, I didn’t want to rule anything out. I scanned the rows of guests and didn’t spot her. Maybe she wanted to disavow any relationship with Chico.

Ali sat next to me, and appeared calm, her gaze focused on Lisa Ortez. “Are you okay?” I asked, ever the big sister.

She turned to me, her eyes clouded. “I think so,” she said. “Seeing Lisa standing up there”—her voice faltered a little—“makes me wonder if I ever knew Chico at all.”

“Maybe none of us did,” Hildy Carter said, squeezing past me to take an empty seat. I remembered Hildy from the dinner at the Waltons’. “This was a guy with plenty of secrets.” The plump little decorator was dressed in black from head to toe. She caught me staring at her outfit and winked. “I’ve been waiting for an occasion to wear this. It’s Armani and it was a fantastic buy, but the only place you can wear it is to a funeral,” she said wryly.

Ali and I exchanged a look. Hildy appeared downright cheerful and her tone was flippant. I wanted to ask her if she was going to try to buy up the block of buildings, as Chico had intended, but couldn’t think of a diplomatic way to do it. He had snatched the deal away from her, and his death might have given her a financial windfall. I remembered that Hildy had plenty of money to invest in real estate, and now that her chief competitor had just died, there was nothing holding her back. I also recalled that Hildy “didn’t like to lose.” Chico’s death was nothing less than a win-win for her.

“Did you take dance lessons from Chico?” I finally asked. Hildy was busily scrolling through her messages, chuckling to herself. She clearly wasn’t grief-stricken, but then, who was?

“Do I look like the rumba type?” She grinned. “Not with these hips, honey.” She snapped her cell phone shut. “Chico and I were in a bidding war for some property, and he beat me to it.” I nodded, trying to look surprised. “That was our only connection.” I was amazed she was willing to admit it. Money is always a good motive for murder.

“That must have been disappointing to you,” Ali said.

“Not really. It all worked out for the best,” Hildy said, beaming. “That was my business partner texting me,” she said, tapping her cell phone. “It seems I’ve got an even bigger fish to fry, and now I can make an all-cash offer. I would have tied up too much equity in that deal that Chico and I were competing for. This is a much better prospect and the payoff could be huge. So it all works out well in the end, doesn’t it?”

Except for Chico
.

*   *   *

“Taylor, I need
to talk to you, it’s urgent.” Dorien, her voice tight, grabbed my arm as I unlocked the door to the shop. We’d just returned from the service for Chico, and both Ali and I felt surprisingly tired. I think there’s always an emotional strain connected with memorial events even if you’re not close to the deceased. “Want to come up for a cup of tea? Or would you prefer lemonade?”

“Lemonade would be perfect,” she said gratefully. The shop was closed but I always kept a pitcher of fresh lemonade or iced tea in the fridge behind the counter. Ali quickly excused herself, saying she hadn’t slept well and headed upstairs for a short nap. She shot me a curious look over her shoulder as she scooped up Barney for a quick hug. If she wondered what was up with Dorien, she was too tired to pursue it and probably knew that I’d give her all the details later that afternoon.

“So what’s up?” I said carefully. We were sitting at a small table in the middle of the shop, and I put out a plate of shortbread cookies. I wondered if she could possibly have discovered that I’d recognized her on the surveillance tape and had given the police her name. It seemed unlikely, but she was clearly in a state over something. She was tapping her foot impatiently and practically wringing her hands in her lap.

“I need to talk to you,” she said, her voice tight with tension. “I think I’ve done something really stupid and I need your advice.” She glanced at the stairway leading up to our private quarters. “I’m glad Ali decided to take a nap, because I’d hoped to catch you alone. What I tell you has to be kept in strict confidence. Do you agree to that?”

“I’ll certainly try,” I said, nodding vigorously.
Strict confidence?
That horse was already out of the barn, as my granny would say. I braced myself for what came next.

“Chico,” she said in a strangled voice. “I saw him.”

For one crazy moment, I thought she meant in a vision, or a dream. She must have read my mind because she quickly added, “I mean I saw him when he was
alive
. On the night he died.” She paused dramatically to let the words sink in, and I did my best to look astounded.

“You saw Chico?” I said, stalling for time. “Do you mean in his studio?”

She swallowed hard. “Yes. I was bringing him dinner for two.” Her mouth twisted in a sneer. “It looked like he was planning quite a romantic evening. He had the candles lit, and there was a bottle of wine already opened.”

I kept up the pretense and put on my most innocent expression. “Why were you bringing him dinner for two?” I said, shaking my head in mock puzzlement. I was probably overdoing the surprised act, but I didn’t want Dorien to realize I was the one who’d spotted her on the surveillance tape. “I didn’t know you were close friends. I didn’t even realize you knew him.”

“I don’t!” she said, raising her voice. “Or I didn’t,” she said, quickly taking it down an octave. “Look, this is rather embarrassing, but you know I’m not doing very well with my tarot shop.”
Embarrassing? Owning a failing business is nothing compared to being a suspect in a murder investigation.
I longed to say this, but I restrained myself. I decided to sit back and let her tell the story in her own way.

“So I started a little catering business on the side. I thought I’d do a few events for friends, maybe people in the district. I didn’t say anything about it in the Dream Club because I didn’t want people to think I was a failure.”

“I’m sure no one would think that,” I said soothingly.

“You’d be surprised,” Dorien said with a sudden flash of temper. “We’ve got some strange personalities in that group. You may not have noticed, but there’s a lot of jealousy and backbiting beneath the surface,” she said in a self-righteous tone. “It’s too bad people aren’t a little nicer to each other and realize that everyone has troubles.” She stared at the floor with a woebegone expression on her face, her anger melting into sadness.

“You were telling me about your catering business?” I poured some more lemonade, and gave her a smile, hoping to bring her back on track.

“Yes,” she said morosely. “It shows just how something innocent can go terribly wrong.”

“What happened?” I asked. This time I cupped my chin in my hand, all bright-eyed eagerness, determined to get the truth out of her.

“Chico saw an ad I took out in one of those supermarket weeklies. I’d included a two-for-the-price-of-one dinner coupon, and he called me and ordered veal scallopini.”

“Veal scallopini, an expensive choice,” I murmured. I was glad Ali had gone upstairs because she would have lectured Dorien on the cruelty inherent in veal crates and reminded her that they were outlawed in Europe. I absolutely agree with her, but there was no way I was going to interrupt the thread of Dorien’s conversation now that I had her on a roll.

“Yes, he said it was a special occasion. He told me to be sure to drop it off at six sharp because he was expecting a guest a few minutes later. He planned on reheating the dinner in the oven; I told him the microwave could ruin the taste. I learned that from watching one of Gordon Ramsey’s shows,” she said confidently. “I wanted to make a good impression so I was there exactly at six.”

“What happened next?”

“Nothing,” she said, letting her hands flop to her side. “He opened the door, took the basket, and paid me. In cash. I was there less than five minutes. He had already preheated the oven, and I gave him a couple of last-minute instructions for the roasted potatoes and vegetables.”

Five minutes. She was telling the truth, according to the surveillance tape.

“Why haven’t you told anyone about this?”

“Because everyone will think I killed him!” she said in an anguished voice. “I didn’t even know the guy, and he could ruin my business before it gets off the ground. Who’d want to order from a caterer who poisons her clients?”

Good point!
“Dorien,” I said gently, “I think you’ve made a huge mistake here. You should have said something about it right away. This is information the police need to have. And you can’t assume they would point the finger at you. As far as anyone knows, the poison might not have been present in the food. It could have been ingested another way.” Although for the life of me, I couldn’t think how.