Dead Is Just a Dream - [Dead Is - 08] (11 page)

The grass was wet with dew and cold on my bare feet as I walked through the side yard to the front of our house. I kept to the shadows so the clown wouldn’t see me. I was about fifty feet away when the clown realized I was there and started to run.

I followed. Dream or reality, I wasn’t going to let this creep intimidate me.

Virago training was paying off. I had almost caught up to the clown. When I was about a foot away, I reached out and caught hold of its oversize polka-dot shirt. I tugged hard and the fabric ripped. Off-balance, I fell backwards and hit my head on the hard pavement, and then everything went black.

There was a persistent ringing in my ears. It hurt to open my eyes, but I did it anyway. I was lying in my own bed and my alarm was blaring. I leaned over and slammed the off button.

It had been just a dream. Or had it? I touched the back of my head. It was sore and there was a lump where I’d hit the pavement. I got out of bed and looked for clues. My room was just as I’d left it the night before, but grass clung to my pajama bottoms.

So it
hadn’t
been a dream. Which meant there was a real clown stalking me. How had I gotten back into my room? I searched my memory, but it was blank.

“Jessica, come down here, please,” Mom hollered. She did not sound pleased.

“On my way,” I replied. I put on jeans and my favorite Side Effects May Vary tee and went downstairs.

“Can you explain this?” she asked. She pointed to muddy footprints all over the front hallway.

“No, I can’t.” It was the truth. I couldn’t explain it, not without complicating my life. Besides, Mom probably wouldn’t have believed me anyway.

She gave me a long-suffering sigh. “Could you please clean it up?”

“I’ll get right on it,” I said. But first, I was going to grab my cell phone and snap a photo to show Flo.

I took photos of the footprints from several different angles and then got out the mop and cleanser. While I was cleaning, I noticed a scrap of fabric clinging to the throw rug.

“Jessica, are you almost finished?” Mom asked. “Mrs. Devereaux is meeting me here today. I’m going to show her a couple of places.”

“Sam’s mom is moving back to Nightshade?” I asked. I stuffed the fabric into my pocket when she wasn’t looking.

“She’s thinking about it. She wants Samantha to move out of the dorms and move in with her.”

Sam didn’t get along with her mom very well and I didn’t really blame her. Her mom had basically abandoned her when she took off for San Francisco years ago.

“Is Sam going with you?”

“No,” Mom replied. “She’s still not feeling up to it.”

“Is she still staying at the Giordanos’?” I asked. “Maybe I’ll go over and see how she’s feeling.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Mom said.

“Don’t sound so surprised,” I said.

“That’s not what I meant. It’s just I didn’t get the impression that you cared for Samantha all that much.”

“She’s growing on me,” I admitted. “There’s more to Sam than I once thought.”

I rounded up Katie, who was in her room playing with her dollhouse.

“The prince and princess don’t want to play,” she said sadly.

“Why not?”

“They just want to make googly eyes at each other,” Katie said. “Like you and Dominic.”

I laughed. “They’re in love.”

“Are you and Dominic in love?” Her blue eyes were filled with curiosity. I squirmed and quickly changed the subject.

“I have something that will cheer you up,” I said.

“I doubt it,” she sniffed.

“We’re going to visit Daisy and Samantha.”

“Why didn’t you say so?” She jumped up and tore down the stairs so fast that I barely had time to grab my phone.

Rose answered the bell. “Daisy and Samantha are in the back,” she said.

The two of them were sitting at the patio table. There was a plate of fruit and a pitcher of orange juice on the table, but Sam’s plate looked untouched.

“Jessica, come join us,” Daisy said. “Have a glass of juice. Sam hasn’t eaten anything.” She sounded worried.

Katie practically knocked me over to sit next to Sam. When I saw that it made Samantha smile, I didn’t even mind.

“So did you find out anything new?” Daisy asked me in a low voice.

I glanced at my sister. Katie was telling Samantha some story about her classroom, so their attention wasn’t on us.

“Something weird happened last night,” I said. I described the clown’s late-night visit and then said, “I don’t think I was dreaming. I have the lump on my head to prove it.”

“It sounds like it was someone who just wanted to scare you,” she said. “Otherwise, you probably would not have ended up in your room.”

“Flo will make me go get checked out at the doctor,” I said glumly. “And then I’ll have to make up something to tell my mom.”

“Don’t tell her, then,” Daisy suggested.

“Yeah, right.”

“I’ve got some cinnamon rolls baking. I think they’re ready. Do you girls want some?” Daisy asked.

“I’m not very hungry,” Samantha said.

“Are you okay?” I asked. “How are you sleeping?”

She shrugged. “Not so great.”

Daisy went to the kitchen and came back with fat, delicious cinnamon rolls still steaming from the oven and glasses of milk.

Even Sam couldn’t resist, and we dug in.

“Daisy, you are such a great cook,” I said.

When her plate was clean, Sam said, “I did remember something that might be helpful.”

“What’s that?” Daisy asked.

“It was a man’s voice I heard in my dreams.”

“Sam, did you buy any of Jensen Kenton’s paintings?” I asked.

She shook her head. “No, but my roommate did. She liked it because it reminded her of that famous painting. You know the one. I think it’s called
The Scream
. The funny thing is the man in the dream kept saying my roommate’s name over and over. Stacy, Stacy, Stacy,” Sam said, her voice rising higher and higher with each repetition.

“We need to see that painting,” I said.

Daisy grabbed her keys and drove us to UC Nightshade.

When we got to Sam’s dorm room, the painting was gone.

“Stacy, what happened to that painting?” Sam asked.

Her roommate looked up from her fashion magazine. “I had a party the other night. Some jerk put his foot through it. It was destroyed.”

After we grilled Stacy a little more, she revealed that the painting had been destroyed a few minutes before Sam had woken up from her coma.

“That’s no coincidence,” Daisy said. “That’s a bona fide clue.”

A week later, Daisy
and I had been through it over and over, but we weren’t making much progress. I couldn’t figure out why either Mr. Martin or Jensen Kenton would want to commit murder, and it was almost impossible to gather evidence when a murder was committed by magical means.

One afternoon, Daisy stopped by and asked, “Feel like going for a drive? On the way to my pastry lesson at the Wilders’, I noticed something I wanted to show you.”

“Let me check with my mom,” I said. I found her in her office. “Mom, is it okay if I go for a drive with Daisy? We’ll be back by dinner.”

“Fine,” she said absent-mindedly. “Will you be back by dinner?”

I rolled my eyes. I figured I’d better leave a note, too, and hastily scribbled one. “Yes,” I said. I ran out and hopped into Daisy’s car.

“I’ve been thinking about the case,” Daisy said as she pulled out of her driveway. “I still don’t get why or how the murderer is choosing the victims. Do they have anything in common?”

“Raven asked Ms. Johns for a list of all the paintings that were sold,” I said. “Tad Collins bought one. So did Marlon Sanguine. And Sam’s roommate, of course. But Mrs. Lincoln, who was the first victim, didn’t buy a painting. Neither did Mr. Bellows.”

“Maybe they weren’t killed by black magic,” Daisy suggested.

“So who killed them?”

Daisy sighed. “I have no idea.”

“I still think it’s related to the art exhibit somehow,” I said. “That could mean Javier Martin is behind it.”

“Or Jensen Kenton,” she replied.

“How are we going to prove someone is able to perform black magic and kill people in their sleep?” Daisy asked. “I’ve never heard of death by painting.”

“Natalie said it can be done,” I replied. “After we found out about Stacy’s painting and Sam’s miraculous recovery, I called her to find out if she knew of a way to break a black magic spell.”

“What did she say?”

“A counterspell, which takes an experienced witch. Or you can destroy the object used in the spell. Natalie said that we needed to be certain who was behind the spell or we could do more harm than good.”

“I guess we can’t just trash all the art in Nightshade,” Daisy said.

“Not without some kind of proof.”

When we reached Phantasm Farms, I noticed something was off. There were no horses in the pasture.

A
FOR SALE
sign was up.

“That’s what I wanted you to see,” Daisy said.

“Where is everyone?” I asked.

“Maybe we should check out the old abandoned house,” she suggested. “Didn’t you say that’s where Sanja stayed before?”

“Her dad was furious about the circus fiasco,” I said.

We searched all of Phantasm Farms, but the Platskys were gone. Anton Platsky had taken Sanja and fled. There wasn’t even a clue about where they had gone.

“He still thinks she is responsible for the murders,” I said. “But I know Sanja wasn’t a killer.”

“Are you sure?”

I nodded. “Positive. You should have seen her, Daisy. She was too scared to leave that room. She may have given people nightmares, but she didn’t want to hurt anyone. It wasn’t her.”

But it was too late to prove it, because she and her dad were on the run. And I was pretty sure it wasn’t the first time.

“I wish they would have let me help them,” I said.

I tried to tell myself that Mr. Platsky was just trying to protect his daughter, but I couldn’t shake the memory of her lonely face staring out the window.

“What are we supposed to do now?” I asked. I wanted to throw something.

Even Daisy was stumped. “We follow the lead we have,” she finally said.

“Can you see if you pick up anything from a painting?” I asked her.

“I’ll try,” she said. “But I have to warn you, I’m not a superpsychic. My powers are still wonky sometimes.”

We spent the drive home trying to figure out a list of suspects. I added the name Tashya Bennington to the list, but erased it at the last minute.

She was a mean girl, all right, but I had decided she wasn’t a killer.

Again it came down to Jensen Kenton and Javier Martin. But which one was behind the murders?

Suddenly, something occurred to me. “What if we’re not dealing with just one murderer?”

Daisy nodded slowly. “At least two.”

“That seems excessive, even for Nightshade,” I said.

“It’s the best theory we’ve come up with so far,” said Daisy.

“I’ve got to get to virago training,” I said. “Flo’s been slacking off, but Dominic’s mom has been taking over. She doesn’t care if we have one murder to solve or a hundred. She puts us through our paces. Today, it’s an obstacle course.”

When I got to the park, Mrs. Gray stood there barking orders at Raven and Andy.

“You’re late,” she snapped when I jogged up. She had been nice enough last time I’d seen her, but maybe that was only for Dominic’s benefit.

“Daisy and I were working on the case,” I snapped back. I was sick of playing nice with her, even if she was Dominic’s mom. She was never going to approve of me, at least not as long as I was dating her son and was a virago. “And besides, you’re not my trainer. Flo is.”

“Jessica, I want to talk to you. Now,” Flo ordered. I followed her until we were out of earshot of the other viragoes.

I thought I was in big trouble, but Flo didn’t read me the riot act. “I’ve been putting off telling you this, but Lydia is taking over as your trainer.”

“What?” The dread I felt must have shown in my face, because Flo put a hand on my shoulder.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “It’s only temporary. I’m going on tour with the band.”

“On tour?” I stared at her like she was speaking a foreign language.

“With my husband,” she said with a defensive edge to her voice. “I’m a newlywed, remember? I thought you, of all people, would understand.”

“I d-do,” I stuttered. “You just surprised me, that’s all. I’m happy for you, Flo.”

She finally cracked a smile. “Thanks, Jessica,” she said. “Don’t tell the other girls. I want to tell them myself.”

We rejoined the others. Raven gave me a sympathetic look and Andy nudged me with her shoulder. They obviously thought I’d been chewed out royally.

“Laps,” Mrs. Gray ordered. “Then we’ll see what you’re made of.”

I fell into place next to Raven. “Is it hard on you?” I asked. “When your mom leaves, I mean?”

“Not like it is with Dominic,” she said. “I’m a virago too, so I understand, at least a little. He resents her.”

“If you’re talking, you’re not running fast enough,” Mrs. Gray barked.

Raven and I exchanged a glance and upped our pace.

By the time practice was over, we were all groaning and sore, but I was proud of myself for keeping up with Lydia Gray. She might not ever like me, but she might learn to respect me. If I didn’t die from her grueling training sessions first.

At the Day of
the Dead party, Side Effects May Vary (and maybe the free food) had brought in a full house. The Wilder estate was overrun with Nightshade residents enjoying the festivities.

“How’s the ankle?” Dominic asked as we walked into the party.

“It’s completely healed,” I said. “Just in time to chase down bad guys. Or girls, as the case may be.”

Mrs. Wilder greeted guests near the French doors which led to the garden. Elise Wilder, her granddaughter, and Bane Paxton, Elise’s boyfriend, stood at her side. They were all dressed to the nines.

“Elise, I can’t seem to find my lace handkerchief,” Mrs. Wilder said. “The one my sister Lily made for me.”

“I’ll look for it, Grandmother,” Elise replied.