Murder In Her Dreams (6 page)

Why had his image invaded her dreams? A
rabbit and an accountant? Talk about a weird combination. Why
should her mind pick such an odd couple? Why did she believe the
rabbit meant evil? The bunnies in the pet stories and in the
children’s picture books always looked so soft and cute. Cuddly
creatures with pink noses and wide eyes couldn’t be evil. None of
the black rabbits she saw on her occasional visits to the pet store
had the taint of her dream creature.

After her conversation with Tula, she had
looked at the stills from
Night of the Lepus
in a book on
horror films. Despite the movie’s premise of giant carnivorous
rabbits, the rabbits in the film had not looked so menacing. They
looked ridiculous as predators. Only their size threatened. Cassie
shook her head. Why would her subconscious choose a rabbit?

Years ago, she recalled reading a piece on a
rabbit attacking the then President, Jimmy Carter. Everyone had
scoffed, but someone suggested it might have been rabid and thus
acted against its nature. In her dream, a similar thought had
struck her. Maybe she had jumped to conclusions about the rabbit.
Perhaps the rabbit showed another aspect of McLeod. The images
about Ellie Latham had been so clear and straightforward. No
confusion there.

Maybe this dream had something to do with
insanity. Did it mean Ian McLeod was crazy? Was he going mad and
the dream come as warning about that? Yet that couldn’t be right.
Ian McLeod wasn’t like that. Her instincts told her the danger came
from the rabbit, not McLeod.

These dreams had been as vivid as her dreams
of Ellie Latham. The place she had seen Ellie had been a real
place, but she had never seen Ellie’s killer, just Ellie and the
place. While the latest dream carried the smells of a cornfield,
she hadn’t seen a place she could identify. Rather, it had been
without any distinct features.

She could dismiss the first part of the dream
as coming from an overactive imagination prompted by loneliness.
Other women had dream lovers. Why should she be different? She had
to have seen McLeod or his picture somewhere.

As for the rabbit... It always came back to
the rabbit. Cassie shuddered and picked up the newspaper again. She
didn’t want to think about the hideous creature anymore.

* * * *

In a hurry to escape Ian McLeod and his
toadies, Brad Harrison had grabbed a burger and fries on his way
home. He wolfed down the burger, scrunched the wrapper into a ball,
and then tossed it at the metal wastebasket he kept in the corner
of his living room. It arced nicely, but bounced off the rim.

Damn. The French fries container did the
same.

Disgusted, Brad wiped his fingers on the
paper napkin and tossed it after the others. This time he hit the
center of the basket, and it dropped in. The first thing that had
gone right all day.

All in all, he’d had a rotten day. Everyone
talked about McLeod’s award, like he’d won the NBA Championship or
a Grammy. God Damn ‘Businessman of the Year,’ so what? Who ever
heard of Upper Arlington anyway? Stu-pid.

He had torn the picture of Ian McLeod from
the morning paper and shoved it in a crumpled ball into his pocket.
Glad now he hadn’t thrown it away, he pulled the hard ball out and
peeled it open, spreading it flat with the side of his hand. Lines
creased McLeod’s face. Yeah, McLeod’s picture would make the ideal
target.

Brad carried the picture across the room to
the cork dartboard and pinned McLeod’s face to it, placing the
stuck-up nose in the exact center. He stepped back for a better
look and admired the precise placement as he pushed his hair off
his forehead.

Satisfied, he walked to the far side of his
lounge and picked up the case of slender, steel-tipped darts.
Taking one out, he rolled it in his palm, savoring the weight and
balance of it. The heavy shaft narrowed down to a needle sharp
point. Touching it to a fingertip, a bright spot of red blood
beaded the point. He carefully wiped the blood from the dart on his
T-shirt, put the finger to his mouth, and sucked.

Brad stroked the feathers of the dart to
align them properly and then took aim. He drew his arm back and
hurled the missile. He watched the spinning shaft speed through the
air and strike in the exact middle of McLeod’s left eye. He gave
McLeod a crooked smile.

Reaching for another dart, Brad used the same
unhurried motions and threw it. This one landed precisely in the
middle of the right eye. Next, he skewered McLeod’s nose. He walked
to the dartboard, pulled each dart out with care, and took down the
mutilated picture.

“Well, Mr. High and Mighty, how do you like
that?” He smiled with narrowed eyes as he tossed the ruined picture
into the metal wastebasket. “Too bad, it’s not for real. Soon I’ll
take care of that. Enjoy yourself, McLeod. Your time is short.”

Brad clenched his fists, curling his fingers
into tight white-knuckled balls. It wouldn’t be long now. McLeod
would suffer for all the hurt he had caused. Once Brad put his
plans into motion, only the obituary page would feature Ian
McLeod’s picture..

Taking his mother’s photo from the desk, he
stroked the gold frame as he gazed into the familiar brown eyes.
She had never hurt anyone, least of all McLeod. McLeod would pay
for destroying her life.

“I’m sorry it’s taking so long, Ma, but he’ll
pay for what he did to you and Dad, and soon.”

Brad had plenty of opportunity. He just
needed a method that couldn’t be traced back to him. He had created
a new identity complete with a birth certificate, a valid driver’s
license, school records, and even references. Yes, he had hidden
his identity so well, no one would ever find Brad Harrison until he
wanted to be found. Best of all, no one would connect McLeod’s
death with James Harrison’s supposed embezzlement more than two
years ago or his son.

So far, so good. He considered various means
of executing McLeod. Shooting would be too quick. He could sabotage
McLeod’s car, but that would not necessarily guarantee his death.
Strangulation appealed to Brad, but he would have to catch McLeod
off-guard. Poison might be the simplest, and the police would
likely suspect a woman. Women always used poison.

McLeod drank a lot of coffee. Yes, poison
would be the easiest, but a poison that worked fast enough the
rescue squad couldn’t save him. McLeod deserved something painful,
agonizing, and excruciating. Narrowing his eyes, Brad smiled. He
knew just the thing for the job.

Chapter
Five

That evening, the image of Ian McLeod
floating before her made Cassie dread bedtime. In her heart, she
had known the dreams came as a warning about McLeod’s future, and
she had halfway dismissed them. The rabbit added that touch of
lunacy that removed her dream from reality. However, finding Ian
McLeod’s picture in the
Columbus Dispatch
refuted that
reasoning. She could not have invented his face. The newspaper
picture proved he existed separate from her dream.

Before bed, she tried to distract her mind
with a series of old movies starring Fred Astaire —
Damsel in
Distress
and
Swing Time
— and largely succeeded. She
especially like the fun house scene with George Burns and Gracie
Allen. She had no idea either of them could dance.

The last thing she remembered was the opening
credits for
The Great Man Votes
with John Barrymore.

* * * *

The moon shone with a crystal clarity that
cast long black shadows. The jagged cornstalks, like those Cassie’s
dreams of Ellie, marched away in endless rows. Her warm breath made
a small white cloud in the crisp air.

Fighting against the relentless tread of her
feet, she wanted to go anywhere but straight ahead. The landscape,
the moon, the very air brought back all her bitter memories of
Ellie Latham.

As she walked, fallen stalks crunched
underfoot, shedding bits of stale dry, dust. She sneezed. Cassie
struggled to suppress the anxiety hovering over her and to turn
away, but a force pushed her forward.

As she neared the center of the field, a dark
lump resolved into a body, but larger than Ellie Latham. As the
details solidified, this figure, clad in jeans, appeared
masculine.

When Cassie reached the head, she recognized
the red hair and face of Ian McLeod. His outstretched hand clutched
a white foam cup. Brown liquid trickled over the edge of the cup
and then turned dark red under the bright moonlight. McLeod’s
staring eyes, like Ellie Latham’s, reflected the white moon
above.

A scritching noise drew Cassie’s
attention.

She turned to see the black rabbit. It loomed
larger than the last time she had seen it, more the size of a
Bulldog. The moon made the rabbit’s long white teeth look sharper,
almost pointed. Its staring eyes glowed a phosphorescent green.

Cassie reached toward McLeod’s outstretched
hand. The creature’s ominous rumble became a deep warning growl. As
it grew louder, the rabbit bared its teeth at her. It raised itself
on its haunches, poised to spring. Then it leaped.

Paralyzed, she couldn’t move, couldn’t run.
Fear held her fast. The rabbit’s fetid breath made her gasp.

“NO!" she screamed.

* * * *

Waking in her own bed, Cassie lay still for a
moment making sure where she was and then reached over to snap on
the bedside lamp. The comforter lay on the floor, and her blanket
hung off one side of the bed. Sweat matted her hair to her
forehead. Her heart beat against her chest like a kettledrum in the
climax to the
1812 Overture
. She drew in deep breaths of
air, trying to relax and slow her throbbing pulse.

The man and the rabbit again, but this time
Ian McLeod lay dead or dying. What did it mean? Had the dream
already happened or was it about to happen? Had someone killed Ian
McLeod or did they plan to kill him? That dratted rabbit again.
Only this time it appeared bent on preventing her from touching
McLeod. Why?

So much for Tula’s ‘your one true love’ and
‘happily ever after’ theory.

Rabbits didn’t growl. Dogs growled, even
cats, but not rabbits. She had heard of dying rabbits screaming.
These dreams got crazier and crazier. Her subconscious had gone
into overdrive, but the message it sent only confused her.

Cassie remade the bed and climbed back in it.
The clock read 4 a.m. No way could she sleep. She didn’t want to
see the rabbit or the dead man again. She lay back on the pillows
brooding over what the dream meant, if it meant anything at all.
Why should the dreams of Ellie have been so clear and these visions
so confusing? Common sense told her the rabbit couldn’t be real,
but she had no idea what it symbolized.

The image of the red liquid only added to her
anxiety.

The alarm went off at seven and shrilled her
awake. No more dreams had troubled her after the one that woke her
just before four.

She got up feeling groggy and wrung out. Not
a good start for the day. Even her customary cup of tea did nothing
to help. Outside, dark rain clouds added to her gloom. Where was
the sun when she really needed it?

Somehow at work she got though the long
morning. Just before eleven, Tracy Bolin and her mother came into
the reading room. Tracy waved to Cassie, and she waved back before
returning to the
Hornbook
and the
Library Journal
book reviews.

At eleven-thirty, Cassie put away her work
and left for lunch. The weather had cleared and the bright sun made
her don her sunglasses. Luck was with her, and she had no trouble
finding a parking place only a block away from Tula’s Tea Room.

Kinesha, Tula’s waitress, greeted Cassie and
seated her. “How yo’ doing today, Cassie? Nice day out there.”
Pretty and plump, Kinesha’s warm smile, brilliant against her brown
skin, lifted Cassie’s spirits.

“It is now with the rain’s gone. I’ll have
the avocado sandwich and a pot of tea. Please tell Tula I’d like to
see her when she has a minute.”

“You got it.” Kinesha hurried off in answer
to the bell as two more customers entered.

Cassie sat at her usual table near the
kitchen. A few minutes later, Tula came out with a tray, a red pot
of Tula’s Special, two cups, and Cassie’s avocado and sprout
sandwich. Tula unloaded the tray and poured tea for each of
them.

“I think you’re right about getting a social
life.” Cassie smiled at her friend. “The celibate life is getting
to me.”

Grinning, Tula raised her cup and sipped the
steaming tea. “Good, then you can meet my new friend.” Her eyes
sparkled over the rim of her cup.

“New friend? As in male?” Cassie teased.
Willowy and striking, Tula met, dated, and discarded men with
almost boring regularity. “How long will this one last?”

“Umm, not sure about that. He has... Let’s
say he has distinct possibilities.”

“Seems you said that last time. You can
introduce me on Friday.” Cassie grinned at her.

“You’ll come then?”

“I guess so. Anyway, I found out the name of
the dream man.”

“Oh?” Tula paused in refilling her cup to
study Cassie’s face.

“Ian McLeod, an up-and-coming young
businessman.”

“Married?” The familiar smell of cloves and
mint filled the air.

“Uh,” Cassie stirred her tea in a figure
eight, “I don’t think so, but he’s probably got a girlfriend. All
the good ones do.”

“So?” Tula leaned forward, an avid gleam in
her amber eyes. “He’s a good one? What are you going to do about
him?”

“Nothing.” Cassie stared down at the steaming
surface of the tea.

“Come on, Cassie, why not?”

She looked up at her friend. “What in the
hell could I say to him? A rabbit wants to kill you?” She shook her
head. “He’d never believe it. I’m not sure I believe it.”