Murder In Her Dreams (7 page)

Leaning back, Tula grinned and touched the
rays of the sun pendant. “It sounds strange, but you know the
rabbit stands for something or someone. You just have to figure out
what.”

Cassie nodded. “Yeah, but I haven’t made much
progress so far.”

“You are going to tell him.” Tula made it a
statement, not a question as she rubbed her pendant.

“I don’t know.”

Tula sighed and shook her head. “Then if
something happens to him, how will you feel?”

“Lousy, but what can I tell him?”

Shrugging her eloquent shoulders, Tula sipped
her tea and then set the cup down. “I don’t know, but you have to
warn him. You had a bad enough time over the Latham child. I know
you don’t want to repeat that.”

Cassie froze, her cup halfway to her mouth.
The new dreams brought back all the old pain and guilt. She hadn’t
listened to those visions until too late. She had let Rod’s
scoffing keep her from acting. Ellie Latham had died, and she had
been responsible for the child’s death. Cassie couldn’t bear the
thought of being responsible for another death. That Tula put it
into words only made it worse. Cassie set the cup down with a
thunk.

Taking Cassie’s hand in both of hers, Tula
squeezed gently. “I’m sorry, Cassie, but you hurt so bad when you
found out she hadn’t died until after your second dream. You gave
yourself hell for not telling the police the first night. I don’t
want to see you put yourself through that again. Call him or send
him a note. Just do something.”

Swiping at her eyes, Cassie nodded. “You’re
right. I hate the thought of a stranger thinking I’m a kook.”

“But at least he won’t be dead.” Tula leaned
forward. Amber eyes held Cassie in a steady gaze. “You know, my
friend, you have a responsibility. Those who dream must act or
accept the blame for not acting. When gifts are given, we’re
obliged to use them well. Even your religion teaches that.”

Cassie pulled an embroidered handkerchief
from her pocket, dabbed at her eyes, and blew her nose. “Oh Tula,
don’t start quoting the Bible at me. You don’t believe in it.”

“It isn’t a matter of whether I’m a believer
or not. It’s a holy book and holds many truths, although I’ll admit
it has a few untruths as well.” She gave Cassie a wicked grin.

“Yeah, take what you want and toss the rest.”
She grinned back at Tula as she shoved the wadded handkerchief into
her pocket. Her face grew solemn again. “I guess you’re right about
the responsibility. I have these dreams for a reason. I just wish
someone else had them... Ian McLeod maybe. After all, they’re about
him. He and his rabbit have no business messing up my life.”

“Well, once you’ve warned him, you should be
in the clear, and the dreams will probably go away.”

“I hope so. All right, I’ll send him a note.
Thanks for letting me vent on you.”

“Hey what are friends for? Just be sure you
come Friday.”

“No fear, I have to meet your new man.”
Cassie grinned, and Tula swept off to greet a customer standing by
the entrance.

After finishing her lunch, Cassie hurried
back to work. On her break that afternoon she penned a quick note
with a warning to Ian McLeod on a page from a three by five pad and
got it in the mailbox just before the mail carrier arrived. She
breathed a deep sigh and mentally said good-bye to him and his
rabid rabbit.

Rabid rabbit? Not bad. She would have to
think up something for Jimmy Wilson that used those words. Keeping
even one step ahead of the kids these days grew harder and harder.
Between computer and video games, they knew technology better than
most adults. She just wished they would read a few books too. She
had managed to interest some of the game players in a few of the
mythology books. Of course, almost all of them had read the Harry
Potter series or seen the movies. Then there were all those Greek
heroes and Scandinavian gods.

In a happier frame of mind, Cassie returned
to take her stint on the main Reference Desk located on the lower
level of the library. The desk sat at the far end of the room with
several tall ranges of shelves adjacent to it that held the bulk of
the ready reference collection. The floor-to-ceiling shelves lining
both sides of the long rectangular room held other books and
printed indexes.

More and more, the library used online
databases. Two long tables in front of the reference desk provided
space for readers using the reference collection and workstations
for accessing electronic reference tools. Only one workstation was
in use.

Cassie sat down at the reference desk and
checked to see if Kelly Jones had left any unanswered questions.
She hadn’t, but the usual pile of search requests filled the box.
Still, she hoped to check out the
Roget
entry for rabid. She
got up from the desk and started toward the reference shelves when
a middle-aged man approached.

“I’m not much for these machines here,” he
said, pointing to the computer workstations. “I need some data on a
company, Innovative Fixtures. Does the library have anything?”

“We have a number of business publications
and a few financial databases. What sort of data do you need?”

“Um, I guess how much money it makes and what
dividends it pays.”

“Let’s try a search.” Cassie wondered how
much he knew about investing and the stock market.

She sat down at one of the workstations and
did a quick search on the company name. A list of articles and
topics appeared. She chose one with basic statistics on the company
and hit print.

“If you follow me, I’ll give you a copy.”

She retrieved the printed page for the man
and handed it to him. “After you check this you may want to follow
up with some of the electronic indexes on the computers next to the
reference desk.
Magazine Index
and
Reader’s Guide
both index
Fortune
and
Forbes
. We also have newspaper
indexes such as the
New York Times
and the
Wall Street
Journal
. If you need help or don’t find what you need, let me
know.”

The man nodded and peered at the page. “This
is fine, thanks. Guess I may have to learn how to use those dang
machines after all.”

Cassie smiled at him and returned to the
reference desk. At least no teenagers occupied the workstations.
The library blocked games and porn sites from its system. However,
new such sites cropped up all the time. Those who wanted to chat,
do email, or extended searches were referred upstairs to other
workstations.

Some people found online searching
overwhelming. Learning to limit searches to the relevant items
often proved time consuming and led some to rely instead on the
librarians. She picked up the batch of search requests and began
processing them.

From all appearances, Cassie wouldn’t have to
worry about getting bored today. She retrieved
Roget’s
Thesaurus
. She wanted to look up rabid before Jimmy Wilson
showed up. Before she had time to open the book, a neatly dressed,
elderly woman approached her.

She gave Cassie a tentative smile. “I’m ...
uh, researching my family history and need to check some birth
records.”

Quite a few library patrons worked on family
genealogies. The library had some basic tools, but serious
researchers almost always ended up going to the Ohio Historical
Society.

Cassie sighed. “Birth records before the
1940s are kept at the Ohio Historical Society Library.”

“I’ve already been there,” the woman said.
“No, I need recent records.”

“What period are you looking for?”

“The late Seventies or early Eighties” She
paused a moment, hesitating. “It’s...” She looked around, but no
one stood near them. Apparently satisfied, she turned back to
Cassie.

“It’s about someone who claims to be my
grandson. My daughter moved away for a while, and we lost track of
her. Somehow she got mixed up with a bad crowd, then ... uh, she
died. Well, last week this young man showed up on my doorstep. He
says he’s my grandson.”

“Just what are you looking for?” Cassie
wondered how she could help the woman.

“I thought maybe I could get a birth
certificate. Don’t all births have to be registered? I thought the
doctors or the hospitals did that.”

“Yes, they do. The records are either kept at
the Ohio Bureau of Vital Statistics or by the Columbus Department
of Health downtown.”

“Will they give me a copy of the record?”

“If you have the right information and pay
the fee. Usually they want the city of birth, the date of birth,
and the names of the child, the mother, and the father.”

A frown creased the woman’s broad face. “I’m
not sure about the father.”

“The Columbus Health Department has a form
you fill out. Then they search the records. Why don’t you try
them?”

“Umm, I’ll ... do that.” The woman rose and
started to walk away, then stopped. “Do they show color on the
records?”

“What?” Cassie stared at the woman.
“Color?”

“Yes, you know, black, white, or
whatever.”

Cassie blinked. “Oh, racial background. I
don’t think so. It’s against the law to keep that data
anymore.”

The old woman shook her head. “This boy looks
too dark to be my daughter’s. I think he only wants my money.”

Her words made Cassie feel sorry for her. So
many took unfair advantage of the elderly, especially if money was
involved. She wanted to help this lady, but didn’t know what to
advise her. “Maybe you should talk to the police or hire a private
detective.”

“I’m not ready to do that. I keep family
matters private.”

“Well, you can check on the birth
certificate. Here, let me write the address down for you.” Cassie
pulled out a notepad and copied the address from the ready
reference file. “It’s at 181 Washington Boulevard.” She handed the
paper to the woman.

“I’ll do that. Thank you, Miss.” The woman
put the paper in her purse and nodded to Cassie..

This lady showed good sense in checking out
the young man. Cassie hoped she would find what she needed from the
birth records. If the daughter had a child, all the woman would get
would be verification of that, not whether the boy in question was
really her daughter’s child unless, the birth certificate showed a
girl instead of a boy. The old woman would have to take the young
man on faith.

Then it occurred to Cassie there was another
way. DNA testing could tell whether the young man came from the
same family. The trouble with that, however, would be the cost and
getting a sample. Cassie sighed. The woman hadn’t given her
name.

Patrons with questions kept coming. Then,
once school ended, the noise level went up and kids took over the
library terminals. Cassie spent much of her time reminding the
courting couples to cool it and the rappers to practice elsewhere.
She also had to shoo off a few boys who spent a long time searching
for games. Tying up the terminals annoyed the other patrons. A
gentle reminder soon solved that.

Later that afternoon, when the rush finally
slowed, she got back to
Roget’s Thesaurus
and looked up
rabid. When she turned to the entry cited, she laughed.
Mad as a
March Hare
. Well, why not? Jimmy would get a kick out of that
and, maybe, just maybe, it would teach him something about
Roget’s
. At least she no longer had to worry about Ian
McLeod and his rabbit.

Chapter
Six

Ian turned over the small envelope marked
Personal
. It bore no return address, and he didn’t recognize
the neat, rounded letters of the writing. Most people, except
MaryLou, his long-suffering secretary, found his handwriting almost
indecipherable. Why she put up with him, he didn’t know, but he
always thanked his lucky stars she did. Friends often asked him if
he had switched from medicine to accounting because, according to
them, only doctors had worse handwriting.

He received little personal mail at the
office. Most of his friends sent invitations and cards to his home.
From the postmark, it had been mailed yesterday. Puzzled, he opened
the envelope. From inside he pulled out a small postcard-sized slip
of paper.

Dear Mr. McLeod,

Your life is in danger. Someone wants to
kill you. Dreams don’t lie. Beware rabid black rabbits.

A friend

Ian stared down at the note. Someone wanted
to kill him? He hadn’t seen a note like this in two years. Just
after James Harrison had died, some crank had sent threatening
notes, but they had stopped after a few months. Yet this seemed a
little different.

Instead of threatening him, it sounded more
like a warning. No one had any reason to want to kill him. Nothing
had happened to support such an idea, no accidents or strange
events.

Dreams don’t lie? Someone obviously knew
nothing of nightmares. Had some nut dreamed about him? Ian frowned.
He didn’t like the feel of this.

Beware of rabid black rabbits? He laughed.
Someone had a warped sense of humor. It had to be a practical joke.
It couldn’t be serious. Anonymous notes usually came from people
who didn’t want to be tied to the mischief they created. He
couldn’t think of anyone who would bother with such juvenile
nonsense.

Crumpling the note, Ian then tossed it toward
the wastebasket. He had more important things to do than to deal
with an anonymous note. He went on to the rest of his mail and
forgot about the note.

At six, he pushed his chair back from the
desk and rose. He stretched and then hunched his back to loosen the
muscles in his neck. Walking around more would ease that. Once he
got involved with a problem, nothing else mattered until he had
resolved it.

At least tonight, he didn’t have to worry
about Sharon. She had aerobics on Wednesday. Thinking of her
reminded him he had not yet called his brother David about the
wedding. Not usually one to procrastinate, his reluctance troubled
him.