Dead Is Just a Dream - [Dead Is - 08] by Marlene Perez Page B

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.”

Chapter Eighteen
    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