Murder In Her Dreams by Nell DuVall Page B

After that, he was on his own.
     

 
    Chapter
Nine
     
    Cassie spent the morning trying to convince
herself talking to Ian McLeod wouldn’t be so bad. So what if he
reacted the same way Rod had? He meant nothing to her.
    The memory of his gaze when she thought he
meant to kiss her in her first dream returned. He could mean
something to her. Even Tula thought so. However, first she had to
convince him to take her dreams seriously. If he didn’t, he would
die just as Ellie Latham had.
    Cassie shook herself. Stop this morbid
musing. If she expected to convince Ian McLeod, she had to be calm,
cool, and collected.
    With the phone book address and Google, she
had no trouble locating the Worthington complex where McLeod had
his offices. The complex contained four buildings. She drove
through the almost park-like setting with trees and shrubs
separating parking areas and lining the edge of the property. Pale
green haloed the trees. The owners had ensured each building
sported a large sign with the street number. At this time of day,
all the parking places were filled.
    She parked across the street and crossed with
the traffic light at the entrance to the complex. As she hurried
along the walkway, she passed colorful beds of bright daffodils and
crocus. The cheerful spring flowers made her more hopeful that Ian
McLeod would listen to her with an open mind.
    Cassie entered McLeod’s offices at ten-thirty
carrying a brown envelope. The dark haired secretary-receptionist, MaryLou Sanders according to the nameplate on her desk,
smiled at Cassie as she entered.
    “Can I help you?”
    As always when confronted by a polished,
competent professional, Cassie blushed. Such people made her feel
like a little girl.
    MaryLou Sanders wore her white silk blouse
and brown suit like a fashion model. She had neat hands with short
nails polished in a pale pink. Cassie envied the freedom of Miss
Sanders’ stylish feathered hair. She could never muster the courage
to cut her own long locks. If she didn’t like it, it would take
months to grow out again.
    She reminded herself she had come on
legitimate business. More important, she had come to save Ian
McLeod’s life. She could not let the polished Miss Sanders
intimidate her. Cassie straightened her shoulders.
    “Uh, yes, my name’s Cassie Blake. A friend
recommended I see Mr. McLeod.” Cassie clutched the envelope
tighter. Tula had insisted she come.
    “Do you have an appointment, Miss Blake?”
    “No, I don’t. I ... uh, I need someone to do
my taxes.” Cassie looked down at the envelope clutched in her
hands. She reminded herself Ian McLeod’s Yellow Pages ad had listed
tax services.
    “Please take a seat,” Miss Sanders motioned
to the row of chairs along the wall to Cassie’s right. “I’ll see if
Mr. McLeod can see you.”
    She pushed a button on the desk. “Mr. McLeod,
a Miss Blake is here to consult you about taxes.” She eyed Cassie
who nodded. After listening a moment, she rose and motioned Cassie
to follow her through a door next to the desk.
    Cassie gazed wide-eyed at her surroundings.
McLeod’s office, larger than the reception area, had a conference
table to one side that would seat eight. A tapestry in blues,
whites, and browns behind the table reminded her of the restless
sea rushing over brown rocks.
    When the auburn haired man at the desk in
front of the windows rose to greet her, her heart stopped. He
looked so like the man in her dream, even more so than the
black-and-white picture from the newspaper. She fumbled the brown
envelope and almost dropped it.
    “Miss Blake, I’m Ian McLeod.” He held out his
right hand and pointed with his left to the two chairs in front of
the desk. Cassie took his hand, shifting the envelope to her left,
and sank into the nearest chair. Like the dream man, he had a firm
grip.
    She stared down at the brown envelope,
uncertain now whether coming had been wise. Just like Rod, he
wouldn’t believe her. She rubbed her right thumb