Nightmares Can Be Murder (A Dream Club Mystery) by Mary Kennedy Page B
Authors: Mary Kennedy
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completely.”
“You said he was tall and dark-haired,” Ali said encouragingly. “Can you remember anything else? Try to picture him dancing and tell us exactly what you see. Close your eyes and concentrate.”
“He was spinning his partner around and around,” Lucinda said dreamily. “And there were flames leaping up in the background, but he didn’t seem to notice them. I could see that part of the scene very clearly. And when the song ended, they embraced, and that’s when I finally had a good look at him. His head was tilted to the side and I was standing just a few feet away.”
“And—” I interjected. I felt a wave of impatience bubbling up inside me; I wanted Lucinda to cut to the chase.
“And,” Lucinda said, her voice low and hoarse, “I had quite a shock. Because that’s when I realized he had no face.”
13
A little chill went through me, and I set down my glass carefully on the counter. I felt the hairs rise on my forearm, and my heart hammered in my chest.
“Good Lord,” Minerva gasped and turned to her sister. “Did she just say what I think she said?”
“Yes, she did.” Rose nodded grimly. “She saw a man with no face. That’s a recurring image in dreams. Or I should say, in
nightmares
,” she added pointedly. “You must have been terrified,” she said to Lucinda, her voice soft with sympathy.
“I was,” Lucinda whispered her reply. “It was so awful. I shook my head from side to side and forced myself to wake up. But what does it mean?”
Ali raised her eyebrows and shot Lucinda a thoughtful look. “A faceless figure can mean a lot of things,” she began hesitantly, and something about her tone made me wonder if she was trying to be diplomatic. Ali has always been forthright and direct, but now she seemed to be choosing her words carefully.
“So it’s a common theme?” Minerva asked.
“Oh, yes. I’ve run into it before, in dream workshops I’ve taken. When you dream about someone faceless, or a person wearing a mask or a hood, it can be a self-protective measure.” Ali poured herself a glass of tea, and I noticed her hand was shaking a little.
“How so?” Minerva asked.
“Well, it could be the mind’s way of protecting you from an image you’re not ready to deal with. Maybe you can’t face seeing the identity of the person behind the mask. So you obliterate the face entirely. But in this case”—she waved her hand in the air—“that doesn’t really make sense, because we already know who the victim is. It was Chico,” she said sadly. We were silent for a moment.
“I hope I don’t have that dream again,” Lucinda said fervently. She gave a little shudder and folded her arms across her chest as if a cold wind had swept through the room. “I never should have listened to Persia. Telling myself to dream about Chico didn’t accomplish a thing except get me really upset.” I remember Lucinda telling the group that she liked to dream about kittens and babies, things that made her smile and lifted her spirits.
“Something positive may still come out of this, Lucinda. You’ve given us a lot to think about,” Minerva said, slowly getting to her feet. She handed me her credit card and waited while I rang up the candy. “But I’m afraid at the moment, we’re as much in the dark as ever. It’s odd that you described the old Collier mansion in such detail, my dear. Are you sure you’ve never been there? The Waltons hold an open house at Christmas to benefit one of the local charities. And of course, the estate is one of the stops on the garden tour. Their gardens are fabulous. Among the finest in Savannah, I’d say.”
Lucinda shook her head. “I don’t get out much,” she said, “especially since I’ve retired.”
It was hard to imagine Lucinda, who was quiet as a church mouse, attending any social events. She picked up a lace doily and ran her finger over the fine workmanship. Ali had scattered a few handmade vintage doilies here and
“You said he was tall and dark-haired,” Ali said encouragingly. “Can you remember anything else? Try to picture him dancing and tell us exactly what you see. Close your eyes and concentrate.”
“He was spinning his partner around and around,” Lucinda said dreamily. “And there were flames leaping up in the background, but he didn’t seem to notice them. I could see that part of the scene very clearly. And when the song ended, they embraced, and that’s when I finally had a good look at him. His head was tilted to the side and I was standing just a few feet away.”
“And—” I interjected. I felt a wave of impatience bubbling up inside me; I wanted Lucinda to cut to the chase.
“And,” Lucinda said, her voice low and hoarse, “I had quite a shock. Because that’s when I realized he had no face.”
13
A little chill went through me, and I set down my glass carefully on the counter. I felt the hairs rise on my forearm, and my heart hammered in my chest.
“Good Lord,” Minerva gasped and turned to her sister. “Did she just say what I think she said?”
“Yes, she did.” Rose nodded grimly. “She saw a man with no face. That’s a recurring image in dreams. Or I should say, in
nightmares
,” she added pointedly. “You must have been terrified,” she said to Lucinda, her voice soft with sympathy.
“I was,” Lucinda whispered her reply. “It was so awful. I shook my head from side to side and forced myself to wake up. But what does it mean?”
Ali raised her eyebrows and shot Lucinda a thoughtful look. “A faceless figure can mean a lot of things,” she began hesitantly, and something about her tone made me wonder if she was trying to be diplomatic. Ali has always been forthright and direct, but now she seemed to be choosing her words carefully.
“So it’s a common theme?” Minerva asked.
“Oh, yes. I’ve run into it before, in dream workshops I’ve taken. When you dream about someone faceless, or a person wearing a mask or a hood, it can be a self-protective measure.” Ali poured herself a glass of tea, and I noticed her hand was shaking a little.
“How so?” Minerva asked.
“Well, it could be the mind’s way of protecting you from an image you’re not ready to deal with. Maybe you can’t face seeing the identity of the person behind the mask. So you obliterate the face entirely. But in this case”—she waved her hand in the air—“that doesn’t really make sense, because we already know who the victim is. It was Chico,” she said sadly. We were silent for a moment.
“I hope I don’t have that dream again,” Lucinda said fervently. She gave a little shudder and folded her arms across her chest as if a cold wind had swept through the room. “I never should have listened to Persia. Telling myself to dream about Chico didn’t accomplish a thing except get me really upset.” I remember Lucinda telling the group that she liked to dream about kittens and babies, things that made her smile and lifted her spirits.
“Something positive may still come out of this, Lucinda. You’ve given us a lot to think about,” Minerva said, slowly getting to her feet. She handed me her credit card and waited while I rang up the candy. “But I’m afraid at the moment, we’re as much in the dark as ever. It’s odd that you described the old Collier mansion in such detail, my dear. Are you sure you’ve never been there? The Waltons hold an open house at Christmas to benefit one of the local charities. And of course, the estate is one of the stops on the garden tour. Their gardens are fabulous. Among the finest in Savannah, I’d say.”
Lucinda shook her head. “I don’t get out much,” she said, “especially since I’ve retired.”
It was hard to imagine Lucinda, who was quiet as a church mouse, attending any social events. She picked up a lace doily and ran her finger over the fine workmanship. Ali had scattered a few handmade vintage doilies here and
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