Murder of Dreams Excerpt

Murdermain.jpg (26009 bytes)

CHAPTER ONE

Stubbornly Rachel shook her head as her agent Dora Piper faced her, hands on her well-shaped hips. "You may not wish to watch how they turned your best selling novel into a prime time movie, but I do. If this rates high, Hollywood will be knocking your door down for the rights to your other books."

Fingering the long scar from her right ear to her chin, Rachel frowned. "Piper, you know they were not near as good. And you know why." Her comfortable royal blue sweater and white stretch pants contrasted sharply with Piper's sculpted cream crepe jacket and matching tailored pants.

Reaching forward, Piper pulled Rachel's slender wrist from her face. "Stop it, Rachel. Under that makeup, no one even notices that scar."

Bitterness flashed in the younger woman's eyes. "But when they do.... Don't you think I can see that look in their eyes when they discover the scar, and when they see me walk?"

"So you have a bit of a limp. So what." Turning, Piper picked up the remote from the table and aimed it at the small screen TV.

With a wry smile on her lips, Rachel surveyed her agent's lush figure. "I'm not like you, Piper." Her gaze softened as they took in the comfortable living room of the small house she inherited after her parent's death. The soft burgundy western style furnishings over a faded gray carpet brought back so many memories of evenings spent in the company of her professor father and his students. They usually lounged on the practical furniture or sat on the floor discussing both modern and classic literature, the state of education, even politics.

At first the students tolerated the professor's inquisitive daughter until, as she grew under the tutelage of her parents, they accepted her views on par with their own. There had been those who wanted a closer relationship with the auburn haired young woman with the sparkling eyes, easy smile, and warm compassionate nature. There had been one special young man, Kerry.

She questioned whether she and Kerry had the kind of lasting love so evident in the relationship of her mother and father who loved each other to distraction, and showed it in every glance, every smile. Her sister Sharon, too, had found that kind of relationship with her new husband Scott Randal.

Rachel sighed. There had been times she felt lonely when the family got together, but not as lonely as she felt after the accident that not only took the lives of her parents but also left her both emotionally and physically scarred. With pain, she still recalled the day Kerry came to see her in the hospital. She recalled his hesitance, his almost physical withdrawal from the cast that covered her leg from toes to hip.

"Rachel, I didn't come sooner, well, because, ah..." He shifted from one foot to the other. A muscle twitched in his left cheek. Finally he said, "It's just so much to take in. You, umm, like this."

"Not too pretty right now, am I?" She needed his denial of that truth and his hesitation hurt.

"Ah, well, sure. With time. I really can't stay long, Rachel."

She knew then that she had to let him go. "Kerry, under the circumstances, I don't think we should go on seeing one another. With all that's happened, Dad and Mom," she choked, continued. "As for me, it will be sometime before I'll be able to concentrate on anything but getting well. The doctor's say my leg may never be right."

He twisted the ribbon on the small gift in his hands. "I heard."

Rachel gulped back her stabbing disappointment. "You might as well go, Kerry."

His obvious relief stabbed like a knife. Handing her the present, Kerry exited as quickly as possible. He had never returned and from her friends she learned he had started dating someone else even before that first, and last visit.

Sharon never let her sink into despair. Despite her own grief, she was there for her sister. "Forget him, Sis. If he really loved you, he would have stuck around."

Scott wrapped a long brotherly arm about her shoulders. "I agree, Rachel. You're better off without him."

"Sure," Rachel agreed, but it still hurt.

Scott's strength and caring help pull both her and her sister through the weeks and months of hurt and grief.

Absently she rubbed her leg until she felt Piper's eyes on her disapprovingly.

"You're thinking of the accident again, aren't you." Sighing Piper sat down next to the client who had become a friend. "You came out alive. Isn't that enough?"

"Sharon was always there for me, if only I would have been there for her when she most needed me." Her words trailed off as the screen blared MURDER OF DREAMS; best selling book becomes a blockbuster television movie. Stay tuned.

Rachel shuttered. Why ever had she allowed the book, which had originally been a vehicle to vent her pain, to be made into a movie? Sure, the money was good, and Piper was quick to point out the advantages, but now facing her creation face to face, Rachel closed her eyes.

Would the movie catch the small town atmosphere of her hometown of Linden, a town on the plains of the Midwest, which was growing into a city? Each week new businesses or factories opened up adding to the acclaimed regional hospital. Local college students from the two local colleges had saved the museum housed in the classical building that had once housed the post office, from demolition. The first was a state college, and the second a small private non-denominational college, Linden Liberal Arts, in which her father taught English and her mother taught history. Sharon followed her parent's example into teaching, while Rachel chose journalism with minors in both English and History.

She sighed. Both of her parents would be proud of her success as an author. It was one of the few jobs that allowed her both the freedom she craved and the security of her hometown. Security? Rachel sucked in a deep painful breath. The small family-oriented town had not stopped the drunk from depriving her of her parents, nor the horror of murder--the murder of dreams.

Sharon and Scott had so many hopes and dreams. The house they built together had not been large, but so full of love. Robert not only destroyed Sharon, but also torched the house. It still stood on the outskirts of town, a silent, morbid monument to the triumph of evil and hatred.

Yes, MURDER OF DREAMS was so much more than fiction. If truth were told, it was far too close to reality, too close to the murder that shattered forever her sheltered little world.

If only she had figured out the puzzle more quickly, if only she hadn't allowed her sister to return home that night, if only she had reached Scott in time. If only.... The accusations had haunted her for ten years.

"Open your eyes, Rachel. It's coming on." Piper settled back against the worn cushions that squished comfortably under her. "If the ratings run as high as I expect, not only will the re-issue of the book hit again, but your name will also become a household word.” She pursed her lips with satisfaction. “After all, the book was on the best seller list for a full six weeks."

"I don't know that I care for that," Rachel said slowly, "I didn't start writing to make a name for myself."

Piper studied her client, "I know. You saw it as a retreat from a world that has not always treated you kindly. And what about that jerk who walked out on you after it was your testimony who convicted the b..." At Rachel's flinch, she injected, "creep who murdered your sister?"

Though inwardly agreeing, Rachel leaped to Scott's defense. "It's not his fault he couldn’t stand to see me like this." She touched her cheek. "I'm a constant reminder of what Robert did to Sharon. Besides, why should he stay? He had lost everything that mattered to him. Scott was a good man. He was!

"He was more than my brother-in-law. He was my friend." Rachel closed her eyes against the remembered pain.

Piper shook her head. "If you say so." She didn't sound convinced. "If he was such a good friend, why did he leave when you needed him the most?"

Low laughter from the TV caught their attention. Slowly Rachel focused on the opening scenes of the drama already unfolding on the screen. A young woman paced the room, a tall, well-shaped dark eyed young woman, having little resemblance to herself.

Glancing over at her agent, Rachel asked with surprise. "Is that supposed to be the heroine...me?"

Piper smiled, "You really should have come out to California to watch it being filmed, instead of leaving right after you signed the contracts. It might have relieved your mind. Both Peter and Evie wanted you to stay."

"Not like me at all, is she?" Rachel watched the confident dark haired woman glide across the screen.

"No, like your book, we tried to stay away from anything to tie her with you personally." Rachel visibly relaxed. "And the other changes I suggested?"

"Most of them were incorporated since they met the needs of the medium." Getting up, Piper headed toward the small kitchen separated from the living room by a long bar. "Want something to eat? Drink? I hate watching TV without munchies."

Rachel heard her rummaging around in the cupboards. "There's a bag of chips...."

"Found 'em." Returning with a root beer and the chips, Piper sat back down. The "pop" of Piper opening the can and the "rip" of the sack of chips momentarily covered the drone of the television. Rachel was grateful for the interruption for she was still not comfortable watching the movie. Rigidly she traced a square on the arm of her chair, to keep her hand from flying to her cheek.

Reluctantly returning her attention to the mystery, Rachel stiffened. Even though played by a professional actor, he was unmistakable. As the actor turned full face, Rachel choked back the sob of fear surging through her. The eyes connected even through the screen and Rachel found herself once more staring into the eyes of a murderer.

Her hand flew to her cheek. "Piper. I can't. I can't watch this." Getting to her feet, Rachel fled from the living room, up the stairs to the security of her bedroom. Her agent made no effort to stop her.

The cool blue walls with their lifetime of pictures, awards, posters and plaques soothed her troubled spirit. The maple finished furniture offered the familiarity of her happy childhood. She had never been able to part with the bunk style bed, which though narrow for her adult frame, held a world of storage space in the six built in drawers under the mattress. The bed matched the low dresser that served as a bedside table and the student desk with the attached hutch filled with books gleaned throughout her girl hood. The wood gleamed softly in the light of her diffused lighting.

Her office next door had been her sister's room. Sharon. Oh, Sharon. Memories flashed. However much she tried to force them from her mind, they persisted. Why had she thought writing that book would ease her pain? The book tore her to shreds, left her unable to write for months. Now the movie brought it all back. She could hear the set drone on through the floor vents.

"Lord, no." Covering her ears, Rachel stilled the sobs that ached deep inside her chest. With ten years of determination, she brushed away the tears. Standing up, she marched to her office. Shelves covered the walls and surrounded the Spartan desk that held her computer, printer, and phone.

Inserting a disk of soothing music in her CD drive, Rachel turned up the volume to drown out the sound of the TV downstairs. Bringing the file of her latest book up on screen, she began to work.

For some fifteen, twenty minutes she struggled, but nothing flowed. She felt as though her creativity was locked behind a high fence, a fence entitled MURDER OF DREAMS. With a sigh, Rachel closed down the file, ejected the CD and sat staring at the darkened ceiling. A scream brought her to her feet.

Hurrying down the stairs, Rachel's eyes sought the flickering screen across the room. Her hand cupped her cheek as she stared, mesmerized by the drama played out before her eyes.

"Why if it isn't Rachel Adams, Linden's amateur sleuth," snarled Steve Wylie, driving up beside her in his hot magenta sports convertible as she walked home passed the city park. Though it was not late, the threatening sky had driven those enjoying the unusually warm fall day back to their homes. Thunderclouds rolled overhead and the growl of a storm sounded in the distance.

The actress playing Rachel gulped. Fear showed in her eyes. "H...Hello, Steve. What brings you out today?" She glanced up as the first drops of rain spattered the green textured blazer she wore over baize slacks.

"I came to see you." He paused, his face sober. "I'm sorry about your sister. She was a good teacher."

Rachel tensed. "Yes, she was. Are you just as sorry about Ann?" The words burst from her lips as an accusation. Fear flashed on her face. "I...I must be getting along home, Steve." She started walking. He followed slowly in his car.

"Need a lift?"

She walked faster. "I don't think so."

"I think you do." The threat brought her around. She blanched at the anger on his face.

"No, I don't need YOUR help, Steve."

"Just what does that mean, Miss Know-It-All? Or do you know something your stupid brother-in-law does not?"

"Randy is not stupid. He is the kindest, most sensitive...."

"Oh, I see how it is. Taking over the husband before your sister is scarcely cold." His accusation brought an angry flush to her cheeks.

"That's not true, and you know it." Glancing around at the deserted area she eyed the pathway that cut through the park. "I...I really must go."

Steve edged the car over to the curb. "Not yet, Rachel. There's something I want to know first."

Poised for flight, Rachel paused. "What is it?"

Languidly, Steve lifted himself from the seat and perched on the backrest. "Why do you think I had something to do with your sister's death?"

"Because of something I remembered." Rachel gasped as the statement slipped through her lips. Her eyes widened when Steve lunged for her even as the raindrops thickened. With a cry, Rachel swung around and ran across the park.

Leaping from his car, Steve sped after her, his feet crunching on the hard ground. Lightning forked across the darkened sky revealing Rachel's frightened face as she glanced back. Thunder cracked and the rain poured down, blinding Steve. Pausing, he waited until another flash of lightning showed Rachel veering off the walkway into the trees.

Neither saw the blue and white vehicle stop beside Steve's car, nor Randy, his slicker flapping open to reveal his uniform. Worry etched his face as he tried to see into the park. "Rachel. Where are you?"

Her scream ripped through the pounding of the rain followed by a flash of lightning that exposed Steve's sinewy arms wrapped around Rachel dragging her into the trees. Under the cover of the thunder, the burly policeman's cry went unheard. "Rachel. No! Oh, God! Protect her."

Leaning into his car, he grabbed his receiver and snapped out directions and his need for back up. It was a small town, and it wouldn't take long for the others to reach him...but would they reach him in time?

"He must be headed toward the shelter," muttered Randy heading off into the park until the gloom and falling rain swallowed him from view.

Gripping the stair-rail, Rachel shivered. So different, yet so much the same. He hadn't come to her in his car and it didn't end in a park, but the terror remained the same.

The look on the character's face mirrored her own, but how could even an exceptional actress truly understand the fear that chilled the bones and paralyzed the muscles?

The actress screamed and the real Rachel reached for her throat. Had she screamed? But no. The reality of the room faded and she no longer saw the drama with the villain dragging the actress beneath the trees, but Robert Weeban, his hands cold and deadly holding a long sharp knife to her throat.

"You will tell me what you know. How did you know I killed them? How?"

"Sharon. Sharon told me about her talk with Allison," Rachel stuttered.

She felt that knife slicing down her throat, but she turned and the knife missed her throat. Twisting away, she ran. A moment later she found refuge in Scott's open arms. She had gotten away from Weeban, and lived to tell her story in court.

The hatred on his face still haunted her nightmares. "I'll kill you," he promised as the judge sentenced him to death. "I'll come back for you and kill you."

"Do not worry," they told her, "he's going to die."

Only Robert Weeban had not died. After ten years, his appeals still continued.

As for her brother-in-law and friend Scott, he'd left her, too. Every nuance of his grief stricken face was indelibly etched in her mind. In the book and the movie, the hero promised to return. There was something between them that was not resolved, a relationship that had never had time to grow into something deeper and more permanent. It probably never would. After a couple of short, terse notes, Scott stopped writing. Rachel would not even begin to know how to reach him. She wondered if he had seen the movie. Would he know she held only love inside for him, not blame? Would he care?

As the credits ran, Piper became aware of Rachel for the first time. "Rachel," she cried rushing to enfold the weeping young woman in her arms. "I'm sorry. I should never have suggested you watch it. I'm sorry."

Gently she guided her friend to a stool by the bar. "Let me get you some coffee."

Grabbing a tissue from the box on the counter, Rachel wiped her face and blew her nose. "Chocolate maybe."

"Yes, you need it to sleep."

Rachel winced. She very much doubted there would be much sleep for her that night.

"I could stay, if you like."

Rachel shook her head. "Isn't there a matter of a late supper with an eligible bachelor?"

"I could cancel. It isn't as though he is mister right. You know how it is."

She did know. Her gorgeous agent collected men like, as Piper once put it sarcastically, "Garbage collects flies."

Men rather lost their heads around the statuesque independent woman. Rachel's personal problems faded momentarily in her sympathy for the woman who had endured a short abusive marriage during her late teens, and now held her many ardent admirers at a distance.

"I'll be all right, Piper." She grinned, "Besides, if you don't find Mr. Right soon, your brother will come up with another candidate."

Her agent groaned. "Don't I know it." They laughed.

“Hasn’t there been someone you rated in the top ten?” Rachel’s teasing died on her lips, as Piper sobered.

“Just one, but I wasn’t ready, not then.”

“Maybe now....”

Piper shook her head as she sighed. “No. It’s too late for us. We have separate lives now.” Her grin seemed forced. “Guess I’ll just have to keep looking, huh.” Gathering her things, Piper paused by the front door. "Are you sure you want to be alone?"

Rachel gave her shoulder a push. "Yes, yes I'll be fine. I am going right up to bed. Now good-night."

"You'll lock the door."

"This isn't LA, but, if it helps you, I'll lock it. I usually do. I have ever since...." Her words trailed off. Reaching back, Piper gave the vulnerable young woman a quick hug. "I'll be back by ten in the morning. If you need anything, even just to talk, you know I'm here."

"I know. I have your phone number."

"I'll be up late," Piper told her before leaving for her room at the Twin Forks motel.

"I know about your irregular schedule, phone calls and working on scripts from other clients and appointments. You'd still be welcome to stay here. Of course then there wouldn't be anything to take off on your taxes."

"Got to think of those taxes," Piper shot back. She seemed relieved to have Rachel acting more like herself. She picked up her case. "I am glad you understand."

Waving her agent out the door with a grin, Rachel locked first the front door, then the back before grabbing the paper and heading up to her room. Throwing it onto the bed, she stripped off her clothes, and threw on a v-neck fuchsia caftan gown. Turning off the top light, she flicked on the lamp by her bed, sat down in bed against her pillows, pulled the covers up to her waist and picked up the paper.

Rachel unfolded it with a snap. Suddenly her face paled and the paper slipped from her fingers. Her hands shaking, she stared at the arrogant face grinning out at her from under the headline that read. "Two Time Convicted Murderer's Death Sentence Remitted to Life." Underneath she read, Raymond Strand, Weeban's lawyer asks court to review case.

Flinging the paper onto the floor, Rachel hugged her knees to her chest, and rocked back and forth determined to keep at bay the panic clawing at her insides. Somehow she sensed the terror had only begun.