Tell Me Your Dreams

“Did you go out with him?”

Going to his apartment would not be the same as going out with him. “No.”

“Did he talk to you about this woman he wanted to marry?”

She was getting in deeper and deeper. Could he be taping this? Maybe he already knew she had been in Tibbie’s apartment. They could have found her fingerprints. Now was the time to tell the deputy what Tibbie had done to her. But if I do, Ashley thought in despair, it will lead to my father, and they’ll connect that to Jim Cleary’s murder. Did they know about that, too? But the police department in Bedford would have no reason to notify the police department in Cupertino. Or would they?

Deputy Blake was watching her, waiting for an answer. “Miss Patterson?”

“What? Oh, I’m sorry. This has got me so upset …”

“I understand. Did Tibbie ever mention this woman he wanted to marry?”

“Yes … but he never told me her name.” That, at least, was true.

“Have you ever been to Tibbie’s apartment?”

Ashley took a deep breath. If she said no, the questioning would probably end. But if they had found her fingerprints … “Yes.”

“You have been to his apartment?”

“Yes.”

He was looking at her more closely now. “You said you’d never been out with him.”

Ashley’s mind was racing now. “That’s right. Not on a date, no. I went to bring him some papers he had forgotten.”

“When was this?”

She felt trapped. “It was … it was about a week ago.”

“And that’s the only time you’ve been to his place?”

“That’s right.”

Now if they had her fingerprints, she would be in the clear.

Deputy Blake sat there, studying her, and she felt guilty. She wanted to tell him the truth. Maybe some burglar had broken in and killed him—the same burglar who had killed Jim Cleary ten years earlier and three thousand miles away. If you believed in coincidences. If you believed in Santa Claus. If you believed in the tooth fairy.

Damn you, Father.

Deputy Blake said, “This is a terrible crime. There doesn’t seem to be any motive. But you know, in all the years I’ve been on the force, I’ve never seen a crime without a motive.” There was no response. “Do you know if Dennis Tibbie was into drugs?”

“I’m sure he wasn’t.”

“So what do we have? It wasn’t drugs. He wasn’t robbed. He didn’t owe anybody money. That kind of leaves a romantic situation, doesn’t it? Someone who was jealous of him.”

Or a father who wanted to protect his daughter.

“I’m as puzzled as you are, Deputy.”

He stared at her for a moment and his eyes seemed to say, “I don’t believe you, lady.”

Deputy Blake got to his feet. He took out a card and handed it to Ashley. “If there’s anything you can think of, I’d appreciate your giving me a call.”

“I’ll be happy to.”

“Good day.”

She watched him leave. It’s over. Father’s in the clear.

When Ashley returned to her apartment that evening, there was a message on the answering machine: “You got me real hot last night, baby. I’m talking blue balls. But you’ll take care of me tonight, though, the way you promised. Same time, same place.”

Ashley stood there, listening in disbelief. I’m going crazy, she thought. This has nothing to do with Father. Someone else must be behind all this. But who? And why?

Five days later, Ashley received a statement from the credit card company. Three items caught her attention:

A bill from the Mod Dress Shop for $450.

A bill from the Circus Club for $300.

A bill from Louie’s Restaurant for $250.

She had never heard of the dress shop, the club or the restaurant.

Chapter Seven (#ulink_9dca860c-18ff-507f-ab0b-bfee5d5a358b)

ASHLEY Patterson followed the investigation of Dennis Tibbie’s murder in the newspapers and on television every day. The police appeared to have reached a dead end.

It’s over, Ashley thought. There’s nothing more to worry about. That evening, Deputy Sam Blake appeared at her apartment. Ashley looked at him, her mouth suddenly dry.

“I hope I’m not bothering you,” Deputy Blake said. “I was on my way home, and I just thought I’d drop in for a minute.”

Ashley swallowed. “No. Come in.”

Deputy Blake walked into the apartment. “Nice place you have here.”

“Thank you.”

“I’ll bet Dennis Tibbie didn’t like this kind of furniture.”

Ashley’s heart began to pound. “I don’t know. He’s never been in this apartment.”

“Oh. I thought he might have, you know.”

“No, I don’t know, Deputy. I told you, I never dated him.”

“Right. May I sit down?”