Tell Me Your Dreams Part 9

"No. That isn't necessary. I-"

"Please do not deprive me of the pleasure." Jean Claude led Toni to a showcase filled with rings. "Tell me what you like."

Toni shook her head. "Those are much too expensive. I couldn't-"

"Please."

Toni studied him a moment, then nodded. "All right." She examined the showcase again. In the center was a large emerald ring set with diamonds.

Jean Claude saw her looking at it. "Do you like the emerald ring?"

"It's lovely, but it's much too-"

"It is yours." Jean Claude took out a small key, unlocked the case and pulled out the ring.

"No, Jean Claude-"

"Pour moi." He slipped it on Toni's finger. It was a perfect fit. He slipped it on Toni's finger. It was a perfect fit.

"Voila! It is a sign." It is a sign."

Toni squeezed his hand. "I-I don't know what to say."

"I cannot tell you how much pleasure this gives me. There is a wonderful restaurant here called Pavilion. Would you like to have dinner there tonight?"

"Anywhere you say."

"I will call for you at eight o'clock."

At six o'clock that night, Ashley's father telephoned. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to disappoint you, Ashley. I won't be able to be there for Christmas. An important patient of mine in South America has had a stroke. I'm flying to Argentina tonight."

"I'm-I'm sorry, Father," Ashley said. She tried to sound convincing.

"We'll make up for it, won't we, darling?"

"Yes, Father. Have a good flight."

Toni was looking forward to dinner with Jean Claude. It was going to be a lovely evening. As she dressed, she sang softly to herself.

"Up and down the city road,In and out of the Eagle,That's the way the money goes,Pop! goes the weasel."

I think Jean Claude is in love with me, Mother.

Pavilion is located in the cavernous Gare du Palais, Quebec City's old railroad station. It is a large restaurant with a long bar at the entrance and rows of tables spreading toward the back. At eleven o'clock each night, a dozen tables are moved to the side to create a dance floor, and a disc jockey takes over with a variety of tapes ranging from reggae to jazz to blues.

Toni and Jean Claude arrived at nine, and they were warmly greeted at the door by the owner.

"Monsieur Parent. How nice to see you."

"Thank you, Andre. This is Miss Toni Prescott. Mr. Nicholas."

"A pleasure, Miss Prescott. Your table is ready."

"The food is excellent here," Jean Claude a.s.sured Toni, when they were seated. "Let us start with champagne."

They ordered paillard de veau and torpille and salad and a bottle of Valpolicella.

Toni kept studying the emerald ring Jean Claude had given her. "It's so beautiful!" she exclaimed.

Jean Claude leaned across the table. "Tu aussi. "Tu aussi. I cannot tell you how happy I am that we have finally met." I cannot tell you how happy I am that we have finally met."

"I am, too," Toni said softly.

The music began. Jean Claude looked at Toni. "Would you like to dance?"

"I'd love to."

Dancing was one of Toni's pa.s.sions, and when she got out on the dance floor, she forgot everything else. She was a little girl dancing with her father, and her mother said, "The child is clumsy." She was a little girl dancing with her father, and her mother said, "The child is clumsy."

Jean Claude was holding her close. "You're a wonderful dancer."

"Thank you." Do you hear that, Mother? Do you hear that, Mother?

Toni thought, I wish this could go on forever. I wish this could go on forever.

On the way back to the hotel, Jean Claude said, "Cherie, "Cherie, would you like to stop at my house and have a nightcap?" would you like to stop at my house and have a nightcap?"

Toni hesitated. "Not tonight, Jean Claude."

"Tomorrow, peut-etre?" peut-etre?"

She squeezed his hand. "Tomorrow."

At 3:00 A.M., Police Officer Rene Picard was in a squad car cruising down Grande Allee in the Quartier Montcalm when he noticed that the front door of a two-story redbrick house was wide open. He pulled over to the curb and stepped out to investigate. He walked to the front door and called, "Bon soir. Y a-t-il, quelqu'un?" "Bon soir. Y a-t-il, quelqu'un?"

There was no answer. He stepped into the foyer and moved toward the large drawing room. "C'est la police. Y a-t-il, quelqu'un?" "C'est la police. Y a-t-il, quelqu'un?"

There was no response. The house was unnaturally quiet. Unb.u.t.toning his gun holster, Officer Picard began to go through the downstairs room, calling out as he moved from room to room. The only response was an eerie silence. He returned to the foyer. There was a graceful staircase leading to the floor above. "Allo!" Nothing.

Officer Picard started up the stairs. When he got to the top of the stairs, his gun was in his hand. He called out again, then started down the long hallway. Ahead, a bedroom door was ajar. He walked over to it, opened it wide and turned pale. "Mon Dieu!" "Mon Dieu!"

At five o'clock that morning, in the gray stone and yellow brick building on Story Boulevard, where Centrale de Police is located, Inspector Paul Cayer was asking, "What do we have?"

Officer Guy Fontaine replied, "The victim's name is Jean Claude Parent. He was stabbed at least a dozen times, and his body was castrated. The coroner says that the murder took place in the last three or four hours. We found a restaurant receipt from Pavilion in Parent's jacket pocket. He had dinner there earlier in the evening. We got the owner of the restaurant out of bed."

"Yes?"

"Monsieur Parent was at Pavilion with a woman named Toni Prescott, a brunette, very attractive, with an English accent. The manager of Monsieur Parent's jewelry store said that earlier that day, Monsieur Parent had brought a woman answering that description into the store and introduced her as Toni Prescott. He gave her an expensive emerald ring. We also believe that Monsieur Parent had s.e.x with someone before he died, and that the murder weapon was a steel-blade letter opener. There were fingerprints on it. We sent them on to our lab and to the FBI. We are waiting to hear."

"Have you picked up Toni Prescott?"

"Non."

"And why not?"

"We cannot find her. We have checked all the local hotels. We have checked our files and the files of the FBI. She has no birth certificate, no social security number, no driver's license."

"Impossible! Could she have gotten out of the city?"

Officer Fontaine shook his head. "I don't think so, Inspector. The airport closed at midnight. The last train out of Quebec City left at five-thirty-five last night. The first train this morning will be at six-thirty-nine. We have sent a description of her to the bus station, the two taxi companies and the limousine company."

"For G.o.d's sake, we have her name, her description and her fingerprints. She can't just have disappeared."

One hour later, a report came in from the FBI. They were unable to identify the fingerprints. There was no record of Toni Prescott.

Chapter Eight.

FIVE days after Ashley returned from Quebec City, her father was on the telephone. "I just got back." days after Ashley returned from Quebec City, her father was on the telephone. "I just got back."

"Back?" It took Ashley a moment to remember. "Oh. Your patient in Argentina. How is he?"

"He'll live."

"I'm glad."

"Can you come up to San Francisco for dinner tomorrow?"

She dreaded the thought of facing him, but she could think of no excuse. "All right."

"I'll see you at Restaurant Lulu. Eight o'clock."

Ashley was waiting at the restaurant when her father walked in. Again, she saw the admiring glances of recognition on people's faces. Her father was a famous man. Would he risk everything he had just to Would he risk everything he had just to-?

He was at the table.

"It's good to see you, sweetheart. Sorry about our Christmas dinner."

She forced herself to say, "So am I."

She was staring at the menu, not seeing it, trying to get her thoughts together.

"What would you like?"

"I-I'm not really hungry," she said.

"You have to eat something. You're getting too thin."

"I'll have the chicken."

She watched her father as he ordered, and she wondered if she dared to bring up the subject.

"How was Quebec City?"

"It was very interesting," Ashley said. "It's a beautiful place."

"We must go there together sometime."

She made a decision and tried to keep her voice as casual as possible. "Yes. By the way...last June I went to my ten-year high school reunion in Bedford."

He nodded. "Did you enjoy it?"

"No." She spoke slowly, choosing her words carefully. "I-I found out that the day after you and I left for London, Jim Cleary's body...was found . He had been stabbed...and castrated." She sat there, watching him, waiting for a reaction.

Dr. Patterson frowned. "Cleary? Oh, yes. That boy who was panting after you. I saved you from him, didn't I?"

What did that mean? Was it a confession? Had he saved her from Jim Cleary by killing him?

Ashley took a deep breath and went on. "Dennis Tibbie was murdered the same way. He was stabbed and castrated." She watched her father pick up a roll and carefully b.u.t.ter it.

When he spoke, he said, "I'm not surprised, Ashley. Bad people usually come to a bad end."

And this was a doctor, a man dedicated to saving lives. I'll never understand him, I'll never understand him, Ashley thought. Ashley thought. I don't think I want to. I don't think I want to.

By the time dinner was over, Ashley was no closer to the truth.

Toni said, "I really enjoyed Quebec City, Alette. I'd like to go back someday. Did you have a good time?"

Alette said shyly, "I enjoyed the museums."

"Have you called your boyfriend in San Francisco yet?"

"He's not my boyfriend."

"I'll bet you want him to be, don't you?"

"Forse. Perhaps." Perhaps."

"Why don't you call him?"

"I don't think it would be proper to-"

"Call him."