“Are you sure it’s a memory and not remnants of the nightmare? Do you want to go inside, maybe get something to drink?”
“I—I think so. I need to process it all.”
He released her and climbed out of the truck, but before he could get around to the other side to open her door, she was out and at the hood of the vehicle. She grabbed his hand in a death grip, and her hand trembled in his. Whatever she’d dreamed had scared her badly.
He led her up the steps and unlocked the door. Both kittens met them when they entered. He flipped on the light in the kitchen and went to get her something to drink. “Tea?”
She nodded, and he dispensed hot water from the fridge, then dropped a chamomile tea bag into the steaming cup. He made another one for himself and carried them both to the living room. He put the tea on the coffee table before settling on the sofa and pulling her into his lap. “You’re still shaking.”
“It was all my fault. No wonder I felt so guilty.”
“Babe, you were a kid. No matter what happened, you didn’t kill your parents. Some maniac did.” She buried her face in his neck, and her tears dampened his skin. He held her close, murmuring consoling noises, but she still trembled.
He’d never seen her in such a desolate state, and he didn’t want to rush her into telling him before she was ready. If he could take her pain, he would, but all he could do was hold her and try to absorb as much of it as possible. It didn’t feel like enough.
She lifted her head and swiped at her wet cheeks. Tears still swam in her reddened eyes, and despair twisted her features. “In my dream I couldn’t see who was at the door, but I threw it open for him because he had a music box with a monkey with cymbals, just like the one inThe Phantom of the Opera. I couldn’t wait to see one in real life. I can still remember how it felt to hold it and the way the monkey seemed to smile with glee as he crashed the cymbals toward each other. I smiled, too, and barely noticed when he moved past me into the house. He said he’d found it on the doorstep and was just there to take a look at our cable box.”
“Did he look at your TV?”
“I think so, but I can’t remember. I was too excited about the music box. I took it to my bedroom and played it until it was bedtime.”
“So you never saw him leave? Babe, that might not have even been the murderer. It might really have been a cable repair guy who fixed your box and left.”
“And he might have been lurking in one of the bedrooms until he was ready to make his move.”
He grabbed a tissue from the box on the end table and dabbed at the tears on her face, then mopped the moisture from his neck. “I think your mom would have noticed.”
She took the tissue and dabbed at her eyes herself. “She was hanging clothes on the line in the backyard.”
“Maybe someone really did leave the monkey on the porch.”
“Who would have done that?” She jerked another tissue from the box. “Now that I’m starting to remember, maybe I’ll be able to recall what he looked like. And this opens the pool of suspects. If it was a stranger I let in, I might not have known him.”
She sank back against him, and he pulled her close. He wasn’t sure he wanted her to remember something that might put her in the bull’s-eye of a madman.
Paradise studied the music box in front of her on the booth’s table inside University Grounds where she waited for Abby. The monkey’s mocking smile made her shudder, but it was her imagination making it appear malevolent. It was just a music box, not some supernatural trinket that cursed the owner.
The hiss of the steamer wand and the comforting scent of coffee and cinnamon filled the space and began to ease the tension she’d felt ever since her nightmare. Though Blake had wondered if her memory was just a remnant of her nightmare, she was positive it had really happened.
Abby arrived with her auburn hair windblown but still beautiful. She smiled when she spotted Paradise, who held up the cup of coffee she’d already purchased for her friend. She slid the cup across the table when Abby approached. “A caramel macchiato, extra hot.”
“Perfect. You’d think I would vary my choice, but I like routine.” Abby settled on the booth bench across from Paradise. Her attention went to the music box. “I wasn’t expecting to seethis little guy. What’s up? Your text sounded mysterious and upset.”
Paradise touched the monkey’s cymbal. “When my parents died, do you remember me having a music box like this? I think I called you when someone gave me one.”
Abby took a sip of her drink. “I think this is that same music box, Paradise. It looks just like it. Your signature should be on it.” She picked up the music box and turned it upside down, then peeled off the envelope where Paradise had found the tickets. “There it is.”
She flipped it around to show Paradise. “Look, you wrote your name in blue marker. When you went to foster care, the belongings in the house were auctioned off. My dad bought it for me.” She made a face. “I wanted to give it to you, but my dad thought it would make you sad so I delayed, and over the years it got buried in a box in our basement. I forgot all about it. How’d you get it? I thought it was still in the basement at Dad’s ranch.”
Paradise stared at her name in a childish cursive. “I had a nightmare yesterday and remembered a cable guy handing this to me and coming inside the night my parents died. When I woke I knew it was true.”
“It was. You called me very excited about it, and I came over to see it. The tune drove your mom crazy, and she made you put it up after a couple of hours. You don’t remember me coming over?”
Paradise rubbed her forehead. “My memories of the weeks just before and after that day are very vague and jumbled. I wish I could pluck them out of the fog.”
“I’m happy to share mine with you.” Abby’s smile reached deep into her brown eyes. “I was at your house the week before, and we helped your mom make cupcakes, chocolate and vanilla.”
“With sprinkles,” Paradise whispered.
