Dream a Little Scream by Mary Kennedy Page B

is digging up information right now. I’ve already made reservations for the four of us to go over the case tonight.”
Reservations?
My pulse went up a notch. “Dinner at Marcelo’s at seven. Can you and Ali make it? Sara has already said yes.”
    I didn’t hesitate. Marcelo’s is my favorite Italian restaurant in Savannah. “We’ll be there.” I flipped my phone shut and then glanced at my watch. I’d have to hustle. Just time enough to dash upstairs, take a quick shower, and pull on a sundress. I called to Ali over my shoulder, “Don’t defrost anything for dinner. Noah is taking us to Marcelo’s.”
    â€œWon’t three be a crowd?” she teased. “I’m sure he’d rather dine solo with you.”
    â€œNot tonight,” I shot back. “Sara’s coming, too. We’re going to be discussing what happened to Sonia. He’s just concerned because she was murdered here; it’s not a date.”
    â€œIf you say so,” she said, raising her eyebrows just a tad. “But from what I remember, Noah has trouble separating business from pleasure.”
    I could understand her suspicions. Noah Chandler and I have had an on-again, off-again relationship since I moved to Savannah. We have a “history,” as folks are fond of saying. I first met Noah when we both worked in Atlanta, where we spent an intense two years together. I was working as astrategist for a consulting firm and Noah was an FBI agent with the Atlanta field office. It was love at first sight, but not the type of love that’s sustainable. The timing was off. I was traveling nonstop, we were both workaholics, and neither one of us had the time or energy to devote to a relationship.
    Noah moved to Savannah shortly after I arrived to help Ali with the shop. He has family in town—a couple of elderly aunts, along with a cousin on the police force—and he’s always loved the South. He said he’d had enough of the Bureau, that’s why he decided to set up his own detective agency. He’s quickly built a reputation for being smart, tough, and honest. I ran into him at a dinner party when Ali and I were investigating Chico’s murder a few months ago, and now we’ve started seeing each other again.
    This time, we’re taking it slow. It’s not a red-hot romance like in the old days, just a warm friendship that will stand the test of time.
    We’re both different people than we were when we were younger. Now that Noah’s in Savannah, he seems happier and more relaxed than I’ve ever seen him. He tells me I’m more laid-back since I gave up my corporate job in Chicago. It makes me wonder what would have happened if we’d both stepped away from our stressful lifestyles back in Atlanta. Would we have been kinder and gentler with each other? Less obsessed with our careers and more committed to our relationship?
    Water under the bridge, as Noah would say. Noah always tells me I spend too much time on might-have-beens and insists I need to focus on the moment. I tell him I’m working on it but old habits die hard.
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    â€œWhat do we know so far?” Sara said, whipping out her notebook. Sara, a green-eyed blonde, is as a bright as she isbeautiful. She went to journalism school at Emory and won every journalism award the school offered. We were friends back in Atlanta, and I knew how much she wanted to be an investigative reporter. I was delighted to find her in Savannah and hoped she would find her niche here.
    Journalism is a tough field, and at the moment, she’s working as a stringer for the local paper. She covers whatever stories they assign her—everything from basketball games to city council meetings to the police desk—but I know she’d like to specialize in crime reporting. I think someday she’d even like to write true crime novels like her idol,