Tell Me Your Dreams

The Centre des Congres de Quebec on Rene Levesque Boulevard is a four-story, glass-and-steel, state-of-the-art building that can accommodate thousands of conventioneers. At nine o'clock in the morning, the vast halls were crowded with computer experts from all over the world, exchanging information on up-to-the-minute developments. They filled multimedia rooms, exhibit halls and video-conferencing centers. There were half a dozen and seminars going on simultaneously. Toni was bored. All talk and no action, she thought. At 12:45, she slipped out of the convention hall and took a taxi to the restaurant.

Jean Claude was waiting for her. He took her hand and said warmly, "Toni, I am so pleased you could come."

"So am I."

"I will try to make certain that your time here is very agreeable," Jean Claude told her. "This is a beautiful city to explore."

Toni looked at him and smiled. "I know I'm going to enjoy it."

"I would like to spend as much time with you as I can."

"Can you take the time off? What about the jewelry store?"

Jean Claude smiled. "It will have to manage without me."

The maitre brought menus.

Jean Claude said to Toni, "Would you like to try some of our French-Canadian dishes?"

"Fine."

"Then please let me order for you." He said to the maitre d', "Nous voudrions ie Brome Lake Duckling." He explained to Toni, "It is a local dish, duckling cooked in calvados and stuffed with apples."

"Sounds delicious."

And it was.

During luncheon, they filled each other in on their pasts.

"So. You've never been married?" Toni asked.

"No. And you?"

"No."

"You have not found the right man."

Oh, God, wouldn't it be wonderful if it were that simple. "No."

They talked of Quebec City and what there was to do there.

"Do you ski?"

Toni nodded. "I love it."

"Ah, bon, moi aussi. And there is snowmobiling, ice-skating, wonderful shopping..."

There was something almost boyish about his enthusiasm. Toni had never felt more comfortable with anyone.

Shane Miller arranged it so his group attended the convention mornings and had their afternoons free.

"I don't know what to do here," Alette complained to Toni. "It's freezing. What are you going to do?"

"Everything." Toni grinned.

"A piu tardi."

Toni and Jean Claude had lunch together every day, and every afternoon, Jean Claude took Toni on a tour. She had never seen any place like Quebec City. It was like finding a turn-of-the-century picturesque French village in North America. The ancient streets had colorful names like Break Neck Stairs and Below the Fort and Sailor's Leap. It was a Currier & Ives city, framed in snow.

They visited La Citadelle, with its walls protecting Old Quebec, and they watched the traditional changing of the guard inside the walls of the fort. They explored the shopping streets. Saint Jean, Cartier, C6te de la Fabrique, and wandered through the Quartier Petit Champlain.

"This is the oldest commercial district in North America," Jean Claude told her.

"It's super."

Everywhere they went, there were sparkling Christmas trees, nativity scenes and music for the enjoyment of the strollers.

Jean Claude took Toni snowmobiling in the countryside. As they raced down a narrow slope, he called out, "Are you having a good time?"

Toni sensed that it was not an idle question. She nodded and said softly, "I'm having a wonderful time."

Alette spent her time at museums. She visited the Basilica of Notre-Dame and the Good Shepherd Chapel and the Augustine Museum, but she had no interest in anything else that Quebec City offered. There were dozens of gourmet restaurants, but when she was not dining at the hotel, she ate at Le Commensal, a vegetarian cafeteria.

From time to time, Alette thought about her artist friend, Richard Melton, in San Francisco, and wondered what he was doing and if he would remember her.

Ashley was dreading Christmas. She was tempted to call her father and tell him not to come. But what excuse can I give? You're a murderer. I don't want to see you?

And each day Christmas was coming closer.

"I would like to show you my jewelry store," Jean Claude told Toni. "Would you care to see it?"

Toni nodded. "Love to."

Parent Jewelers was located in the heart of Quebec City, on rue Notre-Dame. When she walked in the door, Toni was stunned. On the Internet, Jean Claude had said, "I have a little jewelry store." It was a very large store, tastefully done. Half a dozen clerks were busy with customers.

Toni looked around and said, "It's - it's smashing."

He smiled. "Merci. I would like to give you a cadeau -  a gift, for Christmas."

"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.

"Voila!  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 assured 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. 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 passions, 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."

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

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

Toni thought, I wish this could go on forever.

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

Toni hesitated. "Not tonight, Jean Claude."

"Tomorrow, 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?"

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?"

There was no response. The house was unnaturally quiet. Unbuttoning his gun holster, Officer Picard began to go through the downstairs rooms, 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!"

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 sex 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 God'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.