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and write down everything you’ve seen and heard? That seems to be far more sensible.”
    He nodded after he finished this little speech, and he reminded me of some professors I’d encountered in graduate school. Not quite smug, but certainly sure of himself. I wondered how open he would be to new ideas. There’s a lot of give-and-take in the Dream Club, and everyone is encouraged to voice his or her opinion. Would Edward really be a good addition to the mix?
    â€œI think you’re speaking as a researcher,” Lucinda said in her breathy little voice. “I used to be an educator, too, and I never thought I’d be able to switch gears and turn off my ‘left brain.’” She gave a self-deprecating laugh. “It’s all about right brain in the Dream Club.”
    â€œLucinda is right,” Sybil said with a touch of exasperation. I could see that Edward was what the group would call a “doubter,” someone who was interested in dreams but not convinced of their power. I felt the same way when I first came to Savannah. I was secretly amused at Ali’s faith in the Dream Club and had no idea that their insights would prove to be so valuable. “Even if someone had total recall—which most of us don’t—dreams offer us new insights into everything our senses tell us. Dreams can highlight important issues for us, things that seemed inconsequential at the time.”
    â€œThe reason dreams are so difficult to interpret, Edward, is because they’re very complex,” Persia offered. “It takes real skill to make sense of them, and I learn something new every week.”
    â€œI hope I can get some tips, too,” Etta Mae said. “All the women in my family have the gift of prophecy, and that’s why I wanted to join this group.” She helped herself to a brownie, and then she went for a quick change of subject. Was it deliberate? “This is delicious,” she said, inspecting it. “How’d you get it so moist?” she asked, taking a bite.
    â€œKahlúa is the secret,” Ali told her. “You can’t really taste the alcohol, because it burns off in cooking, but it gives it a very nice flavor.” She waited a beat and then said, “You mentioned earlier that you had a bad experience with Sonia. Would you like to tell us more about it?”
    Etta Mae’s face twisted into a frown and she let out a low, strangled laugh. “Unpleasant? You could say that. She stole something precious from me and my family.” She looked around the circle. “She comes across sweet as pie on television, like the next-door neighbor you wish you had, but trust me, it’s all an act. The woman’s a thief.”
    â€œThat’s a very serious accusation,” Lucinda saidreproachfully. There’s still something of the schoolmarm about Lucinda, even though she retired from her headmistress job a few years ago. “I hope you have evidence to back up your statement.”
    â€œYou bet I do!” Etta Mae cackled. She gestured to her tote bag. “The proof’s right in there. Her new book proves it. It’s a total rip-off of my family recipes. I’m so glad you loaned it to me, Ali. I’ll return it to you.” She laid it on the coffee table. “I have my own copy from the book signing. And now I have something
really
interesting to show you.” She reached into a tote bag and pulled out a battered leather-bound book the size of a scrapbook.
    â€œYour family cookbook,” Minerva said. “You carry it with you?”
    â€œI thought we could pass it around,” Etta Mae said with shy pride. “It’s kind of fragile, so I’d appreciate if you turn the pages real carefully. Some of the recipes were glued in there more than a hundred years ago, so you have to watch they don’t slip out. They’re hanging by a thread. I’m surprised it’s lasted as long