When She Dreams（Burning Cove #6）(40)

“Would you like some advice?” Maggie asked.

Dolores hesitated, wary but curious. “What is it?”

“I agree with you,” Maggie said. “The news of the imposter is bound to get out sooner or later. But if the Institute moved fast and took credit for unmasking the fake Cornelia, it might actually enhance the reputation of the Guilfoyle Method.”

Dolores appeared to have been struck by electricity for the second time. An instant later, excitement lit her eyes.

“That is a brilliant idea, Miss Lodge,” she said. “I should have thought of it myself. If Arthur announces in his opening lecture that during the night he experienced a lucid dream that allowed him to detect the deception, we can take control of this situation. He will be able to offer proof of the effectiveness of the Method. Excuse me. I must speak to him immediately. He is scheduled to go onstage in a few minutes.”

She started to turn away.

“One more thing,” Sam said. “Ever heard of the Traveler? He’s supposed to be a sort of dream assassin.”

Dolores stopped suddenly and turned back to stare at him. “I don’t understand. Who told you about that old legend?”

“Someone mentioned it recently,” Sam said. “I was just curious. Part of my job as Miss Lodge’s assistant is to note interesting tales that circulate in the world of lucid dreamers.”

“Forget the Traveler,” Dolores said. “It’s just a silly myth that has been floating around the dream research community for years. I don’t have time to go into the details now—I must speak to Arthur before he goes onstage.”

Sam watched thoughtfully as Dolores vanished around the corner. “I got the impression she’s a little more concerned about the legend of the Traveler than she let on.”

“She certainly recognized the story,” Maggie said. “But anyone who is as familiar with dream theories and analysis as she is would have heard about the Traveler.”

“She wasn’t just familiar with the legend; she was worried about it,” Sam said. “Trust me.”

“I hired you for your professional intuition,” Maggie said. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“My professional intuition got me fired from my last job.”

“Obviously you were working for the wrong employer.”

They walked out of the alcove, heading for the doors of the lecture hall. Sam’s mouth kicked up at the corner.

“You know, that was a very sharp suggestion you gave Dolores Guilfoyle,” he said. “If her husband takes your advice and pretends he uncovered Phyllis Gaines’s deception in a lucid dream, the Institute might end up with some great publicity.”

“I didn’t offer the advice to help the Guilfoyles polish the image of the Institute. I’m hoping my version gets into the newspapers because it will ensure that everyone knows the redhead seen partying at a nightclub in Burning Cove was not the real Aunt Cornelia.”

“Got it,” Sam said. “You’re trying to protect your employer’s reputation. Smart move.”

“Thanks, but it will only work if the Guilfoyles take my advice.”

“Five will get you ten Dolores Guilfoyle convinces her husband to go along with the plan.”

“No bet,” Maggie said. “Speaking of Dolores Guilfoyle . . .”

“What?” Sam asked.

“I think she’s the jealous type.”

“Who isn’t?”

“Good point.”

“Your point is valid, too,” Sam said. “Mrs. Guilfoyle has a lot at stake. Regardless of her personal feelings about her husband, she knows he’s vital to the future of the Institute.”

“True,” Maggie said. “He’s the box-office draw.”





Chapter 21




Arthur Guilfoyle stalked onto the stage radiating drama in a high-collared black coat that looked as if it had been borrowed from the wardrobe Bela Lugosi had used in Dracula.

Guilfoyle moved into the glare of the spotlight, head bowed as though he was gathering strength for what lay ahead. A breathless hush gripped the lecture hall. Maggie was impressed. He had spoken not a single word, but everyone was on tenterhooks. Well, not Sam, she decided. It would take a lot to put him on tenterhooks. But there was no doubt everyone else in the auditorium was excited, including her. In spite of her misgivings about the Guilfoyle Method, she was interested to hear what Guilfoyle had to say.

You had to hand it to the man, she thought. He might or might not be a fraud, but he had what it took to command the room. It wasn’t just his extraordinarily handsome appearance. Onstage, he exuded a compelling energy.

Arthur seized the edges of the podium with both hands and flung up his head as though he had just sunk his fangs into a lady’s throat and was savoring the thrill of fresh blood. He was wearing stage makeup. A lot of it. His magnetic eyes had been rendered even larger and more intense by the application of dark eye shadow and eyeliner.

She slanted a sideways glance at Sam, who was lounging in the seat beside her. In the shadows it was difficult to be certain, but she thought he was amused.

“I am here to welcome you to the first annual conference of the Guilfoyle Institute of Dream Analysis,” Arthur said. His resonant voice, enhanced by a microphone, rolled across the auditorium. “You are about to embark on a journey that will open your minds to new planes of awareness and a new kind of knowledge. You will begin your climb up the ladder of the Guilfoyle Method and glimpse the astonishing things that await you when you reach the top. But before we begin, I have unpleasant news to report.”