When She Dreams（Burning Cove #6）(43)

“Thanks,” Sam said.

The clerk plucked the room keys off the hooks and then reached into the little cubbyhole marked 215. He took out two envelopes.

“A couple of messages for you, Miss Lodge,” he said.

“Thank you.” She glanced at her name on the envelopes as she walked toward the stairs with Sam. “One is from the office of the Institute. The invitation to the private demonstration, no doubt.”

“Who’s the other one from?” Sam asked.

“I don’t know. I’ll open it when I get into my room.”

They went up the stairs and down the hall to 215 and 217. Maggie hurried into her room, dropped her handbag on the dressing table, and unsealed the envelopes. The first one was, as she had expected, an invitation to the dream reading.

She was opening the second envelope when Sam rapped on the connecting door.

“Come in,” she called.

He opened the door. “Is it personal, or do I need to know what’s in the second envelope?”

Maggie glanced at the message and drew in a sharp breath. “You need to hear it.” She read aloud. “The parking lot at the Carousel Club. Ten o’clock tonight. Flash the lights twice. I can tell you about the Traveler. Bring twenty-five dollars. Cash.”

“That’s a lot of money for details of an old legend,” Sam said. “Is there a signature?”

“No,” Maggie said. “But the note is obviously from someone who wants to sell us inside information. I’ll bet it’s a member of the Institute staff. This is a big break for us, Sam.”

“Maybe. Have you got twenty-five bucks to waste on what might be a useless tip?”

“Yes, I brought a fair amount of cash with me in case something like this happened,” Maggie said. “It’s just too bad the person who sent the note didn’t suggest the parking lot at the Paradise Club.”

“Why?”

“I would love to see the Paradise. I’ve heard it’s the hottest nightclub in Burning Cove.”





Chapter 22




I think we can guess why our helpful informant didn’t suggest that we meet in the parking lot at the Paradise,” Sam said. He glanced at the two goons lounging around the entrance of the Carousel as he drove past. “It probably has more impressive security.”

The neon sign above the Carousel Club sparked and flickered erratically, spitting shafts of light into the night. The random flashes reminded him of the dream generator in the theater at the Institute. If he believed in omens, he would consider the sign a bad one.

Meeting informants was always a risky business, but in this case it was about as safe as such ventures got. The top was up on the convertible to add some additional privacy. The Carousel’s security wasn’t first-class, but it looked tough enough to handle anything unpleasant that might take place in the parking lot.

Maggie studied the two men guarding the front door. “They don’t look like they are there to offer gracious valet service, do they?”

She had dressed for the meeting in a pair of dark trousers and a snug pullover sweater. Classy and sporty, Sam thought, amused. She looked as if she was about to go out for lunch at a country club. He, on the other hand, was properly dressed for the occasion. There was a pistol in the shoulder holster under his coat.

“Their primary job is to warn management if someone from law enforcement shows up,” he explained. “The secondary job is to handle misunderstandings.”

Maggie looked at him. “Can I assume that in this context, misunderstandings refers to fistfights among the patrons?”

“As well as the failure to pay bar tabs, gambling debts, or management’s commission on transactions that take place in the parking lot.”

“Do you mean they will expect us to pay them off for letting us meet with whoever sent the message?”

She didn’t sound concerned, just curious. Probably taking notes for her novel.

“We’re from out of town,” he said. “I’m sure there will be a special price for tourists. It will be worth it because they are providing security for us.”

“How?”

“No one is going to risk doing anything too dramatic here in the parking lot within view of those two.”

“They are carrying guns under their jackets, aren’t they?”

“I certainly hope so. We might need backup.”

He parked the Packard, flashed the lights a couple of times, and took the pistol out from under his coat.

For the first time Maggie looked alarmed. “I didn’t know you brought your gun.”

“Didn’t want to show up empty-handed. It was either the pistol or cupcakes. I didn’t have time to bake.”

Maggie reached into her handbag and took out a notepad.

“Put that away,” he warned.

Reluctantly she dropped the notepad back into her bag. “It was a great line.”

“Thanks. I worked on it.”

She eyed the gun. “Your pistol is rather small, isn’t it?”

“Some men might be offended by that comment.”

“Really? I apologize. I never meant to insult you.”

He sighed. “A snub-nosed .38 fits better under a coat than a Colt revolver.”