When She Dreams（Burning Cove #6）(54)

All the time in the world. It was a depressing thought.

She did not want to contemplate the very distinct possibility that once Sam’s work was done she might never see him again, except perhaps on the streets of Adelina Beach. Or in a restaurant. At the grocery store. In a theater. The gas station.

Adelina Beach was a small community. She might have to move.

Apparently oblivious to her mood, Sam closed her door, got behind the wheel, and drove back toward the hotel. He was a very good driver, she decided. Not an exciting driver, but a calm, careful driver. There was something to be said for calm and careful.

Last night she had witnessed a very different side to Sam Sage. He was not calm when he made love. He had been very, very careful, however—careful to make sure she was completely satisfied.

“Well?” he prompted.

“Pru filled me in on the legend of the Traveler, most of which we already knew, but she came across what looks like a reference to Virginia Jennaway’s death in a journal dedicated to dream research. The article was written by a distinguished authority who was apparently extremely anxious to squelch the rumors of the Traveler’s involvement in Jennaway’s death. Dr. Emerson Oxlade.”

“Interesting.”

“Oxlade is very keen to make sure his professional reputation remains unsullied. He doesn’t want the other experts in the field concluding he’s a quack.”

“Yet he’s now affiliated with the Guilfoyles, who are walking a very fine line when it comes to respectability.”

Maggie considered that for a moment. “Dolores Guilfoyle is certainly skilled when it comes to selling dreams. She obviously has a talent for promoting the business. Arthur is a good actor.”

“It’s safe to say both of them are in it for the money, but Oxlade has a different agenda,” Sam said. “His research and his reputation are more important to him than making a profit, and he holds all the cards because he controls the drug.”



* * *





When they returned to the hotel, the front desk clerk handed Sam a message from Raina Kirk. Sam read it quickly and handed it to Maggie.

    Expect to have news of your aunt tomorrow.





Chapter 29




Maggie braced herself for the disturbing shadow inside the theater and allowed the handsome dream guide named Larry to escort her into the room. For one very unnerving moment she thought he was going to show her to the seat at the far end of the last row, the one where Beverly Nevins’s body had been found. She definitely could not sit there. But to her relief he settled her closer to the stage.

“Mr. Guilfoyle was very specific about the location of your seat,” Larry confided. “He wanted to make sure you had a good view.”

So Guilfoyle had ordered Larry to seat her on the side of the theater that was farthest away from the door? Interesting. There were no bad seats in the small space. Each one had a clear view of the stage. The only thing that had been accomplished by positioning her at the far end of an aisle was making sure she would be one of the last people out the door when the demonstration was over.

“Thank you,” she said.

Larry smiled. “Enjoy the dream reading.”

She caught a whiff of marijuana smoke clinging to his clothes and remembered what Valerie had said about the dream guides. They all smoked some of Larry’s reefers.

The dream generator had been removed from the elevated stage. In its place was a gilded crimson velvet couch and a single chair. There were only twelve people in the audience, as Dolores Guilfoyle had promised.

Maggie felt underdressed. She had chosen a crisp business suit for the demonstration, but everyone else looked as if they had been invited to a formal reception. The men were in evening jackets and the women wore cocktail gowns. Maybe they were planning to go out on the town after the event.

The other eleven observers—four couples, a single man, and two women—varied in age, but they all had one thing in common: They were clearly affluent. These were the people who were expected to buy their way up to the highest, most expensive levels of the Guilfoyle program. Aside from a few polite murmurs, the attendees ignored each other. They were here for one reason only—to witness an exhibition of psychic lucid dreaming.

There was no sign of either the Guilfoyles or Emerson Oxlade. Maggie assumed they were all backstage.

When the lights were lowered, Maggie took one last look at her watch before the room darkened. It was a little after eight. Sam would be making his way through the gardens to the guest villa Oxlade was using. The thought sent another unsettling frisson down her spine.

There was no more time to think about the risks that Sam was planning to take because Dolores Guilfoyle, dressed in a long, heavily beaded beige gown, walked out onto the stage. Her dramatic makeup and the deep waves of her hair enhanced her aura of glamour. Elbow-length gloves and sparkling earrings finished the look.

“Welcome to this exclusive demonstration of the power of the Guilfoyle Method,” she said. “Each of you was selected for this opportunity because Mr. Guilfoyle sensed you possess the special spark of latent psychic talent that enables certain individuals to advance to the highest level of the Method. Very few individuals have the ability, let alone the determination, to make it to the top.”

In other words, not everyone has the cash required to climb the Guilfoyle Method ladder, Maggie thought.