When She Dreams (Burning Cove #6)(60)

“And you have the nerve to accuse me of having a vivid imagination. Someone tries to run you down in a parking lot while you are in the middle of what is very likely a murder investigation and you’re trying to call it an accident?”

He should have known better than to try to lie to her. He exhaled and cracked open the door. “Let’s go inside. I’d rather have this conversation somewhere other than this damn parking lot.”

He got out from behind the wheel. Maggie did not wait for him to reach her side of the Packard. She extracted herself from the passenger seat and hurried to join him.

“What did the car look like?” she asked, scanning the parking lot.

“Like every other late-model Ford sedan on the road.”

“Did you see the driver?”

“No. The car came from behind. By the time I picked myself up off the ground, the Ford was out of the parking lot. It disappeared around the curve, heading toward Cliff Road.”

“Or the Institute,” Maggie said.

“Or the Institute,” he agreed. “I did a quick check of the parking lot there while I waited for you.”

“Great idea.”

“I certainly thought so. There were two Fords in the lot. Both engines were cold.”

“Oh.” She hesitated, clearly disappointed. But true to form, her spirits quickly revived. “When you think about it, there are a number of places where you could conceal a vehicle on the grounds of the Institute. The old caretaker’s garage. Behind the gardener’s toolshed or one of the buildings that is still boarded up. For that matter, you could hide a car off the grounds as well and walk back through the gardens.”

“Unfortunately, I didn’t have time to check all the possibilities,” he said.

“And you didn’t get a look at the driver.”

“No. Just a short glimpse of the silhouette from the back. Whoever it was wore a man’s hat, but that’s all I could see.”

“So it was a man at the wheel?”

“Maybe.”

Maggie shot him a quick glance. “Maybe?”

“A man’s hat set at the right angle makes a very good disguise for a woman, especially if you only catch a glimpse of her silhouette from the back.”

“I hate to tell you this, but you make a lousy eyewitness, considering you used to be a cop.”

“I know.”





Chapter 34




What have you done, Arthur?” Dolores Guilfoyle used the silver lighter on the coffee table to ignite a cigarette. She inhaled deeply and was shocked to see that her hand was shaking. “What did you say to the Lodge woman that made Oxlade think he had been deceived?”

Arthur grimaced and went to the drinks cart. “He was upset because I used the Traveler in the dream reading.”

“The Traveler?” Dolores snapped the cigarette out of her mouth. “What were you thinking? You know Oxlade is paranoid about that legend. He doesn’t want to be associated with it.”

“I know, but I was in danger of losing my audience.” Arthur poured himself a scotch and soda. “The questions were the usual: Where is the missing will? Should I invest in this company? I needed a dramatic touch. I’m trying to sell the Method, not tickets to a two-bit traveling psychic reading show.”

“But why the Traveler? You know how Oxlade feels about that subject.”

“All right, I went overboard, but I did it for Oxlade’s sake.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was trying to set the hook with Lodge. Oxlade told me she had fragile nerves because of her talent. He said she was prone to hysteria. I assumed she was the type to buy the Traveler story and become anxious. I would then be able to step in and gallantly offer to rescue her with my talent.”

Dolores shook her head, disgusted. “You acted on impulse, and your plan backfired.”

Arthur gulped some of his scotch and soda. “I managed to persuade Lodge to stay behind in the theater for a few minutes after the performance. We . . . talked. Unfortunately, she doesn’t believe in astral projection or the idea of a psychic assassin who murders people in their dreams. She accused me of running a con.”

“So you backpedaled, didn’t you? Tried to convince her you don’t really believe in astral projection or the Traveler?”

“I went a little beyond that,” Arthur admitted. “I explained I had fooled Oxlade into thinking I had tapped into my psychic senses because I needed him and his reputation to make the Institute look good. Oxlade was backstage. He overheard me.”

“Damn it to hell,” Dolores whispered. “He’s going to cut off his association with us, isn’t he?”

“He was annoyed, Dolores. I think we’re going to lose him, and if we do, we’ll lose the drug. You have to do something.”

“Such as?” She went to the window and looked out into the night. “I’ve cleaned up a lot of your messes but I don’t know if I can deal with this one.”

“Don’t say that. Look, I agree with you. We can get by without Oxlade, but we need the drug. That’s what will set the Guilfoyle Method apart from all the other lucid dreaming programs. The drug makes people believe.”

She looked back at him. “You mean you need the drug, Arthur. You’ve fallen for your own con. You really think the enhancer has opened the pathway to your psychic senses.”