When She Dreams (Burning Cove #6)(62)

He peeled off his jacket, opened his collar, and loosened his tie. He collected the bottle of whiskey and two glasses and rapped twice, softly, on the connecting door. He could get used to having Maggie on the other side of the door. He could get used to having her in his bed.

Maggie opened the door so quickly he knew she must have been preparing to knock. She had unfastened the snug jacket of her tailored suit, but that was as far as she had gotten with undressing. Her hair was still clipped back behind her ears.

He pushed aside the memory of the previous night when she had opened the door dressed in a robe and slippers, her hair loose around her shoulders. The sex had been amazing. He reminded himself that last night had broken a long dry spell. His judgment was probably somewhat cloudy. Still.

“What did you find inside Oxlade’s villa?” she asked.

Obviously she was not thinking about the scorching-hot sex.

He set the bottle on the table, poured some whiskey, and handed her one of the glasses. He picked up his own glass and began to prowl the room. He needed to put a little distance between the two of them.

He gave her a concise summary of the search.

Maggie set aside her unfinished whiskey.

“The Guilfoyles are professional liars,” she said. “It would be pointless to confront them, at least not without evidence. But Oxlade is different. His weakness is his fear of losing his reputation as an esteemed expert. I think he might talk if he is approached in the right way.”

“I agree,” Sam said.

“Now,” Maggie said. “Tonight.”

Sam looked at her. “Why tonight?”

“Because I think he’ll be leaving first thing in the morning,” Maggie said. “I haven’t had a chance to tell you about my conversation with Arthur Guilfoyle after the psychic reading demonstration. Guilfoyle and Oxlade quarreled. Well, to be precise, Oxlade quarreled. He was furious because he overheard Guilfoyle admit to me that he had conned Oxlade. Oxlade stomped out of the theater. I’m sure he’s planning to leave town as soon as possible.”

Sam considered that. “Guilfoyle actually fooled Oxlade?”

“To be fair, I think Guilfoyle probably is a lucid dreamer. There’s no way to know for sure. But he’s definitely a skilled actor and a practiced con artist.”

“And Oxlade desperately wants to believe in his own theories and the drug,” Sam said. “He was an easy mark for Guilfoyle.”

“Until tonight,” Maggie said. “Guilfoyle took things a step too far at the dream reading. He told the audience he could see the Traveler hunting for a victim—a woman—who might be in the room.”

Sam went still. “You?”

“He was trying to scare me, yes.”

“Bastard.”

“It did not go well for him,” Maggie said. She went to the closet and took out a pair of trousers. “I could see that Oxlade was upset onstage. Later, when he overheard Guilfoyle admit to the con, he was furious. I’ll tell you all about it on the way back to the Institute. But first I have to change my clothes. This suit isn’t practical for sneaking into the gardens.”

“I agree, but before you get too excited about a confrontation with Oxlade, I think we should make a plan.”

“Certainly. What did you have in mind?”

“Are your acting skills as good as your imagination?”

“I am an excellent actress,” she said. “I admit I have a limited repertoire, but what I do, I do very, very well. I’m especially good at playing normal.”

“What makes you so sure of that?”

“The fact that I am not currently residing in an asylum.”

Sam watched her unfasten her skirt.

“Yet another Maggie Lodge mystery,” he said. “As it happens, normal is not what we’re going for tonight. Can you play the opposite?”

“Sure, but I’ll need your word of honor that you won’t let anyone put me away because of a really good acting job.”

She was trying to make light of it, but the wariness in her eyes was only a half step from fear.

He walked to stand in front of her and caught her chin on the edge of his hand.

“I promise you that if anyone ever locks you up I will tear down the walls of your prison and take you out of it,” he vowed.

A sheen of tears glittered in her eyes. She blinked them away and managed a shaky smile.

“Deal,” she said.





Chapter 36




The rain started shortly before midnight. Emerson Oxlade almost changed his mind about leaving. He did not like the thought of driving back to L.A. in such weather, especially at night. But the urge to escape the looming disaster that threatened his reputation and his career was too powerful to ignore.

He had to get away from the Institute and Burning Cove as soon as possible. If he stayed to give his lecture in the morning he would be swamped with silly questions about the Traveler and Guilfoyle’s ridiculous statements onstage earlier in the evening. The press would no doubt pick up the story. He could not face any of it. He had to leave.

The woman carrying the dark umbrella emerged from the rain-drenched gardens just as he was about to stow the first suitcase in the trunk of his car. In the weak light of the lamp over the door she was little more than a shadowy silhouette.