When She Dreams (Burning Cove #6)(84)

“You can’t prove anything,” Arthur said.

“Not without the diary. It ties everything together, doesn’t it?”

“What, exactly, do you know about the diary?”

Sam chuckled. “Maggie did some lucid dreaming last night. She said whoever searched Beverly Nevins’s room at the hotel found the diary and hid it right here in this house. Amazing.”

Arthur did not move. “You’re hallucinating.”

“I know.” Sam massaged his temples with his fingertips and tried to sit down on the chair. He ended up falling into it. He leaned his head against the back and closed his eyes.

“Maggie is the real deal,” he said. “Not a fake like you.” He opened his eyes. “But then you already know that, don’t you? It’s why you want to seduce her. You want to control her so that you can use her to build your empire here at the Institute. If you get Maggie, you’ll have a genuine psychic dream reader. You won’t have to rely on a phony like yourself.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“What’s wrong with the ceiling?” Sam said.

Arthur watched him closely. “What do you mean?”

“It’s disappearing.” Sam squinted. “You’re floating in midair.”

“About time,” Arthur muttered.

“What?”

“Listen to me, Sage. You’re hallucinating because I put a double dose of the enhancer in your scotch and soda.”

“Is that right?”

“In a few minutes you will be too drugged to make sense. But first we need to talk.”

“About Oxlade? You killed him, didn’t you? Your wife murdered the others, but you hammered Oxlade to death.”

“That’s how I got his supply of the drug. Hated to waste two doses of the stuff on you, but I need answers and dosage can be tricky. Consider me your dream guide. I’ll ask the questions. You will provide the answers.”

Sam smiled and spread his hands. “I’m an open book.”

“What else did Maggie tell you about the diary?”

“She said it was hidden in a very dark place. A safe, probably.”

Arthur stiffened. “She said it was in a safe?”

“She wasn’t positive, but it makes sense, doesn’t it? I mean, where else would you hide such a potentially dangerous object?”

Arthur’s jaw clenched. “Did she tell Detective Brandon about her dream?”

“Nope. Brandon doesn’t believe in psychic dreaming. Something’s happening to you, Guilfoyle. You’re fading a little. Are you traveling on the astral plane?”

“Where is Miss Lodge right now?”

“At the hotel, packing. We’re leaving for Adelina Beach when I get back.”

“Good,” Arthur said. “There’s time.”

“Time for what?”

“To make sure she doesn’t talk to Brandon. Once you’re out of the picture I will deal with Margaret Lodge.”

“But I’m in the picture.”

“Not for much longer.” A fever burned in Arthur’s eyes. He took a pistol out from under his coat. “On your feet.”

Sam used both hands in an effort to push himself up out of the big chair. When he showed signs of sinking back onto the cushions, Arthur clamped a hand around one of his arms and hauled him to his feet.

“I said get up, you interfering bastard,” Arthur muttered.

“Where are we going?” Sam asked.

“We will take a walk through the garden,” he said. “We will go out the gate and then you will jump off the cliff into the sea. Who knows where your body will wash ashore? When it does it will look like suicide or an accident.”

“The work of the Traveler, huh?”

“It will be interesting to see if those rumors circulate. Unlike Oxlade, I don’t think of that old legend as a problem. It adds drama. Gives me a certain mystique.”

Sam staggered a little. Arthur tightened his grip.

“Pushing me off a cliff is neat and tidy. Not messy like what you did to Oxlade. You’re getting better at this kind of thing.”

Arthur’s eyes glittered. “Oxlade made me angry.”

Sam nodded in solemn understanding. “You lost control. You’re as insane as your wife.”

Arthur’s face twisted. “Shut up.”

“Did you enjoy using the hammer on Oxlade?” Sam asked.

“It was very satisfying,” Arthur said. “But not nearly as satisfying as watching you go over the cliff will be.”

“I don’t feel like jumping off a cliff,” Sam said.

“You will when the time comes. You’ll think you’re flying. A real out-of-body experience.”

“Because of the enhancer you used to doctor my scotch and soda?”

“Exactly. You must be hallucinating like crazy by now.”

“Not really.” Sam stopped slurring his words. “I can’t say I was impressed with Dashiell Hammett’s detective in The Maltese Falcon, but I did pick up a couple of pointers. The main one being that it’s a bad idea to drink a cocktail the bad guy fixes for you. However, if you do drink it, make sure you know what’s in it.”