When She Dreams (Burning Cove #6)(9)
From his point of view—a detective’s point of view—a scientific approach to dream research was inherently difficult, if not impossible, because the nature of dreams meant doctors and researchers were forced to rely on the reports of the only eyewitnesses—the dreamers. Every cop knew eyewitnesses were notoriously unreliable.
It looked like he had a screwy client, which meant it would be a screwy case, but it beat divorce work.
A new operator came on the line. “Long distance.”
“Keeley Point Police Department, please,” he said.
Chapter 4
I hope you know what you’re doing,” Prudence Ryland said. “Hiring a private investigator is a very serious matter. They’re a shady bunch, always sneaking around in the bushes taking pictures of people in compromising situations.”
“You know perfectly well I haven’t got a clue what I’m doing,” Maggie said. “But I can’t think of any other strategy. I don’t know how to conduct an investigation. I need a professional detective. Mr. Sage is the only one in town who appears to be at least somewhat qualified for the job.”
She picked up half of her tuna salad sandwich and took a bite. Pru was munching an egg salad sandwich. They were eating lunch in the Adelina Beach College cafeteria, and they were eating quickly. In precisely nineteen minutes Pru would be rushing back to her desk in the library of the school’s recently established Department of Parapsychology. As a very new member of the staff, she could not afford to take the risk of being late.
“You said he’s a former police detective?” Pru asked, her eyes bright with curiosity. “That’s a good sign, I suppose.”
She was wearing what she called a business suit. Maggie had labeled the dark, depressing outfit her Stern Governess costume—a tailored, close-fitting black jacket; a narrow black skirt; and mid-heel black lace-up oxfords. Her hair was pulled back in a prim bun, and she wore a pair of gold-framed spectacles. Her only item of jewelry was a watch. It had a black leather band.
She was doing her best to fit in with the faculty and staff of the college, but in Maggie’s opinion anyone with an ounce of perception could see the bright, adventurous spirit and crisp intelligence beneath the dull plumage. In reality, of course, the vast majority of people never bothered to look beneath the surface. They saw what they expected to see, which was a good thing, Maggie thought, because it allowed her and Pru to masquerade as normal.
When Pru had landed the position in the library she had been euphoric, convinced she had found the perfect career. Sadly, it was starting to look like a job in a research library—even one devoted to the study of the paranormal—came with all the customary limitations and challenges that confronted women in every field: male bosses who were slow to promote and obnoxious male colleagues who viewed women on the staff as prey.
Working in an academic institution involved additional challenges, not least of which was that the members of the teaching faculty never hesitated to make it clear they outranked the librarians.
It was obvious that the best way for a determined, independent-minded female to prosper in the world was to start her own business, Maggie thought. She and Pru each had plans for the future, but for now they both had to pay the bills.
“Mr. Sage told me he was fired from the Los Angeles Police Department,” she said.
“Really?” Pru’s brows shot up. “Did he say why?”
“Something about arresting the wrong man.”
“Hah. I’m sure that happens all the time and no one gets fired. Sounds fishy to me. If Mr. Sage was let go, he must have really bungled the arrest.”
“I know, but I got the feeling he did not want to talk about it,” Maggie said.
“I’m sure he didn’t. It would take a major blunder to get fired from the Los Angeles Police Department. So, we have a disgraced and divorced ex-cop who is barely getting by as a small-time private detective.” Pru’s eyes glinted with amusement. “Really, Maggie, couldn’t you have found a more disreputable investigator?”
“He wasn’t drunk at nine o’clock in the morning.”
“Wow. You’ve got to be impressed by a man who holds himself to such high standards.”
“I’m trying to remain optimistic,” Maggie said. “I’m worried, and I’m short on options.”
She took another bite of her sandwich. It was a relief to talk to her best friend. Pru was aware she worked for the reclusive woman who wrote the Aunt Cornelia column. Lillian Dewhurst herself had authorized the disclosure of her identity after meeting Prudence and concluding she could be trusted.
Maggie and Pru were neighbors in an inexpensive apartment house near the beach, but when Lillian had decided on the spur of the moment to sail for the South Pacific, she asked Maggie to move into the mansion on Sunset Lane and look after it while she was gone. “It’s never a good idea to leave a big house empty for a couple of months,” Lillian said.
Maggie had hesitated to make the move, but Pru encouraged her. “You’ll have a nice quiet place to write,” she pointed out. “Maybe you’ll be able to finish the first draft of your novel if you don’t have to listen to the couple upstairs fighting and the nightclub singer next door having sex with her shady boyfriend at three in the morning.”