“Well, now, this is interesting,” Sam said quietly.
Maggie realized he was focused on the other side of the room. She followed his gaze and was just in time to see the fake Cornelia disappear through the arched entrance of a dimly lit hallway.
“Maybe she doesn’t know the ladies’ room is in another wing,” Maggie said.
“She knows where she’s going.” Sam set his unfinished champagne on the console table. “Stay here. I’m going to follow her.”
“I’ll come with you.”
Sam hesitated but evidently concluded he did not want to waste time arguing. The fake Cornelia was already out of sight.
“All right,” he said, “but we don’t want anyone to notice us.”
“Don’t worry, the only person in the room who might pay attention to me is Oxlade, and he left some time ago,” Maggie said.
Oxlade aside, it was clear she and Sam had not drawn the interest of anyone else at the reception. She was proud her cover story had worked. The Guilfoyles had greeted them politely when they’d arrived, but they had spent the rest of the evening mingling with attendees who evidently ranked much higher on the social ladder. The four attractive dream guides were doing the same thing—charming the obviously more affluent guests.
“Let’s go,” Sam said.
They made their way around the edge of the crowd and went into the shadowed hallway the imposter had entered. The main light fixtures were off, but a wall sconce glowed at the far end of the corridor where it intersected with another wing.
Maggie heard the crisp click of fashionable high-heeled evening sandals echoing from the far end of the hall. She saw the shadowy figure of the fake Cornelia turn the corner and vanish into the adjoining wing.
Sam stopped and opened one of the French doors. “We’ll cut across the courtyard. It will be faster.”
Maggie followed him out into the darkened garden. They went quickly along a flagstone path lit by a nearly full moon. A fountain murmured softly in the shadows.
“What if the doors on that side of the courtyard are locked?” she asked.
“I doubt if they are,” Sam said. “Why bother? The courtyard is secured on all four sides. But even if they are locked, it won’t be a problem.”
“Meaning you can pick a lock?”
“You learn things when you arrest bad guys.”
“I’ll bet. You were definitely right about one thing—the imposter seems to know where she is going. If she was looking for the ladies’ room she would have turned back by now.”
The windowed doors that lined the hallway on the far side of the courtyard were, indeed, unlocked. Maggie followed Sam into the gloom of another dimly lit corridor. He drew her to a halt and touched her lips with one finger. She got the message.
The imposter was nowhere to be seen. Maggie was starting to fear they had lost their quarry when a woman’s scream echoed from the far end of the hall. The primal sound raised the hair on the back of Maggie’s neck.
“Sam,” she whispered.
“Stay here,” he ordered.
He started forward just as the door at the end of the corridor slammed open. The imposter flew out, silhouetted by bursts of flashing lights. She was no longer screaming. She appeared to be running for her life. Her long skirts whipped around her ankles.
She did not notice Sam until he loomed in her path. She scrambled to a stop, stricken.
“Please don’t hurt me,” she gasped. “I won’t tell anyone. I swear, I won’t tell anyone.”
“Don’t move,” Sam said.
The imposter froze, automatically obeying the command. He stepped around her and disappeared into the room.
Maggie hurried forward and stopped directly in front of the fake Cornelia. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
Her sharp tone of voice broke the momentary spell cast by Sam’s order. The woman took a rasping breath.
“I don’t know,” she whispered. “I had nothing to do with it.”
“Are you all right?”
“I have to get out of here,” the imposter said.
She dodged around Maggie and fled down the corridor, heading toward the lobby.
Maggie went to the doorway and looked into the disturbing storm of flickering lights.
“Sam.”
“Stay where you are,” he said. “I just need to find—got it. Hang on.”
The flickering lights abruptly ceased. A second later a bright spotlight came on, illuminating the stage at the front of the room. The heavy red velvet curtain had been pulled aside. She took a few steps into the space and realized she was standing at the back of a small ornate theater.
She shivered. Shadows—visible and invisible—cloaked the rows of seats. Something bad had happened in the room.
Out of long habit she suppressed her senses.
More lights came on, softly glowing wall sconces this time. Sam appeared from the wings and walked out into the spotlight.
“Found a bank of light switches back there,” he said. He studied the metal canister sitting on top of the phonograph turntable. The device was dark and still now that it had been turned off. “What the hell is that thing?”
“It’s a kind of flicker machine.” Maggie walked down the aisle toward the stage, intrigued. “There’s a strong light inside. When it’s on, the light flashes out through the cutouts in the canister rotating on the turntable. People who study dreams sometimes use flickering lights to induce hallucinations or a trance. But, generally speaking, you have to sit quite close to the device to get the full effect. That one is an unusually large and powerful version. It must have frightened the imposter. That’s why she ran out of here.”
Sam shielded his eyes with one hand and looked toward the back of the theater. “No, that’s not what sent her into a panic.”
He went down the side steps and loped up the aisle on the far side of the theater. Maggie turned to see what had riveted his attention.
The invisible shadows that seethed in the theater were anchored to the seat at the end of the last row, where a woman in a cocktail gown was slumped, unmoving.
Sam touched the woman’s throat with two fingers.
“She’s dead,” he said quietly.
Chapter 12
Detective Brandon pushed his battered fedora back on his head and surveyed the contraption sitting on the stage. “What the hell is that gadget? Looks like a Halloween lantern on top of a phonograph.”
“I’m told that’s exactly what it is,” Sam said. “It creates a lot of flickering lights that can induce a trance in some people.”
He and Brandon, the head of Burning Cove’s small homicide division, were standing on the stage of the theater. They were not alone in the room. A doctor was concluding an examination of the body in the last row. Arthur and Dolores Guilfoyle waited in the aisle near the entrance. When Sam had informed them of the death, they had both appeared stunned. Now their faces registered anxiety and tension.
It didn’t require psychic talent to know what they were thinking. Having a conference attendee die on the premises would not make for good publicity.
Maggie was watching the scene from behind the last row of seats. Sam was sure he knew what was going through her head, as well. Her case had been complicated enough as it was. The discovery of the dead woman threatened to send things in a new and far more dangerous direction.
Brandon squinted at Arthur Guilfoyle. “You hypnotize people with that gadget?”
“I do not practice hypnosis,” Arthur Guilfoyle declared coldly. “That’s for charlatans and quacks. I am engaged in serious dream research and analysis. I designed the dream generator to induce a state of lucid dreaming.”
Brandon continued to eye him with a dour look. “So there’s nothing dangerous about that thing?”
Arthur’s jaw was rigid. “No, of course not. It’s a purely therapeutic device. Detective, I realize this is a tragic situation, but there is nothing to indicate that a violent crime took place in here. Is there any reason why the body can’t be removed immediately? My staff has a very full program scheduled for tomorrow. They need time to prepare.”