“He gives the Institute credibility. He’s a respected doctor. He’s got credentials. Having him promote the Guilfoyle Method will do wonders for our image. It separates us from the quacks and the frauds.”
“Oxlade has convinced you he can make the Institute successful, but you saw the crowd tonight. Those people bought tickets because of you, not Oxlade. No one paid any attention to him. He needs us, not vice versa.”
“I know you don’t trust the guy,” Arthur said.
“You’re wrong. I trust him because I know exactly what he’s after. As you said, he’s obsessed with his research. All he cares about is getting published in the most prestigious journals. He has concluded he can use us and the Institute to provide him with a well-equipped lab and an unlimited number of test subjects—the things he needs to enhance his reputation. That’s the only reason he’s willing to cooperate with us.”
“He may be a little obsessive about his work, but I’m telling you, he’s onto something with his lucid dreaming drug,” Arthur said. “I’m the living proof. Every time I’ve used the enhancer I’ve had the most amazing experience. I’ve seen things. I’ve had genuine visions.”
Dolores sighed. “You hallucinated, Arthur. Oxlade hypnotizes you when you are under the influence of the drug. Or maybe you hypnotize yourself. Who knows? Whatever happens when you take the enhancer, it’s not a genuine psychic experience.”
“You’re wrong.” Arthur’s eyes heated with excitement. “I’m able to access my latent psychic talents. Yes, it’s disorienting and hard to explain, but the experience is genuine, not a hallucination. Oxlade says not everyone has the talent for it, but I am a natural lucid dreamer. The drug takes me to the next level. I just need time to learn how to control the experience.”
This was not good. Dolores pulled hard on the cigarette. The situation was worse than she had realized. Arthur had crossed the line. He had become a true believer in Oxlade’s theories and the drug. It was a worrisome turn of events.
“We got into this business to make money,” she said quietly. “We told each other we could never go wrong selling dreams.”
“But think of the possibilities,” Arthur said. There was a feverish energy about him. “Thanks to Oxlade’s drug we can offer a unique, incredible dream experience. People will pay fortunes for the Guilfoyle Method.”
Money always got her attention. She had been focusing on the realization that Oxlade had gained too much influence over Arthur. Maybe she needed to step back and consider the situation from a purely financial perspective. No, they wouldn’t be selling a genuine psychic experience. But what if they could sell something that felt like the real thing? Arthur was right. People would pay any amount for a drug that made them believe they could tap into their psychic senses.
She took another drag on the cigarette while she considered the possibilities. “Tell me the truth. Do you really feel as if you are able to experience psychic visions when you take Oxlade’s drug?”
“If it’s not real, it’s as good as the real thing,” Arthur said. “It’s an incredible experience every time. You should try it.”
“Forget it,” she said automatically. It was the same answer she always gave whenever he suggested she experience the drug. She knew a lot about drugs, more than enough to make her nervous about taking them. “The plan will work only if we control the enhancer.”
“As long as we control Oxlade, we control the drug,” Arthur said.
“I’m worried about his insistence on running an endless number of experiments.”
“Oxlade says he needs to conduct more tests before he can guarantee the results,” Arthur said. “We will insist he does his testing here at the Institute. If we don’t take advantage of this opportunity, some other smart operator is going to realize there’s a fortune to be made off the drug. Whoever it is will offer Oxlade whatever he wants.”
“One of the things he wants is Miss Lodge,” Dolores said. “You heard what he said tonight. He’s insisting we get her to cooperate with his experiments. How are we supposed to do that?”
Arthur’s shoulder rose and fell in casual dismissal of the problem. “I’ll handle Margaret Lodge.”
Dolores stifled a groan. She knew Arthur better than he knew himself. The careless shrug was an example of his acting skill. What mattered was the all-too-familiar hint of sexual excitement in his voice. He was intrigued by Margaret Lodge. As if things were not complicated enough at the moment.
It certainly wasn’t the first time he had been distracted by a woman who had drifted into his net, but Lodge was not his usual type. She wasn’t a glamorous blonde. There was no indication she possessed connections in society or Hollywood. She appeared to be exactly what she claimed to be—a writer doing serious research for a book on lucid dreaming. Definitely not the kind of female who usually caught Arthur’s eye. So why was he so interested?
“What makes you so sure you can convince her to let Oxlade run experiments on her?” she asked.
“Oxlade told us she used to be a patient of his, remember? She suffers from weak nerves and is prone to attacks of hysteria. I can work with that.”
“What about that man who accompanied Lodge? The research assistant?”
“He’s nobody. He won’t be a problem.” Arthur smiled his slow, seductive smile, the one that had come within inches of landing him a Hollywood contract. “Remember what we told ourselves back at the start.”
She ground out the cigarette in the glass ashtray. “No one ever went broke selling dreams.”
Chapter 15
Phyllis Gaines misinterpreted the message she received at the end of the champagne reception,” Sam said. “She assumed she was being summoned by the woman in marketing who hired her to play Aunt Cornelia. But what she actually got was a note from the blackmailer who believed she was the real Cornelia.”
“It was the follow-up to the threatening letter that was sent to Aunt Cornelia in Adelina Beach,” Maggie said. “The extortionist expected Phyllis to understand she was to follow instructions, go to the theater, and make the payoff. By playing the role of Aunt Cornelia, Phyllis Gaines unwittingly made a target of herself.”
They had eaten dinner in the hotel dining room, and now she and Sam were sitting in a booth in the lounge. There were two glasses of brandy on the table. The shadowy space was lightly crowded. As promised by the sign in the lobby, there was piano music. The musician, dressed in a white evening jacket and black bow tie, was playing a moody jazz piece.
The lounge, like the restaurant, wasn’t trying to compete with the more glamorous establishments in town, such as the Burning Cove Hotel or the Paradise Club. It was a quiet refuge for the convenience of guests who, for whatever reason, did not want to venture out in the evening. It was also perfect for couples seeking a low-key club for a clandestine rendezvous.
The words clandestine rendezvous sent a little thrill across her senses. Under other circumstances she could create a very pleasant fantasy that involved a clandestine rendezvous with Sam Sage/Bennett North. It would make for an interesting scene in the novel.
“A case of mistaken identity, but with a twist, because the extortionist didn’t know what the real Cornelia looks like,” Sam said.
It was obvious he was not thinking about a clandestine rendezvous.
“Past tense?” Maggie said. She picked up her brandy. “Do you think Beverly Nevins was the blackmailer?”
“It’s a possibility. Extortion is a dangerous occupation. Blackmailers sometimes get themselves killed by irritated victims. The letter sent to your employer indicated there was more than one individual responsible for the death of Virginia Jennaway. If the other targets were instructed to attend the conference and make the payoffs here, one of them may have gotten to Nevins before Phyllis Gaines walked into the theater.”
“That makes sense,” Maggie said.
“But it’s also possible Nevins herself was one of the targets,” Sam pointed out. “Perhaps she refused to pay or threatened to expose the extortionist.”