Sam smiled but he did not comment.
At least he wasn’t looking at her as if he was afraid she was hysterical. That helped settle her rattled nerves as nothing else could have done.
“Sorry you had to witness that,” she said.
“Bad dream?”
“My fault. I lost control of it. Got the feeling I couldn’t escape. It happens from time to time. I told you, I’m good, but I’m not perfect.”
“And this is why you’ve never married,” he said. “You’re afraid a husband would witness you waking up in an anxiety attack and conclude you were unstable.”
She glared at him. “Yes, not that it matters. What are you doing here?”
“I went to Beverly Nevins’s room a few minutes ago.”
“Oh, right. The mildly illegal job. Well?”
“Someone else got there first.”
“Really?” She frowned, trying to make sense of that news. “A burglar?”
“Didn’t look like the work of a professional. I don’t think whoever it was had any success.”
She discovered she could concentrate now. “Why do you say that?”
“Because I found something interesting.”
He held up a gold bracelet. A charm in the shape of a crescent moon dangled from it.
Maggie stared at it, a fresh tide of anxiety igniting her nerves and her senses.
“Damn,” she whispered. “This is not good.”
Sam watched her closely. “Recognize it?”
“I told you I advised Lillian Dewhurst to get rid of an object that was casting a bad shadow. I worried it was disturbing her dreams.”
“I remember,” Sam said.
“It was a bracelet that was identical to the one you’re holding.”
Chapter 19
There were initials on the back of the crescent moon on Lillian’s bracelet,” Maggie said. “ATS. Lillian said they stood for Astral Travelers Society. It was the name of a group she and some of her friends joined a few years ago. They were all interested in dream analysis.”
She and Sam were sitting across from each other at the table in her room. She had turned on a floor lamp, hoping some strong light would make the situation feel less intimate. She had been wrong. She was in her nightgown and robe and she was alone with Sam in a hotel room at three thirty in the morning.
There was no escaping the sense of intimacy—at least, she could not ignore it. Sam, however, was focused solely on the bracelet sitting on the table. Maggie tried to concentrate on it, too.
She wasn’t sensing the same sort of shadow energy she had picked up from Lillian’s bracelet. The bracelet Sam had found looked somehow ominous, but the primary sensation emanating from it felt more like melancholia.
“The initials ATS are on the moon on this bracelet, too,” Sam said. He examined the inside of the band. “But there’s an additional inscription. To EN, the woman of my dreams. It’s signed Dream Master.”
“EN?” Maggie raised her brows. “Beverly Nevins’s initials would be BN.”
“This bracelet may have belonged to someone else.”
“True.”
Maggie touched the bracelet gingerly with a fingertip. Sam watched intently, but he didn’t say anything.
“Hmm,” she said.
“Well?” he asked.
She raised her eyes to meet his, wondering if he was going to make a crack about her dream talent. But one look at him told her he was in a very serious mood.
“It looks exactly the same as Lillian’s except for the inscription,” she said. “But it doesn’t affect my senses the way hers did. There’s a faint tingle of sadness on this bracelet. Depression, perhaps. But that’s all.”
“What does that tell you?”
“Not much, I’m afraid.”
“No sense of violence?” Sam pressed.
“No.” She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t tell me you are taking my sensitivity seriously.”
“I’m taking your intuition seriously,” he said.
“Right. My intuition.”
She was not sure what to make of that.
“Did Dewhurst go out of her way to hide her bracelet?” Sam asked.
“No. She kept it with the rest of her jewelry. It wasn’t a dime-store trinket, but it wasn’t especially valuable, either, certainly not as expensive as most of her other jewelry. She never wore it.”
“How did she react when you informed her she ought to throw it away?”
“She didn’t argue or try to convince me that it was harmless. She said I might be right. The next morning when I arrived for work, we walked to the bluffs. She threw the bracelet into the ocean. A few days later she told me she was sleeping better than she had in a very long time.”
“What happened to the Astral Travelers Society? Does it still exist?”
“I don’t think so. Lillian didn’t go into the details but I got the impression most of the members of the Society were upper-class socialites who viewed the group as a form of fashionable entertainment. They soon lost interest and moved on to other social activities.”
“Yet Dewhurst kept the bracelet,” Sam said.
His eyes were cold and razor-sharp. The man was born to hunt bad guys, Maggie thought. Born to be a cop. It was sad that his career as a police detective had ended so abruptly.
“Are we going to tell Detective Brandon about this bracelet?” she asked.
“Yes. I’ll telephone him in the morning. There’s not much he can do with the bracelet or the information that someone searched Nevins’s room tonight, but I’ve got a feeling he’ll ask me to continue to keep him informed.”
“In other words, he’s got his suspicions, so he’s decided to take advantage of your presence and professional expertise.” Maggie smiled. “You’re his undercover detective.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you’ve got a tendency to view everything from a very dramatic viewpoint?”
“A common character flaw in writers.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
She tried to switch to a more businesslike tone of voice. “Things are starting to happen, aren’t they? We need a plan.”
“We do,” Sam agreed. “At the moment all roads lead back to the Institute. I think it’s time to put a little pressure on the Guilfoyles.”
“Great idea. How do we do that?”
“No offense, but your enthusiasm makes me nervous.”
“Think of it as encouragement and support.”
Sam eyed her with deep suspicion. “You’re wondering how you can work this new development into the plot of your novel, aren’t you?”
“A writer is always open to inspiration.”
“I was afraid of that.” Sam got to his feet and went toward the connecting door. “The opening lecture at the Institute takes place at ten o’clock tomorrow. We want to be there early so that we can catch one or both of the Guilfoyles. I want to see their reaction when they find out the woman they hired to play Cornelia has left town.”
“Right,” Maggie said.
He glanced at his watch. “We’ve got time for a few more hours of sleep. See you at breakfast? Eight o’clock?”
“I’ll be ready.”
She rose and trailed after him. Now that his business was over, he seemed in a great rush to leave her room. Just as well. She should not say another word. There was nothing more to be said, not tonight. She really should keep quiet.
“Sam?” she whispered.
He paused in the doorway, looking amused. “Are you going to tell me I should chuck a piece of furniture out the window before I try to sleep?”
“Some other time, maybe. I wanted to thank you for not panicking when you caught me in the middle of an anxiety attack tonight.”
“Takes a lot more than that to make me panic,” he growled in a tough-guy voice.
For some reason she suddenly felt much lighter. She was almost floating. She folded her arms. “Is that right? What, exactly, would it take to make you panic?”
“Finding myself in that novel you’re writing would do it.”
“Don’t worry, I always change the names to protect the innocent. And also to avoid getting sued for libel.”
He moved into his own room and turned to look at her. “I have to tell you that is not exactly reassuring.”
“You’re a tough private detective. You can handle it.”
She closed the door and listened carefully. Sam did not turn the key on his side. She decided not to lock her side, either.
Chapter 20