When She Dreams(Burning Cove #6)

Maggie looked at him. “Can I assume that in this context, misunderstandings refers to fistfights among the patrons?”

“As well as the failure to pay bar tabs, gambling debts, or management’s commission on transactions that take place in the parking lot.”

“Do you mean they will expect us to pay them off for letting us meet with whoever sent the message?”

She didn’t sound concerned, just curious. Probably taking notes for her novel.

“We’re from out of town,” he said. “I’m sure there will be a special price for tourists. It will be worth it because they are providing security for us.”

“How?”

“No one is going to risk doing anything too dramatic here in the parking lot within view of those two.”

“They are carrying guns under their jackets, aren’t they?”

“I certainly hope so. We might need backup.”

He parked the Packard, flashed the lights a couple of times, and took the pistol out from under his coat.

For the first time Maggie looked alarmed. “I didn’t know you brought your gun.”

“Didn’t want to show up empty-handed. It was either the pistol or cupcakes. I didn’t have time to bake.”

Maggie reached into her handbag and took out a notepad.

“Put that away,” he warned.

Reluctantly she dropped the notepad back into her bag. “It was a great line.”

“Thanks. I worked on it.”

She eyed the gun. “Your pistol is rather small, isn’t it?”

“Some men might be offended by that comment.”

“Really? I apologize. I never meant to insult you.”

He sighed. “A snub-nosed .38 fits better under a coat than a Colt revolver.”

“I see. That makes sense.”

“A small pistol can be just as scary as a big one at close quarters.”

Maggie slid a hand surreptitiously toward her handbag.

“Forget your notebook,” he said.

Another car pulled into the parking lot, headlights glaring. A couple got out and hurried toward the entrance of the club. When they were gone, a figure moved toward the Packard, slipping through the deep shadows cast by two nearby vehicles. A moment later a face appeared at the passenger side window. A woman in a wide-brimmed hat trimmed with netting rapped on the glass.

Maggie rolled down the window. “You’re Valerie, one of the dream guides.”

“Valerie Warren. I wasn’t sure if you would show. Did you bring the twenty-five bucks?”

“Yes,” Maggie said. “But I need to know what’s going on before I hand over the cash.”

Valerie glanced over her shoulder and then turned back. “I can’t stand around out in the open. Some of the other members of the Institute staff might show up here tonight. It’s not like any of us can afford the Paradise.”

“Get in back,” Sam said.

Valerie stared. “You’ve got a gun. Why do you have a gun? You’re a research assistant.”

“Don’t worry about the gun,” Maggie said quickly. “It’s a very small one. Please get into the back seat. No one will see you.”

Valerie glanced around. “Well, okay. I guess.”

She straightened away from the window and grasped the rear door handle.

Maggie leaned closer to Sam and lowered her voice to a stern whisper.

“Let me ask the questions,” she said. “You’ve already frightened her.”

“Sometimes a little fear can be helpful.”

“Not in this situation.”

He shrugged. She might be right.

Valerie opened the back door and got into the car. Sam and Maggie turned to watch her.

“Please tell us about the Traveler,” Maggie asked.

“Where’s the money?” Valerie asked.

Maggie plucked several bills out of her handbag and held them up so that Valerie could see them.

“Thanks,” Valerie snapped the cash out of Maggie’s fingers. “I’ll make this fast.” She leaned forward and kept her voice low, even though no one outside the car could have heard her. “I’m leaving town tonight. I don’t want to drive the highway back to L.A. after dark, but if I wait until dawn there will probably be fog like there was this morning.”

“You’re leaving town?” Maggie asked.

“As fast as I can,” Valerie said. “We don’t get paid until the end of the week, but I’m not going to stick around, not after what happened to that Nevins woman in the theater last night. They used to hold séances in there, you know. That room gives me the creeps.”

“We’re here for information,” Sam said. “We’re not interested in ghost stories.”

“Right, okay,” Valerie said. “I couldn’t hear everything you said to Mrs. Guilfoyle this morning, but I know you asked her about the Traveler.”

“That’s right,” Maggie said. “What do you know about the legend?”

“He’s some sort of spirit that lives on the astral plane. Murders people in their dreams. The other dream guides are saying it might have been the Traveler who murdered Beverly Nevins.”

“Who, exactly, is saying the Traveler murdered Nevins?” Sam asked.

“I just told you, the other dream guides—Larry, Jake, and Gloria. But they all smoked some of Larry’s reefers last night after everyone left, so maybe they just imagined the story about the Traveler.”

“It’s a minor legend in the dream analysis community,” Maggie said. “I wonder how your friends heard about the Traveler.”

“Mr. Guilfoyle told us about the Traveler during one of the training sessions we took after we were hired,” Valerie said. “We figured he was just trying to impress us. None of us really believe in that psychic dreaming stuff, you see. But we’re pretty sure Arthur Guilfoyle does believe in it.”

“What do you think happened to Beverly Nevins?” Sam asked.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if one of the Guilfoyles murdered her,” Valerie said, her voice fierce with rage.

“Why?” Sam said.

“That bastard Guilfoyle probably slept with her and then got bored and ended things,” Valerie muttered. “That’s what he does, you see. Seduces a girl and then drops her when he gets tired of her. I bet Nevins showed up at the conference and threatened to make a scene, so they got rid of her.”

“Which Guilfoyle did it?” Maggie asked.

Valerie shrugged. “I don’t know. Could have been either one. She’s mean as a snake and he’s a lying, cheating son of a bitch. Also, I think he’s unbalanced.”

“Because he believes in the connection between lucid dreaming and the paranormal senses?” Maggie asked quietly.

“Yes,” Valerie said. “You have to be cuckoo to really believe that stuff, right?”

Sam knew Maggie was about to lose her temper. He touched her hand, willing her to keep her mouth shut.

She appeared to get the message.

“You said Guilfoyle has a habit of sleeping with women and then dropping them,” Maggie said. “Are you speaking from personal experience, Valerie?”

“Yes, if you must know.” Valerie clenched her hands on her lap. “He’s a real creep. Makes you think you’re special. Says you have a natural talent for psychic dreaming. Says you can fly with him on the astral plane. Calls you his soul mate. Then he dumps you.”

Maggie looked at Sam, evidently uncertain how to respond. He kept his attention on Valerie.

“How did you get the job as a dream guide?” he asked.

“The Guilfoyles put an ad in one of the Hollywood papers. Said they were looking for people with acting experience. It sounded a lot more interesting than working at a lunch counter, and we get to live rent-free at the Institute. I figured being a dream guide was the same as working in a magic show or a theater, plus I’d be in Burning Cove. I told myself there would be plenty of opportunities to meet important people in the movie business in this town.”

“At what point did Arthur Guilfoyle seduce you?” Maggie asked.

“Each dream guide gets some one-on-one sessions with Guilfoyle. It’s part of the training process. In my first session he went into a trance. When he came out of it, he told me some things about myself he couldn’t possibly have known. For a while I actually believed he was psychic. I was a fool.”