“Did he tell you the sort of things you would hear from a fortune-teller?” Sam asked.
“No. Well, not exactly. He didn’t just tell me stuff about the past. He told me he could help me achieve my full potential as a lucid dreamer.” Valerie hesitated. “That’s when he told me that I had a special talent for dreaming. He said if I followed his techniques and allowed him to guide me, I could develop real psychic powers. But first I had to expand my dream experience and learn to access other planes of consciousness.”
“What did that require?” Maggie said.
Valerie snorted. “Ever hear of the casting couch?”
“What an appalling man,” Maggie said.
“Yeah,” Valerie said. “And I fell for his line.”
“When did you figure out he was just using you?” Sam asked.
“When he hired another dream guide,” Valerie said. “Her name was Betty. She moved into the Institute about a month ago and started her training. After she and Guilfoyle had a couple of one-on-one sessions, Guilfoyle told me he and I wouldn’t be doing any more sessions together because I had reached my limits as a psychic dreamer.”
“I don’t remember seeing a dream guide named Betty,” Maggie said.
“That’s because she didn’t last long,” Valerie said. “I found Betty crying in the bathroom one day. She said Mrs. Guilfoyle had caught her in the old caretaker’s cottage with Mr. Guilfoyle and fired her on the spot. Betty packed up and left that afternoon.”
“Has Arthur Guilfoyle tried to seduce Gloria?” Maggie asked.
“No, she’s not his type,” Valerie said. “Lucky for her, he likes blondes. Gloria isn’t interested in him anyway. She and Larry are dating.”
“All right,” Sam said. “Arthur Guilfoyle is a womanizer. That’s interesting but not surprising. We’re here to talk about the Traveler. So far you haven’t told us anything we didn’t already know. We expected a little more information in exchange for the cash.”
“This is the part that’s worth the twenty-five bucks,” Valerie said. She leaned forward. “Last night after the police, the doctor, and everyone else was gone, I went into the gardens to have a smoke. I overheard the Guilfoyles and Dr. Oxlade talking as they walked back to their villas. I could tell they were discussing the dead woman, so I didn’t light the cig. I knew they couldn’t see me, because I was on the other side of a tall hedge. I stayed real quiet and listened.”
“What did you hear?” Sam asked.
“Oxlade said something about Nevins’s death looking like the death of someone else. Jenny Something.”
“Jennaway?” Maggie asked.
“That’s it, Jennaway,” Valerie said. “Oxlade told the Guilfoyles he was worried there might be rumors of the Traveler. That really rattled Dolores Guilfoyle. She got angry and ordered him to stop talking about the old legend. Rumors like that would be bad for the image of the Institute, she said.”
“How did Oxlade respond?” Sam asked.
“He agreed with her,” Valerie said. “He was worried about bad publicity, too. He was afraid the Institute might get a reputation for being some kind of cult. He said he couldn’t afford to lend his good name—that’s what he called it, his good name—to an organization that would be laughed at by the scientific community. That’s when he mentioned you, Miss Lodge.”
Maggie clutched the back of the leather seat. “Oxlade talked about me? What did he say?”
Valerie opened her mouth and then appeared to rethink whatever she had intended to say.
“Professor Oxlade is not what you’d call real stable,” she said instead. “That’s not just my opinion. All the dream guides think he’s strange.”
“What did Oxlade say about Miss Lodge?” Sam asked, keeping his voice very even.
Valerie flinched and sat back against the seat. “Never mind—it’s not important.”
“If you want to leave this car with your twenty-five bucks, you’ll tell us exactly what Oxlade said.”
Maggie reached over the seat and touched Valerie lightly on the hand. “Please. I have to know.”
Valerie grabbed the door handle and visibly braced herself.
“Oxlade told the Guilfoyles the only reason he was sticking around is because of you, Miss Lodge. He said you were the most powerful lucid dreamer he had ever encountered, and if they couldn’t persuade you to cooperate in his experiments he would no longer allow himself to be associated with the Guilfoyle Method. He said he would leave and take the enhancer with him.”
Maggie stared at Valerie, evidently speechless.
“Do you know what Oxlade meant by the enhancer?” Sam asked.
“No,” Valerie said. “But after he stomped off and went into his villa, I followed the Guilfoyles for a while. I heard Arthur tell Dolores they needed the enhancer. Everything depends on it, he said. That’s all I know, I swear.”
Valerie opened the door and leaped out of the back seat. She vanished into the shadows of the parking lot. A moment later an engine rumbled. A set of headlights blazed. A sedan flashed past and careened toward Cliff Road.
“She’s definitely in a hurry to get out of town,” Maggie said. “She’s terrified.”
Chapter 23
Lucky for you, I don’t believe in that astral projection nonsense,” Sam said. He started the engine, switched on the headlights, and drove slowly through the nightclub parking lot. “Otherwise I might be a little concerned about our connecting-rooms arrangement.”
“That is not funny,” Maggie said. She had not been this angry since the day she had battled her way out of Oxlade’s office. “This is too much. It’s appalling. He’s a monster.”
“Oxlade’s not going to get his hands on you, so don’t worry about it.”
“Easy for you to say.”
“Which is why I’m saying it. We already knew he was obsessed, at least when it comes to you. Right now we need to sort through the facts we have.”
“Like the fact that Arthur Guilfoyle is a womanizer?”
“That doesn’t come as a shock. What’s really interesting is that all three of them—Oxlade and the Guilfoyles—are not only aware of the rumors of the Traveler and the Jennaway death, they’re concerned about the potential bad press from those two things.”
Maggie forced herself to focus on the case. “You’re right, that is interesting. Fascinating, in fact.”
She stopped talking, because the club’s two badly dressed security people had left their posts at the doors and were strolling forward to block the exit.
“This could be a problem,” she said.
“Just routine,” Sam said.
“Do you think you’ll need your little pistol?”
“No. There are two of them and one of me. I don’t like the odds.”
“Oh. Right.”
Sam braked to a stop and rolled down the side window. “Good evening, gentlemen. Nice night.”
The larger of the two guards leaned down to speak through the open window. “Couldn’t help noticing that you and the lady never took advantage of the amenities of our fine club. Looks like you conducted a meeting in the parking lot instead.”
“We did,” Sam said. “A short business transaction. We purchased some information, not goods.” He took his wallet out from under his jacket, extracted a couple of bills and handed them through the window. “Appreciate you two keeping an eye on the situation. You never know when a business meeting might go bad.”
“Sadly, that is very true. Happy to hear we were able to provide you with some peace of mind.” The security guard slipped the money into the front pocket of his jacket. “You say you came here to purchase information?”
“That’s right,” Sam said.
The guard squinted. “Cop?”
“Not anymore. Private now.”
“I see.” The guard glanced at Maggie, angled his head in a polite nod, touched a finger to the brim of his fedora, and stepped back. “You two drive carefully. Cliff Road is tricky at night. Lot of sharp curves.”
“Thanks for the advice,” Sam said.
He put the Packard in gear and motored down the long drive.
“Do cops and tough guys always recognize each other?” Maggie asked.