I t’s an interesting case,” Raina Kirk said. “Tell me what you know, Mr. Sage.”
“It goes back to the death of a young woman named Virginia Jennaway,” Sam said.
He gave Raina a concise summary of the case. Maggie listened somewhat absently, not just because she had heard it all but because she was fascinated by the proprietor of Kirk Investigations. Raina spoke with a hint of an upper-class East Coast accent. She wore a fashionable evening gown of cognac-colored silk that fell in tiny pleats to her ankles. Her hair was caught up in a sophisticated chignon. Dainty diamond earrings danced below her ears.
She was not at all what one expected in a private investigator, Maggie thought. Sam would be annoyed if she whipped out her notebook and jotted down a few details, so she told herself she would wait until she got back to the hotel.
She and Sam had arrived at the Paradise a short time ago. They had been met by a ma?tre d’ and discreetly escorted to a small intimate booth deep in the shadows at the back of the nightclub. A few minutes later the owner of the club, Luther Pell, had arrived at the table to greet them.
Apparently satisfied with whatever he saw, he had invited them up a concealed staircase to his office in his private quarters above the club. That was where the four of them were gathered now, drinking coffee from delicate porcelain cups served on a silver tray.
She and Raina were seated in large padded leather chairs. Sam was on his feet near the French doors that looked out into a garden and the moonlit ocean beyond.
Luther was behind a polished wooden desk. Maggie had concluded that, unlike Raina Kirk, he looked exactly like what he was—a successful nightclub owner who probably had shady business acquaintances. But the fierce, dark landscapes on the paneled walls of the office cast invisible shadows across the room, telling her there was a lot more to Pell than what he allowed the world to see.
She was certain he was profoundly connected to the art. Her intuition told her he was the artist.
“I appreciate the help,” Sam said, when he finished outlining the case. “The first priority is to find out more about the Guilfoyles and how they acquired the Carson Flint estate.”
Raina inclined her head. “I agree. It’s always smart to follow the money. Anything else?”
“This started out looking like a straightforward case of blackmail,” Sam said. “But I’m starting to wonder if there’s something more personal involved.”
Luther studied him. “What do you mean by personal?”
“Blackmail is about money, pure and simple. But we’ve got three deaths—Jennaway, Nevins, and now Valerie Warren. It feels like something else is going on.”
Startled, Maggie turned toward him. “Such as?”
“I don’t know. Revenge, maybe.”
“For Virginia Jennaway’s death?” Luther suggested.
“A possibility,” Sam said.
Luther nodded. “An old lover, perhaps.”
“That would explain a revenge angle,” Sam said.
Maggie cleared her throat. “A lover out to exact revenge is an interesting notion. But it’s hard to believe anyone would still care deeply enough about a past relationship after four years to take the risk of committing murder.”
“No,” Luther said. He looked at Raina. “It’s not at all hard to believe.”
Raina smiled a misty smile. A sheen of moisture lit her eyes. She blinked away the telltale hint of tears.
Maggie did not need a lucid dream to know the bond between Raina Kirk and Luther Pell was strong. They were not just lovers; they were soul mates. If anything happened to Raina, Pell would stop at nothing to avenge her, regardless of how much time passed.
What would it be like to share such a powerful connection with a lover? she wondered. She squelched the wistful question immediately. A year and a half ago she had fooled herself into thinking she had found a man who understood and accepted her as she was. She had been heartbreakingly wrong. She would not make that mistake again.
Raina turned to Sam. “I understand you want to keep our association confidential.”
“Yes,” Sam said.
“That’s normal. How shall I contact you?”
“Call the hotel and leave a message from my aunt,” Sam said. “I’ll check the front desk during the lunch break tomorrow and again around five when the seminars are over for the day. If I hear from you, I’ll call you back from a pay phone.”
“All right,” Raina said.
“Do you need anything else?” Luther asked.
“No,” Sam said. “Not tonight. Thanks for seeing us on such short notice.”
“Brandon mentioned you used to work homicide in L.A.,” Luther said. “He told me you handled the Bloody Scarf Murders. Said you were the detective who arrested Chichester.”
“That’s right,” Sam said.
“I followed that case,” Luther said. “You arrested the right man. Not always a good career move.”
“The Chichester family convinced a judge and my boss that Chichester the Third was an innocent man,” Sam said.
“There was talk that the innocent man tried to murder someone else while he was out on bail,” Luther said. “Got caught in the act. After it became clear the press was on the story, the family had Chichester the Third committed to a private asylum. Coincidentally, the Bloody Scarf Murders stopped.”
“They say coincidences do happen,” Sam said. He looked at Maggie. “It’s getting late. We should go. Busy day tomorrow.”
“Yes,” she said. She stood.
Luther got to his feet. “One more thing, Sage. I got the impression Brandon is using you as his eyes and ears out there at the Institute.”
“He needs someone inside, and I’m available,” Sam said. “It’s good to know he’s paying attention.”
“So am I,” Luther said. “Call me if it looks like you’re going to need some backup. The people working security for me know how to keep out of sight when necessary.”
“Thanks,” Sam said. “I appreciate the offer. I may take you up on it.”
“Carl is waiting outside the door,” Luther said. “He’ll escort you downstairs and out through the private entrance.”
It was obviously not the first time Luther Pell had held a clandestine late-night meeting, Maggie thought. She smiled at Raina. “Thank you for assisting us, Miss Kirk.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Miss Lodge,” Raina said. “As you apparently have a long-standing interest in dream analysis, do you mind if I ask you a question?”
“Not at all,” Maggie said.
“Do you think there’s anything to the Guilfoyle Method? I understand Mr. Sage has concluded it’s a con, but I would like your opinion.”
The shadows in Raina’s eyes made it clear she was not merely indulging her curiosity. This was personal.
“To be honest, I’m not sure yet,” Maggie said. “At this point it’s difficult to be certain how much of Guilfoyle’s act is just that—an act—and how much might be a useful approach to gaining control of one’s dreams.”
“I see,” Raina said. Her disappointment was reflected in her eyes, but she managed a gracious smile. “I was just curious.”
Maggie turned to walk out of the office with Sam. She tried not to look at any of the paintings on the walls, but her gaze snagged on one. She stilled. So much darkness. So much pain. She was suddenly very certain the energy came from deep inside Luther Pell and that it flowed from his past.
He was old enough to have served as a young man in the Great War. One of her uncles had also served. She had met some of his friends who had endured things overseas they refused to discuss. Her uncle said that was because no one wanted to hear the truth about war. But she knew the effects of the violence haunted their dreams.
Keep quiet, she thought. Pell wouldn’t thank her for her advice. He wouldn’t even admit to having nightmares, at least not to her. But perhaps he talked to Raina. Or maybe Raina simply sensed the darkness because of the bond she shared with the man who loved her.