Pru had left word at the hotel saying she had some “news from home.” She had left a number and instructions to call at twelve fifteen, when she would be on her lunch break and stationed at a pay phone.
Maggie could see Sam through the open door of the phone booth. He was leaning against the front fender of the Packard, fedora angled over his eyes, arms folded across his chest.
Every time she looked at him she thought about what had happened during the night and got a little thrill. She thought about it when she wasn’t looking at him, too, and got the same frisson of awareness. She had not, however, been able to tell if Sam was also thinking about last night. It was frustrating. Irritating.
At breakfast she had been optimistic that the passionate encounter had meant something to him. She was almost certain she had caught a glint of sensual heat in his eyes. But now she could no longer be sure. He was back in control mode. Ever the professional private detective. Just doing my job, ma’am.
“I can’t talk long,” Pru said. “I’m using the pay phone at the coffee shop across the street from the college. About the Traveler. There have been various versions of the legend circulating for centuries. The one thing the stories all have in common is the notion of an assassin who possesses the ability to travel on the astral plane. He murders people in their dreams.”
“I knew that much. Anything else?”
“Maybe. The Traveler manipulates the individual’s dreams, encouraging desperate or dangerous actions that result in deaths that look like accidents or natural causes.”
“Or an overdose?”
“Right,” Pru said. “The Traveler began as a human avenger who could be summoned by a dreamer for the purpose of securing justice when there was no other recourse. But somewhere along the line the assassin’s spirit became unmoored from its body. It’s been trapped on the astral plane ever since. The closest it can get to human form is when it’s summoned by a powerful lucid dreamer.”
The operator came on the line requesting more money.
“Hang on,” Maggie said. She shoved coins into the slot. “Okay, Pru. Keep talking.”
“I saved the most interesting bit for last,” Pru said. “I found a paper in the Journal of Psychic Dream Discoveries that discusses the legend. It was published in the quarterly issue that appeared a couple of months after Virginia Jennaway’s death. The author claims to have investigated the rumors that a spirit named the Traveler was responsible for the murder of a young woman from Keeley Point who drowned.”
Maggie caught her breath. “Jennaway.”
“The woman was not named in the article, but given the date of the journal and the other details, yes, the victim must have been Jennaway. The author went to a great deal of effort to debunk the legend and the possibility that the spirit caused the woman’s death.”
“I get the feeling you’ve got a surprise ending to this story.”
“How’s this? The authority who adamantly denied the possibility of astral projection and the existence of the Traveler was none other than Dr. Emerson Oxlade.”
“Well, well, well,” Maggie said. “Small world.”
“It is when it comes to lucid dreaming and legends.”
“Thanks, Pru, I appreciate the information.”
“Anytime. But I’m worried about you. It sounds like things are getting complicated and dangerous there in Burning Cove.”
“They are certainly getting weird.”
“Do you feel comfortable with your private detective?”
Maggie looked at Sam, who was still propped against the car. “I told you, he’s not my private detective, and comfortable may not be the appropriate word, but he is very . . . competent. Listen to this, Pru. Last night I met the owner of the hottest nightclub in town and his lover, who just happens to be a private investigator herself.”
“How thrilling. I knew you were going off on an adventure. I just wish I was there with you.”
“When this is over we will both find a way to spend some time here in Burning Cove.”
“Absolutely. Meanwhile, please be careful.”
“I will. Thanks for the information.”
The operator interrupted to request more money.
“Goodbye,” Pru said quickly and hung up.
Maggie replaced the receiver and scooped up the leftover coins and the notepad. She stepped out of the booth.
Sam unfolded his arms and straightened away from the fender. “Anything new from your friend?”
“Maybe.”
Maggie adjusted the strap of her handbag and walked around the hood of the Packard, heading for the passenger side. Sam followed her and opened the door. She had decided to give up trying to persuade him to let her drive. She would have plenty of time to zip around in the Packard once they were back in Adelina Beach.
All the time in the world. It was a depressing thought.
She did not want to contemplate the very distinct possibility that once Sam’s work was done she might never see him again, except perhaps on the streets of Adelina Beach. Or in a restaurant. At the grocery store. In a theater. The gas station.
Adelina Beach was a small community. She might have to move.
Apparently oblivious to her mood, Sam closed her door, got behind the wheel, and drove back toward the hotel. He was a very good driver, she decided. Not an exciting driver, but a calm, careful driver. There was something to be said for calm and careful.
Last night she had witnessed a very different side to Sam Sage. He was not calm when he made love. He had been very, very careful, however—careful to make sure she was completely satisfied.
“Well?” he prompted.
“Pru filled me in on the legend of the Traveler, most of which we already knew, but she came across what looks like a reference to Virginia Jennaway’s death in a journal dedicated to dream research. The article was written by a distinguished authority who was apparently extremely anxious to squelch the rumors of the Traveler’s involvement in Jennaway’s death. Dr. Emerson Oxlade.”
“Interesting.”
“Oxlade is very keen to make sure his professional reputation remains unsullied. He doesn’t want the other experts in the field concluding he’s a quack.”
“Yet he’s now affiliated with the Guilfoyles, who are walking a very fine line when it comes to respectability.”
Maggie considered that for a moment. “Dolores Guilfoyle is certainly skilled when it comes to selling dreams. She obviously has a talent for promoting the business. Arthur is a good actor.”
“It’s safe to say both of them are in it for the money, but Oxlade has a different agenda,” Sam said. “His research and his reputation are more important to him than making a profit, and he holds all the cards because he controls the drug.”
* * *
When they returned to the hotel, the front desk clerk handed Sam a message from Raina Kirk. Sam read it quickly and handed it to Maggie.
Expect to have news of your aunt tomorrow.
Chapter 29
Maggie braced herself for the disturbing shadow inside the theater and allowed the handsome dream guide named Larry to escort her into the room. For one very unnerving moment she thought he was going to show her to the seat at the far end of the last row, the one where Beverly Nevins’s body had been found. She definitely could not sit there. But to her relief he settled her closer to the stage.
“Mr. Guilfoyle was very specific about the location of your seat,” Larry confided. “He wanted to make sure you had a good view.”
So Guilfoyle had ordered Larry to seat her on the side of the theater that was farthest away from the door? Interesting. There were no bad seats in the small space. Each one had a clear view of the stage. The only thing that had been accomplished by positioning her at the far end of an aisle was making sure she would be one of the last people out the door when the demonstration was over.
“Thank you,” she said.
Larry smiled. “Enjoy the dream reading.”