Maggie opened the door so quickly he knew she must have been preparing to knock. She had unfastened the snug jacket of her tailored suit, but that was as far as she had gotten with undressing. Her hair was still clipped back behind her ears.
He pushed aside the memory of the previous night when she had opened the door dressed in a robe and slippers, her hair loose around her shoulders. The sex had been amazing. He reminded himself that last night had broken a long dry spell. His judgment was probably somewhat cloudy. Still.
“What did you find inside Oxlade’s villa?” she asked.
Obviously she was not thinking about the scorching-hot sex.
He set the bottle on the table, poured some whiskey, and handed her one of the glasses. He picked up his own glass and began to prowl the room. He needed to put a little distance between the two of them.
He gave her a concise summary of the search.
Maggie set aside her unfinished whiskey.
“The Guilfoyles are professional liars,” she said. “It would be pointless to confront them, at least not without evidence. But Oxlade is different. His weakness is his fear of losing his reputation as an esteemed expert. I think he might talk if he is approached in the right way.”
“I agree,” Sam said.
“Now,” Maggie said. “Tonight.”
Sam looked at her. “Why tonight?”
“Because I think he’ll be leaving first thing in the morning,” Maggie said. “I haven’t had a chance to tell you about my conversation with Arthur Guilfoyle after the psychic reading demonstration. Guilfoyle and Oxlade quarreled. Well, to be precise, Oxlade quarreled. He was furious because he overheard Guilfoyle admit to me that he had conned Oxlade. Oxlade stomped out of the theater. I’m sure he’s planning to leave town as soon as possible.”
Sam considered that. “Guilfoyle actually fooled Oxlade?”
“To be fair, I think Guilfoyle probably is a lucid dreamer. There’s no way to know for sure. But he’s definitely a skilled actor and a practiced con artist.”
“And Oxlade desperately wants to believe in his own theories and the drug,” Sam said. “He was an easy mark for Guilfoyle.”
“Until tonight,” Maggie said. “Guilfoyle took things a step too far at the dream reading. He told the audience he could see the Traveler hunting for a victim—a woman—who might be in the room.”
Sam went still. “You?”
“He was trying to scare me, yes.”
“Bastard.”
“It did not go well for him,” Maggie said. She went to the closet and took out a pair of trousers. “I could see that Oxlade was upset onstage. Later, when he overheard Guilfoyle admit to the con, he was furious. I’ll tell you all about it on the way back to the Institute. But first I have to change my clothes. This suit isn’t practical for sneaking into the gardens.”
“I agree, but before you get too excited about a confrontation with Oxlade, I think we should make a plan.”
“Certainly. What did you have in mind?”
“Are your acting skills as good as your imagination?”
“I am an excellent actress,” she said. “I admit I have a limited repertoire, but what I do, I do very, very well. I’m especially good at playing normal.”
“What makes you so sure of that?”
“The fact that I am not currently residing in an asylum.”
Sam watched her unfasten her skirt.
“Yet another Maggie Lodge mystery,” he said. “As it happens, normal is not what we’re going for tonight. Can you play the opposite?”
“Sure, but I’ll need your word of honor that you won’t let anyone put me away because of a really good acting job.”
She was trying to make light of it, but the wariness in her eyes was only a half step from fear.
He walked to stand in front of her and caught her chin on the edge of his hand.
“I promise you that if anyone ever locks you up I will tear down the walls of your prison and take you out of it,” he vowed.
A sheen of tears glittered in her eyes. She blinked them away and managed a shaky smile.
“Deal,” she said.
Chapter 36
The rain started shortly before midnight. Emerson Oxlade almost changed his mind about leaving. He did not like the thought of driving back to L.A. in such weather, especially at night. But the urge to escape the looming disaster that threatened his reputation and his career was too powerful to ignore.
He had to get away from the Institute and Burning Cove as soon as possible. If he stayed to give his lecture in the morning he would be swamped with silly questions about the Traveler and Guilfoyle’s ridiculous statements onstage earlier in the evening. The press would no doubt pick up the story. He could not face any of it. He had to leave.
The woman carrying the dark umbrella emerged from the rain-drenched gardens just as he was about to stow the first suitcase in the trunk of his car. In the weak light of the lamp over the door she was little more than a shadowy silhouette.
“Going somewhere, Dr. Oxlade?” she said. “You mustn’t leave before I have a chance to thank you for the great gift you gave me.”
There was something odd about her tone, an eerie, dreamy quality that was unnatural, but he recognized her voice.
“Miss Smith, I mean, Miss Lodge.” He was so shocked he almost dropped the suitcase and his umbrella. “What are you doing here?”
“I owe you a debt of gratitude. I had a psychic vision in which I saw you leaving tonight. I simply had to tell you that you changed my life.”
He went still. “You had a vision I was leaving?”
“I saw it in a dream. I sense all sorts of things these days, thanks to your drug. You were right. The enhancer opened the door to my psychic talents. What’s more, the door is still open. I don’t need the enhancer every time I dream.”
Something was very wrong. Oxlade edged back toward the front steps of the villa.
“What are you talking about?” he said.
“I’m telling you that your drug works, Dr. Oxlade.” Maggie chuckled, a light, giddy little laugh. “I thought you had poisoned me when you put the enhancer in my tea. For days afterward I was convinced I was going mad. For weeks I fought the effects because I didn’t understand what was happening. But eventually I realized your drug not only gave me access to my psychic senses but allowed me to journey on the astral plane, just like the Traveler.”
“No, that’s not possible,” Oxlade yelped.
“It’s true, and it’s an astounding experience.”
He retreated a couple more steps toward the safety of the villa. For a moment he had dared to hope the enhancer was even more powerful than he had realized. But now it was clear that Maggie Lodge was unhinged.
The drug had caused her to lose her grip on reality. It was the only explanation. He knew she was prone to hysteria, but he had hoped her lucid dreaming ability would allow her to control the effects of the enhancer. Now he was forced to consider the possibility that the drug had pushed her over the edge. He was dealing with a woman who was dangerously unbalanced. He was alone with her. In the dark.
He could feel the rip current of panic tugging at him. He reminded himself she had once been a patient. He knew how to handle patients.
“I don’t understand, Miss Lodge,” he said, trying to sound both reassuring and authoritative, trying to sound like a doctor. The expert who knew best. “Please explain.”
“You heard Arthur Guilfoyle tonight,” she said. “He’s a fraud, but I’m not. The Traveler is abroad on the astral plane and he is stalking a victim, just like he stalked Virginia Jennaway and Beverly Nevins.”
Another frisson of panic lanced Oxlade’s nerves. “That’s nonsense. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I have dreams all the time now, not just when I sleep but when I’m wide awake.” Maggie giggled. “I don’t mind telling you it can be a little disconcerting to have a vision just pop up while you’re eating breakfast or chatting with a friend.”
“Calm down, Miss Lodge,” he said. “You are allowing yourself to become hysterical.”
“You really should not say that to me, Dr. Oxlade. I don’t like it when people say that.”