Sam lowered the glass, shook his head, and squinted.
“Which is why you went into a rage when you discovered Oxlade was leaving and taking the drug with him,” he said, the words slurred around the edges.
“So you figured that out, did you?” Arthur asked softly.
“That murder just didn’t fit with any of the others.”
“Because of the blood?”
“That and the fact that it wasn’t a very smart murder. There was some planning involved in the others, but killing Oxlade was an act of impulse, anger, and desperation.”
“What about the bloody clothes in the trunk of Larry Porter’s Ford? Didn’t that require some planning?”
“Yes, so Dolores handled that end of the business.” Sam turned away from the window and studied the flowers in a nearby vase. “But the murder? Nope. That was just dumb.” His words were getting mushier. “The search for the drug afterward was sloppy, too. Clothes hauled out of the suitcase and tossed onto the floor. Not like the search of Beverly Nevins’s hotel room. That was done in a careful way. It was not one hundred percent successful, but it was tidy. Dolores at work again.”
“What are you talking about?” Arthur demanded, voice sharpening.
Sam plucked an orchid out of the vase and held it up to the light. “Spectacular, isn’t it? Just think. Nature creates incredible beauty with such ease. Over and over again. Amazing.”
Arthur took a step toward him and stopped. “What do you know about the search of Nevins’s hotel room? Why did you say it was not a hundred percent successful?”
“What?” Sam dropped the orchid on the table and started to turn around. He stumbled a little and grabbed the padded arm of a massive reading chair to catch his balance. “Right. Nevins’s room. Whoever searched it found the diary but not the bracelet. Don’t worry, I’ve got it.”
Arthur stared at him. “You have the bracelet?”
“Yep. There’s a pretty little gold charm with the letters ATS on it, but it’s the inscription that will ruin you. To EN, the woman of my dreams. It’s signed Dream Master.” Sam winked. “We all know who the Dream Master was, don’t we?”
“You can’t prove anything,” Arthur said.
“Not without the diary. It ties everything together, doesn’t it?”
“What, exactly, do you know about the diary?”
Sam chuckled. “Maggie did some lucid dreaming last night. She said whoever searched Beverly Nevins’s room at the hotel found the diary and hid it right here in this house. Amazing.”
Arthur did not move. “You’re hallucinating.”
“I know.” Sam massaged his temples with his fingertips and tried to sit down on the chair. He ended up falling into it. He leaned his head against the back and closed his eyes.
“Maggie is the real deal,” he said. “Not a fake like you.” He opened his eyes. “But then you already know that, don’t you? It’s why you want to seduce her. You want to control her so that you can use her to build your empire here at the Institute. If you get Maggie, you’ll have a genuine psychic dream reader. You won’t have to rely on a phony like yourself.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“What’s wrong with the ceiling?” Sam said.
Arthur watched him closely. “What do you mean?”
“It’s disappearing.” Sam squinted. “You’re floating in midair.”
“About time,” Arthur muttered.
“What?”
“Listen to me, Sage. You’re hallucinating because I put a double dose of the enhancer in your scotch and soda.”
“Is that right?”
“In a few minutes you will be too drugged to make sense. But first we need to talk.”
“About Oxlade? You killed him, didn’t you? Your wife murdered the others, but you hammered Oxlade to death.”
“That’s how I got his supply of the drug. Hated to waste two doses of the stuff on you, but I need answers and dosage can be tricky. Consider me your dream guide. I’ll ask the questions. You will provide the answers.”
Sam smiled and spread his hands. “I’m an open book.”
“What else did Maggie tell you about the diary?”
“She said it was hidden in a very dark place. A safe, probably.”
Arthur stiffened. “She said it was in a safe?”
“She wasn’t positive, but it makes sense, doesn’t it? I mean, where else would you hide such a potentially dangerous object?”
Arthur’s jaw clenched. “Did she tell Detective Brandon about her dream?”
“Nope. Brandon doesn’t believe in psychic dreaming. Something’s happening to you, Guilfoyle. You’re fading a little. Are you traveling on the astral plane?”
“Where is Miss Lodge right now?”
“At the hotel, packing. We’re leaving for Adelina Beach when I get back.”
“Good,” Arthur said. “There’s time.”
“Time for what?”
“To make sure she doesn’t talk to Brandon. Once you’re out of the picture I will deal with Margaret Lodge.”
“But I’m in the picture.”
“Not for much longer.” A fever burned in Arthur’s eyes. He took a pistol out from under his coat. “On your feet.”
Sam used both hands in an effort to push himself up out of the big chair. When he showed signs of sinking back onto the cushions, Arthur clamped a hand around one of his arms and hauled him to his feet.
“I said get up, you interfering bastard,” Arthur muttered.
“Where are we going?” Sam asked.
“We will take a walk through the garden,” he said. “We will go out the gate and then you will jump off the cliff into the sea. Who knows where your body will wash ashore? When it does it will look like suicide or an accident.”
“The work of the Traveler, huh?”
“It will be interesting to see if those rumors circulate. Unlike Oxlade, I don’t think of that old legend as a problem. It adds drama. Gives me a certain mystique.”
Sam staggered a little. Arthur tightened his grip.
“Pushing me off a cliff is neat and tidy. Not messy like what you did to Oxlade. You’re getting better at this kind of thing.”
Arthur’s eyes glittered. “Oxlade made me angry.”
Sam nodded in solemn understanding. “You lost control. You’re as insane as your wife.”
Arthur’s face twisted. “Shut up.”
“Did you enjoy using the hammer on Oxlade?” Sam asked.
“It was very satisfying,” Arthur said. “But not nearly as satisfying as watching you go over the cliff will be.”
“I don’t feel like jumping off a cliff,” Sam said.
“You will when the time comes. You’ll think you’re flying. A real out-of-body experience.”
“Because of the enhancer you used to doctor my scotch and soda?”
“Exactly. You must be hallucinating like crazy by now.”
“Not really.” Sam stopped slurring his words. “I can’t say I was impressed with Dashiell Hammett’s detective in The Maltese Falcon, but I did pick up a couple of pointers. The main one being that it’s a bad idea to drink a cocktail the bad guy fixes for you. However, if you do drink it, make sure you know what’s in it.”
“What are you talking about?” Arthur hissed.
“I found Oxlade’s cologne bottle before you did,” Sam said. “I emptied the drug down the sink, rinsed out the bottle, and refilled it with tap water. Odorless and colorless. Looks just like the enhancer drug. Found the bottle and the diary when I cracked your safe last night. Left them both there to set you up. Didn’t have to put Maggie to the trouble of doing a lucid dream. I lied about that. Got the answers the old-fashioned way—I looked for them.”
Arthur released Sam’s arm and took a couple of steps back. He raised the pistol. “You’re lying.”
“Your wife was an expert on sedatives and narcotics because she used to work for a doctor, but the enhancer is the only drug you’re familiar with. Also, you were convinced you could use it to get answers. I figured you wouldn’t be able to resist giving me a dose of the stuff when you fixed the drinks.”
“You think you’re so fucking smart?”
“No, but I’ve got pretty good intuition. Not infallible, but good.”
Arthur scrambled back a few more steps. “You’re a dead man.”