She took another bite of her sandwich. It was a relief to talk to her best friend. Pru was aware she worked for the reclusive woman who wrote the Aunt Cornelia column. Lillian Dewhurst herself had authorized the disclosure of her identity after meeting Prudence and concluding she could be trusted.
Maggie and Pru were neighbors in an inexpensive apartment house near the beach, but when Lillian had decided on the spur of the moment to sail for the South Pacific, she asked Maggie to move into the mansion on Sunset Lane and look after it while she was gone. “It’s never a good idea to leave a big house empty for a couple of months,” Lillian said.
Maggie had hesitated to make the move, but Pru encouraged her. “You’ll have a nice quiet place to write,” she pointed out. “Maybe you’ll be able to finish the first draft of your novel if you don’t have to listen to the couple upstairs fighting and the nightclub singer next door having sex with her shady boyfriend at three in the morning.”
It was true that the walls of the apartment house were very thin. The prospect of having some peace and quiet in which to nail down the rough draft of the book had been too tempting to resist, so for now, Maggie was living on Sunset Lane.
“Anything else you want to tell me about this divorced, fired, failing-but-not-drunk-at-nine-in-the-morning investigator?” Pru asked around the last mouthful of her sandwich.
Maggie brightened. “No, but I do have some good news. I think I’ve made a breakthrough in my book.”
“You’ve figured out how to fix your hero?”
“After I left Mr. Sage’s office today, I suddenly knew what was wrong with him—my hero, I mean, not Mr. Sage. I’m going to go back to the beginning and rewrite the first scene tonight. Once that’s done, I’m sure I’ll be able to move forward, although I already know I’ve got to revise the plot a bit, too. It needs more action.”
“Action is always good in a novel. Did you get any other inspiration from Mr. Sage?”
“Not the kind I like to get.” Maggie made a face. “There’s a coatrack in his office that casts a bad shadow.”
“How bad?”
“Pretty bad. Feels relatively recent.”
“Think the energy is his or someone else’s?”
“Some of it is from Mr. Sage, but the really bad stuff is from another person. Sage appears to be unaware of the shadow, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s affecting his mood and probably his dreams. He just doesn’t know it.”
Pru narrowed her eyes. “Whatever you do, don’t make the mistake of telling him to get rid of the coatrack.”
“Too late. I already did.”
Pru sighed. “How did he react?”
“How do you think he reacted? He looked at me like I was one of those weird people who believes in paranormal energy and attends psychic readings.”
“You just couldn’t help yourself, could you?”
“I tried not to mention the coatrack, I really did.”
“You should have tried harder.”
“Is that right? What would you have done?”
Pru gave her a bright, smug smile. “Kept my mouth shut.”
“I couldn’t resist. It was for his own good.”
“The one reason guaranteed to annoy anyone without fail.”
“The important thing is that he took my case,” Maggie said. “He’s making phone calls about the dead woman, Virginia Jennaway, as we speak.”
“What if he doesn’t learn anything useful from a couple of phone calls?”
Maggie sat back and tapped her finger on the Formica table. “I reserved a ticket for the conference at the Guilfoyle Institute just in case Mr. Sage isn’t able to identify the blackmailer after he makes the phone calls.”
“I was afraid of that. You’ll be wasting your time.”
“The blackmailer will be there, Pru. It’s the one thing I can be sure of at this point.”
“There will be a couple of hundred people at the conference. How are you going to find the extortionist in that crowd? You’re not a detective. You have no idea how to investigate a crime.”
“I’ll think of something. Besides, you know I’ve been curious about the Guilfoyle Method.”
“Not anymore,” Pru shot back. “You lost interest in it after you discovered the guest speaker at the conference was going to be Dr. Emerson Oxlade.”
“I admit, now that I know Oxlade is involved in the Institute, I’m not nearly as interested in the Guilfoyle Method, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t something to it. Oxlade is a dreadful man, but he’s serious about his dream research and he enjoys an excellent reputation. It’s understandable why Guilfoyle invited him to present a lecture. His presence gives the Method credibility.”
Pru leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Have you forgotten that Oxlade laced your tea with a hallucinogenic drug without telling you what he was doing?”
“Of course not. I’m well aware he’s a nasty creep.”
“What if he sees you at the conference? He’s bound to recognize you.”
“I’ll deal with the problem if it arises.”
“It will arise,” Pru said. “I don’t like the idea of your attending the conference alone. I should go with you.”
“We both know the director would never give you the time off. To be fair, no one in his position would. You just started your new job a couple of weeks ago.”
“I doubt if he’ll ever give me any time off,” Pru said. “It’s been clear from the start that Attwater doesn’t approve of female staff. He thinks women are all right for small-town public libraries but only men are suited for academic and research institutions. I overheard him talking to someone today and discovered that if it hadn’t been for Dr. Otto Tinsley, I would not have gotten my new job.”
“Who is Tinsley?” Maggie asked.
“He recently joined the faculty, and he’s very highly regarded in the field of parapsychology. He’s also very nice. Everyone in the department was impressed with the demonstration of his new ESP-sensing machine. He met me when I went in for the interview with the director. Afterward he insisted I get the position of research librarian.”
Maggie smiled. “So Attwater had to hire you.”
“Yep. Professors, especially stars like Tinsley, are the equivalent of opera divas in the academic world. But Attwater is not happy about the situation. I get the feeling he’s biding his time, waiting for me to make a mistake, or maybe he hopes I’ll create a scandal of some sort. He’s looking for an excuse to fire me.”
“I’ll bet he’s afraid you’ll end up making him look bad,” Maggie said. “If he realizes just how much you know about the literature of the paranormal and how good you are at research, he’ll start worrying about his own job.”
“I’m being very careful to appear competent but not too competent. My plan is to make Attwater look good.”
“Don’t sell your soul just to make the boss appear smart,” Maggie said.
“Are you kidding? Making the boss look brilliant is a job requirement regardless of the line of work you’re in. As for you, you have no business lecturing me. You’re ghostwriting an advice column for a woman who’s thousands of miles away in the South Pacific. Aunt Cornelia is getting all the credit for the column.”
“Fine by me. I’m not out to take her job.” Maggie picked up her coffee cup. “One of these days, Pru.”
“Yes,” Pru said. “One of these days.”
There was no need for either of them to finish the sentence. They had been repeating the words to each other since they had met at a lecture on psychic dreaming a few months ago. They had each concluded independently that the so-called expert giving the presentation was just another fraud in a field studded with cons and fakes.