“Not in the usual sense. He’s a real doctor and he is serious about his research in the field of lucid dreaming, but he is extremely unethical. Knowing he was involved with the Guilfoyle Institute put me off the notion of attending.”
It was his turn to take notes. Sam picked up a pencil and jotted down the nameOxlade.
“How did you come to that conclusion about Dr. Oxlade?” he asked.
“Long story. It’s not relevant.”
He scrawled the wordpersonaland followed it with an exclamation point.
“What are you doing, Mr. Sage?”
“Just making a few notes.”
“Oh.” She went silent.
He smiled, pleased at having been able to stop her cold, at least for a couple of beats, by throwing her own words back at her. The moment of satisfaction was fleeting, however, because he immediately went back to wondering why she had been making notes earlier. There was definitely something worrisome about it, but he couldn’t figure out why it made him uneasy.
He reminded himself to stay focused on the case.
“Everything about this situation appears to be linked to the conference at the Guilfoyle Institute,” he said.
“Exactly.” Energy infused her voice again. “I have come to the same conclusion.”
“I’m happy to continue to investigate, but it won’t be cheap. I’llneed a hotel room in Burning Cove, and there’s the cost of gas, meals, telephone calls, et cetera.”
“Money is not a problem, Mr. Sage. I agree the next step is to attend the dream conference at the Institute. It opens tomorrow evening with a formal reception. Would you prefer to take your own car, or would you like to accompany me? There’s the train, of course, but it will be more convenient to have our own vehicle once we’re in Burning Cove. We don’t want to have to call a taxi every time we need to follow a suspect.”
He tightened his grip on the phone. “No offense, Miss Lodge, but I don’t think it would be a good idea for you to accompany me.”
“Maggie, remember? Of course I have to go with you. I’m your cover.”
“Excuse me?”
“To slip into the crowd without calling attention to ourselves, we will have to appear to be ordinary conference attendees. I know a lot about lucid dreaming. I can talk the language, if you see what I mean.”
“Not really.”
“I’ll be able to blend in and provide you with a believable reason for being there.”
“I don’t think—”
“I’ll take care of the hotel reservations and the conference tickets,” Maggie concluded. “Don’t worry about the cost.”
It occurred to him he was losing control of the conversation, the case, and the client. He forced himself to concentrate.
“What about your job?” he asked. “You’re supposed to be writing the advice column. How can you take off for Burning Cove?”
“It’s very thoughtful of you to be concerned about my work, but there’s no need to worry. The next two weeks’ worth of Dear Aunt Cornelia advice is on the way to the editor as we speak. I’m a very efficient person. We’ll need a good story to explain why you’re with me at the conference. Don’t worry, I’ll think of something.”
“I have to tell you, the very thought of you cooking up a cover story strikes fear in my heart.”
Maggie either didn’t hear him or wasn’t paying attention.
“The more I think about it, the more it makes sense to take only one car,” she said. “Miss Dewhurst insisted I use her lovely new Packard while she’s away. I’ll pick you up at nine tomorrow. What’s your address?”
He wondered if he should panic.
“Eleven Beachfront Drive,” he heard himself say.
