“Why does he care that you are a lucid dreamer?”
Maggie tightened her grip on the champagne glass. “I can’t prove it, but I think he’s got some crazed notion of controlling my dreams.”
“Controlling your dreams?”
“That makes me sound paranoid, doesn’t it?”
“Well, sure, but I’m fine with paranoia. Sometimes it’s warranted. What would be the point of controlling your dreams, assuming such a thing would even be possible?”
“That,” Maggie said, “is a very good question. There is a theory that when we dream we are in a trancelike state that is similar to what happens when a person is hypnotized. I suspect Oxlade is convinced that if he can induce a lucid dreamstate with his drug, he will be able to control the dreamer.”
“By implanting a hypnotic suggestion while the person is dreaming?”
“Yes, I think so. I can’t imagine any other reason for wanting tocontrol another person’s dreams. I think he selected me for his experiments because I frequently have lucid dreams naturally. He probably thought it would be easier to test his theories on someone like me.”
“Let me see if I’ve got this case doped out. In addition to chasing an imposter advice columnist and someone who is trying to blackmail the real columnist, we’re also dealing with a mad scientist who wants to run bizarre experiments on you?”
“In fairness, I don’t think Oxlade is mad—just obsessed,” Maggie said. “But yes, this case is complicated by his presence. You can understand why I wanted to employ a professional such as yourself.”
“Absolutely,” Sam said, his tone grave. “This is not a job for an amateur.”
Maggie chuckled. “Luckily for the sake of our partnership, I’ve read Hammett and I’ve seen enough detective movies to know that the wisecracks are an important aspect of your professional image.”
“That’s swell, but let’s get something straight here. We don’t have a partnership. I’m the detective. You are the client.”
“Yes, of course, but I didn’t want to point out that distinction, because it underscores the fact that I’m the one in charge.”
“It does?”
“Well, yes,” Maggie said. “I’m the one who will write the check for your services.”
She had a point. He decided not to pursue that angle. “I’ve got to say this private investigation work is turning out to be different from what I expected when I set up shop last week.”
“What did you expect?” she asked.
“When I opened the doors of Sage Investigations, I figured I’d be spending most of my time hiding in the bushes taking photos of men cheating on their wives or wives cheating on their husbands. Divorce work. Never thought I’d wind up in an evening jacket at a ritzy champagne reception for a bunch of people who want to learn how to control their own dreams.”
“You didn’t become a private investigator to do sleazy divorce work.”
The absolute certainty in her words made him take his eyes off the crowd long enough to glance at her.
“I didn’t?” he said.
“No. I realize there’s probably some money to be made in that line, but I advise you not to take those sorts of cases.”
He watched her for a moment, unaccountably fascinated. “Why did I open Sage Investigations?”
“I’m still working on that. I’ll let you know when I figure it out. Then I’ll be able to advise you on how to conduct your business. I’ve learned a lot as Aunt Cornelia’s assistant. I’m quite skilled at giving good advice.”
He was about to tell her he did not need business advice when a burst of flashbulbs lit up the night outside the entrance of the Institute. A ripple of awareness fluttered across the crowd. It was not the heated excitement that announced the arrival of a major Hollywood star, but it was clear someone of note was about to enter the room.
A moment later a woman swept through the door, pausing just long enough to make an entrance. Her bright red hair fell in deep waves around her shoulders. Her slinky red gown was cut very low in front. The glittering necklace draped around her throat looked heavy enough to sink her if she had the misfortune to fall into a swimming pool.
Sam listened to the low voices of nearby guests.
“That’s her, the advice columnist, Aunt Cornelia,” a woman whispered. “The paper had a photo of her at the Paradise.”
“I never imagined she would be so glamorous,” another woman remarked. “I always assumed she was older. More mature.”
