“Drugs?” Brandon asked.
“Given the injection site and the fact that the body was found in this rather isolated location, I think that’s the most likely explanation,” the doctor said. “However, there is no sign of a syringe. It might have rolled under the seats.”
Brandon looked at the two uniformed officers. “Search the theater for a needle. Be careful. Use gloves.”
“Yes, sir,” one of the officers replied. He switched on a flashlight.
Sam silently cataloged the facts that were available. Thanks to the contents of her evening bag, the deceased had been identified as Beverly Nevins. She had arrived in Burning Cove on the train from L.A. Dolores Guilfoyle had confirmed that Nevins was registered for the conference and that she was staying at the Sea Dream Hotel, but that was all anyone seemed to know about the dead woman.
Her cocktail gown and heels looked expensive and fashionable, but her jewelry didn’t fit with the rest of the outfit. Nevins’s chandelier earrings, stacks of bracelets, and chunky necklaces were stylish enough, but they appeared to be Bakelite and paste. No one had stepped forward claiming to be acquainted with Nevins.
Sam told himself there was no evidence the death had anything to do with his case, but his intuition was not happy with that observation. Dead bodies did not show up by accident in the middle of an already screwy case. In his professional experience, the law of no coincidences was as reliable as the law of gravity.
“Can we keep this out of the press?” Dolores Guilfoyle asked sharply. “This is clearly a tragedy but hardly a crime.”
“Any idea why Nevins was in this room?” Brandon asked.
Dolores sighed. “I imagine she wanted to experience the dream generator. There is information about it in the brochure we give out to our guests. If she did, indeed, inject herself with some drug, she may have believed that the atmosphere in here would enhance the experience.”
“If that’s true it was a terrible idea,” Arthur said. “To have a successful therapeutic experience with the machine, one must be guided by an expert in the Guilfoyle Method. I do those sessions in here because the atmosphere in this room is conducive to engaging the psychic senses.”
“Yeah?” Brandon looked around. “Why is that? Feels like any other room to me.”
“This is the old séance room,” Dolores explained, her voice tight with irritation.
Brandon grimaced. “You’re summoning ghosts and spirits in here?”
“No, of course not,” Arthur said. “The man who built the estate, Carson Flint, was rumored to be fascinated with the occult. He hired mediums to hold séances for himself and his guests. As you can see, we have converted the room into a theater.”
“How would Nevins have found this room?” Brandon asked.
“All of the guests can pick up brochures in the lobby,” Arthur said. “There’s a floor plan of the Institute inside. It’s designed to help conference attendees find the correct lecture halls and seminar rooms. This place is quite large, as you can see. Some wings have not yet been remodeled. We don’t want people stumbling into an area that is still undergoing construction.”
Dolores Guilfoyle gripped the back of a theater seat. “Detective, we have no idea how Miss Nevins came to be in this wing of the Institute.” She glared accusingly at Sam. “For that matter, we don’t know why you and Miss Lodge were here, either.”
Brandon raised bushy brows. “I was going to ask that question, myself.”
Maggie spoke up from the doorway. “I wanted to talk to Aunt Cornelia. I’m a fan of her advice column. I never miss it. I was thrilled to discover she was here tonight. Mr. Sage and I followed her, hoping to catch up with her. We had begun to think she was lost and were about to offer to assist her when she opened the door of this room, disappeared inside for a moment, and then came running out. She was very upset. Obviously she had seen the body.”
Not a bad version of events, Sam thought, especially considering that Maggie was making it up on the fly. Brandon and the others seemed satisfied. Aunt Cornelia was a celebrity, after all. Fans chased after celebrities.
Brandon surveyed the small group gathered in the room. “Where is Aunt Cornelia?”
“She left in a taxi shortly before you arrived, Detective,” Dolores said. “She was distraught. I escorted her out to the cab.”
Brandon reached inside his jacket and took out a notebook and a pencil. “Got a last name for Aunt Cornelia?”
Arthur and Dolores exchanged bewildered glances. Sam looked at Maggie and knew she was holding her breath.
Dolores shook her head. “No. She’s registered as Aunt Cornelia. She said she preferred to use what she called her stage name. She’s a celebrity, after all. That’s what celebrities do. Hollywood actors all have screen names that are different from their real names. We are thrilled to have Aunt Cornelia among our guests, so we didn’t insist on a last name.”
“How did she pay for her ticket?” Brandon asked.
“Cash,” Dolores said.
“Where is she staying?” Brandon asked.
“She told the cab driver to take her to a cottage on Rose Beach,” Dolores said. “It’s off Cliff Road, a couple of miles from here.”
