Page 31 of When She Dreams

“Are you all right?”

“I have to get out of here,” the imposter said.

She dodged around Maggie and fled down the corridor, heading toward the lobby.

Maggie went to the doorway and looked into the disturbing storm of flickering lights.

“Sam.”

“Stay where you are,” he said. “I just need to find—got it. Hang on.”

The flickering lights abruptly ceased. A second later a bright spotlight came on, illuminating the stage at the front of the room. The heavy red velvet curtain had been pulled aside. She took a few steps into the space and realized she was standing at the back of a small ornate theater.

She shivered. Shadows—visible and invisible—cloaked the rows of seats. Something bad had happened in the room.

Out of long habit she suppressed her senses.

More lights came on, softly glowing wall sconces this time. Sam appeared from the wings and walked out into the spotlight.

“Found a bank of light switches back there,” he said. He studied the metal canister sitting on top of the phonograph turntable. The device was dark and still now that it had been turned off. “What the hell is that thing?”

“It’s a kind of flicker machine.” Maggie walked down the aisle toward the stage, intrigued. “There’s a strong light inside. When it’s on, the light flashes out through the cutouts in the canister rotating on the turntable. People who study dreams sometimes use flickering lights to induce hallucinations or a trance. But, generally speaking, you have to sit quite close to the device to get the full effect. That one is an unusually large and powerful version. It must have frightened the imposter. That’s why she ran out of here.”

Sam shielded his eyes with one hand and looked toward the back of the theater. “No, that’s not what sent her into a panic.”

He went down the side steps and loped up the aisle on the far side of the theater. Maggie turned to see what had riveted his attention.

The invisible shadows that seethed in the theater were anchored to the seat at the end of the last row, where a woman in a cocktail gown was slumped, unmoving.

Sam touched the woman’s throat with two fingers.

“She’s dead,” he said quietly.

Chapter 12

Detective Brandon pushed his battered fedora back on his head and surveyed the contraption sitting on the stage. “What the hell is that gadget? Looks like a Halloween lantern on top of a phonograph.”

“I’m told that’s exactly what it is,” Sam said. “It creates a lot of flickering lights that can induce a trance in some people.”

He and Brandon, the head of Burning Cove’s small homicide division, were standing on the stage of the theater. They were not alone in the room. A doctor was concluding an examination of the body in the last row. Arthur and Dolores Guilfoyle waited in the aisle near the entrance. When Sam had informed them of the death, they had both appeared stunned. Now their faces registered anxiety and tension.

It didn’t require psychic talent to know what they were thinking. Having a conference attendee die on the premises would not make for good publicity.

Maggie was watching the scene from behind the last row of seats. Sam was sure he knew what was going through her head, as well. Hercase had been complicated enough as it was. The discovery of the dead woman threatened to send things in a new and far more dangerous direction.

Brandon squinted at Arthur Guilfoyle. “You hypnotize people with that gadget?”

“I do not practice hypnosis,” Arthur Guilfoyle declared coldly. “That’s for charlatans and quacks. I am engaged in serious dream research and analysis. I designed the dream generator to induce a state of lucid dreaming.”

Brandon continued to eye him with a dour look. “So there’s nothing dangerous about that thing?”

Arthur’s jaw was rigid. “No, of course not. It’s a purely therapeutic device. Detective, I realize this is a tragic situation, but there is nothing to indicate that a violent crime took place in here. Is there any reason why the body can’t be removed immediately? My staff has a very full program scheduled for tomorrow. They need time to prepare.”

Brandon switched his attention to the doctor, who was in the process of latching his leather medical satchel.

“What do you say, Doc?” he asked.

The doctor shook his head. “No signs of violence. Miss Nevins’s death may have been the result of natural causes—an underlying heart condition or an aneurysm, perhaps. But there is a recent injection mark in her right arm. I suspect an overdose. Intentional or accidental, I can’t say.”

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