Page 35 of When She Dreams

Chapter 13

There were three cottages scattered across the bluffs overlooking the moonlit Pacific. It wasn’t hard to figure out which one belonged to the fake Cornelia. Two of the three were dark, with no cars parked in the driveways.

The door of number three was open and the lights inside were on. There were two suitcases on the front steps. The imposter was busy stuffing a third grip into the trunk of a Ford sedan. She was no longer wearing the glamorous evening gown and her hair—now brown—was tightly pinned. She had on a pair of wide-legged trousers and a pullover sweater. Dressed for travel.

“I knew that red hair was a wig,” Maggie said. Outrage shot through her. “She’s leaving town.”

“I had a feeling she might be running,” Sam said.

He pulled into the drive and brought the Packard to a halt behind the sedan, effectively blocking the path to the main road. The fake Cornelia was trapped in the glare of the headlights. She whirled around. The expression on her face was all too easy to read.

“She’s scared to death,” Maggie said.

Sam shut down the engine and the headlights. He opened the car door. “The question is, what is she scared of?”

He climbed out from behind the wheel and stood beside the front fender. “Take it easy—I’m not a cop, and we had nothing to do with Beverly Nevins’s death.”

The imposter stared at him. “She was murdered, wasn’t she? I knew it. Someone killed her.”

“They’re calling it a probable accidental overdose,” Sam said. “But it’s obvious you aren’t buying that story. Neither are we. We want to ask you a few questions.”

Maggie jumped out of the convertible. “He’s right. Just some questions, that’s all.”

“Who are you?” The imposter retreated a step. “What do you want? I don’t have any money. The clothes aren’t mine. I didn’t pay for the cottage. It’s just a job, damn it.”

Sam reached inside his jacket. The imposter’s eyes widened in horror.

“No,” she squeaked. “Please, don’t shoot me.”

“My business card,” he said. He held it out to her. “Sam Sage, Sage Investigations. Miss Lodge is my client.”

The imposter looked at the card as if she had never seen one before. After a few seconds she moved forward, snatched it out of Sam’s hand, and hastily retreated a few paces.

She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

“Let me clarify a few things for you,” Sam said. “We know you’re impersonating the real Aunt Cornelia.”

“You can’t prove that,” the woman said. But there was no energy in the denial. “No one knows the identity of the real Aunt Cornelia, not even me.”

“I know who she is,” Maggie said. “I work for her. I’m her assistant. The real Cornelia is out of the country on an extended ocean voyage.She’s not due to return for another month. But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

“Prove it,” the woman whispered.

“That would take time,” Sam said. “We don’t have a lot of that because you are obviously in a hurry to get out of town.”

“I’ve got news for you—stumbling over a body is hard on the nerves,” the imposter shot back.

“I agree,” Maggie said gently. “Let’s start with something simple. What is your name?”

The imposter seemed to sink in on herself. “Phyllis Gaines.”

“Why did you go into the theater tonight?” Sam asked.

“I was looking for the ladies’ lounge.”

“No,” Maggie said.

Phyllis did not argue.

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