She was attractive, but not in the Hollywood way. There were too many strong features and sharp edges. Compelling was a more accurate description. She looked like a lady who could take care of herself, one who had been doing exactly that for a while. She didn’t need a hero, not the way Elizabeth had. Lodge needed a man who could keep up with her.
The rakish little hat had been tilted at just the right angle to allow the elegantly waved brim to partially veil fascinating eyes, eyes that gave a man the unsettling sensation she could see beneath the surface. That made her both dangerous and interesting.
When she had come through the door he had been afraid she would ask him to tail her husband to get incriminating photographs in preparation for a divorce. He had been dreading divorce work, but he knew he couldn’t afford to turn it down, not at the start of his new career. It would take time to build up the insurance, fraud, and missing persons side of the business. When he was established he would be able to turn down divorce work.
But Lodge had not asked him to follow a cheating husband. That should have been a huge relief. And it was. But it didn’t explain his reaction to her.
She was obviously intelligent and well-educated, but she did not display the arrogance he often encountered when he had occasion to interview witnesses and suspects in the academic and scientific worlds. Many women her age were married, but she wore no ring and she was working.
Lodge conducted herself with self-confidence, and there was an air of fierce determination about her that told him it would be a very bad idea to get between her and whatever she wanted. She had not tried to flirt with him or make him feel sorry for her. She had been all business.
All in all, Lodge was the ideal client—except for the lucid dreaming stuff. That was an unfortunate twist. The fact that she was interested enough in the subject to be familiar with weird stuff such as astral projection and a legend about a supernatural assassin called the Traveler was definitely cause for serious concern.
None of those observations and considerations answered the big question: Why had it felt as if he had been struck by lightning when Margaret Lodge opened the door and walked into his office? Sure, it had been a while since the divorce, and things had not been good between Elizabeth and him for a long time before she went to Reno. And yes, afterward he had been too numbed by the overwhelming weight of his failure to recognize impending disaster until it was too late. Still, nothing explained why he couldn’t fit Margaret Lodge into a pigeonhole and slap a label on her. She was a mystery. And she made him aware that he was no longer numb.
He made a few more notes and then picked up the phone. The Adelina Beach operator came on the line immediately, her voice calm and professional and somehow cheerful and optimistic.
“Number, please,” she said.
He asked for the long-distance operator.
“Please hold while I connect you.”
He contemplated the coatrack while he waited. It was a solid, substantial piece of furniture. Every office needed a coatrack. His was impressive. It added a classy note to the place. There was no reason to get rid of it just because Margaret Lodge didn’t think it looked right in his office.
So he had a client who was interested in lucid dreaming—so what? Occasionally he did read something in the papers besides the comics and the sports pages. The study of dreams was all the rage these days. Yes, there was a seemingly unlimited number of quacks, frauds, and delusional people who were making a lot of money selling fake psychic dream readings and the secrets to astral projection, but there had never been a shortage of swindlers, hucksters, and con artists in the world.
From his point of view—a detective’s point of view—a scientific approach to dream research was inherently difficult, if not impossible, because the nature of dreams meant doctors and researchers were forced to rely on the reports of the only eyewitnesses—the dreamers. Every cop knew eyewitnesses were notoriously unreliable.
It looked like he had a screwy client, which meant it would be a screwy case, but it beat divorce work.
A new operator came on the line. “Long distance.”
“Keeley Point Police Department, please,” he said.
Chapter 4
I hope you know what you’re doing,” Prudence Ryland said. “Hiring a private investigator is a very serious matter. They’re a shady bunch, always sneaking around in the bushes taking pictures of people in compromising situations.”
“You know perfectly well I haven’t got a clue what I’m doing,” Maggie said. “But I can’t think of any other strategy. I don’t know how to conduct an investigation. I need a professional detective. Mr. Sage is the only one in town who appears to be at least somewhat qualified for the job.”
She picked up half of her tuna salad sandwich and took a bite. Pru was munching an egg salad sandwich. They were eating lunch in the Adelina Beach College cafeteria, and they were eating quickly. In precisely nineteen minutes Pru would be rushing back to her desk in the library of the school’s recently established Department of Parapsychology. As a very new member of the staff, she could not afford to take the risk of being late.
“You said he’s a former police detective?” Pru asked, her eyes bright with curiosity. “That’s a good sign, I suppose.”
She was wearing what she called a business suit. Maggie had labeled the dark, depressing outfit her Stern Governess costume—a tailored, close-fitting black jacket; a narrow black skirt; and mid-heel black lace-up oxfords. Her hair was pulled back in a prim bun, and she wore a pair of gold-framed spectacles. Her only item of jewelry was a watch. It had a black leather band.
She was doing her best to fit in with the faculty and staff of the college, but in Maggie’s opinion anyone with an ounce of perception could see the bright, adventurous spirit and crisp intelligence beneath the dull plumage. In reality, of course, the vast majority of people never bothered to look beneath the surface. They saw what they expected to see, which was a good thing, Maggie thought, because it allowed her and Pru to masquerade as normal.
When Pru had landed the position in the library she had been euphoric, convinced she had found the perfect career. Sadly, it was starting to look like a job in a research library—even one devoted to the study of the paranormal—came with all the customary limitations and challenges that confronted women in every field: male bosses who were slow to promote and obnoxious male colleagues who viewed women on the staff as prey.
Working in an academic institution involved additional challenges, not least of which was that the members of the teaching faculty never hesitated to make it clear they outranked the librarians.
It was obvious that the best way for a determined, independent-minded female to prosper in the world was to start her own business, Maggie thought. She and Pru each had plans for the future, but for now they both had to pay the bills.
“Mr. Sage told me he was fired from the Los Angeles Police Department,” she said.
“Really?” Pru’s brows shot up. “Did he say why?”
“Something about arresting the wrong man.”
“Hah. I’m sure that happens all the time and no one gets fired. Sounds fishy to me. If Mr. Sage was let go, he must have really bungled the arrest.”
“I know, but I got the feeling he did not want to talk about it,” Maggie said.
“I’m sure he didn’t. It would take a major blunder to get fired from the Los Angeles Police Department. So, we have a disgraced and divorced ex-cop who is barely getting by as a small-time private detective.” Pru’s eyes glinted with amusement. “Really, Maggie, couldn’t you have found a more disreputable investigator?”
“He wasn’t drunk at nine o’clock in the morning.”
“Wow. You’ve got to be impressed by a man who holds himself to such high standards.”
“I’m trying to remain optimistic,” Maggie said. “I’m worried, and I’m short on options.”