Dream Eyes

Thirty-six

Gwen suppressed a small groan when she saw Wesley Lancaster pacing in front of the entrance to the inn. His blond mane fluttered in the soft breeze. He glanced impatiently at the expensive black watch on his wrist. When he looked up, he spotted Judson’s SUV pulling into the parking lot. His relief and impatience were plain on his handsome face.

“I knew he wouldn’t give up easily,” Gwen said. “But I was hoping he would wait a while before he started pestering me again.”

Judson eased the SUV into one of the empty slots and shut down the engine. “Are you going to talk to him?”

“Are you kidding? Of course I’ll talk to him. It will take a while to get a psychic investigation agency up and running. In the meantime I need the income from those Dead of Night scripts.” Gwen unbuckled the seat belt, opened the door and hopped out of the front seat. “It’s just that I’m a little busy at the moment. With luck I can convince him to be patient.”

“I don’t think so,” Judson said.

He was not looking at her. His attention was fixed on the entrance to the inn. She followed his gaze and saw Wesley striding toward the SUV.

“It’s about time you showed up, Gwen,” Wesley said. “I need to talk to you. “It’s important. I’ve come up with a dynamite concept for Dead. It will take the series in a new direction.”

“Okay, give me a minute,” she said.

She opened the rear-seat door and reached inside with both hands to haul the cat carrier out of the vehicle. Max grumbled and flattened his ears.

“It’s your own fault you didn’t get to stay here and enjoy room service while we went out,” Gwen reminded him. “This is what you get for frightening housekeepers.”

Judson came around the front of the SUV, somehow managing to make it appear that he was unaware of Wesley’s presence.

“I’ll take Max,” Judson said.

“Thanks.” Gwen gave him the heavy carrier. “I’ll talk to Wesley in the lobby.”

“I’ll escort Max upstairs,” Judson said. “Don’t leave the inn.”

“I won’t,” she promised.

Judson finally deigned to acknowledge Wesley’s existence with a fractional inclination of his head.

“Lancaster,” Judson said evenly.

Wesley frowned impatiently. “I see you’re still around, Coppersmith.”

Judson ignored him. Instead, he angled his head and gave Gwen a quick, possessive kiss that caught her by surprise. He didn’t bother to wait for a response. Instead, he straightened and gave her a narrow-eyed look.

“Don’t be long,” he said. “Got a lot to do this afternoon.”

He headed for the lobby entrance, gripping the cat carrier in one hand as though it was weightless. Gwen watched him with a mix of irritation and amusement.

Wesley watched Judson, too, his jaw very tight. “Someday you’ll have to tell me what you see in Coppersmith.” He paused deliberately. “Besides the Coppersmith family money, that is.”

“You know, insulting me and the man I’m currently dating is probably not the best way to start this conversation.”

Wesley grimaced. “I know. Sorry about that. It’s just that I really need your help at the moment, and I’m getting the feeling that Coppersmith is doing his best to stand in my way.”

“You and I have a business relationship,” she said. “Judson understands that. The tearoom is empty at this time of day. Why don’t we talk in there? I’m sure the staff won’t mind if we use one of the tables for a private conversation.”

“Fine.”

She led the way through the lobby and into the quiet tearoom. She took a seat at a table near the window. Wesley sat down across from her.

“Where have you been?” he asked. “I waited nearly an hour and a half for you to show up.”

“I had no idea that you were back in Wilby. Why didn’t you call to make an appointment?”

“I tried. Your phone was off.”

Belatedly she remembered she had turned off her phone when they went to Nicole’s shop.

“Sorry, my fault,” she said. “We’ve been busy. She dove into the tote, took out the phone and switched it back on. She glanced at the list of missed calls. “You called six times?”

“I was starting to get worried, if you want to know the truth.”

She dropped the phone back into the bag. “About what?”

“In case you’ve forgotten, two women were recently found dead in this very small town within the past forty-eight hours. This morning you went missing.”

“I wasn’t missing.”

“No one here at the inn knew where you were. All anyone could say for sure was that you were last seen in the company of Judson Coppersmith.”

She took a breath and let it out slowly. “Sorry. It never dawned on me that anyone would be worried.”

“I don’t think anyone else except me was concerned,” Wesley said. “But I have to tell you Evelyn’s death shook me. And now the local witch is dead in a house fire. Maybe I’ve done one too many Dead of Night episodes, but the town of Wilby is starting to give me the creeps. When you didn’t answer your phone this morning, I guess I overreacted.”

“Louise,” Gwen said. She spoke quietly but firmly.

“What?”

“The dead woman’s name is Louise Fuller. And for the record, she was not into witchcraft. She was a troubled soul who was plagued with some serious mental health issues.”

Wesley reddened. “Sorry. I seem to be doing a great job of offending you today, and believe me, that’s the last thing I want to do.”

“Tell me why you tried to call me six times today and why you waited an hour and a half for me to show up here.”

Excitement transformed Wesley’s handsome face.

He leaned forward, braced his arms on the table and started talking in low, urgent tones.

“It’s the perfect way to revitalize the series,” he said. “Don’t know why I didn’t think of it right away. It was the shock of hearing that Evelyn was dead, I guess. At first all I could think of was finding her files.”

“Oh, for pity’s sake, I should have guessed. You were the one who searched Evelyn’s office after her body was removed, weren’t you?”

“Now, Gwen, it wasn’t like that. I didn’t take anything.”

“How could you do such a thing? Talk about invading the privacy of the dead. Talk about illegal as hell. It’s called breaking and entering, you know. People go to jail for stuff like that.”

Wesley’s eyes darkened with outrage. “You’re accusing me of breaking into Evelyn’s house?”

“It wasn’t an accusation,” Gwen said. “More like a statement of fact.”

“Based on what?”

“Intuition.”

“You can’t go around accusing people of illegal actions based on intuition.”

“It was you. Don’t bother to deny it.”

“All right, I dropped by her house that day, but I swear I didn’t take a damn thing. And I didn’t break in. The back door was unlocked when I got there. All I did was take a look through her files. I was her employer. I have a right to whatever she was working on at the time of her death.”

“That house belongs to me now. Don’t go near it again without my permission.”

“Calm down. I apologize.” Wesley slumped into his chair. “I’ve got no reason to go back there, anyway. And just to be absolutely clear, I repeat, I didn’t take anything.”

“Why did you make such a mess?”

“Because I was in a hurry,” Wesley said. “I was afraid someone might come along and find me inside the house and think I was one of those people who robs empty houses after the owner dies. I didn’t want to get caught, that’s all. But I didn’t steal anything.”

“I believe you,” she said. “Not that it makes any difference when it comes to the underlying ethical issues involved.”

Wesley watched her for a long moment. He drummed his fingers on the table. “You really think she was murdered, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Like the others two years ago?”

“Yes.”

“I knew it. It’s perfect.” Wesley used both hands to rake his blond hair back behind his ears. Excitement lit his eyes again. “If you’re right, this could be huge.”

“I doubt it. If I’m right, all the victims were killed by paranormal means and that will be impossible to prove.”

“But that’s exactly what you’re trying to do, isn’t it? Prove that Evelyn was murdered by paranormal means. That’s why you’re hanging around Wilby. This isn’t about taking care of Evelyn’s estate. It’s about trying to find out what really happened to her and to that witch.”

“Louise Fuller.”

“Louise Fuller,” Wesley repeated obediently.

Gwen exhaled slowly. “It’s true—I’d like to find some answers.”

“Where does Coppersmith fit into this?”

“He’s a friend.”

“You’re sleeping together—I know that much,” Wesley said. “Hell, everyone in town knows it. But that’s not the whole story. I’ve known you for two years. You haven’t had a serious relationship in all that time.”

“I didn’t realize you’d been paying such close attention to my personal life.”

“I admit that after my divorce last year, I asked Evelyn about you from time to time,” Wesley said. “She made it clear that you were not interested in an intimate relationship with a man. I got the message.”

“Did you?”

“Well, I thought I got it. I assumed that you just didn’t like men in that way, that you were more interested in women.” Wesley frowned. “But when you showed up here with Coppersmith, it was obvious that something had changed.”

“And you’re wondering why him and not you? For heaven’s sake, Wesley, you’ve never had any deep feelings for me. We both know that. Two years ago I was a curiosity to you—a woman who claimed to have some paranormal talent. You wonder what it would be like to go to bed with me, that’s all. You’re looking at this through the lens of your ego. Give it a rest. Sometimes two people just don’t click.”

“But you and Coppersmith have clicked, is that it?”

“I think we’re getting a little off topic here.”

Wesley grunted. “Yeah, you’re right. Believe it or not, I’m here to offer you a business proposition.”

“I’m listening.”

“I have had an absolute brainstorm. Wait until you hear my new concept for the show. It’s going to take Dead of Night into the big leagues.”

“Let’s hear it,” Gwen said, trying to sound enthusiastic.

“Up until now we’ve focused on old legends that involve haunted houses and reports of mysterious paranormal events.” Wesley was very intent now. “But that’s gone stale. What the show needs is a new edge.”

“How do you plan to get that?”

“We’re going to refocus the series. We’ll investigate cold cases, crimes that have never been solved.”

“I hate to break this to you, but that’s not a new concept.”

“No, no, no, we’ve been doing historical murders. I’m talking about recent murders that have gone cold due to lack of evidence. Maybe some missing-person’s stuff, too.”

“Wesley—”

“Here’s the twist.” Wesley leaned forward and lowered his voice. “We will solve the cold cases using real psychic investigators.”

He threw himself back in his chair and spread his hands wide apart in a Voilà gesture. He waited for a reaction, smiling in expectation.

Gwen tried to think of something encouraging to say.

“I see,” she said. “This is a fictional series, right?”

“No, no, no. Don’t you get it? We’ll work with genuine psychic investigators to reopen cold cases and solve real crimes.”

“Where do you plan to find these psychic investigators?” she asked. “It pains me to say it, but there are a lot of fakes and frauds in that line.”

He winked. “But you and I know where to find the real deal—genuine psychics—don’t we?”

She sat very still. “Evelyn’s records?”

“I envision a small team of investigators composed of people like you and some of the others who participated in the Ballinger Study.”

“As I recall, you were never convinced that there is such a thing as the paranormal, let alone that people could use that kind of talent to solve crimes.”

“Between you and me, I’m still not entirely convinced,” Wesley said. “But that isn’t important. This is television. This will work. I know it in my gut. With Evelyn gone, I’m going to need your help putting the show together. The first step is to track down the psychics who participated in Evelyn’s study two years ago.”

“That’s why you searched her house, isn’t it? You weren’t looking for her last ideas for a new Dead of Night episode. You wanted to find her records relating to the Ballinger Study.”

“You want the truth, Gwen? I’m desperate and I need your help. Ratings are in the toilet. They’re threatening to cancel Dead of Night. What’s more, this isn’t just about me. If I don’t come up with a new concept and fast, we’re both going to be out of a job.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t think this is a good idea, Wesley. I was okay with writing up scripts based on Evelyn’s research of historical crimes, but you’re talking about taking the show in a whole different direction, one that could cause a lot of legal problems.”

“What do you mean?” he demanded.

“Stop and think about what might happen if you go around the country trying to reopen murder investigations in a reality TV format. Law enforcement isn’t going to be at all cooperative. The families of the deceased will be upset. And even if you did uncover a for-real case of murder using psychic investigation techniques, how on earth would you go about proving it?”

“This is television,” Wesley said. “We don’t have to prove anything. All we need to do is come up with a convincing theory of the crime that’s strong enough to cast doubt on the original findings. Hell, we’ll be doing a public service. At the very least, we can force regular law enforcement to take a closer look at some cold cases.”

“How do you intend to decide what cases warrant a Dead of Night investigation?”

“That’s where you come in. Your job will be to come up with the right cases. Shouldn’t be too hard. Once the word gets out online that I’m looking for reports of deaths that are unexplained or are in some way suspicious, we’ll be flooded with leads.”

“I can’t help you, Wesley.”

But he was not paying attention now. Dazzled by his own brilliance, he plowed forward.

“We’ll start right here in Wilby,” he announced. “We’ll investigate Evelyn’s death.”

Gwen stared at him. “What?”

“It’s perfect.” He flung up both hands, palms out. “Paranormal researcher slain by dark forces unleashed in her secret lab.”

“Forget it.” Evelyn’s ghost had been right, she thought. Wesley wanted to use her death as an episode on the show.

“After the first show, the lab will become the permanent set for Dead of Night,” he continued. “All of our future investigations will launch from there. I have to get back inside the lodge as soon as possible and take a closer look. Word in town is that you inherited that as well as her house. We could run over there right now.”

“No.”

That stopped Wesley. His face fell. “She didn’t leave the lab to you? But everyone is saying—”

Gwen got to her feet. “The lab is mine, but I won’t allow you turn Evelyn’s death into an episode for your series.”

Wesley stood. “You think she was murdered. This is your chance to prove it.”

“Law enforcement and courts require hard evidence. No one is going to pay any attention to an investigation run by a bunch of television psychics.”

She started toward the door.

Wesley lunged after her. He seized her upper arm, forcing her to stop.

“I need Evelyn’s list of psychics,” he said. “I’ll pay you for it. Name your price.”

She glanced down at his hand. “Let me go.”

“Listen to me, damn it, you can’t walk away. There’s too much at stake here.”

Gwen sensed the flood of icy energy an instant before she heard Judson’s cold voice.

“Take your hands off her,” he said.

Gwen felt the shock that snapped through Wesley. His hand dropped away. He stepped back so quickly he bumped into a nearby table. He glared at Judson.

“Don’t you dare threaten me, Coppersmith,” he said. “I’m trying to talk to Gwen. She works for me, damn it. I’ve got a right.”

Judson ignored him. He looked at Gwen.

“Finished in here?” he asked.

The banked embers of a glacial fire still burned in his eyes. Heads were turning in the lobby. At the front desk, Riley Duncan was frowning.

Trisha Montgomery appeared from the back office. “Is there a problem?” she asked. The question was coolly polite, but there was steel in her eyes. “Gwen?”

“It’s all right, Trisha,” Gwen said quickly.

The situation was deteriorating. She knew that she had to separate the two men as fast as possible.

“Wesley and I have finished our business discussion,” she said to Judson. “And the last thing we need is a scene,” she added in low tones as she whisked past him.

She held her breath, but in the end Judson reluctantly turned away from his prey and followed her. They climbed the stairs in silence. Wesley stalked out of the tearoom, crossed the lobby and went outside to get into his car. Trisha returned to her office. Riley went back to work. The guests picked up their books and magazines.

On the third floor, Judson unlocked Gwen’s door. She walked into the room. Max was ensconced in the center of the bed. He got to his feet to greet her. She crossed the room to rub his head.

Judson closed the door and stood with his back to it.

“What was going on down there?” he asked.

“Don’t look now, but we may have some competition in the psychic detective business.” Gwen sank down onto the side of the bed. “Wesley wants to fire up a new TV series focused on solving real cold case crimes using a team of genuine psychics as investigators. But you know how hard it is to find real talent.”

Comprehension heated Judson’s eyes. “He wants Evelyn’s records of the Ballinger Study so that he can use them to find genuine psychics. He was the one who searched her study before we got there.”

“Yes.” Gwen planted her hands behind her on the quilt and braced herself. “I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I was planning to go into the psychic investigation business myself.”

“The field is getting crowded,” Judson said. He glanced at his watch and went to stand at the window, looking out into the woods. “We have some time. How long would it take?”

“How long would what take?” she asked.

He turned his head to look at her. “You said you could help me find what I’m looking for in my recurring dream. How long would it take?”

She stilled. “Not long.”

“Let’s do it.”

“Are you sure?”

His eyes burned. “Dad said that a man would really have to trust a woman before he let her put him into a trance. I told you earlier that I trust you.”

“But you still don’t like the idea of needing dream therapy.”

His smile was rueful. “You know me well, don’t you, Dream Eyes?”

“Think of me as a repair person. Some people fix plumbing. I fix dreams.”

“You have a gift, an incredible talent,” he said. “What you do is amazing.”

“Why, thank you.”

“Walk through my dreams, partner. Help me find what I need to find.”

“All right, but I have to warn you, I need context first,” she said.

“I knew you were going to say that. Am I good or what?”

“You’re good. Talk to me, Judson.”