Falling Awake(67)
Author: Jayne Ann Krentz

Ellis’s mouth curved faintly. “Yeah. What I think. Okay, here’s how I see it.”

He gave Dave a quick, concise summary of events. As far as Isabel could tell, he left nothing out.

“Everyone except me is satisfied that Scargill is dead,” Ellis concluded. “They think I’m obsessed with a dead man. But my theory is that Scargill is still alive.” He pointed at the cobra. “And you’ve just given me a little bit of proof that supports my version of events.”

Dave sat down slowly, shaken. “I still don’t understand why you think the magazine proves anything. Katherine probably bought it as a sort of keepsake because it represented something she shared with Scargill.”

“That may be why she purchased it but I don’t think that’s why I found it where I did on the floor. It was located only a short distance from where she fell, Dave. I believe that she managed to grab it just before she was shot. The impact of the bullet probably caused her to drop it. That’s why there’s no blood on it.”

“Wouldn’t Scargill have noticed it and recognized his own game avatar?”

“The magazine was facedown when I found it,” Ellis said softly. “My hunch is that Scargill never saw the cover.”

Dave studied the magazine as if he were trying to read a half-forgotten language that could be deciphered if he just worked at it. “The police said the place had been vandalized as well as burglarized.”

“If I’m right, Scargill tore up Katherine’s apartment in order to simulate an out-of-control murder-robbery. He’s a game player, remember. But now that we know the magazine had some personal meaning for her, what are the odds that Katherine would have been killed with it practically in her hands?”

Dave’s eyes lit with understanding and savage pride. “She did her best in the last moments of her life to name her killer.”

“I think so, yes,” Ellis said.

Dave dropped his head into his hands. “She left the clue for me. She must have known that I was the only one who could make sense of it. I did eventually go to her apartment to help Mom and Dad pack up her things but by the time we got there the place had been cleaned.”

“You mustn’t feel bad, Dave.” Isabel put her hand on his shoulder. “Even if you had seen the magazine immediately after the killing and understood its significance, it’s highly doubtful that the police would have paid any attention to you.”

“Because Scargill is officially dead and cremated,” Ellis reminded him softly.

Dave raised his head, his face bleak. “This is crazy.”

“No, it’s not,” Ellis said. “Not if you go with my theory that Scargill is still alive. Then everything else falls into place.”

There was a long silence. Both men drank their coffee.

Ellis set down his empty cup. “How did you find me, Dave?”

Dave had gone back to staring at the picture of the cobra. He seemed distracted. “What?”

“How did you locate me?” Ellis repeated patiently. “I wasn’t deliberately trying to hide but not very many people know that I’m here in Roxanna Beach.”

“Oh, yeah, I see what you mean.” Dave shrugged. “I tracked you online. It wasn’t that hard. You may be some kind of hotshot secret agent when you work for Frey-Salter but the rest of the time you maintain a legitimate business identity. You’ve got corporate credit cards, a driver’s license and a Maserati, for crying out loud. How hard could it be to find you? Especially since, like you said, you weren’t trying to hide.”

Ellis smiled, evidently satisfied. “Are you as good as Katherine was when it comes to computers?”

“Probably. Why?”

“Because I’ve hit the wall when it comes to online research and I can’t trust my usual sources. I need some help.”

“I’m still not completely sure you’re the good guy in this thing,” Dave muttered. He flicked a speculative glance at Isabel. “But I agree that finding that picture of the cobra in Katherine’s apartment does point toward Scargill.”

Ellis checked his watch. “I’m in a hurry here. Want to help me find your sister’s killer or not?”

“You know the answer to that,” Dave said.

32

halfway through the first session of “Tapping into the Creative Potential of Your Dreams,” Isabel knew she had a disaster on her hands. An atmosphere of restless boredom had enveloped the seminar room five minutes into her lecture. One man in the first row had gone to sleep. Most of the other attendees were glancing at their watches every few minutes. Tamsyn, observing from a seat at the back of the chamber, appeared increasingly concerned.

Okay, so I’m not cut out to be an instructor of the Kyler Method. Another career path down the drain. So what else is new?

The fact that half her mind was fully occupied in wondering what Ellis was doing was not helping her stay focused on the job at hand.

She glanced at the clock. Half an hour to go. She would have given anything to walk off the stage but she knew she had no choice but to plow ahead.

“People tend to recall only the dreams they have just before they awaken and very often not even those. But researchers are convinced that most of us dream actively all night long. You can prove this easily enough by waking people up at various points during the night and asking them about their dreams. Trust me, they’ll tell you. Probably more than you really want to know.”

No one laughed at the small joke.

A man seated in the third row raised his hand. She had noticed him earlier, in part because he was one of the few men in the room with a beard. His was closely cut, with a stylish flair that accented the handsome angles of his cheekbones and jaw-line. The other reason she had picked him out of the crowd was because he was one of the few people who seemed genuinely interested in her lecture.

“Yes?” she said brightly, so desperately grateful to him for showing some interest that she wanted to hop over the first two rows and kiss him on both cheeks. “You had a question, sir?”

“I was just wondering,” he said in a low, resonant voice, “why we don’t remember many of our dreams?”

“Theories vary but one that sounds reasonable to many researchers is that we simply aren’t paying much attention while we sleep. We don’t focus on a dream unless it happens to be particularly vivid or unless it contains a strong emotional element.” She held up a notepad. “Which brings me to the first step in the process of tapping into the creative potential of your dreams.” She paused for effect, as she had learned in her instructors’ classes. “Take notes. Keep a pen and a pad of paper beside your bed. Or try a recorder. Whenever you wake up in the middle of the night, write down whatever you can recall of your dreams. Your goal is to create a dream log.”