When he was sure he had his senses under control he draped the towel around his neck and moved barefoot across the carpet to one of the two long tables that comprised the only furniture in the meditation chamber. The space had originally been designed as a dining room but a man who lived alone and did his own cooking had no need of a formal dining room.
He was not alone in the chamber. Rex was stretched out under the table, waiting patiently. Now he bounded to his feet, ears pricked, and trotted forward. Ready to hunt.
“It’s okay, pal.” Nick rubbed the special spot behind the dog’s ears. “Dreamtime is over. I’m awake.”
In the shadows of the darkened room Rex looked more like a wolf than a dog. He had arrived in Nick’s life almost a year earlier, not long after Patricia had left. Nick had been driving to Santa Rosa to visit his uncle and had stopped at a gas station. Rex had appeared from behind the garage. He had padded up to Nick and thrust his nose into Nick’s hand.
* * *
Nick gave the dog a couple of pats and figured that was the end of it. But Rex had evidently made a decision. When Nick opened the driver’s side door of the car the dog jumped up onto the leather seat, stepped over the gearshift, and took up a position on the passenger’s side of the vehicle.
Nick looked at the gas station attendant. “Your dog?”
“Nope.” The attendant adjusted his billed cap and grunted. “Stray. Someone probably wanted to get rid of him so they took him for a long ride and dumped him out on the side of the road. Happens a lot. Costs money to feed a dog. What with the bad economy and all no one wants to waste food on a mutt that can’t earn his keep. Besides, it’s not like he’s Rin-Tin-Tin.”
“What do you mean?” Nick asked.
The attendant shrugged. “Seems smart enough but as far as I can tell he doesn’t do any tricks. Won’t even sit up and beg. Just stares at you like you’re not real bright. I feed him occasionally and keep a bowl of water for him but mostly he eats out of garbage cans. He sleeps around back of the garage. Comes out every time a car pulls into the station. It’s like he’s been waiting for someone to show up.”
Nick opened the passenger side door, silently inviting Rex to vacate the vehicle. Rex ignored him. Nick reached into the car with the intention of hauling the dog out. He changed his mind as soon as his hand settled on the scruff of Rex’s neck. He got the sensation that he and the dog had a few things in common. A couple of misfits looking for the place they belonged.
Nick closed the passenger side door.
“Looks like whoever he was waiting for just showed up,” he said to the attendant.
He climbed behind the wheel and got back on the road to Santa Rosa.
* * *
Unlike Patricia, Rex didn’t have a problem with the trances. He didn’t look at Nick as if he thought Nick was mentally unbalanced. He accepted the fever dreams with the equanimity that only a dog could summon.
Nick wished that he could deal with the trances in the same casual manner. But the truth was they sometimes scared him. Every time he went into a dream meditation he sensed he was playing with fire. Uncle Pete had explained the visions were a manifestation of the Sundridge family curse.
Pete Sundridge had raised him after his parents had been killed in a car crash. Nick had been thirteen when he had gone to live with his uncle. The weird trances had begun striking at odd moments. Back at the start they had been unpredictable and terrifying. Pete had sat down with him and explained the problem in a straightforward fashion.
* * *
“You’ve got to figure out how to deal with them because they’re going to make your life a living hell if you don’t. Actually, they’ll probably make your life a living hell at times anyway. Here’s the thing you need to remember: You can’t tell anyone else about them. People will think you’re crazy.”
“Maybe I am crazy,” Nick said.
“The dreams could drive you straight into an asylum but it doesn’t have to be that way. You can control them if you put your mind to it. You’re not the first Sundridge man to get the curse. The others survived. Mostly.”
* * *
Nick switched on a lamp and contemplated the items that he had arranged on the surface of the workbench. There was a long silk scarf, a brochure advertising the delights of a transatlantic voyage from New York to London, a couple of photos of smiling brides, and several newspaper clippings covering two East Coast society weddings that had taken place in the past three years.
Next he studied the reports of the tragic deaths of the two brides. Both had died in the course of transatlantic voyages from New York to London. Both had been swept overboard during a storm. The grieving husbands had inherited a great deal of money thanks to insurance policies that had been taken out shortly after the weddings.
There were no photos of the husbands in the papers, but in the modern age everyone had a camera. Sure enough, the families of both brides had a few snapshots of their daughters that included their fiancés. Yesterday copies of the photos had been delivered to Nick. He had examined them closely with the aid of a magnifying glass. There was no question but that the groom in both pictures was the same man.
The brides were all descended from quietly respectable families. They did not move in the most exclusive circles. Weddings at the apex of the social world were scrutinized by a great many people, including family lawyers who knew how to verify the finances of both sides. Engagements frequently lasted a year and there were always a lot of extravagant parties and photographs of the future groom along the way.
Nick was sure the man he was hunting preferred to remain out of sight as much as possible. Gilford Norburn stalked his prey in the backwaters of society.
Nick contemplated the scenes he had summoned in the trance and then he went to the other table. Another smiling bride. This time the wedding was in San Francisco. The local papers had dutifully recorded it with a small picture of the bride. Again there was no photo of the husband.
He glanced at the calendar and confirmed a couple of critical dates. Then he picked up the phone and called the client. It was just after dawn but Eleanor Barrows answered on the first ring. It was evident that she had not been asleep.
“Yes?” she said. Anxiety vibrated in her voice.
“You’re right, Mrs. Barrows,” Nick said. “Your niece’s new husband is bad news. I’m very certain that he plans to kill Linda and soon.”
“Kill Linda? Dear heaven, I knew there was something off about Gilford Norburn. I was sure he was just after the house and the money her father left me. I took steps to protect both, at least until I’m gone. At that point she inherits everything, of course. It didn’t occur to me Norburn might murder Linda. I assumed I was the one he might try to get rid of.”