Gwen grew thoughtful. “In this dream, do you have any sense of where you’re going or what you want to accomplish?”
“I see Grady Hastings. He’s reaching out to me, begging me to help him. He tells me I’m the only one who can.”
“Is that all?”
“Pretty much.”
“Okay, I’m sticking to my theory that the fugue states you’re experiencing are being triggered by stress you experienced the other day. But there is another possibility that you should not overlook.”
“What?”
“Your intuition may be trying to tell you something important.”
“Such as?”
“I don’t know,” Gwen said. “But you’re too smart to ignore the implications. Try turning the dream into a lucid dream, and then take control of it.”
“Easier said than done.”
“Well, it’s certainly easier for a strong talent than it would be for someone who doesn’t have much psychic sensitivity,” Gwen said. “Before you go to sleep tonight, set your psychic alarm clock to alert you when you start dreaming. Then take control of the dream.”
“That will work?”
“Yes, if you do a good job of setting the alarm. The trick works on the same principle that makes it possible for you to tell yourself that you have to wake up at a certain time in order to catch an early plane. Lots of people, even people with very little talent, do that all the time.”
Abby took a slow breath and reminded herself that this was Gwen’s area of expertise. “Okay, I’ll give it a shot.”
Gwen aimed a finger at her. “You know what you really need?”
“Please don’t say a new boyfriend.”
“You need a vacation. You should come with me to Hawaii tomorrow. It’s not too late. I’ll bet we can find you a seat on my flight. There are always last-minute cancellations.”
“Sure, at full fare. You know I can’t afford that. Besides, leaving town now is out of the question. How can I enjoy a vacation if I know there’s a blackmailer waiting for me when I get back?”
“I guess that would put a damper on things,” Gwen conceded. “But you’ve hired Coppersmith to take care of the extortionist for you. Let him do his job while you relax on a beach.”
“I don’t think you can just hire an investigator and then go merrily off on vacation while he cleans things up for you.”
“Why not? You’re finished with the Vaughn job, and speaking as your friend and psychic counselor, I’m telling you that you need some time off to let your senses recover. Put the ticket to Hawaii on your charge card and tell your investigator to file reports of his progress by email.”
“I don’t like the idea of turning Sam Coppersmith loose, unsupervised, on what is essentially my very personal and private business.”
Gwen smiled knowingly. “You like to be in control.”
“Who doesn’t? But trust me, if you ever meet Sam Coppersmith, you’ll know why staying in charge is a very sensible idea.”
“What’s he like?”
“Think mad scientist with a basement lab.”
“Doesn’t sound like the typical profile of a private investigator.”
Abby picked up her glass again. “There’s nothing typical about Sam Coppersmith.”
When they emerged from the restaurant, a light misty rain veiled the Belltown neighborhood. The wet pavement glowed with the reflected light of the streetlamps. Neon signs illuminated the windows of the innumerable restaurants, pubs and clubs that lined both sides of First Avenue.
Gwen shoved her hands deep into the pockets of her trench coat. “I’m thinking that maybe I should cancel Hawaii tomorrow. I don’t like leaving you here alone to deal with Coppersmith and a blackmailer.”
