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Dumbass question. He knew the answer. He wanted something more than a friendship or a partnership. He had wantedherthe first time he saw her, and things had only gotten more complicated. There had been times when he thought he had picked up subtle signals that made him hope the attraction was mutual, but he could not be certain, and he was uneasy about pushing for clarification. It was too soon and they had too many problems.
“According to Calvin, the major players at the college are the dean, Hugh Guthrie, and the director of the endowment, Margaret Moore,” he continued. “Both of them were hired before the anonymous donor showed up. They, of course, jumped at the offer of all that free money. So did everyone else. They agreed to the terms, even though the school had no history of having engaged in sleep research. In fairness, they didn’t have much choice. Carnelian is a small institution with a shrinking endowment. Enrollment has been falling for years, and the alumni have not been generous.”
“Moore and Guthrie must have been thrilled,” Pallas said. “The anonymous donor made them look good. They would have gotten the credit for attracting the huge donation. Interestingly, there’s no indication the donor was a graduate or had any previous connection to the school. The only reason he rushed to its rescue was because he wanted the Institute opened.”
“A sleep clinic that specializes in dream disorders,” Ambrose said.
“Maybe he’s obsessed with his own sleep disorder so he funded an entire clinic to do research in the field,” Pallas suggested.
“It would not be the first time someone established a research facility designed to focus on a disorder or an illness that afflicted the donor or members of the donor’s family,” Ambrose said. “But instead of bringing in world-class talent, the college hires Dr.Conrad Fenner, who, thanks to Calvin, we now know was quietly forced out of his last job.”
Pallas glanced at her own notes. “He was accused of violating research protocols by conducting experiments with a drug that had not been approved for trials.”
“So the anonymous donor goes to the trouble and expense of establishing the Carnelian Sleep Institute and then specifies that a disgraced researcher must be appointed director,” Ambrose said. “That doesn’t seem right.”
Pallas looked up. “Fenner might have been accused of violating research protocols, but maybe the donor thinks the drug holds promise. Maybe he was convinced that Fenner was on the right track, an undiscovered genius, and wants to give him the opportunity to continue the research.”
“That makes sense,” Ambrose said. “But there’s another possibility. Maybe our mysterious donor insisted that Fenner be hired as director because he knew he could control and manipulate him.”
“To what purpose?”
Ambrose tapped the notebook against the table. “What if Fenner is carrying out research on a drug the donor controls? Think about it. If you developed a dangerous new drug, one that no legitimate, reputable research lab would test on human subjects, how would you go about getting it into a drug trial?”
Pallas frowned. “If you had a great deal of money, you might set up your own research institute and appoint someone you knew you could manipulate to run the experiments.”
Ambrose tried to look away from her fierce gaze, but he could not break the spell.
“I need to get inside Fenner’s house,” he said.
“More B and E?” Pallas said quietly.
She didn’t sound disapproving, he decided. Instead she sounded thoughtful.
He lowered his voice even though there was no one seated at the nearby tables.
“It won’t be hard to find an address for Fenner,” he said. “It’s not like he’s trying to hide.”
—
They left thecafé and walked back to the hotel through the damp, streetlamp-infused fog. With his normal vision limited by the mist, Ambrose opened the window in his mind. Auras were visible day or night and regardless of the atmospheric conditions. It was a handy way to watch for trouble on the street.
None of the handful of people on the sidewalk ahead looked threatening. He glanced back over his shoulder. A jittery energy field flared and flashed in an erratic manner. Auras did not indicate gender, but there was no doubt the person was moving quickly, closing the distance.
“You are in your other vision, aren’t you?” Pallas said.
He turned back to watch the sidewalk ahead of them. “You can tell?”
“I felt energy shift in the atmosphere. What did you see?”
“Either we happen to be between someone who is very anxious to meet his dealer or we are about to get mugged.”
“I’d rather not get mugged.” She reached into her messenger bag and took out her Taser. “I think I’ve had all the excitement I can handle for one day.”
“I have, too, but it would be interesting to find out who is behind us.”
The hotel was still two blocks away, but the unlit entrance ofPrism: Your destination for all things metaphysicaloffered concealment. He pulled Pallas into the shadows.
“Maybe it’s Jodi Luckhurst again,” Pallas whispered.
