I wondered if I were overdressed: wearing a formal shirt and black slacks. Although I hadn’t come here on business, I nonetheless wanted to project an image of professionalism, even if I didn’t really feel it.

  When Ethel opened the door, her hand flew to her mouth in alarm.

  “Land’s sake, Syd!” Then she quickly grabbed my arm and pulled me inside. The smell of breakfast cooking on the wood stove next to the door hit my nostrils like a sledgehammer. The delicious aroma woke me up, and I quickly took in the whole kitchen. The décor and appliances were a curious blend of Victorian furniture and mid-twentieth century appliances. The cast iron skillet had bacon frying in it and a griddle took care of the pancakes and scrambled eggs. They also appeared to be genuine antiques.

  Ethel closed and locked the door behind her, putting her hands on her hips as she gave me a glare that told me she refused to tolerate any BS. “You look worn out.”

  “I can’t argue that,” I replied testily, doing my best to enunciate clearly. The steam from my increased body temperature was fogging up my glasses. I pulled them off and wiped them with my shirt tail because I’d left Granddad’s handkerchief at the store that morning. Before I finished cleaning my glasses, Ethel slipped a fine monogrammed handkerchief into my hand. I looked up gratefully before I resumed the task.

  She lowered her head and stared into my eyes. “Would I be right in guessing your night job as Sandman is affecting you this morning?” Ethel knew what I was, simply because I’d rid her of her own nightmares. And, in the process, she’d become sort of like my pseudo mother. I trusted her to keep my secret, even from RJ, who had no idea what I was. And it wasn’t like I could enlighten him either, the rules of the Council had been clear—no alerting humans, any humans, to what I was.

  As to Ethel? I hadn’t exactly told her what I was—she’d just figured it out when I’d interrupted her sleep and spared her from a particularly unpleasant sleep specter. Even though I was fairly sure she didn’t know that most of Haven Hollow’s population was of the supernatural variety, she had said that strange things went on in this town and I figured I was now considered among them. As long as Maverick didn’t discover this little slip-up, I was fine with it.

  Peering around and probing my face some more, she added, “And judging from how you’re dragging yourself around, looks like you’ve been exhausted for some time?”

  I knew better than to lie to the wise old woman. “You’re correct on both counts,” I replied, returning her handkerchief. “I’ve been dealing with a persistent nightmare.” I didn’t tell her it wasn’t my own.

  While I put my glasses back on, Ethel asked, “Is the nightmare assaulting someone close by?”

  “I believe so. It arose from one of the nearest doors down the corridor, which means the sleeper had to be close to my physical location.”

  “Any idea who or where they could be?”

  “I wish I knew,” I answered, putting as much sincerity into my statement as I could. I didn’t mention that it was one of her guests because I urgently needed some breakfast before I could properly reply to her inevitable questions.

  Ethel’s face softened, and she nodded with understanding. “Well, I’m glad to hear you’re keeping our dreams safe, Syd.” I rolled my shoulders to straighten out the kinks as she continued, deftly handing me a steaming mug of tea. “One freshly brewed cup of green tea.”

  I took the mug, which, oddly enough, looked like it came from this century. “You’re a life saver.”

  I tilted the mug and drank the hot contents in one gulp. The sudden jolt of hot liquid instantly replaced my lethargy. “Let me help you with serving breakfast this morning,” I offered.

  Ethel smiled. “I’m not going to turn that down, but only if you stay for breakfast, yourself.”

  “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

  Carefully pulling out the strips of bacon from the skillet with a pair of tongs, I doled out the portions onto Ethel’s fine china plates as she held them out to me. Ethel was serving the scrambled eggs with an old, metal spatula. She said, “You know, Syd, there’s one guest I’d really like you to meet… I bet you both would have lots in common.”

  I froze at hearing her words. “Ethel, no setting me up. I thought we already discussed that.”

  “As I recall,” Ethel countered in a singsong voice, “the only thing we discussed was not to bother you unless I had the perfect match. Well,” she continued on a knowing smile. “Bailey definitely strikes me as the perfect match for you.”

  I continued distributing the bacon and tried to ignore her statement or the fact that the mention of Bailey’s name did something weird to my stomach. Even so, Ethel had hit a personal sore spot. I didn’t want to tell her I’d already met my “perfect match.”

  “While I appreciate your help,” I started, but wasn’t given the opportunity to finish.

  Ethel emitted an exasperated growl. “Great Marianna! You, the Sandman, of all people, should have no qualms trusting the judgment of someone who has successfully matched at least four couples!”

  “That’s not it, Ethel,” I argued. “I just...” I interrupted my lecture with a deep yawn and tried to stave off the exhaustion overcoming me again. “I’m not ready to meet anyone yet.”

  “Well, ready or not,” Ethel replied, using her spatula to place the pancakes onto the plates. “You’ll meet her this morning at breakfast. Trust me, one look and I’m sure you’ll both hit it off just fine.” Then she gave me a raised-brow expression. “And she’s very pretty.”

  I answered with a wan smile. I didn’t have the energy to tell her that Bailey had already come to the store only yesterday. And yes, I was well aware that my new office assistant was every bit as lovely as Ethel made her out to be. But there was no way she was the ideal match for me because A) her new status as my assistant put her in a compromising position; and B) the strong possibility that she was the sleeper I was trying to help only exacerbated that.

  My protective streak bristled at the mental image of that vile mara riding Bailey under the guise of offering her protection. Every instinct inside me wanted to retaliate. That hissing beast was horrible but a nightmare was no improvement. If I ever caught up with that mara again...

  Perhaps my anger grew so intense because Bailey was just a normal human. Perhaps it had nothing to do with how attractive she was or the fact that I’d smiled more with her than I had in the last three months.

  Right now, however, I was much too tired for such internal debates. Instead, I gathered up some of the plates and followed Ethel into the dining room.

  ***

  The dining room was formally appointed with a lace tablecloth-covered antique table that occupied most of the room. The oval shape allowed everyone to see each other as they dined. A woman in her late thirties from the far end of the table raised her expertly penciled eyebrow as she took in the breakfast dishes on the counter and then me.

  “What’s this, Ethel?” She had a mid-Atlantic accent. “I thought you said you lacked any staff at this charming inn of yours.”

  “And that’s true, Lizzie,” Ethel replied as she put a plate in front of the woman. “This is Mr. Sydney Blackstone, our newest neighbor in Haven Hollow. He’s helping me out today, and he’ll be joining us for breakfast.” Then she eyed Bailey with a secretive smile and Bailey looked at me in confusion. I just shrugged.

  Then I took a moment to nod to everyone before realizing that the chair beside Bailey was conveniently available. Sitting on her other side was a bookish-looking man with a thin build.

  “It’s a good thing too,” said a young man in a nondescript red t-shirt. “I’m beginning to feel outnumbered by all the women here.” Then he smiled broadly. “Not that I’m complaining.”

  A bleached blonde in a white undershirt beside him gently elbowed him in the arm. “You do realize your wife is sitting right next to you, don’t you? And I know where you sleep!”

  “I could say the same thing to you,” the man replied before they shared a kiss. That got a grin from Ethel. Looking at me, she gestured towards them with her head. I nodded and walked around the table to serve them.

  “So,” I said as I put their plates in front of them, “are you two newlyweds?”

  The young man’s eyes widened. “Good guess, Sydney!”

  “Syd, please,” I corrected him gently.

  “Syd, it is. What gave us away?”

  I pointed to the gold bands on their fingers. “Neither of you have a tan line around your wedding bands.”

  The blonde smiled in appreciation. “Is your real name Sherlock Holmes?”

  I chuckled as the young man offered me his hand. “Sam Clarke.”

  As we shook hands, his bride proffered her own hand to me, saying, “And I’m Ashley.”

  While I mingled with the couple, Ethel served a plate to the thin man. He had an overly square face and an exaggerated lantern of a chin. His hair was slicked back and parted right down the middle which seemed to only draw more attention to the lower half of his face. The unique energy I could feel billowing from him suggested he was a supernatural creature.

  As I puzzled over that, Ethel said to the Clarkes, “Now you folks let me know if you want any seconds while I finish the rest of my introductions.” The newlyweds nodded and smiled as Ethel waved to the man with the blockhead when she walked past him. “This here is Mr. Quincy Derleth. He’s a writer come to town to finish up a book.”

  “Which should be very soon,” Quincy added. “As long as my research is plentiful enough.”

  “May I ask what you’re researching?” I inquired.

  “Oh, just a local Haven Hollow landmark that has scant information about it,” Quincy replied after swallowing a mouthful of bacon. “I’d like to finish my breakfast before I discuss it in detail.”

  “Absolutely right!” the elegant woman with the raised eyebrow (I think Ethel had called her ‘Lizzie’) exclaimed as Ethel set down her plate. “Breakfast really is the most important meal of the day.”

  “Syd, I’d like you to meet Elizabeth Bloch,” Ethel said before moving onto Bailey with her final plate. “She thinks our little town is a much better alternative to the big city.”

  “Well, a place like Haven Hollow certainly has its rustic charm,” Elizabeth commented. “And if I can call you Syd, please call me Lizzie. Everyone does, even the people who work for me.”

  The first thing I noticed about Lizzie was her earrings which were pure platinum with diamonds in the setting. And large diamonds, at that. She had a pretty face that was somewhat upstaged by the expert tailoring and fabric of her clothing. She certainly didn’t look like she fit into a small, country town such as this one. I noticed Sam was making eye contact with her, and the longing stare he gave her was unbecoming from any married man.

  “And finally,” Ethel said, as she placed a plate in front of Bailey, “we’ve got our Haven Hollow regular, Bailey Bennett.”

  Bailey looked up at me with a big smile before darting her eyes to the rest of the table. The elephant in the room was obvious: should we tell everyone at the table we’d already met? Despite my exhaustion, I couldn’t suppress my smirk as I shook my head. Bailey’s lovely lips scrunched to suppress her own smile, and she bobbed her head slightly with laughter. My mood lightened. Pretending to be strangers was a game I’d played with Melody on more than a few occasions. It felt good to do it again, even with someone else.

  “So, are you going to use your Sherlock Holmes magic on anyone else or just us?” Ashley asked me. Then she looked at Bailey. “Maybe on Ms. Bennett?”

  I channeled my exhaustion into an exaggerated sigh that made me sound even wearier than I felt.

  “Please! Call me Bailey,” my secret new employee said. “And I don’t mind at all if you want to try your hand at figuring me out, Sherlock... really.” If everyone hadn’t been looking at her, I imagine she would have winked at me.

  Chapter Seven

  Feeling a bit more sprightly than I had earlier, I cleared my throat and made a show of looking Bailey over.

  Of course, I had the advantage from discussing her background after speaking to her yesterday. “I have a feeling you’re privy to information most of us aren’t,” I started, trying not to smile.

  “Go on,” Bailey said, hiding her smile in a spoonful of her eggs.

  “I get the feeling you can interact with the spirit world,” I continued.

  “Wow! He is good!” Ethel said, a warm and round smile on her plump face.

  “I’m a psychic, yes,” Bailey finished, then held my gaze as the two of us enjoyed our inside joke.

  “All right, Mr. Know-It-All,” Lizzie said with mock anger as her mouth dropped open. “You’ve got to be an FBI profiler or a private investigator or something.”

  “Nope, I’m neither,” I retorted while taking my first bite of pancake which was just as delicious as I’d known it would be. “Anyone who deals with the public learns how to read people.”

  “With all due disrespect,” Quincy said after wiping off his mouth with a napkin, “you don’t strike me as a call center rep.”

  I swallowed my pancake and savored its goodness. “That’s because I’m not.”

  “Then what do you do exactly?” Bailey asked, doing her best to sell her bewilderment to the others. In my humble opinion, her acting could have used a little work but everyone at the table seemed convinced.

  “Oh, land’s sake, Syd,” Ethel huffed with annoyance. “When are you going to announce you’re the one who provided the mattresses that everyone slept on last night?”

  “Wait, what?” Sam asked in surprise.

  Quincy appeared equally surprised.

  “Well, let me just say,” Lizzie interrupted, leaning forward in her seat. “What I experienced last night in the sleep department could make you independently wealthy! I’ve never slept so well in my life! I was just telling Ethel this morning.” Then she faced the woman in question. “Wasn’t I just telling you how well I slept?”

  “She sure did, Syd,” Ethel remarked, giving me a big smile.

  “Well, I am extremely pleased to hear that,” I answered. “My reputation is built on my mattresses.” Never mind that mattress-making was much more involved than they imagined. Like my dreams, my mattresses were conjured solely from my sand. Per a compact that dated back to my grandfather’s time, mattresses were the only objects my family could sustainably build in the waking world from nothing but sand.

  “Do you have a retail store?” Ashley inquired.

  “I will in the very near future,” I replied. “Next week, in fact, if all goes well. Naturally, you’re all invited to my grand opening.”

  “Well, last night was the best sleep I’ve had since I arrived,” Lizzie said again, nodding this time. “Put me down for five of those mattresses.”

  “Are there that many beds in your mansion?” Bailey asked with a smile.

  “No, I have five separate homes with five separate master bedrooms,” Lizzie answered, her chin in the air as the diamonds in her ears reflected the overhead light. “And there’s no way in hell I’m ever going to sleep on anything other than one of Syd’s mattresses ever again!”

  “If you’d like to swing by later today,” I offered, “you could pick out whatever mattresses you want.”

  “Oh, can you ship them out today?”

  “Sure,” I answered. Between this sale and yesterday’s sales, I believed I could already cover my bills for the coming month!

  “Were you born and raised in Haven Hollow, Mr. Blackstone?” Quincy asked, studying me with interest.

  “As I said before, please call me Syd,” I replied with a raised hand. “And to answer your question, no, I’m a fairly recent arrival.”

  He pursed his lips. “I can’t imagine making mattresses as the sole source of a family business.”

  “Why not?” I asked, not sure if I should be offended or not. “I’m proud to say my family has been making them for three generations now.”

  “Where does your family come from originally?”

  I pondered how to answer his question and used the moment to take another bite of my pancakes. “Originally from Norway. But the more recent generations of my family all live in the States.”

  “Blackstone is an English name, not a Norwegian one,” Quincy observed. “Does your family hail from England as well?”

  I started to tense up because his questions were extremely detailed ones that struck me as slightly odd. “Yes, I suppose traces of them do.” I paused in my attention to the pancakes and started eating my bacon.

  “Ah, you must excuse me,” Quincy said, taking the hint. “Curse of being an historian, I’m afraid. I continually encroach on the lines that shouldn’t be crossed.”

  I had to say something before the conversation became uncomfortable so I turned to face the rest of the diners. “I wonder if everyone here, along with Lizzie, had a good night’s sleep last night?”

  That resulted in a chorus of enthusiastic affirmative replies, ranging from “the best” to “hell, yes!” The latter came from Sam but I sensed a false note in the young man’s enthusiasm. I got the feeling he tried too hard to blend in—it was in the way he agreed with what everyone else was saying, and yet I could see the bags underneath his eyes. With that, Sam jumped to the top of my list of suspected nightmare sufferers.

  “May I ask the name of your store?” Lizzie inquired.

  “Sandman Syd’s,” I replied. “The sign went up two days ago, and it’s easy to spot—right there on Main Street.”

  “Sandman Syd? Like the Neil Gaiman show?” Ashley asked. “The one on Netflix.”

  “Gaiman actually got his concept from much older legends,” I corrected her. “The legend I prefer is Ole Lukoie.”

  “How does that legend go?” Bailey asked.

  I looked at her and smiled. “He sprinkles sand into children’s eyes and makes them sleep. Afterwards, he makes sure they have good dreams by spinning a colorful umbrella in front of their faces.”