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“Dreaming I Wake” is a historical thriller blending a factual Golden-Age Hollywood murder mystery with a modern-day ghost story. The former owners of a Hollywood hills bungalow, air-ambulance pilot James McQueen and his wife Andrea, actually felt a bit relieved after selling their “haunted house in the Hollywood hills,” and the creaking footsteps audible at night and the swaying chandelier in the den had been more unnerving than outright frightening. But a few months after moving, Jim begins having recurring dreams of the 1920s-era charmer, finding himself in the grips of increasingly terrifying nightmares, unable to discern his dreams from reality. With his mental health and career in jeopardy, and facing a sixty-day FAA grounding, he explores lucid dreaming while Andrea researches the bungalow’s history, uncovering the tragic death that took place there.

In “Waking I Dream,” the sequel to “Dreaming I Wake” and the second novel in the Dreaming Trilogy, we pick up with Jim’s disabled sister, Joan, who does indeed live a rich inner life. In her potent dreams of another life, in another time, Joan is a math shark with a photographic memory, a WWII-era OSS undercover agent and cryptologist, and a globe-trotting Nazi hunter. This is the world that is most authentic and tangible to Joan. Review of Waking I Dream:

“Like most good series, book 2 in the Dreaming trilogy holds up well as a standalone tale. While brutally real, Waking I Dream also gently delves into the supernatural and philosophical as it follows the adventures of Joan, a young WW2 spy with a swag of marketable abilities…and some slightly less tangible. Joan embarks on a deadly game of cat-and-mouse to wreak vengeance on a monster from her ‘past,’ accompanied by perhaps the most unlikely sidekick trope in the history of action stories – the ‘flamboyant aunt.’ Spies, revenge, romance and sledge hammers – the very definition of a page-turner.”

In “Dreaming I Die,” the final installment of Kim Robson’s Dreaming Trilogy, lighthouse keeper Liam ponders the existential question: They say you can’t die in a dream, but really, how could you know for sure? Thirteen miles off the southern tip of mainland Ireland on Fastnet Rock, the caretaker sat by the lower level of the lighthouse tower’s glass gallery, puffing gloomily on his pipe. The North Atlantic sea crashed and foamed angrily against the jagged shale rocks a hundred and fifty feet below. An oppressive blanket of fog had crept in before dawn, stealing soundlessly on cat’s feet across the cold dark water. The light rotated with a soft hiss in its vat of mercury to clockwork clicks, flashing a brilliant beam over the sea, illumining its surface across two dozen nautical miles. A whiteness glowing in the dark. A life ring bobbed just off the treacherous rocks. A person clung to it. He found the life preserver washed up against the flat landing rocks at the quay. “Where are ye? Hallo? Can ye hear me?” he shouted above the hissing foam. “Hallo?!?” Carefully, he ventured out past the rusting hoists that stood sentinel over the receiving dock, sea spray misting his face. And like a ghost coalescing from the mist, she appeared, clinging to an ancient rusted mooring ring with her white hands. She was soaked, shivering, and utterly exhausted, but it was her nonetheless. His Angel of Death.