“Well, hell, idiots come up here to try to emulate Big Foot or abominable snowman tracks now and then—why not a bear?” Mike mused.
“It’s impossible to search the forests in the dark,” Jackson said. “We’ll get all the crews started again in the morning.”
He was the first to really note Clara then. He touched her cheek. “Hey, you’re okay. The place is surrounded by law enforcement—guys who know how to use guns,” he assured her.
Thor glanced at her, annoyance in his eyes. She was sure that he saw her as the person who “possibly” imagined things, and had slowed him down on his hunt.
She really didn’t give a damn.
“Jackson, I need to get to the Mansion in the morning.”
“Oh?” he asked, frowning.
“Miss Avery is certain that there’s another way inside—that someone was in the Mansion when she was,” Thor said.
Jackson and he seemed to exchange some kind of silent communication.
Thor continued, “So, we’ll take another good look in the morning. Forensic crews have been all over the place, but...”
“But they weren’t there when I was,” Clara said. “And I know that I heard something. Anyway, good night, gentlemen.” She turned and headed back into the room that had actually been assigned to her.
She tried to tell herself that no ghost was as bad as an agent with an attitude.
But that was a lie.
She was still terrified.
And so she lay awake with the television on and the lights glaring.
Somewhere along the line, she slept.
She felt as if someone tried to wake her then, speaking her name softly, shaking her shoulder.
She opened her eyes.
And there she was, Amelia Carson, dark hair curling around her pretty features, snow hood fallen back, a serious look on her face.
Clara nearly screamed. Except that when she blinked, Amelia was gone.
And Special Agent Thor Erikson was at her door, tapping, calling her name and—as seemed perpetual now—scowling when he looked at her.
“You wanted to go by the Mansion? Let’s do it,” he said. “Five minutes, please.”
The door closed and she was left alone. She sat up, shivering and certain that the room was exceptionally cold, even for Alaska.
It was as cold as...
Death.
6
Forensic crews had worked through the night at the Mansion; in their efforts to find anything at all, they had removed, bagged and tagged the props in the bloody scene that had been left there by Wickedly Weird Productions.
But it wasn’t the inside that concerned Thor at the moment.
While Mike was seeing to it that the remaining members of the film crew and Ralph, Simon and Larry were returned to the mainland, Thor, Jackson and Clara were walking around the Mansion.
And Clara was right: a group of Sitka spruce grew by the side of the house, all of them huge trees and some with heavy branches.
Smaller branches lay broken in the snow. Any number of birds or other animals might have caused the breakage.
But it also might have been caused by a man climbing a tree.
Thor remained downstairs with Clara while Jackson went up to a second-floor bedroom. He looked down at them, easily opening and closing the window.
“See!” Clara breathed, turning on Thor. “There was someone in there!”
“Might have been someone in there,” he said.
“Might have been!” Clara exclaimed, staring at him furiously. “I’m trying to help! I tell you things—and you act as if I’m a terrified two-year-old! Don’t tell me to talk to a damned ghost—and then disbelieve me when I tell you something credible!”
She was, he thought, in her right to be angry. But she didn’t understand that everything in their world was a “might be” until it could be proved as fact.
He turned his attention from the window to her and almost smiled. Her blue eyes were shimmering with indignation. Her hands were balled into fists at her sides, and she almost looked like a mud wrestler about to go into action.
“I’m sorry if I’ve offended you,” he said. “Until something is proven, it’s theory. Your theories are not without sound merit.”
His answer seemed to puzzle her—at the least, deflate her.
“They’re still checking the island,” he told her. “We’ll keep searching it. The problem is, of course, that the nooks and crannies and coves that lead to the water are as plentiful as the hiding places. In winter...well, in winter, it’s doubtful this would have happened. Even the heartiest native might well freeze to death out in the wild. But it’s summer. The water between here and the mainland—in several directions—is clear. Someone could have come and gone.”
“Like they did from the Alaska Hut last night?” she asked evenly.
He looked back at her and nodded, not sure why she had managed to evoke hostility in him.
It was fear—fear for her. Because he’d seen Mandy Brandt in a dream again last night.
And, of course, it was the fact that both he and Jackson felt like they were on a tightrope.
Because Tate Morley was out.
Naturally, they’d kept abreast of the situation. Agents, US marshals and police from every city, county and state were on the lookout. They were following every clue.
But Tate Morley had covered his tracks, becoming a doctor, covering up the corpse of the doctor and even signing himself out of the prison.
All done with an hour to spare before his subterfuge had been discovered.
There was no reason to suspect that he might have been in Alaska.
But there was no reason to believe that he might not have gotten here—and come specifically to kill the man who had caused his incarceration.
Thor.
He wasn’t worried for himself; he knew Morley, knew how he moved, talked and even thought. He never slept without his Glock in easy reach. His home had alarms up the wazoo.
He knew, too, that Morley wouldn’t want to just kill him.
He would want to torture him.
Torture would mean killing others.
Theory! he mocked himself. He’d been irritated with Clara for her assumptions, but all this was simply what he believed—conjecture, until they had proof.
“That’s theory, too, at the moment,” he said quietly. “We’ll get you back to the mainland now, Miss Avery. I’m going to explore your suppositions as well as my own, I promise.”
She turned away for a minute and then looked back at him. “You’re staying here? To search the island?”
“Yes—since it’s quite possible there is someone else out here.”
“I’ll stay, too.”
“There’s no reason for you to do so.”
“Oh, yes, there is.”
“What?”
“I am not going to be alone when a ghost comes back!”
He smiled at that. Maybe she was right. The ghost might be the one element that could give them something that was fact rather than theory.
“The problem is, we can’t be with you—even here on the island. I plan to head out on a snowmobile and cover all the territory, all the nooks and crannies—”
“But you can’t look at night,” she told him.
“You know, ghosts can come by daylight, too.”
She had a stubborn look about her then. She stared at him and then winced and looked down. “I’m not as terrified in the daylight as I am at night.”
“Night is only about three hours this time of year.”
“Twilight comes in the early hours—and at night.”
He turned away from her. There was really no reason she couldn’t stay. He knew wel
l that Marc Kimball would be more than happy if she did. And the Alaska Hut would require the presence of officers for at least the next twenty-four hours.
“All right,” he said.
“What?” she asked.
“All right. If you want to be here, you can.”
She let out a sigh of relief. “The others have gone, right? My only problem is that I don’t have any clothing... I don’t have...my things.”
“So, I guess you’ll have to go back.”
“But you don’t have clothing or your things!” she said. “You’re going to have to go back, too. And Natalie Fontaine was killed, same style more or less, back on the mainland, and there will be some kind of meeting or briefing and—”
“You’ve been watching too much television,” he said.
She smiled; it was a beautiful smile. “But, I’m right!” she said.
“Right about what?” Jackson said as he came around to meet them. He looked from Clara to Thor.
“What’s going on?” Jackson asked.
“Clara wants to stay on the island,” Thor told him.
Jackson seemed to weigh the information. “Might be for the best,” he said.
“Might not. This is an island. Even with law enforcement running around, we’re not on the mainland. We don’t have the same access to services, we don’t—”
“You just said all right,” Clara reminded him.
He shrugged, looking at Jackson.
Thor knew what they were both thinking.
Why not? She was the one the ghost of Amelia Carson seemed to be trying to meet.
She was also right about the fact that they would travel back to the mainland that afternoon to meet with Enfield, the Alaska State Troopers and the Seward police. But first, they were going to spend a few hours scouring through the forest themselves.
“Let’s head back to the Alaska Hut, regroup with a few of the officers there,” Jackson said.
He couldn’t argue.
“I have the team combing anew for fingerprints,” Jackson told him as they headed to the snowmobiles. “I’d bet if there was someone running around in there, they were wearing gloves, but we never do know. They’d fine-tooth-comb everything from the tree to the windowsill and beyond again.”
“Thank you,” Clara told him.
“Of course. It’s an investigation,” Jackson told her, smiling grimly. “So...we head back.”
Clara had ridden behind Jackson on a snowmobile to reach the Mansion. She climbed on behind him once again.
He geared his snowmobile into action.
They passed the area where the two halves of Amelia Carson’s body had lain; the body was gone now, but crime scene tape remained.
It was an exasperating puzzle. No prints leading to the body; no prints leading away.
Her remains found just after the decapitated body of her producer.
Hating reality television was one thing...
Could that have something to do with these horrible crimes?
Seriously, that would be taking it to the max when all you had to do was change the channel.
When they reached the Mansion, to Thor’s dismay, Marc Kimball was standing on the porch, a cup of coffee in his hands, as if he had been awaiting them.
Apparently, he had been.
He ignored Jackson and Thor and spoke quickly to Clara.
“Miss Avery! I heard you stayed behind. You know that you are more than welcome to remain with me at the Alaska Hut as long as you choose. I’m sure you must be very frightened—there will be officers here. And, while it is not in politically good taste, I do admit I have been a hunter at times in my life. I’m good with a rifle. You might well be safest here, surrounded by officers...and watched over by myself.”
Clara had dismounted the snowmobile and hung back with Jackson. She smiled, but Thor thought it was a plastic one.
She didn’t like the man. She didn’t trust him.
That made Thor like her all the more, he realized. She had the sense to realize this man thought he could buy anything.
“That’s so nice of you,” Clara murmured.
Thor looked around to assess the situation; Mike hadn’t returned from the dock as of yet. A state police officer was standing guard on the porch. He nodded to the man, who nodded gravely in return.
“Magda has just gotten some lunch together. Agents, Miss Avery, can we get you something? We’re seeing to the police officers, too, of course!” Kimball said.
The perfect host.
Clara walked ahead and they entered the house.
Magda was bustling around the kitchen area; lunch was laid out buffet-style. Thor imagined that was because no one knew how many people would be eating or when.
The food smelled wonderful and Thor realized he hadn’t actually eaten anything cooked in a while. The woman had prepared a hearty stew to be served over rice. He helped himself to a bowl, thanking her and Kimball politely before taking a chair.
He noted that Clara managed to sit between him and Jackson, despite the fact that Kimball continued to wax on about her performances. She just smiled.
He and Jackson ate in silence. Halfway through the meal, Emmy Vincenzo appeared.
She asked if it was all right if she joined them. It should have been nothing but a courtesy and polite question, but Thor realized she was actually asking permission.
Her fault for staying in his employ, Thor thought.
They finished quickly; the others were still eating when he rose and Jackson joined him.
“We’ll be back,” Jackson said. “We’ll be taking a look through the forest, Mr. Kimball.”
“If I can help...?” Kimball offered.
“We appreciate that and we’ll definitely let you know,” Thor told him.
When they were on the way out he asked Jackson, “You got the radio?”
“I do.”
“Have Angela find out where Kimball was before he came here.”
“You think that Kimball is in on this somehow.”
“Not really. Being a giant ass doesn’t make him guilty of murder. I think we should know.”
“I agree, though I imagine Enfield was already on it.”
“Yeah, they would have done a check on him, but just an airport check about the plane—I’d like something a little more thorough. Guaranteed,” Thor said.
“Sure,” Jackson agreed. “I don’t like him, either. I just don’t see him as this killer.”
“Elimination,” Thor said.
They started up the snowmobiles again and followed the tracks they had found the night before.
Bear tracks? Or snowshoe tracks made to look that way by someone who knew that a wind or a fresh batch of flurries would make it impossible to tell?
Alaska was home to all three species of North American bears, including grizzlies, black bears and polar bears. Black bears held prominence on Black Bear Island, but brown bears made a home here, too.
But were what they had seen in the snow bear tracks?
The experts had yet to tell them.
* * *
Clara was left alone with Magda, Justin, Emmy, a few cops who were not into conversation, and Marc Kimball.
Maybe she should have left the island.
Well, she would be leaving. When Jackson and Thor returned from their mission, she would go back in with them. The only problem she had was speaking with her employers at Celtic American. She was pretty sure, however, that she didn’t have to worry about rehearsals; she knew her role backward and forward and the ship still wasn’t due to leave for a week.
Ralph, Simon and Larry would be delighted to have some time off. They’d probably turn into tour guides when their young ingenue, Connie Shaw, finished her
last commitment and arrived in Alaska, showing her around and protecting her like mother hens. They were very safe mother hens; Ralph and Larry were now openly together—she and Alexi had convinced them that the days were gone when they had to hide, at least among friends! And Simon was the furthest thing in the world from a womanizer; he was just a supernice young kid who had been brought up to be courteous and polite to everyone.
She sat at the table with Marc Kimball and Emmy, who ate her food without looking up.
Marc kept talking. He would say something about himself, and then ask about her. It seemed that he had taken Dating 101 or some such class because he didn’t monopolize the conversation, he was polite, he tried to be funny and was now and then, and seemed to be the perfect gentleman.
She just didn’t like him. She felt that even his easy table conversation had been plotted out the same way he would attack a business proposition.
After a while, she begged to be excused to take a nap, yawning and apologizing.
“Of course, of course!” Marc said. “You had such a trying day yesterday, and you were off with those FBI men this morning...”
If he wanted her to explain why she had gone with them, he was doomed to disappointment.
“Yes, I’ll probably just lie down for a bit, but I do need to close my eyes. Thank you again for your incredible hospitality, and forgive me,” she said. “Emmy, nice to spend time with you.”
“What? Sorry?” Emmy said, looking up from her bowl at last.
“It was nice to spend some time with you,” Clara repeated.
“Oh, yes, lovely, of course!” Emmy said.
Clara smiled—and escaped as quickly as she could, hurrying down the hall.
That day, there was only one man from the state police in the hut. He was more relaxed; seated on a chair in the living room, he had a newspaper in his hands. It was a national paper. The headline screamed Murder in the Arctic; Horror Show in Alaska.
The officer stood as she walked by, quickly hiding the paper and assuring her he was on duty.
She thanked him and went on to her room.
She didn’t want to close the door; if she did so, the officer wouldn’t seem to be in easy reach.