“You a fan of the comics?” Bryan asked him.
Vining winced. “I have sons and grandsons,” he said.
“That’s okay—I love a lot of comics myself.”
“Your folks ever play comic characters?” Vining asked him.
Bryan grinned. “Yep. My mom played an Egyptian goddess, thousands of years old, who could come back to defend her descendants. It wasn’t bad—but honestly, my mother and father were theater hounds, more than film.”
The detective studied him. “And they died onstage—together.”
“Ironic, huh? Anyway...”
“Anyway, the cleanup crew hasn’t been in yet,” Vining said. “The crime scene folks spent about thirty hours here, things have been shifted around... But the Dark Harbor cast was right there—right at that table—and Cara’s blood is still visible. You’re just in time. Funeral yesterday, and the cleanup—specialty, hazardous material, blood and bio matter, you know—due in later this morning.”
Bryan nodded. He knew the detective was studying him.
Determining if Bryan was really worthy of working the case along with him and Manning. Bryan liked the man; he was more than willing to accept help. He just wanted to check out that help.
Bryan reimagined the killing. In his mind’s eye, he saw the various tables. He could hear the German shepherd whining and picture the aging Western star.
And Blood-bone.
Performing, drawing a crowd. Delighting all those around him with the impromptu—and free—performance.
And then...Cara playing into it. Marnie there. The others...
And the sword, appearing to be nothing more than plastic and light, but oh, so much more!
The attack had been brutal and vicious; slash after slash had ripped the actress to shreds, tearing through her shoulder, slicing into her throat.
The blood remained, dried and caked now.
“What did the medical examiner say about the blade?” Bryan asked.
“Steel—fine steel, extremely sharp, a blade well honed,” Vining said.
“And the weapon was never found?”
“Despite many, many Blood-bones gathered up. And, of course, that’s just it.”
“What’s just it?” Bryan asked.
“If we had found the right Blood-bone... Well, you can just imagine. See the scene before you? The killer should have been covered in blood. We interviewed no such Blood-bone.”
“And nowhere here, in the convention hall, did anyone find discarded clothing...drips of blood, anything?”
“It’s as if he vanished into thin air,” Vining said, shaking his head. “Now, consider that it was a sword and held from the body at a distance...” He paused, reflective. “Nope. Killer must have had blood on him. But in the midst of the melee, the screaming, the crowd... Other than Marnie and the rest of the Dark Harbor cast realizing that it wasn’t any kind of a performance, the killer walked out. He just walked out. People didn’t know. They didn’t get it. In fact, from what I understand...”
“What?”
Vining shrugged. “They applauded,” he said softly. “They applauded—and marveled at the incredible special effects.”
* * *
Sophie Manning was going to have to go to work. Still, she didn’t seem pleased about it.
“The thing is...I think it’s dangerous for you to go out today. Until we know more about what’s going on. I mean, you do want to live, right?” she asked Marnie.
“Of course,” Marnie said. Preferably without being tormented by a ghost! “Yes, of course. But I’m also afraid of becoming paranoid. I don’t want to be afraid to walk the streets. I mean, what if you never discover what happened, who killed Cara and who tried to break in here? We could wind up being...two agoraphobic old ladies!”
Sophie smiled.
“Hmph. Speak for yourself,” Bridget said.
“I just don’t want to give in to all this—give in to fear and paranoia when I might not even be in any danger.”
“Then again,” Sophie said, “think about the way Cara Barton died.”
That was sobering.
But Marnie didn’t have to reply. There was a knock on the door.
Even Sophie jumped, reaching for her gun.
They were on Bridget’s side of the duplex. Was someone, just maybe, after Bridget? Who knew Marnie was on this side of the duplex? Other than the cops and...the killer. Or would-be home invader.
“Hello! It’s all right, it’s me!”
A voice, deep, rich and masculine cut through the sudden fear that instilled itself in Marnie.
“Sorry—me, as in Bryan McFadden.”
“I don’t really think that a killer-slash-home-invader is going to knock,” Marnie said. She tried to smile. “And, obviously not, since it’s McFadden.”
She walked to the door, looking back at Bridget and Sophie wryly, and opened the door.
At the moment she was even glad to see Bryan McFadden.
The man who also saw ghosts.
The man was dressed in a suit again. It fitted him perfectly, but then he did have the kind of physique that allowed for a suit to fit perfectly. His shirt was simply blue, the tie a darker shade. But the cut of his clothing really was exceptional. Subdued but tailor-made, Marnie thought.
Did that make her like him more or less?
Neither, she realized—it was totally neither here nor there. But she wondered if she was wary of him because of his very...being. It wasn’t that he was so good-looking. Her world and realm of work offered an endless stream of good-looking men.
It was that he was solid. Real. Even the low-key scent of his soap or aftershave seemed rugged, clean and masculine.
“Good morning. Do come in.”
He obviously heard the sarcasm in her voice. She thought that the look he gave her was rather a superior one, as if he were dealing with a spoiled child.
She winced. Maybe she was acting like one.
But her friend had been murdered and was now walking around and talking to her and then disappearing and then reappearing...
And no one else saw or heard. Except for this man.
“I came by to check on everyone. Detective Manning, is—”
“Everything is fine,” Sophie said. “But I do have to leave. I’m trying to talk some sense into Marnie. She shouldn’t go out. Not now. She might well be a target.”
McFadden looked at Marnie. “Your life is worth whatever it is you think you need to do?” he asked. He made it sound as if he thought she was truly foolish.
“You don’t understand. And while Sophie has been great, she doesn’t understand either. This could go on forever. We won’t be able to exist if you don’t find anything, and days and then weeks go by. We—we’ve established the fact we’re going to buy a dog.”
“A dog?”
“A big one!”
He lowered his face, and Marnie actually thought he was grinning.
“I think a dog is good idea,” Sophie offered.
“I love the idea!” Bridget said.
“There’s nothing wrong with a dog. But you can’t count on it to protect you. And that doesn’t really solve the problem of you going out today.” He paused and turned to the door to look out. Marnie hadn’t heard a thing.
“It’s a...glass company,” he said.
“Oh, wonderful,” Bridget said. “They’re here to fix the back window. I’ll handle it.”
“You need to wait just a moment,” McFadden said.
He went out. The three women walked to the windows.
He was demanding ID from every one of the three workers who had arrived.
Then he made a quick phone call and then finally hung up and nodded to the men. He returned to the house, telling Bridget that the men could come in and work.
There were a few minutes of craziness as Bridget went out and the workers unloaded their stuff, and then Marnie went out—followed closely by McFadden.
“What the hell are you doing?” he demanded.
“It’s my bedroom—and I own the place!” Marnie said.
Bridget was already talking to the workers; she’d just come out to listen. An older man, the head of the crew, told her that they’d replace broken glass, but the cleanup was their responsibility. Bridget assured him that was fine—they just needed the glass replaced.
The workers headed into Marnie’s side of the duplex.
Marnie, McFadden and Bridget all returned to Bridget’s living room.
“Everything all right?” Sophie asked. She smiled ruefully. “I almost followed you all out. Like a comedy of errors. Thought that might be overkill.”
“Everything is fine,” McFadden said.
Sophie told him, “Good. I need to report to work.”
“Yes, I know. You were great, really kind, staying with these ladies. I’m very grateful,” he said.
He was grateful? And very, very annoying. It was her place to talk! Marnie thought.
Stiffly, she voiced her own appreciation to Sophie, with Bridget chiming in.
“It’s fine. Felt good to help,” Sophie assured them.
“Here,” McFadden said, offering her a bundled handkerchief. “I found the bullet that was fired at me last night. It had lodged in a tree branch. Maybe ballistics can figure out something.”
“I’ll get it where it needs to be right away,” Sophie said. She looked back at Marnie and smiled grimly. “I know this is hard to fathom and very hard to accept.”
“But someone may want to kill you,” McFadden said quietly.
Marnie nodded. “I understand. However, in broad daylight? The streets of the city are not part of a comic con. I have an important meeting. It’s about the entire rest of my life, which—don’t say it—I know! May not exist if I’m not careful. Still...”
“I’ll take you,” McFadden said.
“Perfect,” Sophie said. “I can go to work. You can take Bridget by my friend’s place to pick up a dog and then take Marnie to her meeting.”
“I, uh, imagine you have other things to do,” Marnie said, looking at McFadden.
He shook his head. “No, not at this moment. I’ll be happy to oblige.”
“But we’ll be picking Bridget up with a dog. I mean, this is complex. We can’t just leave with workers here, and, at the same time, we can’t go and come back for Bridget and then go get the dog—”
“Why not?” Bridget asked. “I hardly think anyone is after me.”
“Frankly, we don’t know that,” Marnie argued. “And McFadden may not want a dog in his car—”
“The car is a rental,” he said.
“Perfect,” Sophie repeated. “It’s a plan. Good afternoon, all. I will be in touch, and if anything happens, please call on me or Detective Vining at any time.”
She slipped out the front door.
Marnie stared at Bryan. She wanted to know if he saw Cara all the time—or just sometimes.
She wanted to know why he seemed to so easily accept the fact that he was talking to a dead woman.
She wanted him...out and away, taking the ghost of Cara Barton with him.
But at the moment, she needed him.
“You really don’t mind?”
“Miss Davante, at this time, I am entirely at your disposal. I will look after you to the very best of my ability, up to and including the act of jumping in front of a bullet—unless you behave so stupidly that I have no choice but to let you go.”
She’d just begun to almost like him or, at the least, be grateful.
“I do not behave stupidly—” she began.
“Oh, that’s wonderful! Too wonderful for words. Thank you, thank you, Mr. McFadden!” Bridget said.
“Excuse me,” he said. “Let me check with the repairmen and find out how long the replacement will take and just how long they’ll be.”
He left Bridget’s living room; her front door closed in his wake.
Bridget spun on Marnie.
“What the hell is the matter with you?”
“What? What are you talking about?”
“He’s tall, he’s dark, he’s handsome—he’s to die for! And you’re being incredibly rude.”
“I’m not being rude.”
“You should be saying, ‘Lord Almighty, bless me and this bizarre spark of luck. He wants to look out for me. Some manifest of Heaven has sent this guy—’”
“Oh, Bridget, please. Come on. Manifest of Heaven? I don’t... I don’t trust him. I mean, I don’t get it. He’s not even from California.”
“His mother knew Cara. I understand that. And he’s looking out for us—for you.”
“Bridget—”
“Seriously. As usual, you’re going to get tall, dark and handsome, and I’m getting a dog! At least this time, it’s going to be a literal dog. Please, Marnie—for me, be nice to this guy. Let him make sure you don’t get killed—that I don’t get killed—that we don’t get killed. Please, Marnie, if you can’t be nice, at least be decent to him.”
“I am being decent!”
“Be decent-er!”
“All right, all right!”
There was a tap at the door; McFadden came back in.
“They’re just about done. I’ll help with the glass when we get back here this afternoon,” he said, looking at Bridget.
“I’ll be helping with the glass, too,” Marnie said. Did he think that she was some kind of a diva? That she didn’t do any kind of physical labor, and just had Bridget do it all?
“Well, with three of us, we should get it done quickly,” he said. “So, as soon as they’re out of here, we’ll get in the car and go.”
Bridget grinned and offered him the card that Sophie had given him. “I do believe you can leave me there to choose the right dog. I can’t imagine anyone would try anything when I’m surrounded by a truckload of retired police dogs!”
“Right,” McFadden agreed.
“Marnie won’t have a dozen dogs around her,” Bridget said. She grinned as she stared at Marnie. “But I think she’ll be okay. She’ll have you!”
“Yes,” McFadden said, his eyes flashing and his tone light as he added, “She’ll have me. It will be...just the two of us.”
Just the two of us! Marnie thought.
And she wondered if that wasn’t a bit more distressing than the truth: it would be just the two of them...
And a dead woman they could both somehow inexplicably see.
6
Seth Smith of the Wexler Realty Group was a small man in a designer suit. He was about fifty-five, and projected an image of confidence and assurance—an image Marnie was sure helped a great deal in the sale and rental of prime LA property. She was sure he’d negotiate with her, and she wondered if she could pull off a determined look that would equal his professional aplomb when she reached her meeting with him.
Even with the residuals she received from Dark Harbor—and the income here and there from advertising appearances—she hadn’t saved enough to buy the Abernathy Theater. She was hoping to put forth her business plan, and have Mr. Smith advise her on the financing.
“Feels odd,” she murmured.
Indeed, it all felt odd. McFadden was driving her to the meeting at a restaurant on Sunset Drive in his rental car.
She had a perfectly good car, but he explained that he could probably still drive if bullets suddenly flew from somewhere while she’d have to duck. Unless, of course, the shooter took dead and unexpected aim at him.
He’d said it all without batting an eye, and she’d realized that he had meant it. If someone was out to see her dead, taking aim at her in a car w
asn’t half as far-fetched as a Blood-bone character slashing down a victim at a comic con.
“What feels odd?” he asked, glancing her way.
“That I’m still taking this meeting. When Cara has been gone less than a week.” She hesitated. “Having you drive me—being afraid I’m a target. It all feels odd. What else? Oh, the fact that a dead woman talks to me.”
He glanced her way but quickly gave his attention back to the road. The way he watched the mirrors, she was certain that he was also watching for unusual traffic around them.
“You’ll get used to it,” he said.
“A dead woman, popping in and out—I’ll get used to that? And...you do see her, too, right?”
“I do.”
“That’s it? That’s all you have to say? Yes, you see her? And it’s just...part of a usual day?”
“More or less.”
Marnie hesitated, frowning as she watched him drive. His attention was on the road. He was listening to her, she knew. He didn’t seem concerned in the least it really wasn’t considered at all normal to walk around talking to the dead.
“So, you see Cara Barton frequently.”
“Frequently? No, I’ve just begun to see her. And she doesn’t stick around long because she doesn’t have a lot of stamina yet.”
“Yet?” Marnie asked weakly. Oh, Lord! Did that mean that Cara might suddenly decide to be with her ...all the time?
He flashed her a quick smile. “I don’t have all the answers. In fact, I barely have any answers. I do know it’s not common to see and speak to the dead, and yet, it’s not quite as uncommon as you might think. The thing is, those who speak to the dead—who really speak with the dead—don’t advertise the fact. Because not many people would believe us.”
“You know other people who see and speak to ghosts?” Marnie asked.