Marnie had gotten strong.
“Cara, it’s possible. Let’s just see where we go from here. Finding your killer is far more important than appeasing your ego.”
“Great line,” Bridget said, coming up to the two of them. “If they don’t use it, I’m going to steal it.”
The ghost of Cara Barton threw up her hands and disappeared behind the tomb.
“Are you all coming?” Vince Carlton called.
Marnie looked at him and smiled.
“Yep, on our way!” she said.
Marnie was becoming very strong, indeed. And Bryan was glad.
He had the wary feeling that no matter how he or anyone tried, she was going to need that strength.
11
She just didn’t want to work on a television series.
As she sat at lunch, Marnie felt bad about that. She knew it was a dream for many young women in Hollywood.
Bryan was on her left; he never went far from her.
Jeremy Highsmith was on her right, and she had always liked him. She thought that he had to be in his late fifties now. If not fantastic shooting stardom, he’d enjoyed steady work as an actor throughout his life.
That was a goal many people didn’t recognize. In the eyes of many, Hollywood meant being a star. But half her friends weren’t household names—they were, however, working actors. They made a living at their craft, and that, in Marnie’s mind, was success.
“What are you thinking?” Jeremy whispered to her. He was still a good-looking man with his straight posture, silver hair and handsome features.
“I’m thinking that I wished I really wanted to do a series.”
“And you don’t. What about the idea of doing some specials? Vince Carlton does have a good idea there. To be honest, I don’t like the series idea myself. And truthfully? I think the time is past. I don’t think we’ll be a success—even with Malcolm, who will be offered a fantastic sum of money and use up most of the budget.”
“That’s what happens when you’re that hot,” Marnie said.
“Of course.” He sighed and lifted the glass of tea he’d been drinking. “Here’s to Cara. Now, you know, Cara definitely wanted a series. She wanted her life on a nice schedule. I don’t really blame her for that, but...I think we could make a few good specials. One to honor her. She was a good TV wife. And a friend.” He shrugged. “Although we had artistic differences now and then. Upon occasion, I could have killed her.” He stared at Marnie, as if stunned by what had come out of his mouth. “Figure of speech, Marnie. I didn’t kill her. I mean, she was a friend. We were aging B stars together. Okay, so she thought of herself as an A star, but...I am a pragmatic man. None of that matters. I didn’t kill her, Marnie. Really.”
She smiled. “I know it was a figure of speech. I don’t believe you killed her.”
He leaned forward a little, looking past her to Bryan McFadden. “Did you know his folks?” he asked.
“No.”
“I met them. They were generous people. Maeve had a heart the size of Texas.”
“I’ve seen them in movies, of course.”
He nodded. “The wonders of the internet and modern TV. We can all see things over and over again. We can even rewatch ourselves—in Dark Harbor.” He paused. “You do understand you’re the one they want. If you say no to all this, it’s over.”
The way he was looking at her made Marnie wonder if he really cared, if he was hoping it would all fall apart.
“I think they want Malcolm. I hate to consider myself a has-been in my late twenties, but we were huge when the series was huge. While it’s nice that we have a bit of a cult following, Malcolm is the man of the moment.”
He shrugged. “Malcolm will come out smelling like roses if we do or don’t do the show. He’s got more offers than he knows what to do with.”
“True.”
He sighed. “Grayson is still a fine-looking young man. I’m sure he’ll land something good soon enough. And Roberta. She is a beauty.”
“Yes, yes, she is,” Marnie agreed.
Marnie realized then that Bryan McFadden had been listening in, though it seemed he’d been talking to Roberta, on his other side, all the while.
Across the table, Vince Carlton rose. He raised his glass of iced tea.
“A toast to you all. In remembrance of Cara Barton.”
“Hear, hear! To Cara,” Jeremy said, standing and raising his glass high.
They all stood.
“To Cara,” echoed around the room.
Nice. She’d be happy about a toast, Marnie thought.
Then Marnie realized that Cara was casually seated in one of the empty chairs at the large conference table.
The ghost of Cara rose and walked around behind Marnie. She felt a strange brush on her nape and knew Cara had come behind her, and she was affectionately placing her hands on Marnie’s shoulders.
“Lovely,” she said. And then she sighed deeply. “If only I were here.”
“You are here,” Marnie said softly.
“What was that?” Jeremy asked.
“Nothing, sorry, just thinking about Cara,” Marnie said.
Cara laughed delightedly.
“I mean, in the flesh, of course,” she said. “Oh, Marnie. I want the best for all of you. But this is so hard. I wanted this show so badly.”
Marnie wanted to speak to her; she wanted to reassure her.
But how could she do that?
Cara was dead.
“You have to be very, very careful,” Cara said.
“Yes,” Bryan said very softly. He didn’t turn. He looked at Marnie and smiled gravely.
“To the new show!” Malcolm said. “And,” he added, “our way to do a real tribute to Cara Barton.”
* * *
Roberta Alan couldn’t believe that—especially with his parents—Bryan had no desire to act.
“I think it’s a passion for some people and not others,” he told her. He wanted to draw her out. He couldn’t help but believe, no matter how improbable, Cara had been killed by someone here, someone close to it all. At the very least he could start ruling people out.
Yet it made no sense. They all seemed to really want the show—except for Marnie.
And now he knew Jeremy Highsmith wanted it only on certain terms.
He tried to imagine each of them finding out how to hire a killer. Then deciding the killer had to be killed. He tried to imagine each of them dressed up in a Blood-bone costume, luring the hired killer to Marnie’s backyard—and shooting to kill.
Roberta was a lovely young woman. She was as thin as a whippet; she was a runner, she had told him. It had nothing to do with the Hollywood demands of perfection.
“Frankly, I haven’t been doing that much lately. I have been looking forward to this show starting up again. Not that everything is terrible. I don’t mean that at all. In a way, after a show like Dark Harbor, we’re seen forever as that one character, and casting directors hesitate when looking at us, even if we were popular. Because new shows want to create new characters. Think of the amount of actors you’ve seen in series who seem to disappear right after. But I did just shoot a great commercial for a fast-food chain. It will air right around Halloween. See—that’s what I mean. Although it won’t say I’m Sonia Zeta from Dark Harbor, a lot of the audience will know me as that—cool and freaky around Halloween.”
“I’ll bet it’s a great commercial.”
Roberta laughed, smiling at him, placing a hand on the top of his. “You are so polite. So wonderful... Marnie is lucky. You know, I was truly a fan of both your parents. There’s an old war movie your dad was in—”
“High Time for Heroes,” Bryan said. “World War II movie. He played a soldier stuck behind enemy lines. It’s one of my favorites. And one of his. He was in the mil
itary when he was young and served in Southeast Asia. The role meant a lot to him.”
“He was so wonderful in it. And I’ve heard he was a nice guy, too. I guess that’s why they raised you to be okay.”
“Well, thank you, Miss Alan,” he said.
She was flirting with him.
Whether she was yesterday’s news or not, she was still a stunning woman. The only thing wrong with Roberta was the fact that she seemed constantly on edge. Yes, a whippet—nervous over any little noise.
“You’re quite welcome. So,” she said, peeking around him at Marnie, “I guess you all have become very good friends.”
Marnie heard. She glanced quickly at Bryan and then looked at Roberta. “Yes,” she said, much to Bryan’s surprise. She spoke with a smile, sharing a confidence with her friend. “I’m sleeping with him.”
Roberta laughed softly. “Bravo!”
For a moment it was as if Bryan wasn’t between them—wasn’t there at all.
“Does he have brothers?” Roberta asked.
Marnie told her, “Two of them! Bruce and Brodie.”
“You’ve got to bring them out here,” Roberta said, speaking to Bryan again.
“He can try,” Marnie assured her.
Malcom—to Roberta’s other side—said something and she turned to answer him.
Bryan looked at Marnie, smiling curiously. “I can’t believe you just said that.”
“I wasn’t even technically correct,” she said. “I’ve slept with you. I can’t say that I’ve been sleeping with you, but...I was hoping it would continue.”
“You are forever a surprise,” he told her. “And beautifully honest.”
“Oh, see! At least something good has come of this,” Cara’s ghost announced.
Bryan had forgotten she was behind them.
“Your parents would be delighted,” Cara said.
“Dear Lord, will this lunch ever end?” he muttered.
But he was finding the lunch interesting. It gave him a chance to observe them all interacting with each other.
None of them seemed likely suspects and yet... Now Bridget was deep in conversation with Vince Carlton. She had a good job, but if Bryan understood it correctly, she worked for the production company that did sci-fi series, but she wasn’t entirely locked-in—as long as she wasn’t on another project at the time, she could take a contract to work on the new Dark Harbor scripts.
Bridget appeared happy. Whether Dark Harbor ever arose again or not, she’d made a good contact.
“Hey, did you have the salmon mousse?” Roberta asked. “It’s wonderful!”
“Not a salmon kind of guy,” he said.
“Really? More a meat-and-potatoes man?”
“Actually, I love a lot of seafood. Just not salmon,” he told her.
“Sushi?”
“You bet.”
Malcolm Dangerfield stood. “Guys, this has been great. I do hope we get to be a family. But duty calls. I have an appointment in an hour. Gotta head out.”
That was the cue. Everyone stood.
“I just have to see that incredible graveyard one more time,” Grayson said, looking hopefully at Vince Carlton. “I’m imagining what might be—if that’s okay?”
“Certainly,” Vince Carlton said. “We’re just a few feet away. No harm in a walk-through that way.”
Malcolm begged off, and he headed out to his waiting limo.
The rest of them trailed after Vince again.
Cara Barton came along with them, hanging close to Bryan—so close that he felt a ghostly arm entwined with his.
“There’s something I can show you, I think. Hang on,” Vince said.
He took off, leaving them at the entrance to the cemetery set.
Bryan was certain Vince went to speak to one of the technicians working in the studio.
The waiting group was right at the edge of the set.
Look one way, the world was real-life, with the cameras and lights and rigging and false walls.
Look the other, and it was pure fantasy, eerie and almost real.
In that direction, they stared at the headstones, the mausoleums, weeping angels and cherubs and gargoyles and more.
“Now,” he heard Vince Carlton cry.
A fog rolled up in the cemetery. Slowly, creeping up from the ground, creating a gray mist all around the gravestones.
“Fabulous, right?” Vince said. “Oh, can you imagine the ghost of our matriarch, just standing there, watching sadly there...hoping to make contact with her children?”
“Yes, I can just imagine,” Cara’s ghost said softly. “Who will play me?”
Interesting question.
Marnie had heard her. She voiced it aloud.
“Who will play Cara’s part?”
“Oh, here’s what is so really wonderful!” Vince answered. “Cara!”
There was a stunned silence.
“The wonders of modern technology,” he said. “I’ve gone through footage of old shows. I’ve found places where I can pull bits and pieces to really have Cara out here—on film, I mean. And then we have a stunt double for certain scenes. You’ve seen it done in other shows with wonderful actors we’ve lost—Star Wars, for one!”
“She would love it,” Jeremy Highsmith said.
“I believe she would,” Roberta added.
There was a natural moment of silence.
A real tribute to Cara.
“I do love it! One way or the other...make it happen, make it happen!” Cara’s ghost announced to those who could hear.
Bryan glanced at Marnie.
She had heard.
She was smiling—but she did not respond.
* * *
The ghost of Cara Barton disappeared while they were still on the cemetery set. As they left, Marnie carefully looked, but no matter how she searched around tombs and stones—through the eerie rise of fog—she couldn’t see Cara anymore.
Eventually, they all headed out, ushered along by Vince Carlton. They said their goodbyes. Jackson, Angela and Bridget moved on ahead of Marnie and Bryan. She was able to turn to him at last.
“Is it me?” she whispered. “I don’t see Cara. But she was here...we were acknowledging her, right? This is a test for one’s sanity, to say the least.”
“We did see her,” Bryan assured her, a grin twitching on his lips. “She is quite a personality. She’s becoming a stronger apparition. Sometimes it’s difficult for the dead to maintain visibility, even to those who see them. After years, I don’t know how it all happens. Jackson and Angela work with a large number of people equally gifted—or cursed, as some believe—and no one really has the answers. Sometimes the dead linger for years. There’s an old guy near my cabin in Virginia who died in the American Revolution. He guards a certain part of forest there. Seems happy enough. Then I know of others who eventually move on. That ray of light thing you hear about, leading to the afterlife, seems to be a real thing. A pathway, when people are ready to move on. Anyway, let’s move on. We can talk more once we’re out of here.”
“Yes, of course,” Marnie murmured.
Carlton was still standing at the giant doors at the entrance to the studios.
“Maybe Cara is doing some investigating on her own,” Bryan said, speaking softly in her ear and waving goodbye to Carlton.
“That would be nice,” Marnie said.
They had almost reached the car. They could hear Bridget telling Angela and Jackson about some of the scripts she had worked on.
“Science fiction is really an interesting field, and I love it. There have been all kinds of studies done and people love it as a real escape—of course, a lot is really scientifically sound. You have books that deal with space flight, planets, black holes, all of which exist. So, who is to say a massive colony
of giant insects doesn’t live on a distant planet in a galaxy far away? And yet, while it can be exciting and scary, a viewer doesn’t believe they will be attacked by a giant praying mantis in the shower.”
“But Dark Harbor was never sci-fi, right?” Jackson asked.
“No,” Angela answered, rather than Bridget. She smiled at Marnie. “I admit, I watched the show. I thought you—and the entire cast—were very good.” They were all looking at Angela, and she shrugged. “Hey, my life was weird. Made me like weird on TV. Half of America, so it seemed, was watching Dark Harbor, as well.”
“Thank you,” Marnie said. “It was a fun show to film, and I was a very lucky young person to have been working on it.”
“And I’m lucky because I’m Marnie’s cousin, and her connections got me out here and meeting people and finally working in a field I love!” Bridget said.
“So, today was good for you, right?” Bryan asked her.
“Excellent! I mean, I love what I do, but my contract stipulates I can work on other projects. I have a great manager,” Bridget said. “And Vince Carlton is an amazing man. He has a vision for several things as far as Dark Harbor goes, but he has more ideas on what could really go like hotcakes, too. He was great. Wonderful. We chatted and laughed a lot—he loved Return of the Turtle Beast. And he pointed out that every film like that makes it or doesn’t because of the characters, the emotion—and the humor. He said I have a wonderful sense of humor!”
“Excellent,” Marnie told her. She was happy Bridget was so very pleased with the day.
She was happy, she realized, to be with Bryan. Crazy—as crazy as seeing ghosts. She couldn’t imagine him not being in her life now, and he had barely entered it. Just the same, she refused to believe her children’s theater at the Abernathy might really be a dying dream, while she knew Bryan McFadden would head back East. One way or the other, his future led back to the Virginia area.
She didn’t want to think about that. And she didn’t want to psychoanalyze herself. She sincerely mourned Cara and hoped it wasn’t wrong to be so pleased to feel what she was feeling again—or had really never felt before.
“So, Marnie,” Bridget said. She was in the back seat, behind Jackson, who was driving, and next to Marnie, who was in the middle. “You basically announced to everyone that you and Bryan are sleeping together. It’s going to be in the gossip rags in a few days, you know.”