Fade to Black

  Marnie winced and flushed furiously. It had been one thing to make the announcement to Roberta when it seemed appropriate.

  Here, in the car, with Bryan’s friends—FBI agents—it seemed far more awkward. She caught a glimpse of Jackson’s eyes in the rearview mirror; he was amused. Angela—next to her husband in the front passenger seat—turned slightly, smiling, as well.

  “Um...thanks, Bridget,” Marnie murmured. “Helping out just in case...everyone didn’t know?”

  “You said it to Roberta Alan! What are you expecting? Anyway, I’m thrilled for you.” She looked over Marnie to Bryan. “I told you about the last jerk, right? Marnie was so disillusioned. And you know what? That ass thought he was somehow entitled. I mean, I hated being in a restaurant with him. I was always afraid someone in the kitchen would spit in my food just because of association.”

  “Again, thanks, Bridget.”

  “I’m your cousin. I get to speak my mind.”

  Bryan was laughing, Marnie realized. He caught her right hand and squeezed it.

  “It’s my personal belief everyone should have to work in a restaurant and wait tables,” Angela said. “Learn how people can behave—and then learn patience for others.”

  “This is Hollywood. Everyone has been a waiter or a waitress,” Bridget said.

  “Not everyone,” Marnie said.

  “Oh, come on. When is the last time you ate out and the waiter or waitress wasn’t a budding thespian?” Bridget asked.

  “Last week,” Marnie said. “My waiter was a budding screenwriter!”

  “There you go,” Bridget returned.

  Everyone in the car was laughing. If it weren’t for a little thing like murder hanging over all of them, life would be unbelievably good.

  They reached the duplex. Marnie was impressed by the way that wherever they were—and without words—the FBI agents and Bryan managed to surround her and Bridget, even getting out of the car and walking up the steps to the duplex.

  Bridget had work to do. Angela accompanied her to the other side of the duplex, assuring Bridget she had her own computer in her bag and could connect and work with their main offices back in Virginia just fine.

  “I’ll go out with George for a minute or two,” Jackson said. He nodded at Bryan. Again, Marnie realized there was a silent communication between them.

  Bryan really should join that Krewe of Hunters group! she thought.

  George barked excitedly.

  “We’re going!” Jackson assured him.

  “Excuse me a minute. I need to call the detectives on Cara’s case,” Bryan said. “I need to check in with Detective Vining and find out if he and Manning have made any progress. Jackson wants to plan a meeting with the local police tonight and naturally, we need them to assemble everyone they can.”

  “Of course,” Marnie said.

  It was just midafternoon. There were things that she needed to do, too. Two calls were important for her.

  She didn’t want to make either call.

  The first was to her parents.

  The second to her agent, Cybil Sherman.

  “I’ll be in my room,” she said softly.

  She left Bryan to make his call in the living room. She talked to her mom and dad. She convinced them that, as always, the papers exaggerated everything, and she and Bridget were just fine. They actually had FBI agents and a PI staying with them.

  She thought that would make her folks feel better.

  It didn’t.

  They wanted to know just how bad the situation was if federal agents had to stay with her.

  She managed to make it sound as if Bryan and Angela and Jackson were there because of their family connection to Cara, and it was all just a precaution. Finally, she convinced them to stay in Australia.

  Her second call was to Cybil.

  Cybil immediately chastised her, saying she’d called her a thousand times. She hadn’t, exactly, but Marnie had missed calls from her.

  She was pretty sure her agent had wearied of her; there were bigger fish to fry if Marnie didn’t want to work.

  But, like the others, she had done guest star roles and commercials now and then. Cybil still sent her scripts. With the possibility of the return of Dark Harbor—even without Cara—Marnie was hot again.

  “My dear girl, do you begin to understand the opportunities open to you now?” Cybil said. “And I heard you attended a meeting at Vince Carlton’s studios today! Without me! Marnie, what are you doing?”

  “No one had an agent there today, not even Malcolm Dangerfield,” Marnie told her. “Cybil, forgive me, but now is not the time for...for pushing things.”

  “Sure! Keep on doing those silly conventions, my girl. I mean, think about it. Have you ever seen Brad Pitt or Julia Roberts or...or Meryl Streep or any such other A-list personality at a comic con?”

  “Yes, actually, I have seen many extremely talented people at cons,” Marnie said. She decided she wasn’t going to mention the fact she’d agreed to Horror-palooza.

  She heard Cybil’s deep sigh over the phone. “Marnie, you can’t imagine the interest people have in you lately. There are offers.”

  “And I can’t tell you just how nice that is,” Marnie said.

  For a moment, she wondered just what the hell was the matter with her. She knew so many people—amazingly talented people who worked hard, who did all the right things, who could sing, dance, act, and who were all around hardworking—who never got a break.

  Her passion lay elsewhere now.

  “Marnie, girl, think of it this way,” Cybil said as if reading her mind. “Make some big bucks, and then you can buy any damned theater you want—and let me slip away to a lovely retirement.”

  Marnie laughed. “I’m a little overwhelmed at the moment. Let’s talk Monday, okay?”

  Cybil agreed, and she and Marnie rang off.

  Not so hard after all.

  She walked back out to the living room. Bryan was just pocketing his phone.

  “Everything okay?” he asked.

  She nodded. “My parents. I’m trying to get them to stay down in Australia. They’ve dreamed of this trip forever, and they’re finally on it and I don’t want them coming back. Oh, God, you can’t imagine what it’s like if they’re on a worried streak!”

  He smiled. “Oh, hell, yeah, I can. And I’m hoping my parents are staying in Virginia!” he said. He sighed, smiled and shook his head. “You may well meet them, anyway, before this is all over.”

  “And you may meet mine. I also spoke with Cybil Sherman.”

  “Your agent.”

  “You know her?”

  “I know of her. She has a very good reputation.”

  “She’s a great person and a super agent. Anyway...I’ll talk to her again on Monday.”

  He looked at her curiously. “I imagine there are offers flowing in for you now. For more than just a revamp of Dark Harbor.”

  She waved a hand in the air and changed the subject. “Anything with the detectives?”

  He nodded grimly. “They had officers out knocking on doors. A number of people saw someone in a Blood-bone costume around the neighborhood. Cara was right.”

  “So where do we go from here?” she asked.

  “Task force meeting later. We’ll go over everything we have again.”

  She hesitated and then said quietly, “It wasn’t in any way serious, but when I was talking to Jeremy today, he mentioned offhand, the way we all do—he said he wanted to kill Cara sometimes. I don’t believe for a minute, a single second, he meant it in any way. For real, I mean. We all get angry and say that we could just kill someone.”

  “It’s okay. I know,” he said.

  “Do you suspect it could be Jeremy?”

  “Honestly? I can’t pinpoint any of the cast as a likely sus
pect.”

  “But—”

  “I said I can’t pinpoint any of them. That doesn’t mean any one of them is off my list. Except for Marnie, and I was with her when the man was killed in her pool.”

  “Clever killer, dressing up as a Blood-bone just as the hired killer was dressed.”

  “Yes. Because it is Hollywood. And anything goes.”

  “Sounds like a dead end.”

  “This won’t be a dead end,” he promised. “I won’t let it be,” he added softly.

  “Lord, no! I’d never wish a haunting on anyone!”

  He smiled and walked to her, taking her into his arms. “Miss Davante, you are continually surprising me. Actually, your casual announcement today stunned me.”

  She felt a blush cover her cheeks again. “I’m sorry. I really had no right. I don’t know what caused me to say that... To do that.”

  “I like to think it might have been because you really do want to keep sleeping with me. I tend to be a monogamous kind of guy, as you might have figured, so...”

  Marnie laughed. “Okay, okay, I just wanted Roberta to keep her grubby little hands off you.”

  “Fine by me—it was just... Wow. Shocking but nice.”

  Marnie leaned in. They heard the door opening.

  Jackson was returning with George.

  Any “sleeping” of any kind would have to wait.

  * * *

  They were home again. All of them.

  Bridget and Marnie.

  And the damned dog.

  Bryan McFadden and his friends: FBI special agents. Oh, yeah, they were special all right.

  So making a move on the house was out.

  It was still fun to watch. Maybe it was the edge of danger. He almost wanted someone to realize he was down the street. That he was in his car—a rental car, changed frequently—and he was slunk low in the seat, able to observe without being observed. He had every right to be there, of course. All he had to do was hop out and say he was on his way to visit Marnie. Maybe he would just do so one day.

  He smiled.

  Not today.

  Soon enough, they’d all be scrambling. They’d be in shock. They’d be in mourning again. And they’d be so confused. They wouldn’t understand at all what had happened.

  He did so love drama.

  Soon enough.

  He just wished he could get into the house. Watch how they reacted. That would be just great.

  He imagined all the hell that would soon break loose.

  He could hardly wait.

  Anticipation, he was learning, was absolutely delicious!

  12

  Bryan became more impressed with the Krewe of Hunters—perhaps Jackson Crow and Adam Harrison specifically—as he attended the task force meeting late that afternoon.

  It seemed at least a hundred police officers had been summoned to the station. He met another half-dozen detectives who had been instrumental in questioning witnesses.

  Grant Vining spoke for the police, going through what they knew, didn’t know and suspected. He warned the officers to be on the lookout for a Blood-bone who might just be walking down the street or hanging out.

  There was no proof that Cara’s killer had been hired and then in turn killed. But considering the circumstances and the identity of the body from the pool, it was a probability. Otherwise there was a copycat.

  “But I don’t believe so, and neither do our FBI partners on this investigation.” He looked over at Jackson.

  The field director walked to the center of the room, taking the floor. “We all believe these killings are directly related. We also believe Marnie Davante’s home was targeted for the second killing. It was a warning to her, or just a way to torment her. We’re keeping close tabs on everyone involved, as you know.”

  A few of the officers spoke, naming the sources who had seen the Blood-bone in Marnie’s neighborhood, but they were unable to find anyone who knew anything other than “He walked off down the street.” No clues as to where the killer might have gone.

  Another officer reported no weapon had been found. They still searched the neighborhood, but it was most likely the killer had kept his gun or he had discarded it elsewhere.

  No sword—as in the weapon that had killed Cara Barton—had been found. There were no further clues to help anyone.

  “The point is we must be vigilant,” Jackson said. He shrugged. “The rest of the people involved with Dark Harbor are still trying to function in the world. They are actors.”

  “They’ll be doing signings at Horror-palooza tomorrow,” Bryan offered from his chair.

  “We’ve been in touch with the convention organizers, who have arranged extra security. People will be on guard. We’ve spoken to the comic publisher who does Blood-bone. There are no approved licensed uses of the costume tomorrow—or for any of the days of the show. Stop anyone in a Blood-bone costume.”

  Assent went around the room.

  An officer cleared his throat. “Sir, if someone did just want Cara Barton dead with some kind of agenda in mind...well, we’re going to be hard put to find out more. It is just possible that the deaths are not related.”

  “I almost guarantee you this is all related,” Jackson said. He was quiet for a minute. “What frightens me is we believe that this is just getting started.”

  “Why?”

  Vining decided to take the question.

  “It may have started with a specific motive. A killer was hired, possibly to accomplish something in particular. But now, we believe he—or she—has killed of their own accord. And when you’ve hired a hit but then commit murder yourself...killing gets easier. Beyond the agenda, maybe.”

  Again, there was silence in the room.

  “So we watch out for Blood-bone. Anything else?” another officer asked.

  “High security at the Dark Harbor booth at Horror-palooza,” Jackson said. “A watchful eye over the homes of the surviving actors. We are looking after Marnie Davante—she might have been the original target.”

  “Because she was a holdout on the Dark Harbor update?” a different man asked. His fellows looked at him. “What? I read the covers of the magazines at the checkout counter at the grocery store!” he added quickly.

  “We need eyes on Jeremy Highsmith, Roberta Alan and Grayson Adair. I will leave that to Detective Vining and your managing sergeants and lieutenants,” Jackson said.

  “What about Marnie Davante?” someone asked. “She’s the one we’d all like to watch!”

  Smiles went around—No, laughter.

  “We have that covered,” Jackson said simply.

  There were a few more random questions. Then another officer asked Jackson, “Sir, we’ve been taught we need three murders and a similar MO for a serial killer. Why is the FBI in on this situation?”

  “We take all the help we can get,” Vining said flatly.

  Jackson added, “This is a very particular, high-profile situation. We’re hoping we don’t have a serial killer and we can end this. For now, we’re trying to stop the situation from escalating.

  “The LAPD is an excellent force. We’re simply added resources and manpower,” Jackson said. “We thank you for your cooperation.”

  “Thank you all!” Vining said.

  It ended. The officers broke off into groups and started to filter out.

  One man approached Bryan.

  “You’re not a cop or a fed, right? You’re the PI on the case?”

  “That’s right.”

  The young officer nodded and then offered his hand. “Jenkins. I don’t know if this is anything or not, but one of the men I spoke to—a fellow just off Barham—said that he thought the Blood-bone was a woman.”

  “Really?” Bryan said, not sure if he was surprised or not.

  “I have
the contact information for you to follow up. He was vague with me. A woman or, in his words, ‘an old dude.’ Anyway, I thought you might want to question him further.”

  He produced a piece of paper. It had a name, Ben Madrigal, an address and a phone number.

  “I will talk with him. Thanks very much.”

  “Of course. I told Vining. He said you would want to do the interview yourself.”

  Bryan glanced over at Vining. He was giving officers instructions regarding the upcoming Horror-palooza. But Vining saw him look, and he inclined his head with a smile.

  Thank you, Bryan mouthed.

  A minute later, Vining came over to him. “I’ll want a report on the follow-up, of course.”

  “Of course,” Bryan agreed. “Jackson and I will head there now.”

  “What about Marnie? Er, Miss Davante?” Vining asked.

  “Special Agent Hawkins is at the duplex,” Bryan said.

  Jackson was near. “Angela may look like an angel, but trust me. She’s hell on wheels.”

  “I guess you would know,” Vining acknowledged. “You work with her.”

  “Yes, I do. And besides that, I married her,” Jackson said. He smiled. “If anyone is smart, they wouldn’t mess with her. Trust me. I know I don’t.”

  “We’ll go speak with this witness right now,” Bryan told Vining.

  “I’ll go with them,” Sophie Manning had heard them talking; she had walked over.

  “I’ll be setting some schedules with the police. Oh, and on the rest of the Dark Harbor cast. We had patrol cars watch their homes.” Vining pulled out his phone. “Jeremy Highsmith was back in his house by about 3:00 p.m. Roberta Adair—3:30 p.m. with a large bag of groceries. Grayson Adair, 3:25 p.m. None of them have left their homes.”

  “Thanks!” Bryan said.

  “Shall we?” Jackson asked.

  “I’ll drive,” Sophie said.

  “I can drive,” Jackson said.

  “It’s my neck of the woods. I know where I’m going!” Sophie said.

  The two of them were heading out.