“I searched him and all, but I was just outside, so...”
“We’ll be there in one minute,” Bryan said.
They were turning the corner to Marnie’s street. Bryan drove up in front of the duplex, turned off the engine and hopped out of the car. He wasn’t sure why he was worried. Nothing had happened.
He hurried up the walk. “He’s gone already?” he asked Angela.
“He was in a blue Chevy Malibu. Drove off about sixty seconds ago,” Angela said. She was frowning. “Bryan, I wouldn’t let anything happen to Marnie.”
Marnie came to the door; she had evidently heard what Angela had said. “I’m fine. And Bridget is fine. George sat at my feet like a lion. Nothing happened. I was perfectly safe, really—and David brought me a play that I really, really love!”
Bryan let out a soft breath of relief; he wasn’t sure why he had panicked so much in the last few minutes.
“Anyway,” Jackson said, joining them and casually slipping an arm around Angela’s shoulders. “We have some FBI friends from back home arriving for the show tomorrow. Sean Cameron is coming with his wife, Madison Darvil.”
“I know that name,” Marnie said. “I think I’ve worked with Madison. Yes. She did some work with us for a werewolf story line on Dark Harbor years ago. She was great. Immensely talented and great to work with. Oh!” She paused, clapping her hand over her mouth and then removing it and explaining, “I remember! Sad case—a beautiful young starlet killed. And Madison worked for Archer’s Wizardry and Effects. And Eddie Archer also owned the Black Box, and his son was accused of murder. But in the end...”
Jackson continued as she hesitated, remembering, “The Krewe stepped in. The guilty party was caught. Yes, that Madison. And Sean, of course, was out here working with her.”
“She’s brilliant. Did she become a part of the Krewe?” Marnie asked, puzzled. “I don’t mean that as a bad thing, it’s just that you can’t imagine how fine she was as an artist.”
“We seem to attract a lot of people with different talents,” Jackson said. “At the moment, she’s working on one of Adam Harrison’s projects—a historic theater in Northern Virginia—right outside DC. Since you’re doing Horror-palooza and we are concerned that something might happen again, it seemed prudent to add to our numbers. Sean is an exceptional agent, and Madison knows the industry and special effects and all kinds of things that might be helpful.”
“Great,” Marnie said. “I hope Madison remembers me.”
“I can’t imagine that she’d work with you and forget,” Angela murmured, looking at Bryan. Apparently, Marnie had no idea at all she was really unforgettable.
“Angela, we were in the middle of a conversation before,” Bryan said. “Let’s go in?”
“But call George,” Marnie said. “He’s trotted off to the fence. He can jump that little fence or could if he chose to. Good thing he’s kind of a wonder dog.”
“George!” Bryan said.
The animal was a wonder dog. He immediately trotted back, his tail wagging.
They all went inside.
“Okay, let me reiterate,” Angela said. “Marnie didn’t hear what I said to you.”
“Let me get Bridget, then we’ll all hear,” Marnie said.
They heard a hallway door open and Bridget popped out.
“I’m here!” she called.
“And we’re all gathered,” Marnie said.
“And starving!” Bridget announced, plopping down in an armchair. “Am I the only one around here who thinks about eating?”
“I’ll order pizzas. A vegetarian, a cheese and a meat? That covers everyone?” Jackson asked. He was aware that Angela needed to talk. Jackson Crow had a talent for taking control of what was necessary at any given time, and for giving the lead to any of his people when necessary, as well.
“Sounds good,” Bryan said. “Angela, you want to go ahead?”
She did. She explained that Bryan had asked her to look for actors who had performed fully costumed or had specialized in roles with creatures—or had even had some training in the art. She told them what she’d found out.
“The neighbor we spoke to who saw Blood-bone said it seemed like someone who knew what they were doing in that kind of costume,” Bryan explained.
“So, Roberta doesn’t have that kind of experience, but Jeremy and Grayson do?”
“Correct,” Angela said. “And I looked into Golden Boy—Malcolm Dangerfield,” Angela said.
“And?” Bryan asked.
“Yes—and no. As a boy, he had a stint on a local TV show as a robot. But that was over twenty-five years ago,” Angela told them.
“Was that what we missed, what you were going to tell us?” Jackson asked.
“No,” Angela said. “Right before David Neal left,” she continued, looking at Marnie, “I had been about to tell Bryan about someone else who had that kind of start. Someone close—too close for comfort at the moment.”
“Who?” Marnie asked, picking up her teacup.
“David Neal,” Angela said. “In Chicago, he worked for one of the beer companies. He wore a draft horse costume almost every day for two years. He worked with kids in a little park there, and he even did a few commercials in costume.”
“David was a performer?” Marnie said thoughtfully.
The cup was almost to her lips.
Bryan didn’t know why. He didn’t know what drove him, what logic he could possibly be using.
Maybe there was none.
No reason.
But...
David Neal had just been in the house. And Angela had found information on him that suggested he might well have played a damned good Blood-bone.
He had been standing there, right in front of Marnie, when the first Blood-bone character had killed Cara Barton.
“No!” Bryan shouted.
He leaped across the room, knocking the teacup from Marnie’s hand.
Tea went flying everywhere.
13
Full darkness had fallen sometime ago.
He wanted to leave. He wanted to drive back and watch the house. Marnie’s house. He wanted to imagine her in it—and those other people gone.
Although...he couldn’t wait to see their reactions to his last little piece of “live” theater.
Foolish, of course. No one would know what had happened—what he had done—until tomorrow. Unless something truly unusual was to happen. And while he longed to watch, he knew they were watching, too. Who exactly were they watching? How closely were they watching? He didn’t know, but he wasn’t taking any chances.
No, he didn’t dare.
There was nothing to do that night but dream, plan, envision, wonder...
Drama...on the stage...on film.
And in real life.
The important thing, of course, was that he could act. Far better than they might imagine.
His phone rang. He realized, as he answered it, he was awful hopeful it would be her calling—Marnie. That she would just need to hear his voice. Now, that was fanciful.
It wasn’t Marnie.
“I’m nervous,” came the voice.
“Because you’re a coward,” he said. “Talking isn’t good. We don’t know what’s going on. Maybe someone’s listening.”
“What?” The question was stunned. And then the idiot on the other line realized that maybe their phones were somehow being tapped.
“Oh, well, just so you know, I’m unhappy, scared, and I’m starting to think...”
“Don’t think. It’s dangerous,” he said. “And don’t call like this!”
He hung up.
He realized he was thinking about murder again. About a time and a way.
It was delicious. Ever more so when it came to an annoying partner who seemed to be getting very cold feet. The idiot w
as scared? Well, that fear was scaring the hell out of him, as well.
Just one more who had to go. And Lord! The power truly was intoxicating!
* * *
“What in God’s name?” Marnie gasped, jumping up and staring at Bryan as if he’d lost his mind.
“Bryan, what’s the matter with you?” she asked. Her tea hadn’t been that hot anymore; she wasn’t scalded anywhere, but she was wearing a lot of it and little droplets covered the sofa and the floor.
“Got it!” Bridget said.
“Wait!” Bryan said.
Bryan had walked across the room and was studying the remains of the cup. “Here!” he muttered, carefully picking up a piece.
“What are you doing?” Marnie demanded.
He looked at her, olive eyes flashing with impatience. “He’s a suspect, Marnie. He played creatures—he could wear that costume well. He was staring at you, right at you, when Cara was killed. And he was here when Angela found out about him, and then he was suddenly gone.”
“Yes, but...Angela frisked him! He had no gun, no knife—”
“He had an aspirin bottle,” Angela said.
“I made the tea!” Marnie said.
“And you were with that cup and the tea every second he was here?” Bryan demanded.
“Yes!” Marnie said.
“No,” Bridget argued softly. She looked over at Marnie. “No, you weren’t with the tea every second. You came to my door and then into the room. In fact, you said David Neal was making you feel a little uneasy.”
“He was making you feel uneasy?” Bryan snapped. “Why?”
“I... Nothing deadly. He was just...”
“Touchy-feely?” Bridget offered.
Marnie shook her head. “Not even that. I don’t know.”
“But you weren’t with the tea every second, right?”
She sighed. “No, I wasn’t with the tea every second.” She frowned. “You think David Neal might have poisoned my tea?”
“We can’t take chances right now, Marnie,” Jackson explained. “We can’t take chances. We’ll have what we’ve recovered analyzed. It’s probably just tea.”
Marnie sank back into a chair. She let out a soft sigh. “This is...ridiculous. I can’t be afraid of everyone and everything!”
“Right now, yes, you can be,” Bryan said flatly.
Jackson’s phone rang. Loudly. Everyone jumped.
“Sorry!” he murmured. He looked at the caller ID before answering.
“What is it?” Angela asked.
They were all waiting for something.
Something dire, Marnie realized.
“Jackson?” Angela said. He looked at his wife and grimaced.
“Pizza,” he said.
* * *
Marnie had gone into her bedroom early.
It had been a long day.
Bryan felt the emptiness of the living room with the others gone. Then George whined, setting a wet nose on Bryan’s hand.
“Okay, boy, we’ll go out for a last romp, huh?”
He took the dog outside. While they were strolling around the block, he suddenly had a thought and called Angela. “The car,” he said. “David Neal’s car.”
“Yeah. Blue Chevy Malibu,” she said. “You have something?”
“I don’t know. I’m going to call on Ben Madrigal again, see if he saw a blue Malibu the dead-man-in-the-pool day. When Blood-bone was just cruising the neighborhood.”
“We need the contents of the tea analyzed. I can take Bridget with me and drop it off first thing in the morning.”
“Not necessary. I’m going to call Sophie. She’ll get it tonight.”
“Call me again if you need to,” Angela said. “Or if you have any other ideas.”
He called Sophie Manning next.
She promised she’d be right there.
Bryan then dialed Ben Madrigal, hoping it wasn’t too late, that the man might be a night owl.
Madrigal answered his phone.
“I’ve kind of got a bit of a thinking question for you,” Bryan said pleasantly. “Because, we all see cars everywhere every day. Do you remember by chance if, on the day you saw Blood-bone, you also saw a blue Chevy Malibu?”
“Well, I’ve definitely seen a sporty blue car parked in the neighborhood,” Ben Madrigal answered him. “It’s parked here frequently. I thought it belonged to someone living in a house—apartment, or duplex, studio or whatever—in the neighborhood. Come to think of it, though, it moves. It’s on different blocks all the time. But yes, I’ve seen what I believe is a blue Chevy Malibu.”
“And on the day you saw the Blood-bone...did you see the Malibu?”
Madrigal was quiet. “I want to say yes. But...I just don’t know. I really just don’t know. Like I said, I know I’ve seen it. And like you said...days mix up, you know?”
“Of course. Yes, they do.”
“I wish I could be of more help.”
“You’ve been a tremendous help. Thank you.”
He hung up. Sophie Manning was on her way, but he called Grant Vining to tell him what he’d learned, and then he called Jackson.
By the time he finished his calls, he and George had made it back to the house, and Sophie was there. He gave her everything he had collected; she took it in an evidence bag.
“How long do you think?” he asked her.
“We’ll have an answer soon—by tomorrow morning. I have friends who work in the crime scene lab on the graveyard shift. They’ll help me out.”
“Thank you, Sophie. Seriously.”
“Hey. Thank you for being out here.”
She patted George and then left. Bryan locked the door and set the alarm.
Then he stared at Marnie’s door.
She had been angry. He figured she was resentful of how overprotective he was being, and she was thinking she was crazy to be involved with him.
He should just stay out.
He couldn’t.
It was silly, maybe... They’d spent just a night together. But she’d announced they were a duo; she had seemed to really care.
He couldn’t stay away.
“George, go to sleep, please,” he told the dog.
And he watched in wonder as the dog curled up to do as told.
He tapped lightly at Marnie’s door. It immediately sprang open.
It appeared she had fallen asleep at one point, but then had been waiting for him. Her wealth of rich dark hair was in a wild array around her head, her eyes were exquisitely blue green and slightly hazy, and warmth seemed to glow from the length of her. She was clad again in a long cotton T-shirt—the right attire, definitely, for a time when you weren’t sure who filled your house, and he approved of the way it softly draped over her curves.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey,” she returned and smiled, and something changed in her eyes. A light appeared in them that was wickedly delicious. She threw her arms around him and drew him to her for a kiss.
One that included the full pressure of her body against his, her hands running down his back, her tongue delving and playing and doing things that made him pay attention.
He eased her forward, closing the door behind him. He returned her kiss, tongue every bit as wicked and erotic. The pressure of her body was hot, the feel of her kiss wet. He couldn’t break that kiss, even as he tried to strip down.
Marnie was the one to break away.
She did so to move her lips and teeth and tongue across his body, down...
He was very glad that the action for Marnie wouldn’t begin the next day until after ten.
They made love. And then again. And then...again. She created a desire in him that burned, hot and constant.
And was like nothing in the world when it was appeased.
Late in the night, she slept in his arms. Curled partially atop him, beside part of him.
He couldn’t help but marvel. And pray that it would be forever.
First, of course, he had to make sure Marnie would be forever...forever, as in a full lifetime.
* * *
Horror-palooza was spectacular. Artists showed their creations and wares in large and small booths, in large and small quantities.
Creatures abounded—incredible creatures, created by the best in the business.
Zombies posed before a Cadillac. A family of vampires relaxed upon a Victorian couch. Aliens were here and there. Monsters created by toxic waste raged and growled in shocking tableaux. There were versions of old monsters—the Frankenstein monster, Dracula, the Wolfman, the Mummy and more. There were makeup artists offering spectacular face painting to conference goers—for a fee, of course—and also showing off with their own models, creating amazing creature effects. They were also selling their cosmetics—naturally, hoping for some big sales with the studios who would be working with makeup and prosthetics.
There were costumes, statuettes, prints, paintings.
So much art!
In Marnie’s mind, the life-size creatures were the most amazing, and the tableaux that had been created to showcase them.
She’d always been in awe of fabricators, artists who couldn’t really be defined in one area.
Like Madison Darvil.
Madison had arrived with her husband, Special Agent Sean Cameron, just before they’d left the house. Marnie and she hadn’t been inseparable friends back in the day or anything of the like, but Madison had been one those people she had instantly liked, admired and with whom she’d really enjoyed working. She didn’t just create costumes or makeup effects, she worked with just about everything and could create just about anything—from a life-size puppy selling insurance to a helpful robotic alien to a chilling, decaying vampire.
They’d hugged; Madison had been delighted to see her. And then she’d learned that Special Agent Sean Cameron had once studied under Eddie Archer, one of the finest fabricators to be found anywhere, as well.
In her living room, Marnie felt a little shaky as they all greeted one another.
She was lucky.
She’d come to realize she was protected and possibly alive because of Bryan McFadden; he’d brought in an elite unit consisting of Jackson and Angela, and now Madison Darvil and Sean Cameron.