Marnie didn’t have a chance to ask just what was going on until Detective Vining had arrived at the booth, the line had been dispersed and convention security personnel—along with Jackson, Angela, Sean, Madison and Bryan—had managed to get Roberta, Grayson, Marnie and Vince Carlton out.
The detective, the FBI agents and Bryan were all making rapid-fire comments, all of them aimed at keeping people safe.
An officer was taking Grayson home; he would stand guard at his residence.
Another was taking Roberta home, and he would stand guard at her residence.
“But I don’t understand—how was Jeremy killed? Or was he killed?” Roberta wailed in the parking lot.
“The medical examiner believes that he suffered a massive heart attack in his sleep, but...well, we have to very careful,” Bryan said.
“Wait. The dude chose last night to die, and we’re going to lose out on today?” Grayson demanded.
“Grayson!” Roberta said, shocked.
“We have limited information at this time, but yes, that’s what we were told,” Bryan said.
“Jeremy just died...of natural causes? Last night?” Marnie asked.
“Yes, that’s what we understand.”
“But—he’s dead?” she asked.
Bryan looked at her sadly. “This is according to the medical examiner’s preliminary report. From what he’s been able to determine so far. Jeremy went to bed last night, fell asleep and never woke up.”
“Today was important for us. And I’m so sorry, but Jeremy was no spring chicken,” Grayson said.
They looked at him, appalled.
They were all still grouped there when Malcolm Dangerfield came rushing out, his security personnel hurrying to keep pace with him.
“I’m so sorry! I just heard!” he told them. He looked at Vince Carlton. “Wow. I’m really sorry. I mean, sorry a man is dead. Jeremy was good old fellow. And sorry for...well, for Dark Harbor. Anyway, I guess I have to get back in there... I mean, maybe I don’t—”
“I would,” Grayson said. “You might have been slotted for a revamp, but you weren’t in the original show, and now... Well, hell. We’re all going... Dying like... Popcorn! Pop! Pop! Pop!”
“I don’t intend to die!” Roberta protested.
“For the moment, until the medical examiner has really had a chance for an autopsy and can report their findings, you all need to be in your homes or somewhere safe,” Bryan said.
“We’ll see to it,” Vining added firmly.
Grayson looked back at the convention center. “Wouldn’t that be safe? There are so many people in there.”
“Are you forgetting Cara Barton already?” Roberta said.
“That was a comic con.”
“Grayson!” Marnie said. “There are more creatures than ever running around in that convention center. No, you’re not safe in there.” She was stunned that he seemed so callous—and desperate.
“We’re surrounded by cops and FBI. Jeremy didn’t make it here, and that was the problem!” Grayson said.
Marnie just shook her head, looking at Bryan.
“Take him home,” he told the officer assigned to Grayson.
“What if I don’t want to go?” Grayson asked.
“Then die, Mr. Adair!” Vining snapped. “We can’t help quote-unquote ‘stars’ who are hell-bent on getting themselves killed.”
Grayson pursed his lips. “Fine. I’m going home. The magazines will interview us all over again, and I’ll tell them what I think of the police!”
“Who are trying to save your life,” Bryan said.
“And what I think of the FBI!” Grayson added.
“I’m just a PI. And I really don’t give a damn what you say about me,” Bryan told him.
With something like a growl and a hunch of his shoulders, Grayson sighed and said, “Whatever! Living isn’t so great when you can’t pay the bills!”
“Grayson, what is the matter with you?” Marnie demanded. “We’ve just lost another friend. A very good friend.”
She felt tears in her eyes. She had just been with him yesterday. And yesterday he had been just fine.
“I’m sorry!” Grayson said. “Marnie, we’re supposed to be on a panel tomorrow. Our day had barely begun, and we were being barraged.”
“I’m sure Jeremy would be horrified to find out just how inconvenient his dying was for you!” she exploded.
“I am sorry. Jeremy played my dad, too, you know. But...let’s face it, it’s not like we met every Friday for coffee or drinks. He wasn’t murdered—he died, Marnie. Died of natural causes. And we have to go on. We have to speak—”
“We don’t speak on a panel until tomorrow,” Roberta said.
“The organizers aren’t heartless,” Madison said, trying to come between them all and ease the situation. “I’ve been gone from Hollywood awhile now, but these people are nice. They can rearrange anything. Things do happen. You will be all right. They will understand—”
“But they’ll strip down our spot and give it to someone else, and...I need to do this!” Grayson whispered.
“Not today,” Marnie said. “Jeremy died.”
“And we should be in there, mourning with friends.”
“Not me,” Marnie told him. “Not right now.”
Grayson walked over to her and took her shoulders, looking into her eyes. “Marnie! I’m going to go down. My family made some bad investments, and I’m broke. I’m going to lose my house. If I don’t meet my obligations, I’ll lose all custody when it comes to my kids. You’ve got to help me.”
“No one would expect us to stay, Grayson,” she said.
“But...tomorrow? We can be here in honor of both of them. Share their lives with other people who loved them!”
Marnie could see Bryan wanted to step between her and Grayson then. She saw he was trying very hard not to interfere.
The cast could go back in. Jeremy’s death could be announced. Sad, but—as far as they knew—natural.
And it might be right to mourn and honor Jeremy and Cara together tomorrow.
As if reading her mind, Grayson said, “A service. A moment of silence—a time when a few words are said in memory of both of them.”
“Tomorrow. We’ll talk about it tonight. We just found out that he’s dead, Grayson,” Marnie said. “We had a seat for him—he was supposed to be with us.”
“We’ll talk tonight,” Roberta echoed.
“Really?” Grayson asked.
“Yes, yes...tomorrow. Just not today,” Roberta said.
He lifted his hands and smiled at the cop assigned to him, who would be driving him home. “I’m ready. You ready?”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Adair,” the cop said.
“Miss Alan?” the other officer said to Roberta.
“I’m going—this is too much for me,” she said.
Then she was gone, too, walking way with her assigned officer in the wake of Grayson, who was moving quickly now toward a patrol car.
“Mr. Carlton, would you like an escort home?” Detective Vining asked.
“No, thank you, not if they believe that Jeremy Highsmith’s death was natural,” Carlton replied. “It’s an unfortunate coincidence, to be sure. But we’ll be fine. I mean, I am so sorry. But...we’d only met a few times. And I do have other business today.”
“Come back in with me,” Malcolm said. “I have security.”
Bridget walked over and hugged Marnie.
“Let’s go home,” she said.
“Let’s,” Marnie agreed.
She turned to look at Bryan, and she could somewhat read his feelings.
Bryan wanted Marnie out of there; every mannequin and person in costume seemed like an automatic enemy to him.
But he needed to stay. He wanted to find David
Neal.
“Jackson and Angela will see you home,” he told Marnie. “Sean and Madison will watch over Bridget.”
“You’re not coming?” she asked him.
He hesitated. “I’m going to stay and work with Detective Vining and Sophie—to find David Neal.”
“David Neal?” she asked, perplexed.
There was more. She had a sinking feeling the day was going to get worse.
“He was trying to drug you yesterday,” he said very softly.
“Drug me...to death?”
Bridget gasped. “That scuzzball!” she exclaimed. “Oh, Marnie! Not kill you—he was trying to rape you.”
“What?” Marnie said. What? He’d drugged her...not trying to murder her? But if he had managed to get something in her tea...he could have managed to kill her if he had tried!
“I’m sorry. Really sorry,” Detective Vining said. “There were traces of a drug in your tea. Someone else could have done it, but I sure as hell don’t know how.”
Marnie gasped. “No, no, I made the tea! Angela was on the porch. Bridget was in the guest room. So...it had to have been David. But...Jeremy is dead. And David Neal was nowhere near Jeremy yesterday. He couldn’t have seen Jeremy, unless... Cops were watching Jeremy! David couldn’t have gotten to him unless...”
She trailed off.
“Unless a cop was bad—or lazy as hell. That’s not the case, Marnie,” Detective Vining assured her. “I handpicked people on this.”
“I guess I do want to go home,” she said. “David is a bastard, but not a killer.”
What could his plan have been? She hadn’t been alone. Angela and Bridget had both been there. Or had he thought that he could make her pliable, and that when she was doing anything that he said, he might have gotten her away with him somewhere.
She shook her head. “I don’t know. Maybe somehow he is a bastard and a killer. I want a drink!”
“Marnie, you don’t drink,” Bridget said.
“I’m going to take it up!”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Bryan promised her. He had her by the shoulders; she felt him trying to convey what he felt, which he clearly didn’t have words to express. “As soon as I can,” he repeated.
She met his eyes and nodded.
“You’ll be fine. Angela and Jackson will be with you.”
“And Bridget—”
“Bridget will have Sean Cameron, a really crack agent, and Madison with her.”
Marnie nodded.
They split up, escorted by their protection.
Marnie looked back as they started to move away. She could see Vining talking to Bryan; he was in full professional mode.
She wanted Bryan with her. Just as soon as he and Sophie found David Neal.
* * *
Bryan headed back into the building. He pulled his phone out and called Sophie Manning.
“Any luck?”
“Luck?” she repeated. “Bryan, I’m pinching every mannequin I pass. Some of them are so real—the eyes! It’s amazing. I started from the far rear, one of the main delivery entrances. I’ve gone through the maze, the Egyptian garden, where I was sure an Egyptian pharaoh was real, and now I’m in a section called The Gardens of Transylvania. I have been searching for Neal, and I have the convention staff looking, too.”
“Thanks, Sophie,” he said. “I’ll take the front, row by row, and we’ll meet in the middle.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
They hung up. Bryan did exactly as he said, moving quickly—but not too quickly. He passed incredible displays and found out he had to do much the same thing as Sophie—pinch mannequins.
It was frustrating. He went by a large double booth. A character in a lizard suit was reading while his makeup was being done.
Nice to see that monsters used their makeup time to read.
One section was dedicated to very, very creepy dolls.
He’d walked the breadth of the convention. It was time to turn and take in the next row. Even with him and Sophie both looking, David Neal could turn a corner at any time, and they could miss him. But Sophie was a local cop, and she had asked for help. Hopefully that meant that convention security was really helping out, as well.
“Fantastic things!” he murmured to himself.
There was a spectacular homage to Psycho, Norman Bates and the Bates Motel. The house, of course, wasn’t life-size, but it was big. Along with the motel part of the movie set, it covered the space of a number of booths.
Every once in a while, a high-pitched scream emitted from the house.
From there, he moved on to alien creatures.
Swamp creatures.
Giant insects from a faraway planet.
More makeup, another booth, vying for attention.
Sophie called him.
“Any luck?”
“No. I’d forgotten there are panels going on, as well.”
“Yes, there are panels.” She sighed. “We need more manpower to cover this place. Vining was going to check in with the ME on Jeremy Highsmith.”
“Yeah, we need to know what happened there.”
“Indeed,” Sophie said drily. “Rather a convenient thing, a heart attack in the middle of all this. But I have to say, I don’t understand. If Marnie was the intended victim all along, as we’d thought, one might understand the motive, no matter how sick. She was the holdout—the one who might not want to do a remake of Dark Harbor.”
“But what if,” Bryan said, “we only think Marnie was the intended victim? We could be wrong, especially since Cara is dead. What if Cara was killed because she wanted the show so very much—and someone out there doesn’t want the show to go on?”
“I guess that’s possible.” Sophie inhaled on the other end of the line. “I don’t know who that would be. Of the people we’ve been looking at, anyway. Even Malcolm seems to be happy with the prospect of being Marnie’s—Scarlet’s—love interest, should there be a show.”
“Jeremy wanted specials, not a full series reboot.”
“Still, he was on board,” Sophie said.
“David Neal... He wouldn’t want the show. He wants to be Marnie’s stage manager.”
“Not a chance in hell of that happening now.”
“Nope,” Bryan said. “But let’s find the bastard, huh?”
“I’m calling Vining. We’ll get more help out here.”
Bryan thanked her and rang off.
He passed Louisiana swamp monsters, Bigfoot, more.
He paused, not sure why, by a tableau that held a real antique stagecoach and what appeared to be spirit monsters, American Indians and giant buffalo.
Nightmares on the Plain! a sign by the tableau read.
He realized that it was a scene from a horror movie due to open in a month.
Something just hadn’t seemed right when he’d looked at it.
And then he realized what.
One of the giant buffalo... Its tail moved awkwardly.
He walked around. There was no man inside the giant buffalo—no one in costume.
There was, however, a man hiding behind the giant buffalo.
“Get your slimy ass out here, Mr. Neal!” he snapped, reaching for the man, catching his shirt at his nape and dragging him out.
Neal didn’t like Bryan—that much was obvious.
He was also obviously afraid of him.
But he was going to bluster.
“You can’t do anything to me—or with me. You’re not a cop. You’re not FBI. You’re just a private investigator, and this isn’t even your state. You have no right to touch me. In fact, keep it up! I’ll see that you’re arrested for assault!”
“You’re going in,” Bryan said.
“Because of you? What, he-man? You going to throw me over you
r shoulder and drag me to a car? And why? I didn’t do a damn thing to you. I didn’t do a damn thing to anyone. You have no rights at all over me. I will sue you, you asshole. You can’t take me in!”
In a way, the man was right.
But it didn’t matter.
Because Sophie Manning was jogging up right behind him. She had a pair of cuffs out.
“He can’t arrest you. But I can. And did I hear you use the word asshole? Rude, sir, very rude. Can’t arrest you for rudeness,” she announced. “Mr. Neal, you are under arrest for assault.”
* * *
Angela made tea. Bridget tried to talk, to tell Marnie that whatever decisions she chose to make regarding Grayson and Jeremy and the horror convention were fine.
“People mourn and react to pain and loss in so many ways. I didn’t know Jeremy the way you did, of course, but over the years, I was able to talk to him many times. He was a very cool dude who didn’t believe any one religion or creed could be the only one, that there were many ways to a greater power. I mean, I think he would like a moment of silence and memory for him, maybe a few words, at a massive convention,” Bridget assured her. “Then again, if you think it’s in bad taste or wrong...”
“I don’t know what I think,” Marnie said. “Except I have a pounding headache. I guess I’m not going to take up drinking—I’m going to go with a giant bottle of aspirin!”
“Marnie—” Jackson caught her attention “—I’m going to head down to the morgue and meet up with the ME and Vining and, eventually, Bryan. Angela is staying here.”
“Not to worry. I have complete confidence in Angela,” Marnie assured him.
“And your patrol cop is still outside,” Jackson said.
“All the better,” Marnie said.
“I made tea,” Angela said. “It will go straight from my hands to yours,” she added.
“Oh, that slimy, slimy bastard. He ruined tea,” Bridget muttered. Angela served tea. Marnie used it to wash down an aspirin. She really did have an absolutely splitting headache.
Shortly, Jackson left, and Madison and Sean accompanied Bridget to her side of the duplex, since she wanted to shower and change.
“I guess I will try lying down,” Marnie told Angela. “I’ll bring George in with me.”
“I’ll be in the living room if you need me,” Angela assured her.