Marnie headed into her room and lay down. George looked at her with big brown eyes.
She patted the bed. “Come on up!”
He wagged his tail, whined and jumped up on the bed.
“This will not be all the time. You’re a guard dog, you know. This is special. Just for today,” Marnie told him.
He harrumphed.
Marnie curled up beside him, setting a hand on his back. She closed her eyes.
She could still feel the pounding in her head. It was fading, though, just a little.
Besides the pounding, she wasn’t sure what she felt. Sorrow, of course. She had really cared for Jeremy; he had been kind of a father figure. They’d been good friends on set.
Maybe it was all too much. She felt cold, too, as if she should have more emotion, but she was really a distant observer, and all of this could not be happening to her.
A sweet foggy darkness seemed to be settling around her, a result of the double dose of aspirin, she thought.
She drifted off.
It was nice.
George, warm and furry, was at her side, and sleep, right now, was the most pleasing balm in the world.
* * *
David Neal rose.
“This is the most ridiculous thing in the world. I didn’t assault anyone. I don’t know what you’re talking about. You people are about as sick as they get. I’m nonviolent. Nonviolent, don’t you understand?”
“So you didn’t dress up as Blood-bone?” Sophie Manning asked.
They had David Neal in an interrogation room. He looked nervous.
But at the suggestion that he’d been Blood-bone, he looked horrified.
“I didn’t kill anyone. I’m not a killer. I was there—oh, God, I was there! That day. I watched Cara Barton become mincemeat. It was horrible. You’re accusing me of... Oh, God!”
“You drugged Marnie Davante’s tea,” Bryan accused. He was seated next to Sophie.
Neal was right across the table.
“Attempted rape,” Bryan said.
“Oh, you are full of it!” Neal said, but he looked nervous. He turned to Sophie. “If anyone is drugging Marnie to get her into bed, it’s him. Oh, yeah—son of movie stars. Big macho watchdog. What’s he even doing here? All he wants is Marnie, and he’s making things up. Come on, Detective Manning, you are a cop.”
“Yes. The cop who saw to the testing of the remnants of the tea in Marnie’s cup.”
Neal swallowed.
“Is that why you had Cara killed? And then killed her killer?” Sophie asked him. “I believe I understand now. You’re in love with Marnie Davante.”
“Half the world is in love with Marnie Davante,” Neal muttered. He glared at Bryan.
“But you’re obsessed,” the PI said, easing forward. “You had Cara killed because that would have stopped—you hoped—a remake of the show. Then you got nervous that your hired hit man was going to give you away. And you killed him. And then, yesterday, you decided to make your move on Marnie.”
“No!” Neal protested.
“We will arrest and try him for murder,” Sophie told Bryan.
“Lawyer!” Neal said.
“Sure,” Sophie told him with a shrug. She rose and started to leave the room.
“Wait, wait!” Neal said. “Wait... This is the honest-to-God truth, I swear. I—I did try to drug Marnie. I am in love with her. And I don’t want the show having a revival—I want Marnie to open her theater. It’s what she wants. But I swear I didn’t kill anyone. I swear! I drugged Marnie’s tea, but I did not kill anyone. I didn’t. I didn’t. I swear on my mother’s life!”
* * *
Marnie might have drifted into something of a half sleep.
She could hear whispering.
She knew that—unless she was dead herself—Angela Hawkins wouldn’t let anyone in, wouldn’t let anyone near her.
George let out a little whine, as if warning of a danger he wasn’t exactly sure of.
She opened her eyes.
Like a pair of little old chaperones, the ghosts of Cara Barton and Jeremy Highsmith were standing just inside her bedroom door.
“Poor dear. She’s sleeping.”
“She could sleep a lot more if she wasn’t fooling around with Muscles.”
“Jeremy! Shush! They’re a lovely couple.”
“Hmph.”
“We could have been a lovely couple.”
“What? You mean if you weren’t always telling me that I couldn’t act my way out of a paper bag?” Jeremy asked.
“I never!” Cara protested.
“Almost daily,” he assured her. “You were always quite the old battle-ax.”
“Oh!”
“You weren’t particularly kind to me. And you could be hell on wheels on set.”
“I had to be. The rest of you were positively doormats.”
“You could be brutal.”
“But—I loved you, Jeremy. Really, I loved you!”
“Ah, sweet thing. I guess it’s too late for us, eh?”
Cara’s ghost sighed. “Shall I wax poetic? Love is never too late.”
Marnie blinked.
Yes, the two of them were there. Were they waiting for her to awaken?
She cleared her throat.
“Oh!” Cara gasped.
George whined, thumped his tail nervously and looked at Marnie. She stroked the dog. “It’s okay, George. More or less okay. You know, you might have knocked.”
“We should have knocked,” Jeremy told Cara. “I told you we should have knocked.”
“I really didn’t want to wake Marnie if she was deeply sleeping. I mean, we don’t really have much to say, do we? You just wanted her to...make a big deal over you,” Cara said, impatiently waving a spectral arm in the air.
“It’s only fair—you had a massive funeral.”
“You’re still lying in the morgue!”
“Must you remind me?”
“Okay!” Marnie said. “It’s okay.”
“Of course, it’s okay. Bryan’s not here right now. So, you see, it doesn’t matter that we didn’t knock.”
“I could have just walked out of the shower,” Marnie said.
“Oh, you dress in the bathroom,” Cara said with another impatient wave of her arm.
Tears suddenly stung Marnie’s eyes again.
They were both dead.
They’d had egos, they had argued, they had all been a little off now and then, but in the end, they had been really decent human beings, and she had loved them both.
“Marnie...my dear, sweet girl. Cry for us. You might be the only one,” Jeremy said.
“Not true. People loved you both.”
“Well, they loved me,” Cara said. And she jabbed her ghostly companion in the ribs. “Lighten up, my love. Everybody thought you were the coolest. Best TV dad since Father Knows Best!”
“And you’re very good at being a ghost,” Marnie said, swinging her legs over the side of the bed so she could sit and look at them both easily. “You’re visible, and you’re barely...”
“Dead,” Jeremy told her flatly when her voice faded.
“I’m so sorry.”
“I had a hell of a life,” he assured her. He paused and smiled at Cara, took her hand and kissed it. “And suddenly, we are together.”
“Lovely,” Marnie told him. His own death had to be touchy subject. “Jeremy, what happened? You...you looked fine yesterday during the day.”
“You can’t imagine the pain of a massive heart attack,” Jeremy told her earnestly. “It’s like being crushed with a sledgehammer.”
“Had you been to the doctor?”
“Yes, I’d been to the doctor. Any old guy who doesn’t have a cardiologist is an idiot, and I took medicat
ions for high cholesterol and hypertension,” Jeremy said. “I was careful. No incidents—I took my meds just as directed. I did the right things. Watched out for what I ate, didn’t smoke, only had a glass of red wine now and then... I looked after myself.”
Marnie felt a little buzz. Her phone was in her pocket.
There was a text.
She excused herself and checked the phone. The text was from Bryan; he must have called Angela, who would have told him Marnie had a horrible headache and was lying down. Bryan wouldn’t have taken the chance of waking her.
At the station; going in with David Neal. But got a call from Jackson, who is down at the morgue with Vining. Some tests in. Jeremy must have been expecting a date—blood work showed large amounts of an erectile dysfunction drug. Poor guy...must have wanted someone very badly.
Marnie looked across the room at Jeremy Highsmith.
“What?” he demanded.
“Uh—nothing.”
“What is it, Marnie? Damn it, come on.”
“All right, all right... Who was she, Jeremy?”
“Who was she? She who?” Jeremy asked.
“Yeah, who was she?” Cara demanded.
“There was no she!” Jeremy declared. He sighed. “She didn’t tell you, did she? Cara. Cara and I had been seeing each other before...before...”
“Before I was slashed to ribbons!” Cara said. “And you think a heart attack hurts? Imagine getting chopped up by an actual sword.”
“Well, then...” Marnie said.
“Look. I honestly wasn’t seeing anyone. I didn’t expect to see anyone. I was mourning Cara. I was feeling a bit dizzy, so I was in bed, trying to nap, for God’s sake. What is going on?” Jeremy demanded.
Marnie took a deep breath. “There was a massive amount of an erectile dysfunction drug in your system, Jeremy.”
“What?” Jeremy said.
“What?” Cara echoed.
Marnie repeated herself.
“But I didn’t!” Jeremy said weakly.
“Oh, my dear Lord!” Cara said.
“I didn’t,” Jeremy said. He gasped suddenly. “Oh, my God. It was the mousse.” He looked at Marnie. “Did you have the mousse? The salmon mousse? At lunch yesterday—did you have the mousse?”
“Um...no,” Marnie said. She hadn’t really liked the look of it. And there hadn’t been much, not for the size of their group. She’d thought she’d leave it for people who enjoyed it more.
“Mousse?” Cara said.
“Oh, our killer is a bastard! I didn’t die from any natural cause,” Jeremy said furiously. “Our killer... He chose the damned salmon mousse. Unbelievable!”
“So...the killer was there. Yesterday,” Marnie whispered.
She dialed quickly.
Her call went straight to voice mail, but Bryan called her right back.
“So, you got my message. I guess Jeremy didn’t realize his heart couldn’t take the drugs. I wonder who he was seeing.”
“He wasn’t seeing anyone. And he didn’t take any erectile dysfunction drugs, Bryan.”
“How do you know?”
“Because he’s here. Jeremy Highsmith is right here. With Cara. They were seeing one another before Cara died, and now... He says the drugs must have been in the mousse. We had lunch with the murderer!”
15
Bryan slid his phone back into his pocket, looking at Sophie Manning.
Jeremy had been murdered, too.
“Murdered?” Sophie said skeptically. She studied him. “It’s easy to think at this point that everything is suspicious. But Jeremy was old...er. I can’t tell you how often—when I was a younger cop—I’d be called in for help, escorts on a hospital run, that kind of thing, because someone just had to impress their lover and overdid it, having an erection that went on and on for hours and hours, or as in this case, Bryan, bringing on a heart attack because their systems just couldn’t deal with it. Why would this be any different?”
Because Jeremy Highsmith said so.
That wasn’t going to work.
“I just spoke with Marnie. She was very good friends with both Jeremy and Cara and—only known to friends—they were seeing one another before Cara died.”
“How was the drug given to him?”
“We suspect in food. At lunch.”
“Then were you all running around like hopped-up rabbits yesterday?”
“It must have been in the mousse. I didn’t have any. Not everyone there did. It had a kind of gray cast to it, and salmon isn’t my favorite. Whether our fellows at the luncheon were having wild, wicked sex after drop-off, I don’t know. We had cops at their doors, not in their bedrooms.”
Sophie still looked skeptical.
“David Neal just admitted to drugging Marnie’s drink, and you’re sure he didn’t have anything to do with this?”
“There’s no way he could have seen Jeremy Highsmith yesterday. Unless your cops are bad,” Bryan pointed out.
“You want me to just let him go?”
“I don’t know. What he did was definitely unacceptable—he was obsessed with her. I think he wanted some sure way to be with her, but in the end he chickened out. And he ran. He can be charged.”
“He could do it again—he should be charged. Although...” She paused, wincing. “Then we have to prove that it wasn’t Bridget or Angela.”
“He confessed.”
“And he asked for an attorney. I don’t know. I think we should at least hold him.”
“An attorney will get him out of here unless you press charges.”
“I can hold him for a while. I know that Vining and your friend Special Agent Crow are at the autopsy. I can stick around here and work on Neal and kill time if you want to see if there is anything else.”
He thanked her. He really liked Sophie Manning.
“I’ll do that,” he said.
The autopsy would still be taking place. He wasn’t sure that it mattered. He was pretty sure that what he knew now was the reason for Jeremy Highsmith’s death.
And then there were none! He couldn’t help but think.
Jeremy and Cara were gone.
That left Roberta, Grayson and Marnie in the main cast.
Malcolm Dangerfield...near them.
And Vince Carlton.
One of them, he was sure, was a killer.
* * *
“You need to come out to the living room with me,” Marnie said. “We have to let Angela see you—and talk to you.”
“I’d like that,” Cara said.
“It isn’t going to happen,” Jeremy said.
“Why not?” Marnie asked.
“Because...” Jeremy began.
Then he faded away.
Cara sighed softly. “He’s just beginning to get it. Poor man. He wanted to be at his autopsy. I said don’t do it! Not nice, won’t make you happy. Now, a funeral on the other hand... Everybody crying and saying wonderful things... He’ll just have to get to the funeral.”
She was fading, as well. She was gone when Marnie heard the last of her voice.
“Just tell them all of what he said...”
Marnie sighed. She’d told Bryan, but she could tell Angela herself.
George whined. And then he barked—loudly and excitedly.
Marnie tensed immediately. It was impossible not to worry.
This killer seemed capable of anything.
She leaped off the bed and opened the door; George raced out ahead of her.
“It’s all right, George, it’s all right!” she heard Angela say. “Friend, George. He’s a friend.”
Curious, Marnie hurried down the hall. She frowned.
Angela was there, hugging a man who appeared to be about eighty, but a very good eighty. He was thin and very tall,
and he still had a headful of silver-white hair.
Dignified—that would be the word she would use if one word was needed to describe him.
“Marnie, you’re awake,” Angela said, extracting herself.
“Miss Davante!” the man said. “A pleasure. I am a true fan!”
“Marnie,” Angela explained, “I’d like you to meet Very Special Assistant Director Adam Harrison—my real boss. Jackson is our boss in the field, but we exist because of this wonderful gentleman.”
Marnie walked forward, taking the hand that was extended to her.
“Mr. Harrison. Um, thank you. Thank you for being here. Thank you for these fine people, who are all helping me stay alive!”
“Now that really is a pleasure and privilege,” he said. “In the field...well, my talent is finding people.”
Marnie swallowed suddenly. She realized he wasn’t alone. A slim boy of about Adam Harrison’s height stood by him.
Boy, almost a man. Shaggy hair, nice eyes. He had to be about eighteen.
Then she realized he wasn’t really here.
He was just really good at appearing to be solid.
Marnie couldn’t help but stare. “My son, Josh,” Adam said. “He’s the only...only person who has passed on out of this earthly sphere whom I’m able to see.” He glanced affectionately at Josh. “He is truly amazing—I don’t think I have it, the gift or ability. But Josh...he can make me see him.”
Marnie was proud of herself. She didn’t even blink.
“Hello, Josh. A pleasure to meet you,” she said.
“Miss Davante, my pleasure,” the teenager said politely.
“Anyway, my other talent is money. Good investments. That has allowed me to help people threatened or in trouble through the years. I know how to make money. And that’s why I’m here.”
“Money?” Marnie said, very surprised.
He smiled at that. “I’m not much good in the way of keeping people alive—though I have learned to shoot, and I’m not so bad at it, if I do say so myself.”
“I’ve fired blanks from a prop gun a few times. And I actually took archery—there were evil birds in an episode of Dark Harbor. They could only be brought down with arrows tipped in magic berry juice,” Marnie said, grinning.
“Archery is a talent.”