He was a solid six foot four, and in the dark suit he’d chosen for the funeral, he was definitely impressive in his size and stature. He had a way of looking at her so directly that it was unnerving.
He was attractive; that was certain. Very. In a land of attractive people, he had something else, as well. Maybe it was that very steady way he had of looking at a person. Rock-solid. More. She felt as if Bridget could create one of her sci-fi ray guns based on his gaze: a green ray of light that drew her to him while she wanted to run away—or at least slam the door on him.
Yes, his very stature was imposing.
He probably knew it. Maybe he even used it to bully people.
She didn’t let him speak.
“Mr. McFadden, I left the funeral reception to avoid you. I don’t appreciate you coming to my house to hound me. You may be working with the police, but if you harass me, I will get a restraining order against you.”
“You’re going to need me, Miss Davante,” he told her. He produced a card. “My cell number is there. Call me when you’ve figured out the fact that you can’t do this alone.”
“Oh, hello there!”
Bridget had come to stand behind her and was looking at him over Marnie’s shoulder.
“Hello,” he said pleasantly, lowering his head slightly to see her. “Bridget Davante, I presume. A pleasure to meet you. I watched Deadly Venom and Bloody Claws the other night. Very tongue-in-cheek. Absolutely ridiculous, but the writing was wonderful.”
“Thanks! I was head on that project,” Bridget said. “Would you like some tea?”
“Mr. McFadden was just leaving,” Marnie snapped.
“Apparently, I’m leaving. But thank you,” McFadden said. He turned his intent gaze back to Marnie. He spoke lightly, but there was something very serious about him. “Call me when you need me.”
Not if you need me. But when you need me.
He had some ego.
“Sure,” she said.
And she closed the door, leaving him standing there with the card in his hand.
She turned around and leaned against the door. Bridget stared at her.
“Are you crazy? If that man came to my door...”
“Don’t you dare let him in if he comes to your side!” Marnie told her.
“Why?”
“He’s—he’s annoying!”
Bridget sighed softly, her hands on her hips. “Poor Marnie. I am so sorry for all you’ve been through. You need rest. I’m going to finish with the tea, get you to eat something and then leave you to get some sleep.”
Bridget was wonderful. Marnie told herself just how lucky she was. Adoring parents, a cousin like Bridget and friends in film and theater who were truly wonderful, too.
Even the dead ones!
The thought came to her unbidden. She pushed it aside.
Damn McFadden!
If he hadn’t fed into her fantasy, she’d be fine now. If he hadn’t shown up at the funeral reception, she would have stayed. She would have talked about Cara with others. She’d be on her way to feeling normal.
Maybe...
Bridget was back in the kitchen.
Marnie walked through the living room, past the dining room and down the hall that led to the two bedrooms: hers and the one she kept for guests—mostly her mom and dad when they came to visit.
The guest room was quiet—with no attendant ghost.
Her room was equally empty.
She drew the curtains across the windows out to the back, overlooking the small kidney-shaped pool that was shared by the duplex.
The yard was empty.
She checked the back door while she was making her search; it was locked and bolted.
“Did you want to eat in the dining room?” Bridget called to her.
“No, the living room is fine, thanks!” she called back and hurried to join her cousin in the kitchen.
Bridget was taking the meat pies from the microwave.
“I’ll pour tea,” Marnie said.
When they were set, she carried out a tray while Bridget set up two little card tables for them. “Did you want to watch TV? Probably not the news...”
“It’s okay. You can turn on the news. It happened, and it’s all over. Cara is dead and buried now, and I have to get accustomed to the facts. Here, I’ll turn it on.”
A cable news show flashed onto the screen; the coverage was on the funeral.
Marnie saw herself and her fellow castmates.
She saw Malcom Dangerfield and Vince Carlton and David Neal and many others.
She saw Bryan McFadden in the background: tall, stoic, reserved...
She saw no sign of Cara Barton.
It must have all been her imagination; she had been under way too much pressure.
And at the funeral, that wretched man had fed into her guilt and fear and misery.
“I don’t quite understand what you’ve got against the man,” Bridget murmured. “I mean...tall, dark...gorgeous. Strong. Polite and courteous.”
He is trying to convince me I’m seeing a walking corpse.
Marnie told her, “He’s after something. That’s all. Leave it be, Bridget, please?”
“Of course,” her cousin said.
They watched more of the spectacle. The channel went on to show dozens of clips from Cara Barton’s many performances.
Marnie was in many of the clips. Naturally, as Cara had been her TV mother.
Marnie realized that they had both finished eating long ago. She stood, picking up the paper plates their microwave meals had been on.
“I’m going to get some rest,” she told her cousin. “I’m okay. Really.”
Bridget stood up and stared at her, nodding. “You’re not okay. But I will leave. Anyone who won’t even talk to someone who wants to get to the bottom of this...and frankly, anyone who won’t talk to him... You’re just not really doing well at all. But try to rest. And make an appointment with a therapist. That is not just a Hollywood thing—people all over the country are living better lives because they see someone they can talk to.”
“I promise I’ll look into seeing someone. Even though I’m not the one who writes scripts about alien vampires battling genetically altered South American lizard people, but hey—yep, I will seek help.”
“Hey! Dawn of the Lizard People had a huge audience when it aired, not to mention that it did incredibly well in syndication.”
“Personally, I loved it. Bridget, I’ll be fine. I just need to...sleep.” Marnie couldn’t tell her that she needed to be alone—without seeing the dead woman who had been buried that day.
Bridget walked to her and gave her hug. “I’m only a phone call or a wall-knock away.”
“Thank you. Really. Love you—but you can go,” Marnie said.
Bridget left. Marnie followed her to the door, locked it and slid the bolts.
She turned and looked around the living room, and then let out a sigh of relief. There was no one there.
The news anchor had actually gone on to talk about the weather—LA would enjoy exceptional late spring–early summer weather: sunshine and balmy breezes, a beautiful temperature of 80oF during the daytime hours, dropping just down to 70oF by nightfall.
“Bed,” she murmured aloud.
She would leave the TV on. The ambient noise would be good for her nerves.
She walked tall and straight, as if there were someone there to see her courage.
All the way back to her room. Once there, she shed her clothing, letting it lie in a heap, something she didn’t do often. She found her favorite soft cotton Disney sleep T-shirt and slid into it, and went to brush her teeth. Moments later, she crawled into her bed.
The lights remained on in the living room, and while she had the drapes closed, there were floodlights over the backyard and pool area. It was enough so that she didn’t feel plunged into darkness. She hated the dark—the true dark. She always had. There hadn’t been any childhood trauma to bring on such a feeling. She simply hated the dark—the unknown, or so she had heard.
She lay down, aware that she was truly exhausted. She hadn’t thought of anything but Cara since her friend had been murdered before her eyes. But she had been busy. That day, there had been the police, the shock, the grilling. Then there had been the arrangements—she and Roberta, Jeremy and Grayson getting together to do their best to do right by their friend. There had been the wake. And today, there had been the funeral and the reception. And now...
Now it was over. It was time to get on with life.