“Of course,” Marnie assured her, casting her what she hoped was a grateful glance.
She forced herself to remember the résumé David Neal had sent her. It wasn’t that hard; she hadn’t received many applications from people who had much more experience than from a theater magnet school or university of the arts. That was fine. She wanted to give young people a break—and she would eventually hire an assistant for her head stage manager.
Bridget brought coffee.
She listened as David described some of his work; he was most effusive when talking about the work he’d done with the Gallaudet Theatre for the deaf. She glanced at Bridget and Sophie as he spoke; they both seemed to like him. She thought she did, too.
She was sipping her coffee when Cara suddenly made an appearance again—or at least spoke up again.
Her voice came from right behind Marnie, almost at her ear, causing her to jump, dribble coffee and nearly pitch her mug.
“Oh, please. Ad nauseam!” Cara said. “Gag, gag. Too good to be true.”
Marnie couldn’t help but look around at the others in the room—surely they saw Cara or heard her.
They did not.
Marnie stood, smiling stiffly, trying not to show the way her coffee was swishing about in her cup as her hand shook.
“David, it’s been a pleasure. I have a ways to go, as you’re aware. I have an appointment about the space this afternoon, and after that... Well, give me a few weeks.”
“Of course, of course, and I’m sorry for... I’m so sorry. And thank you,” he said, standing, as well. He thanked Bridget for the coffee and Sophie for her help, and then he thanked Marnie again and left, heading out of the duplex. Bridget was on his tail to see him out and lock the door once he was gone.
Sophie looked at Marnie curiously. “Is something wrong?” she asked.
Marnie gave her a weak smile. “No, nothing.”
“A patrol car went by as I saw David out,” Bridget said, joining them again. “The officer waved at me. They’re watching over us.”
“We’re true to our word,” Sophie said. She glanced at her watch. “I have several hours left. It’s just nine, and Grant doesn’t want to see me until noon. They are investigating what happened last night. But...frankly, you need an alarm. Or a dog, at the least. A big one.”
“An alarm, cool,” Bridget said. “A big dog—cooler! What do you say? A big, big dog?” she asked Marnie hopefully. “The property is really Marnie’s. Writers do okay—Marnie does better, even after all these years with Dark Harbor just in syndication.”
Marnie flushed. She was grateful to Dark Harbor. She just hoped that the role wasn’t going to prove to be the entire essence of her existence.
“I always thought it would be cruel of me to have a dog,” she said. “I’m gone too often.”
“But I’m not! A dog—we’ll get a dog! I will hug it and pet it and squeeze it!” Bridget said, grinning.
“And walk it and feed it?” Marnie asked her.
“Yes, duh, of course. But mainly pet and hug. A dog—perfect!” she said.
“Really?” Sophie asked, looking over at Marnie.
“We both love dogs. I just know I travel too much to be a good pet parent,” she said.
Sophie produced a card. “This is my friend Jack. He works with police dogs who were injured or retired. He’s got some great guys you might want to take a look at.”
“Awesome,” Bridget said, taking the card. “You go get a theater today. I’ll go get a dog!”
“Okay,” Marnie said. “We need to get someone in here, too. The glass in the back, in my room, is shattered all over the place.”
“I’m on it,” Bridget told her. “I’ve already called a window installer. They’ll be here before Sophie has to leave.”
“Sophie has a life, you know,” Marnie said to Bridget.
“Not much of one, I’m afraid,” Sophie said. “I’m happy to be here this morning. But you’re right. My gun and I can’t be here at all times. Get the glass fixed. Get the dog. And find out about an alarm system. You need the works. It might even be a good idea—if you can—to stay somewhere else for a while.”
“But we’ll have a dog,” Bridget said happily.
“We can’t run forever, and we can’t be afraid forever,” Marnie said.
“You need to be afraid right now!” Cara’s ghost snapped suddenly.
She startled Marnie, who swung around at the sound of her voice.
Cara was now seated in the chair David Neal had recently vacated.
“Marnie, are you sure you’re okay?” Bridget asked her anxiously.
“I’m fine, just fine,” Marnie said. “A dog will be great. I can’t wait!”
*
Bryan looked at the blood on the convention hall floor.
He had seen the recordings. He’d seen everything that the police had managed to get from a public that went a little crazy over cell phone videos and photos.
The problem was it was impossible to tell where the Blood-bone character had come from. Had the killer walked the floor all day long? And how the hell had he—or she—gotten out with a sword that was dripping blood? As of yet, they hadn’t found the murder weapon.
The crime scene tape was going to be coming down soon; the techs had been over the place. The management of the convention hall had been completely helpful, according to Detective Grant Vining, but it was time for life to move on. They could only put things on hold for so long when money was involved.
Setup for the next convention wouldn’t be until the end of the week, so it was easy enough for Vining to take Bryan to the hall and show him exactly where the murder had taken place.
“It’s just about impossible to place the killer,” Vining told him. “You can see the size of the hall. It was brimming with people. And these shows...they’re bigger than some of the events that offer A-list actors. People love to dress up and cosplay comic and graphic characters. The Blood-bone character is relatively new. He was created first, as you can imagine, as a comic character. Now there’s a TV series with him in it. Go figure. Wolfson. It’s always hard to figure what will become the rage. Blood-bone is the villain. A character named Lars Wolfson is the hero—yeah, you got it, something genetic turns him into a superhero wolf. Kids love Lars Wolfson, too—he wears a really great costume when he’s a wolf. Anyway, it’s all set in a futuristic world—supposedly a realistic future world, just one that suggests what we might become in another few hundred years. Genetic splicing and all that. Thing is, the villains become just as big as the heroes in these things—just as popular, and sometimes more popular.”
“You a fan of the comics?” Bryan asked him.
Vining winced. “I have sons and grandsons,” he said.
“That’s okay—I love a lot of comics myself.”
“Your folks ever play comic characters?” Vining asked him.
Bryan grinned. “Yep. My mom played an Egyptian goddess, thousands of years old, who could come back to defend her descendants. It wasn’t bad—but honestly, my mother and father were theater hounds, more than film.”
The detective studied him. “And they died onstage—together.”
“Ironic, huh? Anyway...”
“Anyway, the cleanup crew hasn’t been in yet,” Vining said. “The crime scene folks spent about thirty hours here, things have been shifted around... But the Dark Harbor cast was right there—right at that table—and Cara’s blood is still visible. You’re just in time. Funeral yesterday, and the cleanup—specialty, hazardous material, blood and bio matter, you know—due in later this morning.”
Bryan nodded. He knew the detective was studying him.
Determining if Bryan was really worthy of working the case along with him and Manning. Bryan liked the man; he was more than willing to accept help. He just wanted to check out that help.
Bryan reimagined the killing. In his mind’s eye, he saw the various tables. He could hear the German shepherd whining and picture the aging Western star.
And Blood-bone.
Performing, drawing a crowd. Delighting all those around him with the impromptu—and free—performance.
And then...Cara playing into it. Marnie there. The others...