He shook his head. “No, not at this moment. I’ll be happy to oblige.”
“But we’ll be picking Bridget up with a dog. I mean, this is complex. We can’t just leave with workers here, and, at the same time, we can’t go and come back for Bridget and then go get the dog—”
“Why not?” Bridget asked. “I hardly think anyone is after me.”
“Frankly, we don’t know that,” Marnie argued. “And McFadden may not want a dog in his car—”
“The car is a rental,” he said.
“Perfect,” Sophie repeated. “It’s a plan. Good afternoon, all. I will be in touch, and if anything happens, please call on me or Detective Vining at any time.”
She slipped out the front door.
Marnie stared at Bryan. She wanted to know if he saw Cara all the time—or just sometimes.
She wanted to know why he seemed to so easily accept the fact that he was talking to a dead woman.
She wanted him...out and away, taking the ghost of Cara Barton with him.
But at the moment, she needed him.
“You really don’t mind?”
“Miss Davante, at this time, I am entirely at your disposal. I will look after you to the very best of my ability, up to and including the act of jumping in front of a bullet—unless you behave so stupidly that I have no choice but to let you go.”
She’d just begun to almost like him or, at the least, be grateful.
“I do not behave stupidly—” she began.
“Oh, that’s wonderful! Too wonderful for words. Thank you, thank you, Mr. McFadden!” Bridget said.
“Excuse me,” he said. “Let me check with the repairmen and find out how long the replacement will take and just how long they’ll be.”
He left Bridget’s living room; her front door closed in his wake.
Bridget spun on Marnie.
“What the hell is the matter with you?”
“What? What are you talking about?”
“He’s tall, he’s dark, he’s handsome—he’s to die for! And you’re being incredibly rude.”
“I’m not being rude.”
“You should be saying, ‘Lord Almighty, bless me and this bizarre spark of luck. He wants to look out for me. Some manifest of Heaven has sent this guy—’”
“Oh, Bridget, please. Come on. Manifest of Heaven? I don’t... I don’t trust him. I mean, I don’t get it. He’s not even from California.”
“His mother knew Cara. I understand that. And he’s looking out for us—for you.”
“Bridget—”
“Seriously. As usual, you’re going to get tall, dark and handsome, and I’m getting a dog! At least this time, it’s going to be a literal dog. Please, Marnie—for me, be nice to this guy. Let him make sure you don’t get killed—that I don’t get killed—that we don’t get killed. Please, Marnie, if you can’t be nice, at least be decent to him.”
“I am being decent!”
“Be decent-er!”
“All right, all right!”
There was a tap at the door; McFadden came back in.
“They’re just about done. I’ll help with the glass when we get back here this afternoon,” he said, looking at Bridget.
“I’ll be helping with the glass, too,” Marnie said. Did he think that she was some kind of a diva? That she didn’t do any kind of physical labor, and just had Bridget do it all?
“Well, with three of us, we should get it done quickly,” he said. “So, as soon as they’re out of here, we’ll get in the car and go.”
Bridget grinned and offered him the card that Sophie had given him. “I do believe you can leave me there to choose the right dog. I can’t imagine anyone would try anything when I’m surrounded by a truckload of retired police dogs!”
“Right,” McFadden agreed.
“Marnie won’t have a dozen dogs around her,” Bridget said. She grinned as she stared at Marnie. “But I think she’ll be okay. She’ll have you!”
“Yes,” McFadden said, his eyes flashing and his tone light as he added, “She’ll have me. It will be...just the two of us.”
Just the two of us! Marnie thought.
And she wondered if that wasn’t a bit more distressing than the truth: it would be just the two of them...
And a dead woman they could both somehow inexplicably see.
6
Seth Smith of the Wexler Realty Group was a small man in a designer suit. He was about fifty-five, and projected an image of confidence and assurance—an image Marnie was sure helped a great deal in the sale and rental of prime LA property. She was sure he’d negotiate with her, and she wondered if she could pull off a determined look that would equal his professional aplomb when she reached her meeting with him.
Even with the residuals she received from Dark Harbor—and the income here and there from advertising appearances—she hadn’t saved enough to buy the Abernathy Theater. She was hoping to put forth her business plan, and have Mr. Smith advise her on the financing.
“Feels odd,” she murmured.
Indeed, it all felt odd. McFadden was driving her to the meeting at a restaurant on Sunset Drive in his rental car.
She had a perfectly good car, but he explained that he could probably still drive if bullets suddenly flew from somewhere while she’d have to duck. Unless, of course, the shooter took dead and unexpected aim at him.
He’d said it all without batting an eye, and she’d realized that he had meant it. If someone was out to see her dead, taking aim at her in a car wasn’t half as far-fetched as a Blood-bone character slashing down a victim at a comic con.
“What feels odd?” he asked, glancing her way.
“That I’m still taking this meeting. When Cara has been gone less than a week.” She hesitated. “Having you drive me—being afraid I’m a target. It all feels odd. What else? Oh, the fact that a dead woman talks to me.”
He glanced her way but quickly gave his attention back to the road. The way he watched the mirrors, she was certain that he was also watching for unusual traffic around them.
“You’ll get used to it,” he said.
“A dead woman, popping in and out—I’ll get used to that? And...you do see her, too, right?”
“I do.”
“That’s it? That’s all you have to say? Yes, you see her? And it’s just...part of a usual day?”
“More or less.”
Marnie hesitated, frowning as she watched him drive. His attention was on the road. He was listening to her, she knew. He didn’t seem concerned in the least it really wasn’t considered at all normal to walk around talking to the dead.
“So, you see Cara Barton frequently.”
“Frequently? No, I’ve just begun to see her. And she doesn’t stick around long because she doesn’t have a lot of stamina yet.”
“Yet?” Marnie asked weakly. Oh, Lord! Did that mean that Cara might suddenly decide to be with her ...all the time?
He flashed her a quick smile. “I don’t have all the answers. In fact, I barely have any answers. I do know it’s not common to see and speak to the dead, and yet, it’s not quite as uncommon as you might think. The thing is, those who speak to the dead—who really speak with the dead—don’t advertise the fact. Because not many people would believe us.”
“You know other people who see and speak to ghosts?” Marnie asked.
He nodded solemnly, not looking her way.
“My brothers,” he told her. “There are three of us. Our parents visit us.”
“Your parents are ghosts?” she asked.
He cast her another one of his quick smiles—quite charming and seductive, really—and said, “They weren’t always ghosts.”
“Ah, yes, but they died together, so tragically. When the chandelier fell.”
“Yes. Doing a show they loved and loving the fact that they were working together.” He hesitated then. “They were theater people. They truly loved a live audience.”