He should have seen someone take a photo, though. He should have expected the media.
“Well, that’s just great. I don’t suppose it will put her in greater danger. If someone wants her dead already, that won’t change. But it may have an impact on her life.”
“Assuming she gets to keep a life,” Jackson said. “What’s the local scene like there?”
He knew what Jackson meant.
Were the cops asses, or were they just seeking to arrest a killer?
“Good. Some of the best I’ve come across,” Bryan said.
“Do you want support from this front? Other than information? Speaking of which, Angela does have info for you—nothing that leaps out, just a few bios.”
“Thank you on the info. As to physical help—more people in the flesh from the Krewe? Is that possible?”
Jackson laughed softly. “Adam Harrison is our great overlord,” he said. “He has the ability to make anything possible. He’s also provided our unit with a private jet. Say the word. We’ll get you some support.”
Hell, yes.
He had sworn he’d keep Marnie alive. And there was nothing like support once you’d made a promise like that.
“Is this kind of a come-on to get me to join the Krewe?”
“Only if you’re willing to go through the academy. It’s a requirement, even for our unit. Which, for you, after the service and some of your other stints, might be like child’s play. But this isn’t a negotiation or a bribe. You make your own decisions. We can send out help because it’s what we do. We’ve even gone in now and then where we weren’t really wanted, but, hey, we all want to be wanted. I can send some people in an unofficial way, too. Maybe that would be best for now. I’d tell you I was going to send you my sharpest agents, but all my agents are the sharpest. At the moment, I think I can get out there myself. And I’ll see about a few agents who know LA. That would be the best scenario, I think.”
“Great. Thank you.”
“It’s what we do,” Jackson repeated.
“And I’m damned glad,” Bryan said.
“Hang on. I’ll give you Angela.”
A moment later, Jackson’s wife, Special Agent Angela Hawkins, was on the phone. He knew that she studied all the curious cases they received. Apparently the Krewe—despite the fact the specialized unit grew continually—received far more requests than they could handle. Angela had a knack for reading everything possible about a situation and determining whether the “special” talents of the Krewe would be useful in any given case.
“Hey, Angela,” he said.
She greeted him quickly and then went straight to business. “You watched the show, so you know the main characters. Cara Barton, the mom, is dead. Roberta Alan—who played sister Sonia—hasn’t met the same kind of fame, but she seems to be doing all right. She has a makeup line and does a ton of infomercials. Apparently when it comes to the old B-list opportunities at comic cons, she doesn’t mind. She has nephews who are enamored of the fact that she’s at them. I’ve checked out her finances. She spends a lot of money, but I can’t find any major debts or deductions. She takes money out over time and has a reputation for being a major shopper. Jeremy Highsmith—dad to Cara Barton’s mom—seems to just be a nice old grandpa. No major expenses, guest performances here and there. He has a pack of grandkids—from a pack of children due to a number of wives—and all of them love him to death. Even the ex-wives speak highly of him. Down to Grayson Adair. Still very good-looking, young enough, and he’s had a few failed pilots. But he’s also received some decent movie roles, if not in starring positions, with sound speaking roles. He’s ambitious like most guys in Hollywood. Oh, family money comes his way, so he’s not desperate at all. We’re working on finding out more about Vince Carlton, as you asked, as well as Malcolm Dangerfield, the currently hot heartthrob who was nearby when the murder was committed. I’ve looked into a few other people in the area at the time. The old Western star—oh, yes, and the descendant of the dog star—seems to come out squeaky clean with absolutely no motive. Oh, but one more thing on Malcolm Dangerfield. He was approached by Vince Carlton. Love interest for Marnie, or her character, if the show was revived.”
“Interesting. Thank you, Angela.”
“We’ll keep our people on all the financials. Usually hired killers aren’t cheap. Then again, maybe this one was killed rather than paid. Hard to figure and find, sometimes.”
“Did you get anything on David Neal? He was here the other day applying for a job of stage manager for Marnie’s theater. I wasn’t here when he stopped by the house. Sophie Manning—fine young detective, from what I can see—was with Marnie and Bridget when he visited. I did see him in all the videos that surfaced from cell phone cameras after Cara was killed.”
“Ah, yes! Young David Neal. He seems to be good at his craft. He worked with one of the major companies for their ice show when it traveled Europe.”
“So why would he want to work for a fledgling theater here?” Bryan wondered.
“He has partial custody of a young son. He wasn’t able to see him. He and his wife parted amicably. She discovered that she was simply with the wrong sex. She’s married now to a makeup artist, and all three of them seem to get along fine. From everything I’ve been able to gather, he just wants to be near his son. Anyway, I hear I may see you soon. If Jackson comes out on this one, I think I’m clear at the moment to do so, too.”
“Great, I’d love to see you.”
“Field Director Crow is reaching for the phone. Take care.”
Angela was gone. Jackson was back.
“Turn on your TV.”
“Yep. I will do so. And thanks. Yeah, help would be great.”
They rang off.
Bryan found the remote and turned on the living room television. A reporter, standing in the night with the flood of a streetlight above him, was reporting on a dead man having been found in the pool of one of Hollywood’s most beloved celebrities. As yet, the police weren’t giving out any information. It was, though, the reporter was sure, a Hollywood homicide.
Even if this is actually LA, Bryan thought.
“Knock, knock!”
He spun around.
Cara Barton was back. She looked at him with huge eyes filled with concern.
“I’ve told you—I’ve been telling you! Marnie is in terrible danger,” she said.
“Cara, right now I’d say that it was the man in the pool who had been in the most danger. Were you here? Did you see what happened? Did you see who killed him?”
She nodded gravely.
“Who?”
“Blood-bone!” she said. “It was Blood-bone again, only this time, he had a gun!”
8
Marnie was awakened by something unfamiliar.
A soft whining sound and a wet nose nudging her.
“Good morning, George,” she murmured.
Poor boy! When she’d finally slept, she’d slept like a rock, forgetting the pup.
She quickly opened the door to her room, letting him out and hoping that Bridget or McFadden were awake and would let him into the yard.
“George!”
She heard her cousin’s effusive greeting; all was well.
“Bridget? Let him out? I’m going to shower and dress.”
“You got it!” Bridget called back.
Twenty minutes later, Marnie headed out to the living room. No one was there, but she could smell freshly brewed coffee, and she quickly headed to the kitchen.
Both Bridget and McFadden were seated in the little niche at her hardwood breakfast-nook table, coffee cups before them.
She wondered why things had changed since last night. Now, when she looked at him, it seemed that she heard her pulse racing in her ears, and she was instantly flushed.
How had he switched from being such an annoying ass to being so incredibly appealing?
Okay, to be fair, he’d never really been an ass. He’d come to her when her world had gone to hell, when she’d lost a friend—and gained the ghost of that friend.
“Hey, good morning,” she murmured, heading for the cupboard to find herself a mug.