“I see,” Marnie murmured. “No, I don’t really see at all.”
Jackson sat in an armchair in Marnie’s living room, facing the front door. He started to answer her.
But then he smiled and straightened and politely stood, looking behind her.
Marnie turned around, rising, as well.
Cara Barton was with them.
“Hello, Ms. Barton,” Jackson said.
Cara clapped her hands delightedly. “He sees me, too,” she said. “And, oh, he’s so cute!”
“And so married,” Marnie said, smiling.
Cara waved a hand in the air. “I am all about same-sex and interracial and interfaith marriages! But seriously, Marnie, dear, don’t be a dunce. The dead really can’t get too carried away with the living. But that’s not the point at all here. Sir, who might you be?”
“Special Agent Jackson Crow, Ms. Barton, here to work on the investigation into your death.”
“My murder,” Cara said grimly. “Thank you. I heard about you last night from the other tall, dark and handsome. So, has he found the Blood-bone who killed the fellow in the backyard yet?”
“Blood-bone! Blood-bone isn’t real,” Marnie whispered.
“Right now, so it seems, Blood-bone is very real,” Cara told her.
“What did you see happen here last night?” Marnie asked.
“Blood-bone shot and killed that man and stood watching until he went into the pool, until he was absolutely certain the man was dead.”
9
“I’ll go with you,” Marnie said.
Bryan shook his head. He’d returned to the duplex and was ready to take George for a nice long walk around the neighborhood.
“It’s better if you don’t,” Bryan told her, glancing over at Jackson.
The field director picked up his cue.
“The man in your pool was shot. We have no idea if someone was out there hoping you’d come home—”
“No, come on. We know what went on yesterday, thanks to Cara Barton. She saw a Blood-bone character was here, and whoever it was dressed up as Blood-bone, that person apparently lured the other man here so he could shoot and kill him and leave him in my pool.”
“That doesn’t really matter. What matters is a man was shot. A killer out there has a gun. If someone is going to jump in front of you to stop a bullet, they have to know the bullet is coming,” Bryan explained.
Marnie flushed. “I don’t want anyone to have to stop a bullet for me.”
“Then let me take the dog,” Bryan said. “Are Bridget and Angela back yet?”
Jackson shook his head. “They should be another hour. The alarm installers will arrive just about the same time.”
“I’ll be back in an hour,” Bryan promised.
“If they do arrive, I am here,” Jackson reminded him.
“Of course,” he said quickly. He had never meant to imply that his friend—field director for an ever-growing unit of special agents—wasn’t capable of keeping Marnie safe while an alarm system was installed.
And yet, in a way, he had done so.
Ego or something else? he asked himself.
He never would have imagined it—with his parents being who they were, growing up he’d come across tons of beautiful people, some of them talented, some of them nothing more than gorgeous egoists—but he was definitely being affected by this particular beautiful person.
And that meant he was being foolish. He was not the only one who could keep her safe.
Jackson was watching him, the hint of a smile on his lips.
“Cara was here again,” Marnie interjected. “She was here, in fact, until just a few minutes ago. And then...”
Marnie lifted her hands into the air, indicating Cara had disappeared into thin air.
“Ah,” Bryan murmured. “Well, then, George and I are off. Even here, between Universal Studios and Hollywood, I keep thinking someone would have noticed a guy walking around in a costume like that.”
“One would hope,” Jackson said.
Bryan had George on his leash; they headed off down the walk.
Barham and the surrounding streets were busy—with cars. It didn’t appear anyone was out. Then again, he hadn’t expected people to just be standing on their sidewalks.
He didn’t want to get too far from Marnie’s place. By pretending to allow George a tremendous interest in a palm tree, he loitered just down the block from the duplex long enough for a woman in a casual halter dress and flip-flops to come out of her house with her garbage. She looked at him. He waved.
She went back inside.
He headed halfway down the next block.
This time, George was allowed a keen interest in a cherry shrub.
A man drove his car right past Bryan into his driveway, parked and clambered out with groceries. He looked at him a long time.
He was going to be helpful, Bryan thought.
“Hope you’re going to pick up after your dog!” he said.
“Yes, sir, I intend to do so,” Bryan replied.
Then, oddly, the man stuttered as he kept staring at him. “S-sorry. I mean, I just... Well, if you don’t pick up after your dog, not to worry. I’ll come out and handle the situation.”
Why the sudden fear?
Bryan gave George a gentle tug on the leash and started toward the man’s yard.
“Don’t hurt me!” the fellow said.
Curious and frowning, Bryan paused and studied him. The man was about forty-five. He had most of his hair, and while not any kind of a bodybuilder, he seemed in good enough shape. But his face had gone white.
“I have no intention of hurting you. Are you all right? Has someone threatened you?” Bryan asked.
The man swallowed and shook his head. “You’re just...tall. And yesterday...at the TV star’s place...a man was killed,” he ended in a whisper. “Isn’t that wild? But there was a monster walking around the neighborhood right when it happened—can you figure that? A...a tall monster. You’re, uh, tall.”
Bryan nodded. “I’m actually working with the cops on it. I’m not any kind of a monster. Really. But what monster did you see?”
The guy was still studying him. He’d set his groceries down. He remained uneasy. He seemed to realize it was too late to try to get out of speaking with Bryan. He was evidently wishing he’d never spoken.
Bryan stood where he was; George sat at his feet. “Sir, you don’t need to be afraid of me. Or of George here. You may call the police and ask for Detective Manning or Detective Vining. One of them can tell you that I’m a PI.” He pulled out his license as he spoke.
“Oh. Are you working for her, then—Marnie Davante? She’s got a great reputation out here. We’re kind of neighbors, I know, but I don’t really know anyone here. Still, one of those rag magazines did a story on Cara Barton and talked about what an amazing friend Marnie Davante had been to her—to all of them. Imagine, she was just a kid, but she pulled that thing that if she got a raise, they all got a raise, right when the show was really, really hot. So yeah, she might have hired you because she sounds like the kind who would want the truth.”
“Something like that.”
“And a man was found dead in her pool.” He waved a hand in the air. “Oh, the media didn’t let that out. I live here. Anyone who knows this neighborhood at all knows that’s Marnie Davante’s house...”
His voice trailed and faded. Then he spoke again. “I’m Bob Andrews.”
“Mr. Andrews, how do you do? I’m Bryan McFadden. And this is George. And yes, the dead man was found in Marnie Davante’s pool. And that’s why I’m out with George now. Trying to find out who saw what. And you’re telling me you saw a monster?”
“You know—one of those comic creatures. A man all dressed in black. Bone-bone...bony blood...”