“We’re certainly pleased to be here!” Jeremy said. “Very pleased.”
His words seemed to break some of the rising tension. Everyone laughed.
“You have to see this,” Carlton told them. “Follow me!”
He lifted his hand. The unknown tech—wherever he was—raised more lights, revealing scaffolds that were obviously there to allow cameramen to obtain different angles. But the scaffolding surrounded other sets, making it hard to determine where they were.
“Right through the living room, ladies and gentlemen. You’re going to love this...”
A hallway that supposedly led to the back of the house, and was always just off camera, was generously wide and led to another door. Carlton waited until the whole group was gathered at a door.
Then he threw it open.
“Enter the graveyard!” he said dramatically.
The “graveyard” was a stunning piece of design work. The floor was moss-covered underfoot. The horizon, painted in detail onto stretched canvas walls, faded away into mist in the dim light. Angled stones appeared to have been in the “ground” from the time of the revolution and were littered everywhere. There were mausoleums interspersed throughout—one larger than the rest with the name “Zeta” carved into what appeared to be stone, though was certainly not. Everything had the gray tinge of an old cemetery around it. Gargoyles graced the Zeta tomb, and angels and cherubs rose above many graves.
“Fantastic!” Roberta said. “I love this set. Does my character—”
“Get to have all kinds of cool fun in the graveyard? You bet!” Carlton told her.
“I have to see the movie this set was designed for,” Jeremy muttered.
“Incredible, right? This was what got me thinking about Dark Harbor. Imagine filming here. I do think now is the perfect time for a revamp. You’ve all seen my intention. I’ll be in touch with your agents. Now that maybe I have your interest. Of course, it’s all about the bottom line—we’ll see where we go from here. Lastly, there’s lunch for us all in the office. If you will?”
It took a moment to pull everyone away. They were taken with the amazing atmosphere of the fabricated cemetery.
One by one, the others began to turn. Bryan saw Marnie wasn’t moving. He stood near her, setting his hands on her shoulders, ready to comfort—or protect—as needed.
“Marnie?”
He murmured her name softly, and then he saw why she had lingered.
The ghost of Cara Barton was leaned against the tomb that bore the chiseled name “Zeta.”
She was smiling.
“I love it,” she said aloud. “Marnie, please, even if it’s just a special, one show—you have to do it. Please. Let them honor me. It would mean so much.”
“Cara, we’re still looking for your killer—a killer who might be after Marnie,” Bryan said. He didn’t know how Marnie would feel; here was Cara, in the ghostly “flesh,” just as the producer had intended she be as her character.
Marnie had gotten strong.
“Cara, it’s possible. Let’s just see where we go from here. Finding your killer is far more important than appeasing your ego.”
“Great line,” Bridget said, coming up to the two of them. “If they don’t use it, I’m going to steal it.”
The ghost of Cara Barton threw up her hands and disappeared behind the tomb.
“Are you all coming?” Vince Carlton called.
Marnie looked at him and smiled.
“Yep, on our way!” she said.
Marnie was becoming very strong, indeed. And Bryan was glad.
He had the wary feeling that no matter how he or anyone tried, she was going to need that strength.
11
She just didn’t want to work on a television series.
As she sat at lunch, Marnie felt bad about that. She knew it was a dream for many young women in Hollywood.
Bryan was on her left; he never went far from her.
Jeremy Highsmith was on her right, and she had always liked him. She thought that he had to be in his late fifties now. If not fantastic shooting stardom, he’d enjoyed steady work as an actor throughout his life.
That was a goal many people didn’t recognize. In the eyes of many, Hollywood meant being a star. But half her friends weren’t household names—they were, however, working actors. They made a living at their craft, and that, in Marnie’s mind, was success.
“What are you thinking?” Jeremy whispered to her. He was still a good-looking man with his straight posture, silver hair and handsome features.
“I’m thinking that I wished I really wanted to do a series.”
“And you don’t. What about the idea of doing some specials? Vince Carlton does have a good idea there. To be honest, I don’t like the series idea myself. And truthfully? I think the time is past. I don’t think we’ll be a success—even with Malcolm, who will be offered a fantastic sum of money and use up most of the budget.”
“That’s what happens when you’re that hot,” Marnie said.
“Of course.” He sighed and lifted the glass of tea he’d been drinking. “Here’s to Cara. Now, you know, Cara definitely wanted a series. She wanted her life on a nice schedule. I don’t really blame her for that, but...I think we could make a few good specials. One to honor her. She was a good TV wife. And a friend.” He shrugged. “Although we had artistic differences now and then. Upon occasion, I could have killed her.” He stared at Marnie, as if stunned by what had come out of his mouth. “Figure of speech, Marnie. I didn’t kill her. I mean, she was a friend. We were aging B stars together. Okay, so she thought of herself as an A star, but...I am a pragmatic man. None of that matters. I didn’t kill her, Marnie. Really.”
She smiled. “I know it was a figure of speech. I don’t believe you killed her.”
He leaned forward a little, looking past her to Bryan McFadden. “Did you know his folks?” he asked.
“No.”
“I met them. They were generous people. Maeve had a heart the size of Texas.”
“I’ve seen them in movies, of course.”
He nodded. “The wonders of the internet and modern TV. We can all see things over and over again. We can even rewatch ourselves—in Dark Harbor.” He paused. “You do understand you’re the one they want. If you say no to all this, it’s over.”
The way he was looking at her made Marnie wonder if he really cared, if he was hoping it would all fall apart.
“I think they want Malcolm. I hate to consider myself a has-been in my late twenties, but we were huge when the series was huge. While it’s nice that we have a bit of a cult following, Malcolm is the man of the moment.”
He shrugged. “Malcolm will come out smelling like roses if we do or don’t do the show. He’s got more offers than he knows what to do with.”
“True.”
He sighed. “Grayson is still a fine-looking young man. I’m sure he’ll land something good soon enough. And Roberta. She is a beauty.”
“Yes, yes, she is,” Marnie agreed.
Marnie realized then that Bryan McFadden had been listening in, though it seemed he’d been talking to Roberta, on his other side, all the while.
Across the table, Vince Carlton rose. He raised his glass of iced tea.
“A toast to you all. In remembrance of Cara Barton.”
“Hear, hear! To Cara,” Jeremy said, standing and raising his glass high.
They all stood.
“To Cara,” echoed around the room.
Nice. She’d be happy about a toast, Marnie thought.
Then Marnie realized that Cara was casually seated in one of the empty chairs at the large conference table.
The ghost of Cara rose and walked around behind Marnie. She felt a strange brush on her nape and knew Cara had come behind her, and she was affectionately placing her hands on Marnie’s shoulders.
“Lovely,” she said. And then she sighed deeply. “If only I were here.”
“You are here,” Marnie said softly.
“What was that?” Jeremy asked.
“Nothing, sorry, just thinking about Cara,” Marnie said.
Cara laughed delightedly.
“I mean, in the flesh, of course,” she said. “Oh, Marnie. I want the best for all of you. But this is so hard. I wanted this show so badly.”
Marnie wanted to speak to her; she wanted to reassure her.
But how could she do that?