“She’s brilliant. Did she become a part of the Krewe?” Marnie asked, puzzled. “I don’t mean that as a bad thing, it’s just that you can’t imagine how fine she was as an artist.”
“We seem to attract a lot of people with different talents,” Jackson said. “At the moment, she’s working on one of Adam Harrison’s projects—a historic theater in Northern Virginia—right outside DC. Since you’re doing Horror-palooza and we are concerned that something might happen again, it seemed prudent to add to our numbers. Sean is an exceptional agent, and Madison knows the industry and special effects and all kinds of things that might be helpful.”
“Great,” Marnie said. “I hope Madison remembers me.”
“I can’t imagine that she’d work with you and forget,” Angela murmured, looking at Bryan. Apparently, Marnie had no idea at all she was really unforgettable.
“Angela, we were in the middle of a conversation before,” Bryan said. “Let’s go in?”
“But call George,” Marnie said. “He’s trotted off to the fence. He can jump that little fence or could if he chose to. Good thing he’s kind of a wonder dog.”
“George!” Bryan said.
The animal was a wonder dog. He immediately trotted back, his tail wagging.
They all went inside.
“Okay, let me reiterate,” Angela said. “Marnie didn’t hear what I said to you.”
“Let me get Bridget, then we’ll all hear,” Marnie said.
They heard a hallway door open and Bridget popped out.
“I’m here!” she called.
“And we’re all gathered,” Marnie said.
“And starving!” Bridget announced, plopping down in an armchair. “Am I the only one around here who thinks about eating?”
“I’ll order pizzas. A vegetarian, a cheese and a meat? That covers everyone?” Jackson asked. He was aware that Angela needed to talk. Jackson Crow had a talent for taking control of what was necessary at any given time, and for giving the lead to any of his people when necessary, as well.
“Sounds good,” Bryan said. “Angela, you want to go ahead?”
She did. She explained that Bryan had asked her to look for actors who had performed fully costumed or had specialized in roles with creatures—or had even had some training in the art. She told them what she’d found out.
“The neighbor we spoke to who saw Blood-bone said it seemed like someone who knew what they were doing in that kind of costume,” Bryan explained.
“So, Roberta doesn’t have that kind of experience, but Jeremy and Grayson do?”
“Correct,” Angela said. “And I looked into Golden Boy—Malcolm Dangerfield,” Angela said.
“And?” Bryan asked.
“Yes—and no. As a boy, he had a stint on a local TV show as a robot. But that was over twenty-five years ago,” Angela told them.
“Was that what we missed, what you were going to tell us?” Jackson asked.
“No,” Angela said. “Right before David Neal left,” she continued, looking at Marnie, “I had been about to tell Bryan about someone else who had that kind of start. Someone close—too close for comfort at the moment.”
“Who?” Marnie asked, picking up her teacup.
“David Neal,” Angela said. “In Chicago, he worked for one of the beer companies. He wore a draft horse costume almost every day for two years. He worked with kids in a little park there, and he even did a few commercials in costume.”
“David was a performer?” Marnie said thoughtfully.
The cup was almost to her lips.
Bryan didn’t know why. He didn’t know what drove him, what logic he could possibly be using.
Maybe there was none.
No reason.
But...
David Neal had just been in the house. And Angela had found information on him that suggested he might well have played a damned good Blood-bone.
He had been standing there, right in front of Marnie, when the first Blood-bone character had killed Cara Barton.
“No!” Bryan shouted.
He leaped across the room, knocking the teacup from Marnie’s hand.
Tea went flying everywhere.
13
Full darkness had fallen sometime ago.
He wanted to leave. He wanted to drive back and watch the house. Marnie’s house. He wanted to imagine her in it—and those other people gone.
Although...he couldn’t wait to see their reactions to his last little piece of “live” theater.
Foolish, of course. No one would know what had happened—what he had done—until tomorrow. Unless something truly unusual was to happen. And while he longed to watch, he knew they were watching, too. Who exactly were they watching? How closely were they watching? He didn’t know, but he wasn’t taking any chances.
No, he didn’t dare.
There was nothing to do that night but dream, plan, envision, wonder...
Drama...on the stage...on film.
And in real life.
The important thing, of course, was that he could act. Far better than they might imagine.
His phone rang. He realized, as he answered it, he was awful hopeful it would be her calling—Marnie. That she would just need to hear his voice. Now, that was fanciful.
It wasn’t Marnie.
“I’m nervous,” came the voice.
“Because you’re a coward,” he said. “Talking isn’t good. We don’t know what’s going on. Maybe someone’s listening.”
“What?” The question was stunned. And then the idiot on the other line realized that maybe their phones were somehow being tapped.
“Oh, well, just so you know, I’m unhappy, scared, and I’m starting to think...”
“Don’t think. It’s dangerous,” he said. “And don’t call like this!”
He hung up.
He realized he was thinking about murder again. About a time and a way.
It was delicious. Ever more so when it came to an annoying partner who seemed to be getting very cold feet. The idiot was scared? Well, that fear was scaring the hell out of him, as well.
Just one more who had to go. And Lord! The power truly was intoxicating!
*
“What in God’s name?” Marnie gasped, jumping up and staring at Bryan as if he’d lost his mind.
“Bryan, what’s the matter with you?” she asked. Her tea hadn’t been that hot anymore; she wasn’t scalded anywhere, but she was wearing a lot of it and little droplets covered the sofa and the floor.
“Got it!” Bridget said.
“Wait!” Bryan said.
Bryan had walked across the room and was studying the remains of the cup. “Here!” he muttered, carefully picking up a piece.
“What are you doing?” Marnie demanded.
He looked at her, olive eyes flashing with impatience. “He’s a suspect, Marnie. He played creatures—he could wear that costume well. He was staring at you, right at you, when Cara was killed. And he was here when Angela found out about him, and then he was suddenly gone.”
“Yes, but...Angela frisked him! He had no gun, no knife—”
“He had an aspirin bottle,” Angela said.
“I made the tea!” Marnie said.
“And you were with that cup and the tea every second he was here?” Bryan demanded.
“Yes!” Marnie said.
“No,” Bridget argued softly. She looked over at Marnie. “No, you weren’t with the tea every second. You came to my door and then into the room. In fact, you said David Neal was making you feel a little uneasy.”
“He was making you feel uneasy?” Bryan snapped. “Why?”
“I... Nothing deadly. He was just...”
“Touchy-feely?” Bridget offered.
Marnie shook her head. “Not even that. I don’t know.”
“But you weren’t with the tea every second, right?”
She sighed. “No, I wasn’t with the tea every second.” She frowned. “You think David Neal might have poisoned my tea?”
“We can’t take chances right now, Marnie,” Jackson explained. “We can’t take chances. We’ll have what we’ve recovered analyzed. It’s probably just tea.”
Marnie sank back into a chair. She let out a soft sigh. “This is...ridiculous. I can’t be afraid of everyone and everything!”
“Right now, yes, you can be,” Bryan said flatly.
Jackson’s phone rang. Loudly. Everyone jumped.
“Sorry!” he murmured. He looked at the caller ID before answering.
“What is it?” Angela asked.
They were all waiting for something.
Something dire, Marnie realized.
“Jackson?” Angela said. He looked at his wife and grimaced.
“Pizza,” he said.
*
Marnie had gone into her bedroom early.