“I just want to go home,” she told Manning.
“All right, of course. But you know, I can take you to a hospital if you wish. You might not want to be alone. You might be suffering a form of shock.”
“I just want to go home.”
“Of course.”
The detective didn’t call for a patrol officer. She brought Marnie home herself. She checked out the duplex off Barham Boulevard where Marnie lived and declared it safe.
“Do you have an alarm system?” Manning asked.
“No, but I do have a camera that watches my living room, and it’s connected to my phone, so in a way...it’s kind of an alarm system.”
“No, it’s not,” Manning told her. “It’s bizarre. Just your living room?”
“I played with the idea of getting a dog.”
“I see. Well, a dog would have been good. When I leave, just make sure that you lock yourself in.”
Marnie looked at her, startled. It hadn’t occurred to her that she might be in danger.
She’d only known that Cara was dead.
That Cara had stared up at her while the light had gone out of her eyes.
She shook off the notion of fear. Really. She just wanted to be alone. She did have good locks on her windows and on the front and back doors. She had bought the duplex; she shared it with Bridget. She had made sure they had windows and doors that were up to code—thinking more about earthquakes than home invaders—but whatever the thought, her place was solid.
“I’m good. Really. Quality locks on the windows. My doors would need a battering ram if someone wished to break them down, and I have three bolts on each.”
“All right, then. We’ll be in touch. Oh, my card—” Manning paused, digging around in her suit pocket “—and my partner’s card.” She shrugged. “People tend to like him more. If he’s easier to call and you do need help or you think of anything, call him, or call me.”
“You will find out who did this?” Marnie whispered. She winced. Oh, Lord. It sounded like such a Hollywood line.
Manning smiled. “We’re good, Miss Davante. My partner and I are good together. We’re going to do our best. But...if there’s anything, call us. There’s one thing that Grant Vining taught me right off the bat—if you can get help from somewhere that will solve a murder—take it. So...”
“I wish I had something to tell you. I wish I had something to say,” Marnie assured her.
“Lock up.”
Manning left, and Marnie did so. She headed to the bathroom and turned on the hot water.
She must have stayed beneath the showerhead for an hour.
When she came out of the bathroom, she got in bed and turned on the television. She didn’t seem able to find a channel that did anything but talk about the murder of Cara Barton that day.
Finally she found the Three Stooges.
And still...
She stared up at the ceiling. So exhausted...
And so unable to sleep. Eventually, she closed her eyes. She could still faintly hear Moe, Larry and Curly as they taunted and teased one another.
Her phone rang; it was her mother. Naturally, her mom was hysterical. Her parents had known Cara Barton. They had visited the set. But not only that, it could have been Marnie who had been killed.
It hadn’t been.
The only way to get her mother to calm down was to remind her that sometimes in life, Cara Barton had been a wee bit...obnoxious. She might have offended someone.
It took her twenty minutes to convince her mother not to cut short her dream vacation. She was okay. Not hurt at all. She wasn’t alone in the city.
So Marnie had a nice long conversation, calming down her mother.
Then she had to talk to her dad.
When she hung up, she found herself talking to the air.
“I’m sorry, Cara, I hope I didn’t sound uncaring. I had to get my mom to be okay.”
Sleep...
Watch Moe, Larry and Curly, and be grateful for the channels that kept old classics alive.
Yes, sleep.
She drifted. And as she did so, she thought that she felt a gentle touch on her face and heard a soft whisper beneath the canned laughter on the TV.
“Darling, I know you. I know you didn’t mean anything evil at all. Not to worry. I’m here. I’m with you. Get some rest, sweet Marnie. You really were a friend.”
It was nice; it was kind. As if Cara were trying to help Marnie accept what had happened.
Marnie couldn’t forget that day.
I’m not a bad person, am I? Cara had asked her.
And that had made Marnie smile. Nope. Not bad. Ambitious, trying to get by and just loving it when you did get the limelight!
“You were never a bad person!” Marnie murmured aloud, half-asleep.
And she could feel those gentle fingers touch her hair in what she assumed were her dreams.
“Such a good friend, Marnie. And now... I’m so afraid for you!”
Marnie frowned, jerked from sleep. She leaped from her bed, running through the duplex, turning on lights.
Maybe not the smartest thing to do if there was a prowler in the house!
But there wasn’t.
A check through the window by her front door showed no one at all in the yard.
She looked through the peephole. No one was there.
It was probably about five in the morning.
And she was afraid of darkness and afraid of sleep.
Maybe she’d stay in the living room.
Eventually, she fell asleep on the couch.
As she drifted off, she could almost swear that she smelled the slightly sweet scent of Cara Barton’s perfume.
*
He didn’t go in; he looked at the house in the dark, and he marveled at how he had enjoyed the day. Never—in a thousand years—could he have imagined what this would feel like.
Perfect. Everything perfect.
Using Blood-bone—pure genius.
The police were clueless, asking, questioning...and getting nothing.
There was nothing to get. And they just might understand why when the time came.
But for now...
It was delicious. It was the movies, all over again. Marnie was inside her home—the beautiful young heroine—terrified. Waiting...
For the killer to strike.
It was...
Euphoria!
2
There had been something about Marnie Davante in her role as Madam Zeta that had been magical. The show had been cast well. It was one of those in which the chemistry between the players was just right on, and because of it, the show was incredibly watchable, and it was still doing very well in syndication.
Bryan had downloaded a number of episodes to watch on his phone during the cross-continental flight. After a few, he felt he knew Scarlet Zeta—except, of course, who he had come to know wasn’t a real person—he had come to know a character.
His first stop was with the major crimes detectives who were handling the case. The detective he’d finally managed to speak with over the phone before his arrival—Sophie Manning—was still confused as to why he was coming out from Virginia.
That was all right. In a way, he was still confused himself.
He was asked to wait by the desk sergeant, and soon a small woman with a purposeful gait came toward him. She assessed him quickly, apparently noting that he’d probably hold his own in a fight since she gave him a sort of approving nod. While she was a tiny thing, Bryan figured she’d had some training herself, and while she might not be able to throw much weight around, she’d be damned good throwing around what she did have.
“Mr. McFadden?” she asked, offering him a hand. She had a good grip.
“Bryan McFadden, yes. And you’re Detective Manning.”
“I am. If you’ll come with me, my partner is upstairs in one of our conference rooms.”
Upstairs, he met Grant Vining; once again, he was impressed. Vining didn’t appear to be at all intimidated, nor did he seem to resent Bryan’s presence there. If anything, he was curious—something that he voiced almost immediately.
“You’re out here from Virginia?” he said.
“Yes, sir. Virginia is my home. At the moment.”
“Military brat?”
“Military myself for a few years—a few years back. My parents, no. They were actors.”
“I see,” Vining said. Then he scratched his graying head. “No, no, frankly, I don’t see at all. You’re a private eye?”