There was no snow in the city; the temperature felt much warmer than the island, as well—perhaps somewhere between fifty and sixty.
It all seemed so normal. People were surely talking about the horrible and grisly murders. But they were distanced from them. They would be aghast at what had been done to the women, but it wouldn’t touch them intimately.
Parents would keep close watch on beautiful daughters. Husbands would watch their wives. They would all bitch and moan about the police and the FBI—and wonder how they had not yet caught such a horrid killer.
And still...
Seward would feel much more normal than Black Bear Island!
“You wish to go straight to your hotel?” Thor asked her. “The Hawthorne?”
“Yes, please,” she said. “I... Yes.”
“You don’t need to be afraid,” Thor told her. “We’ll have an officer with you at all times.”
She gave him an awkward smile. “I rate personal protection?”
“Yes.”
His answer wasn’t reassuring. But a woman had been murdered in a hotel room. She was sure that few visitors to Seward were treading hotel hallways alone.
They were met at the dock by a tall gray-haired man with a lean, fit physique and a grim, bulldog face.
He was, Clara learned, Special Director in Charge Reginald Enfield. He didn’t speak much in the car, but saw to it that Clara was brought to her hotel and that she was escorted into the lobby. There she was introduced to Officer Kinney, who would be watching over her hallway while she was in her room. She thanked Kinney and watched while Thor drove away.
Officer Kinney was from Nome, had attended Northwestern and was now back in Alaska. He’d missed his home state; he’d always known he wanted to be a cop.
He checked out her room before he left her to stand guard in the hallway.
She rushed for the shower, despite the fact that she’d had one that morning. She was anxious to shower and put on her own clean clothing.
It was while she was in there that she heard a voice. It startled her so that she slammed her head against the tile.
A shiver seized her as she remembered she was locked in her room—and a cop was on duty outside.
“Yoo-hoo... Clara?”
She closed her eyes. The ghost of Amelia Carson was out in her hotel bedroom.
Wrapping her towel around herself, Clara came out. Amelia was perched on the bed, her hands folded around her knees.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude. Yes, I was known for it, but...I’m learning how to be nicer,” Amelia said.
Was Clara crazy? Weren’t ghosts supposed to haunt certain places? As in, the place where they had been murdered?
“How did you get here?” Clara asked.
“The boat, of course. I was on the boat.”
She had felt as if she was being watched.
“I didn’t see you.”
Amelia shrugged. “You weren’t looking.”
“Why didn’t you come and talk to us? I told you—you need to speak with the FBI men.”
“I know. I’ll try. But, I figured it wasn’t really the right time.”
“But it is the right time for you to pop into my room?”
“I’m sorry. I will knock, always, in the future,” she promised. Her eyes seemed to cloud with pain. “Honestly, do you think that I was murdered for being...rude?”
“Amelia, I think you were murdered because someone out there is a sick son of a bitch. And I only really know you from one meeting and the tabloids. I’m sure you’re a good person at heart.”
“I was. Really. At heart. And now, I’m going to prove it. I’m going to watch over you.”
“Nice,” Clara murmured.
Clara jumped and nearly dropped her towel when her phone started ringing.
It was her mom. And it wasn’t an easy conversation. Her mother was all but crazy with worry; Clara assured her over and over again that she was fine, that personnel from a television company had been involved and not the cast from the cruise ship. She told her that officers were guarding the hotel hallways and that she really couldn’t be safer.
Amelia tried to look away while she spoke.
Then Clara’s dad got on the line—and Clara went through the whole thing again.
Naturally, they wanted her to drop everything and come home.
She convinced them that she couldn’t, that she was doing well, and that as soon as the Fate had sailed a few times with the new show, they had to come aboard.
“Personnel,” Amelia murmured when Clara had hung up. “I’m personnel for a different company.”
“Amelia, I’m sorry. I had to say something to my parents.”
Amelia nodded. “My mom died when I was kid. I haven’t seen my father in fifteen years. Bet he’ll be crying for me now, though. That will put him on the news.”
“I truly am sorry.”
“Guess it’s best that there’s no one out there to really care,” Amelia said. “I never even had any real girlfriends. Natalie was the closest—we were both ambitious. That made us pals, I guess.”
“Amelia...” Clara hesitated, feeling ridiculous. Oh, God! If she ever told any of this to a shrink, they’d lock her up forever.