“Anything?” Thor called.
Jackson shook his head with disgust. “If someone was here, that someone heard us when we turned down the road to the house. You’ll know better than me if someone crashed through that pine forest. I went all the way back—there’s a dirt service road out there. I guess it’s used by police or rangers or the trash company? Nothing out there and it doesn’t seem to lead to anything, but there could be a small vehicle back there. I’d have heard a motorcycle, but if someone drifted out of there in Neutral before I was actually into the trees, I wouldn’t have been able to hear them.”
“So, she could be hysterical and nervous because of what she heard, or someone might have been back here,” Thor said, adding quietly, “Which would mean the murderer isn’t just after the women who had to do with the television crew.”
“She can’t stay here, that’s for certain,” Jackson said.
Thor told Jackson about the jimmied lock on the door and his conversation with McGinty.
“No, Connie Shaw can’t stay out here,” Thor agreed. “Not that I think she would now.”
“Let’s try talking to her again,” Jackson suggested.
Clara had gotten Connie Shaw to sit down in the living room. She looked up gratefully when Jackson and Thor arrived. Connie sprang off the couch and flew into Thor’s arms. He disentangled himself gently and sat her back down.
“We’re here. We’re not going to leave you. You’re all right. What I’d like for you to do is tell me when you got here and everything that happened after that,” he said.
“I came in this morning—snagged a ride in on another ship,” Connie said. She looked at Clara. “I should have stopped and met up with you all, but I figured that this might be like...well, you know, like my afternoon! I drove out here about an hour ago—I was in love with the place. It was just what I wanted. I turned the television on and heard what had happened...my mom says I should listen to news and not music all the time! But, I... I had on satellite radio, singing all the way! When I saw the television, I was horrified. My coffee was outside—I saw the deer. Then I thought about how what happened all had to do with Wickedly Weird Productions and I realized that people might be trying to get in touch with me. So I came back inside to get my phone...and that’s when I heard it!”
“Heard what, exactly?” Thor asked.
“The whisper. It sounded as if it was coming from the back windows. Someone was saying my name—saying it all softly and like, like...eerily! ‘Connie... Connnnniiiieee... Connie...Shaw.’ I heard it, I swear I heard it. I was in the bedroom, the back bedroom, where I was going to sleep. I wasn’t imagining it! Then, of course, I realized that the whisper was out there—and that I hadn’t locked the back door! I was flying out to the kitchen when I heard the rap on the door!” Connie said. She stared at them and added quickly, “I need a drink!”
“Did you bring anything?” Clara asked her.
“No!”
“Check the little cabinet above the refrigerator. McGinty usually keeps a bottle of Jack there,” Thor advised her.
“Yes, please, please, I can’t stop shaking!” Connie said.
“You really don’t want to be blitzed right now,” Thor advised.
“Yes, I do!” Connie said.
“No, but one shot...” Thor said, nodding at Clara.
Clara headed into the kitchen. Thor could hear her there, finding the bottle, opening it. Connie kept murmuring about the way the person had been saying her name. “It was creepy, so creepy!”
He heard the rattle of glass, the opening of old man McGinty’s foot-powered trash can.
Clara came back into the room.
She was the color of the snow on Black Bear Island.
But, she set the glass down in front of Connie Shaw and said, “Thor, can I see you in the kitchen for a minute? Just want to—check with you on the bottle. Connie, if you want to wait—”
Too late for that. Connie had swallowed the shot.
“Oh, God, no! You don’t think it was poisoned or anything, do you?” she asked, holding the glass away and staring at it. “They weren’t poisoned...they were strangled. The women from Wickedly Weird. And then cut up. But they weren’t poisoned.”
“No, no, Connie, I just want Thor to make sure I remember right what the label says—so that we can replace it,” Clara said. “Thor?”
He followed her into the kitchen. She was, to her credit, dead calm and not even shaking—despite the fact that she was white as snow—as she pointed to the trash can.
“I didn’t touch it,” she said softly.
He opened the trash can with his foot and looked down. There was only one item inside.
A book page offering a historic photo.
It was laid out at the bottom of the can, carefully placed on the white plastic liner.
It was a photo of an old crime scene.
A woman lay dead in it.
She was barely recognizable as a woman. Even in black and white, it was an image of unspeakable carnage.