She’d gotten horribly seasick. Clara had been needed.
Of course, it was still nice to be needed. And it was wonderful, for the moment, to concentrate on the show, on music...movement, direction. To interact with an ensemble cast she loved.
Connie Shaw was doing well. She’d hugged Clara as if they’d known one another forever when Clara had arrived to take up residence in her cabin on the ship.
She was very grateful to be alive; worried that the killer had yet to be caught.
Of course, they were all worried. And they would remain that way. That, of course, hadn’t kept Ralph, Simon and Larry from quizzing her about Thor Erikson and teasing her. She had merely shaken her head at their antics.
Clara paused on her way to the backseats of the ship’s large theater, turning to observe as Larry and Connie Shaw finished up the play in one another’s arms.
It was a good production, she thought. Very charming, with songs that were not just right for the show, but catchy, as well. And the ending was bittersweet; it was about the memories of love that made it possible to love again.
She hurried to the back of the theater as the others came from the backstage areas to chat and applaud one another’s performances, and Tandy called for a break before notes.
She noted the beauty of the theater. By the early 2000s, when Celtic American had purchased the Fate, the ship had been all but abandoned and rusting in a shipyard in Liverpool. But she’d been painstakingly restored. The theater now had elegant balconies draped in velvet; the stage itself had been revamped for excellent lighting and acoustics. The antechamber to the theater was decked out with art nouveau and art deco posters, a handsome cherrywood bar and antique tables. The final evening of each voyage offered the Broadway-quality show and a true experience for those who had sailed.
Jackson stood as she neared him, clapping. “That last song...really beautiful,” he told her. “You’re going to create a few damp eyes out there when you perform it for your audience.”
He spoke lightly—saying the right things, of course. But she could see that he was grim.
And she knew.
“Jackson, you know something.”
He didn’t lie to her. “We don’t think that Becca Marle did that setup in the room herself. They think that they’ve found her.”
“They think?” Clara asked.
“Where she was left...in the condition she was left...well, the ME has her now.”
Clara sank into one of the theater seats.
And Jackson nodded. “Thor has gotten back and talked to Misty, Tommy and Nate. Apparently, they knew she was corresponding with not just one convicted criminal—she was communicating with several of them.”
“Oh, no. Because they were planning some kind of show—using convicted killers?” Clara asked him. “Oh, God, no.”
He nodded. “So, we’re not really sure what to think. Assuming that the corpse is Becca, even if she wasn’t in on the killings, we believe that she did know about Tate Morley. And she kept her mouth shut—even after Natalie and Amelia were murdered—because she was afraid she might have been the one to bring it on. Except that she had been careful, in her mind, at least. She’d always called herself Jane when she was writing to the men she was studying.”
“So. No closer,” she murmured.
“No, we are closer. Every time something happens...”
“We’re down a suspect,” she said bleakly.
“But, there’s more that we know,” Jackson told her. He offered her a tight smile. “We’ve been working on the logistics of it all, the problem being, of course, that the only time we know exactly where Tate Morley was is the hours before Natalie Fontaine was killed. We believe he committed that murder—we also believe that he could have done so in time to reach the island and kill Amelia. But as far as being on the mainland again to try and kill Connie Shaw...we’re not sure.”
Jackson was thoughtful. “We think he had inside help. We think that someone has been involved, getting him messages somehow, letting him know what law enforcement has been doing and thinking—and helping him, like last night. Someone who knew all about the Alaska Hut and Wickedly Weird Productions. We thought the prison letters were our best clue, and still think they are. But if we are talking about someone being involved, it would have to be the surviving members of the Wickedly Weird staff—Misty Blaine, Tommy Marchant or Nate Mahoney—or, someone directly involved with the island, and that would mean Justin or Magda Crowley, or Marc Kimball himself, or even his assistant.” Jackson paused, indicating the stage. “I think you’re being summoned.”