She was. She hurried down to the stage, pulling out her script, ready to take her notes. Tandy had a few blocking changes for her and little else.
The director—a wonderful woman with crisp iron-gray hair, bright blue eyes and slim, energetic form, smiled at her, shaking her head. “You’re doing fabulously as a ghost! Just like someone who loved life, suddenly lost it and grows through the show to deal with her own death. And realizes that she wants the ones she loved so much to move on as well and be happy. It’s almost as if you had some kind of experience in the field! I love it, Clara!”
Clara smiled weakly.
She’d had some insight into the subject matter, yes.
Which made her wonder just where Amelia Carson had gotten to. She didn’t know if she wished that she would—or wouldn’t—make an appearance on the Fate.
*
The Alaska State Troopers, along with a group of young agents—native Alaskans who knew the area—arrived on Black Bear Island.
It was an impressive troop of men and women, and Thor was well aware that with their expertise and their numbers, they far outweighed anything that he and Mike could do alone. And still, he and Mike joined in the intense search on the island. Hours went by; units of men combed the forests, the shoreline, the cliffs, the caverns—and the Alaska Hut.
Nothing.
Since they’d first seen the image from the lobby of the Nordic Lights Hotel of the man who had appeared to be Tate Morley, APBs had been out on the man. Enfield had wanted to play it safe, not certain that they needed to terrify an entire community—despite the fact that they were already terrified due to the murders—when Thor had first identified the man. Now, word that the escaped serial killer was believed to be in Alaska was out in every form of available media.
The ME had taken the body. The only thing recognizable about the dead woman for an on-site identification might be the clothing she was wearing; Nate Mahoney or Tommy Marchant might be called upon while they awaited positive forensic results. Or, it was possible that Misty could help—but Misty had never come to the island. She remained holed up in her hotel room, terrified. While the circumstances dictated that the body did belong to Becca, it was impossible for them to be certain. There just wasn’t any face left and the body...well, she’d lain out in the open for many hours. There wasn’t enough left of that, either—that hadn’t been ripped up by the killer, or consumed or mauled by beasts.
By the time he and Mike returned to the Alaska Hut, the others were gone.
Except for Magda and Justin Crowley.
Thor had known that Nate and Tommy were leaving; they’d return to the Nordic Lights Hotel for the time being.
Becca’s room was still designated a crime scene and a police officer still looked dutifully over it. The door was open—the window was locked.
Thor had also known that Jackson was going to see to it that Clara arrived safely back at the port at Seward, and aboard the Fate. He’d been in constant Wi-Fi contact with Jackson, who’d assured him all was well and that a rehearsal was in full swing.
What he hadn’t known was that Marc Kimball and his little Emmy were leaving, as well; according to Magda, Kimball never told her what he was doing until he did it, but he’d had a private launch take him and Emmy back to Seward. Thor had assumed Kimball would still be on the island, watched by the police—and far from Clara Avery and the others.
Thor didn’t like it that Kimball had disappeared.
“Important man, you know,” Magda told him, removing glasses from the dishwasher. “He says so himself,” she added. Magda wasn’t much on betraying emotion, but there was definitely a dry note in her voice. “He said you can’t trust the police or the agents—he’s safest back in the city. Seems he tried to leave altogether, but as important as he is, he’s been asked to stay for the moment. Your boss—some guy named Enfield—saw to it that he can’t fly his plane out.”
Thor nodded, lowering his head to hide a smile. Enfield was a good man; he didn’t give a damn if you were rich or poor—an investigation was an investigation.
“Well, if no one knows where he is, he could head to Anchorage and get on a commercial flight.”
Magda sniffed. “That man on a commercial flight—they don’t make a class of flying that’s ‘first’ enough for him.”
“So, where do you think he went?”
Magda paused in her task and turned around to look at Thor. “I have no idea. The man tells us what he wants when he wants it. Most of the time, we don’t hear a word from him. When he bought the place, he gave us explicit instructions on what kind of water he drinks—some brand-label stuff, and it’s no better than what we use!—and how he likes his bed made, all kinds of little things. Never to call him direct... We’re servants, Special Agent Erikson, and that’s it.”
“Sounds like a hard man to work for,” Thor said.
Magda shrugged. “He’s a pompous bastard, is what he is. But there’s one good thing about him.”