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  Bryan stood where he was; George sat at his feet. “Sir, you don’t need to be afraid of me. Or of George here. You may call the police and ask for Detective Manning or Detective Vining. One of them can tell you that I’m a PI.” He pulled out his license as he spoke.

  “Oh. Are you working for her, then—Marnie Davante? She’s got a great reputation out here. We’re kind of neighbors, I know, but I don’t really know anyone here. Still, one of those rag magazines did a story on Cara Barton and talked about what an amazing friend Marnie Davante had been to her—to all of them. Imagine, she was just a kid, but she pulled that thing that if she got a raise, they all got a raise, right when the show was really, really hot. So yeah, she might have hired you because she sounds like the kind who would want the truth.”

  “Something like that.”

  “And a man was found dead in her pool.” He waved a hand in the air. “Oh, the media didn’t let that out. I live here. Anyone who knows this neighborhood at all knows that’s Marnie Davante’s house...”

  His voice trailed and faded. Then he spoke again. “I’m Bob Andrews.”

  “Mr. Andrews, how do you do? I’m Bryan McFadden. And this is George. And yes, the dead man was found in Marnie Davante’s pool. And that’s why I’m out with George now. Trying to find out who saw what. And you’re telling me you saw a monster?”

  “You know—one of those comic creatures. A man all dressed in black. Bone-bone...bony blood...”

  “Blood-bone,” Bryan said.

  Bob Andrews nodded grimly. “I’m usually home just about this time. Have an uncle in assisted living. I check up on him each morning and then come back and go to work. I’m a commercial artist—work right out of my house. My easel is there, by the window. I saw him. One of those Blood-bone things walking on down the street. First, I’m thinking we’re not all that far from a few of the theme parks. Then I’m remembering Cara Barton was murdered by a Blood-bone. Then I’m thinking he’s gone, and he hadn’t appeared to have had one of those swords, anyway. I heard all the sirens last night, and I came out and saw the commotion, and I knew, of course, it was Marnie Davante’s place. But...I didn’t think...until just now when I thought about how tall you are...”

  “Thing is, Mr. Andrews, you did see a Blood-bone. And you’d be willing to tell that to the police?”

  “I don’t know. I guess it could be dangerous for me. I mean, Cara Barton was murdered by someone in a costume like that. Now a man is dead—and I saw a Blood-bone just before it happened.”

  “It didn’t occur to you to mention the Blood-bone to anyone else, even call the police and mention you’d seen someone dressed up that way?”

  Bob Andrews shook his head.

  “Should have. Just didn’t. And...well, honestly, I’m not sure about telling anybody. I kind of like to stay under the radar.”

  “No one ever needs to know you saw this costumed figure, sir. Other than law enforcement.”

  “I...uh... Sure. Use me or my name or whatever. Just so long as it’s only cops that know I said something. Or anything. I mean, right now, I’m just talking to a man walking his dog, you know?”

  Bryan thanked him. “If anyone checks with you, it will be one of two detectives, Mr. Andrews. Detective Sophie Manning or Detective Grant Vining.”

  “All right. I mean, I want to help. I’m just not a tough guy. I don’t want any trouble.”

  “It’s all good. Thank you.”

  George let out a woof; he was either in agreement or ready to move on.

  Walking away from Bob Andrews’s house, Bryan pulled out his phone and called Grant Vining. “I’ve got something,” he said. “Neighbor saw a guy dressed up as Blood-bone walking around the neighborhood, right around the time our victim was killed at Marnie’s. I know you’re going to think I’m far-fetched on this, but since we are looking at a killer who was costumed, I still can’t help but think there is a possibility that whoever orchestrated the murder wasn’t pleased with his hired killer. I think the person who ordered the killing dressed up as Blood-bone and came out to kill the killer. I’m working on theory, I know. And you might find it ridiculous—even if someone did see a Blood-bone. But—”

  “I’m not going to argue anything with you, McFadden,” Grant Vining told him, sounding weary. “Our prints gave us an ID on the dead man.”

  “Oh? And?”

  “His name was William Capello. He had a rap sheet a mile long—under Capello, his real name, and a half a dozen other names. He was acquitted in the murder of a Vegas showgirl as few years back. The jury never believed the burden of proof had been established. He was also suspected of a number of other murders. In every case when he was suspected of murder, he was suspected of being the finger man in a murder for hire.”

  Bryan drew his phone from his ear and actually stared at it for a moment.

  He’d been right.

  But did it help him now?

  A killer had killed a killer.

  But had he done the deed himself?

  Or hired a killer to kill a killer?

  “And by the way,” Vining added. “This just became a joint task force.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Your FBI friends are in—joint task force, with a meeting tomorrow. So if I don’t see you before, I’ll see you then,” Vining said.

  “Wait. I need you to—”

  “Not to worry, McFadden. We’ll get some officers in uniform out in the neighborhood. We’ll see if we can find anyone who knows where our Blood-bone came from. Hell, maybe one of them even saw him shoot our victim and thought it was a show. Maybe one of them knows where Blood-bone went after.”

  “Thanks, Vining.”

  “We are good cops.”

  “I know that.”

  “Yeah. Well, here’s to a... Guess there is no such thing as a happy ending when people are already dead,” Vining said. “Here’s to a speedy solution.”

  “With no more bodies.”

  “Amen.”

  George barked. It was almost as if the damned dog understood.

  * * *

  “I need you. We need you. Marnie, how could you have forgotten?”

  Grayson Adair was on the phone, earnest—and desperate.

  Marnie felt terrible. She had forgotten. Though how anyone could ask how she could have forgotten—under their current circumstances—was ridiculous, as well.

  “I didn’t think you were still doing another comic con after what happened to Cara—”

  “Marnie,” Grayson said. “It’s not a comic con. I keep telling you. It’s not. We wouldn’t be doing a comic con. But we’ve had this planned forever. Cara knew about it. She said you were definitely in.”

  “Grayson, it is still a fan convention—”

  “Horror-palooza. That’s completely different,” Grayson said.

  “Grayson, it’s a—”

  “Not just a fan convention, Marnie. I can’t believe you haven’t been to it before. Every fabricator in LA tries to get his or her work into this convention. The creatures, the makeup, the costumes—it’s all so amazing!” Grayson told her. “Look, the rest of us were praying that Vince Carlton was going to get the show revived. He might still do it. He’ll be there. Marnie, come on. Yes, it’s a fan convention. It’s where artists strut their stuff. It’s where we can, at the very least, make some survival money. I’m sure you told Cara that you would come. It was going to be our first time attending. Please, Marnie. It’s this weekend coming up.”

  “And you didn’t mention it at the funeral, or after—”

  “It is after right now.”

  Marnie tried to remember if she had told Cara she would attend some kind of a monster show. Obviously, since Dark Harbor had been filled with all kinds of creatures, they were more than welcome at a horror convention of any kind.

  She didn’t
tell Grayson, but she’d been to one of the Horror-palooza shows before. She’d loved it. Hollywood’s special effects people came out in full force. It was amazing to see what shows were coming out soon, what was the new take on an old spook, and just what was being done with prosthetics and makeup.

  “I don’t know if the cops will let me go,” she said.

  “It’s a free country. They can’t stop you.”

  “Yeah? Well, Grayson, I do not want to die.”

  “Oh, Marnie. What happened was horrible. But I don’t intend to go the rest of my life being afraid every second. To be honest, I can’t afford it.”

  Grayson was a good-looking man and a decent actor, too. Marnie had heard vague rumors he wasn’t doing as well as he could have been because of substance abuse and a work ethic that made it appear he saw his call times as suggestions rather than when to be there, camera ready.

  He’d been fine to work with on Dark Harbor. She had no intention of judging Grayson’s current work ethic. She didn’t know what was rumor and what was truth.

  “Marnie, please. Oh, my God—haven’t you seen the magazine covers everywhere? Right at this moment—very, very sadly because of Cara being murdered—we’re about the hottest thing in the world.”

  “Let me check with...”

  Her voice trailed off. It wasn’t the police. The police were great, but they didn’t have the manpower or budget to watch over her endlessly.

  “Let me get back to you,” she said.

  “Oh, yeah. I forgot. You’ve got that guy hanging around. The son of the old movie stars—the dead stars. Hey, you think he’s just hanging around because he wants some kind of a Hollywood in now?”

  Marnie laughed. “No.”

  “Good to hear you laugh. With all that’s happened, and a dead body in your pool.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Speculation. So far, all they’ve said is a dead man was found in the pool of an actress living off Barham Boulevard. People who have any clue know it’s you, and people with any suspicion go ahead and say it, and then...”

  “Okay,” she said quietly.

  “Please, Marnie. We can show solidarity, how we’re still friends.”

  She had excused herself to her bedroom to take the phone call. She heard a commotion in the living room, and figured Bridget and Angela Hawkins had returned. Maybe even Bryan McFadden.

  “I promise, if I can, I will. I’ll let you know tonight,” Marnie said.

  “Okay, goodbye, thank you, please don’t forget to call me back,” Grayson said.

  “I won’t.”

  “Promise.”

  “Promise.”

  She hung up and was about to go to see if there were any new developments and discover just who was back in her house, when her phone rang again.

  Caller ID told her that it was Roberta Alan.

  Of course.

  Her Dark Harbor brother had called her. He’d probably already lined it up with Roberta—her Dark Harbor sister—to call right after.

  “Hey, Roberta. Just talked to Grayson. If I can, I will.”

  There was silence for a second, and then Roberta let out a soft laugh. “Okay, okay. And I had my speech planned. It was a good one.”

  “You can give it to me quickly if you want.”

  “Never mind. The way you answered, it all just went out of my mind,” Roberta told her. She sighed. “Marnie, it is a good opportunity for us.” She was silent for a minute. “And maybe you. That theater thing of yours isn’t looking so good.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Apparently, that Seth Smith, the property manager for the Abernathy Theater, heard about the dead man in your pool.”

  “What?”

  “Oh, you know reporters. When we need some coverage, it seems we can’t get it through any means. When they can rag on someone, it’s all over the place. No one says the dead man was in your pool. But they’ve said what happened took place in your neighborhood. Marnie, you are hot right now. Some people think you are some kind of supernatural character, clouded with dark shadows and evil. Some think you’re a pathetic creature having a run of bad luck. But I guess, to a lot of people out there, you’re looking kind of cursed.”

  “Great,” Marnie said. “Okay, I don’t know what’s happening with Seth Smith or the theater at the moment—”

  “Go online—check out the news. He didn’t say he wouldn’t rent to you, but he did give a speech to some reporter about the Abernathy having a long and proud history, adding that anything for children needed to be above reproach.”

  “But I am above reproach. I’m not involved in any scandals—”

  “Someone died in your pool.”

  “I didn’t put him there!”

  “Perception, Marnie. Perception is everything,” Roberta reminded her.

  Marnie sighed softly. “Either way, I’ll let you know about Horror-palooza for sure by tonight, okay? Seriously, no one would expect us all to be there. Cara hasn’t been gone that long.”

  Roberta sighed deeply. “It doesn’t matter what people expect. There will be a giant memorial to her. To be honest, one of the organizers told me we are in high demand. They want some pics before another one of us is...gone.”

  “Great. Just great.”

  “I’m sorry. And please.”

  “Okay, I just have to check with people.”

  “Like tall, dark and handsome.”

  “Roberta, that describes a large part of this city.”

  Her friend laughed softly. “Love you, Marnie. Call me.”

  She hung up.

  Marnie hurried on out.

  Bridget and Angela Hawkins had returned—so had Bryan McFadden with the dog.

  George really had decided he was her dog. He pulled free from McFadden’s easy hold on his leash and bounded toward Marnie. She dropped to her knees, delighted. George greeted her with vivacious licks and kisses and a wild pummeling of his tail.

  “You’re amazing, George,” she told the dog.

  Bridget sniffed and laughed. “Hey, George. I’m the one who has promised to look after you come what may.”

  “He loves you, too,” Marnie said.

  “He probably senses Marnie needs the most protection,” McFadden said.

  “Speaking of which...is there any news?” Marnie asked.

  “There was someone in the neighborhood dressed up as Blood-bone. I confirmed it with a man who lives down the street,” McFadden offered. “The man in your pool was one William Capello. He was identified today through his fingerprints. He was a known criminal suspected of committing a number of murders by hire. I sincerely believe he was the one who killed Cara.”

  Marnie looked at him and swallowed.

  “So whoever killed the man in the pool is the conspirator or killer who hired the killer who killed Cara?” she asked quietly.

  “So it seems,” McFadden said.

  “Anyway, the killer killed his killer,” Angela finished, watching them all.

  “What?” Bridget asked, completely confused.

  “And we still have no idea who wanted Cara—or someone from Dark Harbor—dead,” McFadden said.

  Bridget’s phone rang.

  She was startled, having been intent on the explanation being given her.

  She cried out and then made a face and apologized, “I’m so sorry. That’s the alarm company. Their people are getting here. Two gentlemen. Steve and Jerry. I have a picture.”

  She showed all of them the faces on her phone. The alarm company was into safety. Two smiling faces were on the screen along with their names and expected time of arrival.

  Even their timing was top-notch.

  A van drove up in front even as they spoke.

  “I’ll let them in,” Jackson said.

 
“Should we get out of the way?” Bridget asked.

  “Only when they do the work. You’re going to have to know your system and set your codes,” McFadden said. “It will take a couple of hours. And by the way,” he added, glancing over at Jackson and Angela with approval, “the FBI is now part of the investigation. There’ll be a joint task force on this.”

  “Not just any joint task force,” Angela said. “You have the Krewe of Hunters. Marnie, we will get to the bottom of this, and we will find the real killer.”

  Marnie smiled at her. “I believe you,” she said softly.

  She just prayed that she lived to see it.

  * * *

  So much commotion.

  Police. FBI. And now a nice new alarm company.

  Oh, yeah. Not to mention the dog.

  All that protection, and yet...

  When he wanted her dead, she would be dead!

  He still wasn’t sure if he would do the deed. The first—Ah, it had been surreal. Had he done it right? Yes, he believed so. If he’d been seen, so what? What could anyone say? Blood-bone had killed the bad man and pushed him into a pool. And that pool? Oh, it had belonged to Marnie Davante.

  How delicious.

  He’d been such a coward before. He’d never imagined just how incredible it was going to feel. The rush that swept over him.

  At that moment, he had been Blood-bone in truth.

  He had been a god or a demon or both rolled together.

  He’d held the ultimate power, the power of life or death.

  He chose death.

  The stunned look on the face of the man as he’d died! So shocked. And he’d been laughing, the fool. Laughing to see another Blood-bone costume.

  Now he felt something of the same thrill again. He was here, so close to her house. He was watching. He could be caught.

  But what if he were? There was no reason he shouldn’t be there. Even if she didn’t consider him to be a close friend, he was a friend. Or a good acquaintance, if there was such a thing. Oh, no. She would say friend. Marnie being Marnie.

  The odd thing was, like the rest of the world, he loved her.