Deadly Fate (20 page)

The air was so cool and fresh around them. The snow glistened on the mountains. The sea appeared as if it was dotted with a million crystals, and she seemed to be everything beautiful about the world as she stood beside him. He longed to touch her, just bend down and feel her lips with his own. Because there was so much that was good in the world, and she seemed such an incredible and seductive part of that beauty as they stood there.

“Look!” she said suddenly, pointing to the water.

It appeared that a spray of diamonds suddenly burst above the surface of the sea.

He smiled.

“Salmon,” he told her.

“Salmon?” she asked.

“Hey. Alaska is famous for its salmon,” he said. “You see them everywhere in these waters. They jump, and they make the scenery even
more
magical. And you can see whales breeching. When you're close enough and they come up, it's amazing. But, let me warn you—when they send air out their blowholes, it can be nasty. Bad breath in whales!” he said lightly.

“You're joking.”

“No.”

“I still love whales!” she told him. There was a breath of excitement in her words. They'd forgotten murder and dismembered bodies for a moment.

He wanted to put an arm around her and hold her close and just look out at the spectacular scenery, the glaciers in the distance reflecting the water and the sky, the ice appearing to be a spectacular shade of blue itself.

Jackson walked back to them, distracted. “Hey.”

Thor tamped down the idea of setting his arm around Clara.

Jackson pocketed his phone and said, “I reached Angela. She found a case that matches Natalie's scene. Happened in the late 1920s. Jeannette Warren, thirty-two, was found in a hotel room in Chicago, her body curled on the bed, her head displayed on the dresser. The killer was given a moniker—the Deadly Dancer
—
because Jeannette was a dance-hall girl and she'd been ripped up. The police at the time thought a few other disappearances might have been due to this man. He was never caught. It didn't hit the media the way it might have now, and while some police officers suspected that Jeannette's killer might have had other victims, it was never proven.”

Thor looked at him and slowly nodded. “So, this is what we theorize at the moment—there are two killers. Tate Morley is one of them. Somehow, in prison, he communicated with someone who became his accomplice. Morley, we believe, was in the Nordic Lights Hotel, and killed Natalie Fontaine. His accomplice was out on the island, either ready to meet up with Tate Morley, or ready to commit the second murder. The accomplice knows Alaska and Black Bear Island. One of the two was back on the outskirts of Seward today, and terrified—and possibly meant to kill—Connie Shaw. The displays were to appear as close as possible to the murders carried out by the Deadly Dancer and Jack the Ripper and the killer who murdered the Black Dahlia. But there's one thing I can't figure out.”

“What's that?” Jackson asked.

“Where the hell are the weapons? It's one thing to strangle a woman with one's bare hands—it's another to cut up a body.”

They were all silent. Black Bear Island was just before them, snow-covered, wild and dense, and, in Thor's mind, hiding the secrets that could lead them to the truth.

* * *

Marc Kimball's behavior was oddly like that of a father who was distraught with a college-age student's tardiness when coming home at night.

And he seemed to be all theirs that night; the Wickedly Weird crew had made arrangements to return the next day and gather the last of their property from the Mansion. Kimball told them that he had asked them all to stay the following night.

But tonight it was just them.

As usual, he made Clara uncomfortable.

“Miss Avery! My God, thank goodness you've come back here. I mean, this is the right place for you to be right now. We're isolated—in a good way! In this house, you have police all about you.” He looked from Thor to Jackson. “Anything? Anything at all? Are you any closer to catching this heinous criminal?” he asked.

“We like to believe that every lead brings us closer, Mr. Kimball,” Thor told him. “And we remain grateful for your complete cooperation with law enforcement.”

“Of course, of course. I'm horrified that this took place on my property. I should have known better. I don't really watch television much, except for the business news now and then. I saw a show by
Vacation USA
, though, and thought it was quite good—that's how I allowed my business manager to make arrangements with the television people. Ghastly business! I hadn't realized that they planned to terrify people with such a grisly scene as the one they fabricated at the Mansion. One can't say ‘how fitting,' because it's absolutely horrible.”

“Ironic,” Mike Aklaq said, arriving in the living room to stand behind Kimball.

Clara liked Mike. He was a patient man, and that was excellent for an agent; he'd wait until he got what he wanted, come what may. And he waited now for an update from his partner and Jackson, not at all anxious or ready to speak in front of others.

“Ironic, yes,” Kimball said. “Well, Magda has something of a late dinner prepared. Agents, you weren't about to head out now, were you? Even here, in Alaska, the light won't last much longer.”

“Actually, dinner sounds wonderful. I hadn't realized myself how late it had gotten,” Thor said.

“It's the hours of daylight,” Jackson said.

“Yeah, but I'm accustomed to days that are light forever,” Thor said.

“Magda!” Kimball called. “Our guests are back. Dinner!”

He wasn't polite; Magda didn't care. She wasn't polite, either.

“It's stew. I'll set the pot in the middle of the table. There's rice, some salad. Tea and sodas are on the sideboard. You'll help yourselves. Mr. Kimball, you do know your way to your own liquor cabinet,” Magda said.

Marc Kimball was oblivious to her tone, as well.

“Shall we?” he said cheerfully. “This is a horrible situation, but we must eat. And, of course, you gentlemen deal with bad things all the time. I mean, you must eat and laugh and all, right?”

“Yeah,” Mike Aklaq said, “haven't you noticed? I'm a regular comedy club.”

Clara saw that Mike, Thor and Jackson exchanged looks. She was certain that while their faces bore no real expression, they communicated.

Nothing that had happened today was dire. They could wait to exchange notes.

They gathered around the table. Clara saw that there were settings for herself, Thor, Jackson, Mike, Marc Kimball—and one more.

She remembered his timid little assistant, Emmy.

But, Kimball pulled out her chair and seated himself.

“Where is Emmy?” Clara asked.

“Emmy? Oh, Emmy,” Kimball said, waving a hand in the air. “She prefers to be alone.”

Apparently, Magda hadn't known that. And Clara had the feeling that Emmy didn't really want to be alone—Kimball just ignored her as he would a pen or a pad he used when it was needed and forgot when it was not.

“Oh, but I'd love to talk to her a bit!” Clara said.

“I'll go knock on her door,” Mike Aklaq said, smiling at her.

“Great!” Clara said, smiling brilliantly at Kimball. “The more the merrier, right?”

Kimball took his seat. Jackson and Thor waited.

Mike returned with Emmy, who looked pleased and flushed.

“I was just working on some data...and I was actually just realizing that I was hungry,” Emmy said.

Mike held her chair for her. She took it and Mike, Thor and Jackson seated themselves.

Magda appeared from the kitchen. “I'll scoop,” she said, and proceeded to do so, dishing out hearty helpings of stew.

“You doing all right, Magda?” Thor asked her.

“Right as can be,” Magda assured him.

“Nice, good to hear it,” Thor said.

She glanced at him and shrugged. “I need to get back in the Mansion. Those scientist people are just finishing up. We need to get those TV crew people back here after, too. Pick up their stuff. Bloody awful junk, if you ask me. Apparently, all that fake gore they have is expensive—props!” She shuddered to convey her disgust.

“We'll get them out as soon as the cops give their okay,” Kimball said. He turned to Clara. “You don't work with awful stuff like that, do you, Miss Avery? You do beautiful, wonderful, cheerful musical things all the time, right?”

“All musicals aren't entirely cheerful,” Clara said, accepting a bowl from Magda. “I love
Les Miz
, but it's not all cheerful. I've also done
Jekyll & Hyde
and a few other shows that aren't all a laugh a minute.”

“But nothing like that horrible TV!” Kimball said.

“No, nothing like that,” she agreed.

“Mr. Kimball,” Thor said, “we really do want to convey our thanks for you being not only cooperative, but so hospitable. We're grateful that your business ventures allowed for you to be able to come out to the island so quickly. We appreciate how valuable your time must be.”

“Yes, well, there are situations that require one to forget about business, right?” Kimball asked.

“You really arrived quickly—that was exceptional,” Thor said.

“I happened to have finished an important deal the night before. Naturally, when I heard, I sent instructions to the pilot immediately,” Kimball said.

“You must be exhausted,” Jackson said.

“Yes, of course. But, I sleep on the plane,” Kimball said.

He made a point of turning away from Thor and looking at Clara. “So, Miss Avery, I'm sure you must hate Alaska after this.”

“I don't blame a place for what a horrible person might do,” Clara assured him. She went on to talk about the things she had been able to see and the things she wanted to see, aware that the agents around the table listened—and seemed grateful that she was keeping it all rolling. Emmy commented that she'd have loved to see more.

“You're lucky you see anything,” Kimball said. “Very lucky that you work for me!”

“Of course,” Emmy murmured.

Clara glared at Kimball, her dislike for him heightened by his rudeness to his employee.

She saw expressions of disgust on the others, as well. Emmy looked at her and shrugged and shook her head; she didn't want anyone coming to her defense.

The stew was delicious, which Clara mentioned to Magda. “Venison,” Magda told Clara. “And don't go thinking we killed Bambi! You have to watch the population or the poor critters starve to death!”

When the meal was over, Clara yawned—and not with any point. She apologized quickly.

“It's late,” Kimball said, dismissing her apology.

“Very late!” she said, looking at her watch.

They all rose as if on cue. “Can we help you pick up?” Clara asked Magda.

“Justin and I have this—you all just get out of our way,” Magda said.

She meant it; Clara thanked her and Kimball for the dinner.

“Good night, then,” Clara said.

Kimball took her hand. “I'm so happy you're here. I'm not really sure why you've agreed to stay for law enforcement, but I'm so glad that you did.”

Clara shrugged, glancing at Thor, and wanting her hand back.

“There just might be something I can say or do or remember about...about Amelia,” she murmured. She hoped she didn't sound too lame.

“So caring!” Kimball said.

“Yes, well, I am really exhausted,” Clara said.

“Of course, of course. The same room is yours,” Kimball said.

“I'll walk you there,” Thor said, smiling as he set an arm on her shoulder and turned her around to head down the hallway.

As they left, Jackson made a point of engaging Marc Kimball in conversation regarding a print on the wall.

They stopped in front of Clara's door.

“Get some sleep,” he told her softly.

She looked at him and nodded.

There had been that moment on the Coast Guard boat when he had touched her...

She didn't want him to leave, she realized. She wanted to draw him into the room. What happened after that...

Sparks!

“Yes,” she murmured.

“And don't worry—one of us will be here,” he said.

“Just whistle,” she murmured.

“Whistle, yell—scream blue blazes,” Thor said, and smiled.

She thought that he would touch her again; she wanted him to touch her.

But, of course, they were standing in a hallway. The others were just down the hall, in the living room with its great hearth, animal heads, and warm and cozy decor.

“Just whistle,” he said softly. The hall was shadowed, but she thought that there was a glint of amusement in his eyes.

“I love old movies,” she said.
“To Have and Have Not,”
she said. “Lauren Bacall—great lines in that movie, and terrific performances.”

“Ah,” he said softly.

On impulse, she stood slightly on her toes and pressed her lips quickly to his, then backed away, flushing. “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you for making me feel useful—and safe.”

He grinned. “You kissed me.”

“I did. I'm sorry. I know you're working and—”

“No, no, I was just thinking about
To Have and Have Not
, and a few of the other lines,” he said.

“Oh?”

He leaned closer to her and whispered near her lips, “It's going to be better when I help.”

He opened her door; she went into her room, closing it behind her, leaning against it.

Sparks.

Oh, yes, good God, they were definitely there.

There was a knock on her door. She was startled by the way her muscles quickened—by the way her heart seemed to leap into her throat.

He'd come back. And her heart was thumping too quickly.