Deadly Fate (30 page)

“Good morning! Did you sleep well?”

“You bet. What a beautiful group you have here!” Clara said.

“They have professional names,” Astrid said. “But, I call them Rolly, Polly and Fat Stuff!”

Clara took a seat on a bench by the kennel runs and smiled as the puppies came racing to her.

“Very social dogs,” Clara said.

“There's always an alpha—I think it's going to be Fat Stuff, in this group.”

“Bring me to your leader—Fat Stuff!” Clara said lightly.

Astrid took a seat by her side. “We're so grateful that...”

“We're alive?” Clara murmured. “I know I am!”

“More than that,” Astrid said. “Tate Morley... I think the case haunted Thor forever. Now it's at an end. It's hard to believe that it really is at an end!”

“I guess it'll feel more real day by day,” Clara murmured.

“Yes, I imagine. Well, anyway, hopefully getting back to work...boarding the
Fate
! I know you're working, but I hope you have a wonderful time.”

“I think your brother is going to take the cruise. Time off—and the cruise.”

Astrid nodded, grinning. “Yeah, I think so,” she said.

Clara's phone rang, startling them both. Clara excused herself to take it.

Ralph was on the other end. He wanted to see if she and Thor wanted to meet up with him and the rest of the cast for dinner. “We've got our lovely young Connie Shaw joining us. I thought we'd all welcome her here. This has got to be unsettling for her.”

She grinned. Leave it to Ralph. She was the one who had been in the hands of a killer. But she was glad Ralph thought of her as the strong one!

“Sure,” she said. “Well, I'll be there. I'll have to check with Thor.” She went on to tell Ralph that she thought Thor was going to take the cruise. He was thrilled and told Larry, who was equally delighted.

When she hung up and her phone rang again immediately, she thought that it was Ralph calling back.

It wasn't.

But it was another invitation—or favor.

She jumped up. “Astrid, could I possibly borrow a car? I'm going to run into town and do a friend a favor. I don't want to wake Thor—especially since he never sleeps.”

“Sure!” Astrid said. “Mine is the Subaru. Keep it as long as you like.”

She tossed Clara her keys, and Clara asked Astrid if she'd mention dinner with her cast to Thor. “I don't know if he is going into work today or what his plans are. Anyway, dinner will be later.”

“Of course,” Astrid assured her.

Smiling, and thinking it was a way to really do a good deed, Clara headed out on her errand of mercy.

* * *

Thor should have slept well.

But Mandy Brandt was in his dreams again.

She seemed to hover over him, as if she was worried.

He reached up to gently touch her face and tell her that she could rest in peace. “We got him, Mandy. This time, he'll never kill again.”

“No, he'll never kill again,” she said, and she brushed his face with a gentle caress, as well. But she didn't smile. She was frowning. “Something isn't right, Thor. Something just isn't right.”

He woke with a jerk. Mandy Brandt was not with him. He felt a warm body at his side.

With something definitely not right.

An excited half howl and half whine told him that the warm body was that of his husky Boris—and not Clara.

He couldn't remember when he'd slept so deeply and so hard. He was usually awake in a heartbeat at any sound. “Hey, boy!” He scratched the dog and arose, padded into the bathroom and the shower, and dressed for the day. He figured that Clara was already out with his sister and the horses, dogs and creatures that made up the compound.

He was glad that Clara exceptionally loved huskies. He wondered if he could ever really live without one in his life.

No one was out in the kitchen or the dining room. He headed outside and saw that Astrid was putting one of her new puppies through a training session.

“Hey!” he called to her.

“Hey!” she called back. She stopped what she was doing, told the puppy to sit and walked over to him, studying him anxiously. “You really okay, Thor? You guys seem great, but...”

“We are fine. Really,” he assured her.

“You slept! You never sleep.”

He smiled weakly at that. “Where is she?”

“She was going to go into Seward. Apparently, a friend called her. A friend in need. Anyway, she's off to do a favor, and she wants to know if you want to meet up with her cast mates for dinner. I don't need my car back, so whatever you want to do is great.”

“Who is she doing a favor for?” Thor asked, puzzled, and damning the fact that he'd slept so well.

“I don't know—she didn't say. She just mentioned dinner. Call her cell.”

He did so.

She didn't answer.

There were a dozen reasons she might not answer. She might be driving. She might have forgotten her phone; it might have run out of battery. It could be in her purse, or it might have fallen on the floor.

Didn't matter; he didn't like it.

“How long has she been gone?” he asked Astrid.

“About an hour. What's wrong?” Astrid asked him. “You got Morley,” she said quietly. “And the guy working with him.”

“I don't know,” he said. “Something isn't right...” His voice trailed off, and then he remembered the words.

Something isn't right!

The ghost of Amelia Carson had said the words to Clara before she'd come to find him.

Mandy Brandt had said the words in his dream.

He suddenly knew what wasn't right.

He was dialing his phone again, even as he ran through the complex to meet his car. He jumped in and found that he'd been followed; Boris and then Natasha plowed in right behind him.

He started to command them out...

What the hell. It might be good to have them, though they were wagging their bushy tails, howling softly in anticipation of a car ride.

“Down!” he said simply, and revved the motor.

Something wasn't right at all.

It was very, very wrong.

17

E
mmy Vincenzo was waiting for Clara when she came around in the hospital driveway; she was smiling and waving—grateful to have her there.

“I can't thank you enough!” Emmy told her.

“It's my pleasure.”

“Really, I mean, we hardly know one another. I suppose—and I don't mean this in a mean way—you're doing this for me because you are a nice person.”

“Emmy, it's no problem. I have to be back on the ship for good tomorrow, but I wasn't rehearsing or anything today. It's fine, really. Now, where am I taking you?”

“Oh, I guess I can go anywhere!” Emmy said. “He's not going to be here to say ‘Vincenzo! You're three minutes late. Vincenzo, I told you the office, not the flat. Vincenzo!' Oh, I must sound like such a terrible person. I mean, he's dead. And I killed him.”

“Self-defense,” Clara said.

“Yes, of course, it's all right in self-defense, right?”

Clara wasn't sure how to answer that.

“Well, you can go anywhere. Where would you like to go?”

“I should be planning to go home, right? New York. Home. I'll need a new job. I still have a few things on the island so I should have you take me to the dock. I don't think I can go back to the island alone.”

Clara glanced at her watch. An hour out, an hour there—and an hour in. She'd have plenty of time before meeting up with the others and Thor. She lowered her head, trying not to smile.

Thor would be on the ship when it sailed.

“Could you? I mean...wow, would you?” Emmy asked.

“I don't think we have the Coast Guard at our beck and call anymore,” Clara said.

“That's not a problem. There are dozens of little boats around, ready to take people for a bit of a spin. It's a moneymaker,” Emmy said drily.

When they reached the dock with plenty of little local boats, Emmy stepped out to hail them a ride. Clara dug around for her phone, but couldn't find it. It was in her bag, she was certain.

“Hey, I've got a guy! Hurry, please, he might not wait long. We'll get out there, I'll grab the few things I need...maybe that witch Magda will feed us!” Emmy said, and made a face.

“Oh, she's just grim. She's all right,” Clara said. She figured she'd call as soon as they were under way.

The ride to the island was choppy and the little boat they took was small. Clara tried to appreciate the quick beauty of the trip, but the gorgeous whitecaps were throwing them around too much.

It didn't seem to bother Emmy and the Native American boat master.

And it wasn't until they were on the island, and it was too late, that she realized she'd never made her call. That was all right; she'd reach him via the Wi-Fi once they were there.

She couldn't have let Emmy come alone.

She knew that as she looked at Black Bear Island and realized that she'd never, ever wanted to set eyes on the place again herself.

* * *

Emmy Vincenzo had been released; the nurse in charge didn't know where she'd gone.

None of the security personnel knew, either; she wasn't being watched for any reason. Once she'd been questioned and interviewed and her statement had been taken, she'd been free to go. No charges were being pressed.

Why should they be? The woman was a heroine!

Thor had gotten ahold of Enfield, Jackson and Mike.

Mike was heading to the hotels in the area; Jackson would take the ship and Thor would study the security tapes at the hospital and assure himself that Clara had picked up Emmy; Enfield had seen to it that every officer in the vicinity was looking for Astrid's car.

A view of the footage of the hospital entry showed that Clara had gotten Emmy; Emmy had waited for her and been ready to hop right into the car when she had driven into range.

On the phone with Enfield, Thor was tense. They needed to find the two women—fast.

Enfield was skeptical. “I don't get it—so she went to pick up Emmy, a young woman who was browbeaten for years before Kimball beat her up physically and she fought her way free.”

“Something is not right,” Thor said.

“What? I'm sending all these men out to find two women—because something isn't right? You were there, Thor. You saw it all.”

“I saw what Emmy wanted us to see. Kimball didn't help Morley—
Emmy
did. She was the one who screamed—she told us that. The scream took Jackson away from Clara.
She
slammed herself into the door and made Clara believe she was in danger.”

“But Kimball was at her side!”

“With her knife in his side, not the other way around. Kimball never said a word—I asked Clara over and over again. He never said anything. Emmy
pretended
he was calling the shots. She'd already stabbed the ship's security officer. Kimball knew that she'd kill him. He was playing for time—desperate to save his own life. In the end, she killed him anyway. She must have really enjoyed doing so.”

“But we're studying the letters she told us about—”

“Letters
she
put in the secret drawer. Letters she'll claim were correspondence between Kimball and Morley.”

“Thor, this might be crazy.”

“Trust me, it's not!”

One of the police officers called to the hospital was approaching him quickly. Thor turned to him.

“We've found your sister's car,” he said.

“Where? Did they find Clara and Emmy?”

“No, but we found one of the charter-boat captains who saw them—they were headed out to Black Bear Island.”

* * *

It was strange to be back in the Mansion; Clara could remember the first time she'd seen it—covered in fake body parts and blood—and the second time, working with the film crew to pick up the fabricated gore.

She didn't like it—the house might have been beautiful, but there was no way she would ever feel comfortable here. While she idly paced the living room, waiting for Emmy, she remembered the magnificent moose she had seen on the island.

But then she remembered running and running in terror.

Seeing Amelia Carson—dead in the snow.

And she remembered Thor, catching her, tackling her down to the ground while she beat furiously at him, trying to fight him off until she'd believed at last that he was with the FBI.

Alaska was home to Thor.

And she still loved Alaska.

She just didn't think that she'd want to return to Black Bear Island again.

“Emmy, are you about ready? Did you say that we had to get some things at the Alaska Hut?” she called.

At her angle, she could see all the way up the stairway, not that Emmy knew that.

And there was Emmy—weak, terrified Emmy—quickly sliding bullets into a gun in the upstairs hallway. And she had a knife tethered to her jeans.

To Clara's self-disgust, she stared at the woman several seconds in confusion. And then, little things suddenly seemed to make sense to her.

Marc Kimball looking like hell.

Marc Kimball never saying a word.

Marc Kimball, so close to Emmy she believed that he was holding the woman at knifepoint...

When it had been the other way around.

“Be right there!” Emmy called out.

Clara made her way quickly to the door. To her vast dismay, she realized that it was locked.

Locked from inside. Locked with a key.

Who knew the island? Who had watched the press on Tate Morley, fallen in love with a serial killer? Who would have planned it all for him? Gotten him everything he had needed, and even with a plan for herself if things had started to go badly? Yes! It was all right there—use Marc Kimball, a man she hated! A man who had abused her...

Morley would have used her, with gentle words and encouragement, but now...

Gunfire suddenly exploded; Emmy's bullet thudded into the front door.

Clara made a flying leap and threw herself from the entry to the living room and behind a sofa. She could hear Emmy coming down the stairs.

She had six shots.

Wait! What made Clara think the woman had six shots? She must have watched too many old Westerns. Guns could have all number of bullets in them now...

But, it was a self-loader. One of the pistols that people kept because the beloved wildlife could still be dangerous. She was pretty sure that most had six rounds and one in the chamber. Or something like that!

What difference did it make if
one
bullet found home?

What the hell to do?

“Aw, come on, Clara—we can play hide-and-seek all you like. You're so predictable, though. Self-sacrifice! How could you watch me being tortured—how could precious Clara Avery not do the right thing? What you saw was a vicious Kimball making me speak for him. Me! Claiming he had a knife on me, while I had a blade right there against his ribs. I told him he was a dead man if he didn't play along perfectly, and—coward that the bastard was—he wasn't about to take a chance. Funny, because he had such a thing for you, but, hey, the poor sucker wanted to live and so he did as I commanded him. Kimball! Oh, that was priceless. He was so scared. The saddest thing is that he believed that I might let him live. He walked, walked the way I said, shut up the way I said—and would have done whirly-jigs if I had said. Nice, after the way he treated me. Maybe I've done the world a favor. The money goes back to his first wife. She's a decent sort—she was kind to me.” Emmy paused to giggle. “Lawyers and the like will be descending here soon—then all will be hell. But, of course, they'll know by then that it isn't over. I'll shoot myself somewhere nonlethal, of course. And I'll cast the blame on another mysterious man!”

Emmy was coming down the stairs. Clara looked desperately around the room. Emmy spoke her thoughts almost before she could think them.

“Oh, Clara! On the
Fate
, I had to work with a knife—better than strangling, that's what I say. But a gun is better than anything. Stay at a distance. Bang, bang. Tate needed it to be personal. He had to feel the life go out of someone. That was all well and good for him—he was a medium size, yes, but oh! His hands—you wouldn't have believed the feel of his hands!”

She was coming closer. A small statuette of an old totem pole was on the coffee table nearest Clara; she picked it up and tossed it across the room, in the direction of the door to the kitchen.

As she'd hoped, Emmy immediately fired, thinking it was Clara in the kitchen, not having seen her jump behind the couch. One bullet, two, three. Clara winced at each heavy sound as the bullets crashed into wood.

Emmy moved toward the dining room. “Clara, come on out, wherever you are. Here's the thing. You were key in taking away the man I loved—so, now, you really have to die. Oh, yeah, and you think you're an actress? Wait until you see the performance they're going to get when they find you dead in the snow and me mortally injured! Come on, say something, Clara! Your guy killed Tate—killed him in cold blood! He has to see you killed the same way.” Emmy paused to giggle again. “Cold—get it? I mean, there's not much other way your blood could be, huh, out here.”

Clara tried to stay calm, tried to assess her situation. She wasn't getting out the front door; Emmy had the key.

There was the side door—out of the kitchen. But she'd just sent Emmy in that direction.

She suddenly wished that the bloody props remained—there would have been lots of body parts to throw Emmy's way.

If she didn't think fast, she'd soon be body parts herself...

A whisper suddenly sounded against Clara's ear; she was so startled she nearly cried out.

Thankfully, she didn't. The whisperer was Amelia.

“I knew something wasn't right. I mean, Kimball was a strange man, but, man...the way they were walking, all bundled together. And her doing the talking!” Amelia went on.

She was hunched down by Clara, behind the sofa. Hiding, as if Emmy could see her, too.

“But, watch this, Clara. I'm getting good!”

Amelia Carson headed toward the stairway. She slammed her hand and her side against the wall.

And she made a sound—a soft sound.

“Ah, Clara, upstairs?” Emmy called out, her tone aggravated. “You know, it's not that you're a heavy cow or anything, but I'm a little thing. Dragging you down those stairs again—it's not going to be easy. You should show yourself. You don't want me pissed off at you—you really don't. Because I can shoot you in the jaw first, maybe knock off an elbow. Knees are supposed to be especially painful.”

Clara stayed perfectly still and stared up at Amelia. Amelia looked back at her and smiled proudly. Clara nodded her appreciation.

Emmy headed for the stairs.

“Come out, Clara.”

When she reached the point on the stairs where Amelia was standing, she paused for a second. Amelia had a look of absolute loathing and disgust on her face. She drew back a hand and slapped Emmy.

Of course, her hand just went through Emmy's face.

But it must have done something. Because Emmy stood there for just a moment; she sucked in her breath.

But then she said softly, “Is that you, Tate, my love? Is that you? I'll finish what you started. I swear, so help me God, I will finish for you, before I lie beside you in eternity!”

“In hell!” Amelia muttered bitterly.

Emmy couldn't hear or see her. But, once again, she felt something. She shivered; the gun wavered slightly in her hands.

Amelia ran on up ahead. In the upstairs hallway, she managed to make another sound.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are!” Emmy called. She continued up the stairs.

Clara waited; she rose and nearly flew across the room for the kitchen—and the door from which she had once left the Mansion before...

To run across the snow for her life.