While it didn’t offer much in the way of security, the Hawthorne did have charm. The lobby offered the comforts of an old lodge—worn leather sofas and chairs, a massive stone hearth and tables where guests could engage in chess, checkers, cards and other nonelectronic games.
It was only two stories tall and had thirty guest rooms, but the restaurant, off the lobby, served locals as well as lodgers and tourists.
Thor made straight for the restaurant.
The cop sent to watch over Clara was rigidly on duty, staying just inside the restaurant, right next to the giant stuffed grizzly that stood as if he were a maître d’, ready to welcome patrons. Thor and Jackson nodded to him; he gave them a thumbs-up sign and pointed to a table in the middle of the room.
Jackson went to speak with the police officer.
Thor paused a moment, watching the table group.
Clara was smiling at something Ralph Martini was saying.
Her smile was infectious, he thought. She was young and beautiful, in her late twenties, he thought, lithe and toned. There was something natural about her, as well. Or maybe sincere was a better description; perhaps both words applied.
But, he knew then, it wasn’t really that at all. He felt something for her that he didn’t remember feeling; somehow, he’d lost the ability to let himself become involved years before. He wasn’t a fool or blind; she was lovely and arresting and the kind of woman to draw attention and desire without ever realizing the power of her appearance or character. Anyone would be attracted—like a moth to a pretty flame.
She wasn’t just good-looking. She was somehow personal now, as well.
He shouldn’t get personal; he knew that.
But he hadn’t really gotten personal with Mandy Brandt. Actually, it had never been a matter of attraction with Mandy—he had simply liked her. And admired her. Her life had been filled with tragedy. Her mother dead of cancer when she was about five, her dad in a car crash when she was eighteen, and her only brother had been killed in the armed forces. She had told him once, You can only cry so much before the soul is dead inside.
That was because Mandy had been so worried about her friend—but in a very matter-of-fact way. She’d never suspected that she herself was the one Tate Morley had been after.
He hoped that her soul was alive and well now; he liked to believe that she was in light and happiness somewhere.
Still trying to help…and that would be why she had entered their dreams.
Clara Avery looked up then and saw him. Something in her eyes changed; she was actually glad, he thought. Then again, she might have been glad to see her friend—Jackson Crow.
The others at the table turned to see him and Jackson arriving, as well.
He kept his voice low and level as he greeted them all. “Everything all right here?”
“Right as rain,” Ralph said, rising to greet him and Jackson. “Officer Friendly over there seems to be a great guy. He wouldn’t join us. Said he’s on duty and eating a burger takes two hands.”
“Ah, well, he’ll be off in a few minutes,” Thor said.
“I’ll grab you a chair,” Simon offered.
He was about to say that they should get going, but Jackson sat down at the table then and suggested that they should get something to eat quickly. “You know the staff around here?” Jackson asked him.
Thor grinned. “Yeah, I do.” He’d eaten at the Hawthorne often enough. He knew Ali Norman, the waitress serving the table, because he’d helped out when her son had been arrested for drugs, getting him into rehab instead of jail.
Ali was quick to see that he and Jackson were promptly served the house specialty—venison stew—and to assure him that her son Tyson was doing well, working, and even engaged to a girl he had met while doing community service.
Thor told her how glad he was.
“Anything new?” Simon asked anxiously when Ali was gone.
“I’m afraid not,” Thor told him.
“The cop goes when Clara goes, right?” Larry asked.
Thor nodded. “I’m afraid that law enforcement is being stretched thin here.”
“We’re good,” Ralph said. “The Fate has security. The ship is still undergoing some work before our appointed sailing time, but we’ve been told we’re welcome to take our cabins. Most of the crew is already aboard. We’re set to sail in less than a week.”
Thor wasn’t sure why that wasn’t a comforting thought. If she sailed, Clara would be far away. Far away from Seward, murdered women and, hopefully, the killer.
No, this killer—this killer had to be caught before the week was up!
“So, you three are going to board,” Jackson said. “That’s a good choice.” He looked at Clara. “You’re sticking with us for the time being?”
Clara nodded.
“Crazy!” Ralph said. “The killer was after the television people—and maybe us.”
“Not crazy,” Simon said. “She’ll be with the FBI guys. Let’s admit it, Ralph, you can play a great cop, but you aren’t one. And no one in his right mind is afraid of me, which has been proven.”
“I just look big and tough,” Larry said regretfully.
“It doesn’t matter,” Clara said. “I feel I have to stay—for a few days at least. I’ll be with you guys soon enough.” She glanced over at Thor and Jackson. “Nothing new?” she asked weakly. “Nothing at all?”
“At least, no new bodies, right?” Ralph asked.
“Right,” Thor said. He wasn’t sure why—just agreeing made him uneasy.
“So,” Jackson said. “What’s the show about?”
“A ghost,” Simon said, shaking his head.
“Yep, a ghost,” Clara murmured, and then she smiled. “It’s really charming. Shades of Blithe Spirit mixed with an older movie about an Irish castle. Love, falling in love, learning to fall in love again, all that.”
“Sounds good,” Jackson said. “Just the four of you?”
“Five of us. I’m the old wife, and there’s a new wife,” Clara said. “Connie Shaw is joining the Celtic American lineup. She was working on a ship that ended a cruise in Seattle. She’s due up here anytime.”
“I think she’s due today,” Ralph said. “But she’s not staying here. She rented a cottage on the outskirts of town for the few days she planned on being here. Says she’s seen Seward and wanted more of the rustic feel of Alaska.”
“Do you know where this cottage is?” Jackson asked.
Damn—was he also feeling uneasy?
“No, but you can get that information easily enough. Head of entertainment for the ship knows everything,” Ralph said.
Jackson rose. “I’ll get the info,” he said.
Thor rose, as well. “We need to get going. Clara?”
“My things are at the desk. I’ve checked out,” she said. “I figure I’ll go on to the ship, too, when—when it’s time,” she finished lamely. “Anyway, see you guys soon.”
“Soon, my love!” Ralph said as she rose to leave them. Simon and Larry stood, too. She hugged them all; Thor waited patiently.
He followed close behind her as they headed to the front to meet up with Jackson.
“Don’t think the place is far from your house, Thor, not by the addresses we have,” Jackson said.
“The McGinty place?” Thor asked. One of his closest neighbors—close being about ten acres away—was old Theodore McGinty. He left during the summer to visit his daughter in Fairbanks and always liked to rent his place.
Jackson raised an eyebrow and rattled off an address. “Is that the McGinty place?”
Thor nodded. “Yeah, it’s an old cottage—nice little place. Old, but he has the best heating system in the world and all kinds of computer gadgets and a great entertainment center.”
&nbs
p; “We’ll see if Miss Shaw has checked in. You know this young woman, right?” Jackson asked Clara.
“Yes, not well—not like the guys. But we met at the auditions for the show and had a meeting after the casting, along with a blocking rehearsal and some readings of the script,” Clara told him. “She’s very nice, a petite dark-haired woman.”
“But you do know her well enough,” Thor murmured. “That’s good.”
They reached a black sedan. Thor slid into the driver’s seat. Jackson opened the passenger’s door for her in the front and slid into the back himself.
* * *
They drove through the town of Seward. Clara had gotten to walk a great deal of it; Seward was a wonderful small town, offering so much in a compact area. Floods throughout the years had been devastating, but Seward meant to thrive. The drive from Seward to Anchorage was supposed to be one of the most scenic to be found. She was fond, however, of the town itself, where many of the buildings were in different and complementary pastels, which seemed to be—along with the shimmering water, the cruise ships and other vessels at port, and the fantastic mountains—uniquely Seward. Uniquely Alaska.
Thor was driving quickly but skillfully, making good time.
She leaned forward. “You’re afraid for Connie?” she asked. “But…”
“It’s not a rational fear—it’s just a situation we should check out,” Jackson said.
“Well, we’re driving awfully fast,” Clara said.
“We’ll just make sure everything is all right,” Thor said.
She knew that neither of the men thought that everything was going to be all right. She felt her own stomach pitch.
They left the city behind, remaining beneath the shadow of snow-tipped mountains, hugging a road that cut through dense forest. Thor then turned down what looked like little more than a dirt road. In a matter of seconds, a little cabin appeared, with a board porch and a cheerful striped umbrella over tables on the veranda.
It seemed that the motor was still running when Thor and Jackson stepped out of the car; both men jumped out quickly and headed for the door to the cabin. Clara followed them up the steps to the porch.
Thor tapped hard at the door. “Miss Shaw? Miss Shaw?”
A frightened whimper came back to them. “Who is it? Who’s there?”
“FBI, Miss Shaw. Are you in distress, is anything wrong—”
“Connie, it’s me, Clara Avery, and these men are FBI,” Clara called.
The door swung open. Connie Shaw stood there in purple sweats, dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, her features drawn and pale. She threw herself in Clara’s arms.
“Connie, what happened? What’s going on?”
“Someone was out there—someone in back. I… I’d left the back door open. I was out on the porch, looking up at the mountains. There were deer, two of them, right back there! I came in for my phone and I heard someone…whispering my name!” Connie said, her speech hurried and barely coherent.
Jackson was already gone, heading around back. “Stay with her—I’ll go through the house to the back!”
“I’m not a chicken, not a chicken, not a chicken, but… Not right, not just a person, not just a visitor… He was there, he would have gotten in… I’m so scared!” Connie babbled. “I got here and heard about the murders—Natalie Fontaine…Amelia Carson… I didn’t think they’d be after us…but I’m so scared. I thought…well, their kind of reality TV, they might have really pissed someone off, but I just act on a stage… I don’t do anything evil to anyone, except, you know, maybe by accident and that wouldn’t be evil or mean, just…”
“Connie, calm down. It’s all right,” Clara said. “Sh. These men are FBI. You are all right now.”
She wondered if she had been like this—this hysterical, this scared—when she had found the body of Amelia Carson.
Yes, yes, she had been.
She swallowed hard. Two very competent, strong, well-armed members of the FBI were with them. They were all right.
No, not really, the killer was still out there.
They wouldn’t be all right, none of them—not even the big, strong members of the FBI—if this killer wasn’t caught.
She mentally renewed her passion to do whatever was necessary to help.
She also heard Ralph’s voice in her head.
Sparks!
Sparks…flying between her and Thor Erikson.
Connie was still talking, she realized.
“What’s happening, Clara? Oh, my God, what’s happening? And I was so excited to be on the Fate!”
“Sh, sh, it’s all right,” Clara repeated.
Was it? They’d all been so excited about the Fate.
And now they were all here…fated to be here?
She was suddenly angry; really angry with herself. Nothing was truly predetermined; they were all architects in their own destiny.
This was the fault of a horribly sick, heinous and cruel murderer. And she was going to do whatever it took to help the FBI catch him, even if that included becoming best girlfriends—a bit belatedly—with Amelia Carson.
“It’s all right,” she repeated firmly. “We’re with the FBI. And they have guns. Big ones,” she added, and smiled to herself.
She had no idea of the size of their guns.
* * *
There was no one in the house Connie had rented, but when Thor stepped out the back door, he studied the lock.
He frowned. It appeared that someone had been trying to jimmy it—which didn’t really make sense, not if Connie Shaw had left it open.
She’d said that she’d heard someone whisper her name.
Had she—or had she been afraid and imagined that she heard the whisper?
The possibilities shot through his head. She hadn’t expected to be so alone, even though she had opted for nature and privacy, so maybe her imagination had run rampant. Maybe the lock had been jimmied long ago—even by the owner, who might have forgotten his keys.
Bull.
Staring at the jimmied door, he pulled out his cell phone and flicked the screen to contacts, finding Theodore McGinty. He called the older man—a close friend of his dad’s, and a stern disciplinarian with all the neighborhood kids when he’d been young.
“Mr. McGinty, this is Thor Erikson.”
“Thor, hey! Ah, hell. It’s not a social call, is it?” McGinty asked. “I thought I was okay—gave the place to a sweet young woman for a week. What, she have a bunch of frat boys in? They cutting up and doing drugs in my house?”
“No, sir, nothing like that.”
He heard McGinty’s groan. “What’s the matter with me?” McGinty asked. “I keep forgetting you’re FBI, boy. This is no minor thing. Lord, I’ve been seeing the news on the murders. Please tell me that…that it’s not as bad as it could be.”
No, it wasn’t as bad as it could be. A killer could have carried out his plan to kill and mutilate a beautiful young woman.
“I wanted to let you know that Miss Shaw isn’t going to be staying here. We’re taking her where she’ll have police protection. We’re watching out for everyone involved with that TV show and Miss Shaw’s cast was being interviewed the day the murders took place. But I also wanted to ask you—have you had any kind of problem with an attempted break-in at any point?”
“Boy, why would anyone break in on an old man who has nothing but great memories?” McGinty asked him in return.
“Looks like someone tried to jimmy your lock.”
McGinty was silent for a minute and then said, “You get that girl out of there, then, Thor. You see that she’s safe. You tell her she’ll get all her money back from me. No, no, sir. No one has tried to break in on me. But, when I’m there, old Oslo is with me, and no one messes with my dog.”
&
nbsp; That was true. Old Oslo was a “chusky”—a new designer mix of a chow and a husky. Oslo was huge; he wasn’t to be messed with.
“Do you need me to come there?” McGinty asked.
“No, sir. Thank you. If I do need you, I’ll call.”
“Don’t hesitate,” McGinty told him.
“I won’t,” Thor promised, and hit the end button.
Someone had been out here—someone might have been here even as they had come driving up to the place.
Just the same as at his family’s property, the backyard disappeared into a forest of trees that, especially during summer, seemed to have a life of their own, intruding on the lawn or yard. Thick and heavy—with a million places to disappear.
But how could someone have gotten out here? Where would they have left a car? There was no snow on the ground so a snowmobile or dogsled couldn’t be stashed anywhere. Some people did have wheeled sleds that they used in summer, keeping their dogs fit. But, if there were dogs, they would hear them. He’d sure as hell never heard a silent dog team.
Logical conclusion: someone had been here. Perhaps they had first tried to jimmy the lock. But that had proved to be unnecessary when Connie Shaw had left the door open.
How would they have known that Connie would be here?
It wasn’t privileged information, but it wasn’t advertised online, either.
When a criminal wanted information, they tended to be good at getting it.
Jackson came walking back from the tree line.
“Anything?” Thor called.
Jackson shook his head with disgust. “If someone was here, that someone heard us when we turned down the road to the house. You’ll know better than me if someone crashed through that pine forest. I went all the way back—there’s a dirt service road out there. I guess it’s used by police or rangers or the trash company? Nothing out there and it doesn’t seem to lead to anything, but there could be a small vehicle back there. I’d have heard a motorcycle, but if someone drifted out of there in Neutral before I was actually into the trees, I wouldn’t have been able to hear them.”
Krewe of Hunters, Volume 6: Haunted Destiny ; Deadly Fate ; Darkest Journey Page 45