Deadly Fate (21 page)

She threw open the door.

It wasn't Thor Erikson.

It was the ghost of Amelia Carson.

11

T
hor and Jackson met with Mike in the office.

Mike listened to everything that had happened back in Seward and environs; he told them that he'd spent his time watching over the house—though there were still four police officers assigned to that duty—and searching the woods.

Thus far, he hadn't found anything else; a forensic team had spent hours combing the area where they had found the blood spill, but as yet, no one had found the weapon or tool used to cut Amelia Carson into two halves.

“I was thinking of heading down to the cliffs next,” Mike said.

“Tomorrow,” Thor agreed.

“So, this guy really broke out of prison in Kansas and came here,” Mike said.

“I just don't believe I'm wrong,” Thor said.

“So, we are looking for two killers.”

“That's what we believe,” Jackson said.

Mike nodded. “Makes sense. Well, the most sense.” He stood up and said, “You're here—I'm going to get some real sleep. But I don't need to leave the island. Not if Enfield and Brennan are working everything in Seward. I can stay here, Thor. No offense to Jackson, but you and I know this place, and I can help search. Better than you going it alone.”

“That's what we hoped,” Thor said.

Mike nodded. “Thing is, though, where are these killers now? Here, or on the mainland. Or, are they still split up?” He hesitated. “There have been cops or teams around the Mansion and the Alaska Hut since you've been gone. It's cold at night here. If someone has been hanging around, where the hell can they be without freezing their buns off?”

“That's the question,” Jackson said quietly.

“Unless of course,” Mike said, “one of the killers happens to be someone who is in this house.”

Thor nodded at that. “Kimball is pretty slimy.”

“Bears watching,” Mike said.

“The two of you can feel free to search,” Jackson assured him. “You don't need to worry. I'll be watching him. And Clara, of course. Actually, the two go together, since Clara may need watching because of him.”

“Fine. I'm going to get some sleep,” Mike said. “Thor, we'll start about eight in the morning?”

“Eight it is,” Thor told him.

“I'll read a book in the living room for now,” Jackson said.

“All right. I know the cops are on, but I'm going to take a walk around the place and maybe check on Clara,” Thor said.

Mike opened the door and they all left the office. Mike headed to a room. Jackson talked to the officer on duty in the living room; Thor slipped out the front door.

He saw someone leaning over the rail on the long porch. Someone tiny—Emmy Vincenzo, he thought.

And it was.

He walked over to her. She turned as he did so. For a moment, she looked frightened. Then she smiled hesitantly, reminding him of a frightened Chihuahua, always hopeful for a bit of affection while being afraid of a hand slap at the same time.

“Hey,” he said. “Enjoying the night? A bit cool, I guess, if you're not from here. It's warmer—really nice, actually—in Seward. The freeze here all the time has to do with the altitude,” he told her.

She pulled at the neckline of her windbreaker.

“I guess it is a little cold,” she said. “But I like it out here. I've been here with Mr. Kimball a few times before. I've never seen much of Alaska—just the airfield and then a car and a boat and Black Bear Island.”

“The island is special, though. I mean, usually. You can see moose and caribou and black bears and brown bears—including grizzlies—out here,” Thor said.

She nodded. “I know. I woke up one morning and a moose was looking right through my window! I didn't try to go near it. Mr. Kimball said they can kick the life right out of you.”

“That's true. They are big and powerful. But, they're not vicious animals. Give them their distance, and you'll be just fine. Like, don't try to tug at one or rope it in,” he said.

She didn't smile. She looked at him gravely. “Oh, I would never!” she said.

“So, I guess you work closely with Mr. Kimball,” he said, casually leaning on the porch rail as well and looking out over the night.

“Closely?” she asked.

“You're his assistant, right?”

She glanced toward the house, as if fearing that the walls had ears.

“He'd never bother to see what I was doing,” she murmured, and then looked at Thor. “Minion. I'm just a minion,” she said.

“Ah, but you flew here with him,” Thor said.

She made a sound in her throat. “With him? No. I was in my seat in the front of the airplane. I assume he was sleeping in back. I didn't actually see him until he got in the car at the airport.” She shrugged. “If he's sleeping, the steward doesn't even come in the back. I get a loudspeaker announcement that says we're taking off and to buckle up, and then that we're landing, and we should buckle up.”

“Really?” Thor said.

“He's like that. When he doesn't want to see anyone—he doesn't. I never know when he'll pop up, or what he expects I should have known, or whatever.”

“You're the one who informed him about the situation, though, right?”

She laughed. “I was in an office. I don't know where he was. I called him on his ‘red' phone, though, and he did answer right away. Then I called the pilot. And the plane arrived and I don't even know when he got off the plane. I just met him in the car.”

“Why do you work for him?” Thor asked her.

“Money,” she said flatly. “I need the money.”

“Surely there's something else you could do.”

“Maybe. But, you might have noticed—I'm just not that charming. I clam up in an interview. I just sit there and freeze. I'm actually shocked that he hired me,” she said.

“If you found a job where there was mutual respect, Emmy, you would probably find out that you had more confidence.”

“Great. Find me a job.”

“Let me think about it,” he told her.

Once again, he looked out on the landscape, feeling a tinge of guilt. He'd come to get information from her, because she was a little mouse. He'd gotten some details, and now he wanted to turn her into a lion.

But, he still needed more information.

“So, Emmy, in truth, you really don't know that Marc Kimball was even on the plane you took to get here, right?”

She looked at him, puzzled, and then she shook her head, laughing a little. “Agent Erikson, you've got to be kidding. He would never, ever have put me in his private plane by myself. Oh, no, if he were just sending me out here, I probably would have been on a mule train.”

“But you never saw him before you left New York, or on the plane?”

“No, sir, I didn't. But I'm used to that. I'm just the hired help. But then again, no one really sees Marc Kimball—not unless he wants to be seen.”

* * *

“You're alone,” Amelia said to Clara. “You really shouldn't be. I was alone. And...you don't know what's coming. Suddenly, he's behind you and his hands are around your neck and you're fighting and kicking and screaming, but...he's strong. You can't breathe—he has your windpipe. And the harder you try to fight, I think the faster you use up your air. It's horrible...so horrible. Everything starts to go dark, and your lungs are burning...and, you really shouldn't be alone. That's how he gets you.”

“Amelia,” Clara said gently. “I'm not alone. There are many people here. There are cops here, Mike Aklaq is here, and Jackson! And Thor.”

Amelia sat at the foot of Clara's bed. Clara leaned against the rustic, raw wood dresser.

Amelia smiled, her expression a strange combination of wickedness and wistfulness.

“You're alone. In a room. Talking to a ghost,” she said. “I'm grateful that you are talking to me. I want to believe that you'll find my killer and help me—without dying yourself. But, frankly, as far as the not dying yourself goes, I don't think you're doing very well.”

Clara was surprised to feel somewhat irritated by the ghost of a young woman who had been brutally murdered. “I'm doing all right, I think—since I am alive,” she said, and quickly regretted her aggravated response.

Amelia's expression immediately became one of sadness. “At least, when I was alive, I knew how to live,” she said softly.

“I'm sorry—truly,” Clara said.

Amelia smiled at her. “I know you are. You're actually a nice person. I wasn't a vicious person—I just thought that I... I thought that I would live forever, becoming more and more adored and famous! Ah, well. I will go down in the history books. I wanted people to remember my name. Now they will when they talk about horrible killers in history. I probably already have thousands of hits on the internet.”

“Oh, Amelia,” Clara murmured. She wasn't sure what she should say.

“I think you should hop right on one of those FBI guys,” Amelia said.

“What? Hop on?”

“Oh, please!” A mischievous smile crossed Amelia's face. “My God, how old are you? Mid to late twenties? Where have you been?
With
one of them. At all times. Through the night. How do you know that the killer isn't in this house? Do you want to wake up with your throat slit or hands around your throat, choking the life out of you? You need to pick one—and sleep with him. Oh, my God! If I were the living one, I would have done so by now!”

Clara stared at her, completely taken off guard. And then she began to laugh.

“Amelia, honestly, and say what? Hey, buddy, I'm here, and since I am, I think we should sleep together?”

“Really? And you're an actress!” Amelia said.

Clara inhaled, smiling. “Amelia, I just came from another bad situation. I was working on a ship, and people were killed. Jackson Crow was there and—”

“You slept with him!”

“No, he's married.”

Amelia studied her nails and sighed. “Well, I have to admit—that never mattered to me. Do you think that's why I'm floating around here? Am I on my way to hell? Do you think that there is such a thing as heaven, or...will I just float over the ice and snow and pines and watch others live forever? Maybe that is hell,” she added softly.

Clara moved across the few feet that separated them and sat next to Amelia, wishing she could put an arm around her shoulders and comfort her.

“Amelia, I don't know any of the answers. But I can't believe you were evil—you might have been a bit selfish and maybe self-centered.” She winced. Wrong thing to say. Amelia looked even more pained. “But I do believe—especially since I am sitting here talking to you—that there's more. And, honestly, I believe you're here to help us catch the killer. You will help us. I know that you will.”

Amelia looked at her. Clara wondered how the woman could be nothing more than heart or soul or whatever it was that made an individual a revenant or an energy that remained—and appear to have huge tears burning brilliantly in her eyes.

“Yes, I will,” Amelia said with conviction. “Yes, I will.” She seemed to brighten. “Okay, so you and Jackson Crow are best buds—but the married thing bothers you. So that leaves Mike Aklaq and tall, blond and handsome. Seems to me like you and tall, blond and handsome have something going. Oh, honey, I wouldn't have blinked!”

“Okay, okay, I think lots of people survive bad situations without sleeping with one another,” Clara said.

“But I saw you kiss him.”

“I am discovering that I like him. Very much,” Clara said.

“So?”

“So I'd like to see where that goes, if anywhere.”

“Watch where it goes later. Sleep with him now,” Amelia said. “Oh, seriously, do come on! You're an actress—surely you've played some kind of strumpet or harlot or the like somewhere along the line! And you kissed him. I saw it, I saw the way you looked at him, the way he looked at you... You know that you want to. He's like a frickin' perfect creature!”

Clara had to smile. “Yes, I like him very much—now.”

“You mean there was a time when you didn't?”

Clara waved a hand in the air; she didn't want to explain. And she realized that she was still smiling because talking to Amelia was fun. And she was sorry that the woman was dead—even though she seemed to be getting a newer, nicer version of Amelia.

Death had changed her. Death, Clara figured, could do that.

“So, should I have this honest conversation?” she asked Amelia. “Tell him that, yes, this is really an awkward situation. Two women are dead and we're trying to find their killer before he strikes again. Oh, and I know you're obsessed—thinking it's a killer you put away who has escaped and is killing again—but, in the meantime, let's sleep together?”

“It would work for me,” Amelia said.

“Hm. Just tell him that it's a great stress reliever?” Clara asked.

“Yes, absolutely!” Amelia said.

“I was just kidding,” Clara said.

“That's too bad. You shouldn't be kidding. You should do it.”

“There are other people all over this house!” Clara protested.

“Cops and agents, and the creepy couple. And creepier Marc Kimball. Hey, I'd sleep with the FBI guy just to make sure that Kimball doesn't come in. No,
you
might sleep with him just to make sure that Kimball doesn't come in. Kimball isn't all that bad looking, and he's rich as an Arab oil nation. I might have slept with him,” Amelia said with a shrug. “Anyway...for me!” she said softly. “Be careful. Be really careful. Let me help you live. Maybe I'll redeem myself.”

“But—”

“Do you really think any of the people guarding the place are going to say anything about Thor Erikson being in here? Do you think the cops will pay any attention? They'll just relax, thinking he's watching over you. And,” she added, a sparkle in her eyes now, “I promise you, I knock before I enter!”