Deadly Fate (Krewe of Hunters #19)(73)

Leaving the office behind, they discovered that Magda Crowley, as sour-faced as ever, was in the living room, looking for them to announce that dinner was being served.

“And if anyone cares, you can check on those film people,” she said. She said the words film people as if she were speaking of an inferior alien race.

“They were all cleaning up and taking showers,” the police officer on guard in the house told them.

“They should be out by now,” Clara said. “I’ll check on Becca, just in case she is ready.”

“I think she said she was going to take a nap,” the on-duty police officer told her. “I’ll just knock on their doors. You folks go ahead.”

He headed on down the hallway to the left. Marc Kimball arrived—coming from his “secret” door and the right hallway. He greeted everyone politely and gravely and, as they headed for seats at the table, he asked Thor and Jackson about their discovery on the island.

“I know that you found the weapons. Or tools. The man’s actual weapon was his hands, right?” Kimball asked matter-of-factly. “So tool, I guess, is the right description.”

“Yes, that’s what we found,” Thor said. “Tools,” he added quietly.

“Does this mean...that you’ll finish soon here on the island?” he asked.

“We will move with all possible speed,” Thor promised.

Jackson stepped in diplomatically. “Again, Mr. Kimball, both the police and the Bureau thank you for your cooperation and hospitality.”

“Of course, of course,” Kimball said. He lowered his voice. “As of tomorrow, those film people will be off the island. I should have known better than to rent to anyone involved with reality TV! As for tonight...well, please, do sit down. Magda has come up with her amazing chicken Marsala for the evening. Right, Magda?”

Magda gave him a sour look. “Getting cold, too,” Magda said with a sniff.

Emmy Vincenzo came hurrying out. She looked around as if she’d been afraid no one would notice if she wasn’t there. Clara greeted her warmly.

She gave Clara a warm smile in return.

Marc Kimball didn’t acknowledge her presence.

“Ah, here come the Wickedly Weird!” Kimball announced. “And now, we can all take our seats!”

Kimball pulled out a chair for Clara; she accepted with a murmured thank-you, aware that he would sit next to her. Jackson pulled out a chair for Emmy, and Mike for Becca.

The men all took their seats. Kimball started right out by addressing Tommy. “You’ve finished—completely finished?” he asked. “Naturally, I will be making an inspection to see if my property was damaged in any way.”

“Nothing has been damaged—everything is picked up and clean. We’ve made sure that your Mansion is spotless,” Tommy said tightly. “We have all of our props and equipment in suitcases and boxes in our rooms. We’ll be ready to vacate the island for good in the morning.”

“Your property is absolutely fine,” Becca burst in, and added, “Our hostess and our producer are not fine—they’re dead. In pieces,” she added.

There was a silence around the table, but Kimball wasn’t going to allow it. “Has it occurred to you, Ms. Marle, that some people don’t think that your humor—in which they are made to feel terrified and dreadful—is funny?”

Becca made a sound in her throat. Tommy looked as if he was about to jump to his feet and deck Kimball.

Thor spoke up quickly, and with a sobering authority. “Mr. Kimball, the state of taste in television is not at debate in the capture of a deranged criminal. Some people don’t like sports—they change the channel, they don’t go on a spree killing quarterbacks. We believe that these victims were chosen because of opportunity—and, perhaps, even because of your tremendous wealth and presence. Display and publicity mean a lot. The killer revels in every tiny news article on his deeds.”

“Yes, and I understand you had him—and lost him,” Kimball said.

He was trying to bait people, Clara knew. And she wondered why.

Was he guilty in some way—or was he just enjoying his power to be cruel?

She was aware that something in both Jackson and Thor changed; tightened, or grew darker. Yet neither man’s expression flickered, nor did they make any movements to show that the words had indeed affected them.

“It’s the Fairy Tale Killer,” Magda said flatly, setting a bowl of steaming rice on the table.

“Quite possibly,” Thor said. “And, yes, he was put away. We don’t manage the justice system. That is something you’ll need to bring up with your congressmen and senators, and they can ponder during their legislative sessions.”

“No, well, of course you don’t manage any of that. And of course I’m happy to offer the safety of this house—with so many fine officers surrounding it—while you deal with this most tragic situation,” Kimball said. He turned his attention to Clara. “My dear, when this is all over, you must see more of the true splendor of Alaska. It’s a huge state! Coming here for me is amazing—leaving the dirt and buildings of New York City behind, seeing the sky...beautiful!”

“Yes, it’s all beautiful,” Clara said. She hated being pleasant to the man in any way, but the others at the table were now so heated that she was afraid someone was going to wind up brawling out in the snow. “We saw a moose today—for someone who is not from here, it was a breathtaking moment.”