Deadly Fate (Krewe of Hunters #19)(86)

He nodded his thanks and ran down the stairs.

When he reached the Waterloo Deck, he found it empty.

And he cursed himself for not having Clara’s cabin number. He stood in the hallway and shouted her name at the top of his lungs.

As doors cracked open around him, he felt as if he’d entered a bad version of A Streetcar Named Desire.

Except that those who peeped out looked thoroughly frightened.

Ralph and Larry Hepburn were among those who appeared. Thor turned and gripped Larry by the shoulders. “Where’s Clara?”

“Cabin 827,” Larry said. “She came back here with Jackson. Then there was this scream that was horrible...we’ve been asked to stay in our cabins while the sound was investigated. Thor, hell...what else?”

“I think he’s here. I think the killer is on the Fate,” Thor said. “Get back in your cabin.”

“Clara?” Ralph said, a catch in his throat.

“I’ll find her,” Thor said.

He ran on down the hallway to 827.

The door stood slightly ajar—the latch hadn’t caught.

No, it was...open.

For a moment, he felt a keen and terrible sense of déjà vu. He remembered that day now long past when he had opened another door and seen Mandy Brandt...

She lay in beauty.

He shoved the door open, his Glock in his hand.

The room was empty.

*

Emmy Vincenzo had fought long and hard; she and Marc Kimball both seemed to have battled ten rounds in a boxing ring.

“Please!” Emmy had choked.

She hadn’t entered Clara’s room—but then, Emmy was entangled with Marc Kimball, who had stared at her like a man possessed. He and Emmy were arm in arm. It seemed he was trying to speak but could not—and was letting Emmy do the speaking for him.

“He says you must come. He has a knife to my ribs. Oh, Clara, I’m so sorry... Clara, Clara...please. I’m so scared!” Emmy had seemed to choke on her words. “He’s already killed a cop—he stabbed him right in the throat...oh, Clara! I should have let him kill me. I shouldn’t have been such a coward!”

She had cried out; she and Kimball had been so tightly crushed together that Clara could only assume he was pressing a blade into her side.

“Emmy, it’s all right,” Clara had said, amazed by her own courage as she stared at Kimball. “I’ll go where he wants me to go. Marc—you sick, arrogant bastard. Don’t touch her again.”

And so she walked ahead of the two.

Down the hallway where cast and other entertainers were first housed, though now they had moved into another layer of the ship—where a maze led to machinery and storage and, she could only assume, at one time, the lowest of the lowly servants and workers aboard.

Clara hadn’t seen a single soul; whatever the source of the scream that had impelled Jackson to leave the cabin had caused an alert on the ship.

But, surely, help would be coming. If the ship was under a code-red alarm, it would soon be crawling with police and security and...

Jackson had told her not to open her cabin door. And she had. But Marc Kimball had abused Emmy Vincenzo as an employee; now he was taking it to another level.

“This isn’t right,” someone said softly.

You think?

Clara glanced to her side. Amelia Carson was now walking along with her, frowning as she glanced back at the pair behind them.

“It was that Tate Morley man... I mean, he called you, right?” Amelia said.

Tate Morley. The Fairy Tale Killer. The Media Monster...

What bizarre murder does he intend to emulate from the bowels of a historic ocean liner?

Clara swallowed. She didn’t know where they were going; maybe Morley had made Kimball beat and threaten Emmy Vincenzo to use against her. Maybe he’d known Clara couldn’t bear to watch another woman killed in front of her.

“Where have you been? Did you see any of this?” Clara asked softly.

“Watching...the wrong place at the wrong time! I have to do something,” Amelia said. “I have to do something...”

She turned around. Clara paused, as well. The other two staggered right into her. Amelia put her hand to her face; she looked as if she cried.

Emmy screamed again; Kimball must have prodded her with his knife.

“Who were you talking to?” Emmy demanded, tears in her eyes, words hopeful.

“Amelia Carson’s ghost,” Clara said flatly.

Emmy screamed again.

“Jerk! I’m moving,” Clara said. “Quit hurting her!”

She turned and started walking again.

The ghost of Amelia Carson was gone.

*

Thor found Jackson working over the body of a prone officer in a cabin down the hall. He fell to his knees by his old partner and friend.

“Knifed,” Jackson said briefly, using a ripped-up piece of the man’s shirt to put pressure on his wound and stop the blood flow.

“Clara—” Thor began.

“Locked in her cabin—827.”

“She’s gone.”

Jackson blanched. “Find her,” he said. “I got this—find her.”

Thor rushed back into the hallway. He could hear a commotion rising on the decks above; help had arrived. Jackson wouldn’t be alone—help would come for the bleeding officer.