Deadly Fate (Krewe of Hunters #19)(9)

They all stared at him, disbelieving.

“It’s true!” Clara Avery said. “I saw Amelia.”

Thor noted the grouping: the film people huddled together, and Clara in the arms of the tall blond man who somehow seemed to have “actor” written all over him. Another young man was next to him, and a third, solid man—closer to middle-aged—stood protectively by Clara, as well.

For a moment, they were all silent.

Disbelief began to change to confusion—and horror.

Gotcha. Great.

The sound of a snowmobile broke through. Thor turned. Mike—followed by members of the state police on their vehicles—were arriving at the Alaska Hut at last.

Thor pointed at the group. “Stay here, right where you are. Who else is here that you all know about?”

No one answered at first. They all just stared at him. No one seemed to comprehend the situation.

“Who else is here?” he demanded roughly.

“Um, um...the housekeeper. And the groundskeeper...the Crowley couple,” the woman, fumbling awkwardly with the fallen microphone, managed to say.

“Get them, please. Bring everyone to the parlor,” he said curtly. They all continued to stare at him.

“Now,” he said loudly and firmly, adding, “Please!”

He wasn’t sure if they moved or not. He turned to greet Mike and the others. Someone needed to draw a perimeter around the body—the body pieces—of Amelia Carson.

Forensic teams needed to get out to the island.

And they had to determine if a killer was in the Alaska Hut...

Or watching them all with glee from somewhere on the cold and windswept island.

Gotcha.

Sadly, death was the reality now.

*

Safe.

Clara had reached the Alaska Hut at last.

She wasn’t alone—and she didn’t need to be afraid. She was surrounded by policemen and FBI agents, and other scared and frightened members of her own cast and crew and the film crew.

She sat in a chair at the kitchen table, a blanket around her shoulders, a cup of hot coffee in her hands—and still she was shivering.

“Come, let’s sail the Alaskan cruise, it will be different, it will be fun!” Ralph Martini, at her side, murmured. “Fun!” he sniffed. He glanced over at Clara and then winced. “Sorry,” he said softly.

“No, it’s all right—it was my idea for us all to work on this cruise,” Clara said. She still felt like an ice cube even though the log cabin that was the Alaska Hut was well heated. She knew that the numbness was inside her. She was managing to speak, to sound somewhat coherent—and to take it all in.

The truth of everything was beginning to sink into her consciousness and comprehension. What was real and what was not.

The Mansion—where she had stumbled upon all kinds of horrors—had not offered anything real. She’d run from an imaginary foe when she’d left the place, too terrified to scream. Cameras had been shooting her movements. She shouldn’t have been there alone, though. She should have been there with Natalie Fontaine.

Except she knew now that Natalie Fontaine was dead—but not among the carnage that had appeared to fill the Mansion. She’d never made it to the island. She was dead back at her hotel room.

Decapitated.

While the members of the Fate cast had traveled to the island—Ralph, Simon and Larry had come together. They’d arrived at the Mansion about a half hour before Clara. They had also screamed their way out and run to the Alaska Hut—only they hadn’t stumbled upon the body of Amelia Carson along the way.

Cameras rigged at the Mansion would have captured first the terror—and then what was supposed to have been a laugh.

No one was laughing.

Because of what had happened to Natalie, Misty Blaine hadn’t gone to the island, and Amelia Carson hadn’t been there because she’d been dead, as well.

According to Nate Mahoney—who had spoken as if he’d become a zombie himself—it would have been a great crossover. The cast would have been featured on Gotcha, and then on Vacation USA as wonderful people who had come to work an Alaskan cruise, talking about why they loved the state so very much.

At the moment, Clara wasn’t sure that she loved Alaska at all. But then, she was still in shock, she assumed.

“It really doesn’t have anything at all to do with the ship,” Larry Hepburn said, trying to speak lightly.

“That’s right,” Simon Green said. “This is someone—someone who hates reality TV. And, I mean, that’s half of America. Some shows are cool—you know, where they save people or really give people jobs at the end. But, most of it...”

His voice trailed off.

“Alaska is beautiful,” Ralph said.

Clara looked at the three men at the table with her. Ralph Martini, kick-ass tenor, star of many a Broadway, off-Broadway and off-off-Broadway show. Simon Green, new kid on the block, early twenties, thrilled to have his first speaking role/solo song in Annabelle Lee, the play they were set to perform on the Fate the following Saturday night. Larry Hepburn, tall, blond, bronzed—everyone’s golden-hunk guy, leading man for the play.

They’d all worked the Caribbean and Mexico together on the Celtic American Line’s Destiny ship—until a serial killer had been taken down aboard. Clara had known she was in danger on the ship, but she had never faced anything like this, nor had she stumbled upon a dead body then...a dead body in two pieces.