LITMIR.BIZ

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don’t intend to grill anyone,” Bryan said.

      “Ah, well, then...” Vining just stared at him.

      “My most sincere thanks,” Bryan said. “I appreciate you allowing me to work in your jurisdiction, and I’m grateful that you’re willing to share information.”

      “We did investigate you, of course,” Vining told him.

      “I’d expect no less. I will be in touch.” He hesitated. “As far as the comic con goes, are there markers at the table that suggest who sits where?”

      “Yes, there were numbers on the table. Along with their nameplates,” Vining said.

      “Were they in order?” Bryan asked.

      “In order?” Vining frowned. “What order would that be? We believed the numbers to have been set out by the organizers. Along with the nameplates.”

      “Were such numbers available on other tables?” Bryan asked.

      “They were between a descendant of a famous German shepherd and Malcolm Dangerfield,” Vining said. “Just one dog. And in Malcolm’s case—just one man. Oh, yes, and his publicity manager and reporters and God alone might know who else during the day. Dangerfield is what might be a called an ‘It boy’ this year. You think that the numbers mean something?” he asked.

      Bryan shook his head. “I’ve seen the news. That’s about it. I don’t think anything as of yet. And even if someone had been offended by Miss Barton, this was one drastic method of showing displeasure.”

      “Yes,” Vining said. “You have contact info for the comic con organizer and his secretary for operations there. I can’t tell you how many people are involved. There are some closed-circuit cameras around the convention floor. But not enough to cover the entire area. I’m willing to bet, however, that there are tons of cell phone videos of the event out there, videos we have yet to see here, though we did pick up many. If you find any...”

      “If I find more video, I’ll let you know.”

      “Precisely,” Vining said.

      Sophie Manning cleared her throat.

      “The funeral is tomorrow afternoon. The medical examiner released the body, and... I guess everyone wanted it to happen. She was just killed on Friday. We’re frankly surprised that the ME did release the body so quickly, but he has extensive notes—”

      “I know,” Bryan said.

      “You’ve been to see Dr. Collier already?” Vining asked a little sharply.

      “No. I just know of him,” Bryan said. “And he is top-notch.”

      “There will be a reception following, but I can’t help you get access.”

      “That’s fine. I’ll manage,” Bryan assured him. “And thank you again.”

      “You just keep in touch,” Vining said firmly.

      “It’s a promise,” Bryan assured him.

      Before he’d actually reached the street, Bryan had received a digital folder. Vining clearly meant to keep his word.

      A glance at his email showed him that he’d received the autopsy notes, as well. He could have told Vining that Dr. Edward Collier had been a medic on Bryan’s ship during his first two years in the United States Navy. Maybe he should have done so, but that wasn’t pertinent to the case.

      He headed on out for his third stop that day.

      He wanted to see where Marnie Davante lived.

      Just to observe. It was a day for gathering information.

      Tomorrow would be time enough to put some of it to use.

      * * *

      Marnie Davante stood quietly by the graveside and listened while the priest spoke about life and death, and his certainty that while they buried the mortal remains of Cara Barton, her soul went on to a better place, one where there was no pain and no fear, and where love reigned.

      Marnie hoped it was true.

      For a moment, she thought she saw Cara there, dressed beautifully in the red-and-black tailored suit she’d been dressed in for her viewing, enjoying the attention her funeral was receiving.

      Marnie had truly loved Cara, but she knew as well that years of fighting to maintain a career had left Cara jaded and weary. She had dated many a heartthrob, but she had never married. Her parents had long ago departed their mortal coil, and she’d had no siblings. So she left behind no one with very close ties to her. But in Marnie’s mind, there had been many wonderful things about her friend. Cara had cared deeply about animals—she had raised money and awareness for humane societies and no-kill shelters. She had given what she could to children’s charities.

      And Marnie had had a chance to talk about all the good in Cara lately—she’d been interviewed right and left, almost to a point of embarrassment.

      Cara would have been happy.

      In death, she was incredibly famous.

      So much was being written about her. Every celebrity and pop culture magazine out there was doing an article on her.

      Marnie was somehow the golden girl in most interviews, and it was very uncomfortable. She had remained friends with her fellow castmates from Dark Harbor, and she hoped to God that they knew she had never mentioned herself as the “success” story from the show while the others had gone on to face less-than-stellar careers.

      She wasn’t sure how exactly anyone measured success. It wasn’t as if she’d suddenly been besieged with scripts for blockbusters. She’d just managed to keep working, and a lot of that had been theatrical work.

      The priest was going on. He was a good man, Marnie knew. He and Cara had been friends. That was one thing people hadn’t known about her. Cara had been a regular churchgoer.

      A cloud shifted in the sky.

      Marnie thought that the late-afternoon sun must be playing tricks on her; she could have sworn that Cara—or someone dressed similarly, wearing one of the ridiculous giant black hats Cara had worn—had just slipped behind the priest.

      Someone was sobbing; it was Roberta Alan, Marnie’s sister from the show. Well, of course. Roberta and Cara had often bickered, but they had been very close. Since Cara had lacked real family, her Dark Harbor fellows were being seen as her closest relations. To be fair, they had been something of a family for a time. Marnie had been so young herself when she’d started—just turned sixteen—she had leaned on the others. While Cara had been huge at emoting—larger than life, more than a bit of a diva—she’d always been kind and something like a very whacky but caring aunt for Marnie.

      For a moment, she closed her eyes, wondering if she was still in shock. Marnie had done enough crying herself, the night at the hospital when she realized there had never been a chance for Cara, that doctors had gone through the motions, but there had been nothing they could do.

      Since then, she had just been going through the motions. Moving by rote, speaking by rote...

      Getting herself here today...she didn’t even recall how.

      As Roberta softly sobbed, a spate of flashbulbs went off. Marnie could see them even through her closed eyelids. There was press everywhere. There had been ever since Cara died.

      The priest, deep in his reflection, didn’t miss a beat.

      Marnie opened her eyes again.

      That was when she saw her fully. The woman dressed like Cara.

      She was on the other side of the coffin, standing beside one of Hollywood’s hot young leading men and an older, well-respected actor. They didn’t seem to notice the woman.

      How the hell they didn’t, Marnie didn’t begin to understand.

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