Deadly Fate by Heather Graham Page A

house since that early hour. We made sure this place was fitting for more filming, for meals. We freshened the bedrooms, we cleaned and prepared. Period. That’s it. Those film people showed up one by one, and then they laughed their asses off waiting for those actor boys to come screaming through the snow. Got to admit, they were kind of anxious when Miss Fontaine and the hostess didn’t come over with the boys. After they all laughed at scaring the actors so badly, they started to argue about whether or not to head over to the Mansion, but someone said something about waiting for Clara to show up and that’s where everything was when I started to hear the commotion going on. You’d showed up with that Clara girl and that was the first I knew that anything whatsoever had gone wrong.”
    â€œYou and Mr. Crowley were together all the time?” Jackson asked.
    â€œWhat? Joined at the hip? No. I was making biscuits. He was making beds,” Magda Crowley said, looking from Jackson to Thor. “Good cop, bad cop?” she asked.
    â€œWe’re not cops,” Jackson said.
    â€œThat’s right...you’re federal men. Well, you know, this is Alaska,” she said.
    â€œI do. I’m from Alaska, Mrs. Crowley,” Thor told her.
    â€œYou ought to be out there finding out what happened to that poor woman, not in here, hammering at hardworking folks!” Magda told him. She wagged a finger at Thor. “I could see something like this coming. I could. All this reality! People sitting in front of the boob tube watching other people behave badly. It’s horrible—just horrible. I’m darned sorry that people were killed, but am I surprised? Hell, no! It was a matter of time.”
    â€œYou didn’t see or hear anything unusual?” Thor asked.
    â€œWhat the hell would you call unusual? If I’d walked by that poor girl I’d have just kept on going—you saw what they did to the Mansion, right?”
    â€œThank you for your time, Mrs. Crowley. If you think of anything...if you see anything suspicious or can help us in any way—”
    â€œIt will help a hell of a lot if everyone just gets off the island!” she said. She stood up and started out. “I guess you want my husband now?”
    â€œWe do,” Thor said.
    She sniffed and left. Mike poked his head back in. “She’s something, huh?” he whispered. “I’ll get the husband. They should both be watched—hell, who knows this island better than those two?” Mike stepped out.
    Thor looked at Jackson. Jackson was grinning. “Cranky.”
    â€œCranky, yes. She doesn’t look much like a conspirator in any kind of demonic cult,” Thor said.
    â€œAnd we both know looks can be deceiving,” Jackson reminded him.
    Justin Crowley walked in then.
    It was, Thor knew, a mistake to go by looks or any preconceived notion. The man, however, seemed like the most likely suspect. He was like a weathered rock—strong against whatever might come. He also had a hard, rather sour expression—he might have a heck of a lot more bulk than the farmer pictured in the painting American Gothic , but he looked just as grim.
    â€œYou couldn’t just talk to me and the wife at the same time?” he asked. “And how the hell long are you going to keep all these people here? Now you got all the cops and whoever traipsing in and out all day, too—hell of a thing to get these floors picked up now and everyone wanting coffee and more.”
    â€œPerhaps you won’t begrudge people coffee, when they’re trying to find out who killed a young woman who won’t have the opportunity to work again ever,” Jackson said.
    â€œI don’t begrudge them coffee—they can have all the damned coffee they want. Ain’t my coffee. Film people paid for all that’s in here. They just need to start taking care of themselves a little.