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together, close as could be.
    And, she thought, afraid. They were all scared. Every now and then, she caught her cast mates looking at her. Though they were on edge, they were men—and the killer had targeted two women.
    But even she could distance herself a little. The two women killed had been with Wickedly Weird Productions.
    She was not.
    Becca Marle was. Clara had heard a bit of a few of her conversations with Tommy Marchant and Nate Mahoney. They were anxious. They wanted off the island.
    Becca didn’t. She felt safer here than she would elsewhere. She liked the armed policeman watching over her amid a sea of cops and the FBI men, who were in the house, as well.
    Clara wished that Jackson was out there with them. But now, of course, he was with the man she thought of as Agent Viking. She hoped he was taking charge; she certainly felt more secure when he was with them.
    â€œIt’s good that Crow is here,” Ralph said.
    â€œDefinitely,” Simon agreed.
    Larry grinned. “I don’t know. That Thor guy looks pretty tough to me. We’re going to be all right.” He patted Clara on the knee. “Hey, don’t go wishing you were back in NOLA. Bad things can happen anywhere. Wait—very bad things did happen out of NOLA.”
    She frowned, looking at him. She couldn’t help it; she did wish she was back in New Orleans. She had been born there, grown up in the French Quarter; her parents were there, and her younger brother was getting his master’s at Tulane. Home would feel good right now. Actually, New Orleans was where she’d gotten to know Jackson Crow and his wife, Angela, and where the “Krewe of Hunters” had been formed in pursuit of a killer on a high-profile case.
    And when they’d been on the Destiny ...
    Her friend Alexi Cromwell had been there, and the cast of Les Miz had been large—lots of friends. When they were nervous, they’d stayed together. They’d kept working.
    Hell, they’d polished their nails and done all kinds of mundane things.
    She reminded herself that it had really only been a matter of hours that they’d been here. Long hours, but not a full day and night.
    People had died—horribly.
    There’d been a few minutes when she had tried to convince herself that the whole thing was an episode of Gotcha. Natalie Fontaine would come walking in and announce cheerfully that wow! They had all been really gotten. Special Agent Thor Erikson would prove to be an actor/stripper and the whole thing would have been a farce in extremely bad taste.
    She couldn’t pretend at all anymore—if she’d ever been able to convince herself of such a thing. Jackson Crow was here now. She knew this was real.
    â€œYeah, you know, this isn’t right,” Ralph said. “Not right, and not fair. I’m reminded of The Importance of Being Earnest , by Oscar Wilde, you know. Wonderful quotes from that story. ‘To lose one parent may be regarded as a misfortune. To lose both looks like carelessness.’ Well! To be in one horrendous situation is certainly misfortune, but how in God’s name did we all manage two?” he demanded. “Carelessness?” he asked.
    Clara, Simon and even Larry stared at him.
    â€œSorry, sorry, yes, no one’s fault. Still...” Ralph let his sentence end with a sigh. “I’m scared again, I guess. God! I hate being scared.”
    â€œWe’re all right, Ralph. Really. We’re all right,” Simon said. “Two things. Both of the people killed were with reality TV, not with the cruise line or the cast. And the other—both people killed were women.”
    He winced, looking over at Clara.
    â€œIt’s okay, Simon. I had noted that fact already,” Clara told him drily.
    â€œHey!” Simon said suddenly. “Someone else is entering the fray!”
    Clara had been curled on the sofa in the parlor beneath the large picture window that