Fade To Black

Where dreams go to die...

Starring in a cult TV show was a blessing for Marnie Davante, especially now that her former fame could support her future dream of starting a children’s theater. So she’ll work the convention circuit. But then a costar is brazenly murdered in front of her. With a killer who vanishes into thin air with seemingly inhuman skill, and strange events plaguing Marnie, she feels she can’t even trust her own senses.

Although his dear departed parents were famous actors, PI Bryan McFadden is about as far from Hollywood as you can get. The former military man is reluctant to get involved in such a bizarre case, but it quickly becomes obvious that Marnie is in grave danger, and he is compelled to help. It’s unclear if the killer is an obsessed fan or something more sinister. Could the show’s cast be cursed? How can Bryan keep Marnie safe when it becomes apparent there’s a force determined to make this her final curtain call?

Also By HEATHER GRAHAM

A DANGEROUS GAME

WICKED DEEDS

DARK RITES

DYING BREATH

A PERFECT OBSESSION

DARKEST JOURNEY

DEADLY FATE

HAUNTED DESTINY

FLAWLESS

THE HIDDEN

THE FORGOTTEN

THE SILENCED

THE DEAD PLAY ON

THE BETRAYED

THE HEXED

THE CURSED

WAKING THE DEAD

THE NIGHT IS FOREVER

THE NIGHT IS ALIVE

THE NIGHT IS WATCHING

LET THE DEAD SLEEP

THE UNINVITED

THE UNSPOKEN

THE UNHOLY

THE UNSEEN

AN ANGEL FOR CHRISTMAS

THE EVIL INSIDE

SACRED EVIL

HEART OF EVIL

PHANTOM EVIL

NIGHT OF THE VAMPIRES

THE KEEPERS

GHOST MOON

GHOST NIGHT

GHOST SHADOW

THE KILLING EDGE

NIGHT OF THE WOLVES

HOME IN TIME FOR CHRISTMAS

UNHALLOWED GROUND

DUST TO DUST

NIGHTWALKER

DEADLY GIFT

DEADLY HARVEST

DEADLY NIGHT

THE DEATH DEALER

THE LAST NOEL

THE SÉANCE

BLOOD RED

THE DEAD ROOM

KISS OF DARKNESS

THE VISION

THE ISLAND

GHOST WALK

KILLING KELLY

THE PRESENCE

DEAD ON THE DANCE FLOOR

PICTURE ME DEAD

HAUNTED

HURRICANE BAY

A SEASON OF MIRACLES

NIGHT OF THE BLACKBIRD

NEVER SLEEP WITH STRANGERS

EYES OF FIRE

SLOW BURN

NIGHT HEAT

Fade to Black

Heather Graham

Copyright

An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2018

Copyright © Heather Graham Pozzessere 2018

Heather Graham Pozzessere asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Ebook Edition © May 2018 ISBN: 9781474082808

Praise for the novels of New York Times bestselling author Heather Graham

“Graham stands at the top of the romantic suspense category.”

—Publishers Weekly

“Graham is a master at world building and her latest is a thrilling, dark, and deadly tale of romantic suspense.”

—Booklist, starred review, on Haunted Destiny

“Intricate, fast-paced, and intense, this riveting thriller blends romance and suspense in perfect combination and keeps readers guessing and the tension taut until the very end.”

—Library Journal on Flawless

“Graham is a master at writing stories that weave the paranormal with the everyday…. This book was a great read with twists and turns on every page that is classic Graham style.”

—RT Book Reviews on Wicked Deeds

“A compelling and suspenseful case that keeps readers guessing until the end…. Graham is a master at crafting stories that never feel old.”

—RT Book Reviews on Dying Breath

“An incredible storyteller.”

—Los Angeles Daily News

“Graham is the queen of romantic suspense.”

—RT Book Reviews

For Deborah C. Neff

Incredible bookseller and so much more—

Incredible friend!

CAST OF CHARACTERS

The McFadden brothers—Bryan, Bruce and Brodie, all former military, now registered as private investigators

Maeve and Hamish McFadden—celebrated actors of screen and stage, killed tragically in an accident

The Krewe of Hunters

Adam Harrison—head of the Krewe of Hunters

Jackson Crow—field director, Krewe of Hunters

Angela Hawkins—special agent, married to Jackson Crow

The Cast of Dark Harbor

Marnie Davante—most popular character, played Madame Scarlet

Cara Barton—played the matriarch

Jeremy Highsmith—played the patriarch

Roberta Alan—played the sister

Grayson Adair—played the brother

Bridget Davante—Marnie’s cousin, a screenwriter

Vince Carlton—television producer/director

Malcolm Dangerfield—popular action actor

David Neal—stage manager

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Praise

Dedication

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Epilogue

About the Publisher

Prologue

Comic Con, Los Angeles

Blood-bone stepped out onto the show floor, his massive black cape sweeping around him, his supercharged sword lighting up the space around him in all colors of the rainbow. The black-masked and black-suited villain was from the new cable show Wolfson, which was topping ratings charts across the nation.

The character of Lars Wolfson, the hero of the show, had made several appearances that day as well, some costumes better than others.

But just as they liked to say women love bad boys, people of both sexes and all ages seemed to really love a good villain.

Young men and women, children, old men and old women clapped and all but swooned and rushed over to him. Blood-bone was the most popular new villain to grace the pages of comic books since the beginning of the written-and-drawn comic world.

He suddenly cried out, “Those who oppose me—pay! They pay the ultimate price.”

The crowd around the actor—or would-be actor, dressed up for Comic Con—grew substantially, people everywhere snapping photos.

“We bow to you, Blood-bone!” the crowd called out in turn.

“Jerk,” Cara Barton declared beneath her breath.

“He’s just playing, creating a good show,” Marnie Davante said.

“Lord, who are you? Pollyanna? Mary Poppins?” Cara asked her, letting out a long sigh.

“He’s just playing. Let him entertain. Relax. Try to have fun,” Marnie said, offering Cara her beautiful and natural smile.

Marnie. She was the type who would make the best of it.

Cara wished that she could. But it was dismal.

No. It was beyond dismal. Continuing to plug a show that had been off the air for ages, just because she had no other options.

And still, sitting at their booth, Cara smiled as graciously as she could. It was a smile that she’d practiced over the years, yet still felt plastered into place.

“How’s this?” she asked Marnie.

“Grim, but it will do,” her friend said, laughing.

Grim. Yes.

However, Cara kept smiling.

* * *

It was amazing; it was an unbelievable thrill. He was able to watch as if he were a fly on the wall, as if he were at a screening, seeing it all unfold. He knew the angles from which the cameras would be rolling; he could just see it all.

And he was the puppeteer. He was the producer, the director...

Everything all rolled into one.

He could already picture the blood.

Cold-blooded Comic Con? He needed a better title...

Act 1, Scene 1...

Cameras rolling.

Action!

* * *

The damned wannabe actor in the Blood-bone costume was really becoming annoying.

The few people who had been coming toward Cara Barton and the old Dark Harbor cast were now rushing off to see Blood-bone.

It was a comic-book convention, Cara reminded herself. And she knew how a comic con went.

Monsters roamed the floor in costumes that rated between the ridiculous and the divine. Superheroes in stretchy, skimpy attire were just as plentiful—some looking quite good, and some who obviously owned no mirrors. Booths sold T-shirts, toy weapons, jewelry, corsets, steampunk clothing and other items, makeup, art and just about anything that might relate to the comic world in any way.

The fans loved connecting with their favorite comics and movies and TV series. Writers’ row offered comics, graphic novels and novels of all kinds.

Artists’ row offered some fantastic pieces, from those who had long been in the business to those who were just starting out.

And then there was Actors’ Row.

The place where used-up B-list stars came to die.

Well, as far as Cara was concerned, it really was a kind of death—it was where one came to pray to sell enough twenty-dollar-a-shot autographed pictures to pay the rent for the month. Maybe that train of thought was a little melodramatic. The show was in syndication, and they all made residual money, but it did not provide for the lifestyle that many a popular actor had become accustomed to, so, in a sense, it was about a particular kind of survival.

But that was all going to hell. They’d been just about to get some fans—and then Blood-bone came out of the woodwork, swinging his great cape and his laser sword. If only he weren’t out there—probably paid a fortune by the convention organizers to give the attendees a bit of a thrill for free.

Oh, the bastard! She didn’t even know who was behind the mask. Blood-bone wasn’t even always portrayed by the same actor. And at this freak show, anyone could dress up. There were actually dozens of Blood-bones roaming the convention room floor; it was by far the most popular costume of the year. Hell, she could put on the damned costume and lift shoes and play Blood-bone. In fact, if they’d let her, she would. That could mean some big bucks again!

But this Blood-bone was evidently committed to pretending to be the real thing. He postured and postulated. Everyone ran up to him, waving autograph books, begging him to pose for selfies with them.

It made her sad.

Yes, sad for herself and for many others.

Just one booth down, the great-great-great—oh, so many greats—grandson of a German shepherd of tremendous TV fame was letting out a sad little yelp now and then.

There was a leak in the ceiling. It happened to be right above Actors’ Row. The aging star of a long-ago weekly Western TV series was valiantly trying to save his photos from the dirty droplets that fell now and then.

It was heartbreaking to see the poor pup and the faded star reduced to this. And now, with that wretched Blood-bone figure running around, for the most part the actors were being left alone.

Ignored.

At least the dog didn’t know that he was a has-been.

Only every now and then someone would pause and look and remember them. After all, Dark Harbor had been an extremely popular show in its day.

Cara had actually sold a few pictures—mainly thanks to the rest of the cast, especially Marnie Davante. Just a few more and rent for another month in West Hollywood—where she could still hope for the guest spot on a show now and then—was guaranteed.

She looked down the table. There was Jeremy Highsmith. Her TV husband. All those years.

And, now, go figure!

Maybe it was all bearable.

Along with the stupid Blood-bone guy, it didn’t help that they’d happened to draw the booth next to Malcolm Dangerfield, the new superhero of cable television.

Malcolm was not dying in any way.

Malcolm was charging a hundred dollars a shot for pictures taken on a cell phone.

People were paying it.

That made Cara’s position very hard—well, in her mind. Marnie didn’t care; she was chatting with their onetime castmates: Jeremy Highsmith, Roberta Alan and Grayson Adair.

The lines to pay a hundred dollars for a selfie with Malcolm were deep. And now, on top of that, Blood-bone was right in front of them, drawing any possible customers away. Cara didn’t think that Blood-bone would be there long, though. She could see that Malcolm Dangerfield was gone, that his publicist was managing his line. He had probably gone to complain to the comic con management about the Blood-bone guy in full costume who was messing with his line.

“Oh, my God!” someone screamed. Cara waited for the screamer to call out Malcolm Dangerfield’s name. Or to go running across the floor, amazed that they’d seen the “real” Blood-bone.

But the screaming fan wasn’t coming for Malcolm or Blood-bone.

“It’s Madam Zeta!”

Cara smiled. A real smile.

She was not Madam Zeta.

Nope!

But she was with Madam Zeta.

People might not be coming for her, but at least they were coming toward her little group.

Madam Zeta had been played by Marnie Davante.

And Marnie was seated next to Cara—on her right side at the booth.

Marnie smiled, and her smiles were always real. She was ready to greet a fan. She was a good kid.

A really good kid, Cara knew. Marnie hadn’t wanted to be here; she hated doing comic cons. She didn’t say as much to Cara because she was a nice person. She had agreed to come along because she knew that signing pictures was how her old costars—Cara, Jeremy, Roberta and Grayson—survived.

None of them had gone on to find work on another series.

But Marnie had moved on. Marnie had kept acting. Cara had kept waiting for a new TV series or, at the least, a good supporting role in a movie.

Marnie had gone back to theater, which she loved. Theater didn’t always pay well in LA, but Marnie had also caught the occasional commercial or modeling gig. Like everyone else, she went to dozens of auditions for roles, but she seemed to accept that easily and kind of kept on ticking—just like the Energizer Bunny.

Marnie hadn’t cared if Hollywood was calling—or if she was cast in a road show, just as long as she was working and she fulfilled her professional obligations. She had done okay, maybe not as a multimillion-dollar-earning star, but as a working actress. She was even about to open her own theater, which would be named for her dad—The Peter Davante Theater for Young Artists.

Fancy name for a kids’ theater, but hey, to Marnie, it was living the dream. Personally, Cara thought that working with young people—children—was akin to water torture. But Marnie loved theater and she loved kids, so...go figure. For her, it worked.

But Cara felt that Marnie also thought that the conventions were where washed-up stars came to die. Metaphorically, at least. There were, of course, those few—like Malcolm Dangerfield—who were at the top of the game, making enough in a few hours to pay Cara’s rent for the next year.

And then there was Marnie.

She was here—simply smiling through the torture of waiting for fans—out of friendship.

To be fair to herself, Marnie had been young when their show had been canceled—barely twenty-four. And Cara had been...

Well, hell. Not twenty-four.

The cancellation of their show—Dark Harbor, the story of a town inhabited by vampires and other strange supernatural beings—had been a true death knell for her career.

* * *

It was playing out beautifully, as if it had all been rehearsed. Here, Actors’ Row, the lineup...a dog, an old dude from some mostly forgotten weekly flick...and then...

Yes, them. The cast from Dark Harbor.

And it was coming closer and closer...

He could feel it.

He didn’t know exactly when, and he hadn’t known that he would feel this...exhilarated!

But it was alive, kinetic...wired! With anticipation.

Yes, it was coming...

Soon. So soon. He could almost taste it on the air.

* * *

For Cara, there hadn’t been a lot of great offers to follow the lamented demise of Dark Harbor. A few little bits, guest star gigs, here and there. Her agent tried her best.

But when no decent acting offers were forthcoming, there were always conventions. And there had been talk—just a rumor so far—that there might be a Dark Harbor reunion show. A producer had apparently been a huge fan and now wanted to bring them back.

So far, though, none of the core actors had been approached. Or so they all claimed.

It was still just speculation. And she didn’t dare believe the rumor—it was too painful. But then again, she had seen a tall guy with a superhero T-shirt under his blazer walking around, watching them all. Someone had said he was Vince Carlton, a cable show producer and director.

The money from a reboot might not be huge. Still, Cara’s agent had mentioned a call that suggested such a thing might be possible—if so, was she willing?

Of course!

Anything would be better than eight-by-ten-picture money.

But it would all be too depressing to believe that it might happen—and then have their hopes dashed on the rocks of Hollywood capriciousness.

For now, fan conventions and picture sales were important.

Thankfully—for Cara and the rest of the cast—there was Marnie. She was like the best kid in the family, the one who looked after and took care of her siblings. She would always make the group complete and show up when needed, helping them all survive the torment of comic cons.

There had been five main players in the series. Cara had been the matriarch of the supernatural family, and still, she’d admit, was the least of the five characters.

But Marnie’s role—that of Madam Zeta—had become beloved, and her character was now a classic. Therefore Marnie was the most important person in their group.

And sometimes they weren’t invited—or offered any kind of prime slots—unless Marnie agreed she would be with them.

The show had ended five years ago.

Their days in the sun seemed to be over.

Sometimes, Cara wasn’t sure if she was more bitter toward the no-name Blood-bones of the world, the Malcolm Dangerfields—with their hundred dollars a pop for a photo—or Marnie, who would always just take her damned lemons and make lemonade.

No! Cara thought. Once again, she wasn’t being fair to herself.

Not fair. She loved Marnie. The woman couldn’t help being gracious and elegant and kind. She was blessed with a sweeping headful of burnished brown hair and bright blue-green eyes, legs that were certainly what men considered to be wickedly long and a patrician face with perfect features. She was also quick to smile, quick to sympathize and ready to help out. It was her presence here that had allowed them to sell many pictures. Madam Zeta had been the darling of the show. And Cara knew that while she loved Marnie, she was envious, as well. None of Marnie’s fault—she was simply still young, and Cara was not.

She realized she was staring at Marnie, who looked back at her curiously.

“I’m not a bad person, am I?” Cara asked her.

“Of course not! You can be a bit Hollywood jaded, but hey, we’re in Hollywood. That’s to be expected,” Marnie assured her with a shrug and a grin.

“Madam Zeta, Madam Zeta, Madam Zeta!” Someone was screaming again, racing up to the Dark Harbor booth.

It was a man, tall, gangly and blond and fairly good-looking; when he called out, a few other people turned away from the Blood-bone character on the floor and paid attention to the little group of five in the Dark Harbor booth.

“Oh, cool! It’s the whole cast!” someone else cried.

And suddenly, Comic Con was good. People had heard. Lots of people were looking at the booth with real interest.

Fans began to come up, and before Cara knew it, they were all signing the best cast picture they had. It featured Marnie as Madam Scarlet Zeta, the family psychic with superhuman strength, who also earned them what they needed to keep up their decaying mansion and most often ferreted out the deadly creatures in Dark Harbor. On each side of Marnie, the rest of the cast was gathered: Roberta Alan as Marnie’s older sister, Sonia Zeta, the family member granted the power of cloaking those around her; Grayson Adair playing Nathan Zeta, brother of Scarlet and Sonia, the family member gifted with ability to freeze vampires; Jeremy Highsmith as Theodore, patriarch of the family and the bearer of the legacy that allowed the family to fight off evil and protect the town.

Also, of course, there was Cara herself, as Elizabeth, the dignified and elegant matriarch, caring mother, ever aware that her children met far too much danger, and ever ready to give her life for theirs.

They had that one photo that could be pretty damned hot—that family photo. When it was signed by all of them, it sometimes became a collectible item—sold on internet auction sites to overseas fans for more than they ever got for it. That photo often kept a roof over Cara’s head. It was their priciest at fifty dollars, whether they were all in attendance at an event or not. It was up to the buyer to hunt down the rest of the cast if they wanted the complete set of signatures.