The Night Is Watching (13 page)

“I need just a minute.” Sloan was frowning slightly as he surveyed the teen and the slim, gray-haired older woman.

“Certainly,” she said.

Jane got out and stood by the car. The older woman had gone into the house; the young man had a bag in his arms.

“Jimmy,” Sloan called.

“Hey, Sheriff,” the teen said, waiting. He smiled at Jane and nodded politely.

“Giving a hand here, I see,” Sloan said.

The teen blushed. “I, uh, came over here to apologize. I did hit Miss Larson’s car the other night. I figured the least I could do was a bit of hauling around for her.”

“Your father know you’re here?” Sloan asked him.

Jimmy looked uncomfortable. “This was just something I felt I should do.”

“Good,” Sloan said.

The older woman came back out. She waved to Sloan. “Hello, Sheriff!”

“Hi, Connie. You take care.”

“Yes, sir, thank you! Young Jimmy here helped me get in a week’s worth of groceries. Tomorrow, a lot of mayhem will be coming down on us, what with Silverfest on our doorstep,” she said cheerfully. “Now, I won’t have to venture out into the crowds. I can see the parades and such from my rooftop!”

“Great, Connie. Enjoy,” Sloan said.

Jane lifted a hand and waved to her. She waved in return.

“Jimmy Hough,” Sloan explained, getting back in the car. “Kid smacked the older woman’s car with his dad’s Maserati the other day. He’s actually a decent kid—well, he’d been drinking and I’m not sure what else, but he leaped out of the car to run around and check on Connie Larson. I had him taken in for the night, and his father, Caleb, had a fit. He was in the office to threaten me. I would’ve thought he’d want Jimmy to learn a lesson—before he killed himself or someone else. I went easier than I could have on Jimmy, not because of his father, but because of him. Like I said, he’s a decent kid and I honestly think he learned that you can’t drive when you’re impaired. I was really glad to see that, of his own volition, he came over to Connie’s place to see if he could help her.”

Jane grinned. “So, the father is a blowhard jerk. And the kid seems to be turning out okay, anyway.”

“Yeah.” He still seemed worried.

“What is it?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Believe it or not, I doubt his father would be pleased. Caleb Hough has a big beefalo ranch about a mile or so past my property. He’s one of those people who feels entitled. He’d think his kid was a
pansy
—a word I’ve heard him use—for helping the woman just because he nicked what Caleb would call her ‘shit’ car.’”

She was quiet for a minute; she could tell he liked the kid—if not the father.

“He looks like he’s about to graduate. He’ll grow up and make his own decisions about the kind of man he wants to be.”

Sloan nodded. A moment later, they pulled into town.

“What are we going to say to get into the dressing room?” Jane asked.

“You haven’t figured it out?”

“No! This is your town, these are your friends. I waited for you because the plan was that
you’d
figure out how we’d get down there. I can’t say a ghost led me!”

“Hmm. I was pretty sure the plan was to get me involved because you couldn’t get it open last night.”

“With time, I could’ve managed. You’re missing the point—on purpose, I suspect.” She glared at him. “So
do
you have a plan?”

His grin deepened. She felt a sizzle of fire; he really could assault the senses with that smile of his.

“I kind of have a plan,” he said.

“Yeah?”

“We’ll get some lunch and come up with a plan. That’s the plan.”

“They don’t serve lunch at the theater.”

“We can make sandwiches, can’t we?”

“Sure.”

“Okay, while we’re having our sandwiches, we’ll come up with a plan. It’ll be easier to do that if we’re in there, right?”

“You can’t just say you want to check out the dressing rooms?”

“You don’t think someone will ask why? Of course, I
could
tell them all that you seem to be friends with the ghost of my great-great grandmother,” Sloan suggested, ignoring Jane’s groan.

“Let’s have lunch—and come up with a plan.”

Sloan grinned. “Isn’t that what I said?”

6

J
ane exited quickly as Sloan parked the car. If she didn’t move fast enough, he’d be around to open her car door. It was nice, but not necessary every time.

They entered the theater and she blinked a minute, letting her eyes adjust after the bright sunlight.

Alice Horton, dark hair swept back in a ponytail, in sweats, as unvamplike as could be, was digging in the refrigerator. She looked up and greeted them with “Hey, Jane. Sheriff. Any news on the murder?”

“We’re investigating,” Sloan said. He walked through to the bar. “But a man has to eat.”

As he came up next to Alice, Jane noted that she wasn’t the only woman who seemed to flush when he was around. Alice was enough of an actress to behave casually, but Jane got a glimpse of her eyes.

“Salami?” Alice asked him. “Oh, Jane, how about you?”

“Salami. Do you have cheese, tomatoes, maybe lettuce and mayo?” Sloan was saying.

“I’ll eat anything,” Jane assured Alice.

Alice plopped paper plates and the various makings on the bar.

“We can do an assembly line if you want,” Jane offered. “Make lunch for all of us.”

“Great,” Alice said. “I’ll throw some bottles of water up here and we’ll make a few extra sandwiches. I know Valerie is coming down, maybe someone else.” She seemed pleased that Jane took a seat at the bar while she stood behind it with Sloan. They got a system going—Jane put out the bread and spread the mayo, Sloan added the meat and cheese, and Alice finished up with lettuce and tomato slices and cut the sandwiches in half.

“Is anything going on this afternoon?” Sloan asked. “Rehearsal for the shows?”

“Rehearsal? Today?” Alice said, shaking her head and rolling her eyes. “Oh, yeah. But not for the show. We’re going to take our act out on the street for a trial run with the locals.”

“Your act?” Jane echoed.

“Tomorrow’s the yearly arrival of the lemmings,” she said. “Actually, I mean that appreciatively. We get huge crowds. By the weekend, Silverfest will be crazy. There’ll be ‘settlers’ selling all kinds of things—some antiques, some reproductions, you know, Old West clothing, weapons, belts, buckles, dresses, plus corn cakes, barbecue and beans. Oh, yes, and silver jewelry, of course. Turquoise. A lot of Native American art. We all play a part out there, taking on the roles of old settlers.” She paused to grin mischievously. “Sloan gets in on it. He plays Trey Hardy sometimes.”

“I always had a soft spot for Hardy,” Sloan admitted.

“What’s that deal?” Jane asked. “I’ve heard about him from Heidi. He was sort of a Robin Hood character, wasn’t he?”

“Hardy had been a lieutenant in the Confederate cavalry,” Alice explained. “He held up trains and stagecoaches, but he’d give to whoever needed it—whites, newly freed slaves, Native Americans. He was finally caught by our local sheriff, Brendan Fogerty, who seemed to like him, too. It was just that he had to bring him in. We had a traveling circuit judge back then, and—do you know this part of the story?”

“Some of it. Go on.”

“Okay. I think Fogerty thought he might face his charges and get off—since no one would act as a witness against him. But the deputy at the time, Aaron Munson, had a thing about Hardy. When he was on duty alone, he shot Hardy in his cell. Pumped him full of bullets while he was in there like a caged rat. Well, someone saw him and Munson wound up being dragged out onto Main Street and lynched by the crowd. It was sad all the way around.”

“I remember hearing that,” Jane said.

“Hardy haunts the jail, Munson haunts Main Street,” Sloan said.

“Hey, I don’t go to the Old Jail alone, and I don’t hang around the street at night, either,” Alice said solemnly.

“Was he killed before or after the stagecoach disappeared?” Jane asked.

“About a month before. It must have been a strange time for Lily,” Alice said. “First, Hardy’s shot down, then Munson is lynched—and four weeks later, Sage McCormick up and disappears, along with Red Marston.”

“They disappeared on the same night, didn’t they?” Jane asked.

“Yes. According to local legend,” Sloan said.

Alice smiled at him affectionately. “Poor Sloan! His great-great grandmother was the scarlet woman of the age! But, boy, according to everything I’ve read, she was a brilliant actress. She could go from comedy to drama in the blink of an eye. They said her performances could make the toughest cowboy weep.”

“Well, I don’t think she did run off with Marston,” Sloan said.

“Really?” Alice looked at Sloan and then Jane. “Did you finish with the skull? Do you think it belonged to Sage McCormick?”

“It’s possible. I haven’t finished, but I have done a two-dimensional sketch. Seems like it just might have been Sage.” She glanced reproachfully at Sloan. Apparently most people in town knew about his ancestry—something he might have shared with her from the get-go.

Alice shivered. “So, maybe she
has
been haunting the theater. But if she was murdered, who killed her?”

“Who killed who?” Valerie Mystro asked. They all turned around as they heard her voice; she was coming down the stairs.

Alice said, “The skull you found might have been Sage McCormick’s.”

Valerie shivered. “That was soooo creepy!” she said, taking a seat at the bar. “I mean—
soooo
creepy! But I guess she might’ve been buried around here somewhere. Under the floorboards. Oh, but...she disappeared after a performance. I wonder how and where she was killed, and where the body was hidden.”

“That was a long time ago!” came a booming voice from the theater. It was Henri Coque, heading toward them from behind the curtains, a notepad in his hand. He looked at Sloan. “We have a man who’s just been murdered in town.
That’s
what matters. How’s it going, Sheriff?”

“Henri, we’re doing our best,” Sloan said.

“With all these people coming to town, it’s a problem, Sloan.”

“We’re working a few different angles, Henri. And the county detectives are on it, too. So, hopefully, we’ll find the truth and the killer soon.”

“Not in time.” Henri was somber. “All the people flooding in tomorrow... I called the guy at the county, your Detective Newsome. He told me we can reopen the trail rides and the haunted hayride. That’ll be something for the crowd at night—going out where a murder was just committed.”

“I don’t think I could go under the circumstances,” Alice said. “I mean,
old
mysteries and murders and shoot-outs are fun. New murders are scary.”

“Believe me, there’ll be crowds who will want to go,” Henri said, almost wearily. “Sloan, why are you hanging around here when there’s a murder to be solved?”

“Eating lunch on your tab, Mr. Mayor,” Sloan told him.

Henri grinned. “All right, fine. Eat your lunch. By the way, are you going to dress up as Hardy for us this year?”

“Henri, you just said I have a murder to solve,” Sloan began.

“Yes, but you can solve it in costume, can’t you?”

“Who dresses up as Sage McCormick?” Jane asked, trying to take a bit of the heat off Sloan.

Henri turned and looked her up and down. “Hmm. We don’t usually have a Sage because I can’t get either of these two chickenhearts to play her. But, Agent Everett, you would do us a tremendous honor if you’d take on the role. After all, you’re a federal agent and not a clucking little bird like my divas here,” he said, glancing from Alice to Valerie.

“Hey, Sage haunts this theater. I’m not getting her mad at me!” Valerie said.

“Ditto,” Alice agreed.

“Please. Seriously, you wouldn’t have to stop your work. You could be in costume when you’re here on Main Street. Or you could dress up all day, and then, whenever you’re on Main Street, we’d have a Sage McCormick,” Henri said.

“What a great idea.” Sloan smiled pleasantly as he leaned on the bar.

So much for saving
his
ass, she decided.

“Wow. That would be cool, Jane,” Alice said.

“Really. You could be mysterious—around sometimes and not around other times,” Valerie chimed in.

“I don’t have a costume,” Jane protested.

Henri lifted his hands. “Come on! We’re a theater troupe. We have tons of costumes. We even have costumes that were actually worn by Sage McCormick. Of course,” he added. “Those are really museum pieces now.”

“Valerie, you and Jane are about the same size,” Sloan said.

“Sure!” Valerie said. “I have several costumes—not just for the show we’re doing now, but other shows, too. A number of them are late Victorian.”

“I don’t want to take your things....” Jane demurred.

“They aren’t mine. They belong to the theater,” Valerie said. “Come on. If you have a minute, I’ll take you to the dressing rooms.”

Jane started and looked at Sloan. She realized that, as he’d hoped, a plan had arisen.

“I’ll come down with you, see what’s there. We’ll need our costumes for tomorrow, so we might as well take care of this now,” he said.

“You’ll both do it!” Henri clapped his hands. “That’s delightful.”

“Come on, then. Let’s go,” Valerie said.

Alice stuffed the last of her sandwich in her mouth and washed it down with water. “Hold on. I’m coming, too.”

They left the bar and entered the theater, walking down the aisle and over to the wings and then the area behind the stage, where the dressing rooms were situated against the back wall.

As they paused at Valerie’s door, Sloan looked at her.

She recognized his silent question.
This one?

She shook her head, indicating with a movement of her chin that she’d been in the room next door.

But they went inside Valerie’s, and she rummaged through the racks of period clothing. Jane waited for Sloan to take the lead.

He did. “I was just thinking.... Alice, you’re a little taller than Valerie. I guess it doesn’t have to be exact, but Jane is taller than both of you. Maybe something you have in your dressing room would fit better.”

“Sure,” Alice said, “and if not, we have more in the basement. In storage.”

“Except I’m not going down there,” Valerie insisted.

“Something here should work,” Henri said.

“Might as well try my stuff first,” Alice said. “Because it’s true. We didn’t take Jane’s height into consideration.”

They moved into the next room. As Jane went through the costumes, Alice perched on her dressing-table chair and Valerie leaned against a prop box. Henri seemed interested in her possible choice of costume.

“The blue! That’s a copy of Sage’s costume from
The Heiress.
That would be great!” he said.

While Jane pulled out the costume and oohed and ahhed over it, Sloan walked to the back of the room.

“Hey, Henri,” he called, kneeling down. “What’s this?”

“Huh?” Henri joined him. “I don’t know,” he said with a shrug. “It’s a big brass pull on the floorboard, I guess.”

“It’s a trapdoor. Where does it lead?”

“Well, it could only lead to the basement—or to more floorboards,” Alice said.

“Do not open it!” Valerie shrieked. “Not if it leads to the basement.”

“It might’ve been a cubby where the old actors and actresses stuffed their valuables,” Alice suggested.

“Or it might’ve been for extra costume pieces, accessories, stuff like that,” Jane murmured.

“Let’s see,” Sloan said.

Jane had never thought of herself as a weakling, so she was glad to see that, at first, it seemed to be sealed tight. But Sloan levered himself against it and pulled harder—and the trapdoor opened.

It didn’t lead to the basement. It led to a dark compartment. Something seemed to glimmer.

Sloan pulled out a flashlight and pointed it down into the hole that was about two feet deep.

Valerie let out a scream. “Didn’t I tell you not to open anything that might lead to the basement!”

“That—that’s not the basement,” Alice said.

“Those are bones!” Valerie wailed. “I’m getting out of here. No, no, I’m not. I’m not going anywhere alone. Oh! Lord, what’s happening in Lily?”

Sloan looked at her. “It’s all right, Valerie. They’ve been here for a very long time. You can see that the fabric—the dress—is nearly decayed. It looks as if a body was left here and it decayed and...it must have smelled like hell. I wonder why someone didn’t find it back then.”

“Oh, how horrible,” Valerie said.

Henri was down on his knees, horrified as he stared into the hole.

“Someone’s found it recently,” he said, a catch in his throat.

“How do you know?” Alice asked.

“Because this body is lacking something it should have,” Henri said.

“What?” Valerie demanded.

“Her head,” Jane said softly.

* * *

It did seem most likely that someone—playing a trick on the cast at the theater—had found the space beneath the floor, taken out the skull and set it on a wig stand. Despite the fact that he knew the bones had to be as old as the mummified remains discovered in the desert, Sloan called in the county medical examiner to retrieve them.

Alice moved into Valerie’s dressing room for the time being. She’d switch with either Brian or Cy after Silverfest had come and gone.

Once the hoopla over the bones had ended, the afternoon was wearing on and Henri, though pensive, was also eager to get his cast out onto the street to start entertaining the locals.

At three o’clock, Sloan and Jane were finally able to leave the Gilded Lily. “Want to go exploring?” he asked her.

“Sure. Where? But should I be working on the skull? I just worry that I’m not accomplishing what you wanted out here.”

“Doesn’t matter. I know the skull belonged to Sage. And now I’m virtually certain we have the rest of her. As soon as that’s confirmed, I’ll plan a proper burial for her. We have our own version of Boot Hill here—except ours is called Dead Horse Hill. I would like to see that she’s buried and I think that’s an appropriate place.”

“I’ll still finish,” Jane told him. “What are we exploring?”

“An old silver mine.”

“I thought the entrances were all sealed.”

“So did I. But I went by the mine entrance off the trail today and it has a few loose boulders. I hadn’t brought a flashlight or anything with me, and I didn’t want to go into an old mine shaft with no one knowing what I was up to. Of course, I had my phone, but...”