The Night Is Watching (27 page)

“Whatever they heard must have been from outside,” Jane said, meeting his eyes. “Kelsey was sleeping. I was just fixing my hair. I dropped my brush and hit my head when I bent down to get it. Maybe that was it?”

“Well, keep the noise down, please. Forgive me, but I do have other guests.”

“It wasn’t us, Mike, honest,” Jane said sweetly. “Maybe it was the ghosts—but the noise was probably because of whatever’s happening at the theater.”

“Yeah, sure. That’s what I’ll say,” Mike said, turning to leave.

Kelsey closed the door, rolling her eyes. “Honestly...”

Jane looked at her. “It was Hardy. He kept banging on the wall in the bathroom. He was trying to tell me something, but he can’t speak. In all these years, he hasn’t learned how to speak to those who can see him.”

“Where is he now?” Kelsey asked.

“I don’t see him. When Mike started pounding on the door...he disappeared.”

Kelsey angled her head. “I hope I can get one of your ghosts to speak with me, or at least make an appearance. You can’t be in two places at the same time.”

“A number of people have seen both of these ghosts. Most of their friends, of course, assume they’re crazy. Even a ghost-busting TV guy went running out of the Gilded Lily. But I’m sure they’ll eventually communicate with us. I just don’t know what they can tell us.” She paused. “Sage sent me some fairly general warnings, but aside from that...”

“Like you said, they’re definitely trying to tell us
something.
” Kelsey’s phone rang and she quickly picked it up. “It’s Logan,” she murmured a few seconds later. “He and Sloan are next door. They thought we should eat.”

“Yeah, food sounds great,” Jane said.

Kelsey shook her head and slowly smiled. “You’re sleeping with him, aren’t you? Logan told me that he’s a good cop and an all-around good guy. He wasn’t afraid to quit his job and come home to take care of his grandfather who was dying of cancer.”

“I’m that obvious?” Jane asked.

Kelsey shrugged. “Not to someone else. I work with you. I went through the academy with you. We see ghosts together and have rational conversations about them. That gives us a bond, you know?”

“Yes, it does,” Jane agreed. “And yes, I’m sleeping with him.”

“Fast worker,” Kelsey teased.

“It was...”

“The circumstances. Believe me, I know. Who instigated it?” Kelsey asked.

“Me.”

“Wow. I am impressed.” Kelsey laughed.

“Kelsey—”

“Sorry! But does this ghost talk to him?”

“I’m not sure.”

“We should find out,” Kelsey said. “For now, let’s eat.”

As they left the Old Jail, Jane waved to Mike at the desk where he seemed to be going through paperwork. He smiled at her. “Out to enjoy the evening? Oh, I guess you’re working, what with everything going on here. Shame about Caleb Hough—although I doubt anyone in town is really surprised.”

“I wonder if that’s why no one wanted to shut down Silverfest,” Jane watched Mike’s reaction. “I mean, I guess he was universally disliked.”

“Pity about the kid and his wife being hurt, though,” Mike said.

“Interesting that no one seemed to be deterred from coming here, despite everything that’s been going on,” Kelsey said.

Mike shrugged. “In big cities, you sometimes have a murder a day. No one leaves a city because of a murder. Now, I’ll grant you, our population is small in comparison, but, heck, we haven’t had a murder since before I moved here. I have faith in the sheriff. He’ll straighten it all out. Especially with the county—and you feds—working on it, too.”

“Actually, it was two murders in less than a week—and four assaults,” Jane said.

“Four?” Mike asked.

“You mean Zoe and Jimmy Hough and—”

“Jennie and me in the basement of the Gilded Lily,” Jane finished.

He gave her a patient smile. “The basement—it’s a death trap, you know. You should stay out of it. Those mannequins are unstable. Jennie probably fell. You just got whacked by one of those fake people.”

“Wow.” Jane grimaced, looking at Kelsey. “Imagine. Jennie fell—right on the rough end of a walking cane.”

“I’m always warning you about those mannequins,” Kelsey said jokingly.

Jane didn’t laugh, responding to Mike instead. “Mike, I’m not part of the theater—
and
I’m not known for overreacting!”

Mike frowned at them.

Kelsey took up the conversation. “Well, it’s really great to hear that you have faith in your law enforcement system, Mike.”

“Town, county—and federal!” he said pleasantly.

“See you later, Mike,” Jane told him.

“Take care now,” he said, returning to his paperwork.

They left the Old Jail and walked the few steps to the entrance of the Gilded Lily. Country music was playing on the stereo system when they arrived. The bar area was busy but they quickly saw Logan and Sloan at a four-top table.

They slid into seats to join them.

“Anything new?” Jane asked Sloan.

“A bit of an interesting twist,” he said, leaning close. “You know the mummified corpse in the desert? Well, it’s been stripped down to the bone for you to do a reconstruction. But the M.E. found something interesting—or rather, something lacking—in the skull when he removed the rest of the soft tissue.”

“What?”

“The tongue,” he replied. “Whoever our mystery corpse might be, he had his tongue sliced out before he was shot in the chest.”

“Gruesome.” Kelsey shuddered. “But that’s a classic punishment for talking too much, isn’t it?”

“Heretics sometimes had their tongues cut out,” Logan said. “I guess you could say they talked too much—against the establishment or the church. It’s beginning to look as if whoever we found in the desert was killed to prevent him from talking.”

Kelsey shook her head. “That was cruel and brutal, since they obviously meant to kill the victim, anyway. What difference did it make if he could talk. They were going to kill him. It doesn’t make any sense.

“Some people
are
cruel and brutal,” Logan said, “and we’ve all learned that cruelty doesn’t have to make sense. Sloan, I know Jane is still working on the skull you’ve already determined to be that of Sage McCormick, but if she did up a quick two-dimensional drawing from photos and scans of the second corpse, do you have old photographs or paintings we could make comparisons with?”

“Over at Desert Diamonds Grant’s got several books written by historians throughout the years, plus replica editions of books written at the time. There are pictures of Brendan Fogerty, Aaron Munson, Red Marston, Eamon McNulty—and, of course, Sage McCormick. But there’s also a nice painting of her over the bar, just behind you. Jane’s two-dimensional sketch was really all we needed to see that the skull had belonged to Sage. I’d asked her to finish her reconstruction for sentimental reasons, really.” He paused. “You’ve probably heard that she was an ancestor of mine.” When everyone nodded, he went on, “I believe the skeleton we dug up in the desert is going to prove to be Red Marston, but...that’s a theory at this point, nothing more. And I think if that body
is
Red Marston’s, then we just might be right about the gold.”

“I’ll get on it first thing in the morning,” Jane said. “So what’s your plan for the evening?”

“Have you gotten settled yet?” Sloan asked Logan and Kelsey.

Before either could answer, his phone rang, and he excused himself to answer it. Jane watched as first a frown and then an expression of relief came over his features. “I don’t want anyone else knowing,” Sloan said. “If she does have something to tell us, I don’t want her to be a target.”

He hung up and told them, “It’s Jennie, Jennie Layton. The stage manager—they call her their ‘stage mother.’ She’s conscious now. She’s doing well, and the doctor says I can speak with her.”

He got to his feet. “I’ll call you,” he said. “I don’t know what she’ll know. Maybe, just maybe, she’ll remember some of what happened.”

Jane set a hand on his arm. “Sloan, this may sound strange, but I’m not sure the person—or persons—who attacked Jennie and me can be the same as whoever killed Berman and Caleb Hough.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because Jennie and I are alive,” she said quietly.

“Jennie got a pretty good hit on the head with that cane,” he argued. “And you were knocked unconscious.”

“But Berman was killed with a bullet. Caleb Hough had his throat from slit ear to ear,” she said.

“I’ll see what Jennie has to say,” he said. “I’ll call when I’m on my way back.”

“I take it you’re going to stay with Jane over at the Old Jail tonight?” Kelsey asked Sloan blandly. “If something’s going on in that room, two pairs of eyes would be better than one.”

Sloan seemed confused for a minute. Kelsey had left him a nice opening, though, Jane thought, lowering her lashes to hide her amusement.

“Certainly. Of course,” he said. He paused to talk to Liz and then walked out the door.

“We’ll eat first, and then you can show Kelsey and me where we’re sleeping,” Logan said. “And, if you don’t mind, you can show us the infamous Sage McCormick suite.”

“Of course. We can catch some of the show and I’ll give you a tour of the place—with Henri’s permission.”

“Charm him,” Logan suggested. “What’s good on the menu?”

“Everything I’ve had so far,” Jane said.

They ordered their meals. There was enough activity and noise in the bar so that Jane could really talk to them, put events in chronological order and get their feedback.

“People kill for different reasons,” Logan said. “Revenge, sometimes for presumed injustices. They kill for passion. Or because they’re mentally ill. And they kill out of greed. Lily’s past victims seem to have died because of the greed of others. And maybe the same thing is going on today. How many of the people in the town have ancestors who were here at that time?” he asked.

“Well, Sloan. As he mentioned, Sage McCormick was his great-great grandmother,” Jane said. “And I’m not sure who else. The actors working in the theater came from other places, and I believe Henri Coque came here from elsewhere, too. I don’t know about the others. We’ll have to ask Sloan.”

When they’d finished the meal, Jane found Henri. She requested a key for Kelsey and Logan, and asked if, after the show, he’d mind if she showed them around the theater. Henri agreed, smiling. He told her he liked her even better in the crimson dress than in the blue. “I’ve heard from a number of our audience members. They say you’ve been quite entertaining on the street. Thank you! Feel free to take your fellow agents around the theater.”

While Kelsey and Logan went out to retrieve their overnight bags and settle into Jennie’s room at the Gilded Lily, Jane decided to go to her room there. She was feeling strangely divided. She now had two of her Krewe with her, and yet she still felt it was important to be in both places—the Gilded Lily and the Old Jail.

And talk to the ghosts there.

She gathered a few things to put in a small bag to take over to the Old Jail later that night, then sat on the bed.

“Sage, I wish you’d talk to me,” she said.

She stood swiftly, feeling something cold but gentle and...yearning sweep by her. Walking into the bathroom, she closed the door and turned the sink faucet on hot until steamy water poured down the drain and a mist rose to cover the mirror.

“Sage? I don’t know why you won’t speak to me. We’re really trying to help. Trying to solve all this and prevent more deaths.”

She felt the air shift around her. The mirror was clouded with steam, but it was through the steam that she’d found the way these ghosts communicated.

Sage was behind her. Jane didn’t turn around; she spoke to the mirror image of the beautiful ghost.

“Help us. If you speak to me, I will hear you,” she said.

Sage stared back at her.

With a slight stirring of the air, the ghost moved around her...and began to write. She clearly saw the words.

SPEAK NO EVIL

A second later, the words were furiously erased.

SPEAK NO TRUTH!

Jane turned slowly around. The image of the ghost remained. Sage McCormick opened her mouth, and although she was a ghost, there was something Jane could clearly see.

Sage McCormick had no tongue; it had been sliced off at the base.

“Oh, God!” Jane said softly, “I’m so sorry, so, so sorry!”

13

T
he county officer on duty at the hospital acknowledged Sloan as he came in. “The doctor was just in with her. One of the nurses was the first to realize Ms. Layton was coming to. I haven’t spoken to her. She went from being in the coma to dozing on and off, but they say it’s all right if you speak with her.”

Sloan went in. When he entered the room, Jennie’s eyes were closed. She looked small and frail as she lay in the hospital bed. He noted the veins in her hands where they lay on the white sheets.

He just sat there for a minute, waiting. After some time, her eyes opened. She blinked, disoriented.

“Sloan,” she said weakly.

He leaned close to the bed and took one of her thin, delicate hands. She offered him a shaky smile.

“You’re awake,” he said, smiling. “They say you’re going to be fine.”

She nodded. “When I first opened my eyes, I didn’t know where I was. I didn’t know what had happened. I had no...memory.”

“And now?”

“Now, I remember that I went down to the basement. And I woke up here.”

“Why did you go down to the basement, Jennie? Do you remember? You were in the room with all the old props and mannequins. Why?”

Jennie was silent, and then she looked at him, hesitant.

“They were talking,” Jennie said at last.

“The mannequins?” Sloan asked in a carefully even tone.

“Oh, Sloan, don’t be silly! I got hit on the head, but I know mannequins don’t talk!” she told him.

He smiled again. “So someone was down there?”

“Yes, someone was in the room. Or more than one person, because I’d heard talking down there several times over the past week. I couldn’t figure out what the actors would be doing down there. I’m responsible for storage, props, costumes.... I wanted to know what was going on.”

“So you didn’t recognize anything about the voices?”

She shook her head. “But, Sloan, I heard them late at night, and once, very early in the morning. Yet whenever I went down, no one was there.”

“Did you tell Henri about it?” he asked her.

“No.” She ran the fingers of her free hand over the sheets, glanced at them for a minute and then back at Sloan. “I didn’t want Henri to think I was too old for my job—too old, or too crazy.”

“You’re not that old, Jennie,” Sloan said firmly. “And Henri likes your work very much. So you’d go down but not see anyone.”

“Yes. Of course, the light is pretty dim. All you’re getting is the overflow from the main room,” Jennie reminded him. “But no, I didn’t see anyone, and the only way out is the stairs that lead to the door by the bar. So I thought I was crazy myself.”

“But when you were attacked, did you see anything? Do you have any idea who swung that cane at you?”

“The clown,” she said suddenly. “It was a clown mannequin. I saw it! Sloan, maybe there
are
ghosts down there.”

Again, she was quiet. He didn’t press her; he realized she wasn’t sure how to say what she wanted to say.

When she spoke, it was in a rush. “There are spirits of all the people gunned down or murdered in or near the theater, and now those spirits are possessing the mannequins.”

Sloan felt disappointment streak through him. She’d sounded as if she’d come out of it with all her senses. Now he was worried.

Not that spirits didn’t exist. Not that people wouldn’t think
he
was crazy if he ever told the truth.

He just didn’t believe that spirits were possessing the mannequins. People were down there doing something. He wanted to know who and what. And why...

“Jennie, maybe someone pushed one of the mannequins at you,” he said. “Maybe one of those people, whoever they are, were in the midst of the mannequins, talking. And that’s probably why it looked like the clown mannequin came after you.”

“Yes, maybe... It can be so dark and shadowy down there. It’s funny. The theater’s always had that feeling. Of being haunted. Maybe being haunted is the same as being steeped in history. But I always felt good before. Now, I don’t.”

“You’re right not to feel safe—but it wasn’t ghosts of the old theater doing bad things.”

Tears stung her eyes. “
Am
I too old, Sloan?”

“No, Jennie. You’re not. You walked in on someone’s secret meeting. Listen, you do everything at the theater and you do it well. That has nothing to do with the fact that you stumbled on someone who’s killing people, and that someone needed to silence you.”

“But...I’m alive,” she said.

“Yes, you’re alive, and we’re keeping an officer in the hospital, so you’ll stay alive. I’ve given orders that no one else be told that you’re awake,” Sloan explained. He squeezed her hand. “Jennie, you’re going to be okay.”

She nodded. “I love that theater, Sloan. I was never an actress. But I love working with the actors. I love fixing the costumes, fixing the props.”

“That brings me to another question, Jennie. Henri told me you loaded the guns for the annual duel.”

“I did. With blanks.”

“One of the guns had live ammunition, Jennie.”

“Sloan, I did
not
load a gun with live ammunition. I don’t even have live ammunition!” she said indignantly.

“When did you load the guns and where did you leave them?”

“I always prepare for every day’s performance the night before,” she told him. “It might have been an hour or so before I went down to the basement.”

“Where did you leave the guns?”

“On the prop table. It’s backstage left, in one of the theater wings. Even if we—or the actors—are performing outside, we stick to protocol with the props and costumes.”

The prop table. Not helpful. Anyone could’ve gotten to them. But no, that wasn’t really true; it had to be someone who could move through the theater unnoticed. The cast and crew had been working outside most of the day, but they certainly went in and out. The housekeeping staff went in—and anyone might duck their head in. But only someone who knew the theater would know where to look for the props.

“Sloan, I would never, ever hurt an actor! Please, you have to believe me,” Jennie begged.

He squeezed her hand reassuringly.

Maybe Jennie wouldn’t, but
someone
would.

He stood. “Jennie, anything you can think of, please call me.”

“It was the clown, Sloan. I’m telling you. It was the clown.”

“Thanks, Jennie. Now rest. Get better,” he said, and left.

He reiterated to the staff and the officer on duty that he didn’t want anyone else knowing that Jennie was conscious. He checked in on Jimmy and Zoe Hough, but both were soundly asleep. The resident told Sloan that the Houghs were both doing fine and could be released; Sloan asked that they be kept at least one more night, giving him time to talk to Newsome about arrangements for their protection.

He finally walked out of the hospital and headed for his car. The moon was high, the landscape glowing with its silvery light. But as he drove out, the desert seemed cast in shadow and mystery. The sand, he knew, hid many secrets of the past. Not some of humanity’s finer moments, he thought drily. Moments of brutality and bloodshed.

He was eager to get back to town.

* * *

The show had let out when Jane returned downstairs from her room at the Gilded Lily, her bag stuffed with an oversize T-shirt for the night and the few toiletries she’d need.

She hadn’t heard from Sloan yet, and she knew Kelsey and Logan would remain at the theater, alert to all possibilities, so she called Logan and told him she was going over to the Old Jail. He gave her his customary admonition to be careful; she promised she would be.

One of Mike Addison’s night managers was on duty when she entered the Old Jail. He greeted her cheerfully, but she felt she was being watched. She wondered if Mike had warned that the “agent” who had rented Trey Hardy’s cell had already caused trouble.

There were Do Not Disturb signs on the other cell doors she passed; she was obviously the last one in for the night. Turning her key in the door, she stepped in, then sat on the bed. “I’m here. I wish you’d talk to me. I wish I could understand what you want me to know.”

There was no response. She stood, brushed her teeth and prepared for bed. She left only the small night-light on in the bathroom and lay down in the bed. Everything was quiet. She waited. Lack of sleep took its toll and she dozed off long before she intended.

She became aware of a weight settling by her side. Half-asleep, she assumed that Sloan had returned from the hospital and decided to join her. When she rolled over to touch him, she felt as though she’d slipped her hand into something thick and icy, and she jolted awake, barely managing to suppress a scream.

He was back. Trey Hardy.

He was at her side. He watched her gravely for a minute.

“I see you,” she told him. “I see you clearly.”

He reached out a hand, as if he wanted to stroke her face. She felt the sensation of something there—and not there. But the room was dark, and he suddenly seemed as solid as any breathing,
living
human being. He got up, waiting for her. She did the same. He walked back into the bathroom.

“Please!” she whispered urgently. “Don’t bang the walls!”

He placed his hand on the wall by the sink, then leaned against it. He moved his lips to speak.

“Here,” the ghost said. It was a croak—dry, brittle. It was the rough, sandpapery whisper that others sometimes heard, and when they did, they’d get that eerie feeling that a place was really haunted.

“In the wall,” she said softly.

He nodded.

She started, hearing a knock at the door. Hardy wavered and was gone.

She hurried to her door, expecting Sloan. She was surprised to see Mike Addison. He hadn’t even been at the desk; she’d assumed he’d gone home for the night.

She opened the door. “Mike. What’s the problem?”

“I came to make sure you’re okay—and ask you to be quiet again,” he said.

She frowned at him, startled. “Mike, I haven’t made any noise. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She realized that beneath his Western denim jacket he was wearing a holster. He was armed, while her Glock was on the bedside table.

“That pounding. The guest two cells down called me about it,” Mike said.

He was just standing there, a little belligerently, talking to her. She didn’t know why he suddenly made her nervous.

“Let me see what’s going on in here.”

She wanted to slam the door, which would have been ridiculous. But she didn’t want to let him into the room. She wished she’d gotten her gun before opening the door.

“Mike, there’s nothing going on in here. I’m alone,” she told him. “If any of the guests are hearing things, the sounds have to be coming from the theater.”

“The theater is closed.”

He seemed to be moving toward her. She assured herself that the man couldn’t possibly be enough of a fool to offer harm to a federal agent, especially when it was known that she was at the Old Jail.

Thankfully, she didn’t have to let him in
or
slam the door. She heard a creak, and the barred door separating the office from the cells opened and closed.

Sloan was coming down the hallway.

“Hey, Mike. What’s up?” Sloan asked. “What are you doing here so late?”

“I was over at the theater—thought I’d stop in,” Mike said. “And I got here just in time. The guests are complaining about the noise Agent Everett is making.”

“I’m
not
making any noise,” Jane said with exasperation.

Sloan stared at Mike. “If Agent Everett says she isn’t making any noise, I certainly believe her.”

“But I had a complaint,” Mike protested.

“Tell the complainers the ghosts must really like them,” Sloan said.

Mike’s eyes narrowed and he cast his head at an inquisitive angle. “You gonna be here, Sheriff?”

“I’m going to be here. I’ll see that nothing is going on,” Sloan told him.

“Oh. Oh!” Mike said. “Okay, um, fine. Well, then. Just, uh, keep it down!” He turned and left abruptly.

Sloan looked at Jane, amusement in his eyes. “What was that all about?”

“I don’t know. There really wasn’t any noise coming from the room. But I did see Trey Hardy. And he put his hand on the wall again—right by the mirror. But, more importantly, how is Jennie?”

“She’s doing well.”

“What did she say?”

“She said the clown did it,” he told her wearily. “She kept hearing voices from the room in the basement. She started to think that the spirits of people murdered in Lily had inhabited the mannequins. I think someone goes down there to talk and plot or...I don’t know. But I
do
think we need to get in that room and find out what’s down there. Anything happen here?”

“Happen? Not really. But, Sloan, we’re getting closer. In the morning, I’ll do a two-dimensional sketch of the skull from the desert. I’m willing to bet it’s Red Marston. I’m almost positive Red and Sage were killed because they knew too much—and the same with Trey Hardy. I saw Sage tonight and...” She paused.

“And?”

“She’d had her tongue cut out. And just like we discussed earlier this evening, you have your tongue cut out when you’ve said too much or spoken against someone—or when it’s a warning not to talk.”

“Or if you want to make sure your victims suffer before they die.”

He walked past her into the bathroom and ran his hand over the painted plaster of the wall. “So, the ghost insists there’s something back there?” he asked.

She nodded. Sloan raised his brows, hands on hips. “I think your agency’s budget is bigger than mine.”

“Meaning?”

“Tomorrow, we’ll dig out that wall,” he said. “We’ll just have to replace it. Logan and Kelsey are at the Gilded Lily, right?”

“Yes.”

“From now on, one of us is at both of these places every night. But for now, we really need to get some sleep.”

“I agree.”

“I’ll take that chair,” he told her.

“Why would you do that when we’ve been sleeping together?” she asked.

“Ghosts.”

She smiled. “Just because we’re in the same bed doesn’t mean that we have to fool around in it.”