“That’s right,” Sloan agreed.
“Can you say anything more about the blade?” Newsome asked.
“It was very sharp. And jagged.”
“What about any trace evidence on him?” Logan asked.
“Just the sand and dirt you’d expect from the mine shaft,” Madsen said.
“What about our other dead man? Jay Berman?” Logan asked.
“He was kneeling. There were powder burns, so he was shot point-blank,” Madsen said. “The bullet fragmented and the lab’s still piecing it together. You found no shell casings, right?”
“Right,” Newsome glanced at Logan. “My people went over the tepee with a fine-tooth comb.”
“Why would a man kneel down to be executed? Why wouldn’t he fight?” Madsen wondered.
“Maybe he believed he’d be let up—that he was just being taught a lesson or...well, people go on hoping while they’re still breathing,” Logan said.
“One more thing. Both of our victims ate not more than two hours before they were killed,” Dr. Madsen said. “Mr. Berman had nachos and beer. Mr. Hough dined on steak, potatoes, spinach and wine. Oh, and Mr. Berman was suffering from liver disease, while Mr. Hough had an artery that was almost completely blocked. I suspect he would’ve suffered a massive heart attack within a week. His killer really needn’t have bothered.”
They left the morgue soon after and spoke on the sidewalk.
“You feel my men are doing well by you in Lily?” Newsome asked Sloan.
“Yes. Other than the murders and the attempted murders, we’ve had remarkably little trouble during Silverfest,” Sloan said. “Thanks, Liam—I needed your help.”
Newsome nodded, looking at Logan. “Are the feds taking over?”
“No. We’re just here to lend assistance,” Logan said.
Newsome smiled. “I’m not resentful, Agent Raintree. If you decide you can better manage the investigation, feel free. This one has me grasping at threads, and I’m sure Sheriff Trent feels the same way. We’ve got nothing on Berman. We can’t get anything other than that he was down here on vacation. He didn’t have a home phone, and we couldn’t find any connection to anyone in Arizona on his cell. What he became involved in—I don’t know.”
“I don’t know anything, either,” Sloan said. “But the angle we’re working is that someone’s after old gold.”
Newsome frowned. “Old gold? You mean from the stagecoach that disappeared over a hundred years ago?”
“Yes.”
“Hmm. Interesting,” Newsome said. “By the way, the skull of that old corpse you found in the desert has been brought to your station. Maybe your artist can work with it. If you find out it was one of the old stage robbers, maybe you are on to something.” He sighed. “Except that no one knew who they were.”
“I suspect Red Marston might have been in on it,” Sloan said. “If it proves to be him, we just might be on the right track.”
Newsome removed his glasses and studied Sloan. “So...that would mean one of the citizens of your fair town is involved. What tourist would have the connections and the know-how to research what happened in the past?”
“Yep,” Sloan said. “That’s why I figure I’ve got a local involved. Has to be. Jimmy and Zoe Hough were attacked by people who obviously knew the house, knew the distance from the stables and barns and knew the family. They were familiar with the garage. So, that’s why I’m really grateful for county help.”
Newsome frowned. “You think one of your own deputies—”
“No,” Sloan broke in. “Or, at least, I couldn’t begin to point a finger at any one of them. And it could be a question of talking to the wrong person, of being careless. But don’t—”
“Trust anyone,” Newsome finished. “That’s kind of a given in law enforcement sometimes, isn’t it? Sad, but true,” he said. “Oh, we got DNA off your bottle. The bottle from the mine shaft. But there aren’t any matches in the system.”
“But if we know who to get DNA from, we could have a match, right?”
“Of course. However, that only proves a particular person was in the mine shaft at some time. I don’t think you can prove murder with it.”
“Hell, Liam, I just need a solid suspect!” Sloan told him.
“If you can get me DNA—the right DNA—I can get you a suspect.”
They parted ways. When Newsome was gone, Sloan turned to Logan.
They’d been excellent coworkers from the start. While Logan carried all the traits of his Native American ancestry and Sloan didn’t, they still shared something of that past. They’d also quickly realized that they both worked on instinct.
And heard voices.
Sloan smiled slowly. “Good to see you, old friend,” he said. “I wish it were under different circumstances.”
“Yeah, well. I’m not here to take over. I’m here for support. What’s your plan?”
“How do you feel about stealing a few glasses, cups, mugs, tissues—whatever we can find?” he asked.
“Sure. Where are we going?”
“The Gilded Lily.”
“Great. I’ve gotten accustomed to living back east. I’m feeling mighty parched. I could go for a beer,” Logan said.
“Me, too,” Sloan seconded.
“Sounds like a plan to me.”
* * *
Jane headed out to the street with Kelsey following. She’d barely reached the sidewalk when she heard Brian Highsmith call out with a deep Western twang, “There she is! There’s my girl now!”
Brian jumped down from the “boulder” that had been set up for performances and came striding toward her. “Ladies and gentlemen!” he said, taking her hand, “I give you the esteemed, the one and only, indeed, the adored Sage McCormick! I was madly in love with the lady—I adored her from afar, of course, because she was already married! But while I might have been a bad man in the eyes of some, a low-down no-account drifter of a horse thief and an outlaw, I did indeed adore her. Now, once upon a time,” he said drily, winking as he looked down at Jane, “people thought Sage had given in to me and that we’d run away together. But alas!”
He played to the crowd, raising his hand. “But what?” he asked.
“Alas!” the crowd cried.
“Alas, we have recently discovered the bones of the beautiful Sage McCormick right in the Gilded Lily. We now know the actress was killed and that she didn’t run off with Red. But that was then—and thanks to the wonders of Silverfest and these costumes, here we are again! Together at long last!”
He bent down as if he was going to kiss her. Jane quickly stepped forward, addressing the crowd. “Yes, together again, but just as friends! Sage cared about Marston. He, like Trey Hardy, was one of those outlaws who still had a sense of morality. Trey Hardy was never a killer. Sage believed that Red Marston would happily steal your horse, but he wouldn’t kill you for it. Sage was in love with her husband and she loved her child, but I don’t think she realized when she married him that her first love would always be the theater. Ah, the theater! Please make sure you have your reservations for the Gilded Lily this evening, and if they sell out, do come by tomorrow!”
“Well done, Agent Everett. You are a woman of many surprises,” Brian said.
“Yes, well...I wouldn’t have put on the costume if I hadn’t been willing to play the part. And I wouldn’t have a badge if I wasn’t willing to enforce the law,” she added sweetly.
She started to turn to Kelsey but as she did, she caught sight of someone standing alone in the street, right in front of the Old Jail.
For a minute, she thought that Sloan had returned.
But it wasn’t Sloan; this man’s hair was longer and his jawline was stubbled. He looked at her and beckoned, then walked into the Old Jail.
For a
moment she stood there, puzzled, but suspecting she knew who it was.
“Jane?” Kelsey asked.
She turned again, distracted. “Um, let’s go see my room. I’m at the Old Jail for tonight, the Trey Hardy cell.”
They hurried toward the Old Jail.
She was right. She’d seen Hardy.
He slipped through the closed door, disappearing as she wedged her way through the crowd to reach it.
12
Sloan and Logan made their way through the crowds on the street to the Gilded Lily. When they arrived, Valerie was perched on a bar stool singing a Civil War ballad to an appreciative audience of drinkers.
Liz came up to him. “Sloan, want me to get you a table? Hello,” she said, smiling at Logan.
“A table would be great, but it doesn’t look like you have any,” Sloan replied.
“Give me a minute. I know how to squeeze people.”
She did; Liz managed to get one couple to join another, freeing up a table. Sloan thanked her and introduced her to Logan.
“You’re FBI, too?” she asked.
“He works with Jane,” Sloan told her.
“That’s good. We’re glad you’re here.” Liz bent low to the table as if listening closely to get their orders.
“Thank you,” Logan said. “I hope we can be of some help.”
“I’m sure you will be—and just having more officers around...well, that’s good.” Liz shook her head. “I can’t afford to quit, but I don’t feel great when I come into work anymore.”
“Has anything else happened?” Sloan asked.
“Besides Jennie being attacked and still in a coma?” Liz responded. “And someone digging up Sage McCormick’s skull? Or the murders? Or the attack on the Hough family?”
“Sorry. I meant here at the Gilded Lily,” Sloan said.
“No. I mean, not that I’ve heard. I don’t come in now until I know someone else is with me. Never bothered me before to be the first one in for the night. The actors and Jennie and Henri live here, so there was usually someone around, and it never bothered me to hear noises from upstairs or the theater or even the basement, but now...anyway, I’m terrified of the place. I wouldn’t be alone in here for the world!”
“Did you hear noises from the basement a lot?” Sloan asked her.
“Well, sure. Old buildings creak. Oh! Maybe we have rats or something down in the basement? Or ghosts. This place is haunted. We all think so. But the ghosts always seemed to know I’m a complete coward—they never gave me any trouble. I should move along. What can I get you two?”
“For now? Draft?” Sloan said, looking at Logan.
“Yeah. We’ll call Kelsey and Jane in a few minutes. I doubt they’ve eaten,” Logan said. “How’s the food?”
“The food here is good,” Liz assured him. “I’ll be right back.”
She returned swiftly with the drinks. As she did, Cy Tyburn came into the bar; he walked up to Valerie where she was singing and stood, hat in hand, sighing. She smoothly switched songs, and he joined her in a sweet duet. The heroine and the hero, singing together. When the song was over, Cy slipped away, coming to their table. “Sheriff. How’s it going?” he asked anxiously.
“Sit down,” Sloan said. Cy glanced at Logan and smiled awkwardly. “Hey.”
“Cy, this is Logan Raintree, an old friend of mine who now runs Jane’s FBI unit. Logan, you’ve seen him perform already. This is our hero in residence, Cy Tyburn.”
Cy and Logan shook hands. “Glad to have you here. Have you learned anything else?” Cy asked, turning nervously from one man to the other.
“We’re working on it. Hey, you need to calm down some,” Sloan said. “How about a beer?”
Cy glanced at his watch. “Yeah, sure, one before the show and I’m actually a better performer. Thanks. That would be great.”
“Your day went well?” Logan asked him.
“Everything was fine. Had so much fun acting out the stories and doing improv with people that I forgot someone might’ve been trying to kill me yesterday,” he said.
Before either could respond, Valerie made her way over to the table. She immediately offered Logan her hand. “Hi. You have to be another officer, right?”
Logan nodded and stood, taking Valerie’s hand, then pulling out a chair for her. She sat, lowering her voice as she spoke. “Have you found out anything? Your friend here—” she nodded at Sloan “—nearly bit my head off today for going to visit people at the hospital.”
“You went to the hospital?” Cy asked her. “Why?”
“Well, I tried to see Zoe and Jimmy—but a muscle-bound suit came after me, and then Sheriff Suspicious here stopped me on the road coming back,” Valerie said indignantly.
Sloan lifted a hand and smiled at Liz. “Can we get two more here?”
“Of course,” she called back.
“Is one for me?” Valerie asked.
“Yes, I’m sorry. Didn’t you want one?”
“Sure. But I would’ve ordered a double Scotch.”
“We do have a show, Valerie,” Cy reminded her.
“Yeah, one that could wind up putting us in a hospital, too,” she muttered.
“If you’re afraid to perform, I can close this place down,” Sloan said.
Valerie sniffed. “If you closed it down, we’d have nowhere to go. And no money to get someplace else, anyway.” She leaned into the table. “I don’t think anywhere in this town is safe, so it doesn’t matter, does it?”
Liz delivered two more glasses of beer. “You could get out of town,” Logan said politely.
“Do you know how hard it is to get acting jobs these days? If I were in L.A., there’d be a million girls like me trying for one role. I have a great character to work with here, and I want to stay with the ensemble for another year. That’ll help my résumé... I can’t leave here now,” Valerie told him.
“I could,” Cy said thoughtfully.
“Stop it, Cy!”
“Hey, you weren’t told that there were live rounds in guns that should have held nothing but blanks!” Cy protested.
“Oh, Lord, Henri’s coming in.” Valerie stood instantly and raised her glass. “Three cheers for the Gilded Lily bartenders and servers!” she called, and moved away from the table, starting another song.
Sloan arched his brows at Logan. There goes our beer glass!
“Well, that girl sure knows how to suck up!” Cy stood, as well, following Valerie around the room, adding his voice to hers in harmony.
“They are good,” Logan commented. “Those two definitely know when and where to pick up on each other’s moves.”
“They do,” Sloan agreed. “I want to keep an eye on those beer glasses, though.”
Henri Coque saw Sloan and Logan and immediately came over to join them. He seemed as eager as anyone else to greet Logan and welcome him, expressing hope that he could help solve whatever was happening to their formerly peaceful town of Lily.
“Sit, Henri, have a drink with us,” Sloan invited.
“Should you be drinking?” Henri asked. “Being on duty and all.”
“I think I’m fine with a beer,” Sloan said, nodding slowly.
“Do you have any information about what’s going on?”
Same question they were all asking, Sloan thought. That made sense, although at least one person—and as yet he didn’t know who—had a private agenda.
“No, but we’re expecting more information back from county anytime now,” he said.
“Oh?”
“Trace evidence. You’ve heard the old theory that you take something and you leave something everywhere you go. They’ll find some evidence that will pin the killer,” Sloan explained. The theory was solid; it didn’t always work.
Fingerprints could belong where they were found, and dozens upon dozens of prints could be lifted from any one place. DNA was great—as long as you had a sample for comparison. Legally obtained, of course.
“So, let’s get you a beer,” Sloan said.
“If you’re buying, I’ll have a bourbon,” Henri said. “No ice. My usual.”
Sloan waved a hand to order as Logan asked Henri where to find the restrooms. Henri gave him directions.
As Liz brought Henri his drink, Sloan saw that Logan had casually slipped his hand around the beer glass Cy had left on the bar.
“So, Sloan,” Henri said, “today seems to be going fine. The actors are working. The theater is open!”
“It’s a great day...so far,” Sloan agreed pleasantly. He watched Valerie glide around the room. When he saw Logan on his way back, he nodded toward the glass she’d just placed on the bar. Logan nodded in return.
Henri sipped his drink.
* * *
The spirit of Trey Hardy had disappeared when Jane and Kelsey entered the Old Jail.
Mike Addison was behind the sheriff’s desk, giving directions to a couple who wanted to ride out and see the old cemetery. His “concierge,” a woman of about twenty, was serving complimentary wine to guests in the old gun room, along with nachos and cheese.
When the couple moved on, Jane approached him and introduced Kelsey, then asked for the key to her room.
“Calling it a night, Agent Everett? It’s still early.”
“I’m just showing Kelsey what a wonderful bed-and-breakfast you have,” Jane told him.
Mike beamed. “I do love it,” he said with enthusiasm. “Silverfest days are great. Halloween is great. But sometimes...well, Lily is off the beaten track. So if you want to go on any travel sites and rave about the place, I’d be very grateful! Oh, and, ladies, it’s wine and snacks time in the gun room.”
“Thanks, but we’re going to my cell for a few minutes. Then we’ll head back out, of course. We’ll probably catch the show tonight.”
“Are you in it tonight?” Mike asked her. “I saw you outside when Brian Highsmith grabbed you and dragged you into the action. You’d think—especially as an actor—that he wouldn’t be so obvious in his attempts to accost a pretty woman. I had half a mind to walk up and say something to him!”
Krewe of Hunters, Volume 3: The Night Is WatchingThe Night Is AliveThe Night Is Forever Page 24