“We should move quickly. The company will be coming in soon,” Jane warned.
“What’s Henri going to do? He’ll be missing a villain tonight,” Kelsey said. She was sorting through the props on the table, then looked at Jane. “Hey, I think I just found your dueling pistols.”
Jane walked over to the prop table. The pistols were there, in plain sight. She picked up one and then the other, handing both to Kelsey.
“Blanks,” she murmured.
Kelsey nodded. “You’re sure there was live ammunition in one of them?” she asked Jane.
“I’m sure—and Sloan still has the live rounds.”
“So, I guess Brian was trying to kill Cy. But...why?”
“Because he’s the hero? Because he gets the girl?” Jane shrugged. “Although, while he admits he set up the skull, he denies wanting to hurt anyone. According to Sloan, Brian was just trying to get out of the room without being seen.”
“Should we check the dressing rooms?” Kelsey asked.
“Let’s go.” She led Kelsey through the various rooms, showing her where Sage McCormick’s body had been found.
As they walked to the next room, Jane saw something on the floor. Bending down, she touched the fresh, wet stain.
She looked up at Kelsey.
“Blood,” she mouthed.
Kelsey drew her gun and Jane did the same. Kelsey counted silently to three, then nodded at Jane. Jane threw the door open.
On the floor, as if he’d fallen while clutching the rack of costumes, lay a man in a pool of blood and fallen fabric.
Jane quickly fell to her knees at his side and rolled him over...and recognized Brian Highsmith.
She put two fingers on his throat to check for a pulse. It was there but weak. “He’s still alive.”
As she spoke, Brian’s eyes flew open. He stared at Jane but couldn’t seem to focus. “She’s dead...she’s dead, too. They knew...they knew...they killed her.”
His eyes closed.
Jane felt for his pulse again. “Kelsey, I think...the bullet is in his shoulder. He might make it.”
“I can’t get a signal down here,” Kelsey said urgently.
“Go out to the street. Get an ambulance over here!” Jane begged. “I’ll stay with him.”
Kelsey left her, running upstairs and out to the street. As Jane tried to staunch the flow of blood, she heard something behind her. She looked up, assuming Kelsey had returned.
But it wasn’t Kelsey.
It was one of the mannequins. An old one, from the late 1800s. She’d seen it downstairs.... Jennie had claimed that a clown attacked her, but they’d figured out that it had been Brian, that he’d pushed a clown figure toward her....
This clown was moving—alive and moving.
It lifted its arm; it held a gun and took aim at Jane.
She rolled to a corner of the room just as the bullet exploded against the dressing-table mirror. The sound of the mirror shattering was what she heard, and she realized there was a silencer on the gun.
Someone had tracked Brian down. Someone had tracked him to this room. That someone meant to kill him.
And now her.
* * *
Sloan searched up and down the road, seeking a trail of blood. While he walked, he called the office and reported that Betty and her prisoner were missing. Then he called Newsome and asked for officers to scour the streets in town, the hell with Silverfest.
He got into his car and drove slowly, searching the road for any sign of either Betty or Brian Highsmith.
He was five minutes from town when his phone rang.
Logan said, “Got a call from Kelsey. She has an ambulance rushing to the theater. She and Jane found Brian Highsmith, shot and bleeding to death, in his dressing room at the theater.”
“I’m almost there,” Sloan told him. “Any word on Betty?”
“None. I’ve got another officer coming to the hospital. I’ll be there as soon as he shows up.”
“Thanks. Whatever’s going down seems to be going down now,” Sloan said.
He stepped on the gas.
As he reached the outskirts of Lily, he was forced to slow down. There was some kind of Silverfest event happening on the road.
He left the car on the edge of Main Street and started running in.
As he did, he nearly ran by a heap on the ground. He recognized what it was—a body—and stopped himself.
He turned and fell to his knees.
It was Betty.
His heart thundered as he carefully examined her for an injury.
“Betty!” he said softly.
She groaned and looked up at him. “Sheriff!”
“Betty, what the hell happened?”
“There was someone flagging me down...I veered off the road. Next thing I knew, someone was in front of me, spraying something in my face...I can’t remember. My head...my head is killing me.... I...”
“Stop talking. I’ll get an ambulance out here.”
Betty sat up. “No, no, I’m fine. Go...after him. Whoever it was...took Brian. He took Brian....”
“Betty, who the hell was it?”
“I...don’t know.”
“How can you not know?”
“He—I can’t even say if it was a man or a woman—was dressed up. Dressed like a...like a Plains Indian...like an Apache in buckskin...with a dark wig and makeup and a black mask. I don’t know who it was...but—”
He’d reached for his phone. She set her hand on his. “No, Sloan. I’m all right. Go—get to the theater!”
“Betty, you’re injured—”
“I’m fine! I’ll call for help. Go.”
He didn’t trust her. Betty—who’d been his right hand since he’d returned to Lily.
He rose, suddenly very afraid—for many reasons. On many fronts. He crouched down again and pretended to make sure she wasn’t shot or injured, hoping his sleight of hand was successful.
“All right, Betty,” he said, and rose.
She might be innocent; she might be telling the truth.
But he didn’t know.
Cops would be crawling all over the theater any minute—but he felt a growing urgency to get there himself.
“Go!” Betty insisted.
He did. He ran. As he raced through the streets, he looked for people he knew. He didn’t see anyone. He paused just long enough to pull out his phone and call Logan. “Found Betty on the road. I left her there. I’m at the theater.”
“You see Kelsey? The ambulance?”
“No.”
“I’ve called for backup. Was Betty shot? Dead, alive?”
“Alive. I don’t trust her, Logan. I don’t trust anything right now.”
“I’ll be there in a few minutes. You’ve also got county cops moving in. Maybe you should wait for backup.”
Maybe he should.
“I can’t,” he said.
He burst in through the slatted doors of the theater.
* * *
Jane scrambled to get her own gun. She managed to fire a shot at the clown, but then the clown was gone. She jumped to her feet and moved carefully to the door—just in time to see the clown run across stage right. Ever wary that a bullet could come tearing at her again, she pursued the clown.
She got off a shot when the clown passed ahead of her in the bar area, but he threw open the door to the basement and tore down the stairs. She walked to the doorway, determined to guard the one entry until someone could come.
Then she realized that someone was behind her. She turned, ready to fire.
Her gun went off just as she was slammed in the head. As she went tumbling down the stairs, she heard someone cry out; she might not have kille
d her attacker, but at least she’d injured him.
It did her little good. She landed in the basement, staring up at the clown.
She hadn’t released her grip on the Glock.
She lifted her gun. The clown dived to the floor, knocking the wig stand on top of her. She struggled to free herself from the hair and heads with sightless eyes.
Footsteps were heading her way down the stairs. The clown, too, was trying to get free from the wigs. She fired again; the clown rolled across the floor and into the mannequin room.
Someone was nearly on top of her, coming down the stairs—and swearing in fury. Jane managed to get up and tear across the room, plowing into the rows of mannequins.
Once she was there, she went as still as she could...and she listened. Someone was breathing near her. And someone else was walking into the room.
In the near-darkness, Victorian madams stared at her, along with Mr. Hyde. A vampire held his cape above his eyes and in the dim light seemed real.
Why not? The clown was real.
And then she heard a voice she’d come to know well. “Agent Everett, you’re harder to kill than I’d thought! But you should just give it up. Those bullets won’t last forever, and quite frankly, you’re outnumbered. Give it up!”
She didn’t move, didn’t breathe. When she felt movement beside her, she turned and fired. She heard a gasp and a scream and then cursing.
She knew the voice. A woman’s voice. She hadn’t even begun to suspect that it could have been this woman!
Who was not alone.
Just how many people were involved?
Suddenly, the mannequins were shoved at her. They all seemed to be coming at her, their faces grotesque in the shadows.
Painted faces, wooden faces, laughing faces and the leering eyes of a Dracula...
She tried to remain steady, but tripped and fell. One of the arms struck hers, and the Glock fell with her in the chaos. She hit the floor.
And something soft.
A body.
Kelsey.
She managed to keep quiet.
“Have you found your friend yet, Jane? Such a conspiracy! And so easy to figure out. I mean, Sloan was friends with Logan. They sent you in, and then Kelsey and Logan showed up. So easy when lawmakers get involved. Just like before!”
Jane felt for Kelsey’s pulse. She was still breathing. In the darkness, Jane patted her holster. They’d taken Kelsey’s gun.
She realized they’d never been alone in the theater.
“We’re going to get you, Agent Everett! Oh, don’t go thinking it’s like the play—that the good guy’s going to save you. We’ve been waiting for him, and in a few minutes, well...the gang will all be here! And the gang will all be dead!”
* * *
Sloan let his eyes adjust to the darkness. He raced to the stage and was startled to run into Cy Tyburn, who seemed to be practicing a monologue.
“Cy! Where is everyone? Has the ambulance come? What the hell is going on?”
“Damned if I know! Everyone’s supposed to be in here. What did you say? Who needs an ambulance?”
“Brian. Brian Highsmith,” Sloan said. He started to go backstage. As he did so he heard the familiar click of a gun.
He spun around. Cy had a Colt aimed at him. “Yes, go on back.”
“You are not going to shoot me, Cy.”
“Oh, yes, I am. But...play your cards right, and you can hope for escape in the next few minutes.”
“What?”
Sloan moved toward Cy, itching to reach for his own weapon.
Cy shot the stage floor in front of him—barely missing his foot.
“Turn around and walk. We’re going down to the basement.”
“This place’ll be crawling with cops in about two minutes,” he said.
“I don’t think so.” Cy indicated the aisle along the side of the seats.
Someone was coming—and he knew who it was. Betty. His trusted deputy. Sweet, older, gray-haired.
And lethal.
“No, I just talked to Scotty and I called Newsome,” Betty said. “On your behalf, of course. I assured him that no ambulances were needed. You’re here, and everything is under control.”
“Kelsey called for the ambulance. Not me. A federal agent,” Sloan said.
“And you know how those feds are, always trying to take control. No, I assured him that I’m all right. We’ve got Brian Highsmith again...and it’s all good.”
“Until they find us all dead, of course?” Sloan asked.
“You’ve figured out the old story—you and your so-called artist. So, figure this out. When we’re done, it’ll look like you—the sheriff—and Agent Jane Everett got together and plotted to take the gold for yourselves. You were going to shoot Brian and me and the others, but we’re not idiots. We shot you first.”
“Seriously? Who the hell is going to believe that?”
“We have our story down pretty well,” Betty told him. “So, do you want to die alone or see your pretty agent one more time before you go?”
“Well, of course I’d like to say goodbye,” Sloan said. “And if we’re going to die, I think I’d like to hear how this all started. Brian wasn’t involved, was he? Cy, you were the one who put live bullets in the gun, but when Jane did her little charade in the street, you really had no choice but to go along with it. But why start this whole thing? Why kill people over gold when you didn’t even have it?”
“Caleb Hough found some of it. Didn’t you know? He had it—and he was acting like a big shot. He called in that enforcer of his to keep the rest of us in line. Can you believe that? Caleb knew Jay Berman and probably thought we’d all be afraid of him, that we’d keep our mouths shut and obey his every edict. But I think Caleb felt that his own enforcer got greedy—and that’s why he shot Jay Berman out in the desert. Then, well—”
“Shut up, Cy. Quit being such a dramatist!” Betty snapped. “Get him downstairs.”
“Not fair. Not fair if I don’t know the whole story. So, let me see—Caleb was holding out on you. That’s why he wound up dead?” Sloan asked.
“Get him moving!” Betty shouted.
“I’m moving, I’m moving.” Sloan turned, hands held high, and started walking toward the front of the room as Betty indicated. She had her gun trained on him.
“Go on. Go on!” Betty urged, nudging him with the muzzle.
“To the basement?”
“You got it, smart boy!”
He walked slowly. Betty might have stopped the county people from coming, but not Logan. Still, he didn’t want Logan taken by surprise—as he’d been.
He didn’t waste a lot of time cursing himself; he’d made a mistake. Now he had to fix it.
“Why were you out at the mines?” he asked.
“That bastard, Hough!” Cy said. “He had us all convinced the gold was in the mines. But it wasn’t. And he admitted it.”
“So, if you knew where it was, why didn’t you just get it and take off?” Sloan asked. “And, by the way, where is it?”
Silence was his answer.
He chuckled softly. “You still don’t know, do you? Let’s see, Caleb showed you a sample because he was going to need help getting it. He needed a cop on his side, so he got you, Betty. And then he created a little gang of thieves, but you were so afraid of being double-crossed that you did him in. Of course, he was trying to double-cross you, wasn’t he? He actually cared for his son, so that probably got in his way, didn’t it? And let’s see—one of you was supposed to torture the truth out of him, but you lost it. Or else he fought back and you had to kill him.”
“Get down those steps!” Betty yelled.
“Cy,” Sloan said. “Why you? Ah...you don’t really have what it take
s. But you were dissatisfied and Caleb saw that in you. Betty, you, too. You hated playing second fiddle.”
“Shut up!” Betty shouted. “You think you’re so smart. You think you’re right about everything.”
“I’m sure I am right. You needed a cop for protection, and you needed the actors because...well, because, of course, you searched the mine shaft—no luck—and realized the theater was the most likely place. The gold—”
“Get down the stairs!”
“I’m going. I’m going!”
“Watch it!” someone called from below.
Jane was down there, just as they’d said. But she wasn’t alone.
“She’s in with the mannequins,” the voice said.
Damn! He’d never suspected.
“Heidi,” he called. “You weren’t making enough on the trail rides, huh? But working the trail rides, you were able to set up Jay Berman’s body with the corpse of poor Red Marston pointing at it. Caleb didn’t leave the body there. You dug it up and put it there so Caleb would know you weren’t just a bunch of country hicks. You left Red pointing at him to scare Caleb, but then you killed Caleb, anyway. This is really pathetic—because you still don’t know where the gold is.”
Sloan reached the bottom of the stairs. He tried to judge their firepower. They hadn’t taken his gun, and he’d seen to it that Betty’s was worthless; that was what his sleight of hand had been about. But Heidi and Cy were armed—and he didn’t know who else might be in the basement with them.
“She can find it. She knows where it is,” Heidi said. “Sloan, come on over here.”
He walked around the fallen wig stand. The basement floor looked gruesome—with the wigs and heads everywhere, it seemed to be a floor full of decapitations.
He was about four feet from the first of the mannequins in the third room. He judged his chances.
“Agent Everett!” Heidi called out. “I’m going to suggest you show yourself. You might live if you tell us where the gold is. Oh—and let’s see. I’ll start by shooting Sloan in the foot, then the calf—maybe a shoulder. Don’t want to hit an artery until you come out.”
And she would come out, he was afraid.
They were too confident. Heidi wasn’t even looking at him. Cy was by the stairs, peering into the mannequin room. Sloan saw that Betty had her gun on him.
Krewe of Hunters, Volume 3: The Night Is WatchingThe Night Is AliveThe Night Is Forever Page 29