The Night Is Watching (11 page)

“How are you doing, Agent Everett? If you need anything, you let us know, okay? We try not to interrupt you when we know you’re working,” he told her.

“I’ve been fine, thank you,” she said, equally polite. “Did you hear from the sheriff?” she asked.

The deputy nodded. “He’s in town now. Sloan won’t be taking any time off now that we’ve had a murder here. Things like that don’t happen in Lily very often. Well, I mean, it used to—the streets ran red with blood, as they say—but that was more than a century ago.”

“Have you learned anything about the dead man?” she asked.

Scotty hesitated, looking up at her with dark brown eyes. “It’s an ongoing murder investigation, you know. Although,” he added, frowning, “you are a federal agent....”

Jane smiled. “Don’t worry. You don’t need to tell me anything. I’ll just ask how things are going when I see the sheriff.”

“You got your car keys, right? You going to be okay getting around?”

“I’ll be fine,” she assured him.

Outside, the town seemed exceptionally quiet. The stars overhead had never looked brighter, but she realized that was partly because there was little air pollution. As she pulled onto the road to town, she thought that just as the stars had never looked brighter, the road had never seemed as dark. It wasn’t a long drive, and as she neared town, the darkness seemed to break in a pool of misty light—all the light shimmering from the theater and the saloon and the curio store, Desert Diamonds. She parked behind the theater in the paved lot.

As she walked around to the dirt road in front, she heard laughter and conversation. Murder in Lily or not, the show, as shows traditionally must, had gone on.

It had apparently concluded, since there were people spilling out onto the street, on their way to the saloon or to Desert Diamonds for pizza. That afternoon she’d learned that the saloon stayed open until 1:00 a.m., while Desert Diamonds closed at eleven, staying open to catch the late-night snackers and souvenir-shoppers who might be leaving the theater.

Coming around the Old Jail, Jane paused. A man was standing in the road as people walked past and around him; he was staring at her. He wore a Confederate jacket, old-fashioned cotton trousers and a plumed cavalry hat. He had long curling hair beneath the hat, and she thought he might be an actor who’d come in to work with the theater ensemble.

But even as she returned his stare, she saw someone brush by without noticing him. Someone else passed by—walking right through him.

He wasn’t real. Or he
was
real, just not really there.

She hurried toward him, sensing that he was curious about her—or curious about the fact that she’d seen him. But when she reached the street, he was gone, as if he’d been absorbed into the crowd.

Then she saw him enter Desert Diamonds. She followed.

That afternoon she’d grabbed a cold drink at the little pizza parlor in the front corner of the establishment but she hadn’t taken time to explore because she’d wanted to bring Sloan’s horse back to his stable and get to the sheriff’s office.

Now she looked around. The coffee shop was to the right, the pizza parlor to the left. The ice cream parlor was in back, and in between, she saw every kind of souvenir that could be imagined in an old frontier town. Kids’ bow-and-arrow sets, badges, tour books, maps, stuffed toy horses, cows, bulls, buffalo, armadillos, snakes and more—filled the many shelves and covered the tables.

Jane started walking up and down the aisles, trying to figure out where her ghost had gone, but she didn’t see him—just the endless supply of souvenirs. Shot glasses, mugs, cactus juice, hot sauce and kitchen utensils crowded one aisle. T-shirts, towels and spaghetti-strap dresses another. She’d gone down three rows when she was startled to run straight into Sloan.

He instinctively set his hands on her shoulders to steady her.

“Looking for a killer in the T-shirt section?” she asked, surprised that she felt a little awkward.

He raised his eyebrows. “You’re shopping for shot glasses that say ‘Lily, Arizona’?”

No, I followed a ghost,
she thought.

Jane shook her head. “It’s a curio shop. I was curious. And excuse me, but I was there when you found a corpse this morning. Sorry, two corpses. So, yes—I’m
really
curious. What are you doing here?”

“Exploring the possibilities,” he told her.

“Oh?”

He studied her face, then shrugged. “Look, it’s late. I haven’t eaten in a while—”

“Neither have I,” she said flatly.

He had the grace to smile. “Well, ma’am,” he said, exaggerating his drawl, “I just gotta get outta town for a while. I’m heading to my place. Come on out if you wish and I’ll fill you in.”

“Sure. I remember how to get there. It’s pretty easy around here with only one road.”

“I’ll drive,” he insisted.

“That’s ridiculous! You’d have to come back here to drop me off.”

“There
has
been a murder, you know,” he reminded her.

“I’m a federal agent,” she reminded him.

“You want to talk?” he asked. “If so, I drive.”

She sighed. “Fine. Stay up all night driving me around.”

He shrugged again. She saw that he had two books in his hands and he stopped by the clerk to pay for them before they left, assuring the clerk—who, of course, knew about the desert corpses—that they were on it, and he didn’t believe anyone else was in danger, but that, of course, they should all be careful and stay in groups to be safe.

“Seriously,” he said when they were in his patrol car, “why were you prowling around the shop at this time of night?”

“I just finished work for the day.”

He paused, frowning. “You went in to work on the skull after getting Heidi home, getting Kanga back to the stables and...and after this morning?”

“That’s what I’m here for,” she said lightly.

“Oh, yeah. I guess I forgot,” he murmured.

“Out of sight, out of mind.”

Gazing ahead at the road, he smiled at that.

“So why were you shopping for tourist books in your own town?” she asked him.

“Our victim.”

“Oh?”

“Yep. I came in to see Grant Winston—the old guy who owns Desert Diamonds. Jay Berman, the victim in the desert, bought the same two books I’ve just purchased. Seems he was big on Lily’s history. All he talked to anyone about was the old legends. Apparently, a few locals, including Caleb Hough, have been in buying the same books. Anyway, right now, I’m trying to learn whether Jay Berman was looking for something out here. Something the history or the old legends might help me figure out.”

“I’m sure there are lots of legends—and a lot of pretty violent history,” Jane said. “So far, I’ve heard about Sage McCormick. Who disappeared.” She turned to face him. “And I’m also sure
you
think the sketch I did of our skull suggests it belonged to Sage McCormick.”

His jaw tensed.

“Yes,” he said after a moment.

“I don’t understand. Why does that bother you so much?”

He let out a sigh. “I guess it shouldn’t.”

“But it does.”

He glanced over at her. “Remember, Agent Everett, I’m a man from these here parts,” he said, exaggerating his accent once again. “Sage McCormick was my great-great grandmother. Not that I knew her, or that my parents did. Call me sentimental, but I still don’t like to think she might have been viciously murdered—and that her body is scattered all over the place!”

He swung his eyes back to the empty road, but he was aware of her shocked reaction. Which quickly turned into a nod of understanding.

“That explains a great deal,” she murmured.

He didn’t ask what.

5

I
t was difficult to believe he’d just met Jane Everett, or that it could be this easy to sit at his house with her, discussing the case. She’d spent a few minutes stroking Cougar and, naturally, the cat had reveled in the attention.

Johnny Bearclaw had left pulled pork in the oven and a salad in the refrigerator; there’d been plenty for two. When they’d finished cleaning up, they sat at the table together and he went on to tell her everything he knew about their victim.

“Jay Berman didn’t have any relatives in New York. He took off from Oklahoma twenty years ago and never looked back. Both parents are dead now and his only family’s estranged. He had no rap sheet in New York, but he didn’t seem to have any friends, either, which makes me think he was lucky—he just never got caught. He worked part-time as a mechanic in a shop and lived in a studio up past Harlem. It’s not possible to support yourself in New York City with only the money from a part-time job. No one that any of the New York authorities managed to track down seemed to know anything about him, so I suspect he moved in the underworld. Petty theft, that kind of thing. He had a legitimate Social Security number and paid taxes. But other than that...”

“So some guy who didn’t have any friends in New York came on vacation to Lily, Arizona, and wound up being shot in the back of the head,” Jane said thoughtfully. “Why?”

She was leafing through the books he’d purchased at Desert Diamonds.

“He was looking for something,” Sloan said. “Okay, that’s speculation on my part, but I’m willing to bet he was. And I’m trying to find out what.”

“At Desert Diamonds?”

“These books are replica editions.
The Great Gold Heist
is actually a compilation by a historian in the 1890s who put together a book composed of newspaper reports on the disappearance of a stagecoach carrying gold—right around the time Sage disappeared. The second is written by Brendan Fogerty, the sheriff in the town when all this was going on. Certain incidents, although they occurred about the same time, weren’t believed to be connected in any way.”

“Still, it’s interesting. Sage disappears, the gold disappears—and they weren’t connected?”

“Sage disappeared two weeks before the gold did. And while she was known for her Bohemian lifestyle, she was never suspected of being a gold thief.”

“I’m assuming people went out to look for the missing stagecoach?”

“They did. They never found the gold, the stagecoach and horses, the driver or the two armed guards hired to watch over it. No wreckage, no bodies—nothing,” Sloan said.

“And Sage disappeared two weeks before,” Jane repeated.

“Yes.”

“What about the man she supposedly left with?”

“Red Marston?”

“Yes.”

“Well, he was considered a shady character. But he disappeared—or took off—at the same time. He was apparently good-looking and he had the reputation of being a womanizer.”

“Could they have hidden out for those two weeks—waiting for the stagecoach to leave?” Jane asked.

“Sure. Anything could have happened. This was back in the 1870s. We have a few records, and plenty of oral legends. But they’re pretty much supposition because people were making assumptions back then just as they do now.”

Jane yawned. She seemed suddenly startled, looking out to the living room area.

He looked, too. Longman was in his chair by the fire.

Sloan glanced sharply at Jane, but she’d already returned to the book.

He felt something cold slip over him as he watched her.

Logan Raintree’s unit was known for its
unusual
cases.

Did they really search for ghosts?

And find them?

She stood up. “I guess I should get back. Especially if we’re going to be worth anything in the morning.”

He didn’t move; instead her frowned at her. “You see him, don’t you?” he demanded. “It’s true—you and your team do paranormal investigations!”

“We’re a legitimate unit. We’ve gone through all the proper training, and we’ve been extremely effectual. And I’m damned good at what I do,” she said defensively.

“You just saw Longman,” Sloan said.

She was silent as she returned his stare.

“Longman?” she asked. Her voice was thin.

He shook his head. “All this time...I’ve wondered if he’s in my mind. But you just saw him. Admit it.”

She sighed. “Yes, I saw him.” She turned around. “He’s gone now. At least, I don’t see him anymore.”

“Why didn’t you
say
you saw him?” Sloan asked her. “Before I brought it up?”

“How was I supposed to know
you
saw him?”

“He’s real. I mean, he’s a real ghost,” Sloan said.

“Who is he?”

“One of my great-great grandfathers on my mother’s side.”

“Do you have any other great-great grandparents hanging around?” she asked.

“Sage?”

“Sage.”

Sloan sat down. “They say she haunts the old theater. I’ve never seen her. I’ve always thought that everything I’ve heard about Sage supposedly haunting the theater had to do with people acting crazy. They scare themselves silly. People think they hear something or a shadow moves in the night—and they’re out of there.” His eyes narrowed. “Have
you
seen her?”

“I don’t know for sure. I’ve seen...I’ve seen a woman standing on the stairs. At any rate, I thought she was there. And in my room...things do move.” She smiled. “Actually, I think she might be there. I was angry, I went in and I said that the sheriff was an ass and—”

“You said I was an ass—out loud?” he broke in.

She raised one shoulder. “Sorry. Yes. You
had
acted like an ass. I mean, after all, you were Logan’s friend, Logan sent me here and you were a jerk.”

Sloan kept his expression noncommittal. “And then?”

“My brush flew at me.”

He couldn’t help smiling and he wondered if it could be true—that Sage McCormick was watching out for him.

“Do you have any special talents?” he asked Jane. “Can you make contact with her?”

She hesitated, looking at him. “Sloan, they
choose
to make contact with us. We can let them know we’re open to it, but... I really have to get some sleep,” she finished softly.

He nodded. “All right. Let me get you back.”

“I could’ve just driven.”

“A man’s just been killed in this town. You shouldn’t do anything to put yourself at risk.”

“I can shoot. I’m not the best, but I’m pretty good.”

He smiled, reaching for his keys. “I can shoot, too. But I plan on being extremely careful until we find out exactly what happened to Jay Berman.”

He found it was difficult driving her back. Not the driving—the sitting next to her. He couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that she’d seen Longman.

She had surely seen others. Including Sage. Maybe. She knew, she understood...

He wanted to keep a distance between them, build a wall that kept him from having to recognize how different that made them.

And yet he was equally drawn to Jane Everett. To her scent, the quickness of her smile, the incredible color of her eyes. Big mistake, he told himself. She was only here to create a likeness based on a skull.

Which now seemed moot. He knew they’d found Sage McCormick.

When they arrived at the theater, she opened her door as he opened his. He waited as she came around the car to where he stood by the driver’s seat. She didn’t speak for a moment.

“Sloan...she wrote to me.”

“What?”

“She wrote to me. Sage McCormick wrote to me.”

“She sent you a letter?” he asked skeptically.

Jane shook her head. “No, I took a shower, and she wrote in the mist on the mirror. She said
beware
and
trickster.
And she wants me to tell you the truth about something, but I have no idea what. Maybe she wants you to know that it’s her skull. She’s been cryptic, to say the least.”

“There was writing on your mirror—writing in the shower mist?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re sure it was Sage McCormick?”

“No, I’m not.”

“Do you think someone came into your room? The...trickster, perhaps?”

“No, I don’t. I’m careful about locking doors. I may not have come from law enforcement like some members of my team, but I learned a lot and saw a lot,” she told him. “I’m very careful,” she said again.

He was silent. It was strange to think that a woman who had become both famous and infamous could be sending messages from the grave.

Stranger still when he was related to her...

Was this real? Or were the Krewe of Hunter units a little unbalanced?

How could
he
ask that question when he talked to Longman, and when he’d finally seen Trey Hardy at the jail today?

He kept his voice level. “Well, see what else you can get her to say.”

“It’s not a joke, you know.”

“I’m not joking.”

“Fine,” she said tersely. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah.” Then he added, “Go right to the station, okay?”

Jane rolled her eyes. “Sloan, I hardly think this killer is going to wait for me to order pizza.”

“Just take care. This killer will know you’re an FBI agent,” Sloan said.

She nodded, then turned and started to leave.

“Jane,” he said, calling her back.

She paused, and he walked over to her. “Please, tell me whatever goes on, will you?”

“All right. If you share with me, too. This is your town. You’ll know what I don’t.”

She studied him with those gold eyes, and he felt the life in them. He wanted to reach out, to touch her. He wished that they’d met at a bowling alley, in a country bar...hell, online. He wished there hadn’t been a murder and that they were talking about ghosts and solving mysteries because they both saw what others didn’t.

He nodded. “Yes. I will...with you.” He felt a rueful smile tug at his lips. “Even though you’re just here as an artist.”

She smiled slowly in return. “Good night, Sheriff,” she said.

She left him then. He felt uneasy as he watched her go inside. The theater was safe, he told himself. There might be a few ghosts running around, but ghosts didn’t shoot people. She was staying in a place with six actors, a theater “mother” and a director. Housekeepers arrived at the crack of dawn and bartenders didn’t leave until just a few hours before the housekeeping staff showed up. She was safer here than...well, with him, really.

He returned to his car to make the drive back to his house.

It was late when he got home but he went out and checked on the horses and his property. Everything seemed to be in order.

When he went to bed, he was afraid he wouldn’t sleep. When he began to sleep, he was afraid he’d dream. Something was happening in Lily. He’d sensed it the day he’d gone to the Old Jail in search of wallets. And now he felt it more strongly than ever.

* * *

There were a few hangers-on at the bar when Jane returned, but she didn’t see any cast members she knew, and the waiters and waitresses had gone home for the night. She didn’t know the young man behind the bar and she was actually glad; she was eager to escape to her room and get some sleep.

The theater seemed quiet as she walked up the stairs.

In her room, everything was as she’d left it. She washed her face, prepared for bed and curled up under the covers. She smiled in the darkness, thinking that at least she now understood why a brush had come flying at her.

She lay awake, wondering what could have happened in the past. Sage McCormick had married a local man, had a child with him—and been suspected of having an affair and running off with that man. Yet her husband had been in the bar below when she disappeared. It didn’t make sense.

The fact remained: she
had
disappeared and so had Red Marston.

And two weeks later, a stagecoach bearing gold had, too.

Now, Sage’s skull had turned up in the basement of the theater, another man’s body had been unearthed from the sand—and a tourist had been murdered. How did it all connect?

The questions whirled in her mind and, finally, she drifted off to sleep.

She didn’t know what woke her; she only knew that she opened her eyes and saw a woman standing over her.

It was Sage. She knew her face now. She had drawn it, and she’d seen the similarities between her drawing and the painting over the bar.

“Hello,” she said softly.

The woman straightened without speaking. She beckoned to Jane. Jane stood. Sage McCormick moved to the door.

Jane was dressed in a long cotton T-shirt gown. She wasn’t sure whether she should dress quickly. She decided against it. She didn’t want to lose the ghost, so she’d venture out barefoot and in a long T-shirt.

There was a chill in the air, and Jane shivered. It was about 4:00 a.m., she thought—just that time when the bartenders had finished cleaning and setting up for the next day. They’d left and the housekeepers had yet to arrive. She wished she’d grabbed a sweater.

The ghost sailed along the upper level hallway, heading for the stairs. Jane followed her down the steps and then into the theater.

Sage McCormick walked down to the dimly lit stage, stepped onto it, then turned and waited. Jane continued to follow her.

Sage led her back to the stage wings and the dressing rooms beyond. Here, it was even darker, as there were only a few emergency lights left on during the night. She could barely see Sage, but the ghost was still leading her forward.

Jane hadn’t been back here before; she had no idea where she was or where the ghost was trying to take her.

The apparition seemed to be upset, looking grim and agitated as she stood at a door. She floated through it and then reappeared, waiting for Jane.

Jane opened the door. It was one of the dressing rooms.

The ghost walked to the rear of the small, crowded room.

Jane wished her nightly specter had told her it was going to be so dark and that she’d need a flashlight. She couldn’t understand what Sage was doing. There was a table covered with jars and tubes of makeup and several hanging racks filled with costumes. She had to push back the costumes to reach the place where Sage was standing. As she made her way through, her hair caught on a button and she had to untangle it.