The Night Is Watching

“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.”