The Night Is Watching

“Why did she visit Trey Hardy in his cell?” Jane asked.



“The same reason—simple friendship. Sage was a charmer and so was Trey Hardy. They might’ve seen each other as kindred spirits. I gather that most people liked Trey, just as they liked Sage.”



“So why kill Red? If we’re right about that...”



“I think both Sage and Red were killed because they knew too much—just like I think Zoe and Jimmy were attacked because someone thought they knew too much. And I’m convinced that Jay Berman came here because someone he knew was in on the situation, and that he was murdered because he got greedy—or because someone thought he’d spilled the beans.”



Jane poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down across from him. “But if this is all about gold, why would these murders be taking place now? It’s not illegal to look for gold lost over a hundred years ago.”



“I don’t know,” Sloan said, sounding frustrated. “I’m assuming the state would weigh in on the gold, since it was stolen, but there’d have to be an enormous finder’s fee. Maybe the people involved have no intention of handing it over to the state. And everyone’s always assumed that the gold’s around here somewhere. The stagecoach never made it to Tucson. It just disappeared. It would be easy enough to make a stagecoach disappear in the desert. The horses were probably let loose and could have been adopted by Apaches in the area. This book—the one by Brendan Fogerty—suggests the driver and guards were murdered and buried in the desert, and the gold was hidden somewhere, secreted away.”



“What would the silver mine have to do with it?”



“Again, I don’t know—unless it was being used as some kind of cache or even a meeting place. The mine didn’t go out of action until long after the stagecoach disappeared.”



“So you really think this is about gold?”



“I can’t figure out anything else. It’s almost as if digging up the corpses from the past is like a warning to someone who’s involved. One of the conspirators, if you will. That’s why I’m not sure the theater is safe.”



She nodded in agreement.



“Let’s get going. Logan says he’ll rent a car in Tucson. He and Kelsey will be in town sometime in the midafternoon. Before then, I want to start on a few things. I’ll ask Johnny Bearclaw to bring that water bottle you found in the mine to the lab. We must be able to get a DNA hit off it, and that could at least send us in the right direction.” He shook his head. “I should’ve done that right away. But now I want to get to town and question everyone at the theater about the live rounds in that gun—and when they last saw Caleb Hough.”



“I’ll get dressed,” Jane said. “And the bottle is tied to the saddle I was using.” She shrugged.



“Good. I’ll let Johnny know,” Sloan told her.



Twenty minutes later, they were on their way back to town.



As they drove, she flipped through the books Sloan had gotten at Desert Diamonds. Both were well-written and did an excellent job of recreating the past; it was still the wild, wild west. Everyone carried a gun. Ladies were ladies, whores were whores—and actresses were looked on as little better than whores, though a woman like Sage McCormick would be admired, desired and placed on a pedestal.



By all accounts, Sage loved her husband and child, but was known as well to frequent the bar of the Gilded Lily. She even smoked a cigar upon occasion and was a good poker player.



She frequently visited Trey Hardy, once he’d been taken to jail, and was disconsolate when he was shot down in his cell. Trey Hardy, being an outlaw who’d often held up stagecoaches—but let the driver and guards go—could have learned during his time in jail that a stagecoach bearing the last of the area’s gold was leaving town. And maybe he knew who might have gone after it. So if Sage McCormick had been spending time with him, it was logical that he’d told her about the intended heist.



“I’ll bet she did know something,” Jane murmured. “But what?”



“And will we ever find out?” Sloan responded. “Hey, take my phone. The number for the hospital should be in the contacts. See how Jimmy, Zoe and Jennie are doing.”



Jane dialed, putting the phone on speaker so that Sloan could identify himself. He was told that Jennie remained unconscious. Zoe and Jimmy were doing well.



“There’s still a county officer watching the halls?” he asked.



The nurse giving the report assured Sloan that an officer was on duty. He come in to spell the night man just an hour ago.



Sloan thanked her, then said, “One more. Find the number for Newsome’s office. And please put it on speaker again.”



Newsome was at the morgue, but one of his officers told Sloan that all they’d heard so far was that the blood on the cane found near Jennie Layton belonged to Jennie Layton. The cane itself had been wiped clean.



Sloan sighed, disgusted that they couldn’t seem to get any solid evidence. He turned to Jane. “When we get there,” he said, “we’ll play along with the street theatrics again.”



She glanced at him, surprised.



He offered her a crooked smile. “I can force a county investigation, but that won’t help figure out what’s really going on here. I may even find that people are more willing to talk when we’re in costume. Anyway, a costume isn’t all that different from a uniform.”



“You know this is kind of crazy, don’t you?”



“Everything about it is more than a little crazy,” he agreed.



It was still early, not quite 8:00 a.m., when they arrived. But the doors to the theater were unlocked. As they entered, they saw Henri sitting at one of the tables with his cast.



“Jane!” Valerie cried, running over and giving her a hug. “How are you? You poor dear. Do you have any idea what happened to you yesterday? Should you really be up and walking around?”



“I’m fine,” Jane assured her.



“But...do you remember anything more?” Alice asked. “I mean, could you have tripped?”



“No,” she said flatly.



Valerie looked at her anxiously and then at Sloan.



“Oh, my God! Sloan, haven’t you found out anything? It’s all so horrible! Caleb—Caleb Hough—was murdered!” Valerie said. “Sloan, he’s not a stranger. He’s one of us! Please tell us you found out what happened to him.”



“No, I don’t know yet,” Sloan said. “And someone attempted to murder Jimmy and Zoe, as well. There’s something going on here in Lily—and everyone’s in danger until we find out what it is.”



“Someone tried to kill Jimmy?” Brian repeated. “Jimmy Hough? The kid’s decent. He used to come by a lot. He loved the show. And his mom! What a doll. Why would anyone hurt her?”



“But they’re okay? The family’s okay? They were...attacked?” Alice asked.



“They were knocked out and left in the garage to die of carbon monoxide poisoning,” Sloan said.



“But they survived?” Henri asked.



“Jimmy managed to turn the car off,” Jane told them.



Alice let out a little sound and Cy groaned softly.



“Sloan, Caleb was an outspoken jerk. I’m surprised he didn’t get killed long ago,” Henri muttered.



“Henri!” Alice chastised.



“Well, it’s true. So maybe Caleb was in collusion with that tourist who got shot in the desert. Caleb was probably running drugs or illegal aliens—or maybe he was even into human trafficking,” Henri said. “It’s a crying shame the bastard got his family involved. But, Sloan, come on. It’s your job to find out what the hell’s happening here, but it has nothing to do with us in the theater. You didn’t come in to suggest we shut down for the day, did you? Lord, the town’s still full of tourists. None of them have been scared off by this.”



“No, Henri, I’m not suggesting you shut down. However, the same rules apply as yesterday. No knife fights, no shoot-outs, nothing with weapons.”



“Oh, come on!” Henri said again.



Sloan reached into his pocket and let the cartridges spill out on one of the tables.



Everyone stared at them and then at Sloan.



“What? What is that? What are you trying to say?” Henri demanded.



“These are from the guns Cy and Brian were going to use for the duel yesterday,” he said. “You’ll note that one set is live rounds.”



“Shit!” Brian said, jumping to his feet and backing away, as if the bullets could take aim at him from where they lay scattered on the table.



Cy stood, too. He swallowed, frowning at Jane. “You!” he said. “You knew. How did you know?”



“Yes, how did you know, Agent Everett?” Henri asked.



Jane felt all eyes on her—accusing eyes. “Intuition,” she said. “Something just seemed wrong.”



“Who handled the guns?” Sloan asked.



“Before we had them on the street?” Brian looked at Henri.



“Jennie Layton,” Henri told them. “Jennie was always responsible for props. They were in the prop room—right where they were supposed to be—before I went to get them for the duel.”



“But none of you saw Jennie all day. That’s why I had to go search for her,” Jane said.



Henri waved a hand in the air. “She had all the costumes ready, plus the prop guns and the rope and rigging we used for the lynching, the night before.”



“We can ask Jennie.” Valerie’s voice wavered.



“Hard to ask her if she’s unconscious,” Alice snapped.



Sloan ignored them. “Who had access to the props besides Jennie?” he asked.



“It’s not locked,” Henri explained. “Anyone could’ve gotten into the prop room. But like I said, Jennie got them ready the night before. She came to tell me we were all set for the first of our big Silverfest days.”