The Night Is Watching

“You do realize that while anyone might have gotten into your prop room, not many people would know the guns would be there—set for a shoot-out,” Sloan said.



“Oh, my God!” Valerie cried. “Sloan! You’re accusing one of us!”



“Cy is my best friend out here,” Brian said. “I’d never shoot him—and he’d never shoot me. I mean, on purpose.”



“This theater is my life!” Henri announced—theatrically—getting to his feet.



“Jennie did prepare the guns.” Brian frowned. “But then...”



“Then she accidentally bashed her own head with a cane?” Sloan asked.



“We have housekeeping staff. Cooks, servers and bartenders,” Henri said.



“Yes, and I’ll get to them all one by one,” Sloan told him.



“But—but...it’s Silverfest!” Henri protested. “Sheriff, I am the mayor of this town—”



“I know that, Henri. I told you, I’m not going to close anything down. Jane and I will get into costume again and be part of it. I’ll keep an eye on everything all day.”



Henri nodded, his bald head shining in the light of the chandeliers. “All right, Sloan, all right, that’s good.”



“Oh, and two of Jane’s coworkers are on their way. Henri, I thought you could put them up in Jennie’s room for the next few days,” Sloan said casually.



“Jennie’s things are all in her room. It’s not like an empty guest room, Sloan.”



“They’ll be very careful of her personal belongings.”



“Who are these agents?” Alice asked.



“Logan Raintree and Kelsey O’Brien. They work together but they’re a couple, as well, so just one room will be fine,” Sloan replied. “They’ll be protection for you. I still believe you’re all in danger.”



“Bring them in, bring them in,” Valerie said.



“I agree,” Alice added.



“Of course, Sloan, if you think it’s necessary,” Henri agreed.



“I’m all for it!” Brian said. His face ashen. “One of us—Cy or me—almost bought it yesterday.” He looked at Jane, but not with the same rakish I’d love to pick you up stare he usually gave her. He looked at her as if she’d suddenly become an oddity.



“Instinct. Or...maybe it was the ghost. I glanced up at the window and I thought I saw a woman there. Sage McCormick. It was like a warning that something was going to happen,” Jane said.



“Oh, no, please... I don’t want to believe there are really ghosts here,” Valerie moaned.



“I say thank God for a ghost if she saved my life!” Brian said.



Cy lifted his coffee cup. “Hear, hear.”



“Time to go,” Henri said suddenly. “We need to open our doors and be out on the street. So, Sloan, you two will costume up again?”



Sloan nodded. “Yes, we’ll be part of it.”



“I’ll take you down to the dressing rooms,” Alice offered.



“Agent Everett,” Henri asked. “Where’s the blue gown? It’s an important part of our costume department.”



“It’s safe,” Jane assured him. “It’s in my room, but after everything that happened yesterday...it’ll need to be cleaned.”



Henri sighed dramatically. “Then we’ll have to find you something new for today.”



“Before we get our costumes, I have one more question,” Sloan said. “Did all of you see one another early yesterday morning?” he asked.



They were silent for a minute. “How early?” Alice shrugged. “I didn’t get up very early. We have late nights here, you know.”



“Brian and I were both up. We had coffee together at about eight,” Valerie said.



“I...slept in,” Cy murmured.



“And I had a meeting with Mike Addison,” Henri said impatiently. “Are you suggesting one of us attacked Zoe and Jimmy Hough?”



“I have to ask, Henri. You know that,” Sloan said.



“Well, you’ve asked.” Henri was evidently angry. “We’re theater people. We entertain—we don’t hurt others. We sure as hell don’t kill them!” he ended indignantly.



“Let’s get our costumes, shall we?” Alice suggested. “There’s way too much testosterone flying around this room!”



Better testosterone than bullets, Jane thought.



She wasn’t sure what else Sloan had planned for the day, but at the moment, it was time for costumes.



“Yep, let’s do that,” Sloan said. But he looked sternly around the group. “Don’t be anywhere alone. Make sure you’re on the street in a crowd or with someone else at all times. I’m not making accusations—I’m just trying to get answers. And I don’t want to find any more bodies.”



Silence followed his words.



Those in the room exchanged glances.



“Don’t!” Henri warned. “Don’t go getting suspicious of one another, please! An ensemble cast must work together. Sloan, see what you’ve done?”



“They have to be careful, Henri. This group may be entirely innocent—but this group is in danger. Someone put Sage McCormick’s skull on that wig stand, and someone got into the basement and struck Jennie and Jane. And someone shot a stranger in the desert and slit Caleb Hough’s throat and tried to kill his family. Everyone needs to be watchful. Someone in this town is a murderer.”



They all looked at Sloan in silence as he spoke.



“We’ll be careful, Sloan,” Valerie said in a small voice. “Honestly.”



He nodded. “It’s your lives,” he reminded them. “Take that very seriously.”



Jane set her hand on his arm; he had gotten his point across.



Henri didn’t seem happy. “Come on, then. If you’re going to be breathing down my neck, get into costume.” He paused, glancing around. “Has anybody seen our housekeeper, Elsie, come in?”



“Yes, she’s upstairs cleaning the rooms with one of the local girls,” Valerie said.



“Valerie, run up and ask her to make sure Jennie’s room is clean so the other agents can stay there,” Henri told her. “Alice, you come with me and Jane and the sheriff.”



“What do you want Brian and me doing?” Cy asked.



“Go ahead and start entertaining the tourists as they show up on the streets.” Henri looked over at Sloan. “They’re allowed to do a little trick-riding, right?”



“Trick-riding is great.”



“Good. I’m glad you don’t think the horses are in on it!” Henri said with a sniff.



That, at least, made them all smile—even Sloan.



“No, Henri, I don’t think the horses are in on it,” he responded drily.



They rose to do as asked. Behind the stage in the dressing rooms, Henri selected clothing for Jane and Sloan to wear. Sloan just had to change into a period cotton shirt, jacket and plumed hat. Jane told them she’d change into her new costume upstairs.



She ran ahead before any of them could protest. Up in her room—or Sage’s room—she spoke out loud while she changed. “We could really use some more help here, Sage. Something was going on—and you knew about it, didn’t you? I wish there was a way you could tell me what you found out. Because people are dying again, Sage.”



If Sage was there, she wasn’t speaking at the moment.



Jane walked into the bathroom. As she brushed her hair and arranged it into a loose chignon, she wished she had time to take a shower; Sage seemed to like writing on the mirror.



She bent down as she dropped a bobby pin. When she looked into the mirror again, she seemed to have double vision—and then realized that the ghost was standing right behind her.



Jane spun around. The apparition didn’t disappear. Instead, she reached out as if she could touch Jane, and then her hand fell.



“I know it can be hard, very hard, to appear and communicate. I also know you’ve been here many years, and I’m not sure why. Do you watch over your family or have you been waiting for this all these years—someone killing people because of the past? I realize you’d never hurt anyone, that you want to help people, but we need to know what you know,” Jane said.



She thought of the different apparitions she’d encountered, and she knew that some were present and never appeared, some were like mist...and some had become so experienced at showing themselves that they could cause a great deal more than cold drafts or whispers in the night.



“Sage, we really need your help,” she said again.



The ghost seemed to step through her. Sage touched the mirror, but of course there was no steam. Jane quickly closed the door and ran the hot water in the sink, creating a vapor.



The ghost wrote, “Trey Hardy.”



It seemed to take all her effort. She wrote the name and faded away.



Trey Hardy, gunned down in his cell. Jane had to get to the Old Jail and into that cell.



* * *



Chet Morgan and Lamont Atkins were in town, in uniform, patrolling the streets on foot, making their presence known.



Sloan spoke with them both. They were worried, aware that Lily needed Silverfest even though the town had been plagued by murder.



“Bad days, Sloan, bad days,” Lamont told him. “But we’re watching everyone. And Newsome over at county has done his part. There are three officers, two men and a woman, keeping up with everything. So far, I’m feeling like a tour director, but that’s all right. No trouble happening here as I can see.”



Sloan started into Desert Diamonds next, but the place was overflowing with people and every step he took drew another question from a tourist or someone wanting to pose with him. He went back to the street and called Grant Winston, asking him to come out for a chat.



Sloan leaned against the post by the Old Jail Bed and Breakfast, playing his part as Trey Hardy. He didn’t mind being Hardy—he actually felt a certain kinship with the man. But his main goal that day was to interview everyone in town about Caleb Hough.