The Night Is Watching

Page 18

 

  “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 co
uld 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.