YOU WILL
BEWARE
TRICKSTER
“Jane?” a woman’s voice called from outside her room. So not Sloan, after all.
“Coming!” she said.
She hurried to open the door and found Alice Horton. In jeans, a tank top and sneakers—her hair scooped up into a ponytail—Alice looked way more like the girl next door than she did a wicked vamp. But, of course, she was an actress, and she seemed to be pretty good. She could probably play just about any character.
“Hey, Alice,” she said. “How are you?”
“Fine, thanks. I thought I’d come up and get you. Jennie talked Sloan into having a cup of coffee, but he’s getting a little restless,” Alice told her.
“Thank you. I’m on my way. Give me one second.”
Jane left the door open and went back for her purse and bag; she hesitated and dashed into the bathroom, anxious to see if there was another message.
There was.
HELP PLEASE HELP US
*
As he drove to the station, Sloan was smiling to himself. He didn’t realize his passenger had noticed until she asked, “What’s so amusing, Sheriff?”
He glanced her way quickly, glad of the dark glasses that hid his eyes.
“Oh, nothing.”
“You’re grinning from ear to ear,” Jane said.
“I’m sorry. I won’t do it anymore.”
Jane let out a sigh of aggravation. “Come on, now you have to tell me what you were thinking. It’s only fair!”
“First I should tell you I’m not rude or macho or politically incorrect—most of the time.”
She laughed. “Okay, I believe you. But now I know there’s a really politically incorrect thought running through your head, so you have to tell me.”
“Uh, well...you’re not what I was expecting. Not what I figured you’d, um, look like. Being a Krewe member and all...” His voice trailed off.
“Pardon?”
“Never mind!”
“No! Tell me!”
“You make me think of a TV show. Like those crime shows where the medical examiner is a beautiful woman who whispers gentle things to her corpses. You know, like, ‘You poor, poor baby, what did they do to you?’ Or a crime show where the detectives are dressed by Versace or some other designer.”
She stared at him as if she were about to explode.
“I didn’t mean to be offensive, Agent Everett. It was a compliment,” he insisted. “You’re just—I mean, you must be a little aware that you’re...beautiful.”
She gazed at the road ahead, a slight smile playing on her lips. “Well, that part of your statement is quite charming, so thank you. But I don’t whisper sweet nothings to corpses,” she assured him. “And I only wish I had a wardrobe by Versace.”
He winced. “I’m sorry. I guess, even if we know better—and I do—we all expect a forensic artist to be an old man like Dr. Bunsen Honeydew from the Muppets or... I’m not helping myself here, am I?” he asked.
“No.”
“Let me try again. Agent Everett, you look very nice today.”
Her smile still teased at her lips as she turned to him. “Hmm. Does that mean I looked like hell yesterday?”
“No. I just...hey, sorry. I told you! I shouldn’t have said anything.”
Her smile became an honest laugh. “It’s all right. I prefer to avoid stereotypes—as an artist and a law enforcement officer. But you...”
“Me?”
“Yeah, Sheriff. You. Spend much time at the rodeo? Or, wait—walking down Main Street for a quick-draw contest with a bad guy?”
“What?”
“Well, you know, you look the part. Rugged Western hero. Gunslinger. Tough guy.”
He grinned. “So I’m a stereotype?”
“Oh, you definitely could be. But...are you?”
He didn’t have to answer; they’d arrived at the sheriff’s office. But even as he exited the car, Deputy Chet Morgan came hurrying out of the office. “Heidi Murphy just called, and she sounded pretty hysterical. She took a group out on a trail ride and they found a body.”
“A body? Did she call 9-1-1 for an ambulance?” Sloan asked quickly.
“She did, and an ambulance is on its way out. But Heidi was insistent that there’s no need. Says the corpse is practically mummified and that she knows dead from alive. I was going to head out there.”
“I’ll take it, Chet. Why don’t you hold down the fort with Betty and Agent Everett,” Sloan told him.
Mummified? Were remains from the past showing up all over the place?
“I’d like to ride with you on this, if you don’t mind,” Jane said.
She was wearing her sunglasses and her perfect face was stoic. Sloan thought of the dream that had plagued him the night before.
“It’s better if you stay here, get your work done.”
She didn’t have an argument and she knew it as well as he did. She was a federal agent on loan, and a body in the desert was his territory. He’d be calling in the county coroner, and if someone had been killed recently, the state police would probably come in on it, too. But...she was a fed.