The fact that news traveled like wildfire in a small town had its good points; he didn’t have to explain what he needed to know.
“Sloan, don’t it just beat all?” Mike asked him. “I’m so sorry to hear about this. That Jay seemed like an all-right guy.”
“Tell me about him, Mike. Tell me everything he said and did while he was here.”
“Hell, I don’t room with my guests!” Mike said. “He checked in, and he talked to me about things to do in town. I told him to see the show and take tours from the stables. If he didn’t ride, he could do the haunted hayride at night. He was really a nice guy.”
“Why was he out here on his own?”
“Said he was a history buff, that he’d read all about Arizona and Lily.”
“Where did he stay?” Sloan asked. “Which room?”
“Well, you can imagine. A guy like that.”
Sloan prayed for patience. “Mike, I don’t want to imagine. Just tell me which room he stayed in.”
“The Trey Hardy cell. He was the guest in that cell right before the young couple who lost their wallets.”
“And he checked out?”
Mike nodded. “Let’s see. It’s Tuesday now.... He came in last Tuesday night, checked out Thursday morning. Our young couple got here Friday afternoon—and, well, you know about Saturday. Their wallets disappeared, they freaked out and left that day after you found the wallets. No one stayed there on Saturday night. They were supposed to be there another few days. I have it booked again starting Thursday night. Everything in and near town is booked as of Thursday. The Silverfest activities start on Friday, so folks will be coming in big numbers.”
“Let me have the key, Mike. I want to take another look in there.”
“Here you go!” Mike handed him the key.
Sloan went to the Trey Hardy cell. Nothing looked any different than it had when he’d been in there a few days ago to search for the wallets that had “disappeared.”
He sat on the bed. Mike’s housekeeping staff was good; the cell was immaculate. He wasn’t sure what he thought he’d find in the cell but he began to go through the drawers. They were empty—except for a King James version of the Bible.
He sat back down on the bed, wondering what Jay Berman could have been up to that had gotten him executed out in the desert.
It was while he was sitting there that the door to the tiny bathroom suddenly flew open. “So, Hardy, there is something I’m missing, huh?” he asked.
He figured that one day the ghost would actually make an appearance. He never knew if he imagined the vague image he sometimes saw or if it was real. Longman always appeared as a solid entity to him. He’d never been sure if he was crazy or not; he’d decided he’d consider himself functional, if crazy, and learn to live with what he either did or didn’t see.
But now, it seemed that whether a ghost or his mind was suggesting it, he needed to investigate the small bathroom that had been built into the cell.
Shower, sink and toilet were almost on top of one another. The tile floor was clean and the wastebasket under the sink had been emptied. A mirror hung over the sink and a small cabinet, which had been nailed over the toilet, held the usual tiny containers of lotion, shampoo, conditioner and soap.
And a tissue box.
Sloan picked up the box. There were remnants of a piece of paper beneath it. Apparently, someone had set a note there to keep it from falling into the sink. Somehow, it had gotten damp and ripped, leaving behind the little corner of paper.
All that remained were a few blurred words. He frowned as he studied them.
DES DIA
It could only mean one place. Desert Diamonds. And it might not mean anything at all; Mike might have told Jay Berman that Desert Diamonds was where he could go to have pizza, coffee or buy souvenirs.
He looked into the mirror and froze. To his astonishment, he saw more than his own reflection there. For a moment, it was as if someone stood behind him, looking into the mirror, as well, meeting his eyes.
It was Trey Hardy, his plumed hat set jauntily on his head. He looked at Sloan grimly and nodded.
He didn’t speak.
He disappeared, fading away until he was nothing but a memory.
Or a sure sign of insanity.
*
It was late in the day when Jane finally returned Kanga to Sloan’s stable and took the patrol car back to the station. Betty was just about to leave.
“Jane!” she said, pausing to greet her before walking out. “How’s the work going?”
“The work—oh, it’s going very well.”
“I wish I knew more about what you do!” Betty said enthusiastically. “It’s science and it’s art!”
Jane smiled. “I’m lucky. I love my job. The form of the human skull shapes the face, but it’s the soft tissue that really creates the unique appearance of each human being.”