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 could 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.