“Last night. You took off in the middle of the night to follow a ghost. You were barefoot, so I’m assuming you were still in your pajamas. And you didn’t bring your Glock.”
She’d never mentioned that she carried a Glock, which she did—a Glock 23. A .40 caliber handgun with a magazine that allowed her seventeen bullets. He’d assumed it either because the Glock 23 was a common weapon among law enforcement personnel—or he hadn’t assumed it at all; he’d seen it beneath her jacket. But he’d homed right in on what she’d done the night before.
“Sloan, there are a number of people in that building.”
“And they were sound asleep. If they weren’t, they should have been. The cast seems to be a decent group of people—but someone in there probably dug up that skull somewhere...and used a mummified dead man to point the way to a recent murder victim.”
“I won’t leave my room again without my weapon,” she promised him.
He turned and left the room. She quickly threw on her coat and hurried into the kitchen to wash her hands.
As he drove, he was thoughtful. “So, you were in the shower, and you noticed blood going down the drain.”
She nodded. “I thought I’d stepped on something and cut myself and hadn’t realized it. But the blood wasn’t mine.” She glanced at him. “I suspect traces of it could be found. And the housekeeper is afraid of my room. I told her not to worry about it, just to bring me clean towels now and then. So, I must have tracked it into bed and...”
“And it’ll be on the sheets,” Sloan finished.
They neared town and he braked, sliding to the side of the road, surprising her. She looked into the yard where they’d stopped. A handsome young man in his late teens was helping an older woman into a house with groceries.
“I need just a minute.” Sloan was frowning slightly as he surveyed the teen and the slim, gray-haired older woman.
“Certainly,” she said.
Jane got out and stood by the car. The older woman had gone into the house; the young man had a bag in his arms.
“Jimmy,” Sloan called.
“Hey, Sheriff,” the teen said, waiting. He smiled at Jane and nodded politely.
“Giving a hand here, I see,” Sloan said.
The teen blushed. “I, uh, came over here to apologize. I did hit Miss Larson’s car the other night. I figured the least I could do was a bit of hauling around for her.”
“Your father know you’re here?” Sloan asked him.
Jimmy looked uncomfortable. “This was just something I felt I should do.”
“Good,” Sloan said.
The older woman came back out. She waved to Sloan. “Hello, Sheriff!”
“Hi, Connie. You take care.”
“Yes, sir, thank you! Young Jimmy here helped me get in a week’s worth of groceries. Tomorrow, a lot of mayhem will be coming down on us, what with Silverfest on our doorstep,” she said cheerfully. “Now, I won’t have to venture out into the crowds. I can see the parades and such from my rooftop!”
“Great, Connie. Enjoy,” Sloan said.
Jane lifted a hand and waved to her. She waved in return.
“Jimmy Hough,” Sloan explained, getting back in the car. “Kid smacked the older woman’s car with his dad’s Maserati the other day. He’s actually a decent kid—well, he’d been drinking and I’m not sure what else, but he leaped out of the car to run around and check on Connie Larson. I had him taken in for the night, and his father, Caleb, had a fit. He was in the office to threaten me. I would’ve thought he’d want Jimmy to learn a lesson—before he killed himself or someone else. I went easier than I could have on Jimmy, not because of his father, but because of him. Like I said, he’s a decent kid and I honestly think he learned that you can’t drive when you’re impaired. I was really glad to see that, of his own volition, he came over to Connie’s place to see if he could help her.”
Jane grinned. “So, the father is a blowhard jerk. And the kid seems to be turning out okay, anyway.”
“Yeah.” He still seemed worried.
“What is it?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Believe it or not, I doubt his father would be pleased. Caleb Hough has a big beefalo ranch about a mile or so past my property. He’s one of those people who feels entitled. He’d think his kid was a pansy—a word I’ve heard him use—for helping the woman just because he nicked what Caleb would call her ‘shit’ car.’”
She was quiet for a minute; she could tell he liked the kid—if not the father.
“He looks like he’s about to graduate. He’ll grow up and make his own decisions about the kind of man he wants to be.”
Sloan nodded. A moment later, they pulled into town.
“What are we going to say to get into the dressing room?” Jane asked.
“You haven’t figured it out?”
“No! This is your town, these are your friends. I waited for you because the plan was that you’d figure out how we’d get down there. I can’t say a ghost led me!”