Jane wished she’d come to long before Sloan had gotten to the basement.
She was poked and prodded, scanned, put into a hospital gown and given an IV and then a serious warning from a young doctor who said she did have a minor concussion, and that she needed to be watchful because of it. “You should be able to resume normal activity—but nothing strenuous. You were unconscious for a while. This could have been severe.” He paused. “You were fortunate.”
“Can I leave now?” Jane asked him.
“Yes, I’ll discharge you.” He looked over at Sloan, who’d been at her side throughout, except when medical procedure had dictated he wait outside. He’d taken that time, he’d told her, to talk to Detective Liam Newsome with county, and that conversation hadn’t improved his mood any.
“Yes, just take care.”
“She will.” Sloan leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest.
Ten minutes later, they were both seated in the back of a county patrol car, being driven to Lily.
The ride was silent. Uncomfortably silent. But apparently, Sloan didn’t want to talk in front of anyone else, so she didn’t try.
When they returned to the theater, it was open for business, with the restaurant and bar in full swing. Liz came hurrying to the door to meet them. “Jane, you’re all right?” she asked anxiously.
“I’m fine,” Jane assured her.
“And Jennie?”
“Jennie’s still unconscious, but she’s being given the best possible care,” Sloan said. “Where’s Henri?”
“Backstage, setting up for this evening’s show. He’s getting the cast to help him with everything Jennie usually did,” Liz said. “Your deputy’s been standing guard at the basement door since you left.”
“Thanks, Liz.” Sloan waited until she’d hurried off, then turned to Jane. “You should lie down for a while.”
“I don’t want to lie down.”
“I’ll take you upstairs,” he said.
“Listen to me. I’m fine. If there’s something to be found in the basement, you’ll find it faster with two people looking,” she said.
“Jane—”
“Sloan.”
He swore under his breath. “Come with me, then. But when we’re finished, you have to go to bed.”
“We’ll search the basement first,” she said stubbornly.
“I need to know exactly what happened down there,” he said, winding his way through groups of people, one hand on Jane’s back.
The crowd in the bar was rowdier and more cheerful—and much drunker. Sloan’s mood was like a thundercloud, and Jennie had difficulty disentangling herself from the people trying to stop her as she walked toward the door. Most wanted pictures, and she promised to pose with them later. Each time she did, Sloan, scowling fiercely, would step between her and the tourists, and they’d back off.
“I haven’t moved, Sloan,” Chet said when they reached the door. “Liz made coffee and brought it to me. No one’s been down there.” He started to smile at Jane, but cleared his throat and shifted awkwardly away from the door.
Sloan managed a brief, “Thank you, Chet.”
He walked down the stairs, not turning back as she followed him. He paused to pull a giant flashlight from his belt, using it as he went straight to the third section of the room—the place she’d forever think of as the mannequin’s lair.
With the light playing over the mannequins, they seemed far less real.
“So, relive every second of what happened,” Sloan said.
“I looked for Jennie upstairs. She wasn’t there.” Jennie hesitated. “I saw Sage McCormick. She led me to the basement door and then disappeared. I checked every room until I reached this part—the mannequin room—and then I heard a groan. I pushed over a few of the dummies and found Jennie.” She stopped for a moment, shivering. “When I went to take out my phone, I saw Sage again. She was warning me to look behind me and...and then something whacked me and I went down.”
“So someone was in here with you.”
“Yes.”
“One of the mannequins didn’t just fall?”
“I think it’s a little unlikely that a mannequin would fall and hit Jennie so hard that she’s still unconscious—and then fall on me, too. Don’t you?”
“Of course I do. I’m just asking you. Because, apparently, no one saw anyone come down here. Or leave.”
“No one was in the building when I came in. Well, except for Jennie.”
“Obviously, someone else was in the building—and in the basement.”
Sloan trained the light over the entire area. Now half the mannequins were on the floor.
“What are you looking for?” she asked him.
He pointed suddenly.
She stared in that direction and saw what seemed to be a partial footprint on the dusty floor.
“It could be anyone’s, Sloan.”
“Not really. Too big to be either yours or Jennie’s, and I’m not wearing work shoes. Walk around it. I’m going to get the crime-scene unit in here. See if you can find anything else.”
She tried to search without touching while he went meticulously through the room.
“Found it,” Sloan said.