Twenty minutes later, they were on their way back to town.
As they drove, she flipped through the books Sloan had gotten at Desert Diamonds. Both were well-written and did an excellent job of recreating the past; it was still the wild, wild west. Everyone carried a gun. Ladies were ladies, whores were whores—and actresses were looked on as little better than whores, though a woman like Sage McCormick would be admired, desired and placed on a pedestal.
By all accounts, Sage loved her husband and child, but was known as well to frequent the bar of the Gilded Lily. She even smoked a cigar upon occasion and was a good poker player.
She frequently visited Trey Hardy, once he’d been taken to jail, and was disconsolate when he was shot down in his cell. Trey Hardy, being an outlaw who’d often held up stagecoaches—but let the driver and guards go—could have learned during his time in jail that a stagecoach bearing the last of the area’s gold was leaving town. And maybe he knew who might have gone after it. So if Sage McCormick had been spending time with him, it was logical that he’d told her about the intended heist.
“I’ll bet she did know something,” Jane murmured. “But what?”
“And will we ever find out?” Sloan responded. “Hey, take my phone. The number for the hospital should be in the contacts. See how Jimmy, Zoe and Jennie are doing.”
Jane dialed, putting the phone on speaker so that Sloan could identify himself. He was told that Jennie remained unconscious. Zoe and Jimmy were doing well.
“There’s still a county officer watching the halls?” he asked.
The nurse giving the report assured Sloan that an officer was on duty. He come in to spell the night man just an hour ago.
Sloan thanked her, then said, “One more. Find the number for Newsome’s office. And please put it on speaker again.”
Newsome was at the morgue, but one of his officers told Sloan that all they’d heard so far was that the blood on the cane found near Jennie Layton belonged to Jennie Layton. The cane itself had been wiped clean.
Sloan sighed, disgusted that they couldn’t seem to get any solid evidence. He turned to Jane. “When we get there,” he said, “we’ll play along with the street theatrics again.”
She glanced at him, surprised.
He offered her a crooked smile. “I can force a county investigation, but that won’t help figure out what’s really going on here. I may even find that people are more willing to talk when we’re in costume. Anyway, a costume isn’t all that different from a uniform.”
“You know this is kind of crazy, don’t you?”
“Everything about it is more than a little crazy,” he agreed.
It was still early, not quite 8:00 a.m., when they arrived. But the doors to the theater were unlocked. As they entered, they saw Henri sitting at one of the tables with his cast.
“Jane!” Valerie cried, running over and giving her a hug. “How are you? You poor dear. Do you have any idea what happened to you yesterday? Should you really be up and walking around?”
“I’m fine,” Jane assured her.
“But...do you remember anything more?” Alice asked. “I mean, could you have tripped?”
“No,” she said flatly.
Valerie looked at her anxiously and then at Sloan.
“Oh, my God! Sloan, haven’t you found out anything? It’s all so horrible! Caleb—Caleb Hough—was murdered!” Valerie said. “Sloan, he’s not a stranger. He’s one of us! Please tell us you found out what happened to him.”
“No, I don’t know yet,” Sloan said. “And someone attempted to murder Jimmy and Zoe, as well. There’s something going on here in Lily—and everyone’s in danger until we find out what it is.”
“Someone tried to kill Jimmy?” Brian repeated. “Jimmy Hough? The kid’s decent. He used to come by a lot. He loved the show. And his mom! What a doll. Why would anyone hurt her?”
“But they’re okay? The family’s okay? They were...attacked?” Alice asked.
“They were knocked out and left in the garage to die of carbon monoxide poisoning,” Sloan said.
“But they survived?” Henri asked.
“Jimmy managed to turn the car off,” Jane told them.
Alice let out a little sound and Cy groaned softly.
“Sloan, Caleb was an outspoken jerk. I’m surprised he didn’t get killed long ago,” Henri muttered.
“Henri!” Alice chastised.
“Well, it’s true. So maybe Caleb was in collusion with that tourist who got shot in the desert. Caleb was probably running drugs or illegal aliens—or maybe he was even into human trafficking,” Henri said. “It’s a crying shame the bastard got his family involved. But, Sloan, come on. It’s your job to find out what the hell’s happening here, but it has nothing to do with us in the theater. You didn’t come in to suggest we shut down for the day, did you? Lord, the town’s still full of tourists. None of them have been scared off by this.”