He placed his hand on the wall by the sink, then leaned against it. He moved his lips to speak.
“Here,” the ghost said. It was a croak—dry, brittle. It was the rough, sandpapery whisper that others sometimes heard, and when they did, they’d get that eerie feeling that a place was really haunted.
“In the wall,” she said softly.
He nodded.
She started, hearing a knock at the door. Hardy wavered and was gone.
She hurried to her door, expecting Sloan. She was surprised to see Mike Addison. He hadn’t even been at the desk; she’d assumed he’d gone home for the night.
She opened the door. “Mike. What’s the problem?”
“I came to make sure you’re okay—and ask you to be quiet again,” he said.
She frowned at him, startled. “Mike, I haven’t made any noise. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She realized that beneath his Western denim jacket he was wearing a holster. He was armed, while her Glock was on the bedside table.
“That pounding. The guest two cells down called me about it,” Mike said.
He was just standing there, a little belligerently, talking to her. She didn’t know why he suddenly made her nervous.
“Let me see what’s going on in here.”
She wanted to slam the door, which would have been ridiculous. But she didn’t want to let him into the room. She wished she’d gotten her gun before opening the door.
“Mike, there’s nothing going on in here. I’m alone,” she told him. “If any of the guests are hearing things, the sounds have to be coming from the theater.”
“The theater is closed.”
He seemed to be moving toward her. She assured herself that the man couldn’t possibly be enough of a fool to offer harm to a federal agent, especially when it was known that she was at the Old Jail.
Thankfully, she didn’t have to let him in or slam the door. She heard a creak, and the barred door separating the office from the cells opened and closed.
Sloan was coming down the hallway.
“Hey, Mike. What’s up?” Sloan asked. “What are you doing here so late?”
“I was over at the theater—thought I’d stop in,” Mike said. “And I got here just in time. The guests are complaining about the noise Agent Everett is making.”
“I’m not making any noise,” Jane said with exasperation.
Sloan stared at Mike. “If Agent Everett says she isn’t making any noise, I certainly believe her.”
“But I had a complaint,” Mike protested.
“Tell the complainers the ghosts must really like them,” Sloan said.
Mike’s eyes narrowed and he cast his head at an inquisitive angle. “You gonna be here, Sheriff?”
“I’m going to be here. I’ll see that nothing is going on,” Sloan told him.
“Oh. Oh!” Mike said. “Okay, um, fine. Well, then. Just, uh, keep it down!” He turned and left abruptly.
Sloan looked at Jane, amusement in his eyes. “What was that all about?”
“I don’t know. There really wasn’t any noise coming from the room. But I did see Trey Hardy. And he put his hand on the wall again—right by the mirror. But, more importantly, how is Jennie?”
“She’s doing well.”
“What did she say?”
“She said the clown did it,” he told her wearily. “She kept hearing voices from the room in the basement. She started to think that the spirits of people murdered in Lily had inhabited the mannequins. I think someone goes down there to talk and plot or...I don’t know. But I do think we need to get in that room and find out what’s down there. Anything happen here?”
“Happen? Not really. But, Sloan, we’re getting closer. In the morning, I’ll do a two-dimensional sketch of the skull from the desert. I’m willing to bet it’s Red Marston. I’m almost positive Red and Sage were killed because they knew too much—and the same with Trey Hardy. I saw Sage tonight and...” She paused.
“And?”
“She’d had her tongue cut out. And just like we discussed earlier this evening, you have your tongue cut out when you’ve said too much or spoken against someone—or when it’s a warning not to talk.”
“Or if you want to make sure your victims suffer before they die.”
He walked past her into the bathroom and ran his hand over the painted plaster of the wall. “So, the ghost insists there’s something back there?” he asked.
She nodded. Sloan raised his brows, hands on hips. “I think your agency’s budget is bigger than mine.”
“Meaning?”
“Tomorrow, we’ll dig out that wall,” he said. “We’ll just have to replace it. Logan and Kelsey are at the Gilded Lily, right?”
“Yes.”
“From now on, one of us is at both of these places every night. But for now, we really need to get some sleep.”
“I agree.”
“I’ll take that chair,” he told her.
“Why would you do that when we’ve been sleeping together?” she asked.
“Ghosts.”
She smiled. “Just because we’re in the same bed doesn’t mean that we have to fool around in it.”