The Night Is Watching (16 page)

“Maps. Maps of the county—and maps of Lily. One was especially interesting. Copy of a map done by a surveyor back in the early 1870s. I’ll get it scanned and over to your office as soon as I’m back in mine,” Newsome said. “Your fed artist is still here, right?”

“Yes.”

“We’ll have the skull of the dug-up corpse ready by this afternoon. Someone will bring it over. I guess you’ve got a lot on your plate, what with Silverfest, but the medical examiner said he’d be done by then, so we might as well send it over.”

Sloan wondered if it was wrong to be glad that they had another old corpse to identify, since it would keep Jane in Lily for a few more days....

He drove back to town.

Main Street was alive with activity. He arrived just in time to see the annual lynching of Aaron Munson. For the past few years, Mike Addison from the Old Jail had taken on the role of Sheriff Fogerty, while Brian Highsmith portrayed the ill-fated Munson. Henri Coque orchestrated the reenactment, and volunteers were drawn from the crowd to play small roles, along with the rest of the theater troupe.

Sloan decided to take a few minutes to watch the spectacle before heading into his office for the day. Betty was handling the desk alone. Chet was in town; one officer was always on Main Street during Silverfest, assuring tourists that law enforcement was concerned about their safety.

Parking, he saw Chet standing on the wooden sidewalk in front of the saloon.

Cy Tyburn held Mike back in his role as Fogerty as he tried to prevent the mob from taking his deputy—even if his deputy had just shot their prisoner in cold blood.

Valerie Mystro and Alice Horton were out to spur the crowd into action, Valerie screaming that Munson had killed their hero, Hardy. Bartenders and waitresses from the theater were all in on the action, encouraging the crowd to join them as part of the lynch mob.

“Our hero! This man—this deputy!—shot down our hero! No trial, no conviction. He shot him down when he was defenseless, cornered, caged! Lynch him!” Valerie cried.

“Take him, take him! Show him that we won’t allow even a deputy to take the law into his own hands!” Alice Horton shouted.

“Get rope! Get a horse, get this man dead!” Henri Coque demanded.

Sloan recognized two of the night bartenders as they came down the street from the stables with a horse and a rope. Brian, loudly protesting that he’d killed a heinous, low-down bank robber who just wasn’t going to get away with robbing the county blind, was dragged up onto the horse; the noose was slipped around his neck. The rope was then tied to the rafters of the overhang by the Old Jail. Someone slapped the horse’s rump and “Munson” swung from the rafters.

Henri Coque crawled up on a podium set to the far side of the road for the reenactment. “And so it was that Deputy Aaron Munson paid the price for his eagerness to kill Trey Hardy in Lily, Arizona. Was Hardy guilty? Beyond a doubt. But he was loved because at a time when the country was healing, when the West was still wild, he was a man of the people. Take care today, friends. The ghosts of Trey Hardy, murdered in his cell, and Aaron Munson, lynched by the crowd, still wander these streets! Just as the ghost of our beautiful diva, Sage McCormick, roams the stage of the theater and haunts her old room—appearing at her window to watch the streets of the town she came to love.”

There was a roar of applause, especially as “Munson”—hanging from the rafter but with a safety harness around him—lifted his head. “And come back and see us here in Lily!” he called out. “The Old Jail fills up for Silverfest, so get your reservations in early!”

Sloan applauded with the rest of the crowd. He looked up at the theater, drawn to the window Henri had indicated.

His heart seemed to quicken. There
was
someone at the window. A woman, gazing down.

He glanced around to see if he was imagining things, but he saw a little girl in the crowd tugging at her mother’s hand and pointing. “It’s Sage! Sage McCormick!”

For a moment, he thought he’d actually seen her at last.

But then the woman raised a hand and he realized she was looking right at him. She smiled.

And he smiled in return.

It was Jane, and she was playing her role, just as she’d been asked.

The crowd broke up after Henri announced that there’d be a gunfight between Mean Bill Jenkins and Savage Sam Osterly on Main Street in an hour.

Chet walked over to him. “Hey, Sloan.”

“Chet. Everything going well here?”

Chet nodded. “We’ve got a heck of a crowd, though. You hadn’t left orders, but Betty checked in with the chief over at county. They have a few of their people here, just wandering through the crowd. Hope that sits fine with you. Not that we usually have trouble, but with this many people... The boys from the night crew suggested it. The reports are on your desk.” He shrugged. “We had a few bar fights last night.”

“I think Betty was brilliant and I’m ashamed I didn’t take care of it myself.”

“Silverfest is getting bigger every year,” Chet said happily.

“Yes, it is.”

“And what with a murder in town and all...”

“Yep. I’ll go in and check the reports,” Sloan said. “Then I’ll be back here for most of the day, unless something breaks.”

As he spoke, Jane appeared on the sidewalk. He thought she did the town’s diva and his great-great grandmother proud. Her hair was swept up in a loose chignon and she was wearing a blue period dress with gold cord that seemed to bring out the brilliance of her eyes. She smiled and joined him.

She was stunning. But then he remembered that he knew, as of last night, that she was stunning naked, as well.

Something he shouldn’t be thinking about now.

“I was just about to go in and work on the skull,” she told him. “Are you sure you want me to finish?”

“I’d like it if you did. We can get her a coffin and bury her. I think she’d like your artistry—for you to rebuild the lifelike appearance of her face, that is. She was reputed to be a little vain, you know.”

Henri Coque walked up to them, a smile splitting his face. “It’s all going wonderfully. I admit, I was worried. I’m always worried when using nonactors. But the lynching went off perfectly. And have you seen all the vendors? They’re set up behind the saloon and Desert Diamonds. We have more vendors this year than ever before, and with what they pay for their licenses, the town will be flourishing!”

“Congratulations, Henri.”

“Would you get into your Trey Hardy apparel, Sloan? Next year, we should reenact his shooting,” Henri said excitedly. “We’ve never done that, you know, because we can’t fit spectators into the jail. But where there’s a will, there’s a way! I’ll work on it. Come on, Sloan, let’s go get your costume.”

Sloan started to excuse himself to Jane but saw that a little girl was asking to have a picture taken with her beneath the theater sign. Jane seemed puzzled at first and then realized that her costume made her a tourist attraction. She smiled and posed with the child.

He went in with Henri and made his way down to Cy Tyburn’s dressing room, where he could procure a plumed cavalry hat and Civil War butternut-trimmed cavalry jacket.

“You could let your hair grow out,” Henri told him. “Then you’d be the spitting image of Trey Hardy.”

“I think your chances of the ghost cutting his hair are better than your chances of me growing mine out,” Sloan said. “In case you’ve forgotten—it’s hot as hell out here.”

Henri shrugged and they returned to the street.

Jane had become a celebrity. She was now with a group of Boy Scouts.

He was surprised when Henri, still standing near him, said, “Good thing you’re hanging around today, Sloan. I like Chet, he’s a solid deputy. But he’s still a kid. What with the stuff going on, I’m glad you’re here.”

“We’re fine whether I’m here or not, Henri. County sent over some men. They’re all in uniform, as you can see them in the crowd. Their presence will let any would-be rabblerousers know that we’re watching.”

“Yeah, but I’m glad you’re in town, Sloan,” Henri said again. “Hey, the shoot-out is coming up next!”

Sloan studied the activity in the street. People were pouring in and out of Desert Diamonds, the saloon, the stables—and even the spa. He saw Heidi bringing out a tour group of ten; the stables charged a hefty sum for every tour they took out and he could see from the sign in front that they’d sold out for the day.

Everything was going well.

Jane was now posing in front of the theater sign with Alice, Valerie, Cy and Brian. He smiled slightly. Brian Highsmith had always thought of himself as a lothario. “Bad boys get the chicks, you know?” he’d told Sloan once. He seemed to like having his arm around Jane; Sloan wasn’t so sure that she was “feeling the love” in return.

As he watched, his cell phone rang. He reached into his pocket for it.

It was Johnny Bearclaw.

“Sloan,” Johnny told him, “your bug has gone off. I heard shuffling. There’s movement in the mine shaft.”

“I’m on my way out. I want you to ride with me, Johnny.”

“I’ll get the horses ready.”

He hung up quickly and went over to interrupt the “Kodak moment.”

“Jane, can I see you, please?”

“Sheriff!” Cy protested. “We’ve become a sensation! We’re better than ever with Agent Everett. She can work tomorrow, can’t she?”

“I’m not taking Agent Everett away,” Sloan assured Cy, although he didn’t understand why Cy was so worried. Brian might play the “bad boy,” and “bad boys” might be popular, but Cy did all right for himself. He was tall, blond and built. He had plenty of charm, too—and he knew it.

“Good!” Valerie said happily. “I’m always glad to have a fed with a gun around! Especially since we’re missing Jennie today. Where’s our stage mom? Haven’t seen her yet.”

“Maybe she’s getting into costume,” Cy said with a shrug.

“Yeah, running late!” Brian murmured. He grinned as if they were conspirators. “I think Jennie’s been getting it on lately. She crawled up to her room really late a few times in the past week.”

“Jennie—getting it on?” Valerie asked. “Seriously? With whom?” She giggled.

“Oh, for a sweet young thing, that was cruel!” Alice told her.

“Not cruel, just...”

“Truthful?” Brian suggested.

“Well, let’s face it. Jennie isn’t going to be the next swimsuit model of the year,” Cy commented. “Still, it
was
cruel, young woman,” he said to Valerie. “There’s someone out there for everyone!”

Sloan shook his head, unimpressed by the actors’ banter, and turned to give Jane a questioning look. She wasn’t wearing her customary holster.

“Strapped to my thigh,” Jane said softly. But she was heard.

“Sexy!” Brian told her.

“Safe,” she said, her tone harsh.

“Excuse me. Like I said, I need to speak with Jane for a minute.”

“Okay, you’re the sheriff. Steal our prize act for the day!” Brian said with mock dismay.

He took her aside. “That was Johnny. There’s someone in the mine shaft. I’m heading out there.”

“I’ll go with you,” Jane insisted.

“No,” he said firmly.

“I’m an agent. Not an actress. This is fun, but I don’t think you should be going in there alone. You—”

“Jane,” he broke in. “I know you’re a competent law enforcement officer, and that you can use a weapon.”

“Well, then?”

He hesitated, about to say something he hadn’t wanted to admit before. “Jane, I need you to be the one who knows where I am in case something happens. Jay Berman was from New York, yes. But I still believe he was killed by someone out here. Someone who’s aware of the old legends—someone who thinks he can find the gold, perhaps, or someone running an illicit scheme out here.” He lowered his voice. “That means I don’t know whom to trust. What if one of my staff talks to the wrong person? For the moment, anyway, the fewer people involved, the safer I’ll feel. Johnny will ride with me. Just make sure you keep hearing from me every hour or so.”

“All right,” she said slowly. “All right, but you know I’m going to be a nervous wreck.”

“And you know that it’s the best way for me to work this.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” she said. “You could call in Newsome...”

“I will,” Sloan told her. “But I don’t want to cry wolf. I want to have some idea of what’s really going on here. And I don’t want to scare anyone away from the mine shaft, not when it might be a piece of the puzzle.”

“Should I stay here in town?”

“You’re making a lot of kids happy,” he said. “And you’ll be closer to my property and the Apache and mine sections of the trail ride if I do need you.”

Jane touched his arm and moved closer. “Ghosts might appear, but facial reconstructions do not complete themselves.”

“We’ll get back to work soon,” he said. He took a deep breath. He couldn’t help disliking the fact that his great-great grandmother was a pile of bones and decayed, dried-out tissue and fabric on a slab at the county morgue, while her skull was riddled with markers and clay down at the police station.

Still, that couldn’t compare with a man who’d just been murdered, even if he hadn’t been the most upstanding citizen.

He was also certain that they needed to establish the identity of the long-dead man who’d been found at the Apache village.

Somehow it all connected. He knew it.

“I’ll keep in touch,” he told her.

“You’d better.”

As he left her, walking around to the rear to get his patrol car, he thought that while it had been far more grueling to be a cop on the mean streets of Houston, being here was disturbing in its own way. A different way. In Houston, it had been easier to recognize the bad guys; here, he was afraid, he was looking for someone who might well be a friend.

Driving out of town, he could see the Silverfest celebrations taking place in the cordoned-off section of Main Street.

People were in high spirits. Most were convinced that a tourist killed in the desert had nothing to do with them.

And most of them were right.

In a few minutes he was back at his place, where Johnny Bearclaw had the horses saddled. Sloan mounted Roo, while Johnny took Kanga.