The Night Is Watching (29 page)

“You never went near Caleb Hough? Or his wife or son?”

“Never! I’m here because I had to try to tell Jennie I’m sorry!”

“In a nurse’s uniform—dressed up as a woman?”

“I
am
an actor!” Brian reminded him with wounded dignity.

“Whether you did or didn’t hurt anyone else, you almost killed Jennie and you assaulted Agent Everett. You’re in it deep, Brian, and when I get back, you’re going to tell me everything—step by step. Betty, get him out of here!”

He watched while Betty put Brian Highsmith in the backseat of her patrol car. Then, trying to get a grip on his anger, he walked back into the hospital. He called Newsome and told him what had happened, then called Logan to give him the latest and was glad to hear that Logan was nearly at the hospital. As soon as he’d finished that conversation, he phoned Jane.

“So that’s it?” she asked. “Brian—Brian Highsmith—knocked me out and put Jennie in a coma. And he claims he didn’t want to
hurt
anyone?”

“That’s his story.”

“And he started the whole thing by putting Sage McCormick’s skull on the wig stand?”

“He said he was trying to scare Valerie into sleeping with him when he became the hero who saved her. Apparently, I ruined that by showing up.”

“What about Jay Berman—and the corpse in the desert? Do you think Brian killed Caleb Hough?”

“He denies it—but as he just reminded me, he
is
an actor.”

“Well, there’s also the fact that two people went into the Hough house and attacked Jimmy and Zoe Hough,” Jane said.

“I’m going to talk to Jennie and the Hough family—calm them down, calm myself down.” He sighed. “I was pretty sure that Jennie was being paranoid. Once Logan gets here I’ll go back to talk to Brian.”

“Kelsey and I will hang around the theater,” she told him. “Mike Addison is breathing fire over the fact that we’ve ripped up his wall.” She was quiet for a minute. “You’ll want to see this letter. Kelsey mentioned it to Logan.”

When Sloan acknowledged it, she went on. “Trey Hardy managed to file down some metal tubing to make sure his note was preserved. He’d hoped somebody would find it if he was killed, and if so, see that his killers didn’t get to Sage.” She paused. “Or, in the event that it wasn’t found until later, I guess he wanted to set the record straight. About the gold heist. And about Sage.”

Sloan felt a little numb. He wasn’t used to being sentimental, but this did involve his family. Or, at any rate, an ancestor.

“Yeah, I’d like to see that note,” he finally told Jane, and realized his voice was a little husky. Maybe it meant something that Trey Hardy and Sage McCormick had stayed around as ghosts all these years—and were here to help out when he’d needed them.

“And while we’re at the theater, we’re not going to be destructive. We’re going to look for the obvious,” Jane assured him.

“Hey, did you make a likeness of our mummified corpse?” he asked.

“From the pictures I’ve seen, I’d say we definitely found Red Marston. I honestly believe he was trying to save Sage, too, and died for his efforts,” Jane said.

“Maybe. We know that Trey Hardy was gunned down in a conspiracy. And I’m guessing Sage and Red were killed because of possible interference—or because they might talk. Since Brendan Fogerty was in on it all along, the law never caught anyone. I suspect Caleb Hough discovered that the gold was still here. He brought Jay Berman in on it and then killed Berman. The only possible reason for all these murders is that someone found some part of that gold already—and means to keep it.”

“We’re going to start looking, Sloan.”

“Keep in touch. And be careful.”

“Of course.”

Sloan rang off and went back into the hospital. Jennie was still upset, but she was in bed again and she’d been given a sedative; she clung to Sloan when he walked inside the room. “You’re going to be okay now,” he said.

“I don’t feel right, Sloan. I don’t feel right. Brian! And I cared about that boy.”

“He claims he loves you, too, Jennie. That he never intended to hurt you.”

Jennie sniffed at that. “He’ll go to jail, won’t he?”

“That was a serious assault. Yes, I imagine he’ll do time.”

“What if I don’t press charges?”

“He attacked a federal agent, as well.” Sloan hesitated. “He might have murdered other people, too. We don’t really know the truth yet. We only know what he’s willing to admit.”

“Brian Highsmith,” Jennie said. “He played a villain, Sloan, and he was an atrocious flirt, but I always felt he was a good kid at heart.”

“He put you in a coma,” Sloan said.

“But I believe he didn’t mean to,” Jennie argued.

There seemed to be no arguing with her; she was still charmed by Brian.

They were both startled when they heard a sound of disgust from the doorway. Sloan saw that Zoe Hough was standing there.

“How could you say such a thing?” she demanded. “That man is a killer!”

“Zoe,” Sloan said, rising to walk over to her where she stood in the doorway. “Zoe, we don’t—”

“He crept in here dressed like a nurse! He could’ve come and killed Jimmy or me!” Zoe said, obviously shaken.

“Zoe, he admits to what he did as far as Jennie and Jane are concerned, but denies killing anyone,” Sloan told her.

“But he came into the hospital!”

“Zoe, we think that whoever killed your husband also attacked you,” Sloan said. “Do you remember anything about him? The sound of his voice? Any details at all?”

“Well, of course I remember him! I’ve seen him perform.”

“I meant on the day you were attacked,” Sloan said.

Zoe swallowed hard. “I was attacked by a woman. I think. I mean, it’s hard to be sure, but there was something about the scent...like perfume.”

Bingo. This aligned with what Jimmy had said. It was also the first time Zoe had recalled that particular detail.

Sloan was glad when Jimmy appeared behind her, holding her shoulders. “Mom, come on, you’re going to upset Jennie.” He looked at Sloan. “He’s not the man who attacked me.”

“How do you know?” Zoe asked aggressively.

“I just do,” Jimmy said. “I would know.... I feel I’d know. I wasn’t completely out at any time. I’m sure I’d recognize a voice if...if I heard it right now.”

Sloan was glad to see Logan as he came around the bend in the hallway. He was wearing a tailored denim shirt and jeans and an air of authority that suited him well. He approached Sloan and the small group in the hallway with a query in his eyes.

“I’m heading back to the office,” Sloan told him.

“You can’t leave us! Even with an officer in the hall,” Zoe protested.

“It’s all right, Mrs. Hough. I’ll be here with you,” Logan said. “I promise you I’ll see to your safety and that of your son. So will the officer in the hall. The sheriff has work to do.”

“This man—he’s going to watch all of us?” Jennie asked.

“Yes, ma’am, I’ll be here. With all of you,” Logan assured her.

Sloan tipped his hat to Logan, smiling—and grateful that Jane had called her Krewe and that Logan had come.

“We’ll find the truth.” He met Zoe’s eyes. “I guarantee it.”

“Now, don’t you hurt that boy!” Jennie called as he turned to leave.

“No torture, Jennie. I promise,” Sloan said, making an effort not to smile.

At last he was out the door. He called the office and Scotty, the night desk deputy, picked up.

“I’ll be there in about ten minutes,” Sloan told him.

“Okay,” Scotty said. And then, “Why? What’s up?”

“To interrogate Brian Highsmith. He’s there, right?”

“No. In fact, no one’s here. I came into an empty office, which was pretty surprising, but I chalked it up to the end of Silverfest. There was a note from Betty saying she’d had to run out. But she isn’t here now.”

“Call in our troops. Tell them to start looking for Betty’s patrol car. She left the hospital with Highsmith. Find her car. Find Betty—and Highsmith!” he said. “I’m on it myself—”

He broke off, swearing. He was still about a mile from Main Street in Old Town.

And there was Betty’s car, run off the road.

He pulled his own car to the side and wrenched open the door. There was no sign of Betty in or near the patrol car.

Nor was Brian Highsmith in back.

A trail of blood trickled through the sand. Sloan followed it, his heart pounding, until it disappeared.

15

S
ilverfest had quieted down. There were still a number of vendors around and Desert Diamonds seemed to be doing a decent business, along with the saloon and the spa. There was a group heading out for a night ride, Jane noticed, but Heidi wasn’t leading it—two young men of about college age seemed to be doing it. The haunted hayride was getting ready to roll, as well.

Jane saw Henri Coque in front of the Gilded Lily, out on the street giving a lecture on the history of the theater in the United States, while Cy Tyburn and Valerie Mystro—dressed in hero and heroine attire—were chatting with people on the street. She didn’t see Alice anywhere...and she wondered if any of them knew that Brian had been arrested.

“Best time ever to sneak in,” Jane told Kelsey.

The bar and restaurant had yet to open. There weren’t even any kitchen workers in the old theater; there was nothing but dead silence when Kelsey and Jane walked in.

It felt strange, almost eerie.

“Want to check out the rooms upstairs while everyone else is outside?” Kelsey asked.

“Sure,” Jane agreed. “If they aren’t all locked.”

“The master key is in Jennie’s room. I found it last night,” Kelsey said. “I’ll grab that.”

“Good find!”

They didn’t need to search the Sage suite, nor Jennie’s room, since Logan and Kelsey had stayed in it. They entered Brian’s. Anything he might have taken—such as the dueling pistols that had disappeared from Jane’s bed—wasn’t there.

But they were equally disappointed as they went through the rest of the rooms. The pistols didn’t turn up, nor did any notes, remnants of gold, hidden gold—or even gold jewelry.

“Let’s try the theater,” Jane suggested.

Downstairs, Kelsey admired the stage. “It’s a remarkable place, really,” she said.

“We should move quickly. The company will be coming in soon,” Jane warned.

“What’s Henri going to do? He’ll be missing a villain tonight,” Kelsey said. She was sorting through the props on the table, then looked at Jane. “Hey, I think I just found your dueling pistols.”

Jane walked over to the prop table. The pistols were there, in plain sight. She picked up one and then the other, handing both to Kelsey.

“Blanks,” she murmured.

Kelsey nodded. “You’re
sure
there was live ammunition in one of them?” she asked Jane.

“I’m sure—and Sloan still has the live rounds.”

“So, I guess Brian was trying to kill Cy. But...why?”

“Because he’s the hero? Because he gets the girl?” Jane shrugged. “Although, while he admits he set up the skull, he denies wanting to hurt anyone. According to Sloan, Brian was just trying to get out of the room without being seen.”

“Should we check the dressing rooms?” Kelsey asked.

“Let’s go.” She led Kelsey through the various rooms, showing her where Sage McCormick’s body had been found.

As they walked to the next room, Jane saw something on the floor. Bending down, she touched the fresh, wet stain.

She looked up at Kelsey.

“Blood,” she mouthed.

Kelsey drew her gun and Jane did the same. Kelsey counted silently to three, then nodded at Jane. Jane threw the door open.

On the floor, as if he’d fallen while clutching the rack of costumes, lay a man in a pool of blood and fallen fabric.

Jane quickly fell to her knees at his side and rolled him over...and recognized Brian Highsmith.

She put two fingers on his throat to check for a pulse. It was there but weak. “He’s still alive.”

As she spoke, Brian’s eyes flew open. He stared at Jane but couldn’t seem to focus. “She’s dead...she’s dead, too. They knew...they knew...they killed her.”

His eyes closed.

Jane felt for his pulse again. “Kelsey, I think...the bullet is in his shoulder. He might make it.”

“I can’t get a signal down here,” Kelsey said urgently.

“Go out to the street. Get an ambulance over here!” Jane begged. “I’ll stay with him.”

Kelsey left her, running upstairs and out to the street. As Jane tried to staunch the flow of blood, she heard something behind her. She looked up, assuming Kelsey had returned.

But it wasn’t Kelsey.

It was one of the mannequins. An old one, from the late 1800s. She’d seen it downstairs.... Jennie had claimed that a clown attacked her, but they’d figured out that it had been Brian, that he’d pushed a clown figure toward her....

This clown was moving—alive and moving.

It lifted its arm; it held a gun and took aim at Jane.

She rolled to a corner of the room just as the bullet exploded against the dressing-table mirror. The sound of the mirror shattering was what she heard, and she realized there was a silencer on the gun.

Someone had tracked Brian down. Someone had tracked him to this room. That someone meant to kill him.

And now her.

* * *

Sloan searched up and down the road, seeking a trail of blood. While he walked, he called the office and reported that Betty and her prisoner were missing. Then he called Newsome and asked for officers to scour the streets in town, the hell with Silverfest.

He got into his car and drove slowly, searching the road for any sign of either Betty or Brian Highsmith.

He was five minutes from town when his phone rang.

Logan said, “Got a call from Kelsey. She has an ambulance rushing to the theater. She and Jane found Brian Highsmith, shot and bleeding to death, in his dressing room at the theater.”

“I’m almost there,” Sloan told him. “Any word on Betty?”

“None. I’ve got another officer coming to the hospital. I’ll be there as soon as he shows up.”

“Thanks. Whatever’s going down seems to be going down
now,
” Sloan said.

He stepped on the gas.

As he reached the outskirts of Lily, he was forced to slow down. There was some kind of Silverfest event happening on the road.

He left the car on the edge of Main Street and started running in.

As he did, he nearly ran by a heap on the ground. He recognized what it was—a body—and stopped himself.

He turned and fell to his knees.

It was Betty.

His heart thundered as he carefully examined her for an injury.

“Betty!” he said softly.

She groaned and looked up at him. “Sheriff!”

“Betty, what the hell happened?”

“There was someone flagging me down...I veered off the road. Next thing I knew, someone was in front of me, spraying something in my face...I can’t remember. My head...my head is killing me.... I...”

“Stop talking. I’ll get an ambulance out here.”

Betty sat up. “No, no, I’m fine. Go...after him. Whoever it was...took Brian. He took Brian....”

“Betty, who the hell was it?”

“I...don’t know.”

“How can you not know?”

“He—I can’t even say if it was a man or a woman—was dressed up. Dressed like a...like a Plains Indian...like an Apache in buckskin...with a dark wig and makeup and a black mask. I don’t know who it was...but—”

He’d reached for his phone. She set her hand on his. “No, Sloan. I’m all right. Go—get to the theater!”

“Betty, you’re injured—”

“I’m fine! I’ll call for help. Go.”

He didn’t trust her. Betty—who’d been his right hand since he’d returned to Lily.

He rose, suddenly very afraid—for many reasons. On many fronts. He crouched down again and pretended to make sure she wasn’t shot or injured, hoping his sleight of hand was successful.

“All right, Betty,” he said, and rose.

She might be innocent; she might be telling the truth.

But he didn’t know.

Cops would be crawling all over the theater any minute—but he felt a growing urgency to get there himself.

“Go!” Betty insisted.

He did. He ran. As he raced through the streets, he looked for people he knew. He didn’t see anyone. He paused just long enough to pull out his phone and call Logan. “Found Betty on the road. I left her there. I’m at the theater.”

“You see Kelsey? The ambulance?”

“No.”

“I’ve called for backup. Was Betty shot? Dead, alive?”

“Alive. I don’t trust her, Logan. I don’t trust anything right now.”

“I’ll be there in a few minutes. You’ve also got county cops moving in. Maybe you should wait for backup.”

Maybe he should.

“I can’t,” he said.

He burst in through the slatted doors of the theater.

* * *

Jane scrambled to get her own gun. She managed to fire a shot at the clown, but then the clown was gone. She jumped to her feet and moved carefully to the door—just in time to see the clown run across stage right. Ever wary that a bullet could come tearing at her again, she pursued the clown.

She got off a shot when the clown passed ahead of her in the bar area, but he threw open the door to the basement and tore down the stairs. She walked to the doorway, determined to guard the one entry until someone could come.

Then she realized that someone was behind her. She turned, ready to fire.

Her gun went off just as she was slammed in the head. As she went tumbling down the stairs, she heard someone cry out; she might not have killed her attacker, but at least she’d injured him.

It did her little good. She landed in the basement, staring up at the clown.

She hadn’t released her grip on the Glock.

She lifted her gun. The clown dived to the floor, knocking the wig stand on top of her. She struggled to free herself from the hair and heads with sightless eyes.

Footsteps were heading her way down the stairs. The clown, too, was trying to get free from the wigs. She fired again; the clown rolled across the floor and into the mannequin room.

Someone was nearly on top of her, coming down the stairs—and swearing in fury. Jane managed to get up and tear across the room, plowing into the rows of mannequins.

Once she was there, she went as still as she could...and she listened. Someone was breathing near her. And someone else was walking into the room.

In the near-darkness, Victorian madams stared at her, along with Mr. Hyde. A vampire held his cape above his eyes and in the dim light seemed real.

Why not? The clown was real.

And then she heard a voice she’d come to know well. “Agent Everett, you’re harder to kill than I’d thought! But you should just give it up. Those bullets won’t last forever, and quite frankly, you’re outnumbered. Give it up!”

She didn’t move, didn’t breathe. When she felt movement beside her, she turned and fired. She heard a gasp and a scream and then cursing.

She knew the voice. A woman’s voice. She hadn’t even begun to suspect that it could have been this woman!

Who was not alone.

Just how many people were involved?

Suddenly, the mannequins were shoved at her. They all seemed to be coming at her, their faces grotesque in the shadows.

Painted faces, wooden faces, laughing faces and the leering eyes of a Dracula...

She tried to remain steady, but tripped and fell. One of the arms struck hers, and the Glock fell with her in the chaos. She hit the floor.

And something soft.

A body.

Kelsey.

She managed to keep quiet.

“Have you found your friend yet, Jane? Such a conspiracy! And so easy to figure out. I mean, Sloan was friends with Logan. They sent you in, and then Kelsey and Logan showed up. So easy when lawmakers get involved. Just like before!”

Jane felt for Kelsey’s pulse. She was still breathing. In the darkness, Jane patted her holster. They’d taken Kelsey’s gun.

She realized they’d never been alone in the theater.

“We’re going to get you, Agent Everett! Oh, don’t go thinking it’s like the play—that the good guy’s going to save you. We’ve been waiting for him, and in a few minutes, well...the gang will all be here! And the gang will all be dead!”

* * *

Sloan let his eyes adjust to the darkness. He raced to the stage and was startled to run into Cy Tyburn, who seemed to be practicing a monologue.

“Cy! Where is everyone? Has the ambulance come? What the hell is going on?”

“Damned if I know! Everyone’s supposed to be in here. What did you say? Who needs an ambulance?”

“Brian. Brian Highsmith,” Sloan said. He started to go backstage. As he did so he heard the familiar click of a gun.

He spun around. Cy had a Colt aimed at him. “Yes, go on back.”

“You are not going to shoot me, Cy.”

“Oh, yes, I am. But...play your cards right, and you can hope for escape in the next few minutes.”

“What?”

Sloan moved toward Cy, itching to reach for his own weapon.

Cy shot the stage floor in front of him—barely missing his foot.

“Turn around and walk. We’re going down to the basement.”

“This place’ll be crawling with cops in about two minutes,” he said.

“I don’t think so.” Cy indicated the aisle along the side of the seats.

Someone was coming—and he knew who it was. Betty. His trusted deputy. Sweet, older, gray-haired.

And lethal.

“No, I just talked to Scotty and I called Newsome,” Betty said. “On your behalf, of course. I assured him that no ambulances were needed. You’re here, and everything is under control.”

“Kelsey called for the ambulance. Not me. A federal agent,” Sloan said.

“And you know how those feds are, always trying to take control. No, I assured him that I’m all right. We’ve got Brian Highsmith again...and it’s all good.”

“Until they find us all dead, of course?” Sloan asked.

“You’ve figured out the old story—you and your so-called
artist.
So, figure
this
out. When we’re done, it’ll look like you—the sheriff—and Agent Jane Everett got together and plotted to take the gold for yourselves. You were going to shoot Brian and me and the others, but we’re not idiots. We shot you first.”

“Seriously? Who the hell is going to believe that?”

“We have our story down pretty well,” Betty told him. “So, do you want to die alone or see your pretty agent one more time before you go?”

“Well, of course I’d like to say goodbye,” Sloan said. “And if we’re going to die, I think I’d like to hear how this all started. Brian wasn’t involved, was he? Cy, you were the one who put live bullets in the gun, but when Jane did her little charade in the street, you really had no choice but to go along with it. But why start this whole thing? Why kill people over gold when you didn’t even have it?”