Kelsey shook her head. “That was cruel and brutal, since they obviously meant to kill the victim, anyway. What difference did it make if he could talk. They were going to kill him. It doesn’t make any sense.
“Some people are cruel and brutal,” Logan said, “and we’ve all learned that cruelty doesn’t have to make sense. Sloan, I know Jane is still working on the skull you’ve already determined to be that of Sage McCormick, but if she did up a quick two-dimensional drawing from photos and scans of the second corpse, do you have old photographs or paintings we could make comparisons with?”
“Over at Desert Diamonds Grant’s got several books written by historians throughout the years, plus replica editions of books written at the time. There are pictures of Brendan Fogerty, Aaron Munson, Red Marston, Eamon McNulty—and, of course, Sage McCormick. But there’s also a nice painting of her over the bar, just behind you. Jane’s two-dimensional sketch was really all we needed to see that the skull had belonged to Sage. I’d asked her to finish her reconstruction for sentimental reasons, really.” He paused. “You’ve probably heard that she was an ancestor of mine.” When everyone nodded, he went on, “I believe the skeleton we dug up in the desert is going to prove to be Red Marston, but...that’s a theory at this point, nothing more. And I think if that body is Red Marston’s, then we just might be right about the gold.”
“I’ll get on it first thing in the morning,” Jane said. “So what’s your plan for the evening?”
“Have you gotten settled yet?” Sloan asked Logan and Kelsey.
Before either could answer, his phone rang, and he excused himself to answer it. Jane watched as first a frown and then an expression of relief came over his features. “I don’t want anyone else knowing,” Sloan said. “If she does have something to tell us, I don’t want her to be a target.”
He hung up and told them, “It’s Jennie, Jennie Layton. The stage manager—they call her their ‘stage mother.’ She’s conscious now. She’s doing well, and the doctor says I can speak with her.”
He got to his feet. “I’ll call you,” he said. “I don’t know what she’ll know. Maybe, just maybe, she’ll remember some of what happened.”
Jane set a hand on his arm. “Sloan, this may sound strange, but I’m not sure the person—or persons—who attacked Jennie and me can be the same as whoever killed Berman and Caleb Hough.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because Jennie and I are alive,” she said quietly.
“Jennie got a pretty good hit on the head with that cane,” he argued. “And you were knocked unconscious.”
“But Berman was killed with a bullet. Caleb Hough had his throat from slit ear to ear,” she said.
“I’ll see what Jennie has to say,” he said. “I’ll call when I’m on my way back.”
“I take it you’re going to stay with Jane over at the Old Jail tonight?” Kelsey asked Sloan blandly. “If something’s going on in that room, two pairs of eyes would be better than one.”
Sloan seemed confused for a minute. Kelsey had left him a nice opening, though, Jane thought, lowering her lashes to hide her amusement.
“Certainly. Of course,” he said. He paused to talk to Liz and then walked out the door.
“We’ll eat first, and then you can show Kelsey and me where we’re sleeping,” Logan said. “And, if you don’t mind, you can show us the infamous Sage McCormick suite.”
“Of course. We can catch some of the show and I’ll give you a tour of the place—with Henri’s permission.”
“Charm him,” Logan suggested. “What’s good on the menu?”
“Everything I’ve had so far,” Jane said.
They ordered their meals. There was enough activity and noise in the bar so that Jane could really talk to them, put events in chronological order and get their feedback.
“People kill for different reasons,” Logan said. “Revenge, sometimes for presumed injustices. They kill for passion. Or because they’re mentally ill. And they kill out of greed. Lily’s past victims seem to have died because of the greed of others. And maybe the same thing is going on today. How many of the people in the town have ancestors who were here at that time?” he asked.
“Well, Sloan. As he mentioned, Sage McCormick was his great-great grandmother,” Jane said. “And I’m not sure who else. The actors working in the theater came from other places, and I believe Henri Coque came here from elsewhere, too. I don’t know about the others. We’ll have to ask Sloan.”
When they’d finished the meal, Jane found Henri. She requested a key for Kelsey and Logan, and asked if, after the show, he’d mind if she showed them around the theater. Henri agreed, smiling. He told her he liked her even better in the crimson dress than in the blue. “I’ve heard from a number of our audience members. They say you’ve been quite entertaining on the street. Thank you! Feel free to take your fellow agents around the theater.”
While Kelsey and Logan went out to retrieve their overnight bags and settle into Jennie’s room at the Gilded Lily, Jane decided to go to her room there. She was feeling strangely divided. She now had two of her Krewe with her, and yet she still felt it was important to be in both places—the Gilded Lily and the Old Jail.
And talk to the ghosts there.
She gathered a few things to put in a small bag to take over to the Old Jail later that night, then sat on the bed.
“Sage, I wish you’d talk to me,” she said.
She stood swiftly, feeling something cold but gentle and...yearning sweep by her. Walking into the bathroom, she closed the door and turned the sink faucet on hot until steamy water poured down the drain and a mist rose to cover the mirror.
“Sage? I don’t know why you won’t speak to me. We’re really trying to help. Trying to solve all this and prevent more deaths.”
She felt the air shift around her. The mirror was clouded with steam, but it was through the steam that she’d found the way these ghosts communicated.
Sage was behind her. Jane didn’t turn around; she spoke to the mirror image of the beautiful ghost.
“Help us. If you speak to me, I will hear you,” she said.
Sage stared back at her.
With a slight stirring of the air, the ghost moved around her...and began to write. She clearly saw the words.
SPEAK NO EVIL
A second later, the words were furiously erased.
SPEAK NO TRUTH!
Jane turned slowly around. The image of the ghost remained. Sage McCormick opened her mouth, and although she was a ghost, there was something Jane could clearly see.
Sage McCormick had no tongue; it had been sliced off at the base.
“Oh, God!” Jane said softly, “I’m so sorry, so, so sorry!”
13
The county officer on duty at the hospital acknowledged Sloan as he came in. “The doctor was just in with her. One of the nurses was the first to realize Ms. Layton was coming to. I haven’t spoken to her. She went from being in the coma to dozing on and off, but they say it’s all right if you speak with her.”
Sloan went in. When he entered the room, Jennie’s eyes were closed. She looked small and frail as she lay in the hospital bed. He noted the veins in her hands where they lay on the white sheets.
He just sat there for a minute, waiting. After some time, her eyes opened. She blinked, disoriented.
“Sloan,” she said weakly.
He leaned close to the bed and took one of her thin, delicate hands. She offered him a shaky smile.
“You’re awake,” he said, smiling. “They say you’re going to be fine.”
She nodded. “When I first opened my eyes, I didn’t know where I was. I didn’t know what had happened. I had no...memory.”
“And now?”
“Now, I remember that I went down to the basement. And I woke up here.”
“Why did you go down to the basement, Jennie? Do you remember? You were in the room with all the old props and mannequins. Why?”
Jennie was silent, and then she looked at him, hesitant.
“They were talking,” Jennie said at last.
“The mannequins?” Sloan asked in a carefully even tone.
“Oh, Sloan, don’t be silly! I got hit on the head, but I know mannequins don’t talk!” she told him.
He smiled again. “So someone was down there?”
“Yes, someone was in the room. Or more than one person, because I’d heard talking down there several times over the past week. I couldn’t figure out what the actors would be doing down there. I’m responsible for storage, props, costumes.... I wanted to know what was going on.”
“So you didn’t recognize anything about the voices?”
She shook her head. “But, Sloan, I heard them late at night, and once, very early in the morning. Yet whenever I went down, no one was there.”
“Did you tell Henri about it?” he asked her.
“No.” She ran the fingers of her free hand over the sheets, glanced at them for a minute and then back at Sloan. “I didn’t want Henri to think I was too old for my job—too old, or too crazy.”
“You’re not that old, Jennie,” Sloan said firmly. “And Henri likes your work very much. So you’d go down but not see anyone.”
“Yes. Of course, the light is pretty dim. All you’re getting is the overflow from the main room,” Jennie reminded him. “But no, I didn’t see anyone, and the only way out is the stairs that lead to the door by the bar. So I thought I was crazy myself.”
“But when you were attacked, did you see anything? Do you have any idea who swung that cane at you?”
“The clown,” she said suddenly. “It was a clown mannequin. I saw it! Sloan, maybe there are ghosts down there.”
Again, she was quiet. He didn’t press her; he realized she wasn’t sure how to say what she wanted to say.
