“I’m sure you will be—and just having more officers around...well, that’s good.” Liz shook her head. “I can’t afford to quit, but I don’t feel great when I come into work anymore.”

“Has anything else happened?” Sloan asked.

“Besides Jennie being attacked and still in a coma?” Liz responded. “And someone digging up Sage McCormick’s skull? Or the murders? Or the attack on the Hough family?”

“Sorry. I meant here at the Gilded Lily,” Sloan said.

“No. I mean, not that I’ve heard. I don’t come in now until I know someone else is with me. Never bothered me before to be the first one in for the night. The actors and Jennie and Henri live here, so there was usually someone around, and it never bothered me to hear noises from upstairs or the theater or even the basement, but now...anyway, I’m terrified of the place. I wouldn’t be alone in here for the world!”

“Did you hear noises from the basement a lot?” Sloan asked her.

“Well, sure. Old buildings creak. Oh! Maybe we have rats or something down in the basement? Or ghosts. This place is haunted. We all think so. But the ghosts always seemed to know I’m a complete coward—they never gave me any trouble. I should move along. What can I get you two?”

“For now? Draft?” Sloan said, looking at Logan.

“Yeah. We’ll call Kelsey and Jane in a few minutes. I doubt they’ve eaten,” Logan said. “How’s the food?”

“The food here is good,” Liz assured him. “I’ll be right back.”

She returned swiftly with the drinks. As she did, Cy Tyburn came into the bar; he walked up to Valerie where she was singing and stood, hat in hand, sighing. She smoothly switched songs, and he joined her in a sweet duet. The heroine and the hero, singing together. When the song was over, Cy slipped away, coming to their table. “Sheriff. How’s it going?” he asked anxiously.

“Sit down,” Sloan said. Cy glanced at Logan and smiled awkwardly. “Hey.”

“Cy, this is Logan Raintree, an old friend of mine who now runs Jane’s FBI unit. Logan, you’ve seen him perform already. This is our hero in residence, Cy Tyburn.”

Cy and Logan shook hands. “Glad to have you here. Have you learned anything else?” Cy asked, turning nervously from one man to the other.

“We’re working on it. Hey, you need to calm down some,” Sloan said. “How about a beer?”

Cy glanced at his watch. “Yeah, sure, one before the show and I’m actually a better performer. Thanks. That would be great.”

“Your day went well?” Logan asked him.

“Everything was fine. Had so much fun acting out the stories and doing improv with people that I forgot someone might’ve been trying to kill me yesterday,” he said.

Before either could respond, Valerie made her way over to the table. She immediately offered Logan her hand. “Hi. You have to be another officer, right?”

Logan nodded and stood, taking Valerie’s hand, then pulling out a chair for her. She sat, lowering her voice as she spoke. “Have you found out anything? Your friend here—” she nodded at Sloan “—nearly bit my head off today for going to visit people at the hospital.”

“You went to the hospital?” Cy asked her. “Why?”

“Well, I tried to see Zoe and Jimmy—but a muscle-bound suit came after me, and then Sheriff Suspicious here stopped me on the road coming back,” Valerie said indignantly.

Sloan lifted a hand and smiled at Liz. “Can we get two more here?”

“Of course,” she called back.

“Is one for me?” Valerie asked.

“Yes, I’m sorry. Didn’t you want one?”

“Sure. But I would’ve ordered a double Scotch.”

“We do have a show, Valerie,” Cy reminded her.

“Yeah, one that could wind up putting us in a hospital, too,” she muttered.

“If you’re afraid to perform, I can close this place down,” Sloan said.

Valerie sniffed. “If you closed it down, we’d have nowhere to go. And no money to get someplace else, anyway.” She leaned into the table. “I don’t think anywhere in this town is safe, so it doesn’t matter, does it?”

Liz delivered two more glasses of beer. “You could get out of town,” Logan said politely.

“Do you know how hard it is to get acting jobs these days? If I were in L.A., there’d be a million girls like me trying for one role. I have a great character to work with here, and I want to stay with the ensemble for another year. That’ll help my résumé... I can’t leave here now,” Valerie told him.

“I could,” Cy said thoughtfully.

“Stop it, Cy!”

“Hey, you weren’t told that there were live rounds in guns that should have held nothing but blanks!” Cy protested.

“Oh, Lord, Henri’s coming in.” Valerie stood instantly and raised her glass. “Three cheers for the Gilded Lily bartenders and servers!” she called, and moved away from the table, starting another song.

Sloan arched his brows at Logan. There goes our beer glass!

“Well, that girl sure knows how to suck up!” Cy stood, as well, following Valerie around the room, adding his voice to hers in harmony.

“They are good,” Logan commented. “Those two definitely know when and where to pick up on each other’s moves.”

“They do,” Sloan agreed. “I want to keep an eye on those beer glasses, though.”

Henri Coque saw Sloan and Logan and immediately came over to join them. He seemed as eager as anyone else to greet Logan and welcome him, expressing hope that he could help solve whatever was happening to their formerly peaceful town of Lily.

“Sit, Henri, have a drink with us,” Sloan invited.

“Should you be drinking?” Henri asked. “Being on duty and all.”

“I think I’m fine with a beer,” Sloan said, nodding slowly.

“Do you have any information about what’s going on?”

Same question they were all asking, Sloan thought. That made sense, although at least one person—and as yet he didn’t know who—had a private agenda.

“No, but we’re expecting more information back from county anytime now,” he said.

“Oh?”

“Trace evidence. You’ve heard the old theory that you take something and you leave something everywhere you go. They’ll find some evidence that will pin the killer,” Sloan explained. The theory was solid; it didn’t always work. Fingerprints could belong where they were found, and dozens upon dozens of prints could be lifted from any one place. DNA was great—as long as you had a sample for comparison. Legally obtained, of course.

“So, let’s get you a beer,” Sloan said.

“If you’re buying, I’ll have a bourbon,” Henri said. “No ice. My usual.”

Sloan waved a hand to order as Logan asked Henri where to find the restrooms. Henri gave him directions.

As Liz brought Henri his drink, Sloan saw that Logan had casually slipped his hand around the beer glass Cy had left on the bar.

“So, Sloan,” Henri said, “today seems to be going fine. The actors are working. The theater is open!”

“It’s a great day...so far,” Sloan agreed pleasantly. He watched Valerie glide around the room. When he saw Logan on his way back, he nodded toward the glass she’d just placed on the bar. Logan nodded in return.

Henri sipped his drink.

* * *

The spirit of Trey Hardy had disappeared when Jane and Kelsey entered the Old Jail.

Mike Addison was behind the sheriff’s desk, giving directions to a couple who wanted to ride out and see the old cemetery. His “concierge,” a woman of about twenty, was serving complimentary wine to guests in the old gun room, along with nachos and cheese.

When the couple moved on, Jane approached him and introduced Kelsey, then asked for the key to her room.

“Calling it a night, Agent Everett? It’s still early.”

“I’m just showing Kelsey what a wonderful bed-and-breakfast you have,” Jane told him.

Mike beamed. “I do love it,” he said with enthusiasm. “Silverfest days are great. Halloween is great. But sometimes...well, Lily is off the beaten track. So if you want to go on any travel sites and rave about the place, I’d be very grateful! Oh, and, ladies, it’s wine and snacks time in the gun room.”

“Thanks, but we’re going to my cell for a few minutes. Then we’ll head back out, of course. We’ll probably catch the show tonight.”

“Are you in it tonight?” Mike asked her. “I saw you outside when Brian Highsmith grabbed you and dragged you into the action. You’d think—especially as an actor—that he wouldn’t be so obvious in his attempts to accost a pretty woman. I had half a mind to walk up and say something to him!”

She kept forgetting she was wearing the Sage costume. It was almost unnerving, since she spent most of her days in very practical business suits. But she’d learned to move easily in the Victorian attire and forgot about it...until she walked in front of a mirror.

“I’m not in the show. I’ve enjoyed playing Sage out in the streets, but their show’s already cast—hero and heroine, vamp and villain. And don’t worry about me, Mike. I can handle myself very well.”

“I saw that,” he said with a wink. He smiled at Kelsey. “Welcome!”

They exchanged a few words, then she and Jane passed through the barred wooden door that led to the cells.

“What are we doing?” Kelsey asked her quietly as Jane fit her cell-block key into the room door.

“I saw Trey Hardy. Did you?”

“No, I didn’t. But he’s supposed to haunt the street and the jail, right?”

“Yes. I didn’t get a chance to tell you—Sage wrote his name on the mirror in my room. She doesn’t seem to speak, but she likes to write in the mist on a mirror. Oh, and she throws a mean hairbrush, too.”