CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

W HILE J ENNY SEARCHED FOR INFORMATION IN THE LIbrARY , W ILL sat at a table a few feet away from where she had piled her purse and notepad, his sharp gaze surveying their surroundings. The man was dependable, that was for sure.

Jenny used search indices to find information on the three women whose names appeared in the article Evelyn had brought: Sadie Murphy, Blanch Milford, and Lily Dubois.

There were no obituaries, nothing but the single article. She did find, however, in the Jerome Daily News , a record of Sheriff John Mackey's death in a huge fire in Jerome in 1917. The blaze engulfed an entire city block, destroying homes and boardinghouses and displacing ninety people.

He'd been forty-five years old at the time of his death, which made him thirty-two in 1904, when he had shot Boris Koblinsky. She felt oddly bereft at the sheriff's passing, the hero who had found justice for the women Koblinsky had murdered.

Too bad Sheriff Mackey wasn't still around to get justice for Brian Santana, whose death was likely the result of Koblinsky's possession of his body. Though it might sound ridiculous, Leslie would have believed it, and so would Mary Dennison.

After what had happened to Cain in that room, Jenny had a feeling that, deep down, Cain believed it, too.

She made a copy of the article about the sheriff, then walked over to let Will know she was ready to leave.

Jenny called Cleo on the way back to the Star and offered to buy her a late lunch. Cleo eagerly accepted. Living so close, the heavyset woman was seated at a table waiting when Jenny arrived. Nell Barrett sat across from her.

Jenny made a quick check with Barb, who was bartending today, to be sure everything was running smoothly, then went over to join them.

"Cleo. Thanks for coming." She smiled at Nell. "Well, this is a nice surprise." She glanced around. "Where's Emma?"

"Had some shopping to do. She'll pick me up when we're finished."

"I'm glad you're here," Jenny said. "Have you ordered?"

"Thought we'd wait for you," Cleo said.

"I had something earlier. What would you like for lunch? My treat."

Both women ordered the Copper Star's famous Miner's Burger with fries. Jenny put the order in, adding a Diet Coke for herself, then returned.

"Time's a'wastin'," Cleo said. "What'd you find out?"

Jenny flicked a glance at Nell, hoping she wouldn't think this whole thing was crazy. "I'm pretty sure the spirit in room ten is a miner named Boris Koblinsky. Cleo, you said he was a miner. Looks like you were right."

"What else?" Cleo asked.

"Koblinsky murdered three women—that they know of—between 1898 and 1904. Prostitutes. He strangled the women to death."

" Strangled ." Nell repeated. "That fits what Leslie Owens told you."

Jenny nodded. "What Leslie said and what Mary Dennison wrote in the journal. According to Mary, her husband tried to strangle her. But it wasn't really her husband; it was someone—or something—else."

"Yeah, something named Boris Koblinsky," Cleo said.

"Yes, and today I found out what happened to him. He was shot by a sheriff named John Mackey in June of 1904 when the sheriff tried to arrest him for the murders. The shoot-out occurred in the street in front of the Cuban Queen bordello."

Cleo shifted her huge bulk on the chair, making it creak beneath her weight. "I'd say that's our man."

"I think so, too," Jenny said. "Unfortunately, Sheriff Mackey died in a fire in 1917. He was only forty-five at the time."

"Way too young," Nell said.

"Yes," Jenny said. "It makes me sad to know he died in such an awful way." The hamburgers arrived, and the two women dug in. Jenny sipped the Diet Coke she had ordered.

"So, what are we going to do to get rid of the spirit in room ten?" Jenny asked.

"At least we know who he is," Cleo said between bites.

"And what the bastard did," Nell added.

"Maybe we can use it against him," Jenny suggested.

Cleo nodded. "We'll figure somethin' out." Jenny left the women and went behind the bar to relieve Barb for a break. Will sat at one end, sipping the same beer he'd ordered when they'd arrived.

They still needed a plan. She hoped Cleo would come up with something soon.

* * *

Cain's cell phone rang. He was talking to Martin Cohen, one of his VPs. They were finally closing the Titan Transport deal, thank God. He was just hanging up when another call came in.

Cain picked up the call.

"Barrett, this is Deputy Sheriff Hank Landry. I got some news I think you'll want to hear."

"I hope it's good news for a change," Cain said.

"It's not good news for Ryder Vance and his boys. We just arrested Vance on drug-trafficking charges. Technically, possession with intent to deliver a controlled substance. Cocaine and fentanyl in substantial quantities. Some of his boys were taken into custody on lesser charges. Since it's Vance's second time around, he'll be going away for a good long while."

"You talk to him about my stallion? Or the bullet someone put in my shoulder?"

"As a matter of fact, I did. He had no idea what I was talking about. I believe him. If he'd done it, he could have used the information to cut a deal. I don't think he's your guy."

Cain thought of the man on the other end of the phone. So maybe the deputy wasn't the dumbass Cain had thought.

"I appreciate your call, Deputy, and the work you've done on the case."

"We're still looking for the shooter who went after you at the ranch. It just doesn't appear to be Ryder Vance."

"Thanks again, Hank," he said, using the man's first name for the first time. "Nice work."

"Just doing my job." But there was a note of pride in his voice.

Cain's next call went to Nick. He relayed the information on Ryder and got an update on Eddie Spencer.

"Spencer's a scumbag," Nick said. "No doubt about it. But I don't think he's interested in anything that won't make him money. Killing you isn't going to do that."

"Neither is castrating my stud."

"No."

"So Spencer's off the list?"

"He's off your list. He's still on Jenny's. He could definitely be the guy who's trying to drive her out of business."

"Except if it's the business he's after, destroying it isn't a great idea."

"Can't argue with that. How's Will working out?"

"He's a good man. He's doing a great job looking out for Jenny."

"She's not out of danger yet."

"I know."

"Which means, with Vance in jail, Ray Aldridge and Bart Harwell are our last two suspects."

"Unless it's someone else entirely."

"Yeah. Hold steady. And don't do anything that will put you in the crosshairs."

"I'll do my best to stay alive. Thanks, Nick." Cain ended the call.

Aldridge or Harwell? He and Bart had ended their partnership on a satisfactory note—at least at the time. But Cain had made a lot of money after he'd found moly on the claims they'd once owned together.

Aldridge flat-out hated his guts and made no bones about it.

Which one wanted him dead? Or was it someone else?

Unease slipped through him. No more walking down to the Star. Too much exposure that could make him an easy target. Too many spots for a shooter to hide.

He didn't want to die of stupidity.

Cain thought of Jenny, and his unease deepened. He made his way to his private elevator and rode down to the lower floor. At least his shoulder was feeling better.

He checked the area around the parking lot before he walked outside. He needed to see Jenny. Will was a good man, but if it came down to life or death, he didn't trust anyone but himself.

Crossing the lot, he climbed into the Jag that Denver had delivered after Cain had been released from the hospital. Sliding behind the wheel, he fired the powerful engine.

His instincts were nagging him.

He needed to be sure Jenny was safe.