Cain wasn’t sure if that was good news or bad.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
WHILEJENNY SEARCHED FOR INFORMATION IN THE LIBRARY, WILLsat 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 JeromeDaily 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.
