A Wild Fright in Deadwood (Deadwood Humorous Mystery Book 7) (37 page)

“If it wasn’t you,” Cooper snapped, “who was it? And don’t you dare tell me it was the big bad wolf.”

I reached down and hoisted the receiver again. “Way to go, shithead,” I yelled into the mouthpiece for a more dramatic effect. “You broke the damned door!”

* * *

Several hours later I was holding down the fort at Calamity Jane Realty alone, apart from any ghosts who might be keeping me company. My cup of coffee had grown cold for the second time since Doc had dropped me off at work after leaving the Galena House.

I had a gut feeling that Doc was right. I’d broken the mirror.

When I’d touched Cooper’s arm, I’d tried to focus on that candle flame while willing the detective to hear the booming. Unfortunately, it appeared I’d cranked up the “volume” way too high. The pounding noise I’d been hearing had become a glass-shattering sonic boom.

Damn.

Such was my life. Whatever feat I attempted, I managed to overdo it and screw things up. Instead of accidentally getting pregnant with one child from Rex the rat bastard, I’d produced two. And though I loved them dearly, my accidental pregnancy had become twice the dilemma. While attempting to change careers, I’d become Spooky Parker, the ghost-loving real estate agent AND the lesser known—but more notorious across the realms—Violet Parker, Executioner Extraordinaire. I wasn’t even going to touch my multiple slip-ups that involved Cooper and all of his murder cases. And then there was Doc … actually I hadn’t screwed that up yet, but our romance was still young and in the double-the-pleasure phase. With a little more time, I’d probably find a way to double up on the heartache in that arena, too.

The bells over the front door jingled. I blinked out of my daze as Cornelius closed the door behind him. He was looking very presidential this afternoon in his stovepipe hat, long black wool coat, and walking stick. His pointy goatee appeared freshly sharpened. His round sunglasses hid his cornflower blue eyes.

“Thanks for coming down here,” I said. “I wasn’t in the mood to deal with Wilda today.”

Cornelius lowered himself into the chair opposite me, his movements slow and stiff for a man I’d guess to be close to my age. “She has certainly had plenty to say about you today. Somebody needs to give that little terror a lollipop.”

“About Wilda,” I started, taking a sip of coffee and grimacing at how bitter it was as well as cold. Had Jerry switched coffee brands? “Doc wanted me to arrange an evening this week with you for the …” what was the word Doc had used? “For the extraction.”

“Where is the tall medium?”

“He had an appointment down in Rapid this—”

“Shhh.” Cornelius cocked his head to the side.

I waited. I’d played this game with him before. If asked, he’d tell me he could hear ghosts talking in the ceiling, walls, carpet, wherever. Only these days, he might not be as full of hot air as he used to be. Maybe Wilda was instructing him where and how to plant the letter opener I’d left sitting on my desk after going through the office mail.

“Hmmm,” he broke the silence. “That’s odd.”

“What is Wilda telling you now?”

“Nothing. That’s what’s odd.”

“Do you hear someone else?” Like my ex-boss, Jane?

“Only you. And me.” He took off his sunglasses. I tried not to wince at how red-lined and dark-ringed his eyes were. “It’s the first time in weeks that I’ve had peace and quiet.” He sighed, his shoulders sinking deeper into the chair. “Now, what preparations have you made for the séance?”

Me? This was the Doc and Cornelius show. I was the special guest star. “None. But Doc may have stuff prepped.”

“Who is this doctor you speak of?”

I rolled my eyes and switched to Cornelius’s vernacular. “Doc is the tall medium.”

“The tall medium is a doctor?”

“No. His name is ‘Doc’ Nyce.” When Cornelius continued to stare at me with a wrinkled brow, I added, “He’s a financial planner.”

“A gambler? Hmm.”

I was pretty sure my mouth had not said anything about Doc being a gambler.

Cornelius stroked his pointy goatee. “I wonder if he’s ever spun a fortune wheel on a riverboat.”

Because that was where all gamblers started their careers?

“You should ask him that when we get together for the séance.” I brought the conversation back around to the reason I’d asked him to come down to the office this afternoon.

He eyeballed the mug of coffee on my desk. “What’s that?”

“Coffee.”

“Do you mind?” he asked, reaching for it.

“Uhhh, no.” Nobody had ever asked to share my cold coffee before. “Go for it.”

He picked up the coffee cup and stood, glancing around the office for Lord only knew what. Then he strode over to the front door, stepped outside, and dumped the coffee on the sidewalk.

“What the hell is he doing?” I whispered, standing to watch him through the plate glass windows as he placed the mug in the center of the spill. He stepped back, looked at the mug, bent over and turned the handle slightly, then nodded and rejoined me at my desk.

I stared quizzically down at him as he made himself comfortable. “Was my coffee bothering you?”

“Why would coffee bother me?’

“You know what? Never mind.” I took my seat again. “What evening works for you to have the séance?”

“Thursday.”

“Besides Thursday,” I said.

“Thursday is ideal. The moon will be new.”

“Thursday is Thanksgiving.” I’d probably be down at my parents’ place with the kids. I hadn’t invited Doc to join us yet and wasn’t sure I wanted to with Susan in town.

“Thanksgiving?” he said the word as if it were new to his vocabulary.

Surely he’d celebrated Thanksgiving before. He might be eccentric from the top of his hat to the tips of his pointy shoes, but he wasn’t from Mars.

“Yes, Thanksgiving. You know, turkey, stuffing, pumpkin pie. According to my kids’ history book, your favorite president was the one who made it a national holiday.”

“My favorite president?”

“Abe Lincoln.”

“What makes you think Lincoln is my favorite?”

Really, Mr. Doppelgänger?
“I don’t know, maybe your hat.”

He took it off and frowned at it. “Kennedy is my favorite. He wore a similar hat back in 1961.”

No shit. “My mistake.”

“We’ll have the séance on Thursday,” he declared.

“Cornelius, that’s Thanksgiving,” I reiterated.

“Are you from Plymouth?”

I assumed he meant Plymouth, Massachusetts. “No.”

“Are you a direct descendant of the pilgrims?”

“No.” My lineage had a much darker history than sailing to new lands to form colonies. Although the pilgrims’ history wasn’t quite as rosy as they taught in elementary school.

“Are you a legitimate descendant of Wampanoag Indians?”

“The what?”

“Are you a fan of Sarah Hale?”

“Who’s she?”

“She wrote ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb.’”

“What does she have to do with Thanksgiving?”

“You don’t know, Violet? Did you attend school in this country?”

“Of course.”

“Have you hit your head hard lately?”

Not as hard as I’d like to hit it on the desk right now. “No.”

“You’ll need dried sage for Thanksgiving.”

“For the stuffing?” My mom liked to make the dressing. She’d won first place for her recipe at the county fair three years in a row.

“Sage cleanses the air and purifies the energy. We’ll need to burn it to create the proper space for the ritual to begin.”

“Cornelius, you’re not listening to me. Thursday is—”

The front door opened so fast the bells’ jingle was cut short to a mere “jing.”

“Violet!” Rex stalked inside, slamming the door behind him hard enough to make the plate glass windows rattle. His caramel colored suede coat hung open over his white sweater and gray corduroy pants. His blond hair was perfectly windblown. To any passerby, he looked like he’d walked off the cover of a men’s magazine.

I took one look at the dark red blotches painting his cheeks and the vein pulsing dead center on his brow and stood to head trouble off at the pass. “We’re closed.” I pointed at the door he’d come through. “Get out or I’ll call the cops!”

He ignored my threat, brushing past Cornelius’s bony elbow in his rush to my desk. “I warned you about touching my car, you vindictive bitch.”

“I didn’t touch your precious car, Rex. You’re barking up the wrong tree.”

“You expect me to believe you had nothing to do with my windshield wipers disappearing?” He leaned over my desk, his eyes menacing. “You owe me a coat!”

I looked at the water spots darkening his shoulders, struggling to keep a smile from my lips. Natalie had been right about the coat. It was ruined.

“This sounds like a mystery,” Cornelius spoke up. “I love a good whodunit.”

Rex turned toward Cornelius, his brow scrunching as he took in the stovepipe hat and coat. “Who are you?”

Cornelius stood. With his hat back in place, he had a good six inches on Rex. “Cornelius Curion,” he said with a slight bow.

The leer Rex aimed my way made me feel like I’d been slimed. “Is this kook your latest lover?”

I jammed my hands on my hips. “Rex, why do you assume every man you see me with is one of my lovers?”

“So you admit you have more than one.”

“As a matter of fact, Violet and I do have a rather intimate relationship.” Cornelius stepped up next to Rex, looking him over with one arched eyebrow. “What is your role in her life? You don’t look like one of her preferred male companions, but you are acting the part of a jealous admirer.”

“Preferred male companions?” Rex glared at me. “How many men are there, Violet?”

I wasn’t going to dignify that question with an answer. First of all, it was absurd. Secondly, the professional philanderer could mind his own damned business.

“Sir.” Cornelius fake coughed. “A lady’s private affairs are never to be aired in public,” he chastised. “Surely a gentleman such as yourself realizes that.”

Rex’s left eye ticked as he looked back and forth between Cornelius and me. “Listen, I don’t know who you really are, Abraham Lincoln, or how you know Violet, but how about you step outside for a few minutes and give the ‘lady’ and me some privacy.”

“Lincoln?” Cornelius tugged on the point of his goatee. “That is the second time I’ve heard his name this morning. I wonder if it’s a sign that I should prep for a visit from his ghost.”

Rex’s upper lip curled. “Oh, you’re one of
them.
”

“Not yet,” Cornelius said. “But in time I will be.” He looked down over Rex’s clothing. “Judging from your choice in outerwear, you must be Violet’s tailor.”

My tailor? Where had Cornelius come up with that? I opened my mouth to ask only to close it when he glanced my way. It didn’t take a medium to read his mind—he was toying with Rex. I lowered myself into my chair to watch the show.

“Tailor!” Rex sputtered, apparently finding that choice of careers an insult. “I’m the father of her children.”

I gasped. That no good, son of a bitch! I reached for the letter opener, eyeing his jugular.

“How does that work?” Cornelius asked, unruffled by Rex’s claim to fame.

“How does what work?”

“Being her tailor?”

Rex growled. “I’m not her damned tailor, you clown.”

“Sir, I don’t understand this sudden hostility. There is nothing wrong with fitting clothing to individuals,” Cornelius said, stroking his goatee as his cornflower blue eyes assessed Rex. “Although I find it odd that you clothe females. Normally the profession is based around men’s wear.” He brushed his fingers over the shoulder of Rex’s suede jacket. “Your suede has water spots. Surely a qualified tailor such as yourself knows better than to allow such an expensive material to get wet.”

“It’s her fault.” Rex fired another glare at me.

I held up the letter opener in the face of his malice.

“Ah, I see. She sprayed you with a hose.” Cornelius shook his long, boney finger at me. “Violet Parker, you minx.”

Rex frowned at Cornelius. “I didn’t say she sprayed me with a hose, kook.”

“That is incorrect.”

“What is incorrect?”

“It’s Cornelius. Although I understand why you’d be confused. K and hard C sound so similar.”

“Are you calling me stupid?” Rex puffed out his chest.

“Am I calling you stupid?” Cornelius asked back. “The shape and size of your skull are similar to other normally intelligent homo sapiens, but without actually weighing your brain we can’t be certain.”

I bit my lip to keep from giving my opinion on Rex’s brain.

That pulsing vein I’d seen in Rex’s forehead when he entered the office had split into two pulsing veins. “I’ll have you know I’m a renowned scientist.”

“Indeed?” Cornelius shot me a crooked half-grin—his trademark smile. There was a distinct glint in his gaze. Was he enjoying this game with Rex as much as I was? “I was unaware that fitting clothing was now considered a scientific field of study,” Cornelius continued. “I suppose you would need to understand the structure of the human body, along with potential friction points that would vary depending on girth and height.” Cornelius patted Rex on the back. “Excellent, tailor. I have a whole new respect for your expertise. Have you set up a shop in town? I’m looking for someone to take in a few of my suits. The last couple of weeks have been hellish and caused me to drop several precious pounds.”

Rex stared at Cornelius like he’d ridden into town on a two headed camel. “Are you insane?”

“On the contrary, I’m extremely levelheaded. Especially when a certain maniacal ghost isn’t whispering assassination directives in my ear.”

“Assassination directives?” Rex took a step back from Cornelius, raising his hands. “Maybe you should seek some counseling for that.”

“Oh, I plan to as soon as Violet and I can arrange it. We were discussing that very topic when you joined us.”

The front door jingled.

Cornelius blocked my view of the door.

“Welcome to Calamity Jane Realty,” I said, standing so I could see around Cornelius.

“Why thank you, big sis.”

My eyes nearly popped out of my skull at the sight of my sister, the ruthless, malevolent bitch. Several strands of her long, straight brown hair floated around her in the dry air, making her look even more witchy than she was.