A Wild Fright in Deadwood (Deadwood Humorous Mystery Book 7) (46 page)

“Go for it,” she said and took a swallow of beer.

“Nat talked to Cornelius about using an object from the Hessler haunt to help lure Wilda back during our séance on Thanksgiving night.”

“What object?” Aunt Zoe asked.

“The burned and broken lid to a clown cookie jar that she found in the debris pile. My question for you is,” I said to Doc, “as an experienced medium, do you think it’s a good idea?”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, hands clasped. “I don’t know.” He looked at Natalie. “Cornelius approved?”

She nodded. “He said that items from the deceased are often used during séances.”

“That’s true.”

“We used an old gun and the blonde babe sitting next to you to reach Harvey’s Grandpappy. That seemed to work.”

“But he wasn’t a psychotic, snot-nosed brat,” I said.

“What’s your problem with this clown head?” Natalie asked, peeling the label from her beer. “It’s not going to come to life and bite you.”

“We don’t know that.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’ve seen too many scary movies.”

Yes I had. My imagination was plenty fertile thanks to that.

“If Cornelius thinks it will help,” Doc interrupted our back and forth, “then we can give it a try.”

“You don’t foresee any potential problems?” Aunt Zoe asked.

“There are several potential problems with exorcising a ghost from a living person, including some with fatal results.” His gaze drifted around the table, landing on me. “But my answer to whether or not this object being present will have an impact on the success of the séance is still, ‘I don’t know.’ I’m not as experienced in séances as Cornelius is.” He looked back at Aunt Zoe. “I worked alone until I met Violet. My psychometry skills are pretty rusty.”

“Psycho-what?” Natalie asked.

“A psychometrist is someone who can gather information from the energy of an object.”

Layne ran into the room with his science book held open. “Doc, can you help me?”

Without waiting for Doc’s answer, he set the book on the table between us and started asking about neutrons and protons, ending our discussion about clown head offerings and dead girls.

Aunt Zoe excused herself and headed back out to her workshop. I left Layne and Doc at the table and went upstairs to put on my warmest leggings and a flannel shirt. It was dark and cold outside, and the idea of sitting next to Doc on the couch while watching a movie with Natalie and the kids sounded like the perfect way to end our happy family night.

A few hours later the kids were in bed, Natalie was snoring in the recliner, and I was getting handsy with Doc under the covers on the couch. He was getting mouthy back, his lips on mine, heating me inside and out.

“Let’s go up to my room,” I whispered, moving over him, showing him why with my hand.

He groaned against my mouth. “We can’t.”

“Yes, we can.”

“The kids.”

“They’re asleep.”

“They could wake.”

I stilled, frowning down at him. “They know you’re my boyfriend, Doc.”

He stared up at me, suddenly serious. “When’s the last time they saw a man in your bed?”

That was an odd question to field while my hand was in his pants. “They’ve never seen a man in my bed.”

“Never?”

I shook my head. “Since they came along, my dating life sort of dried up with sporadic squalls passing through over the years. I wasn’t going to bring a man into their lives who might not stick around.”

He stared up at me, watching me with an inscrutable expression.

“I mean a man who I didn’t really want to stick around.” I grimaced slightly. “Not that I expect you to stick around forever or anything like that.”

His silence continued along with his stare.

“I’m not saying you’re not the kind of guy who wouldn’t stick around.” Wait, did I use a double negative there?

“What are you trying to say, Violet?”

That I wanted him to spend the rest of his life with me. That’s all.

The sound of a vehicle pulling into the drive made us both look over at the window where headlights lit the curtains for a moment before going dark.

“What time is it?” I asked.

He looked over my head. “Almost midnight.”

“Harvey?” Nobody else would show up this late on a weeknight.

“That doesn’t sound like his truck.” He slid out from under me and stood, buttoning his jeans as he moved over to the window. “More like …”

There was a knock on the door.

“Cooper’s car,” Doc finished, stepping back from the window. “Are you decent?”

I tugged my camisole back into place and collected my flannel shirt from the mess of covers. “I will be by the time you let him inside.”

He walked over to the door and after a glance to make sure I was ready, opened it for Cooper.

I nudged Natalie awake. She woke up with a start, popping out of the chair like a hot toaster pastry.

“Hey, Coop,” Doc said quietly as the detective closed the door behind him. “Everything okay?”

“No. I need to talk to Parker.”

I joined the two of them in the dining room. Glancing up the stairs to make sure neither of my kids were standing there sleepy eyed and curious, I waved for them to follow me into the kitchen. Natalie trailed after us, rubbing the sandman’s leavings from her eyes.

“We have a problem,” Cooper told me, his face emphasizing the situation with its deep furrows. “I need you to grab your coat and take a ride with me.”

“If you’ve found another dead body, I didn’t do it,” I joked.

His granite mask didn’t soften even one pebble’s worth as he stared at me.

“Oh, shit.” I pulled out a kitchen chair and fell into it, my blood pressure spiking. “Who?” Please don’t let it be someone that’s going to make my heart hurt.

“Katrina King.”

A breath of relief gushed from my lungs.

“What does Katrina King’s death have to do with Violet?” Natalie asked, pouring herself a cup of cold coffee.

Cooper pulled out his little flip notepad that he often scribbled in during his interrogations. I was the protagonist on many of the pages in that damned pad of paper.

“Parker, did you leave Ms. King a message earlier today regarding the Sugarloaf Building?”

I nodded. “She was interested in purchasing the building, but I told her we’d heard back from the owner’s representative that the building was not for sale.”

“Did you tell her to meet you there tonight for any reason?”

I shook my head and then remembered the phone call I’d received earlier and my eyes widened.

“I know that look, Parker.” Cooper pulled out the chair next to me, lowering himself into it, leaning forward until we were face to face. “Unless you want to spend the night in jail, you had better fess up.”

I got the feeling he wasn’t trying to intimidate me for once, just get closer to the truth.

So I gave it to him. “I got a phone call this afternoon while we were packing up after filming at the Sugarloaf Building. The caller started with that crap about wanting what belonged to them.” I stopped to glance at Doc, who was watching me with a drawn brow. I should have told him about this before now. Focusing back on Cooper, I continued, “Before she could finish, I assumed it was Caly and told her to meet me at the Sugarloaf Building tomorrow night if she wanted the damned book.”

“What book?” Natalie asked.

Another glance at Doc met with a taut jaw and pinched lips. He shook his head slightly.

“What book, Parker?”

“A history book.” That was no lie.

“You’re telling me that Wanda was killed over a history book?” Cooper wasn’t buying any of what I was selling.

“It’s a very important history book.”

“And you have this book?”

I nodded. Well, Aunt Zoe did.

“Why do you have this book?” he pressed.

I pointed at his notepad. “Before I tell you anything else, Detective, you need to put that away. This has to be off the record.”

He flipped it shut and tossed it and his pen on the table.

“You also have to promise not to tell Detective Hawke or any of your other pals down at the cop shop what I say.”

His steely eyes bored into mine. “Jesus, Parker. What now? More kooky ghosts?”

I shook my head.

“Your friendly albino pals?”

I kept shaking my head.

“Another one of those creatures we killed in Uncle Willis’s graveyard?”

“We?”

“I filled it with bullets.”

“Which only pissed it off more.”

He cursed in my face and then shoved to his feet, lording over me. “What’s the deal with the book, Parker, and if you give me that ‘history’ bullshit again I’ll make you go see Detective Hawke tonight alone, without me there to keep you out of jail.”

“Why would I go to jail?”

“For murdering Katrina King.”

I frowned. “I was here all evening.” I pointed at Doc and Natalie. “I have alibis.”

“They won’t be enough to keep you out of jail tonight if I don’t help you.”

“You have proof pointing specifically to Violet?” Doc asked.

Cooper looked his way. “Unfortunately, yes.”

“What?” Natalie stepped partially between us, running interference, her body stiff. “You need to explain that, Cooper, and if you give us that ‘police business’ blow off, I’ll tear you a new asshole on Vi’s behalf.”

He looked her up and down, then nodded. “I’ve been informed by Fire Captain Martin that the murder weapon found on the scene will most likely have Parker’s prints on it.”

“What’s the murder weapon?” I asked.

He took Natalie by the shoulders and shifted her to the side so he could glare at me better. “You go first. What’s so special about this book that Wanda Carhart had to be killed to get it?”

“It’s a book about a demon,” Doc spoke up.

“A demon?” Cooper’s squint was full of skepticism.

“It goes by the name of Kyrkozz,” I explained. “I took it from Lila Beaumont after the fracas at the Carhart house that night.”

Cooper’s nostrils flared. “You removed evidence from the scene of a crime again?”

“That was my first time, so using ‘again’ in this case is incorrect.”

“Parker!” His teeth actually snapped together.

“What? I didn’t think you’d need it after that night since you had the killer behind bars.”

“And this book can what? Raise this demon or something ridiculous like that?”

Doc shrugged. “I have a feeling it may contain more than that.”

“Such as?”

“Instructions on how to control the demon.”

Cooper’s face scrunched up, thunderclouds rolling over his brow, mixing with lightning. I might even have glimpsed an F5 tornado on the horizon.

He hit me with a scowl. “This is so fucked up.”

“Welcome to my world,” I said. “Now it’s your turn, Detective. What was the murder weapon used to kill Katrina King?”

“Your war hammer.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Tuesday, November 20th (just after midnight)

The loud crackling of police scanners blaring out code numbers and commands interrupted the silence of the cold night. Across the dark valley, the Homestake Mine Yates Shaft stood guard while Lead’s finest nosed around the Sugarloaf Building, shining flashlights on anything that moved, including me.

“What in the hell is
she
doing here?” Detective Hawke strode over as I crawled out of Cooper’s police cruiser. He reminded me of a pissed off bull, snorting and pawing at the ground at the sight of my red pea coat.

Cooper rounded the front of the cruiser.

“Screw this,” I told Cooper and returned to the back seat of the car, pulling the door closed behind me. It was too late to face off with that brute and his thick sideburns. I was tired and wanted to return to playing hanky-panky under the covers with Doc on Aunt Zoe’s couch.

Cooper yanked open my door. “Come on, Parker. Out!”

“I changed my mind. I don’t want to do this tonight.” I settled my gaze on Hawke, who’d shouldered up next to Cooper. Both cops glared down at me. “It’s too cold and he’s too big of an asshole.”

“She has a good point,” Natalie said from beside me in the back seat.

Cooper’s glare broke. He turned away, clearly fighting a grin.

Hawke leaned down, looking in at Natalie. “Come again, Ms. Beals?” His voice was acid-free when he addressed her, friendly even.

“It’s freaking cold out here tonight,” she clarified, zipping her thick coat up to her neck. “I wouldn’t be surprised to see snowflakes any minute now.”

“They aren’t calling for snow until next week,” Hawke said.

“I thought there was a possibility for it this weekend.”

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.” Cooper’s glare was back, nailing Hawke this time. “You’re really going to stand here and talk about the weather at a goddamned crime scene? Can we return to the task at hand, Detective, so I can get the body removed before the sun comes up?”

Doc moved next to Cooper. “I think we need to take a little walk before Violet looks at the body.”

“Looks at the body?” Detective Hawke turned to Cooper. “I didn’t authorize Parker to be here, let alone view the victim.”

“You didn’t, but I did.”

Hawke looked down his nose at me. “What in the hell are you thinking, Coop? Parker is probably responsible for this.”

Damn it if the bunghole wasn’t on the mark there. I kept quiet, sharing a small grimace with Doc.

“I brought her because she might be able to help us with this investigation.”

“Help us? Shit-criminy, Coop. You’ve let the witch get under your skin.”

Sheesh. How many times did I have to tell the bonehead I wasn’t a witch?

I climbed out of the cruiser, adjusted the purple wool skirt I’d thrown on over my sweater leggings, and strode up to Hawke, forcing him to take a step back. “I’m not a witch, Rockford.” Actually, that was an insult to the late, great James Garner. “And that,” I pointed at Cooper, “is ‘Detective Cooper’ to you, especially while we’re standing at his crime scene. You should show some respect to the one detective in this town who wants to close cases for reasons other than landing some stupid promotion.”

Detective Hawke’s eyes grew hard and beady. He loomed over me, threatening with his size. “Why are you really here tonight? Is it to make sure we don’t find any evidence you may have left behind?”