A Wild Fright in Deadwood (Deadwood Humorous Mystery Book 7) (47 page)

Maybe, dammit!

Before I had a chance to answer, Doc stepped between us. “Back off, Detective. She’s here to help.”

“I don’t need help from her.”

“Oh, really?” Doc asked. “So you have all of the information you need to find the killer and close the case then?” When Hawke grumbled in reply, Doc nodded. “Exactly. You need her. Trust me.”

In truth, he needed Doc not me, unless he decided to go up to the second floor in the Sugarloaf Building. Then he needed both me and my war hammer.

However, the plan the four of us had concocted back in the kitchen after Aunt Zoe had agreed to stay home with my kids was to use me as the “medium.” I’d distract the other cops while Doc, the real deal, checked for any signs of Katrina King’s ghost. If he made contact with her, he would try to figure out who’d found my war hammer and where, and why it had been used to kill her. During my diversion, Cooper would lead the fake medium—aka me—inside the first floor of the building where I could listen for the
lidérc
and make sure it was still behaving itself upstairs.

Natalie had come along to throw Detective Hawke off his game whenever necessary, like when we’d arrived and he’d come at me barking and snarling. Cooper had not been thrilled at all about this part of the plan, citing several unconvincing reasons she shouldn’t go along, and then clenching his jaw when Natalie had told him to quit being so bull-headed and drive.

Detective Hawke took a step back from Doc and me, whirling on Cooper. “And how in the hell did you figure she could help with this investigation?”

“She helped us find the body at my uncle’s ranch, remember?”

That was Doc’s doing, not mine, but I added for effect, “And I figured out who might have killed the guy and why.”

Doc looked at me. “There is no ‘might have’ about it.”

“This medium business is bullshit,” Hawke said. “Come on, Cooper, can’t you see she’s just playing you, pretending she’s a clairvoyant.”

“Not clairvoyant,” Doc said. “What we’re talking about here is retrocognition, focusing on the past.”

Hawke snorted. “It’s one big hoax, if you ask me.”

“But nobody asked you, did they?” I snapped. “And you want to know why? Because your head is buried so far up your own ass admiring the view that you’re blind to everything else.”

“Violet,” Doc warned.

Hawke’s shoulders pulled in tight, giving him a hunchback appearance. “Watch your mouth, Spooky Parker.”

I rolled my eyes at his use of my notorious nickname. “Are you going to stand there making angry faces at me until someone else ends up dead or let me help find whoever killed Ms. King?”

“Don’t you mean until you kill your next victim?”

I guffawed. “Is there even a brain in that coconut you call a head?”

“Mark my words, Parker,” he bit out, “you’re going down, and I’m not talking about your lipstick on my dipstick. Unlike Cooper, I’m immune to psycho blondes.”

Doc moved lightning fast, going nose-to-nose with the big oaf. “You need to think twice about the next thing that comes out of your mouth, Detective. That badge does not give you the right to insult the lady.”

Hawke took a step back. “Call off your hound, Parker, or I’ll throw him in jail for assaulting an officer.”

“Detective Cooper,” Doc’s focus stayed locked on Hawke, his body still taut, ready to spring. “If you don’t do something about this cretin, I will. And I don’t care if it lands me in jail for the night.”

“Jesus, Hawke.” Cooper stepped in, playing referee. “What’s gotten into you?”

“It’s her,” he huffed. “I’m sick of seeing this condescending, frizzy haired, meddling blonde at our crime scenes.”

“My hair is not frizzy.” At least not tonight—I had my curls well-tamed.

“Trust me,” Cooper said, giving me a flat stare. “I know how you feel about Violet … and her hair.”

I scratched the bridge of my nose with my middle finger.

With a slight shake of his head, he returned to Hawke. “But even more frustrating is the lack of answers in these murder cases.”

Hawke jammed his hands on his hips, frowning across the valley at the Yates Shaft headframe. “This place is fucked up.”

“Maybe, but using this all-brawn-and-no-brains tack isn’t helping. We have to find the truth using whatever tools we can find.” He pointed at me. “Tonight, Parker’s a tool.”

“You’re the tool,” I told Cooper.

He raised his eyebrows. “Is that all you got for me?”

“No, here’s something else.” I pulled my left hand from my coat pocket, giving the butthead another middle fingered salute.

His mouth curved into a grin, but only for a heartbeat or two and then his stony mask fell back into place.

“Fine, you can take Parker around the building,” Detective Hawke said. “But I don’t know that I’ll buy anything she says.” Hawke’s scowl moved from me to Doc. “Why did you bring your roommate along?” he asked Cooper.

“He wasn’t thrilled with me hauling his girlfriend up here in the middle of the night to look at a dead body.”

Hawke turned to Natalie, eyeing her up and down. She smiled back at him, charming him with a flirty bat of her lashes. Instead of asking for an explanation of her presence, he said to his partner in crime-fighting, “Keep a close eye on Parker. I wouldn’t put it past her to plant false evidence.”

He was too busy walking away to see the karate kick I aimed his way.

Doc chuckled. “That’s my scrapper.”

“I like her windmill move better.” Cooper pulled his notepad out of his pocket along with a pen. “It had more finesse.” He pointed his pen at me. “Let’s get this song and dance done. I have a shitload of paperwork to do on this murder.”

I touched Doc’s arm. “You ready to work your magic?”

One of his eyebrows lifted. “Which magic are we talking about,
Tish?
”

“Stop right there.” Before I could reply, Cooper interrupted us. “Don’t make me put a bullet in you tonight, Nyce. Now what’s first? The Sugarloaf Building or the body?”

“The body,” I answered. “Then we’ll go inside.”

“You sure?” Doc asked.

“I need to see the war hammer,” I said for their ears only. “Make sure it’s mine.”

“Who else’s would it be, Parker?” Cooper asked. “They don’t sell war hammers at any hardware stores around here.”

If he wanted my help tonight, he needed to drop the attitude. “I know that, Detective Pissypants, but whoever gave me one might be passing them out to others. I’d like to confirm if it’s mine or not.”

“It’s Detective Cooper at my crime scenes, remember?” he threw my words back at me with a smartass grin.

I ignored him and looked at Natalie, who stood shivering next to Doc. “I need you to run interference for us. I don’t need to deal with Detective Hawke while I’m trying to focus on the
lidérc
. One asshole at a time is plenty.”

“I’m on it.”

“Distract how?” Cooper caught Natalie’s arm as she turned to leave, holding her in place.

She patted his cheek. “If I tell you that, Coop, you’ll see through all of my charms. Then I’ll have no chance of getting you under my wicked spell again.”

I scoffed. “I doubt that.”

Cooper glared in my direction.

Oops, I’d opened my big mouth again. “I say that because Cooper is not under any spell of yours … or any other woman’s for that matter … at least none that I know of anyway.” I pulled my head deeper inside of my coat, like a turtle retracting into its shell. “How about we look at that body now, Detective?”

With one last scowl in my direction, he let go of Natalie. “Be careful, Beals.”

She saluted Cooper. “His bite can’t be any worse than yours.”

“I haven’t bitten you … yet.”

“Oh, I think you have, Coop.” She fake punched his shoulder. “I learned my lesson well.”

“Once bitten, twice shy,” I threw out.

“Zip it, Parker.” After watching Natalie walk away, Cooper led the way over to a tarp tented over what I assumed was Katrina King’s body. “You sure about this?”

“It can’t be worse than a decapitated body on the morgue’s slab first thing in the morning, can it?”

“I hope not,” Doc said.

“There might be another black wart for your viewing pleasure,” Cooper said.

I gagged. “Thanks for that memory.”

“Paybacks are hell.” Without another word, Cooper flipped back the tarp.

I winced, but it was short-lived. In truth there wasn’t much to see. Katrina had been wrapped up in the thick murky plastic that I recognized from the downstairs windows in the Sugarloaf Building. I could see a lumpy form with a pale arm sticking out. Clean cuts in the plastic around Katrina’s face gave a clear view of her pale, lifeless eyes. The cops must have had to trim away enough to figure out who they had on their hands.

The thing that made me scratch my head was my war hammer—and it certainly looked like mine after a quick inspection. It had been buried into her chest through the plastic. Apparently, she’d been wrapped up in the plastic and then killed. Had she suffocated first? There was blood on the plastic. Would she have bled out like that if she’d already been dead? Probably not.

I heard a sniff behind me and looked around at Doc. Was that a sniff because he was cold or because there was someone here with us? “What is it?”

He was looking across the blue and red flash-filled yard at the Sugarloaf Building. “I thought I saw something move in the downstairs window.”

All I saw was darkness.

“There it is again,” he said.

“I didn’t see anything,” Cooper said.

Me either, but we were both duds when it came to ghosts. Well, mostly.

I pointed down at Katrina. “What’s with the plastic?”

Cooper shrugged and covered the plastic-wrapped body with the tarp. The war hammer’s handle acted as the center tent pole. “This is how we found her. I was hoping one of you could help me figure that out, along with why your war hammer is stuck in her chest.”

Those were good questions. I didn’t think I’d be much help, but Doc might be able to provide a few key pieces of information.

A freezing cold gust of wind blew past us as we stood over Katrina’s body, each focused on our own who and why.

“Let’s go inside.” Doc took my hand, pulling me over to the Sugarloaf Building.

Cooper followed. “Upstairs or down?”

“Downstairs first,” Doc answered. “That will give Violet the opportunity to listen for any sounds from upstairs.”

“Right, sounds from … what did you call it?” Cooper asked.

Earlier in his cruiser on the way up to Lead, I’d explained about our visit to the Sugarloaf Building last night with Aunt Zoe and Reid. Cooper had listened to our recount about the
lidérc
without a word. When it was over, he’d looked across the front seat at Doc and said, “This supernatural shit would go down better with whiskey.”

“I’ll buy you a bottle when it’s over.”

Unfortunately for Cooper, I had a feeling that bottle of whiskey would be a long time coming.

“If I need to head upstairs tonight,” I said as we climbed the steps to the building, “I’m going alone.” I shivered from the cold air along with the realization of what we might find inside.

“There’s no way in hell that’s going to happen, Killer,” Doc tightened his hold on my hand. “Where you go, I go.”

“This is my crime scene,” Cooper joined us at the doors. “Nobody goes up there without me.” His obstinacy reminded me of Reid.

I sighed. Didn’t they realize how dangerous that thing upstairs was? I wasn’t even sure I understood what we were dealing with, but Aunt Zoe had certainly made it clear that it was one hundred percent trouble.

I looked down at the door handles. Hold up. The chains holding the doors shut were gone. “Who took the chains off?”

“What chains?”

“The ones holding these doors closed.”

“There was a padlock, too,” Doc said.

“There were no chains or padlock when we arrived.”

Had Katrina removed the padlock and chains? If so, they must be lying around somewhere in the weeds, unless someone else took them. “How did you find out about her? Did someone call it in?”

Cooper nodded. “A guy down the street was coming home from work and saw what looked like a roll of plastic lying here. Turned out to be Katrina.” He pushed open the door. “Shall we?”

We crossed the threshold. Doc let go of my hand, walking deeper into the front room. There were no cops inside, but their bright flashy lights lit the place up with a flickering effect through the murky plastic covering all the windows but one. There were shreds of the plastic, which was now wrapped around Katrina King’s body, still stuck to the nails.

Why the plastic mummy wrap job? What in the hell had happened here?

Doc inhaled a couple of times. “Someone is in here.”

“We’ve been through this first floor a few times tonight, combing for clues, and found nobody.”

“I’m talking about someone dead. I can smell something …” he trailed off, moving over toward the hallway.

“Is it her?” I tiptoed after him.

“I’m not sure. Cooper, I need your flashlight.” After Cooper handed his extra one off, Doc said to me, “Come on.”

I followed very carefully, listening for the sound of our pal from upstairs but not hearing anything.

Doc stopped in the back bathroom where I’d made faces in the mirror such a short time ago.

“Is she in here?” I whispered.

“No.”

“Then what are we doing back here?” Cooper asked from behind me. I hadn’t heard him following.

“Violet needs to focus,” Doc told him. “Those flashing lights might screw her up.”

He was right. I hadn’t realized it, but my concentration had been superficial out front. In here, though, I was somewhat sure I could close my eyes and sense what was going on upstairs.

“Okay,” Cooper had a growl in his tone. “Get to it then.”

I tried to, thinking of the candle, the dancing flame, the trail of smoke rising into the darkness. While focusing, I listened.

“Well?” Cooper asked a short time later.

“Could you breathe any louder, Detective?”

“Sure. I could huff and puff and blow your house down.”

“You already did, and then you tossed me in the hoosegow.”