A Wild Fright in Deadwood (Deadwood Humorous Mystery Book 7) (50 page)

“Am I sitting?” I asked, hesitating partway across the room.

He nodded.

“You’re not going to tie me to that chair, are you? Because I’ve been tied to chairs in haunted buildings before, and each time somebody ended up dead.”

Harvey raised the shotgun, aiming at the back wall. “Nobody is dyin’ on my watch, girlie.”

“Lower that shotgun, Uncle Willis, or I’m taking it away.” Cooper’s mug showed up over Harvey’s shoulder.

“Spoilsport.” Harvey lowered the gun, joining Doc next to me as I settled onto the chair.

“Why am I sitting? You’re the mental medium.”

“This ghost is playing hard to get. I need you.”

“Can’t you have Cooper threaten to shoot it if it won’t come out to play?”

Doc squatted in front of me. “Stop being a chicken.”

“But I don’t like getting my feathers ruffled.”

Nudging Doc’s leg, Harvey snickered. “I’ll bet that’s not what she was sayin’ the other night when ya showed her yer rooster.”

I rolled my eyes. “Keep it up, old man, and I’ll hire one of your sexy widows to choke your chicken for real.”

“I’ve heard tell that near death experiences can double a man’s—”

“Stop!” I glared at his toothy grin before looking at Doc. “What am I doing in this chair?”

“You’re going under with me.”

“Can’t we go get ice cream together instead?”

He chuckled. “We’ll do that when we’re done here.”

“You’re not using me as blonde bait again, are you?”

“No. I have something else in mind.”

“What?”

His hands warmed my thighs. “Close your eyes and trust me.”

“This sounds like the beginning of a bad date.”

“A blind date,” Harvey corrected.

“Violet,” Doc said, his thumbs stroking my legs through my jeans. “Focus on the task at hand.”

I closed my eyes, enjoying the heat of his touch. “What task?”

“Materialization.”

One eye opened. “Come again?”

“Making something out of nothing.”

I cocked my head to the side. “How about I make like a chicken and fly away?”

“Chickens are lousy fliers,” Doc said in a low, calming voice. “Now close that eye and let’s start with a candle flame.”

I did, only instead of one candle tonight, there were two right out of the gate.

That was different. Maybe my inner medium was drunk and seeing double. Oh well, I went with it and played with the two candle flames, entwining them together, watching their flames grow, doubling in size, flaring brighter before sinking down again as I pulled them apart.

“I need you to look into the darkness for whoever is here with us tonight.” Doc’s voice was velvety, calming me. “Bring the lurker into the light.”

I was entranced with the fire, merging the flames then separating them, then merging again. Each time I brought them together, the flames grew taller and fatter, making small explosions of fire and sparks when they touched. I pulled them apart again, seeing small sparks flitter upward into the darkness. Then I touched them together. The explosion of light and heat made me shield my face for a second.

When I lowered my hands, a young girl was standing on the other side of the candles. Her eye sockets were blackened, like fire had burned out through her eyes, leaving nothing behind but singe marks. Her pink, heart-shaped mouth had a vertical fracture running down through it with a small triangle of color missing from the lower lip, as if it had chipped off. Her skin looked gray and cracked, like an antique doll with a porcelain face that had seen better days. Her blonde hair was parted down the middle with long braids draped over her shoulders, the ends secured with pink ribbons. Her dress was covered with a white apron, reminding me of the old Walt Disney cartoon version of
Alice in Wonderland
, only this girl’s dress was pink instead of blue.

I recoiled thinking Wilda had found me. But then I realized this girl was older than the ghost I’d seen on Rosy’s playback that day in Cornelius’s suite. Nor was there any creepy clown doll in her hand.

“Who are you?” I asked.

“He doesn’t want to talk to you.” The sound of a child’s voice seemed to come from the girl. She spoke English with a hint of something Slovak maybe? Her lips didn’t move.

I focused on her pink, heart-shaped mouth, afraid to look up into the dark holes where her eyes should be. “Who doesn’t want to talk to me?”

“The doctor.”

What doctor? “Why not?”

“He is angry at you.”

“What have I done?”

“Set him free.”

Set who free? Was this girl somehow tied to Ottó? Hadn’t Aunt Zoe said he was some sort of doctor? “Freedom is good, isn’t it?”

“Many more will die now, just like the other yellow-haired lady.”

Did she mean Katrina? “What happened to the other lady?”

“There had to be a sacrifice. Freedom comes at a cost.”

“Tell the doctor I need to know who helped free the
lidérc.
”

“She did,” her voice lowered to a whisper.

“Who?” I matched her level.

“The visitor.”

“The yellow-haired one?”

The girl’s arm lifted jerkily, like someone was controlling her movements overhead using a set of wires. Her index finger lifted, bumping against her lips, shushing me.

I heard the sound of a door slam somewhere in the darkness off to my right. I looked and saw nothing; when I looked back, the girl doll was gone and a dark haired, middle-aged man with thick V-shaped eyebrows, heavy lidded eyes, and a handlebar mustache glowered at me. His brown jacket was worn with patches on the shoulder.

“You brought it back here.” His accent was thick, turning brought into BRA-oot and adding a slight trill to the r at the end of here, making my brain flash back to Eva Gabor in
Green Acres
.

“Ottó?”

Footfalls clacked in the darkness, coming from the same direction as the door that slammed. “Go and take your
TRA-bull
with you
BE-forr
there is more blood spilled.”

He faded into the blackness. Which trouble did he mean? Old man Harvey? Doc? The lawman?

“Ottó, wait.”

The footfalls stopped. “Here, kitty kitty,” said a voice I knew well from my nightmares. “I can smell you, my pet.”

Caly!

“Run, Boots,” I heard from the darkness. Then someone shoved me backward.

I gasped in surprise, falling into the dark, bouncing onto the cold, hard wooden floor. I opened my eyes, frowning up at Harvey and Cooper, who were both bending over me.

Harvey reached down and pinched my arm.

“Dammit, Harvey!” I smacked his hand away.

“How many fingers am I holding up, Parker?” Cooper made the peace sign in front of my face.

“Enough to poke each of you in one eye.” I pushed his hand away and scrambled to my feet. “What time is it?”

Harvey checked his pocket watch with his flashlight. “Almost eleven.”

“What time exactly?”

“It’s ten-forty-six,” Cooper said. “What’s with the sudden concern about time? You late for something?”

“You didn’t hear her?”

“Hear who?” Harvey asked.

The sound of the second story door slamming open echoed down the hall. Cooper drew his gun, whirling toward the darkened doorway leading to the hall. Harvey grabbed his shotgun from the floor next to me.

“Don’t move,” I whispered to both of them.

Footfalls clacked across the wooden floor out front, echoing off the tall empty walls. “Here, kitty kitty,” Caly repeated. “I can smell you, my pet.”

Déjà vu, I thought. Ottó must have been giving me a warning of what was to come before fading back into the ether.

“Who in the fuck is that?” Cooper said quietly.

“Caly. She’s here for our ten forty-seven meeting.” I’d forgotten about this meeting actually, thanks to the distraction of Katrina’s death. But Caly hadn’t apparently.

I glanced around at the shadow heavy corners in the room. “Where’s Doc?”

“He left,” Harvey said.

“What do you mean he left?”

“He told us to keep an eye on you while he went to find the other ghost.”

He left me? Wasn’t he the one who always told me not to go out on my own? And what other ghost? I’d talked to Ottó after that bizarre talking doll had disappeared.

“Come out come out wherever you are, my kitten,” Caly purred. “You can bring your little friends along, too.”

“Who’s she calling little?” Harvey asked, taking aim at the empty doorway.

“Cooper, give me your gun.”

“No way in hell.”

“Harvey, I need Bessie.”

“I’d sooner hand ya my right nut than give up ol’ Bessie.”

His right nut was his favorite, of course. I growled. “Your bullets won’t do any good against her. Besides, if either of you shoot, the cops will come.”

“I’m already here.”

“I mean more cops, including Detective Hawke.”

“If our bullets won’t work, why do you want our guns?” Harvey asked.

For batting practice. But I could see that neither man was going to play baseball with me, so I changed my tactic. “Cooper, give me your knife.”

“I don’t carry a knife.”

“Why not?”

“Because I have a gun. Why do I need a knife?”

Harvey’s hand bumped mine. “Here.”

I held my hand out under his closed fist. He opened his hand and a Swiss Army knife fell into my palm.

Frowning down at the red casing with the cross logo on it, I sighed. “This is all you have? I thought you always liked to travel prepared.”

“I do. That puppy is eight tools in one.”

I opened the knife only to find the blade broken in half. When I held it out toward Harvey with a scowl, he frowned. “Hell. I forgot about breakin’ that blade when I was poppin’ a lid off an old gallon of paint.”

“Great. Now what? Am I supposed to clip her to death?” I held up the knife with the fingernail clippers sticking out.

“Beggars can’t be choosers,” Cooper said.

With a final glare at both stubborn men, I told them, “Stay behind me, but don’t shoot me in the backside.”

I tiptoed toward the hall.

It was time to face off with Wanda’s killer, as Prudence ordered when she had Cooper’s fingers digging into my thigh. In lieu of my war hammer or any other sort of medieval battle ax or samurai sword or plain old shotgun, I decided to lead with the Swiss Army knife’s corkscrew attachment sticking out between my knuckles.

“What are you going to do with that?” Cooper said when we reached the doorway and paused.

“She’s gonna screw ‘er,” Harvey answered.

Something like that.

A movement at the end of the hall caught my attention.

“Hello, kitten.” Caly stood there, backlit by the orange glow of streetlights coming through the front windows. “Where’s my book?”

Chapter Twenty-Four

“What’s the magic word?” I asked Caly, tightening my grip on the Swiss Army knife in my palm. I had a feeling this was going to turn ugly quick, and I was going to be lucky to make it out with only scratches this time.

Caly’s chin jutted. She said something in a language so foreign to me I couldn’t begin to place its origin.

“Did you get that?” Harvey whispered.

“Not even a little.” I chewed on my lower lip. That had sort of backfired on me. What magic word had she spoken? Should I be worried now about something else besides her sharp teeth and claws, dammit?

“Yer ‘bout as useless as a needle without an eye.”

“Can it, old man,” I muttered out of the side of my mouth. To Caly, I said, “I’m not giving you the book.” Mainly because I didn’t think to bring it with me tonight, but also because I highly doubted she wanted it for her late night reading pleasure.

“The book does not belong to you,
Scharfrichter
.”

“It doesn’t belong to you either, Calypso.” I’d once heard Dominick Masterson call her by that name and she hadn’t liked it one bit. Something told me making waves was a good way to keep her off her game and give me the upper hand.

I heard a hissing sound come from her end of the hall. Her eyes seemed to be more reflective tonight, almost glowing in the flashlight beam I had locked onto her. Had she shucked her contacts, freeing those snake-like eyes I’d witnessed in the Opera House?

“You have met your match, kitten” she stepped toward me.

That’s when I noticed the short sword-like blade attached to her arm—the one I’d stabbed last time we’d battled. The withered stump that remained served as a hilt, the blade somehow secured to the flesh. “That’s a fancy hand shaker,” I told her, lowering the light to it.

“Give me what is mine or I will use it to remove your head.”

Criminy. Did it always have to be about decapitation with these white-haired freaks? “Why did you kill Wanda?”

“She mewled when I came for the book. It disgusted me.”

“What is your fetish with cats?”

Caly took another step closer. “We kill for sport.” She hissed again, showing off her sharp canines. After all of the vampire love played up in movies and books these days, I wasn’t impressed. Now if she could distended her jaw and flash a set of shark teeth, that would make me look twice.

“Would you stay on task, Parker,” Cooper bit out behind me.

The bossy detective must have been reading my thoughts. Fine. I returned to Caly’s most recent bloody deed.

“Did you kill Katrina King?”

Her smile looked positively ghoulish in the beam from my flashlight. “Maybe.” She practically purred the word.

“Why?”

“Her hunger for immortality made her useful.”

“Useful how? Did she know how to free the Hungarian devil locked up in this place?”

“She thought she did.”

I had no patience for her games tonight. “Stop fucking around and answer my questions, Caly.”

“Or what,
Scharfrichter
? You’ll slay me?”

Her thick sarcasm made my gut boil. When I thought of the way she’d killed Jane, Helen, and Wanda, the urge to rip her tongue out made me tighten my grip on the knife even more.

“Oh, I’ll do more than slay you,” I stretched my neck from side to side, gearing up for battle. “I’ll take your stupid blade, gut you, and cram your innards down your throat like a Thanksgiving turkey.”