Dead Case in Deadwood (15 page)

He squeezed the grip a couple of times without answering me,
lines criss-crossing his forehead.

I listened to it
squeak squeak
with dread crowding
the oxygen from my lungs. I was about to wheeze when he finally spoke.

"We found a cell phone on the body."

Where? The only thing I’d seen was tons of hair and that
icky black mole. Then I thought of a certain hiding place and recoiled. "You
mean stuffed up his … uh," what was the CSI word for it? "Anal cavity?"

Who’d mined out that nugget of evidence? Eddie?

Cooper grimaced. "You watch too much T.V."
Squeak
squeak
. "It was in his pants pocket."

"You mean he was dressed when you found him?"

"Yes."

"Then why did I have to look at him naked?"

"We had to remove the clothing for the autopsy."

"Couldn’t you have clothed him again before I came?"

"He’s not a Barbie doll, Violet. We don’t play dress up
with bodies held in the morgue."

Hold the phone! I sat up. "Deadwood has a morgue?"

His eyes narrowed, giving Dirty Harry a run for his money. "Sort
of."

I snorted. "How does one ‘sort of’ have a morgue?"

"It’s a modified garage."

Of course! The small building out behind Mudder Brothers
Funeral Parlor. "It’s the Mudder brothers’ garage, isn’t it?"

Squeak squeak.
"That’s not important."

I envisioned big chest freezers lined up around the walls,
the hearse parked in between. Now I knew where they stored the fresh bodies.

I needed to get into that garage.

"Stay away from the Mudder brothers, Violet."

"Sure." Dang it. I said it too fast.

He pointed at me. "I meant what I said last night about
the restraining order."

"I know." I held his stare for as long as humanly
possible. Then I lowered my gaze to his loosely knotted tie, noticing that what
I’d thought were polka dots were actually little skulls.

"So, what’s this cell phone have to do with me?" I
asked

Squeak squeak squeak.
"Your name was in it."

Fear tickled the back of my throat. I tried to gulp it down.
"So, I make a lot of phone calls every day. It’s part of my job."

"It was a text message not a call."

"I could have texted the number by mistake."

"It’s not from you."

"Oh."

"Your full name was written inside the text of the
message."

"That’s weird." The tickle in my throat became a
burning itch.

"The
only
text message on the phone."

That was uncomfortably weird. I cleared my throat, fighting
the urge to claw at it. "What did it say?" My voice sounded croaky.

He pulled out a little notebook from his shirt pocket and
flipped it open. "I quote, ‘Violet Parker from Rapid City. Mid-thirties.
Curly blonde hair.’"

My windpipe felt like it had been dipped in hot sauce. I
coughed into my fist, trying to cool the burning. "There has to be some …"
I paused to cough again, "some rational explanation."

Rational? Really?
A crazy-sounding cackle erupted
inside my skull. I squashed my lips together to keep it from spewing out. What
were the chances of there being two curly-haired blonde Violet Parkers in Rapid
City around my age?

Cooper grimaced at me. "There’s one more thing in the text."

"What?" I wheezed, suddenly wishing I’d waited to cram
that chicken and peppers burrito down my gullet until
after
I’d left the
police station.

He held the notebook out in front of my watering eyes.

I blinked and read his scrawl—three times just to be sure my
eyes weren’t fucking with me.

The burning in my throat raced down to my stomach. I gulped.
"I think I’m going to throw up."

"Disturbing, I’m sure." Cooper slapped the
notebook closed. "So, what we need you to do is—"

Coughing on a bubble of stomach acid, I scrambled to my
feet. "Where’s your wastebasket?"

"Violet." He reached toward my shoulder. "Are
you okay?"

"No! Get back!"

He should have listened better.

One hour, one trip home for a midday shower and teeth
brushing, and one change of clothes later, I sat in the warm afternoon sunshine
on the Picklemobile’s tailgate in Jeff Wymonds’ drive with my cell phone in
hand.

I pulled up Doc’s number, hit the call button, and then
pressed the phone against my ear.

Squeals of laughter drifted my way from Jeff’s backyard
where my two kids were playing with Jeff’s daughter, Kelly, who was also Addy’s
best friend. I’d tried to get the three of them to help Jeff and me prep the
house for tomorrow’s Open House—my first—but cleaning the inside of a monkey
cage with the monkeys still in it would have been less frazzling.

Doc wasn’t answering his phone. After four rings, I hung up,
not wanting to leave another message on his voicemail. Three were plenty. A
fourth would push me over into the desperate girlfriend zone that might be the
start of a downhill slide into love-‘em-and-leave-‘em valley.

I weighed the idea of going back inside with Jeff. He could
use my help re-painting the laundry room. But my feet dragged at the thought of
bumping paintbrushes and elbows in a room much too small to share with an
ex-football player who was determined to make me the other half of his Brady
Bunch family.

Jeff was a good dad, and even though he cleaned up nicely
and had an impressive set of biceps, his repeated comments about wanting to share
a kitchen with me and leave some little "buns" in my oven conjured crazed
visions of me laughing hysterically as I slammed my stove door on his rolling
pin. More than once.

While I was still physically able to pop out a little
gingerbread girl or boy, Violet’s Baby-Making Bakery had closed its doors for
good ten years ago. Another pregnancy would go over like a cast-iron stork.

With a glance at the thick clouds stacking up on the
horizon, I dialed Natalie.

"Dick’s Hotdogs," Natalie answered on the second
ring. "If you like hotdogs, you’ll like Dicks!"

I chuckled, swinging my legs while inspecting my
paint-spattered arms. "Nice. You hear that one during your last conjugal
visit to the Pennington County Jail? "

"Nah, I got it from your mom. What’s up?"

I didn’t dally. "The Mudder brothers have a morgue in
their garage."

"I know. They cremate bodies there, too."

"What?" My legs stopped swinging. "Why didn’t
you tell me this before?"

"Ummm, because you used to be sane."

"I want to sneak inside of that morgue."

"Whatever happened to the good ol’ days when our
sneaking involved the boys’ locker room after basketball games?"

"Ugh. I’d forgotten about all of those jockstraps."
I hopped to the ground, pacing.

A top-heavy cumulus cloud slipped in front of the sun,
giving me a break from the heat.

"How are we going to get into that garage?" I
asked, running a few scenarios through my head involving Natalie and me in
black ski-masks and cat suits.

"We?" Natalie chuckled. "Oh, no, sister. I’m
not going in there with you. That’s too damned creepy."

"Natalie, what could happen? They’re all dead."

"Dead bodies make weird sounds."

"So did your ex, and you slept with his sorry ass."

"They smell funny."

"Your ex ate
chili con carne
by the can."

"They’re freaky looking."

"One word for you—tattoos," I said, referring to
her ex’s obsession with ink on his skin. "I can do this all day, Nat.
You’re going in with me."

Thunder boomed to the west. Wyoming was sending some loud, wet
love our way.

"No," she said, and then growled in my ear. "Why
me?"

"Because I’m too chicken to go alone."

"What! You just said—"

My phone beeped.

I pulled it away from my ear. Natalie’s ranting sounded tiny
and far off, like it was being piped in from Dr. Seuss’s Whoville. A peek at the
screen made my silly heart skip a beat. Doc was calling back.

"Nat," I interrupted her mid-rant, "I gotta
go. I’ll talk to you tonight."

She was still grumbling when I hung up and picked up the
incoming call.

"Hi, Doc." I leaned against the tailgate, trying
to sound all cool and sexy.

"Hey, Trouble. You okay?" His deep voice caressed
my eardrum, making me shiver a little. It was pathetic how warm I was for the
guy’s form.

"Yeah. Why?"

"You sounded a little upset in your messages. Especially
those first two."

A little upset? He was being kind. I was pretty sure I’d hit
a Level 5 on the Nuclear Event Scale.

I’d made those first two calls to him on my way home from
the police station, the acrid taste of my own lunch remains still burning the back
of my throat. My heart hadn’t stopped jackhammering yet from what Cooper had
shown me. "That’s because I was still freaking out."

His chair creaked through the line. I envisioned him leaning
back at his desk. "Why? What happened?"

"I threw up on Cooper’s skull tie."

His pause lasted for a rumble of thunder. "You what?"

"Threw up on—"

"Why?"

"Well, I think it was partly because that chicken and
green peppers burrito I had for lunch had been well past its expiration date—it
tasted funny from the start and didn’t get any better by the last bite. But
mostly it was because of what Cooper showed me."

He cursed under his breath. "Did he make you look at
the dead guy again?"

"No. He showed me a text message."

"And you accuse me of being cryptic."

"Sorry." I took a calming breath and started in
again. "The cops found a cell phone on the headless dead guy and it had a
text message in it with my name."

Thunder rumbled again, louder, closer. Good timing, I
thought and wrinkled my nose at the gang of dark clouds looming. I could smell
the coming rain.

"The dead guy sent you a text message?"

"No, someone else sent him a text message about me."

"Who?"

"They don’t know. It was listed only as a number, no
name. And the number no longer works."

"How old was the text?"

"Over a month."

"What did it say?"

"It read like a singles ad. Listed my name, my hair
color, and that I’m from Rapid."

Doc’s chair creaked again. "Shit."

I nodded into the now-cool breeze leading the storm. "There’s
more."

"Of course there is. What else did Cooper find?"

"I meant there was more in the message. It mentioned Aunt
Zoe."

"What about her?"

"The text described her, too, including where she
lives."

As in where I now lived—with my kids.

A flash of lightning split the sky to the south, a curtain
of rain falling below the looming tower of dark clouds. I frowned at the storm,
wishing Jeff had been mowing the lawn earlier this afternoon instead of helping
me paint two layers of white over the pea-soup green his soon-to-be-ex had
chosen for their master bathroom walls.

"What did Cooper have to say about this text message?"
Doc asked.

"That I should mind my own business, focus on selling
his house, and let him figure out who’s behind it all."

"Are you going to listen to him?"

"I will do my damnedest to sell his house."

"Violet," he warned.

"Doc, this isn’t just about me. Aunt Zoe could be in
danger. So could my kids."

"Christ, woman. You’re too much some days."

"What’s that supposed to mean?" Too much for him
to handle? Or too much of a pain to keep around?

"It means that I’m going to lose more sleep."

Oh, that’s all he meant? Sleep was for babies and old men. "Welcome
to the Insomnia Club. We have matching pillow cases."

He chuckled. "I have a fix for your nightmares."

"What? Pills? Hypnotism? Ben Stein reading poetry?"

"A new bed."

"I doubt my mattress is part of the problem."

"Probably not, but my new mattress is definitely part
of the solution."

Sex with Doc on a flat surface? Hmmm, definitely worth a
shot—if I could shake Natalie.

"You have a new bed?" I hopped up onto the
tailgate, kicking my legs again.

"The delivery guys were at my place when you called—the
first time, anyway."

"I like the bean bag," I said, smiling at the
memory of him working his magic on me in that bag of beans.

"It’s still here in the back room. Come over and see
for yourself."

"I can’t. Jeff and I have more painting to do."

"How’s Wymonds?"

"Eager to sell."

"Keeping his hands to himself?"

It wasn’t his hands I was worried about touching me. "Yep."

Harvey’s old Ford pulled into the drive next to the
Picklemobile, a cloud of dust making me cough.

"I have to go, Harvey’s here."

"Perfect. You need a bodyguard today."

"I can handle Jeff."

"It’s not Wymonds who has me worried. Have you talked
to your newest client? Mr. Planet of the Apes?"

"His name is Cornelius." Although, I preferred
Honest
Abe
. "And I have not talked to him yet today. Why?"

I’d planned to touch base with him later this afternoon.
That would give him a solid twenty-four hours in that hotel before I began
pestering him to buy it.

"I’ll let Harvey fill you in." His tone vibrated
with suppressed laughter.

Harvey crawled out of his pickup and limped toward me,
grimacing while rubbing his hip.

"About what?"

"Call me tonight after your kids go to bed."

"What is there to tell me about Cornelius?"

"Oh, and Violet."

"What?"

"Don’t drop the phone in the water this time," he
said and hung up.

Damn him.

"Was that Doc?" Harvey asked.

I put the cell phone on the tailgate next to me. "You
know, he’s not the only one I talk to on the phone."