Dead Case in Deadwood (18 page)

There. No need to dance around an unasked question now.

His little yellow teeth greeted me, his eyes crinkled at the
edges without even the tiniest bit of malice. It appeared that George was still
clueless about me nosing into his secrets. Excellent. There was another viewing
that I planned to drag Natalie to tomorrow night.

"I was talking to Ray about—"

"Never mind, Violet," Ray cut in, his eyes as
sharp as his tone. "George, I’ll stop by later with more details."

Details about their next shipment? About the guys who had
followed him last time?

"It was nice seeing you, Violet." George held the
door for me. "Give Natalie my love."

I slipped by him and cursed under my breath as the door shut
firmly behind me. As tempting as it was to put my ear to the back door, I
passed and headed to the front room.

Mona’s jasmine perfume mixed with the residuals of smoke
still in my sinuses, making for a sweet, smoky smell. She stopped clacking on
her keyboard as soon as I dropped my bag on my desk.

"Did you hear?" I asked.

"I did. You okay?"

"I’ve been better." I walked over to the water
cooler and poured myself a cup of nectar. "Does Jane know?"

"Not yet, but she’ll hear about it. What happened?"

"We’re not sure yet, but it looks like it was an
accident."

"Anybody get hurt?"

"No, thank God." I downed the cupful of cold
water, sighed in relief, and then pointed my thumb toward the back door. "What
was George Mudder doing here?"

"I don’t know. He dropped off some keys to Ray, and
then the two of them went out the back."

"That’s kind of weird, don’t you think?" I was
testing Mona, seeing if it was just my general loathing for Ray that had me
full of suspicions about George’s visit.

"A little odd, I guess."

Good. So, I wasn’t totally nuts. I walked back to my desk. "Did
you hear anything more about Ray’s client putting an offer on the hotel?"

"No. Nothing. You’re meeting with Cornelius tonight,
right?"

I nodded. Back to Ray—I wasn’t done yet. "Has Ray named
his mysterious client?"

"Nope. He and Jane had some kind of pow-wow behind
closed doors this morning, but she headed out for an appointment with her
lawyer before I had a chance to drill her." Mona pointed at my desk. "She
left a note for you."

I pushed my bag aside and picked up the Post-it note, my
heart thudding in my throat. But it was just a list of two more buildings in
Lead she wanted me to research.

Jane was interested in purchasing more real estate. For a
couple of weeks now, she’d had me finding out past ownership and liens on
several buildings along Lead’s main drag.

This time she specified I go to the library in Lead. I
usually hung out in Deadwood Library’s South Dakota room, where I often found
Doc researching, too. Only his subjects weren’t usually so pleasant—death
registers, cemetery plot details, and more.

"Jane wants me to go to the Lead library," I told
Mona.

"You know where that is, right? Next to the old Opera
House."

I nodded. "I was up there with the kids weeks ago.
While they picked out a few books, I peeked through the Opera House’s front
doors. They’ve really fixed that place up."

Almost a century ago, the late, much-loved Thomas Grier,
Homestake Mining Company’s superintendent, worked with the wife of
ba-zillionaire, George Hearst, to build the Homestake Opera House and
Recreation Center for the mine’s employees and their families.

I’d learned all about Mr. and Mrs. Hearst, along with Grier,
Wild Bill, and Calamity Jane in history class back in high school. The black
and white pictures of the glory days of old had often fascinated me, making me
wish I could see it all in color.

Hearst had been one of the early owners of the Homestake
Gold Mine, the largest and deepest gold mine in the Western Hemisphere until it
closed its doors at the beginning of the new millennium. While the uber-wealthy
tycoon had been focused mainly on digging riches out of the ground until his
death in the early 1890s, his young wife had been more concerned about the citizens
of Lead. Grier and she had each played philanthropic roles in making Lead a
bustling, vibrant, cosmopolitan city in the early twentieth century, with
Cornish, Italian, German, and other ethnic cultural sectors. The Historic
Homestake Opera House was an example.

But then the mine had shut its doors for good, and the miles
and miles of underground shafts, drifts, and stopes were allowed to fill with
water. Those golden, glory days of old had been washed down the sluice into
oblivion, along with the big company store stocked with everything under the
sun and the well-paid mining jobs that had kept the northern Black Hills
prosperous for over a century. The Opera House had limped along until a fire
destroyed the roof and much of the inside.

But the old place was being restored by a group of
volunteers. The whole process reminded me of the mythical phoenix, from ashes
to rebirth. I couldn’t wait to see the old building regain its reputation as
the "Jewel of the Black Hills."

I dropped into my chair, leaning back. "I’ve been
wanting to go see a play in there since we moved up here. I’m curious what the
auditorium looks like now."

Mona pushed her glasses further up on her nose. "When I
was a kid, they used to show movies in there. I’m so glad they’re fixing it
back up."

Wait a second. I sat up straight in my seat. Did the Opera House’s
restoration have anything to do with the reason Jane was so hot to get property
in Lead lately? Did she have some insider tip from someone in the Lead City
Council about a lucrative venture for the town on the horizon?

"They say the old place is haunted," Mona said.

"Why does that
not
surprise me?" These
days, I’d actually be more surprised to find a century-old building in the
Black Hills that was free of ghost-filled rumors.

"Back in the early days," Mona continued, "the
Opera House was used as a hospital for a while. The Episcopal Church also used
it for church services while it was being moved to its current location, and
probably funerals, too. The building is certainly no stranger to death."

In other words, I wouldn’t be attending any plays with Doc anytime
soon, or Cornelius.

I read Jane’s note again. While I wanted to wad it up and
file it in my trash can, I stuffed it in my purse instead. Jane’s wishes were my
commands, as her unofficial gopher. Until I made enough money in sales to start
carrying some weight around here, I had to keep my gopher tail firmly strapped
on.

The sound of the back door closing drew both Mona’s and my
gazes. Ray sauntered in, his grin a mix of sneer and triumph.

Oh, how I wished I had a pie to throw.

I held eye contact, ready for whatever shit he planned to
fling my way.

"Something smells like smoke," he said.

And so it began.

"Shut up, Ray." Mona beat me to the punch.

"What’s burning? Oh, right, Blondie’s future in realty."

"Think of that one all on your own, Skeeter?"

He sat in his chair and kicked his Tony Lamas up onto his
desktop. "Did you hear my good news?"

"You finally found a penis enlarger that actually
works?"

"Come over tonight and see for yourself. I’ll show you
what it’s like to be with a real man and put that boyfriend of yours to shame."

"What boyfriend?" Mona asked.

Alarms whooped in my head. I needed to steer Mona and him
off course. "What’s new with the Mudder brothers, Ray?"

His eyes narrowed.

"You have another shipment to run tonight?"

"You don’t learn very well, do you, Blondie?"

"I learn just fine. I’m learning more about you every
day."

"Well, school’s about over," he said.

"What’s that supposed to mean?"

"I have a buyer for the Old Prospector Hotel. I told
Jane about it this morning."

"I’ll start sweating when I see an offer," I bluffed.
"Until then, you’re just blowing hot air, wasting my time."

"Who’s your buyer, Ray?" Mona asked.

"You’ll find out soon enough, Red." He smirked at
me. "Blondie, you should probably bring in a box tomorrow and start
packing your shit."

I rolled my eyes. "If I had a spoonful of dirt for
every empty threat you gave me, I could fill up the Open Cut mine in Lead."

"Oh, this one’s not empty. As soon as I sell the hotel,
you’ll lose your job."

I’d heard that before, too. However, while I kept my
demeanor carefree on the outside, my armpits and back were coated in a dew of
anxiety-inspired sweat. "How many times are you going to throw that at me,
Ray?"

"Until it sticks. And this time, it will. Jane agreed
to stand by her word. When I close the deal on the hotel, you’re fired."

* * *

An hour before sundown, I stood outside the back door to
Doc’s office, chewing on my lip. The warm afternoon breeze had cooled off. It
played with my loose curls, tickling my nose and ensnaring my eyelashes with
wisps of hair.

Deadwood smelled like barbecued meat tonight, but my stomach
was too filled with anxiety to fit in anything else. I’d escaped the office
shortly after Ray finished with his threats, claiming the need to wash the
smoke off of me, and raced home to pace my bedroom floor. An hour of worrying
later, my job still dangled by a thread, so I went downstairs and hung out in
the backyard with Addy and Layne, seeking comfort in their carefree laughter.

Now, I stared at Doc’s back door. Should I go inside or not?

His car sat in the parking lot, but I was a good half hour
earlier than we’d discussed. While I’d come up with several logical reasons for
why I was showing up ahead of schedule, the truth of the matter was I hoped to
catch a glimpse of the person he had an appointment with this evening.

Okay, that still wasn’t quite true.

The ugly, jealous truth was that I wanted to see if he was
with Tiffany. Plain and simple.

My self-loathing had reached a new high. My crappy-ass luck
with the houses I was trying to sell catching on fire wasn’t helping my cause
any, either.

Glancing around to see if anyone was witnessing my public
display of silliness, I tucked some curls behind my ear and noticed my hand was
trembling.

Come on, Violet. Doc likes you. You like him. You’re
supposed to be a mature adult. Stop acting like you’re giggling through your
first crush.

I grabbed the door handle.

Wait! Should I go in the back door or the front?

Even though Tiffany’s jeep was nowhere to be seen, she could
be inside with Doc reviewing her financial portfolio, discussing some IRA
options, showing off her new crotch-less panties.

Really, Violet? Come on!

I groaned. I needed a new brain. One with the jealousy
button super-glued in the Off position.

So what if Tiffany was in there? She was his client and he
was my client. As far as she was concerned, Doc and I were just pals. And if
her tongue was in his mouth when I walked in, I’d grab her from behind, turn
her upside-down, and pile-drive her sorry ass into Doc’s hardwood floor. Or her
sorry head, in this case.

I puffed my cheeks and blew out a breath. Screw it.

I twisted the knob and slipped inside the back door, pulling
it closed behind me with a soft click. Pausing, I listened for the sound of
voices. The hallway seemed stuffy. It must have been ten degrees warmer than
outside.

Silence issued from the front, but the sound of running
water came from the bathroom door just ahead on my left.

I inched down the warm hall lit by the last of the sun’s
light pouring through the front windows. I sniffed, checking for the scent of
perfume, picking up hints of Doc’s cologne mixed with something different but
familiar, a little spicy, kind of manly.

"Hello?" I called.

Nobody answered.

The water turned off.

I was two steps from the bathroom door when the light seeping
from under the door went dark. The knob turned and the door opened.

Smiling, I said, "I’m a little earl—"

Detective Cooper stepped out.

I yipped in surprise.

He jerked, his hands coming up in some Bruce-Lee-like karate
block.

My eye twitched at just the sight of his chiseled face. "What
are you doing back here?"

"Using the head." His gaze measured me, his hands
lowering. "What are
you
doing back here?"

Busted! I tried to think fast on my feet. "I have a
question for Doc."

Brilliant, Einstein.
Shut up!

One of his eyebrows lifted. "At this time of night?"

"Night?" I pointed toward the end of the hall at
the front windows beyond. "The sun is still up."

"Barely." He crossed his arms and took a
wide-legged stance, his usual drill-the-suspect posture. "Do you always
come through the back door when you have a question for Mr. Nyce?"

I held his stare, determined not to let him ruffle my
feathers. "Sure. He’s a friend." That sounded lame, so I added. "And
my client."

"I thought he’d already bought a house." Cooper’s
steely eyes probed.

Trying not to squirm or fidget, I said, "He did."
A drip of sweat rolled down my spine. "He’s considering picking up a rental
for some extra income."

Smooth lie! I gave myself a mental thumbs-up and smiled
again, determined to hide all of my dark secrets behind white teeth.

Coop just stared back. "Do you always adopt this kind
of a casual relationship with your clients?"

"No, of course not." I realized he could call me
on that lie when it came to his uncle. "Except for Harvey, of course."

"And Wolfgang Hessler," he added, his gaze
challenging me to deny it.

"That was a unique situation." He was the only
serial killer I’d dated … so far.