Dead Case in Deadwood (21 page)

The other two ninjas were fellow hotel guests who had overheard
Skipper telling her boyfriend about the excitement several nights ago at the
last séance. They looked to be in their early twenties. Both were tall, skinny,
and a bit gangly, like they’d been stretched on a taffy pulling machine.

I couldn’t tell if they were siblings or a match made in
heaven, since they sat close to each other at the table, but never touched. They
told me their names, which I promptly forgot and decided to go with Thing 1 and
Thing 2, in the spirit of Dr. Seuss.

Cornelius made an excellent Cat-in-the-Hat, with the way he
flitted around the room in his kooky, one-horned Viking hat. I hadn’t found the
guts yet to ask what the purpose of the hat was, but the night was young.

During the séance, Thing 1 and Thing 2 would have the job of
keeping an eye on all ten of the Electro-Magnetic Field meters set throughout
the room, which Cornelius explained were supposed to measure the fluctuations
emitted from entities. These EMF fluxes supposedly occurred when entities tried
to communicate or interact with someone in our "human realm." The
greater the flux, the stronger the entity, according to Cornelius.

My role during the party would be just to sit still and
listen. When I asked "to what?" Cornelius laughed at me like I was joking,
and then gave me a small, palm-sized digital recorder to monitor—as in push the
Record button when he instructed, and then make sure it continued recording no
matter what happened.

I’d rather have been in charge of watching cameras. At least
then I could move around a little and try to walk off my worries about whether
Doc would ever talk to me again after today’s multiple disasters.

Finally, Cornelius announced it was time to start the séance.
Much to my surprise, he didn’t want us to sit around the table and hold hands.

"Hollywood’s idea of a séance is pure fiction," he
told us and sat down alone at the table.

I still had trouble understanding which part of a séance
wasn’t fiction. But, since he’d reminded us multiple times that skepticism
would draw negative energy, and then reinforced his warning with a menacing
frown, I kept my big, skeptical mouth shut.

"Violet, have a seat on the ottoman and close your
eyes. I need you to channel your energy with mine."

Okay. No problem. I dropped onto the ottoman and squeezed my
eyelids closed—that part I could handle. But the only kind of channeling I knew
how to do involved a remote control and a television.

It’s too bad Harvey wasn’t here with me. He would have made
this whole scene much more palatable.

I sat quietly in the dark as Cornelius began to chant in a
low-pitched voice. What he was chanting I had no idea, but I was pretty sure it
wasn’t English.

For the umpteenth time, I asked myself why I hadn’t followed
Doc’s lead, chased him down, and apologized all over myself.

Money.

Oh, right. The green stuff that kept my kids fed and
clothed.

I stifled a yawn.

I so needed this sale. My gut churned at the "what ifs"
that kept creeping up on me in the darkness.

What if Cornelius decided not to buy the hotel?

What if I lost my job and had to start over … again?

What if Doc had just walked away for good?

Another yawn surfaced. I remembered where I was and swallowed
it. My shoulders relaxed as Cornelius’s chants became rhythmic, mesmerizing, hypnotic.

What was I thinking about? Oh, right. What-if crap.

What if Ray really was stealing body parts?

What if I stumbled upon the whole mess in the Mudder brothers’
garage?

What if Natalie found out about me and … .

A kaleidoscope of colors whirled around me, then blackness
chased it all away.

… I jerked awake at the sound of the suite’s door slamming
open.

Blinking through my sleep-hazed vision, I whirled around to
see if Doc had returned to join the séance.

But it wasn’t Doc.

Instead, Wolfgang Hessler stood in the doorway in all of his
breath-taking, handsome glory.

I sprang to my feet, my heart battering my ribs, almost
bruising.

What was
he
doing here? He was dead. I’d seen him
dead, even confirmed his identity to Cooper as Wolfgang’s corpse laid on a
stretcher.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl, my vision tunneling.

I gaped at the killer who’d tried to torch me in his
mother’s house last month. His handsome face began to shrivel and darken, like
he was smoldering from the inside out. Wavy blond locks fell from his head in
clumps, until only scorched patches of flesh and bone were left on his
blackened skull.

His silk shirt and dark trousers smoldered, small fires
breaking out here and there on his body. He stood there in that doorway,
staring at me with cobalt blue eyes that seemed to bulge from their sockets as
his skin blackened and crinkled around them.

Heat rolled over me in waves as he burned. Small pops sounded
from the flames. The sweet, but acrid smell of burning flesh surrounded me,
filling my lungs, making me retch. I tried to step back, but couldn’t. My knees
had locked up tight.

Wolfgang lurched forward. The sudden movement caused his
nose to fall off his face.

I watched with hysterical, horror-filled laughter tumbling
from my throat as it bounced across the carpet and rolled out of sight into the
bathroom. Tears ran down my cheeks.

He staggered toward me, his body stiff-legged like rigor
mortis had begun to set in.

"Violet, darling," he said through rusty sounding
vocal chords. Smoke seeped out from his swollen, split lips as he spoke.

I opened my mouth, but could only manage to whimper back at
him. My feet refused to budge, no matter how hard I willed them to get the hell
out of Dodge. Shudders started in my shoulders and moved south. An icy layer of
terror coated my muscles, freezing me in place.

The last vestiges of what was Wolfgang disappeared in a lick
of flames, except for his eyes. Those blue-blue eyes I’d stared into so many
times as I’d daydreamed of what could be. Now, framed in a blackened skull,
they promised nightmares.

Several more lurches and it stood before me, reeking of
cooked flesh and bone and smoke. I tried to scream, but only air escaped, no
sound.

"Violet," it rasped again, then clawed at its
face, ripping away strips of charred flesh. It opened its jaws wide enough to
grab what was left of the sides of its mouth with each gnarled fist. Then it
tore its face in half right in front of me.

I screamed. Every cell inside of me screamed.

Wolfgang’s skull cracked like an eggshell, and from its
center a pair of horns pushed out, followed by a misshapen slick, black head
covered in pustules with two orange eyes that glowed like embers. It sneered at
me, showing off its sharp, sword-like incisors.

My scream died, all of my breath feeling like it’d been
sucked from my lungs.

"Violet Parker." Its voice was smooth and deep;
its accent sounded strange, like a blend of a Southern drawl with a hint of
some Slavic tongue.

"What do you want?" I whispered, my vocal chords
tight with dread.

It leaned in close enough for me to smell its foul, rancid
breath. Tendrils of wispy steam leaked out through its snout.

"GET OUT!" It screamed, spraying bloody spittle in
my face.

I shrieked and stumbled backwards, my body free suddenly
from its frozen state.

Tripping over the ottoman, I tumbled ass-over-teakettle onto
the floor behind me. When I scrambled back to my feet, the thing was gone. The
pieces of flesh, the smoke, the smoldering carpet, everything. Even the stench
was gone, replaced by the vanilla scent of the lone candle still flickering on
the table.

In the monster’s place, Cornelius and his group of ghost hunters
all stood around me, slack-jawed, their eyes wide.

"Holy fucking shit!" Safari Skipper’s biker
boyfriend broke the silence.

My gaze bounced from one to the next. "Did you see
that?"

"What?" Thing 1 asked.

"Was it a ghost?" Thing 2 asked.

"It was a …" I paused, stumbling for words. What
was it?

Cornelius stepped forward and grabbed me by the shoulders. "Violet,
what did you see? Was it hazy, kind of white? Floating?"

Not at all. Wolfgang had been crystal clear, in full color,
lurching and stinking. I blinked, trying to make sense of what had just
happened.

"Did it talk to you?" Cornelius continued. "Did
it mention me?"

Him? Why would Wolfgang mention Cornelius? A weariness
settled into my limbs, making them heavy. I dropped onto the ottoman. "Tell
me what happened?"

"No,
you
tell us," Skipper said. "One
minute you were over here snoozing away, even drooling a little, and the next
thing we knew, you jumped up and started screaming your head off."

Snoozing away. The séance. The chanting. The yawning. Oh,
Christ. I’d fallen asleep. I covered my face with my hands and spoke through my
palms. "I’ve been having trouble sleeping lately. I must have had a
nightmare."

"That was some messed up dream, lady," biker guy
said. "You have one hell of a set of lungs on you."

I lowered my hands and pushed to my feet. "I’m sorry I
messed up the séance, you guys. I should probably go."

Cornelius put his arm around my shoulders and walked me to
the door. "I want to talk to you more about this," he said for my
ears only. "But your eyes are all red-rimmed and you look like you’ve been
up for a week straight. You need some rest."

"Gee, thanks," I tried to laugh, but a noise came
out that sounded like someone sat on a chicken.

I tensed as he opened the door, afraid I’d see Wolfgang
standing on the other side and it would start all over again.

The hall was empty.

"We should do this again, Violet. You are an excellent
conduit." Cornelius shut the door behind us. "Come see me in the
morning."

"Cornelius, I’m not really in the mood to sit through
another séance anytime soon."

"No, silly," he lightly punched my shoulder with
his fist, like I was quite a kidder.

I wasn’t laughing.

"Come and see me about the hotel."

"What do you mean?" My brain was still choking on
smoke and adrenaline.

"I want to put an offer on it."

I blinked. Twice. "You do?"

"Of course. This place is a ghost gold mine."

"Did something happen while I was sleeping in there?"

"Hell, yes. The EMF meters redlined."

"Which ones?"

"All of them." He leaned forward and pinched my cheek.
His weird half-smile almost three-quarters full. "Violet, this place is
going to give the Winchester Mystery House a run for its ghost-touring money."

"Great." I tried to sound enthusiastic, but after
having the piss scared out of me, all I could muster was another blink. "I’ll
see you in the morning."

He practically danced back into the room.

I, on the other hand, shuffled to the elevator like I was
ninety, using the walls every now and then when my legs wobbled and threatened
to give out. I made it out the front doors without seeing anyone I knew, thank
God.

I sat behind the wheel of the Picklemobile for a few
minutes, just breathing in and out. Then, I eased out of the parking lot and
cruised back up Main Street under the streetlights.

The idea of going home and to bed practically gave me the
hives. I needed to let the ashes of Wolfgang’s freakshow settle first. I needed
something comforting to soften the vivid smells and dull the scenes of the
nightmare.

I needed Doc.

But he seemed to have disappeared into thin air. His office
and house were dark, his car missing. I checked the library parking lot, even
though it was closed. He wasn’t there, either.

Cruising through several back streets, I cursed all of the
Camaro SS muscle cars parked around town for repeatedly making my pulse speed
up again and again by mistake. Damned Deadwood and its Kool Nites.

I parked next to the Rec Center and pulled out my cell
phone. He didn’t answer. I didn’t leave a message.

I started to put the phone away, and then changed my mind
and dialed Natalie.

She answered on the second ring. "Wonderland. This is
Alice."

I smiled, the sound of her voice taking some of the edge off
of my night. "Hey, girl, I need to talk to you."

"Can it wait a bit? I’m kind of busy."

"You on a date?" I could only hope she’d finally moved
on to a new man.

"Sort of."

"Define ‘sort of.’"

"I’m with Doc."

My gut clenched, but my brain knew better. "Define
‘with Doc.’"

"Well, I’m watching him."

"Define ‘watching him.’"

"Geez, what do you think I am? Webster’s talking
dictionary?"

"Natalie, where are you?"

"Parked down the street from the Golden Sluice."

"I take it Doc is in the bar."

"Yep," she said, whispering as if he could hear
her from her pickup. "And he’s not alone."

Monday, August 20th

"Violet, wake up." The soft sound of Aunt Zoe’s
voice dragged me out of my dead-to-the-world state. She stared down at me, her
brow wrinkled. "You’re gonna be late for work."

Frickity-frack!
I threw off the quilt that had
shielded me from the morning’s cool finger-jabs and stumbled to my feet. A lack
of blood flow to my gray matter made me swoon, sort of like my reaction
whenever Doc worked his magic on me. Damn him and his cold shoulder.

Aunt Zoe grabbed my arm, steadying me. She smelled of fresh coffee
and baked apples, and I wanted to drool all over her. I blinked until the
spinning world stood still.

"Why were you sleeping on the back porch?"

I glanced around Aunt Zoe’s screened in porch and the lawn
chair I’d used for a bed, trying to remember how I’d gotten down here.