Dead Case in Deadwood (22 page)

Then yesterday’s train of events backed up and chugga-chugged
over me again—Cornelius in that stupid one-horned hat, Wolfgang on fire, Natalie
and her obsession with my kind-of-boyfriend.

I held my head and groaned.

Thank God, Doc’s companion at the Golden Sluice had been
Harvey and not a certain red-haired sexpot. I’d almost reached through the
phone and thumped Natalie upside the head for scaring the crap out of me with
her comment about Doc not being alone. After how angry he was from the surprise
séance party, it didn’t take much spurring for my inner-jealous-ogre to believe
the worst and twist my guts like a tie-dyed shirt.

I was going to have to do something about Doc. But not now. "I’ll
explain later," I told Aunt Zoe. "I need to shower and get to work."

I had a hotel offer to prepare and turn in. With any luck, I
could beat Ray to the punch.

Aunt Zoe followed me upstairs. "You took sleeping pills
last night."

It wasn’t a question. Crap, I must have forgotten to put the
bottle away.

"I was tired." More like zombie-fied after that
stupid nightmare at the séance.

"You’ve been dead-tired for a month."

Had it only been a month since I’d hopped on this runaway
mine cart that was now my life? It felt more like years.

Last night, I’d finally fallen asleep just after midnight,
only to jerk awake, escaping from Wolfgang’s reach yet again. This time, the
scene hadn’t been nearly as vivid, but between it and Natalie’s sleep mumbling
in our shared boudoir, I’d decided to see if the pills would keep me from
dreaming. Hell, things couldn’t get much worse for me in slumber-ville than
they already were.

In the darkness of Aunt Zoe’s kitchen, my hands had trembled
so much that I’d dropped the bottle of pills—twice. The lawn chair was supposed
to just be a sit-for-a-minute place, somewhere to pause and decide what to do
about Doc, Cornelius, Ray, Cooper, and any other man who was trying to disturb
my calm. But those pills coldcocked me right into coma-city.

"Why the pills? Why last night?" Aunt Zoe followed
me into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her. Bloodhounds could take
lessons from her on doggedness.

I looked down at the toilet, and then back at her. "I
have to pee."

She crossed her arms, closing her eyes. "Tell me why
you took the pills, Violet."

An underlying level of steel in her tone made it clear there
was no slinking out of this. But I tried, anyway. "Natalie keeps talking
in her sleep."

"That explains why you slept on the back porch, but not
the pills, which you have fought me on taking for weeks."

Criminy!
"I had another nightmare." I opted
out of telling her it was during a séance, because that would lead to a bunch more
questions undoubtedly followed by disappointment-filled frowns and head shakes.
"I took the pills to forget it."

"How was this nightmare different from all of the
others?"

Good question. I thought on that for a moment. "It was
real."

I flushed the toilet and yanked back the shower curtain,
turning on the faucet.

Aunt Zoe closed her eyes again as I undressed. "What do
you mean ‘real’?"

"I don’t know." I remembered feeling the beast’s
spittle pelt my face right before I screamed and woke up. "The sound, the
smell, the feel. It was all so realistic. Like I was standing there—all flesh,
blood, and bones—while it … I mean Wolfgang came at me."

I didn’t want to tell her about the monster-like thing.
Wolfgang was bad enough. If I told her about his skull splitting open, she’d
know for sure what a head-case I’d become and put the straight-jacket on me
herself.

"Interesting," she said.

More like terrifying.

"What color were his eyes?"

Her question surprised the truth out of me. "Orange,"
I said, thinking of the glowing embers I saw in the demon’s eyes.

"Did he say anything to you?"

I couldn’t tell by looking at her if she was genuinely
curious or just playing therapist and letting me "talk it out."

"Yes," I continued with my honesty. "He told
me to ‘Get out.’" Or rather roared it in my face.

"Then what happened?"

"I woke up." Omitting the part about screaming and
falling ass over teakettle in front of a group of ghost hunters seemed like the
smart thing to do.

I checked the water, turned it a little hotter, and then
stepped under the shower’s spray.

"Did something spur this?" Aunt Zoe called over
the noise of the shower. "Something at work, like Jeff Wymonds’ garage
exploding?"

"Maybe." I closed my eyes and let the hot water
cascade over my head for a couple of seconds, then reached for the shampoo. Or
maybe it was the whole mess with Ray and the Mudder brothers. Or the stress of fighting
with Doc or dealing with Cooper’s squinty eyes. "How did you hear about the
explosion?"

"News travels fast in Deadwood."

Especially if it was personally delivered, and I had a
sneaky suspicion this had been. "A certain fire captain didn’t happen to give
you a call yesterday, did he?"

"No."

Oh. Then again, I was becoming known for my misconceptions
about people. Shampoo washed down the drain.

"He stopped by," she added.

I pulled the shower curtain back enough to peek out at Aunt
Zoe, who was leaning against the counter. Her dark blue eyes met mine.

"Did you shoot him?" I asked.

She scoffed as if she hadn’t been as crazed and vicious as a
cornered porcupine the last time he’d been over. "Of course not."

"Did you let him inside?"

She lifted her chin. "His voice came through the screen
door just fine."

"What did he say?" My heart pounded a bit faster
than normal. Please, please,
please
don’t let Layne have had anything to
do with the explosion. Could I buy a new garage on lay-away?

"He officially ruled it as an accident."

"Did he say how it started?"

"He said Jeff Wymonds had left an open can of gas in
the narrow side room and closed the door overnight. Add heat and a spark from
the old fuse box when the compressor kicked on, and
ka-boom
."

Compressor? Oh, right, Jeff had been pumping up Kelly’s bike
tires so the kids could go for a bike ride and be out from underfoot during the
open house.

"Good." All of my saggy parts sagged even more in
relief. I smiled at Aunt Zoe. "Did you give Reid a kiss goodbye?"

"Hell, no!"

"Not even a peck on the cheek?"

"Shut your mouth, Violet Lynn."

"You ready to tell me about what happened between you
two?"

"Not yet." She stepped forward and yanked the
curtain closed.

I grabbed the conditioner. "Talking about it might make
you less apt to want to fill his butt with lead."

"I doubt that. But what I would like to talk about is
your
friend
, Doc."

"Shhh."

"Natalie already left for work."

The subject was still
shhh
, as far as I was
concerned.

"What’s going on with Doc and you?"

That was the question of the month. I stuck my head under
the hot water, trying to wash away my Doc-laden insecurities. It didn’t work.

I shut off the water and grabbed the towel Aunt Zoe handed
me through the crack in the curtain. "Nothing is going on with us."
No lie there at the moment.

Wrapping the towel around me, I stepped out of the shower.

"Right. Then how do you explain that love bite on your
neck?"

"What?" When did that happen? I tried to look in
the mirror, but it was fogged over.

"Gotcha," Aunt Zoe said and winked. "How do
you feel about me paying him a visit?"

I froze. "Why?"

"Willis tells me Doc is a whiz with money."

Willis? Oh, she meant Old Man Harvey. I always forgot he had
a first name. "I wouldn’t know. I haven’t had much money to invest since
meeting Doc." Or any money at all.

"I am thinking about diversifying my portfolio a bit
more."

"Sounds like a good idea." I grabbed my robe.

"I also plan to invite him to dinner."

Cinching the belt around me, I shook my head. "Bad idea.
Very bad."

"Violet, I want to get to know the man who is going to
help me invest my money. I’d invite him to dinner whether he was your boyfriend
or not. This has nothing to do with you."

"I don’t have a boyfriend," I said loud and clear
while miming a lip-zip to Aunt Zoe.

"I told you, Natalie’s at work."

"I’m worried about the two sets of smaller ears living
in this house." I spritzed some leave-in conditioner on my curls, and then
opened the bathroom door, waving for her to follow me to my bedroom. "Why
don’t you just meet him somewhere for dinner?"

"I don’t want to talk about my financial business in
front of strangers."

"You’ve lived here most of your life." I closed my
bedroom door behind us. "You know everyone in town."

"All the more reason to have him here in my own home
without eavesdroppers." She smiled—all sweet and loving and Betty Crocker-like.
I wasn’t eating the cookies she was serving.

"No." I twirled my finger for her to turn around
while I slipped into my skivvies and bra.

She obliged. "I’d also like to see how he treats you."

"You said this had nothing to do with me."

"I may have fibbed a little."

"Fine." I could tell by the set tone of her voice
that she had already made up her mind. I yanked my dark purple pleated v-neck
dress from the closet and slid it over my head.

"If you want to invite Doc over for a family dinner, I can’t
stop you. It’s your house." I looked in the mirror and winced at my
appearance and fluffed my wet curls a little. It didn’t help. "However, I’m
going to invite a friend to keep me company while you talk finances with Doc."

Aunt Zoe turned around and met my eyes in the mirror. "Okay,
but I don’t think it’s a good idea to have Natalie here."

"I’m not talking about Natalie." Curious about how
Aunt Zoe was going to get rid of Natalie when Doc was going to be on the
premises, I slathered a coat of purplish, grape-flavored gloss on my lips.

"Oh. You mean Willis."

Since when did Aunt Zoe call Harvey "Willis" on a
regular basis? What had changed between them?

"Nope." I smacked my lips and scooped up my makeup
bag. I’d have to put the rest of my face on at my desk. "Not Harvey."

"Who then?"

I smiled at Aunt Zoe’s reflection. "The chief of the Deadwood
Fire Department."

* * *

Ray’s SUV sat alone in Calamity Jane’s reserved parking area
when I arrived. I took a few minutes to apply my war paint in the
Picklemobile’s rearview mirror before going inside to face the horse’s ass.

The sinus-burning scent of Ray’s cologne slapped me as soon
as I closed the back door. Why must he wear so much freaking cologne? Squaring
my shoulders, I reminded myself that killing a coworker was a felony and I
didn’t need another visit from Detective Cooper anytime soon.

All I had to do was type an offer letter, print it, and I’d
be out of here. Surely, I could play nice alone with Ray for an hour.

I took a deep breath and strode down the hall past Jane’s
dark office and then stopped. Backing up to take a second longer look inside, I
frowned. Her door stood open, which meant that she’d been in already this
morning and undoubtedly noticed my tardiness. But that wasn’t what had made me
put on the brakes. My focus bounced from her messy desktop to the scattered
folders on the floor by her file cabinet to the half-empty bottle of Jack
Daniels Whiskey on her wall bookshelf.

I tiptoed inside and sniffed the half-empty coffee cup
sitting on her desk. My nose wrinkled at the smell of old coffee. No hint of
whiskey in there that I could tell.

Jane was in the middle of a nasty divorce from her third
husband, a rotten two-timing cowboy she’d found lassoed and hogtied in her own
bed while another woman polished his saddle horn. From the sight of her office,
Jane’s well-ordered life had been shattered along with her heart.

Men like Jane’s soon-to-be ex scared me single every time I
started liking a guy a little too much. Doc was the first man I’d let get
inside my safe little fortress in years and look how well that was working for
me.

I tip-toed out of Jane’s office and headed for my desk.

Ray had his desk phone to his ear. "Sure. You want me
to bring it over tonight when you get back in town?"

He looked my way as I approached.

I met his sneer head-on with a glare of my own.

"Hold on," he covered the mouthpiece. "Ever
heard of an alarm clock, Blondie? You should try one some time."

"Who died and made you Hall Monitor?" I tucked my
purse in my drawer and turned on my computer.

"Punctuality is the key to success—not that you have a
clue what success is outside of your client’s bedroom." He uncovered the
mouthpiece. "Sorry about that," he told his listener, his tone
matching his smirk. "I needed to scold someone. You know how it is with
hired help these days. You get what you pay for. Now what were you saying?"

With visions of nooses dancing in my head, I did my best to
block out Ray and focus on the task at hand. The sooner I finished, the sooner
I could get the hell away from the dickhead.

Ten minutes of "uh-huhing" later, Ray hung up.

I kept typing, my gaze locked on my screen.

"What are you doing over there, Blondie?"

"Working."

"On what? Your résumé?"

I didn’t reply to his taunt.

"Does Jane have you working on another one of her
gopher-girl tasks?"

"No."

"I’ll tell you what. To show you what a nice guy I am, how
about I give you the day off to go have your nails painted."

Kiss my ass.
I pressed my lips together and kept my
gaze on my screen.