Dead Case in Deadwood (30 page)

I lunged for them. Doc watched me scramble into my T-shirt,
his focus south of my chin.

"You want me to drive you home?"

"No!" I pulled my boxers up. "I mean, no
thanks."

"The neighbors are going to see you."

"I’ll jog. They’ll think I’m exercising."

"In a red satin robe and slippers?"

"This is Deadwood, remember? They won’t even look
twice."

"I would."

"Yeah, but you’re biased. I’ll call you later."

He grabbed me as I beelined for the back stairwell, pulling
me back for a quick peck on the mouth. "Thanks, Boots."

He smelled clean, his mouth all fresh from toothpaste. I
smiled in spite of the shit-storm undoubtedly waiting for me at home. "For
throwing a stone through your window?"

"Yeah, for starters."

I pulled away before I shucked sensibility and yanked off
his towel. "You’ll be in your office later?"

He nodded.

"So will I. I’ll see you then."

"Watch the glass," he reminded me. "Your
slippers are by the French doors."

On my way down the stairwell, I patted the wall where Doc
had rocked my world.

My slippers were lined up and waiting for me to run on home,
which I did, only I went barefoot on the sidewalk for speed’s sake. Everything
on me bounced with each step. I clutched my chest and bobbled onward.

Only two people noticed me. One honked and leered—asshole. The
other finished shaking out her rug and went back inside.

Five minutes later, I snagged the paper off the front porch
and huffed around through Aunt Zoe’s side gate. The grass was damp with dew,
the bugs still flying low to the ground. I climbed the porch steps, dropping
the slippers next to the lawn chair that had been my bed the night before last.

The smell of freshly brewed coffee seeped out through the
open window over the kitchen sink. Lowering into the lawn chair, I scrambled to
come up with a plan.

I had to tell Natalie the truth about Doc. It was time. I was
tired of the game, sick of hiding from her. Last night had clinched it. I
wanted to see where this thing with Doc led, even if it meant me curled up in
my closet nursing a bottle of tequila and a broken heart in the end.

It’s not like Doc and Natalie had ever had anything going.
It was always fiction of her making. I should have stepped in sooner, squashing
it before she’d daydreamed up her own happily-ever-after with him. But like
Elvis—Addy’s chicken, not the King of Rock and Roll—I was too often covered in
feathers and clucking when called to task.

I heard the clanking pipes of the kitchen faucet through the
wall next to me. Taking a deep breath, I stood and looked in the window.

Natalie jerked in surprise, then laughed.

She shut off the water and grabbed a towel. The back door
opened.

"There you are." Natalie stepped out and closed
the door behind her. She glanced down at the newspaper in my hand. "I
didn’t hear you go out."

Here went nothing. My heart throbbed in my throat, aching. "Natalie,
I have something to tell you."

"Wait, let me go first."

I slammed on the brakes, words clogging and jumbling at the
back of my tongue.

"I wanted to tell you this when I got home last night,
but you were sleeping. I didn’t want to wake you."

Not sleeping, just lying there with my eyes closed not
wanting to talk.

"When I left the Bingo hall last night, I stopped at
the minimart up in Lead to get gas. Guess who was inside buying beer?"

I had no idea—Shaggy and Scooby Doo?

"Your buddy, Detective Cooper."

She said the word
buddy
with an exaggerated wink.

"And guess what the first thing was he said to me?"

"Bingo?"

She snorted. "No, smartass. He asked where you were."

Contrary to her big-toothed grin, his question didn’t bode
well for me. My stomach tightened for a whole new reason that had to do with
Cooper and handcuffs, and not in a sexy way at all.

"When I asked why he was looking for you," she
continued, "he said that he needed to see you again."

Uh oh.

"Did you hear that, he ‘needed’ to see you. You know
what that means?"

That I was going to jail? "Not a clue."

"He wants you," she said with a nod of her head,
like it was all said and done and the engagement announcement would appear in
the newspaper next week.

"Possibly, but not like you’re thinking."

"Trust me, I’m right. You didn’t see him. His eyes were
a bit bloodshot, his face covered with stubble, his hair all finger-raked. He
had on some old torn Levi’s and this T-shirt that I swear had bullet holes in
it."

I knew that T-shirt. They were bullet holes. He’d worn the
shirt the first time I’d stopped over to assess his house and have him sign a
sales contract.

"He was the picture of a pining lover, standing there
in a minimart late at night, buying a twelve-pack of beer so he could go home
and drink until he forgot you."

Or just drink with his buddies and keep playing poker. "Natalie,
this is Deadwood, not Casablanca. I’m not Ilsa, and Cooper certainly isn’t
Rick."

"I stand by my observations. That man wants you. He
wants you bad."

He wanted me all right—behind bars. Sweat dotted my upper
lip. Had someone seen Harvey and me last night sneaking around Mudder Brothers
and called Coop? Maybe that cop trolling with the portable lighthouse beam had
caught a glimpse of my hair. I knew I should have worn a ski mask, but it was
August for crissake.

I just wasn’t cut out for this sleuthing business.

"Coop told me to have you call him today on his cell
phone. When did he give you his private number?"

"When he hired me as his Realtor."

"Oh, yeah, I forgot you were selling his place."

I did, too, sometimes. Like when I was hiding from the
law—aka Cooper.

"Wouldn’t it be romantic if you two got together
because he hired you to be his real estate agent?"

Been there, done that. Oh, the irony. Which dragged me back
to why I was standing out here barefoot with the scent of Doc still on my skin.

Blowing out a sigh, I tightened the belt of my robe. "Natalie,
I need to tell you something."

"What?"

I paused, gathering up my courage like the long train of a
fancy-schmancy wedding dress.

"Please don’t tell me you slept with Wymonds," she
said. "I saw the article."

"No, I didn’t screw around with Jeff."

"Thank God. I know you don’t have the best record with
men, but trust me, underneath that prickly façade, Cooper’s a good guy. He
could be
the one
for you."

Jeez, I’d had enough of this Cooper fantasy of hers. At
least the truth about Doc would end this before she started Phase Two of her
matchmaking game—coincidental double dates.

"Natalie, I have been—"

"Violet!" Aunt Zoe hollered through the window screen
over the sink.

I jumped at the sound of my name. When I looked over, Aunt
Zoe had the phone held up for me to see.

"Mona’s on the phone."

"I’ll call her back in a bit." After I finish
breaking Natalie’s heart.

Aunt Zoe spoke in the phone, "Can she call you back,
Mona?"

"Anyway," I continued, taking a deep breath,
avoiding Natalie’s eyes. "I have—"

"Violet," Aunt Zoe called outside again. "You
need to take this."

Argh!

"Hold on," I told Natalie and met Aunt Zoe at the
back door.

Her focus flicked to Natalie, her brows raised.

I shook my head, taking the phone. "What’s going on,
Mona?"

"Ray."

"What about him?" Had he been busted last night
transporting body parts? Is that why Cooper wanted to talk to me?

"He just faxed a second offer over to Tiffany for the
hotel."

That hit me like a right uppercut to the chin.

"A s-s-second offer?" I stammered, reeling.

"Yes. For fifteen thousand more than our offer."

That vile, loincloth-chomping jackass!

"And that’s not all," she added, her tone weary. "You
need to get in here."

"I’ll be right there."

My tell-all, soap opera moment with Natalie would have to
wait until I figured out how to keep Ray from getting his grubby mitts on that
hotel—well, his and George Mudder’s.

I handed Natalie the newspaper. "I’ll catch you later."

"Hey, you had something to tell me."

"I’ll tell you later. I gotta go."

"Don’t forget to call Cooper," she called after
me.

Aunt Zoe raised her brows at Natalie’s mention of the
detective.

"Cooper can’t live without me," I told her and
raced up to the shower.

A half-hour later, sporting an ankle-length black and purple
paisley dress, my curls still damp, and just enough makeup to look human, I
parked next to Ray’s SUV. As much as I wanted to door-ding the hell out of it,
I resisted, taking the higher road … for now.

I smelled the rat-faced fink as soon as I walked through
Calamity Jane’s back door. Did he really expect to ever get laid wearing that
much cologne? Or was he covering up some odor like the rank smell of something
dead? Of many dead "somethings" being hauled around in a big crate?
Maybe I should steal his keys and sniff around in his SUV.

But first, coffee.

Jane’s office was dark and in shambles, like someone had
rifled through her shelves and file cabinet. I tiptoed inside, which wasn’t easy
in my purple cowboy boots, and took a longer look, noticing the dried coffee
covering the front corner of her desktop. The empty cup lay on the floor, half
under the desk. I sniffed the dried stain, picking up a hint of something
strong under the coffee. Baileys Irish Cream? Kahlua? Southern Comfort?

I picked up the cup and tossed it in her trash. Had Mona seen
this? Ray? How long should they let this go on before intervening?

Backing out of Jane’s office, I closed the door partway,
shielding the signs of a potential nervous breakdown from view.

Mona wasn’t at her desk when I stepped into the front room,
but her laptop was there, the screensaver activated. The bathroom had been
empty and dark, so she must have stepped out for a moment.

I didn’t acknowledge
Señor Burro Grandé
at all and
made a pit stop at the coffee pot.

"Well, well, well." Unfortunately, Ray had picked
up my scent and started his braying right off. "Look who crawled out of
one of her client’s beds and decided to grace us with her presence."

Doc wasn’t officially a client, anymore. "Shut up, Ray."

I really didn’t feel like sparring this morning. I had a job
to do that involved Cornelius, an increased offer, and another fax to Tiffany.
If Ray wanted to add "kick a jerkoff in the teeth" to my to-do list, I’d
be happy to tack it on at the end.

"Ah, is little Blondie upset because I took away her
lollipop?"

"You might want to hold off on the celebration
fireworks, Ray." I mirrored his sneer and carried my coffee cup to my
desk. "It’s only fifteen thousand. I can top that."

"You sound pretty confident for a girl whose client
spent the better part of last night in a jail cell."

What!?
I spilled hot coffee on my fingers. My eyes
watered from the sting.

Why was Cornelius in jail last night? What in the hell had
happened in that hotel room? Was that why Cooper wanted to talk to me?

I grabbed some tissues from my drawer, buying time to school
my expression. I couldn’t let him see how much his announcement had knocked me
on my ass. "It’s not what you think."

"Oh, really? So, it’s not that your client is wanted
for a murder that occurred near New Orleans?"

There was no shielding the shock that left me slack-jawed. "What?"

Ray grinned like he’d eaten the Cheshire cat, tail and all. "You
really should take some time to do a little research on your clients before
signing a contract."

"You’re full of shit."

"Am I?"

I honestly didn’t know. "You’re just trying to rattle
me."

"Where do you think Mona has run off to?"

I shrugged, dabbing at the drops of coffee that had landed
on my desk. "To the post office."

"More like to make bail."

Fuckity fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

"It doesn’t matter." I glared at him, done with
trying to hide behind a pleasant veneer. "You’re not going to get the
hotel sale commission."

"Who’s going to stop me? You and what client? Jeff
Wymonds?" His laughter grated on my calm.

"Jeff could wipe the floor with you."

"Wiping floors is about the only thing he’s capable of
after drinking away any hopes of making something of his pathetic life. The
idiot’s wife left him for another woman. I repeat, a
woman
. The man is a
disgrace to his sex—pun intended."

I set down my coffee cup before I dumped it over Ray’s bloated
head. Jeff might be a big dope at times, but he didn’t deserve this battering.
He was a hard worker and a good father. It wasn’t his fault his wife traded
teams.

"I’m going to stop you on my own, Ray. Just me."

"Right. What do you have in the bank now? A hundred
dollars?" He laughed again.

I fantasized about tearing off his boots and cramming them
down his throat.

"Oh, wait, I forgot, Blondie. You screwed Doc Nyce in
exchange for him buying Mona’s listing. Make that a thousand bucks in the bank and
an old piece-of-shit pickup."

God, he was such a ginormous turd.

"What happened, Ray? Did your mommy ignore you when you
wanted to be picked up? Who made you hate women so much?"

"I like women just fine, Blondie, especially those who
know their place in life."

Where would that place be in Ray’s world? On their knees?

"So, it’s just me that turns you into a foul-mouthed cretin?"
I asked.

"Yep. You’re special, Blondie." He winked at me.