Dead Case in Deadwood (4 page)

No. Absolutely not.
I’d never live it down if the
locals saw me cruising around in the Picklemobile with this guy in the cab.

I skirted the issue by asking, "Are you looking to buy
or sell in the area?"

"Buy." He reached in his pocket and pulled out a
wad of hundred dollar bills thick enough to choke a rattlesnake. "And I
plan to pay cash for it."

On the other hand, there was my utter lack-of-money situation.
Plus, Deadwood residents already had me labeled as a ghost-loving freak, so a
cruise through town with a top-hat wearing, dead president body double couldn’t
really hurt. Abe Lincoln was carved into Mt. Rushmore, after all, so Cornelius
was practically a celebrity already around these parts.

"I’d be happy to help," I told him.

Natalie let out yet another gurgling sound, drawing
Cornelius’ and my gazes.

"Sorry," she said, faking some coughs into her
closed fist. "Something in my throat."

"You should get that checked out," I told her with
a zip-it glare.

She turned away from us, her shoulders shaking from more
than a coughing fit.

"Excellent," Cornelius said, focusing those
cornflower eyes back on me.

"Did you have a particular house in mind?"

"Not a house," he said, smiling—well, half-smiling.
Only one side of his mouth seemed to be participating. The other side twitched
twice, but stayed flat. "A hotel."

Hotel? Okay, I could make that happen. Probably.

"One of the hotels in Deadwood?" I asked, trying
to remember if there were any for sale on Main Street. Hotel owners sometimes
tried to keep that sort of information hidden from the public in order to keep
business flowing without any hiccups.

"Yes," Cornelius said, stroking his pointed
goatee. "The haunted one."

It really should have been no surprise that an Abe Lincoln
lookalike waltzed into Calamity Jane’s and asked me to help him buy a haunted
hotel. After all, I had started the day looking at a dead guy’s deflated penis,
a surefire omen of how my day was going to go. It was foolish of me to think
things couldn’t get any worse.

Natalie had totally bailed on me in the midst of Cornelius’
visit, which was not very guardian-angel-like of her at all. Luckily, after she
left, Cornelius had only stayed long enough to secure an appointment with me at
Calamity Jane’s at two o’clock.

An hour after Honest Abe exited stage left, Ray Underhill
burst through the front door.

Sweat stained the pits of his lemon yellow shirt. His usual good
ole boy sneer was replaced by a pinched brow; his tie crooked, his fake-tanned
cheeks extra ruddy. A waft of air riding on his coattails hit me, making my throat
burn. He must have flea-dipped in Stetson cologne this morning.

"What are you gawking at, Blondie?" he asked, a
snarl on his lips as he shot me a glare bloated with contempt. "Did I yank
on your chain?"

I shrugged and focused on my computer screen again. "You
remind me of something the cat puked up."

Ever since I’d landed the Associate Broker position instead
of his nephew, Ray and I had shared a love-hate relationship, as in we loved to
hate each other—loudly and often. But a week ago, we’d both had our hands
slapped by Jane for not playing nicely together. Now we kept our "kiss-my-ass"
and "go-blow-a-goat" jabs to a minimum, except when Jane was out of
the office, such as this very moment.

"Slept with any new clients lately?" Ray asked, tossing
his keys on his desk. "Is that why you’re wearing the shades? Too many
late nights spent boinking our neighbor boy?"

Ray knew Doc and I were playing hanky-panky behind closed
doors. Not long ago, he’d used a pair of women’s underwear to trick me into
lowering my mask and showing my crazed-jealousy face.

Fortunately, he thought I was just a slut who slept with all
of my clients, and he had no idea how big of a secret my Doc business was. But
that didn’t keep the back of my knees from sweating every time Natalie came
within ten feet of the spray-tanned asshole.

Before I could trade any more insults with Ray, my cell
phone rang. My parents’ number appeared on the phone’s screen. "Hello?"

"Hey, Mom," Layne said, breathing hard. I heard
Addy squeal and slip into a fit of giggles in the background. "Are you
going to come pick us up tonight?"

My kids had been hanging out at my parents’ place down in
Rapid all week. At first, I’d sent them there to protect them. But after the
Carhart mess blew over, I’d let them stay longer to enjoy the pool and last
throes of summer before the school year kicked into gear.

A little quiet time for me to recuperate hadn’t hurt,
either. I just wished I could get some damned sleep. Or sex with Doc. Or both.

"Not until tomorrow, sweetie. Are you guys having fun
with Grammy and Grandpa?"

"Sure. But I miss you."

Ah, Layne, my darling son. I needed to buy him something for
that long-distance heart squeeze.

Layne dug archaeology almost as much as Indiana Jones did. Maybe
I’d get him a book on the Maya culture in the Yucatan, where my brother, Quint,
had written he’d be heading next spring, after he finished up a couple of photo
jobs in Canada.

"Is Addy keeping her cast dry like I told her to?"

Addy had broken her arm chasing Elvis into an old mine weeks
ago. She needed that cast on a bit longer, and the only way I’d allowed her to
go in the pool at all was with a promise from her and my mom that the cast
would not get wet.

"Yes. But mom," Layne added in a quiet voice,
which was almost drowned out by the sound of Ray’s cell phone ringing. "Aunt
Susan is here,"

Susan!

Just hearing my younger sister’s name made me feel like I’d
chugged a bottle of Jack Daniels. Fire flared up my esophagus, trying to blast
from my mouth and fry everything in my path with a force that would make
Godzilla proud.

I swallowed the flames as Ray stood, his cell phone pressed to
his ear, and walked toward the rear door.

"What is she doing there?" I asked. Susan was
supposed to be in Florida ruining someone else’s life.

"I don’t know. Grammy said she’s going to stay here for
a while."

What!?

"Something about Aunt Susan needing to get back on her
feet."

That would be a change. In my experience, she spent most of
her time on her back.

"Layne, you and Addy need to stay away from her."

"Mom, why don’t we like Aunt Susan again?"

Besides the fact that she had a bad habit of sleeping with
whichever man I happened to be dating, including the kids’ father, she was
taller, thinner, her hair silkier and straighter, and she could tie cherry
stems with her tongue. But I was talking to Layne, so I kept it simple. "She
has cooties. Really big, gross ones."

"Ick."

"Yeah, so stay back."

"She bought us bubblegum ice cream cones. Double scoops."

"She did?" What angle was Susan playing? Why was
she bribing my kids?

"And she took us to the movies and let us pick out two
kinds of candy. I let Addy have my extra bag of M&Ms."

The back of my neck prickled.

"And she bought Elvis a little rain coat."

Elvis was Addy’s pet chicken. She loved to roost on my bed
when nobody was looking, even though she wasn’t allowed upstairs. The damned
bird was the other reason, besides Nat’s smothering ways, that feathers might
fly from my mouth when I coughed these days.

I’d heard enough about Susan’s suspicious generosity. "Let
me talk to Mo—I mean Grammy."

"Okay. I love you, Mom."

"I love—"

There were several loud clinks, as if Layne had dropped the
phone in the sink, and then I heard my mother’s voice. "How are you
feeling, Violet? Getting some rest?"

"I’m great, Mom," I lied. I wasted no time on
pleasantries. "What’s Susan doing there?"

"She’s visiting her parents like a
good
daughter." My mother was toying with me. She knew how much I’d like to tie
my sister to a satellite and salute her goodbye as she blasted into outer
space.

"How much money does she need this time?" I asked.

"Really, Violet? You’re going to start with this
already? Your sister is a changed woman."

Right, she’d probably just grown another horn. "I’ve
heard that story before, Mom."

"She really means it this time."

"And you believe her?"

"Yes."

"Is she slipping drugs into your coffee?"

Mom chuckled, as if I were joking. "No, dear."

"Don’t leave my kids alone with her."

"You’re overreacting."

"Have you forgotten about bailing me out of jail
because of her?"

A sigh came through the line. "No, I haven’t."

"Both times?"

"I’m familiar with our family history, Violet."

"Do you still think I’m overreacting?"

"A little."

"Fine. But this time, you’re going to have to spring
for bail and three month’s rent while I look for a new job."

"Nothing is going to happen. I’m telling you, things
are different now."

"Unless Susan has been bitten by a werewolf and grows a
fur coat on her back every full moon, I doubt it."

"If you’re done being a big, fat downer, I’m going to
get back in the pool with the kids and finish our game of Marco Polo."

Downer
? My mother, the flower child. "Fine. Make
me out to be the bad guy."

"I love you, too, dear," Mom said and hung up on
me.

I glared at my cell phone for several seconds, debating whether
to drive down to Rapid this very moment and snatch up my kids.

I didn’t like Susan being back in the state, let alone
staying with my parents. And I definitely didn’t like her buying stuff for my
kids. Something was going on there, and I needed to keep it as far from me and
mine as possible.

"I know." Ray’s hushed voice interrupted my
internal rant. "You already said that." He was still on his phone,
apparently not realizing the long, wood-floored hallway acted as an excellent
conduit for his voice.

He should have shut himself in the bathroom or Jane’s office
if he wanted privacy.

I faced my computer and typed my password into the MLS site.

"I know what I saw, George."

George?
I froze, fingers hovering over my keyboard.
As in George Mudder of the Mudder Brothers Funeral Parlor? My ears perked.

"They followed me," Ray said.

A pause followed.

"Yes, I’m positive."

Another pause.

"No, I made sure they didn’t see it. I did exactly as
you told me. It’s like they knew where I was going the whole time."

Pause.

"No. You couldn’t pay me enough to do that."

To do what? Was Ray just saying that, or was George really
paying him to do something?

"Shit, Jane just pulled in." Ray must have been
looking out the back door, his voice bouncing off the glass. "I have to
go."

I shed my sunglasses before Jane came in, praying that last dose
of eye drops made me look a little less zombie-ish.

"I’ll see you tonight after the viewing," Ray
said.

What was happening after the viewing? Maybe I could convince
my so-called guardian angel to join me tonight at the funeral parlor and
distract her old friend, George Mudder, while I found out.

A month ago, I’d seen Ray and George Mudder lug a big crate
out the back doors of the funeral parlor and load it into Ray’s SUV. Later,
when I’d asked Ray what he and George were up to, his face had turned blood red.
I’d swear steam hissed from his ears and nostrils, followed by an unveiled
threat to mind my own beeswax, "or else."

It was threats like this, and his numerous attempts to get
my ass canned, that made me feel a bit ornery at times.

Like now.

Ray’s boot heels thudded across the wood floor, nearing. I
looked up at him. "How’s our buddy, George? You two still moving big
crates around town?"

Ray’s face scrunched up tight, his eyes mere slits. "Don’t
you have some client to fuck, Blondie?"

He wasn’t pulling punches today. Fine. "What’s
happening tonight after the viewing, Ray?"

His fists tight, he leaned down in my face. His breath
reeked of stale coffee. "Listen you little troublemaking bitch—"

"No!" I shoved him backward, out of my face. "I’m
done listening to your goddamned mouth, Ray. And I’m done putting up with your—"

The back door opened.

Ray shot me a parting squint. He dropped into his chair,
slamming his cell phone on his desk so hard that the battery casing popped off.

Jane stopped by her office long enough to put her purse
down. She came out front with the latte I’d bought her earlier this morning.

With her fuchsia-colored scarf, matching short-sleeve
striped sweater, touched-up blonde highlights, and pert smile, she looked just
like the mom from those old Partridge Family reruns. Only Jane had a core of titanium
instead of psychedelic love, and she liked to recite To-Do lists for us instead
of singing songs.

"Thank you for the coffee, Violet." She put it in
the microwave, looking from me to Ray and back again, her gaze assessing.

I smiled, all bright sunshine and rainbows, as if I hadn’t
been on the verge of flattening Ray’s nose with my knuckles a few seconds ago.

"Did you get my message?" she asked.

Earlier this morning, I’d called to see if there would be
any problem with my representing a client in a commercial real estate deal and
got Jane’s voice mail. In her message back, she’d said that legally I could
represent clients for both residential and commercial properties, but I’d need
her help.

"I got it," I said. "I already contacted the
seller’s Realtor and set up a meeting this afternoon for a walkthrough with my
client."

"What about financial info on the place?" Jane
asked. Buttons beeped, then the microwave hummed.