Dead Case in Deadwood (5 page)

"The Realtor will bring it with him."

"Perfect."

"Who’s your new client?" Ray asked, kicking back,
resting his Tony Lama boots on his desktop. His smile looked as fake as his
orange-tinged tan. He was obviously playing bosom-buddies for Jane’s benefit.

I joined his game, smiling back. "You wouldn’t know
him. He’s from out of town."

Possibly even from another planet.

"Try me."

"I’ll introduce you some other time."

His smile curled into a sneer for a heartbeat. "You
sure he’s not a figment of your imagination?"

I glanced sideways at Jane. She stood with her arms crossed,
lips pursed, watching us.

"He’s definitely real. Natalie was in here when he came
in." Until she left in a coughing fit of laughter.

The microwave beeped.

"I’m curious," Jane said, pulling out her latte. "What’s
his name?"

I was on the spot. Damn Ray. I winged him with a fleeting
glare. "Cornelius Curion."

Ray snorted. "You’re making that up."

"Nope." It was even on his Nevada driver’s
license.

"Which property is he interested in?" Jane asked.

I’d much rather discuss this in the privacy of her office. "One
of the hotels in Deadwood."

"Which one?" Ray had his fangs sunk into my ass
and refused to pull out.

I looked at Jane, hesitating.

"Spill it, Violet," she ordered.

Damn it!
"The Old Prospector Hotel."

Jane closed her eyes and shook her head.

"Another nut job," Ray said, laughing in my face. "I
love it! Spooky Parker strikes out again."

If I only had a baseball bat. "I’m not going to strike
out. He’s paying with cash."

Jane’s eyes flashed open. "He told you that?"

Ray’s Tony Lamas hit the floor. "You’re full of shit."

"I’m not." I sent a silent prayer to the realty gods
that Cornelius had more bundles of cash in a bank somewhere. I’d happily sacrifice
a chicken named Elvis as a bribe.

"This sounds promising, Violet." Jane’s little
smile was back.
Whew.
"Does he know that the Old Prospector Hotel
is rumored to be haunted?"

I opted for another truth. "Yes."

Ray stood all of a sudden. "Jane, Mona or I should represent
this client. If he’s really paying cash, we need a homerun here, and Violet
doesn’t have the experience or the best batting record."

"What!" I leapt out of my seat, my mouth gaping.
The lousy rat-faced fink! Where was that bat? I’d show him how well I could
hit.

"Landing this deal might help us expand further south,
gain more ground down in Rapid, bring us more customers," he continued as
if I weren’t standing next to him huffing like the little engine that could.

Jane sipped on her coffee, nodding her head, apparently
considering Ray’s line of bull crap.

"I can do this, Jane," I said, imploring her with
my eyes to agree with me. "Cornelius came in looking for me. Not Ray. Not
Mona. You can ask Natalie; he wants me."

Ray shot me a snide look, his gaze creeping down to my
chest. "I’m sure he does, Violet. That’s a real purty dress."

His ogling made me want to take a shower with a wire brush
and lye soap.

Asshole!
"Shut up, Ray."

He shrugged and turned back to Jane. "Like I said, you
need someone with a lot more experience than—"

"Jane—" I started, but stopped when she held up
her hand.

"Enough! Violet gets to keep the client. Mona will
mentor her through it, which will take care of the lack of experience issue you
brought up, Ray."

Ray swore under his breath and shot me a look of love, as in
he’d love to bury his fist in my kisser.

I smiled back with tons of warmth, looking forward to
finding out what he and George Mudder were up to so I could roast Ray’s balls
over the fire until they crackled.

"However, Violet," Jane said, breaking up our eye-dagger
duel, "You’d better not lose this deal for us."

"Or what?" Ray prodded.

"Well," Jane took a sip of her latte, and then
focused on me, a frown pinching her brow. "As much as I like you, my soon-to-be
ex-husband is draining me dry. If you lose this sale, I won’t be able to afford
to keep you on."

When she put it that way—
oh, shit!

I nodded once, as if it were already a done deal. "I
won’t let you down, Jane."

* * *

Fifteen minutes before Cornelius’ appointment time, I stood
in the parking lot behind Calamity Jane’s, frowning at the Picklemobile as the
afternoon sunshine cooked my roots.

The old truck wasn’t going to cut the mustard today, not for
a cash-paying customer, not when my job was on the line … again.

I fished my cell phone from my purse, coughing on the
oil-rich exhaust fumes spewing from a nearby flame-covered 1950s Ford Thunderbird.
It sputtered and struggled to idle, just like the Picklemobile did until it was
good and warmed up—yet another reason I needed a different set of wheels to
impress Cornelius.

Doc answered his phone after the third ring. "Hello, Trouble."

"I need a favor," I said, walking along behind
several parked cars and trucks.

"Hmmm. What can I expect in return?"

"I don’t know. Maybe you should hear the request first."

"A savvy poker player would win the hand before showing
her cards."

"I never claimed to be savvy."

"Fine. You can show me your legs, then, instead of your
cards."

I chuckled. "Deal. You grant me this favor, I’ll flash
you some skin."

"I require more than a flash. What’s the favor?"

"I need to borrow something." I stopped behind a
familiar black Camaro with white racing stripes.

"What?"

"Your car." A pause on his end pushed me to
explain, "I have a cash-paying client I need to show a property to shortly,
and I need to impress him."

"Is that why you wore that dress today?"

I hesitated, and then admitted, "The dress is for you."

"Good. Where’s the property?"

"Main Street in Deadwood."

"A house?"

"No, a hotel."

"Which one?"

"The Old Prospector Hotel."

This time, he hesitated. "You realize that place is
supposedly haunted."

"So I’ve been told. Have you been in it?"

"Just once."

"Is it really haunted?"

"You don’t believe in ghosts."

I sighed. "Are we going to do this dance again?"

"I’d rather just watch you dance."

"I’ve always wanted to learn how to belly dance,"
I said. "So, is it haunted?"

"Maybe. When you say belly dancing, are you talking
finger cymbals and one of those coin-covered bras?"

"I’m more partial to velvet covered with sequins and a
tambourine—something I can hit. What happened when you went inside the Old
Prospector Hotel?"

"Nothing. I wasn’t in there long enough to get a feel
for the place. What is it with you and haunted sites?" he asked.

"It’s my new marketing angle."

"Ghost busting?"

More like trying to save my job. But Doc didn’t need to know
that. "Who you gonna call?"

"You’ll need new business cards. Does your client know
about its haunted reputation?"

"He’s the one who told me."

He let out a single sarcastic laugh. "Right. I should
have guessed that."

"So, can I use your car?"

"Of course. What’s this new client of yours look like?"

"Why?" Was he jealous? Doc usually didn’t suffer
from the green-eyed monster’s wrath. It must be the dress.

"Because I just saw Abe Lincoln’s twin pass in front of
my windows and head for your front door. I’m guessing he belongs to you."

"Ack! That’s Cornelius." I rushed toward Calamity
Jane’s back entrance.

"Cornelius?" Doc chuckled. "Did he escape
from the set of
Planet of the Apes
?"

"Cute," I said hauling open the door. "I
gotta go."

"I’ll bring my keys over in a minute."

"No," I whispered, not wanting anyone to see Doc
hand me his car keys. "I’ll grab them on my way out."

"As you wish, Trouble."

I hung up, stuffing my phone in my purse.

Cornelius stood next to my desk, waiting alone, his half-smile
in place.

Ray must have been using the bathroom.

"Hello, Cornelius," I greeted him with a full show
of teeth.

"You remind me of someone in those glasses."

"Marilyn Monroe?" I threw out Doc’s usual
reference.

"No, it was this poster I saw last year on the side of
a bus in San Jose while on my way to the Winchester Mansion. It had a blonde
poodle wearing sunglasses and a bikini top.

Nice. I fought off the urge to give Cornelius a Three
Stooges two-finger poke in the eyes and grabbed a hair clip from my desk drawer.
With a quick twist, I secured my poodle-like hair in a French knot.

The sound of the toilet flushing down the hall spurred me to
usher Honest Abe’s twin toward the front door. I didn’t want Ray to see him if
I could help it for reasons I’d analyze later. "If you’re ready, let’s go."

"Sure." He stepped through the door I held open
for him, his cane clicking on the sidewalk as I led him about twenty feet
beyond Calamity Jane’s and Doc’s windows.

"If you’ll wait here for just a second," I said at
the corner of the building. "I need to run back and grab something."

Doc’s front room was empty when I crossed the threshold. "Doc?"

He stepped out from the back room, a folder in his hand. "The
keys are on my desk."

"Thank you." I scooped them up.

"Violet."

I paused at the door and glanced back at him.

"Be careful."

"I won’t leave a single scratch." I hoped not to, anyway.
How hard was it to buff out scuff marks?

"I’m not talking about the car."

Oh, that. "What could possibly go wrong?" I was
going to be at a busy hotel in the middle of the day.

"Something that I haven’t thought of yet."

"The story of my life." I gave him a two-fingered
peace sign and stepped back into the harsh sunshine.

Cornelius waited for me with a dew of sweat coating his
upper lip. His little round sunglasses covered his bright blue eyes. His long-sleeve
black suit jacket must have been hot as hell. With a nudge of my head, I led him
to the back parking lot.

He whistled as we approached Doc’s Camaro. "Sweet ride."

Yes, it was. So was its owner, but those kinds of thoughts
needed to be tucked away in my lingerie drawer for later when Doc was in
attendance.

"Reminds me of a few months ago when I was down near
Baton Rouge visiting the Myrtles Plantation. One of my associates has a fetish
for classic muscle cars. He has a tattoo of a red convertible ‘68 Stingray
across his back."

The Myrtles Plantation?
How did I know that place?

I slid behind the wheel, inhaling the mixed scent of warmed
leather and Doc’s woodsy cologne, shooting a quick glance at Cornelius to see
if he noticed the lack of a sugar-and-spice-and-everything-nice girlie scent.

He appeared to be too busy ogling the customized dash with
its dials and lights to have noticed.

Starting the car, I rolled down the windows to replace the tell-tale
scent of Doc with some of Deadwood’s own
Eau
-
de
-pine tree
parfum
.

"So, Cornelius, did you recently move here from Las
Vegas," which was listed on his driver’s license as his home town, "or
are you just visiting?"

He tapped one of the fancy dials on Doc’s dash. "Just
visiting. For now."

Slow and easy, I steered the Camaro out of the parking lot
and headed for Main Street. "How did you hear about the Old Prospector Hotel?"
Was the other realty office advertising nationally? Jane might be interested in
hearing about it, if so.

"On the Internet. I was reading about the Adam’s House
on a site and an ad for the hotel popped up in the sidebar."

"The Adam’s House, huh?" Which was also rumored to
be haunted. Suddenly, I remembered where I’d heard of the Myrtles Plantation—on
a documentary about haunted houses in the United States. "It sounds like
you’re into ghost stories."

"You could say that."

Lovely, a ghoul groupie, my specialty.

So long as his money was green and the bank took it without
alerting the Feds, I could deal with some hints of kookiness in a client. Besides,
I doubted he could match straightjackets with my previous customers, Wolfgang and
Millie.

Maybe he was a famous author incognito. That might explain
his eccentric outfit and gobs of money. "Are you writing a book about
ghosts or something?"

"No. But that’s an idea I’ve considered."

I pulled into the hotel’s packed side parking lot, taking a
stall with a
Reserved
sign, and killed the engine. "Okay, let’s go
inside and take a look at the place. The hotel manager is expecting us."

So was the other Realtor.

Cornelius seemed to hesitate, tugging on his goatee as he
stared at me through his little round sunglasses.

"What’s wrong?" I asked, anxiety tickling my
chest.

Please don’t tell me you lied about the cash.

"There is something I should probably tell you before
we go inside."

Crud!

I hoped Jane wouldn’t hold Cornelius’ lack of funds against
me. I took a deep breath, steeling myself for what was to come. "What?"

"I have a condition."

"I’m sure the hotel’s owner would be willing to
consider whatever condition you offer."

If Cornelius really had the money to buy the hotel, his cash
would do the talking for us. If not, maybe we could wheel and deal a little.

"Not that kind of condition. A physical condition."

I cocked my head to the side, frowning. "Are you ill?"

"Some people would say so, but I think I’m perfectly
fine, just genetically advanced."