Optical Delusions in Deadwood (46 page)

      I focused on the dead guy’s furry chest and tried to keep my eyes from glancing up at the void where the head should be ... and failed. It was such a clean slice through the neck. What—and who—could have done such a seamless job? I remembered what I was inspecting and turned away, the monkeys rowdy again in my gut.

      “You know, if you can’t handle this ...” Cooper started to say, the rigid tone in his voice softening.

      “I can handle it,” I interrupted and swallowed the acidic taste of nausea that climbed up my esophagus and onto the back of my tongue. For some stupid reason, I had this irrational need to prove to Cooper that I could inspect dead bodies over black coffee and maple bars just like him and the other guys on the police force. He brought out my need to compete in stupid pissing contests, which hadn’t plagued me since I’d finished the sixth grade but was strong nonetheless.

      I looked over my shoulder at Eddie Mudder, who leaned against a set of cupboards with his arms crossed over his black vinyl apron while we admired his handiwork. “Eddie, will you please cover this”—I hovered my hand over the missing head area—“with something?”

      Eddie nodded and lumbered over in two long strides. Looking and sounding like Lurch from the
Adams Family
, Eddie Mudder was the younger of the two brothers who owned and operated Mudder Brothers Funeral Home. His oddities went beyond his physical appearance to his love of eccentric organ music, such as the pipe-organ version of the Bee Gees’ “Stayin’ Alive” that was piping in through the overhead speakers at this very moment. Nothing like some disco tunes while I hung out with a corpse. Was there a psychiatric label for someone who danced with dead bodies?

      Eddie draped one square of paper towel over the space where the head should be. “Better?”

      I’d have preferred two. Was there a paper towel shortage in the Black Hills? “Sure. Thanks.”

      I glanced in Cooper’s direction and found his lips twitching. I longed to jam a paper towel up his nose.

      Another deep breath. Okay, back to the dead guy.

      His milky ash-colored flesh had a marbled look to it. A thick coat of black chest hair covered his ribs and pectorals. I leaned closer, picking up a hint of stale raw hamburger meat—or maybe that was just my imagination. I searched for a tattoo, a scar, a pierced nipple, something unique, but I couldn’t see anything through the hair—not without a weed whacker, anyway. I stepped back, shrugging. “Nope, I don’t know him.”

      Cooper crossed his arms over his chest. “Keep looking. Unless it’s too much for you.”

      I curled my lip at him and then returned to scan the corpse’s less-furry stomach. “He has some lint in his belly button,” I observed aloud.

      “That’s not lint,” Eddie said from his spot by the cupboard. “It’s a black wart.”

       
Eww!
  I grimaced across at Cooper. A flicker of a grin rippled across his granite features. I had an inkling that torturing me rated high on his fun-things-to-do list, right after cleaning his handgun. He schooled his features and pointed down at the body, indicating that I wasn’t finished.

      Cursing him seven ways from Sunday under my breath, I shuffled down the table, past where the paper sheet covered the corpse’s private bits and pieces, and looked at the toes. Small tufts of hair popped out from the knuckle of each toe. “This guy must be part Yeti.”

      “I’ll make a note of that in the report,” Cooper said with a slice of sarcasm in his tone.

      I moved up to the corpse’s knees. They looked like a regular set of kneecaps to me. Nothing remarkable. I hesitated at the paper covering the man’s junk, my determination wavering, my face warming. I avoided glancing at Cooper, knowing any eye contact at this point would make me chicken out.

      Would looking at a dead man’s penis scar me for life? Would I ever be able to look at another live version of one without recoiling? This could seriously cripple my love life, which had been barely limping along since the twins were conceived. But Cooper was watching, waiting for my white flag. I gulped and pinched the corner of the little sheet.

      Cooper reached toward me. “Wait, Violet.”

      The autopsy room door burst open.

      “Did I miss the party?” Old Man Harvey asked, crashing into the room all loud and grinning, as usual. His two gold teeth sparkled under the florescent lights. “Sorry I’m late. I had trouble gettin’ out of bed.”

      “Your trick hip keeping you up again?” I asked.

      “More like Viagra and an old flame.” His grin reached his earlobes. “You should see the tricks that girl can still do with her hips. The way she can wiggle you’d never guess she has an AARP card.”

      Criminy. I’d walked into that one with my mouth open and all.

      Willis Harvey was my partner in crime and self-appointed bodyguard, whether I liked it or not. He also owned the ranch I was trying to sell even though dead body parts kept showing up there—parts such as an ear still connected to half a scalp and the very corpse under my nose, which the old bugger’s lazy yellow dog had dug up from the cemetery out behind his barn. 

      I stepped back to give Harvey room to inspect the corpse. The old codger had saved my future sex life, and my knees wobbled with relief.

      “You figure out who it is?” Harvey asked, joining us at the table and looking from me to Cooper.

      “Not yet,” Cooper answered.

      “Jesus H. Christ, boy.” Harvey said to the detective, who also happened to be his nephew. Pretty much everyone in Deadwood was related by blood or marriage, which was something I’d grasped since moving from the prairie to the Black Hills six months ago. “Do I have to do everything around here?”

      Harvey leaned over the corpse and sniffed. “Hmmm. Smells like that homemade goop I rub on my bunions.” He poked the corpse in the rib hard enough to slide the body over just a bit.

      “Harvey!” I said, poking him in the rib in turn.

      “What? He’s dead. He didn’t feel it.” He nudged me aside and danced toward the feet, singing along in a high voice, doing a spin as the disco-playing organ hit the final chorus. The Bee Gees would never be the same for me again.

      “Any tattoos?” Harvey asked.

      Cooper shook his head.

      “His legs remind me of your Aunt Gertrude’s.”

      Cooper kept shaking his head, his grin peeking out of the corners of his mouth.

      Harvey had reached the paper sheet covering the man’s family jewels. Without hesitation, he yanked off the sheet.

      “No! God!” I closed my eyes—a half-second too late.

      “Hmpf. Reminds me of the last time I skinny-dipped in Lake Pactola.”

      “Ahhh!” I cringed. No amount of soap was going to scrub that image from my eyes.

      There was a rustling sound, and then Cooper said, “You can open your eyes now, Violet.”

      I opened one first just to be safe. Harvey had returned to my side, his thumbs wrapped around his suspenders.

      “So, neither of you two recognize this man?” Cooper’s eyes bounced between Harvey and me.

      “No,” I said.

      Harvey scratched his head. “Hold up. Did he have just one testicle?”

      “Yep,” Eddie confirmed.

      Harvey reached for the paper sheet covering the corpse’s jewels again.

      I turned toward the door, my stomach clenching. Another glimpse of the dead guy’s package and I’d never be able to have sex again. “If we’re done here, Detective, I’d like to go to work.”

      “You’re free to leave.” He came around the corpse and walked me to the door, holding it open for me. “You aren’t planning any trips out of state, are you?”

      I stopped on the threshold and frowned up at him. “Are you asking me that as my client?” Cooper had hired me to sell his house a couple of weeks ago. The plan was to put it on the market this week.

      “No, I’m asking on behalf of the Lawrence County Sheriff’s Department.”

      “Are you working for the Sheriff on this?” I pointed in the general direction of the body. Detective Cooper worked for the City of Deadwood and was hired out to Lead, but last I’d heard he only played poker, not cops and robbers, with the local sheriff.

      “Not officially. But until we figure out who this guy is and how he lost his head, you and Uncle Willis both need to stay close.”

      The sound of that made the hairs on my neck bristle. “Are you saying we are suspects in his murder?”

      “Not suspects, just persons of interest. So stick around.” His gunslinger squint returned. “And keep your big nose out of this case.”

     
Connect with Me Online:

      Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/ann.charles.author

      Twitter: http://twitter.com/#!/DeadwoodViolet

      My Main Website: http://www.anncharles.com

      My Deadwood Website: http://www.anncharles.com/deadwood

     
BIO:

      Ann Charles is an award-winning author who writes romantic mysteries that are splashed with humor and whatever else she feels like throwing into the mix. When she is not dabbling in fiction, arm-wrestling with her children, attempting to seduce her husband, or arguing with her sassy cat, she is daydreaming of lounging poolside at a fancy resort with a blended margarita in one hand and a great book in the other.

     
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

      It is amazing how many people it takes to get a book from a blank page with a blinking cursor to a published book. For me, it’s a small village-worth of helpers. It takes another group of folks to help take that published book and make it fly. I’m going to try to thank some of the brilliant people involved in both parts of this book business.

      To start, thank you to my husband for your help with brainstorming and critiquing. Without you, not only would the story not be as entertaining, but I’d starve and have twigs and leaves in my matted hair after just a week, and the kids would wear burlap bags for clothes and carry their homework to school in Crown Royal liquor bottle bags.

      Thanks to Corvallis Press for allowing me to try this publishing venture yet again.

      Thank you to my agent, Mary Louise Schwartz of the Belfrey Literary Agency. You have stuck by me for years during highs and lows. Here is to many more highs! 

      Thanks to my brother, Charles Kunkle, for allowing me the opportunity to see some of my crazy ideas on paper. Your artwork never ceases to amaze me and I love having it on my book’s cover and inside its pages.

      Thank you to Mona Weiss for your talented graphic artist help with making the cover really “pop” and for all of your ideas about promotion.

      Once again, I have to bow to Margo Taylor for all of your help in spreading the word about this second book, and to Dave Taylor for  making sure she stayed in one piece during her trips to and fro during the process. I also have to thank Judy and Frank Routt (and Jessica and James) for sharing the book in Northwest Ohio.

      Now, for the readers and critiquers. Thank you to the following for reading this book time and again and giving me the feedback I needed to make it shine: Wendy Delaney, Beth Harris, Marcia Britton, Mary Ida Kunkle, Amber Scott, Paul Franklin (for edits and research help), Jody Sherin, Renelle Wilson, Robin Weaver, Marguerite Phipps, Denise Garlington, Stephanie Kunkle, Thea Taylor, Sharon Benton, Heidi Mott, Susan Schreyer, Margo Taylor, Nancy Goebel-Fehr, Kim Rupp, Carol Cabrian, and Cammie Hall.

      Thanks to Nancy Goebel-Fehr and Justin Harvey for not stoning me when I forgot to include their names in the Acknowledgements for
Nearly Departed in Deadwood
. Also, for all of the coffees and laughs that kept me awake at work after late nights of writing.

      Thanks to Christy Karras of Proof Positive for your thorough, yet entertaining edits.

      Thanks to Mimi “The Grammar Chick” for your final editing polish and always making me laugh.

      Thanks to Stephen Harris for his wonderful talent with his camera and actually making me look ten pounds lighter on film just as I’d requested.

      Thanks to the magnificent reviewers who offered their time to read and comment about this book; and to the amazing authors who gave me incredible cover quotes.

      Thanks to the Deranged crew: Jacquie Rogers, Wendy Delaney, and Sherry Walker for years of friendship and patience with me. Thanks to the columnists and crew at 1st Turning Point for years of teaching and generosity. Thanks to Gerri Russell, Joleen James, and Wendy Delaney for keeping me neck deep in weekly goals. Thanks to the AuthorUp crew (Amber Scott, Susan Schreyer, and Deena Remiel) for not allowing me to be a slacker.

      Thanks to Amber Scott for your never-ending support and ingenious ideas. You and me, woman, poolside with margaritas!

      Thanks to my friends and fans for your continual support and tireless help in spreading the word about Violet and her friends. You all make my day every day!

      Thank you to my coworkers for the continual cheers and excitement every time I share more news with them.

      Thanks to Bill Durning for making my Kindle dreams come true and to Vickie Haskell for the tons of shipping help and laughs while doing it.

      Thanks to Neil McNeill for his excellent classes on paranormal investigation.

      Thanks to my siblings and step-siblings, and your fantastic spouses, for talking me up around town.

      And finally, thanks to Clint Taylor, for hanging out with me day-after-day in the Black Hills when we were kids. I’m sorry I strangled you way back then. I was doing it out of love. Ha!

      From Deadwood, I’d like to thank the following for all of the help in spreading word about the Deadwood Mystery Series:

      Kim Rupp from Executive Lodging of the Black Hills, the Adams Bros. Bookstore, the Homestake Visitor Center, the Lead Chamber of Commerce, the Deadwood Chamber of Commerce, the Pack Horse Liquor & Convenience Store and crew, the congregation of the Nemo Church, Janelle Andis from Custer Crossing Store and Campground, and Mary Abell.