A Wild Fright in Deadwood (Deadwood Humorous Mystery Book 7) (17 page)

“Doc,” I gasped at the ceiling when he rubbed me just right. “I … I …” I was trying to tell the man that I loved him, but the delicate stroke of his fingers blasted the words from my brain.

The laundry room door creaked open, the light from the kitchen spotlighting us. Doc grabbed a shirt hanging from the rack and shielded us from view, while my brain tried to yank on the brake handle and stop my body from finishing what Doc had gotten rolling.

“Hot damn!” Old man Harvey’s voice cut through the fog of lust in my brain, sounding the alarms. “Looks like I caught me a fox in the henhouse.”

“Willis, would you please close the door for a moment,” Doc said, since my red face was currently hiding in his chest.

“How about I go see a man about a mule and come back when my prostate finishes its usual drippity-jig?”

The door closed. The room was dark again, thank God.

I sighed, frustrated and mortified at the same time. “I’m going to put a lock on the laundry room door.”

“Good thing I wasn’t wearing my lacy, red thong tonight.” Doc chuckled when I pinched his stomach.

Five minutes later, clothes intact, we were in the kitchen keeping our hands to ourselves when Harvey moseyed back into the room. His grin reminded me of an upside-down rainbow, which matched his colorful suspenders. His beard looked combed and crumb free; his hair was slicked back.

“What are you doing here, Harvey? I thought you had a big date tonight.”

“I did. She wasn’t in the mood for hanky panky—unlike you two, so I dropped her off early and came to see if the rumor is true.”

“What rumor?” Doc grabbed a beer from the fridge. He offered me one, but I shook my head. Harvey took it instead.

“The one Coop was tellin’ me about when he stopped by earlier to grab some fresh clothes and his other Colt .45.”

“What’s wrong with the gun Cooper carries already?” Did that mean one wasn’t enough these days?

“Nothing. He’s lending it to Doc.”

I hit Doc with a set of raised eyebrows.

Doc shrugged and then took a swig of beer. “He wants me to keep it handy until they find whoever killed Wanda.”

“Don’t you have to have some kind of permit to carry?”

“Coop’s taking care of that for me.”

Harvey pointed his beer bottle at me. “So, did you really get a call from the boogeyman like Coop said?”

“It was more like a boogey-woman.”

“Sounds to me like a job for your bodyguard.”

“What do you think Doc is doing here?”

Harvey snickered. “Judgin’ from that peepshow in the laundry room, I’d reckon his plan has more to do with playin’ with your body than guardin’ it.”

Doc’s grin had GUILTY stamped all over it. “I was planning on multitasking when it came to Violet’s body.”

“Me, too. Only mine included watchin’ a movie while I guarded it. Who’s game for the Duke tonight? After catchin’ you foolin’ around in her henhouse, I got an itch for some
Rooster Cogburn
.”

* * *

Tuesday, November 13th

Harvey was still around come morning. He’d fallen asleep in Aunt Zoe’s recliner. Whether or not he’d stayed there, I wasn’t sure because I went up and fell asleep in my bed around midnight, knowing the film crew might show up the next day and beauty rest was a must when the cameras were rolling.

Doc had still been down on the couch when I’d gone to bed. In the morning, the pillow next to me had an indent and smelled like him. The covers looked like someone had slept on top of them, but there were no other signs of him, not even down in the kitchen. Harvey confirmed Doc had left early to go to the Rec Center and asked the old goat to give me a message—I still owed him breakfast.

That painted a happy face on my heart that lasted until I drove into the parking lot at work and my cell phone rang. The number was local. Warily I answered, “Hello?”

“Is this Ms. Parker?” Detective Stone Hawke asked.

I made a face at the sound of his voice. I’d almost rather the call had been from Wanda’s killer again.

“Who’s calling?” I purposely played dumb.

“Detective Hawke.” Even the sound of his breathing through the phone made me bristle. “You know, the policeman whose calls you’ve been avoiding.”

“Your name rings a bell.”

“You might want to write it down then, Ms. Parker, with your spotty memory and all. Or have you broken all of your pens in another one of your estrogen-fueled rages?”

Ahhh, the dense cretin was still sore about that stupid pen of his I’d stomped into pieces. “Have you called to harass me, Detective, or is this a social call to compare outfits today?”

That gave him pause. “I see that your sarcasm is just fine this morning in spite of your claim to have received a call from Wanda Carhart’s killer.”

My claim? I ground my molars. Cooper must have told him about the call and Detective Hawke had taken it upon himself to poke holes in my story. “Is there a purpose for this call, Hawke?”

“That’s Detective Hawke to you, Parker.”

“That’s
Ms.
Parker to you, Hawke.”

Judging from the intensity of his exhalations, his nostrils had to be flaring wide enough to fill with ping-pong balls. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re difficult to work with, Ms. Parker?”

“Detective Cooper might have implied it once or twice.”

“Do you realize that your defensiveness makes you seem suspicious?”

I was in no mood to analyze my personality this morning with Detective Hawke. “Do you realize that your grandstanding makes you seem like an asshole?”

He hung up on me.

I stared at my phone in surprise. How in the planets had I managed that? I must have woken up with magical powers this morning.

Collecting my purse, I headed toward Calamity Jane’s back door. Apparently, my magic quit working when I got inside, because Detective Hawke was waiting for me at my desk. He must have run across the street as soon as he hung up on me. Wonderful. Just wonderful. He really needed to use cologne that was less nose burning.

Mona shot me an inquisitive look. Her SUV had been the only one in the lot, and I crossed my fingers and toes that we stayed the only two in the office until I could shoehorn Detective Hawke from the building.

“Morning, Mona,” I said, avoiding eye contact with the surly detective standing at my desk. “That color of red makes your hair really shine. Is that cashmere?” I nodded at her sweater.

“Let’s try this again, Ms. Parker,” Detective Hawke interrupted my morning pleasantries. His sideburns seemed extra bushy today, his eyes as beady as his namesake. “Maybe we can be more civilized in person.”

I doubted it knowing me and my history of friction around alpha males. The mere sight of his mustard corduroy blazer had me gnashing my teeth on the inside, and his condescending smile was like a magnet for my size 8 boot. But if Detective Hawke played nice, and that was a Mount Rushmore sized
IF
, I might be able to resist face-planting his smug mug on my desktop.

“Okay, Detective Hawke. How are you this morning?”

“Resolved.”

I stuffed my purse in my drawer. “About what?”

“You and that film crew will not step foot on Willis Harvey’s ranch.”

Ah, so he had received the request I’d delivered per Jerry’s instructions. “You do realize that since Willis Harvey is my client, I have his permission to be on his property.”

“Fine, you can go, but if I find out any filming was done, I’ll file charges against you for obstruction of justice.”

I blew a raspberry. “Good luck making that stick.”

I’d be sure to let Jerry know the Deadwood police’s answer to his filming request as soon as possible. For once, I was happy with something that had come out of Detective Hawke’s mouth.

Hawke’s square jaw jutted. “I’m also curious.”

I walked over to the coffeemaker so that I could do something other than look at the doofus. “Curious about what?”

“If the phone call you claim to have received yesterday is legitimate.”

“Why would I make up such a thing?”

“To add cement to your alibi and throw the investigation off track.”

I poured extra sugar in my coffee, crossing my fingers that the sweetness would work on my personality as well as my blood. “So, you think I fake-called myself from a burner phone?”

“It’s a possibility.”

As was dumping my cup of hot coffee in his lap. “If we’re playing your game, then I also put the note in my purse that day Detective Cooper had me locked up behind bars.”

“We have no proof you didn’t.”

I glanced at Mona on my way back to my desk, my steaming, caffeinated weapon in hand. She was pretending to type, her brow pinched in a worried frown when she looked my way. I knew how she felt.

“Okay, you think I faked the threatening call yesterday and the note. What else, Detective Hawke?”

“What do you mean what else? Isn’t that enough?”

“Nope.” I lowered myself into my chair. “I need more coffee in my system to understand your police subtlety. How about you spell out your purpose for being here with me today?”

He shot a quick frown in Mona’s direction. “Maybe we should step outside.”

“Don’t worry about Mona,” I told him, although I’d have preferred she’d heard none of this because as my friend and mentor, she now had a whole new reason to chew me out for not sharing this bee’s nest of a secret. “You’ve already let the cat out of the bag. Besides, I have nothing to hide from her.” Which was a big fat lie, but I didn’t want to show Detective Hawke any weakness.

He shrugged and settled into the chair, making himself comfortable. “I think you have a hand in all of this, Ms. Parker.”

“By ‘all of this’ you’re referring to Wanda Carhart’s death?”

A small gasp from Mona told me that she hadn’t heard the news yet.

“Yes and more.”

“More what? Deaths?”

He leaned forward. “Don’t you think it’s odd that you’ve been involved one way or another with so many of the case files sitting on Detective Cooper’s desk?”

“I thought the files were on
your
desk now.”

His beady eyes hardened, his glare accusing. “You may have Cooper fooled,” his voice sank into a menacing growl, “but I see you clearly for what you are.”

I raised one eyebrow. “A real estate agent and mother of two?”

“That’s your disguise.” He knocked twice on my desk and stood. “I’ll be in touch again, Ms. Parker.”

“I’m sure you will. They say herpes never fully goes away.”

Mona made a small, high-pitched sound in her throat, and then her nails clacked louder on the keys.

It took a couple of seconds for my insult to sink into Hawke’s thick skull. Then his lip curled and he planted his hands on my desk. “Watch your back, Ms. Parker, because I certainly will be.”

I hooked my boot around the leg of my desk and pulled. The desk slid toward me and Detective Hawke stumbled forward, his knee slamming hard into the metal side.

“Oops. This desk bucks like that all of the time.” I shot Mona a fake frown. “We really need to talk to Jerry about getting some of those sticky pads so it’ll hold still.”

I stood and walked over to the door, holding it open. “Take care of that injury, Detective. A knee will go out on you when you least expect it.” I spoke from experience after too many knee-buckling scares.

He limped across the wooden floor, bumping me with his broad shoulder as he passed over the threshold. Detective Hawke had a history of colliding into me whenever he was near. That wasn’t part of his intimidation act usually; it was merely an uncoordinated trait of a buffoon who didn’t understand the rules of personal space.

“You need to start answering my calls, Ms. Parker,” was his parting shot.

“I’d hate to fall into a bad habit, Detective.” I shut the door behind him and locked it, leaning back against it.
Whew!

“What’s going on, Vi?” Mona nailed me with a piercing stare, her reading glasses dangling from her neck.

I could tell by her expression that there would be no dodging her question. “Wanda Carhart was found dead last weekend. I somehow managed to,”
thanks to Prudence the ghost
, “get all tangled up in her murder investigation.”

“Somehow, huh?”

I shrugged, returning to my desk. “It didn’t help that Wanda was receiving creepy notes, and I happened to have received one myself.”

“What!?” Mona clutched her chair arms. “When? Since Wanda’s death?”

“No, mine came a couple of months ago.”

Her gaze narrowed. “What did the cops say when you received it?”

“Nothing because I didn’t tell them.”

“Why would you …” she paused and then shook her head at me. “Vi, you need to get over your dislike for the Deadwood Police.”

“It’s nothing personal. I just avoid the cops whenever possible.” Especially Cooper and now Hawke.

“What happened in your past to give you such a strong aversion to the law?”

I waved her off. “Let’s not go there today.”

She harrumphed but nodded. “So why is Detective Hawke nipping at your tail?”

“We started off bad.”

“Like how bad?”

My lips twisted in scorn. “I took his pen and stomped on it with my boot during our first meeting.”

“That’s it?”

“And then I threatened do the same to his testicles if he didn’t give me some space.”

A short snort of laughter slipped out, which she quickly covered with her hand. “Oh, dear.”

“Our professional relationship has never quite been able to get past that initial,” I pinched my thumb and forefinger together so they almost touched, “little skirmish.”

“What did he mean about a threatening call yesterday?”

I told her about the phone call and how Wanda had received calls from untraceable numbers before her death.

“You think it’s the same person?”

“Unfortunately, yes. Although Detective Hawke apparently thinks I’m faking it all.”

Mona’s eyes were rimmed with concern. “What are you going to do, Vi?”

“Nothing. I promised Detective Cooper I’d keep my nose out of it and let him handle this.”

“We need to let Jerry know.”

“No!” At her surprised flinch, I scooted my chair over to her desk. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to yell,” I kneaded my hands together, “but I really don’t want Jerry to know about this unless we absolutely have to tell him.”