An Ex to Grind in Deadwood (Deadwood Humorous Mystery Book 5) Paperback – September 4, 2014 (36 page)

Harvey snickered and handed me a couple of ibuprofen. “You’re probably gonna need these by the time he’s done.”

I needed them an hour ago. I chased the pills with a drink of water and then lifted my chin. “I’m waiting, Detective.”

“According to your statement on the Hessler case, you were romantically involved with Wolfgang Hessler.”

I frowned as the gears ground in my head. “What … wait … Wolfgang … why are … who said …” I stopped, my tongue untangling, and skipped beyond the first five W’s that had tumbled from my lips. “Let’s get something straight. I was not romantically involved with that man.”

“Did you not write in your official statement that you’d gone on a date with Hessler?”

“Yes, we did go out to The Wild Pasque once, but that hardly constitutes romantic involvement.”

“And did you not also state that you were on a dinner date with him again the evening he took you to his house and tried to light you on fire?” Hawke flipped his notebook back several pages and read, “He said he had to kill me because he loved me.” One thick eyebrow was raised when he looked up at me. “Those were your words, weren’t they?”

I sputtered again. Harvey slapped me on the back. “Yes,” I said when I’d pulled myself back together.

“So have we fully established that you were romantically involved now?”

“No, you’ve established that I was romantically involved with Wolfgang by misconstruing the events that took place during the two dates I had with a psychotic murderer. I would disagree and say that since he and I exchanged only three kisses during our brief client-Realtor relationship, and one was forced upon me while I was tied up and on the verge of being barbecued, this was more a case of me selecting the wrong recipient for some misguided flirting.”

Hawke scribbled something in chicken scratch while shaking his head. “You’re a real piece of work, Parker. It’s no wonder Coop keeps a bottle of whiskey in his desk drawer these days.”

“Leave me out of Cooper’s problems.”

“Fine. How long have you been friends with Wanda Carhart?”

“Friends?” I looked over at Harvey, who mocked zipping his lips.

“I wouldn’t exactly call them friends,” Harvey stepped in on my behalf. “It’s not like they get together for beer and chit-chat about who knocked up who and whether the baby-daddy knows about it.”

Hawke smirked at Harvey. “Are you her lawyer now?”

Harvey harrumphed. “Maybe I am.”

My phone rang. I glanced down at the screen and saw Natalie’s name. Whew! Perfect timing.

“It’s my boss,” I deadpanned to Hawke. “I need to take this or I could get in big trouble at work.”

I turned my back on his suspicious gaze and answered the call. “Hi, boss, what can I do for you?”

“Did you just call me boss or hoss, as in Hoss Cartwright from Virginia City?” Natalie asked, her voice sounding tired.

Why in the hell would I call her Hoss? She knew I was more partial to Marshal Matt Dillon, all tall and handsome with that sexy, commanding voice of his, not Bonanza’s Cartwright men and their drama. Dressing up like Miss Kitty was one of my favorite Halloween costumes. Maybe I could convince Doc to put on a cowboy hat and U.S. Marshal badge this year for trick-or-treating with the kids and me. He was almost as big as James Arness.

Where was I? Oh, right. Putting on an act. “Yes, I’m still stuck out here at Harvey’s place.”

“What’re you doing at your bodyguard’s creepy ranch?”

I glanced over at the detective, who was watching me like a … well, a Hawke. “No, I’m not alone, but I can find a private place.” I tilted my phone away from my lips. “I need to step outside, Detective. How about we continue your version of the Spanish Inquisition another time?”

“Violet, what the hell’s going on?” Natalie asked in my ear.

“Just a minute, please,” I said into the phone and then palmed it. I didn’t wait for Hawke’s answer. I rushed past Dickie and Honey and out the door. Edging around the crime scene tape, I weaved through the sheriff’s crew.

Privacy awaited me over by the clothesline between the barn and house. I leaned against one of the poles and soaked up the bright October sunshine flickering in between puffy marshmallow clouds. The cool fall wind toyed with the end of my scarf. I should’ve grabbed my jacket on the way out.

“Hey, Nat. Sorry about that. I’m in a bit of a pickle here.”

“Why are you at Harvey’s place talking to Detective Cooper?”

The odor of exhaust coming from one of the sheriff’s cars idling by the barn tickled the back of my throat. “Actually that was Detective Hawke. Cooper is busy talking to the sheriff.”

“Detective Hawke? You mean Cooper’s new partner?”

“Actually, I found out he’s an
old
partner. The scuttlebutt is that they used to work together down in Rapid City, but then Hawke screwed him over and Cooper transferred up here to Deadwood.”

“So Cooper really must not be thrilled about any of this.”

“He’s swearing more than usual these days.”

“Why is the sheriff out at Harvey’s anyway?”

I caught the end of my scarf, tucking it into my neckline. “Harvey’s dog found a boot.”

“This is the same dog that found that guy’s head?”

“The one and only.”

“Damn, that dog has a nose for trouble.”

I practically heard that punch line clunk on the ground. “That was lame, Nat. Try again.”

“How about this: Sounds like old Red is good at sniffing out trouble.”

“No, that was worse. You should just move on.”

“Fine, but Cooper needs to partner with that dog.”

I laughed. The breeze whipped up, carrying it away. “Great minds think alike.”

“What’s the big deal about this boot?” Natalie asked.

“There was still a foot in it.”

There was a long pause from her end, and then, “Holy shitballs of fire.”

“Well, actually, it was a few chunks of dried flesh and the bones, so not like a whole foot, still juicy, ankle and all.” I shuddered at the thought of that, turning my back to the mayhem buzzing around the front porch.

“What are you, Violet? Some kind of human magnet for missing body parts?”

“I’m beginning to wonder if I’m cursed.”

“Maybe some old gypsy woman has it out for you.”

Either one of those would help make sense of my run of bad juju since coming to Deadwood. “Of course, the TV people that Jerry has following me around had to be here to see it.”

“What did Jerry say about this when you told him?”

“I haven’t yet. I figured I’d wait to see what the sheriff said before I crossed that bridge.”

“What’s Cooper think? Is it another murder?”

“Cooper’s not saying anything, as usual. Harvey heard one of the deputies complain about probably having to spend the day scouring the graveyard behind Harvey’s place to see if the boot came from there.” I frowned up into the trees that climbed the hillside next to Harvey’s house, peering into their shadowed underbellies. Was something up there watching us hop around like vultures picking at a fresh kill down here?

“I would think a freshly dug grave would be easy to spot.”

I rubbed over the goosebumps on my arms. “I asked Cooper if it might have come from that cave nest where they found those remains and other nasty stuff months ago.”

“What did Deadwood’s favorite detective say?”

“The butthead told me that was police business.”

“Of course,” Natalie said, snorting. “I think that’s one of the five responses they programmed him to say back when he was at the police academy.”

I chuckled. Nat had been bit by Cooper’s sharp teeth a couple of times herself. Weeks ago over a six pack of beer, we had concocted a theory—Cooper was half-robot, created by the evil emperor to destroy all cute and furry creatures when he wasn’t blowing up rebel bases.

“So where are you?” I asked her.

“Sitting on my back deck.”

“When did you get home?”

“About an hour ago.”

“How was Arizona?”

“Fun, lots of laughs, kind of crazy. My cousins are nuts.”

“You sure didn’t fall far from that family tree.”

“Take a train, peanut brain,” she said, throwing one of our childhood insults back at me. “So what have I missed here?”

“Let’s see,” I decided to skip the stuff about Ms. Wolff for the time being and get right to the heart of my frustrations. “Rex is fucking with my world through my job. He tried to make a move on me while I was showing him a house and I hit him in the face with a cupboard door.”

“That no good, piece of—”

“Parker,” Cooper barked from behind me.

I jumped and whirled. His expression was all tornadoes and hurricanes as he stormed up to me. Great, what had I done now?

“What?” I held the phone slightly away from my ear.

“You need to leave now.”

His demand was my wish. I could hear Natalie still ranting through the line.

Cooper frowned at my phone. He must have heard her voice, too. He pointed at it. “That’s not Nyce, is it?”

“It’s Natalie.”

He rubbed his hand over his jawline as if my response required thought. “She still down in Arizona?”

“No, she’s back home.”

“She is?” He nodded repeatedly, like a bobble-headed version of himself answering his own question. His gaze locked on my phone. As I watched, the weather on his face changed from stormy to partly cloudy to a chance of sunbreaks.

Then he looked up at me and the supercell formed again, swirling and dark, making his eyes narrow. “Tell her you’ll call her when you’re back in Deadwood,” he ordered, mistaking me for one of his subordinates. “I want those TV people out of here before someone gets stupid about being on camera and leaks something important.”

I glared at his stiff shoulders as he strode away, raising the phone to my ear again. Natalie was winding up her anti-Rex tirade, working on the T’s in her swear word vocabulary.

“Nat,” I interrupted. “Cooper’s kicking me out of here.”

She sniffed. “Well, you’d better leave then before he gets out the handcuffs again.”

Just the reminder of being cuffed and hauled into jail made me feel like kicking something, preferably something on Cooper’s body. “That still fries my patootie.” I started back toward the house. “Come to dinner tonight? Harvey mentioned something about grilled ham and cheese sandwiches.”

“Yum! I’ll bring the beer.”

I had a feeling that after today, I was going to need something stronger. “Make it tequila.”

* * *

Tuesday, October 9th

The Galena House looked benign in the late morning sunshine when I pulled up in front of it and shut off the Picklemobile. It was still in need of a little TLC and a whole lot of paint, but it reminded me much less of the House on Haunted Hill when thunder and lightning were not part of the backdrop.

“This pickup has an odd smell to it,” Cornelius said from the passenger seat. He sniffed a couple of times. “Like someone let a jar of petroleum jelly go rancid under the seat.”

I hadn’t smelled rancid petroleum jelly so I wasn’t sure which particular smell he was referring to—the one coming from the glove box, the seat cushions, or the vents. I was used to all of the truck’s unique odors, just as I’d grown accustomed to most of Cornelius’s eccentricities.

“Think of riding in the Picklemobile as a unique life experience. If that doesn’t help, roll down your window.”

“I don’t like it,” Cornelius said.

“Listen, until you get your rental fixed, this is what we have.” Cornelius had somehow managed to inadvertently disable his rental car’s electrical system again. I was beginning to think he should add “Electromagnetic Anomaly” to his business card in addition to Ghost Whisperer.

“I meant I don’t like the house.”

I sighed. It was that or hit my head against the driver’s side window a few times and forehead bruises were hard to hide.

I’d told Doc last night that moving the location of the séance was not going to sit well with Cornelius. He was set up in his hotel suite with all his gadgets and sensors. Leaving his outfitted ghost lab would put a monkey wrench in his ability to record all aspects of ghosts and ghostly chatter.

“Why don’t you like it?” I asked.

“There’s bad energy here. Look,” he said, pointing out the window at the house. “You can see it radiating from the roof.”

I peered at the roof for a moment. “Are you talking about the smoke coming from the chimney?”

“I’m talking about the blackness billowing up and out. It speaks of deep set decay in the heart of the house.”

Someone’s creative mind needed to be reined in and put back in its barn stall. “It’s more of a light gray, don’t you think?”

“There’s a cancer in that place, Violet, spreading from the inside out. It doesn’t smell right.”

“I thought you said it was the pickup that stunk.”

“Nor does it feel right,” he continued as if I hadn’t interrupted. “If I go into a séance feeling this way, things will turn sour. I know this from experience. Did I ever tell you about my cousin and what happened to her?”

I knew a little about his cousin’s freaky death and Cornelius’s role as a suspect in it. All that aside, it wasn’t like Cornelius to be so negative and resistant to anything paranormal. Usually he jumped at the chance to chat with new ghosts.

“Did you drink your daily protein shake yet?” I asked.

“No. And my morning carrot was soft.”

I wasn’t sure if he was referring to an actual orange vegetable or a physical problem south of his belt buckle, nor did I want to risk clarification. I pulled out a protein bar I’d packed for my own lunch and unwrapped it. “Here, eat this.” He stared at it as if I’d pulled it out from the Picklemobile’s glove box. I shoved it under his nose and insisted.

“I’m allergic to blueberries,” he said.

“Those are chocolate chips. Eat it.”

He took a bite and nodded his acceptance.

“Okay,” I said, “let’s go meet the owner. She should be waiting for us.” Before he could open his door I grabbed his arm, his wool jacket scratchy to the touch. “Here’s the thing. She doesn’t know about your ability.”

“Which one?”

The one that allowed him to shoot webs from his hands, what did he think I meant? “Your ability to talk to ghosts.”