An Ex to Grind in Deadwood (Deadwood Humorous Mystery Book 5) Paperback – September 4, 2014 (48 page)

After hitting me with a raised eyebrow, Doc ordered whatever was on tap. When she left, he draped his arm around the back of the seat, his fingers stroking my shoulder. The heady scent of his cologne made me want to do naughty things to him under the table, but I kept my hands to myself.

“Did you talk to your Aunt Zoe about that necklace?”

“I haven’t found the right time to bring it up.” Between the kids and Harvey, we always seemed to have an audience. “I did talk to Freesia, though. She assured me that they put the apartment back together and erased all signs of our being there, including returning Layne’s picture to the mirror.”

“Good.”

“Although that seems pointless with what we’re about to do here tonight.”

“For appearances sake, I think it’s best to make it look like nobody has been in there but the police. What Cooper does with what we tell him tonight is up to him.”

I rubbed my hands together to warm them. My nerves had me trembling for more reasons than the brisk October night. “Did I tell you that Detective Hawke thinks I’m a witch?”

Doc stared at me, his forehead knotted as if he were considering how I would look with a pointy hat and broomstick. Then he shook his head. “No, not a witch.”

“Of course I’m not a witch,” I said, poking him in the rib.

He grunted and started to grin, but then his gaze shot to the door. “He’s here.”

The urge to escape out the back door made my toes tingle.

Detective Cooper was dressed similar to Doc, only his leather coat was gray instead of black. Had someone neglected to tell me there was a monochrome dress code for the Purple Door on Saturday nights? He stopped by the bar and ordered a drink before heading our way.

The detective tossed his jacket onto the booth seat. “Are we expecting company?”

“You’re it,” Doc said, squeezing my shoulder in support. Or maybe he was holding me in place so I wouldn’t fly out of there. Now that I thought about it, his putting me on the inside was a calculated move, trapping me. Dang his foresight.

Cooper clasped his hands together. “So why am I joining you at the Purple Door tonight?” His gaze slid my way. “Based on Parker’s spooked expression, I’m guessing this isn’t a social event.”

I turned to Doc. “I look spooked?”

He held up his index finger and thumb posed in a pinch.

I couldn’t help it. Spilling my guts to Cooper about crimes I’d committed was up there with facing off with an ax-swinging juggernaut.

Before we could get rolling, the waitress brought our drinks, including Cooper’s. When we passed on ordering food, she left with a sly smile at the detective. She and Mona should start a Detective Cooper Fan Club. They could wear matching handcuffs.

“What’s this about?” Cooper asked, his gaze bouncing between Doc and me.

“Ms. Wolff,” Doc spoke first. I was still searching for my tongue, which seemed to be cowering behind my uvula.

“What about her?”

“We know how she died,” I spit out, and then drowned my tongue with margarita.

“We know the murder weapon,” Doc corrected.

“You know what decapitated her?”

“We know what made her end up all shriveled and gnarled,” I cut in again, and then swallowed another mouthful of liquid bravery. “And who’s responsible.”

Cooper’s gaze gave away nothing as he examined our faces. “Why do I get the feeling something about this is going to make me unhappy?”

I tried to remember when I’d seen Cooper anything other than unhappy. “I told you this was a bad idea, Doc.”

Doc sat forward, palms flat on the table. “Hear us out and then you can decide what to believe and go from there.”

“I’m all ears.”

“Ms. Wolff was murdered by either the white-haired killer Violet and I battled at Mudder Brothers or his twin—the one she and Natalie saw in front of the funeral parlor in August.”

“What do you mean
or
?” Cooper’s focus slid to me. “You said he went up in smoke after you stabbed him.”

I sat up straight, feeling defensive under the detective’s scrutiny. “He did, but since there’s no body as proof, I thought
we
,” I emphasized the royal form, “weren’t sure that smoke equals death.”

Flashes of that night in the funeral parlor played through my mind ending with the albino’s struggle to reach the scissor blades I’d jammed into his back. All of it still seemed so surreal, the way his face had morphed and his eyes had turned snake like.
You again
, he’d said in that ghoulish voice right before he’d … hold up!

You again.

Holy shit! Did that mean he’d recognized me that night at the funeral parlor? He’d remembered chasing me around that apartment in the past with his ax? The time circle ramifications boggled my brain, making my hard drive chug.

“We aren’t sure he’s dead,” Cooper interrupted my epiphany. “Nor are we sure you’re sane, Parker.”

Lately, I wasn’t either. I wrinkled my upper lip at him.

“What was the murder weapon?” Cooper asked.

“A scythe-like ax,” I answered.

“A wooden handled medieval looking weapon,” Doc added, “with a blade on one side and a sharp point on the other. I could provide a rough sketch if you’re interested.”

“I’m still listening.” Cooper tipped his beer and downed half of his glass.

I took the reins. “We think Ms. Wolff suffered the same fate as those three victims back in the fifties. You know, the shrunken heads murder case that was never solved.” When he just stared at me, I felt compelled to throw out, “If you go back and research those three victims, you’ll find the victims were of the same ilk as Ms. Wolff and the killer.”

The detective’s gaze narrowed. “Ilk?”

“White hair, pale skin, albino-looking.”

“Are you insinuating that these particular so-called albinos are not human?”

“I’m not insinuating, I’m saying it straight up. Ms. Wolff and that ugly bastard I stabbed at Mudder Brothers and Caly from the Opera House are all the same species, which is not human.”

Skepticism was as plain as the crooked nose on his face.

I looked to Doc for reassurance. He pointed at where I’d caught the edge of the ax blade.

“When the victims were cut by the killer’s ax they shriveled up.” I pulled the v-neck of my shirt aside, showing Cooper my new red scar. “Unlike me.”

He glanced at the scar. “What do you mean unlike you?”

“He tried to slice me in half, but he missed.” I pulled my neckline back in place. “Mostly.”

“Who?”

“The albino.”

“You just said he wasn’t an albino.”

“Fine, the big, white-haired juggernaut who probably cut Ms. Wolff’s head off. The same asshole who decapitated those three back in the fifties.”

“Explain to me again how you know he was the one who decapitated them?”

“Because I saw it.”

“We saw it,” Doc corrected, squeezing my leg.

“You both saw the 1950s murders?” He focused on Doc.

“Correct.” I let Doc answer. Cooper didn’t think he was nuts. Not yet, anyway.

“And you both saw him cut off Ms. Wolff’s head?” Cooper’s tone was full of disbelief.

I had the feeling he was just humoring us at this point, which made my jaw clench. I leaned over the table. “No, not Ms. Wolff. I saw him chop off the heads of those three in the fifties.” My tone was clipped. “We had a séance in Ms. Wolff’s apartment and I witnessed—”

Doc grabbed my shoulder and pulled me back to my corner of the ring. “Violet, let me explain.”

I growled in my throat and snatched up my margarita.

Cooper shifted his steely gaze onto Doc. “Nyce, please tell me you didn’t buy stock in Parker’s story.”

Doc stared into his beer. “There’s something you need to understand.” He swallowed a drink. “Remember how I knew the details of Wilda Hessler’s death?”

Cooper nodded.

“How I knew that she didn’t die from a broken neck after her brother pushed her down the stairs, but rather bled to death from landing on the dagger she’d been holding when she fell?”

What? That was news to me.

The detective nodded again.

“I didn’t read about that detail in any obituary or any autopsy report. I’m not even sure if it’s listed there.”

“It’s in the autopsy report.” Cooper cocked his head. “If you didn’t read that, how did you know?”

Doc tapped his beer glass. “Since I was a kid, I’ve been able to interact with dead people.”

“Ghosts,” I clarified, to make sure Cooper’s thoughts didn’t take the necrophilia route.

“I’m a medium,” Doc held Cooper’s stare. “I can’t speak directly to them, but I can witness through their own eyes not only how they die, but any events that occurred in their lives right before death.”

Not a peep came from the detective, his face granite.

“That’s how I knew about Wilda Hessler. I fell down those stairs with her and landed on the dagger, I felt her pain and rage as she bled out.”

“Are you saying you have a sixth sense?” Cooper asked.

“If you want to call it that, okay.”

His eyes narrowed. “Are you fucking with me, Nyce?”

Doc shook his head. “While we’re clearing the air, the Deadwood Police Station has two ghosts, as far as I can tell. Your house is ghost-free; however, your uncle’s place isn’t. He’s got some traffic, but he already suspects that.”

“Jesus,” Cooper took another long drink, downing most of the glass. “Is this some early Halloween practical joke? You talk to ghosts and she’s a witch?”

I rolled my eyes. “Doc can’t talk to ghosts.”

“Violet is no witch,” Doc gave me a measured glance. “We’re still not sure what she is, but hocus pocus is not in her repertoire.”

Cooper’s gaze darted between us. “You’re both serious?”

“Yes,” Doc spoke first. “We weren’t thrilled about calling this meeting, but what’s going on in Deadwood is bigger than any of us can handle alone. You need Violet and me to help with what you can’t see, and we need you to keep the paths clear and the Detective Hawkes of your world off our backs.”

“So you two can have more séances in restricted areas?”

“Something like that.”

Cooper finished his beer. “I’m going to go to the bar and get another drink. When I come back, let’s try this again, only without the supernatural shit.” He left us alone.

I stirred my drink, noticing Cooper’s stiff gait. “He doesn’t believe us.”

“Would you have a few months ago?”

“Not at all.”

“Tonight is about planting seeds. Knowing Cooper, he’ll wait to see what they turn into as they grow, and then come back with a lot more questions.”

“I hope he doesn’t wait too long.” Or it might be too late.

Cooper returned. “So, let me get this straight.” He slid onto the bench seat. “The albino-like guy, who may or may not be the same one who sliced George Mudder’s head off the night Violet broke my nose, killed Ms. Wolff in her apartment with an ax. Do I have this game of Clue in the bag?”

“Or his twin did it.” Doc replied.

“The nose was your fault,” I stuck to my guns on that one.

After glaring back at me, he looked at Doc. “In your version of this game, why was Ms. Wolff murdered?”

“I’m not sure, but I think it has to do with Violet.”

“Because of the phone call she made to Parker?”

“No. I suspect the phone call was a warning of something that’s to come.”

“Why Parker? Why not call the police?”

“Because Ms. Wolff knew about Violet and her history with others like her—other non-humans. Remember Violet’s statement after the Opera House events? Dominic Masterson told her, ‘It’s in your hands now.’ Maybe he knew Ms. Wolff, or maybe word spread somehow to her.”

“There are a lot of maybes in your story.”

Doc shrugged. “I have a feeling there are more to come.”

Cooper took another drink, setting it down with a sigh. “You two must realize how ludicrous this sounds.”

I scoffed. “You should try sitting on our side of the table.”

“Who all knows about your theories?” he aimed the question at Doc.

“Only Violet and I have discussed it in this much detail, but Cornelius Curion, Freesia Tender, your uncle, and Violet’s aunt all know I’m a medium. Only Zoe and I know the particulars about Violet’s experiences.”

Cooper scrubbed both hands down his face. “You two should have asked me before going into that apartment.”

“Would you have consented?” I asked.

He fiddled with the coaster for a moment. “No.”

“I didn’t think so.”

“Nobody at the station is going to believe any of this.”

“That’s why we’re only telling you,” Doc said.

“I’m not sure I believe any of it.”

I looked at Doc. “Mark my words—this was a mistake.”

“You once sat on the detective’s side of the table.”

True. I turned to Cooper. “Whether or not you believe us, I trust the badge you wear ensures your silence, right?”

“If I breathe a word of any of this, Parker, I’ll be forced to have another psych eval.”

Another?

I opened my mouth to ask what had prompted the first one, but Doc poked my leg, nudging his chin toward the door. Natalie stood near the bar, taking off her coat. She zeroed in on me and headed our way.

“Hey,” she said as she drew near. “Your aunt said I’d find you here.” She did a doubletake on Cooper and took a step back. “Am I interrupting something?”

I hit the detective with a questioning look only to find his focus on Nat. When he just stared, I prompted, “Detective?”

The speed of sound seemed to have slowed to a snail’s pace based on how long it took him to reply. “Ah, we’re done here. I’ll leave you to your evening.” He reached for his coat.

“Bzzt, wrong answer, Cooper.” Natalie dropped onto the bench seat next to him. “You can’t leave yet.”

“I can’t?”

“Nope. Scooch over.” She hip bumped him deeper into the booth and then leaned in close to him, sniffing. “Is that you?” She sniffed again. “Damn, you smell yummy. Oh wait, you’re a cop. Let me rephrase that. Detective, you have a pleasant fragrance on this evening.” She grinned. “Sir.”

“Uh, thanks.” Cooper’s voice sounded thicker, garbled.

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep my hands to myself.” Her chuckle had a self-deprecation ring to it. “I’m not interested in the handcuff/strip search routine these days.”