Dead Case in Deadwood (19 page)

His head cocked to the side a little, as if he had his
doubts. I resisted the urge to plead my case.

"I heard Wymonds talking about you the other night at
the Golden Sluice," Cooper said.

Jeff was talking about me in a bar? That couldn’t be good.
Hold up. I thought Jeff had stopped drinking after his soon-to-be-ex moved out.

I shrugged. "It’s a free country. Jeff can say whatever
he wants. It doesn’t mean it’s true."

"What about your new client? Mr. Top Hat from Vegas?"

How did Cooper know about Cornelius? Had the cops been
called during the ruckus two nights ago?

"What about him?"

"Do you use his back door, too?"

I crossed my arms so that I wouldn’t clobber him. "I
don’t see how this is any of your business, Detective Cooper. Being friendly
with my clients isn’t breaking any laws, nor does it incriminate me with regard
to the headless corpse over at Mudder Brothers. So, what’s your point?"

"I’m just trying to figure you out, Ms. Parker."

His smirk reminded me of Ray’s earlier this afternoon and made
me want to stomp on his toe. I leaned toward him, lowering my voice. "Really,
Cooper? Or is it that you just get off on harassing smart blondes who can solve
the cases you can’t?"

His eyes frosted over.

Oops. I might have gone too far there. I glanced at the back
door, wondering if I should retreat before he handcuffed me to a runaway
stagecoach.

A muscle in his jaw ticked. "That was pretty low,
Violet."

Yes, it was. "Well, you really piss me off sometimes."

"Only sometimes?"

Squeezing away the tension he’d caused in the back of my
neck, I dropped my focus to his chest. His black tie was covered with little
police crests.

"Why do you have to always be so bristly and probing?"
I asked.

"It’s my job."

My eyes returned to his face. "It’s your job to be an
asshole to me?"

"I tried to be nice to you yesterday in my office."

"True." I’d give him that.

"Then you puked on my favorite tie."

My cheeks flamed.

I heard the jingle of bells—someone had opened the front
door. I’d been saved.

We both looked down the hall as Doc came into view wearing a
white button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up and dark blue jeans that
hugged his long legs. In his hand, he clutched a batch of mail.

He stopped at the sight of us standing there, and looked
from Cooper to me, his focus dipping for a split-second to my dress before
climbing back to my mouth and then eyes.

His eyebrows lifted slightly. "What’s going on?"

I stepped back against the wall, putting some much needed
space between the detective and me. "I stopped in to say, ‘Hi,’ and ran
into Cooper. Silly me, I didn’t realize the Deadwood police had moved their
interrogation chamber to your bathroom."

Doc’s lips twitched, but he kept a straight face. "Did
you manage to convince the detective of your innocence?"

"No. He still thinks I did it in the conservatory with
the lead pipe."

Cooper didn’t even crack a grin. He really should try to
remove that corncob from his anal cavity.

"Don’t you have a question for Mr. Nyce, Violet?"
Cooper asked.

Did I? "What question?"

"The one you had to stop in to ask him this late in the
evening while dressed in your Sunday best rather than just giving him a call."

I glanced down at my blue paisley wrap-around dress. "This
isn’t my Sunday best."

"I can vouch for that," Doc said.

I fought the urge to shoot Doc a warning glare.

Cooper raised one brow, but said nothing. He waited for that
question of mine.

Crap!

I looked to Doc for help, but he just grinned back, letting
me flounder, damn him. Double crap!

"Right. My question."
Think, think, think
. "I
was ah … wondering if you would … um … take a look at some papers my bank sent to
me."

Jeesh. A ninety-five year old with cataracts could see
through that lie.

"Papers, huh?" Cooper squinted at me a couple more
seconds, and then turned to Doc. "If you and I are finished here, I’ll let
myself out the back so Violet can show you her
papers
."

"We’re done," Doc said, chuckling. "I’ll call
you in a couple of days."

Why? Was Doc handling Cooper’s finances? Or was this about
me? About the headless body? The fire earlier today? My snooping?

I took a calming breath, reminding the vain, hysterical
broad in my head that not everything was about her.

Before he left, Cooper shot me a parting glare. "Stay
away from Mudder Brothers. I meant what I said there the other night."

I waited until he’d closed the door behind him to flip him
off. "God, that man drives me nuts."

"What did he mean?"

"About what?"

Doc leaned his shoulder against the wall. "That Mudder
Brothers comment."

"Who knows what Cooper means most of the time? He
speaks in some kind of cop lingo."

"He sounded pretty clear to me. What happened at Mudder
Brothers the other night?"

Crud. This was not how I’d planned to let Doc in on my
theory about Ray and George Mudder. Not the time or place. Some things are
better shared when naked. Things like sneaking around in funeral homes looking
for clues about a body-part-stealing crime ring.

"Violet," Doc’s voice had grown serious, that lilt
of mirth long gone. "Spit it out."

"I’m not sure where to start."

"How about the truth? Why you were at Mudder Brothers
again?"

"For a viewing." That was the truth.

"Keep talking."

"Elsa Haskell died, and Harvey and I went to give our
condolences to the family. Cooper showed up later and being the suspicious toad
that he is, he decided I was up to no good and threatened me with a restraining
order."

Doc’s eyes took on a feral squint. "Why do I have the
feeling that you just skipped from the introduction to the final chapter in
that story?"

I shrugged, hugging my arms. "Okay, so maybe I skipped
the part about using Harvey as a decoy during the viewing so that I could sneak
into George Mudder’s back room and look for clues for a body-part-stealing crime
that I think Ray is involved in." I paused after spewing that bit. I
needed a breath.

"What?"

Now that I had my tongue rolling, I figured I might as well
let it all out.

"And maybe I omitted the part about Cooper showing up
while Natalie was with me in the room behind the glass trying to help me see
what George had locked up tight in one of his big crates. And maybe Cooper then
busted Natalie and me after we’d escaped to the parking lot, and when she tried
to show him the tattoo on her butt to prove our innocence, he threatened her
with a public nudity charge and mentioned taking me down to the station. But
come on, really, I think he’s going a little too far with the restraining order
warning. Don’t you?"

Doc stared back at me, his jaw unhinged. "You’re
kidding, right?"

"Did I mention that the crate was so heavy that Natalie
and I could barely budge it? Or that Harvey was wearing strawberry-scented love
gel that he and his widowed lover-girl had gotten on the God-awful yellow plaid
suit he borrowed from her dead husband’s closet?"

"Holy shit." He scrubbed his hand down his face,
leaving a furrowed brow behind.

"I know. Kind of crazy, right?"

"Just ‘kind of’?" He crossed his arms.

His rigid body language kept me rooted in my spot by the
bathroom door. He obviously wasn’t thrilled with my Nancy Drew initiative. No
surprise there. But then again, he didn’t have Ray crawling up his ass day in
and day out. Maybe if Doc walked a mile in my boots, he’d have a little more
understanding.

"When were you going to tell me about this?"

I shrugged. "Eventually. I was building up to it."

"Violet, we made a deal, remember? No more secrets."

He was one to talk. Late meetings with Cooper and sneaky
phone calls to his ex-lover aside, Doc still tended to change the subject
during our nightly chats when I asked about his past or his ghost-sniffing
ability.

My cell phone rang, saving us from a verbal tug-o-war
regarding who was the bigger secret keeper.

I pulled it from my purse and looked at the number. Cornelius.
"Oh, fudge," I’d forgotten why I’d come to Doc’s office in the first
place. I shoved my phone back in my purse without answering it. "We gotta
go."

Sundown was fast approaching while Doc and I stood here in
his stuffy back hallway not touching.

"You ready?" I hoped he wouldn’t hold my
secret-keeping against me and decide to skip tonight. I really needed his help.

"Who’s driving?" he asked.

"I was thinking we should probably play it safe and
drive separately." With Natalie out there spying on him from her truck, I
didn’t want to take any chances.

"No," he said flat out.

"No?"

Shoving off the wall, he shook his head. "If you want
me at that hotel, you’re driving me there. I want to talk to you about
something on the way over."

"You do?"

"Just give me a minute to lock up."

I slipped out the back door and waited, keeping an eye out
for Natalie’s truck until Doc joined me and ushered me to lead the way.

Still, no touching. Not even his usual flirting brushes. I
slowed, hoping he’d bump into me by accident, but he matched my pace. Damn him.
After the crappy-ass day I’d had, I could really use some touching from Doc, a
stolen kiss or two, some well-placed rubs, even.

"You were early this evening," he said when we
reached the pickup.

Right. I learned my lesson on that one, too, thanks to
Cooper. Doc held the door for me as I climbed behind the wheel, but managed to
keep his distance.

"I got antsy."

He walked around the back of the pickup and crawled inside
the cab next to me. "I heard about Wymonds’ garage. You okay?"

"Yeah. Nobody got hurt."

"Good. Cooper most likely knows about us now, you
realize. You should probably practice your lying on the fly a bit more if we’re
going to keep this up."

What did he mean "if"? I winced. I didn’t like the
sound of that.

"I doubt he’ll mention it to anyone, though," Doc
added.

"I hope not." I frowned over at him. "I don’t
mean that the way it sounded."

"Just drive, Violet." He stayed on his side of the
cab with no attempt to reach out to me.

I started up the pickup and backed out of my spot. While I’d
never been the touchy-feely kind of girlfriend, Doc’s withdrawal stung. I
searched for something to break the silence building between us.

"What did you want to talk to me about? Is it about
that demon cult book?"

I pulled out onto the street, looking around for Natalie’s
truck. All clear.

"No. It’s about the Old Prospector Hotel. I spent some
time digging around in the library yesterday, then online at home."

"Sorry I could only text you last night." I’d
missed the soothing sound of his voice way too much, which had kept me awake
with frustration long after Natalie’s sleep talking had stopped. The girl
really needed a muzzle some nights.

"You had a sick kid, Violet. I understand. How is Addy?"

"Good. I think she learned her lesson about sneaking a half-pound
of M&Ms into her room and eating them all in one sitting."

He chuckled, a deep, raspy rumbling sound.

A flame of hope rose in my chest. Maybe everything would be
all right if I just allowed the ashes from today’s explosions to settle.

I glanced at him, admiring, remembering the feel of his skin
under my fingers. I corralled the strong primal need to reach across the bench
seat and touch his thigh, his arm, any part of him.

Instead, I gripped the steering wheel, focused on allowing
that flame of hope some space and time to breathe and grow, and asked him, "So,
what did you learn about the hotel?"

"It was the site of a multiple suicide."

My flame of hope extinguished.

Once upon a time there was a Realtor who drove an old green
pickup off the edge of the Open Cut mine and screamed obscenities all of the
way to the bottom.

The End.

In my peripheral vision, I could see Doc watching me. After
dropping his bomb about the "multiple-suicide" tragedy at the Old
Prospector Hotel, he probably was wondering if my head would go supernova right
in front of him.

I eased the Picklemobile to a stop at a red light, pumping
the gas pedal a little to ease it through a case of the sputters. The old beast
seemed to be channeling my emotions.

I kept my eyes glued to the round tail lights of a blue, early-sixties
Thunderbird in front of us. The rich fumes from its dual exhaust pipes seeped
in through the vents, feeding the headache building behind my eyes.

"Define ‘multiple suicide,’" I said, cranking my
window down and sucking in some fresh air.

Doc followed my lead and lowered his window. "Four
women found in one of the upstairs rooms."

"Only women?"

"Prostitutes."

Of course, painted ladies. My eyes watered from the stink of
exhaust, not so much the sad loss of lives. Death was too often a casualty of
their rough-and-rowdy careers.

"How long ago did this happen?" I asked.

According to Jeff and Harvey, the last cat house had closed
in the eighties. A multiple suicide didn’t bode well for business, I guessed,
which would explain the hotel’s history of decline as noted in the figures
Tiffany shared with Cornelius and me.

"Back in late 1800s, after the Black Hills Gold Rush."

That long ago? Maybe I wouldn’t drive off the rim of the
Open Cut after all.

Doc continued. "The only other instance I found of a
death on the premises was from a stray bullet during a gunfight in the street
in front of the place."