Dead Case in Deadwood (20 page)

I squeezed the bridge of my nose, trying to squish my
headache. "So, if this hotel really is haunted," and heaven help us all
if Cornelius was legit, "it’s probably one of those four prostitutes?"

"Most likely."

Finally, the light turned green and the Thunderbird left us
in a cloud of smoke. Nice. I hit the gas. "Are ghosts always tied to the
place where they die?"

"No."

I waited for more of an explanation and, as usual, I
received nothing but dead air. I shot Doc a frowning look. "Care to expand
on that."

"It gets complicated."

So had our relationship, and in such a short time, too. Go
figure. "Try me."

He seemed to hesitate.

I thought I knew why. "Before you bring up me not
buying into this supernatural business, let’s just pretend for a moment that I
believe in ghosts, and that you believe I believe in ghosts." I turned
right onto Main Street. The hotel was at the other end. "Okay?"

"If you say so."

"Could the ghost rumored to haunt the Old Prospector
have actually died somewhere else?"

If memory served me right, Cornelius had claimed to see possibly
three ghosts during our first visit to the place, and then hear two more in the
wall upstairs. So, either the four prostitutes had been having a slumber party,
or they were playing musical walls with Cornelius.

"Yes," Doc said. "Some of the ghosts I’ve
encountered died elsewhere."

I pondered that for a moment. "So, you’re saying these
dead prostitutes may not be hanging around the joint still. The ghost could be
some lonesome, lovesick dead miner who’d come looking for his favorite
prostitute. Only when he arrived, she’d already moved on to the next town, so
he stayed at the hotel, pining for her ever since."

"Sure. I guess." Doc chuckled. "Those are
nice rose-colored glasses you’re wearing tonight."

I shrugged. "I’m a romantic at heart."

"I’ll keep that in mind the next time I’m trying to woo
you."

As if he even had to try. One flirting glance from him most
days and I swooned like an Elvis groupie.

"Well, if ghosts can roam," I said, "that
changes things."

"For whom?"

"You."

"What do you mean?"

"You don’t know what you’re going to walk into at the
hotel. It could be one of those prostitutes," or more than just one, "or
someone else entirely."

"Right. What’s your point?"

"How can you prepare for what you’re about to
experience?"

And for that matter, how could I? I had figured on Doc being
ready mentally for whatever hit him so he wouldn’t have a repeat, keeling-over
performance like what had happened weeks ago in the Carhart house, when he’d
crumpled and been knocked out cold for a good five minutes. But now I wasn’t so
sure this was a good idea. My two-inch heels weren’t appropriate attire for
catching a six-foot-plus male in my arms.

I needed to have a game plan. If Doc passed out on me in the
middle of the casino, I couldn’t just sweep him under the rug and move on.
People would notice the big lump in the carpet, the EMS might be called in,
Reid could show up, Natalie would catch word of it all and Tiffany, too. Crap! My
lower back started to sweat.

This could blow up in my face—and Doc’s. He didn’t need
folks thinking something was wrong with him, not when he handled other people’s
money for a living.

"That’s the catch, huh?" Doc said. "If I walk
in and get hit hard, I’m going to have to leave."

If he could walk out on his own, that was.

I pulled into the parking lot behind the hotel. We both were
silent while I found a spot to park the Picklemobile. The backfire sounded ten
times louder in clear, early evening air, and surprised a yelp out of an older
couple passing by.

Doc grinned at me in the semidarkness. "There’s no
sneaking around in this thing is there?"

"Harvey likes to arrive with a bang."

We stared at each other for several heartbeats, while the
air thickened with a tension that had nothing to do with ghosts and haunted
hotels.

So many pheromones, so little time. Damn.

He reached across the seat and tugged one of my many wayward
curls. "You ready, Boots?"

The heat in his eyes warmed away my chills, but my hands
stayed locked on the steering wheel, my anxiety churning in my chest. "Maybe
this isn’t such a great idea."

"Chickening out?" His grin teased.

"Yeah, I think I am."

His left eyebrow rose slightly. "You have no problem
sneaking around in a funeral home with a dead body in the next room over, but a
hotel rumored to be haunted gives you pause."

"It’s not the hotel that has me concerned."

"Is this about being seen with me in public? Will it
help if I promise not to touch you?"

While his smile still teased, his gaze had an intensity that
spoke of something more serious. I ignored the reference to the Natalie mess. "I’m
worried about what I’m dragging you into."

"I think I can handle a few ghosts."

"Are you sure?"

"Let’s go see." He shoved open his door.

We walked single file across the parking lot with me in the
lead. I hesitated outside the hotel’s main entrance in front of a couple of
benches divided by an ashtray. The smell of smoke hung heavy in the warm
evening air. Doc stepped around me and pulled one of the glass doors open,
holding it wide enough for me to enter without touching him.

The hotel greeted us with a whoosh of cool air, the jingling
of slot machines, and Johnny Cash singing about a boy named Sue.

I heard Doc sniff and looked up into his face, searching for
any of the typical signs I’d witnessed when he was about to be slammed with a
ghost—pale skin, shallow breaths, dilated pupils. His usual grin was gone, his
tension visible in the lines on his forehead.

Leading the way, I walked through the lobby, past the rows
of slot machines lined with patrons. By the time we reached Socrates, we’d
traversed several invisible walls of flowery perfume, making my headache a dull
roar. I paused and pretended to read the placard about the old mule.

Doc’s hand brushed mine as he joined me. "Socrates
could use a nose job."

A peek at Doc showed no signs of trouble. "You okay?"
I asked, anyway.

"No problem."

"Does that mean the rumors are false?"

"Not necessarily. It just means the only beings down
here still have blood pumping through their veins."

I peered around the room, looking for any familiar
faces—Natalie’s and Tiffany’s, in particular. Spotting only strangers, I
grabbed Doc’s hand, squeezing it.

He lifted both brows. "You’re taking a chance."

Everything about Doc was a gamble for me. "I know."

I tugged him toward the elevator. He didn’t pull free.

The elevator doors opened as soon as I hit the button, as if
they were waiting for us to arrive. Squeezing Doc’s hand tighter, I drew him inside
behind me and pushed the third floor button as the doors shut.

Closing the distance between us, I wrapped my arms around
his neck. "Still feeling good?"

He stood stiff as a tree as I pressed against him. "What
are you doing, Violet?"

Throwing myself at him, as usual. "In most cultures,
this is considered a pre-mating ritual."

The corner of his mouth twitched. "There’s a camera in
the corner watching us."

"I don’t care."

"You should. This is a small town. People talk. A lot."

Pushing aside all of the angst about my screwed-up life, I
leaned my forehead against his chest and just breathed. The scent of his skin
mixed with his fabric softener and woodsy cologne eased some of the tension
pounding behind my eyes.

The second floor bell dinged; we kept rising.

"Thank you for helping me tonight, Doc."

"I haven’t done anything."

"You’re here."

"I’m curious."

"Maybe so," I smiled up at him, "but you’re
here with me."

His dark eyes searched mine, then his easy grin surfaced. "Yeah,
well, I have a weakness for smart blondes with sexy curves."

I nuzzled his neck. "What are you doing later?"

The third floor bell dinged.

His hands skimmed down my ribs and over my hips. "Peeling
that dress off of you."

I pulled away from Doc as the doors opened, loving the fire
in his eyes as they drifted down the front of my dress.

"Ready?" I asked.

"For you, Boots, on cue."

I stepped out of the elevator into the third floor hallway. Halfway
to Cornelius’ suite, I realized Doc wasn’t following me.

A glance behind me found him leaning against the wall, bent
part-way over. His eyes were closed, each ragged breath visible in his bent
back.

I rushed back to him. "Doc?"

"It’s here."

"Is the smell as strong as Prudence’s was?" I said
referring to the presence he claimed was in the Carhart house.

"I told you before, Violet; it’s not just a smell."

"Humor me."

"It’s stronger. Something is wrong."

"Maybe we should leave." I glanced back toward the
elevator.

"No. Just give me a minute."

He inhaled deeply several times, his Adam’s apple bobbing
with each gulp. I stood by and kneaded my hands. The third floor seemed
unnaturally quiet, thank God. The sight of Doc all pasty-gray and wheezing
would draw attention.

"Okay, let’s go." Doc pushed off the wall, and led
the way. "Which room is it?"

"Just up ahead on the left." I followed Doc, close
enough to try to catch him if he dropped.

When we reached Cornelius’ room, Doc leaned against the
jamb.

I frowned up at him. "You sure you want to do this?"

He knocked on the door.

The sound of footfalls came from the other side. As the door
clicked open, I stood up straight and pasted on my happy-Realtor smile.

"Hi, Corn—" I started.

Only it wasn’t Cornelius. It was Safari Skipper from behind
the hotel’s reception desk.

She smiled back. "You must be Violet. Master Curion
awaits you."

I must be Violet? She said that as if we hadn’t already met
at the reception desk.

She held open the door, ushering us inside the shadowed
entryway, and then led the way into the chilled suite. Cornelius must have the
windows open, or the air conditioner cranked on high.

I hesitated, leaning back to whisper to Doc, "Did she
say ‘Master’?"

He nodded, sweat beading his upper lip. His eyes looked like
black marbles against his too-pale skin, his pupils were dilated.

"Doc, you should—"

"Just go." He nudged me forward.

I took several steps across the plush carpet and came to an
abrupt stop just inside the darkened, in-suite living room. "Holy crap."

Every available surface was covered in computer screens,
video cameras, and black boxes with blinking green and red lights. In the midst
of the digital wonderland, Cornelius sat at a round table with three people I’d
never seen in my life. Each sat in front of an open laptop, the screens
lighting their faces in an eerie glow—the only light in the room. The tang of
heated plastic and electronic bits mixed with a sweet vanilla aroma,
undoubtedly from the dinner-plate-sized white candle flickering in the center
of the table. The scene alone gave me goosebumps, the blast of cool air from a
fan to my right increased my chills.

Where had Safari Skipper run off to? Who were the others at
the table? And why in the hell was Cornelius wearing a Viking-like hat with
only one horn?

Cornelius glanced up from the screen, looking absurd with the
horn sticking out the side of his head as he stroked his goatee. "Violet,
you came, just as promised."

I didn’t remember promising him anything. It was more like
an ultimatum.

Cornelius’ cornflower blue eyes glanced behind me, his smile
appearing, making his cheekbones look even more gaunt. "And you brought a friend—excellent.
Seven will help us make a stronger circle of power."

"Circle of power?" What was this? A casting call
for
The World’s Greatest Super Friends
cartoon
?

"Is your friend a believer?" Cornelius continued
in spite of my slack jaw. "Skeptics might skew our results tonight."

"A believer in what?" I asked. A stupid question,
but I had a short history of misunderstanding Cornelius, and I wanted to make
sure we were on the exact same page tonight.

Cornelius laughed. It sounded like a horse whinnying. My
headache clenched my brain. "Ghosts, of course. I told you we were having
a séance tonight."

No. He had not told me
that
.

I would have remembered if he had, and I would’ve worn
something much more black and ninja-ish, like everyone else—if I’d actually
decided to show up.

And I would never have asked Doc to join me.

Oh, shit.
Doc.

Wincing, I slowly turned to look up at Doc and ran headlong
into his very dark, very pinched glare. A muscle ticked in his jaw.

"You should have told me, Violet," he said. He
might have been compressing pieces of the Earth’s mantle into diamonds between
his back molars.

I opened my mouth, but hesitated, not sure where to start in
my please-forgive-me speech, especially with Cornelius listening.

"Don’t waste your breath," Doc said in a low,
disgust-thickened tone.

After shooting a wary glare behind me, he turned and stalked
out the door, leaving me alone with the ghost whisperer and his crew of ghost-seeking
ninjas.

* * *

After Doc left, Cornelius spent time explaining to me the
purpose of all of his meters and gadgets and cameras, and what each of us were
supposed to do throughout the séance.

Safari Skipper and her leather-covered-biker-boyfriend were
in charge of the video cameras. They were to make sure all fifteen, spread
throughout the whole suite, stayed running while the ghosts came calling.
According to Cornelius, ghosts were often shy and had a funny habit of turning
off electronics.