Dead Case in Deadwood (42 page)

"You sure you want to do that?"

"Yes." Not really, but I was sure I wanted more of
Doc.

"When?"

I didn’t know exactly, or even how I’d broach the subject,
but it would have to be soon if Doc took me up on my offer. I wasn’t going to have
my kids lie for me. "Soon. Very soon. But first I need her help tonight,
and she’s going to need a clear head."

"Help with what?"

"We’re going to another viewing."

He groaned. "Why? Don’t try to tell me it’s because you
want to pay your condolences, either. I’m not Cooper."

"Something is going on with Ray."

"Besides being an asshole at work?"

"Well, that’s the thing. He hasn’t been in to work for
two days."

"Maybe he’s taking a little vacation."

"He missed the deadline to counter Cornelius’s latest
offer. Tiffany sent me a fax this morning. We got the hotel if we don’t hit any
other snags."

"That’s great, Violet. Congratulations."

"Yeah, thanks, but I’m not celebrating until I figure
out what Ray is up to."

"Let me guess, you think Ray’s not at work because he’s
coming up with a way to screw up your deal?"

"Pretty much, yes."

That and maybe he was feeling awkward about Jane. Then
again, Jane had been gone all day yesterday and wasn’t in yet today. Maybe they
were somewhere together, locked up in a hotel room where Ray was securing his
place in Jane’s bed, from where he’d order my dismissal.

"That sounds a tad paranoid," Doc said.

"I like to think of it as envisioning all possible
outcomes so that I can choose the proper course."

"Right," he said, dragging the word out. "What
do you hope to accomplish at Mudder Brothers tonight?"

"You mean you’re not going to try to stop me?"

"If I’ve learned anything about you over the last few
weeks, Violet, it’s that there is no stopping you once your mind is set."

My father called that being driven and smiled down at me
with pride. Mom used labels such as borderline compulsive and obsessive and
offered green tea every time I stopped by.

"I’m going to Mudder Brothers to pick George’s brain—with
Natalie’s help. I want to find out if Ray was pushing him to buy the hotel just
to screw with me. I also want to see if I can find out the name of the
prostitute from his records, one way or another."

"One way or another, huh? Are you sure that’s a good
idea? Cooper is watching you like a hawk right now. If he hears you’re even at
the viewing, he’ll be hell bent to track you down. I won’t be home to bail you
out of jail until later."

Every time Doc mentioned bailing me out of jail, I felt all
warm and bubbly inside.

"Cooper isn’t going to find out," I said, trying
to ignore the bubbles. "Natalie and I will be in and out in a flash. Plus,
we’re having old man Harvey run interference. He’s going to go hang out with
Cooper until I give him the all-clear sign."

"Violet." He paused for several beats. "Be
careful."

I had a feeling he’d edited out several comments before
tossing out that short and sweet warning. "I will."

"Promise me you will not try to sneak into the side
room to see what’s in those crates."

"I promise," I said, but crossed my fingers just
in case something came up that changed my plans. "My focus tonight is
asking George about Ray and checking out his death records."

"Good. Because I really want to see you tonight."
He paused, and then added, "Along with your cherry-flavored lip gloss."

I grinned. Lusty Lil strikes again. "See you later,
Doc."

"You will."

For the next several heartbeats, I sat in my chair and
daydreamed about rolling around naked with Doc on a bed of cash from the sale
of the Old Prospector Hotel.

Then I remembered what Harvey told me last night about the
corpse’s identity and I smacked my forehead. Dang it! I should have told Doc
about that.

Or maybe not. After all, our little falling out had been
over that damned head. It was probably better to broach that subject tonight in
person, picking up right where we’d left off—with my hand on his thigh.

I glanced down at the acceptance letter Tiffany had faxed, and
then frowned at Ray’s empty desk. The snake was up to something. I’d lay odds
it had to do with my job going up in smoke—poof!

Tonight, I was going to get some answers out of George
Mudder so that the next time Ray attacked, I’d be ready and waiting.

* * *

Judging from the parking lot at Mudder Brothers Funeral
Parlor, the majority of the viewing crowd had gone home to catch the last half
of
Jeopardy
.

"Don’t park here," I told Natalie, and directed
her around behind the Recreation Center instead. "Cooper might be
watching."

I looked at her as she killed the engine. "Remember,
we’re going to be legit this time. Nothing funny with George."

She pulled a bottle of perfume from her glove box and
spritzed her wrists. A sultry fruity scent filled the cab, making me hungry for
mango.

"Why are you so worried about Cooper all of a sudden?"
she asked.

"Because I don’t want to end up spending the night in
the Deadwood cop shop." Plus Doc was coming over for the first time, and I
didn’t want to screw up our little date night by not showing up because I was
too busy sitting in a jail cell.

She snorted. "You’re obsessed with Coop."

Clinically, she was probably close to the mark. He was like
my own personal Eye of Mordor these days, seemingly always watching, rarely
blinking. I envisioned poking that big eye with a pencil eraser.

"He’s only human, you know," she added, pulling
her keys from the ignition and reaching for the door handle.

I thought of his gunshot riddled T-shirt. "I’m not so
positive about that."

I stepped to the ground and brushed some tiny chicken feathers
off of my black velvet slacks.

The sun had dropped below the hills to the west, but the air
was still filled with warm thermals rising from the asphalt. I watched for cop
cars as we snuck across the Mudder Brothers lot.

"Who are we paying our respects to tonight?" I
asked Natalie as we neared the front porch.

"Victor Haskell."

"Haskell? Didn’t we just go to a Haskell viewing last
week?"

"Yeah, Victor’s second cousin."

"How many Haskells are there around here?"

"Lots. They’re old-school Catholics."

Mudder Brother’s front porch area smelled like cigarette
smoke, but there was no smoker to be found.

I held the door for Natalie, and then followed her into the
foyer, passing several folks on their way out.

We found George in the main room. Only a handful of mourners
filled the seats. George stood by the casket, consoling an older woman dressed in
black from the tip of her veiled hat to her black patent leather spiked heels.
Good thing I hadn’t brought Harvey along. Saucy-looking widows were his
kryptonite.

We sat in our usual seats at the back of the room and waited
for George to greet us with his row of little corn-on-the-cob teeth.

"So," Natalie whispered, "am I going to ask
him about Ray or are you?"

"I will." I whispered back.

"Remind me why I’m here again instead of down at the
Blue Outlaw kicking it up in your purple boots?"

"Make that purple boot," I said, nodding at her
injured leg. "You’re here to help me grease the wheels on getting into the
records room."

"Right, the dead prostitute." She grabbed a
toothbrush from her pants pocket and shoved it down into her cast boot,
grunting in satisfaction as she scratched. "Remind me again how you
learned about this dead girl’s ghost and why we care."

So many reminders—she could use some of that Ginkgo Biloba. "Cornelius
claims she exists," I lied. "And I care because I’m curious if
Cornelius is legit."

"Curious enough to bug George to see his records?"
She watched me with a narrowed gaze. "Are you sure that’s the only reason?"

She knew me too well. "The poor girl was supposedly
murdered in the hotel my client is buying." I poured on some compassion.
Not to mention that the murderers had taken her teeth, just as they had Prudence’s,
which had me curious. How many more people were murdered back then by these
brutes and why? It had to do with something more than just a fetish for canine
teeth.

"It sounds like you are actually beginning to believe
in ghosts. What’s up with that?"

I shrugged. "I’m not saying I do or don’t at this
point, but if there really is a ghost, she deserves a name." And I wanted
an answer about that little box of teeth Cooper was sitting on. I wondered if
Doc had had a chance to dig deeper into his vision of the murder scene.

"Fair enough. What about the headless guy? The other
funeral home owner. Are we going to ask about him, too?"

I wanted to, but decided to focus on Ray for now. Too many
questions might make George run away. "Let’s hold off on that until
another viewing. Unless the subject comes up."

She snickered. "Comes up? You mean like, ‘Hi, George, nice
weather we’re having, huh? Have any more headless corpses come in? If so, were
they more of your cohorts? Oh, and by the way, did you happen to kill the last
headless corpse-dude and destroy the evidence during the autopsy?’"

I wrinkled my nose at her. "You’re lucky I’m not
wearing socks or you’d be chewing on them."

She grinned wider, stifling a giggle.

Ten minutes later, George had just four of us left in the
room. He made a point of coming over to hug Natalie and shake my hand,
bestowing me with a closed-lip smile that barely tipped the corners of his lips.
I wondered what bullshit Ray had been spreading about me to his client.

"Hello, ladies. Good to see you again. How is your Aunt
Beatrice doing?" he asked Natalie.

"She’s looking for love in all of the wrong places
again. You know how she gets."

George nodded, his eyes darting to the one-way glass on our
right. "That’s good to hear."

Huh? I shared a narrow-eyed glance with Natalie and forced
myself not to look at the one-way glass. I didn’t want to let on to George that
I knew about that viewing room. I had plans to come back another day and sneak
in there to open one of his damned crates.

"George," I said, touching his arm to bring his
attention back to us. "Have you seen Ray? I need to …" rub it in, "to
talk to him about some real estate business, but he hasn’t shown up at work in
a couple of days."

His barely-there smile grew twitchy on the left side. "No,
I haven’t."

"You mean he didn’t contact you in the last twenty-four
hours to discuss increasing your offer for the Old Prospector Hotel?"

"No, I haven’t heard from him at all. Maybe he’s
visiting his mother over in Brookings."

"Maybe," I said, but I wasn’t buying the mom in
Brookings theory. Ray was hatched from a reptile nest. Snakes didn’t make
loving sons.

Something was wrong with this picture. Ray sleeps with a very
drunk Jane, and then he disappears without keeping tabs on the bidding war that
could result in my dismissal from his precious real estate world?

George frowned at his reflection in the one-way glass,
shaking his head so slightly that I wasn’t sure if he was doing it on purpose
or if it was just a tick. Then he made a cutting gesture across his throat, as
if to silence someone who was watching.

"What are you doing?" Natalie asked him.

"The sound system has been giving us grief all evening.
There is something wrong with the mics up front." He made the motion again
to the one-way glass. "I’m sorry, girls, but I need to take care of this."
He turned toward the front of the room, but Natalie’s hand on his arm stalled
him.

"George," she said, "we are looking for the
name of a prostitute who was murdered in the late 1800s for one of Violet’s
curious clients. Can we take a quick look at your books?"

"My books?"

"Yes, it seems like Aunt Beatrice told me that you keep
records on the deceased and that you have some historic volumes that came with
the funeral parlor when you purchased it from the previous owner."

Relief etched lines on his face. "Oh, you mean my registers
of the deceased. Yes, of course. You’re welcome to them. Let me show you where
they are, and then you can just let yourself out the front when you’re
finished."

"We’ll be out of your hair before you know it,"
Natalie assured him with a shoulder squeeze.

I knew there was a reason I’d brought her along. I smiled at
her with pride. Maybe if I got her really drunk, and then told her about Doc
and me, she wouldn’t want to kill me straight out. She was a happy drunk, which
was when and why her men problems usually started.

She stuck her tongue out at me and followed behind George.

He led us to the little room off the foyer. Both Natalie and
I faked surprise that it was more than just a coat closet.

With a quick smile, he left us outside the door to go say
goodbye to the last of the deceased’s family as they left the viewing parlor.

Natalie opened the door to the records room and ushered me
in, "After you, Sherlock."

"Thank you, Watson."

We left the door open a crack so George wouldn’t get
suspicious about our true motives … which really were just to find out the
prostitute’s name. I wasn’t used to being within legal limits when it came to
Mudder Brothers.

The foyer grew quiet as Natalie and I began digging through
the thick books of deaths gone by that were divided by decade. She took the
1880s and I took the 1890s. As we perused the tattered, ancient-looking volumes,
the sounds of the funeral parlor quieted to dead silence.

I flipped another page, scanning down the Cause of Death
column. Because Doc didn’t know the exact year of the girl’s death, I had to
focus more on the how of it all, not the when. "George could use some
classes on filing. I get the feeling these books were just thrown in here on
the shelves and left to rot."