Dead Case in Deadwood (47 page)

He leaned back in his seat, steepling his fingers together while
squinting at me. "Now, let me get this straight."

"You put the lime in the coconut, you drank ‘em both
up," I sang, Harry Nilsson’s tune popping into my head. I blamed
post-traumatic stress disorder.

Cooper’s eyes narrowed. "Funny, Ms. Parker. You’re a
real comedian. In lieu of your sad attempt at humor, let’s go through the
events that took place after you called me one more time."

I growled in frustration and sat back in his torture chair,
the vinyl cushion squished flat. "I’ve told you exactly what happened from
start to finish twice now. There’s nothing more to it."

"I beg to differ. There are gaping holes in your story,
which ends with a magical disappearing act."

"I’m telling the truth as I witnessed it."

"How do I know that you didn’t use that big pair of
shears to cut off George Mudder’s head yourself, and then clean up all of the
blood?"

I glared at him. "Why would I do that?"

"You tell me. There should have been a bloody mess in
that room, yet there wasn’t."

The lack of blood still had me scratching my head. At the
time, I had been too focused on the albino to think about it. Now, though,
after hearing the EMT tell Cooper it appeared the wound had been cauterized
instantly, I couldn’t make sense of it. I’d seen the blades come from the albino’s
sleeves, I was sure of it. Could they have been superheated? Right, yet they
didn’t catch his sleeves on fire.

Shrugging, I said, "Why don’t you just ask Ray about
George’s murder? He was in there with me when it happened."

"Ray claims not to have been able to see anything in
relation to George’s murder. He wasn’t even sure George was dead until I
unstrapped him from the gurney."

Great. My innocence now depended on Ray clearing me of
George’s death. I could only imagine how Ray would use this little kernel as
leverage over me. "Did you ask him about the albino?"

"No, because I didn’t know all of the details about ‘the
albino,’" he smirked as he said the name, "until Ray was removed from
the scene of the crime. I’ll touch base with him tomorrow."

It wasn’t fair that Ray and Natalie got to go home while here
I sat, fighting for my innocence. All I’d wanted to do tonight was research a
freaking name.

There was something I wondered about while I’d been waiting
for Cooper to join me in his office. "Why was Ray even there tonight? Have
you asked yourself that question?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I know why he was there."

That made me sit up straight. "You do?"

"Yes. He was running shipments for George. He got too
nosey and opened a crate, even though I’d warned him not to yet."

"You warned him?" I glared at him. "You mean
you knew about him working with the Mudder brothers this whole time?"

He nodded.

"Why didn’t you tell me?"

Cooper cocked his head to the side. "Because I was
unaware that you were hired by the Deadwood Police Department as an undercover
detective. And here all along I thought you were just my Realtor."

He met my wrinkled upper lip head on. "So, Ray was
working with you and with George Mudder, like a double agent."

"More like a snitch. This isn’t a James Bond film."

I guffawed at Cooper, a beat up Daniel Craig clone. Oh, the
irony. "So, why were you keeping tabs on George Mudder? Was it the crates?"

"Partly."

"Did Ray tell you what he found when he looked in the
crates? Was it more glass bottles?" Or some other illegal contraband?

"I’m not at liberty to say at this time."

As usual, Cooper was keeping me at arm’s length. I narrowed
my eyes. "You know what this means, right?"

"No, enlighten me."

"You pull me in here and ask all kinds of questions to
find out what I know about the whole deal because you don’t have the answers.
If you won’t share anything in return, tell me why I should help you?"

"Trust me, Ms. Parker, you haven’t helped. You’ve
managed to screw up a six-month-long investigation on a possible drug and
weapons trafficking operation in a single night."

"That’s not true," I told him, tapping my index
finger on his desktop with each word. "You said Ray peeked when he wasn’t
supposed to. It sounds to me like Ray screwed it up, and I saved him from being
the victim of a live autopsy and you from having a dead snitch on your
conscience."

Cooper’s lips thinned and he sat back, visually corralling
his inner pissed-off beast. "From what we can tell, the same type of
weapon used to decapitate the body we found in Uncle Willis’s cemetery was used
on George Mudder. Now, you say this big magical albino had swords in his coat
sleeves."

"Yes."

"You’re willing to sign off on that in my report."

"Yes. I saw the swords twice. Once with George, and
again when he was leaning over Doc."

"Right. And then the albino just disappeared in a puff
of smoke. Hey, maybe he was part dragon."

I nodded, biting my lower lip. "I knew you were going
to make fun of me if I told you the truth. I should have just lied."

"I’m not making fun of you, Ms. Parker. I’m just having
trouble believing your rather tall tale."

Tall tale, huh? "Well, you would have seen it all for
yourself, Detective Cooper, if you hadn’t been snoozing on the floor of
George’s office."

"You mean if you hadn’t knocked me out and stolen my
gun."

"I didn’t steal it. I borrowed it to go save my friend."

"I ordered you to stay upstairs, Violet. You shouldn’t
have been sneaking around in the basement, playing superhero."

"You shouldn’t have taken so damned long to get there,
and then snuck up behind me when you finally did."

He touched his bandaged nose. "Why can’t you mind your
own business and stick to selling real estate?"

In spite of my frustration with Cooper, I felt a twinge of
guilt. "I’m sorry about your nose."

"Your apology is still not accepted." He sat back
in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest.

What was it with men holding grudges about a black eye or
two?

"What was in the other crates?" I pressed.

"That’s police business."

Fine. If he was going to play that way, I wasn’t going to
tell him about the black glass bottle that I’d hidden under Mudder Brothers
front porch to grab later after the place had cleared out. One way or another,
I was going to get some answers, because that albino had a twin. I had a
feeling he wasn’t going to be doing any happy dances about me having stabbed his
brother in the back.

"Where did you find Natalie?" I asked, pushing
aside the gut ache that came with thinking about my former best friend.

"In the garage. He’d locked her in the freezer."

"With the bodies?"

"Only the decapitated corpse. Mr. Haskell was in the
parlor."

Only the corpse. Ick. "Did she say who locked her in
there?"

"She doesn’t know. Someone hit her from behind when she
was in the room you were supposed to stay in until I arrived on scene."

Head injuries seemed to be contagious tonight. Then I
thought of George’s fate and sobered.

Wait, Natalie was hit on the back of the head? "So, she
didn’t actually see George hit her?"

"How could she if she was hit in the back of the—oh,
you think your albino knocked her out."

"Yes." I knew so. With the way George had tried to
protect her, he wouldn’t have knocked her out, he’d have shooed her away with
some excuse about the crate’s contents. He’d probably locked her in the freezer
to keep her safe. Poor George.

"Well, until we have any evidence that the albino guy
was there with …"

"What about Ray?" I blurted.

"What about him?"

"He saw the albino." He’d almost been cut by him
until George interfered.

"He didn’t mention it tonight when we got him out of
there, but he was in shock. Like I said, I’ll pay him a visit tomorrow."

"Where was Eddie? Was he tied up somewhere, too?"

"He came home right before I joined you here. He’d been
down in Rapid. George had told him to take the night off."

George must have known the albino was going to be there. Damn
it. I kept hitting walls, which reminded me of something. "How do you
explain Doc’s concussion if there is no albino?"

"I’m not saying there wasn’t another party present, Ms.
Parker, or that a tall white-haired man isn’t responsible for some of the
carnage. I’m just struggling with your tale of how he disappeared."

Well, at least he wasn’t pinning it all on me.

Cooper leaned forward, his elbows on his desk. "We need
a suspect, Violet. Until then, you and I will be going over your story again
and again, looking for clues that will lead me to the person responsible for
George’s death."

"So, I’m not under arrest?"

"No. You’re a person of interest."

What was new? "Fine. Are we done here?"

"We never seem to be done, you and me. But for now, you
can go home."

I walked toward the door.

"Just remember," Cooper’s voice stalled me. "Don’t
be taking any long trips out of state."

"Or what?"

He sat back. "Trust me, Violet, you don’t want me to
come looking for you."

After the evening I’d had, his threat poked the grizzly
snarling inside of me. "With your track record, Detective Cooper, I don’t
think you could find me even if I was wearing bells."

His face went all spaghetti western gunfighter on me. I half
expected him to take out a cigar, bite the end off, and spit it out at my feet.
"Don’t forget about my open house on Sunday, Ms. Parker."

"I’ll be there," I said with a smile. "With
bells on."

Saturday, August 25th

Two days later, I woke up to the sound of my cell phone
ringing. The clock said it was still the butt crack of dawn, and since it
wasn’t a school day, I refused to wake up and chatter about it with the birds.

I rolled over, letting it go to voicemail. I had just
started sinking back into sleep when it rang again.

"Damn it," I grumbled and grabbed the phone,
looking at the number.

Cooper!

I hit the answer button. "Am I under arrest?"

"Why do you always think the worst of me?"

"Hmmm, I wonder."

"I talked to Ray yesterday," Cooper said.

I hadn’t. I didn’t go into work all day, just hung out at
home with Aunt Zoe, letting her coddle me and convince me that everything was
going to be okay. According to Mona, Ray hadn’t shown up at work, either, or
Jane for that matter. I wondered if Jane was nursing Ray back to health, not
that he’d been injured according to Mona, just scared shitless.

Welcome to my world.

"Did you give him my love?" I asked, trying not to
remember what Ray looked like naked. But that image had been burned into my
brain, and I decided I was doomed to have it on file until I keeled over.

"He mentioned your albino."

I sat up. "He did?"

"He said your albino was the one who strapped him to
the gurney and threatened to perform an autopsy on him while he was still alive."

That would make some great nightmare fodder. Ray and I
should buy matching sleep masks.

"Ray also said you refused to free him after you found
him."

"That’s not true. I started to loosen the straps, but
then …"
Ray was a jerkoff
, "George and the albino came."

"Hmmm. He’s under the impression you enjoyed seeing him
naked and wanted to prolong the viewing time." I could hear the laughter
in Cooper’s voice. "I believe he used the word, ‘ogle,’ to be exact."

That asshole! This was the thanks I got for saving his life?
I should have let the albino cut off his dick with a scalpel.

Flopping back on the pillows, I asked, "Is this the
only reason you called?"

"Yep."

"Why did you call so damned early?"

"Because my nose hurts, Ms. Parker."

"Goodbye, Cooper." I hung up and tried to go back
to sleep, but I couldn’t stop thinking about the albino’s twin. Who was he?
Where was he? Did he know what I’d done? Did I even know what I’d done?

I hadn’t returned for the black bottle from the crate I’d
stashed under Mudder Brothers front porch—not yet, anyway. I’d been too antsy
with the cops crawling all over the place during daylight hours. Cooper would
have my head on a pike if …
whoa!
I squeezed my eyes shut and rubbed
them with my knuckles, trying to wipe away the horrific images of George and
the other headless cadaver that had popped into my brain.

I flopped onto my back, watching dapples of reflected
sunlight dance on the ceiling.

It wasn’t just Cooper who had me watching the funeral parlor
from afar. It was also the albino’s twin. He might be waiting for me to return
to the scene of the crime, especially alone in the dark.

After staring at the ceiling for another couple of minutes,
I decided to get up and head into work early. I needed to go see Jeff Wymonds
today to plan another open house. I also wanted take a look at his garage and
see if he’d found out whether his insurance would cover the cost of a roof repair
and for how much.

I showered, gulped down some coffee, looked in on my
sleeping kids, and then headed out to the Picklemobile. Miss Geary’s screen
door closed as I crawled into the cab. I looked in the rearview mirror and
watched old man Harvey shuffle across the street toward me. The purple silk
robe he wore showed off his hairy knees and skinny thighs.

He leaned on my open window, smelling fruity sweet.

"What’s that smell?" I asked.

"My breakfast."

"Is it some kind of passion fruit?" If so, where
did Miss Geary get it? It smelled marvelous.

"Oh, it’s passion all right, but it ain’t real fruit—well,
she does have nice firm melons on her for an older gal and I’m eighty-seven
percent sure they’re real."