Nearly Departed in Deadwood (22 page)

      “People wouldn’t let their guard down so soon, would they?” I wasn’t going to.

      “Not everyone.”

      I leaned against the counter and watched Aunt Zoe stir the sauce for a few seconds, dark worries shadowing my world, shooting chills down my spine. “I hope you’re wrong.”

      Her eyes held mine. “Me, too.”

      * * *

     
Monday, July 16th

      The day began with its usual sunny start, but by noon, a cool breeze blew in, and dark clouds flickering with flashes of lightning threatened to dump rain on our heads. After a few grumbles, the girls settled for a trip to the Deadwood Rec Center instead of risking electrocution out at Pactola Lake.

      Layne opted to join Aunt Zoe at her glass shop for the afternoon. A thick book titled
The Archaeology of Mammal Bones
was tucked under his arm as he clambered into Aunt Zoe’s pickup. I made a mental note to borrow the hardback the next time the insomnia bug bit me—I’d be asleep by the end of the Table of Contents.

      The smell of chlorine welcomed us as we entered the Rec Center. The girls raced off toward the locker room. I signed us in and handed the gum-chewing front desk clerk a twenty-dollar bill in exchange for an afternoon of bathing-suit torture.

      “Crap,” the pony-tailed brunette said as she stared into her cash drawer. “I need more ones. I’ll be right back.”

      She opened a door behind her marked
Office
and disappeared inside.

      While I waited for my change, I glanced around the room. The walls were covered with framed pictures, some black and white, others in color, all filled with people. I walked over to one wall, taking a closer look at a photo that was more of a sepia color. The year on the bottom of the picture said “Deadwood - June 1943,” the girls’ swimsuits were modest one pieces with flaring mini-skirts and heart-shaped tops. Names were listed along the bottom of the picture, some of the last names the same as several current members of the chamber of commerce. Apples didn’t fall far from trees around here.

      “Here you go, Ma’am.”

      I winced at receiving the old-lady form of address from the teeny-bopper, resisting the urge to stick my tongue out at her as I grabbed the bills she held out for me.

      After a quick shower and a full-face grimace at the sight of my body in my black-and-white polka-dot tankini in the locker room mirror, I pussyfooted out to join the girls.

      The pool was alive with bobbing heads. Laughs and squeals echoed around me. I guess we weren’t the only ones trying to fill an afternoon with some splashing. I scanned the human buoys, searching for a familiar blonde head.

      “Do a cannonball, Mom!” Addy yelled. She and Kelly clung to the side in the deep end.

     
No way!
The fallout would drown the preschoolers dog-paddling in the shallow end.

      “Now that I’d like to see,” said an all-too-familiar baritone voice behind me.

      I closed my eyes and pulled my self-confidence up by the bootstraps. Of all the swimming pools in all the towns in all the world ...

      Smearing a smile on my lips, I turned around. Doc stood there, dripping in a pair of midnight blue swim trunks.

      “Hello, Violet.” His gaze took its usual trip down to my toenails and back. “Nice knees.”

      Trying not to stare at his bare chest, I zeroed in on the shallow cleft in his chin. “Hi. You come here often?”

      “Often enough.”

      That might explain the T-shirt and shorts he’d been wearing on Saturday, and the rigid contours of his upper body—which I was determined not to notice.

      “I haven’t seen you here before,” he said.

      “I’m allergic to exercise.”

      He chuckled, water trickling down over his Adams apple. “My loss. I’d enjoy some one-on-one with you.”

      My face baked as I took that straight into the bedroom.

      “On the basketball court,” he clarified, his grin wide.

      Nodding, I pretended I knew what he’d meant all along. “Sounds fun, but I haven’t touched a ball in years.”

      No sooner had the words exited my lips than I wished I’d swallowed my tongue.

      “Really. Not even one, huh? That’s too bad.”

      I could hear the laughter in his voice.

      “Are you coming in or what, Mom?” Addy came dripping up beside me.

      A distraction, thank God! “Sure.”

      Addy eyed Doc under her spiky blonde lashes. “Hey, I know you.”

      “Yes, you do. How’s the chicken?”

      Shrugging, she brushed her wet bangs out of her eyes. “Okay. Mom’s still making me get rid of her. Do you know of any nice chicken ranches around here?”

      Out of the mouth of babes.

      Doc’s eyes twinkled as he met my smirk. “Nope, but I’ve heard there are several down in Nevada.”

      Addy frowned. “That’s too far away. Oh, well, do you want to play Marco Polo with us?”

      “Only if your mom’s playing.”

      “You’re playing, right, Mom?” She frowned at my hesitation. “Please play.”

      Cornered, I sighed. “Sure.”

      After a half hour of treading water and yelling “Marco” more times than “Polo,” I hoisted my shivering limbs out onto the smooth, concrete ledge and declared that I quit. As I dangled my feet in the pool, I perused the other patrons, chewing on my lip.

      Doc splashed out beside me and laid back on the ledge, his torso stretched out next to me, a visual buffet of olive-tinted male flesh. “You’re a good sport, Violet.”

      “Thanks.”

      His long legs swished in the water next to mine. I noticed a faint vertical scar running up the outside of his calf. My fingers twitched, eager to touch, explore.

      “But you could use some swim lessons.”

      I met his gaze with a raised brow. “You offering?”

      “Sure. I’ll take any opportunity to get close to a pretty girl in a bathing suit.”

      Doc had my core temperature fluctuating between hot and steamy again, melting away the last of my shivers. I closed my eyelids, disgusted with my inability to remain cool, calm, and in control. “Stop flirting with me.”

      His low chuckle right next to my ear made me quiver. “You make it so much fun.”

      I opened my lids to find him sitting up now, his shoulder almost brushing mine, his dark eyes inches away. Something simmered in their depths. The tips of my fingernails smoldered.

      “Fun for you.” He had his libido tightly reined. Mine kept bucking me off. “Some of us are a bit rusty at this game.”

      “Rusty? I don’t think so, Violet. Not with the way you look at me.”

      “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Busted, I feigned innocence.

      “Liar.” He blinked and the heat was gone—except for the molten ball still in my gut.

      I dragged my gaze away, my cheeks baked to a nice shade of embarrassment. Hot, horny, and humiliated in front of a good-looking guy—a flashback to my high school years when braces and padded bras made life awkward. Now two kids and a sagging body supplied the fuel.

      “You should get Addy on the swim team here,” Doc said. “She’s a good swimmer.”

      I jumped on his change of subject. “Do they have tryouts?”

      “I don’t know. There’s a sign-up sheet out in the lobby.”

      That reminded me of something Kelly had told Addy when they first met. Something Addy had repeated to me after our trip to the Dinosaur park about Kelly and Emma Cranson, the girl missing since last August, hanging out at the Rec Center all of the time.

      I hopped to my feet.

      “Where are you going?” Doc asked.

      “I’ll be right back.”

      In the lobby, the clerk was talking on her pink cell phone. She glanced up at me as I crossed to the wall covered with colored pictures, but kept talking.

      I followed the dated trail of pictures until I came to last summer, which required a step stool to read the names at the bottom of the page. From my tip toes, I could see Kelly standing in the front row, third from the left. Her hair was longer now.

      Three girls to the right was Emma, her oval, Addy-like face framed by her cropped blonde locks. My heart thumped in my ears. I squinted at the photo and tried to read the names of the other girls.

      “What are you doing?” Doc had followed me.

      “Looking for a link.” I glanced over my shoulder at him. He stood a full head taller than me. “Can you read the names on this picture?”

      “Sure.” He read through the front row, confirming Kelly and Emma’s appearance.

      “Keep going.” I used his bare shoulder to keep my balance as I went up on the very tips of my toes and placed each name with the matching girl.

      Tina Tucker, the girl who’d disappeared earlier this month anchored the left side of the back row. Her blonde hair long and straight. Jade Newel, the girl who had left the library last January and not been seen since, was second from the right.

      I rubbed my forehead. What were the chances of all three missing girls being on the same team?

      “Hmmm.” Doc frowned at the picture.

      “What?”

      “The coach is missing.”

      “Does it list a name at least?”

      Doc nodded. “Jeff Wymonds. Kelly’s dad. That’s quite a coincidence, don’t you think?”

     
Chapter Fifteen

      “You can’t go to the police,” Old Man Harvey told me as the two of us sat outside at Aunt Zoe’s picnic table in the twilight. Between us, we forked down the last few pieces of one of Beatrice Geary’s homemade cherry pies.

      I swallowed a glob of sweet cherry goo. “Why not?”

      “You don’t have enough proof.”

      “I’m not saying Jeff’s guilty.” At least not out loud in front of mixed company.

      Shivering in the chilly air, I zipped my jacket up to my neck. The afternoon storms had sucked the heat from the hills and left a damp, wet-dirt-scented nippiness in its place. As I shoveled the second-to-last piece of pie onto my plate, I looked at Harvey. “I just want to see if the cops already know about the swim team connection.”

      “They do.”

      I did a double take. “How do you know?”

      “I talked to Coop after you called me about that team picture. He says the police looked into the whole swim-team deal when the second little girl disappeared. Checked out every one of the parents, including Wymonds.”

     
Coop?
“Who’s Coop? One of your bar buddies?”

      “Nah, Coop’s not much of a socialite. He prefers to drink alone.” Harvey stabbed another bite of cherries.

      “How does this Coop guy know so much about the case?”

      “Coop is a detective for the Deadwood Police. He’s also my nephew.”

      I paused, mid-chew, on that little tidbit. “Your nephew?”

      “Yes, my nephew. As in my uppity older sister’s youngest child. Anyway, Coop says that Wymonds has an alibi ... of sorts.”

      “What do you mean ‘of sorts’? That doesn’t sound very definite. Maybe they didn’t dig deep enough. Maybe they need to take a second look at Jeff.” They probably didn’t even know about the jacket back then.

      Harvey pointed his fork at me. “You ain’t in Rapid City anymore, girl.”

      No, I wasn’t. I’d left that glum existence that had been filled with long hours at the dealership and no free time to spend with my kids, who’d been growing up without a mom, as well as a dad. I’d showed up late to way too many birthdays over the years to ever return to that chapter of my life, but I had a feeling Harvey was talking about something else.

      “What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked. Beware of flying monkeys and angry Munchkins?

      “You can’t go accusing a local kid of something without having definite proof.”

      “Define
definite
.”

      “Blood on his hands.”

      “What about the jacket?” I’d shown it to Harvey when he arrived with the pie.

      “You know that’s not enough. Besides, there’s no blood on it.”

      I frowned at the image that conjured up, pushing aside the last of my cherry pie. “We don’t even know what happened to Emma. What if I’m onto something.”

      He snorted. “Your theory is as holey as my favorite Fruit-of-the-Looms.”

      “I told you last night, your underwear as a topic of discussion is off-limits.”

      Grinning, he nodded at the remains of my pie. “You gonna eat that?”

      I pushed the plate toward him. “This counts toward our deal, you know.”

      “What deal?”

      “The dinner-once-a-week clause in your contract.”

      “You didn’t even make the pie.”

      “No, but I bought the bucket of chicken.”

      “Fine, but next week you need to take me somewhere a little more fancy.” He shoveled pie into his mouth, scowling at me as he chewed. “What if you’re wrong about Jeff Wymonds?”

      “The cops keep looking for the real kidnapper.”

      “Sure, after they’ve destroyed Wymonds’ reputation. Do you really want to add to Kelly’s family problems?”

      Of course not. “I just can’t shake this gut feeling about Jeff.”

      “That’s just gas.” He polished off the last of my piece of pie. “What about that girl from Spearfish—Cherry Cobbler?”

      Harvey had cherries on the brain. “You mean Sherry Dobbler.”

      He grunted. “Same thing.”

      “What about her?”

      “She wasn’t on the swim team. Why did he go for her?”

      “I haven’t figured that one out yet.”

      “And why would Jeff be plucking girls from the team he coached? Anybody with half a brain knows not to piss in his own well.”

      “Yeah, but we’re talking about Jeff. His antennae doesn’t pick up all the channels, right?” According to Natalie, anyway.

      “Sure he’s hit his head one too many times, but that just makes him a bit dense sometimes. I don’t know about you, but
thick-skulled
and
bat-shit crazy
don’t share the same page in my thesaurus.”