Optical Delusions in Deadwood (8 page)

BOOK: Optical Delusions in Deadwood
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      I waited until Wanda was out of earshot. “What do you need to tell me that the owner of the house can’t hear?”

      “Bold. I like that in a woman.” Lila crossed her arms, her teeth showing. They looked sharp. Seriously. I could have sworn her canines were extra pointed, like little daggers. Did she file them?

      “What did you want to talk to me about?” I wanted to get this showdown over with and be on my merry way.

      “It’s imperative that you do your best to sell this house as soon as possible.”

      I wanted that as much as she did. But I didn’t like being told what to do, especially by Miss Lila Beaumont.

      I decided not to mince words, since she wasn’t my client. “Exactly what business of yours is it if this house sells or not?”

      “I have Millie and Wanda’s best interests at heart, of course.”

      Right. Their best interests. Sure. I had to wonder if she would get a piece of the pie when the house sold. She had to have some other motivation. Why else would she still be sticking around half a year after her fiancé’s death? It couldn’t be Wanda and Millie’s sparkling personalities.

      I crossed my arms. “As I told Wanda and Millie yesterday when I agreed to sell the house, I will do my best to find them a buyer. But the market is slow, so there are no guarantees.”

      “Time is of the essence,” Lila said.

      So she had already insinuated. “For you or them?”

      Her eyes turned frosty, her matching smile sending chills down my back. “Just do your job and sell the damned house.”

      Millie came from the kitchen holding a glass of water and the signed listing agreement. Wanda followed, as usual.

      “Never mind with that,” Lila told Millie. “Miss Parker was just leaving, weren’t you?”

      I grabbed my tote. “Sure, but I want to talk to Wanda first.” When nobody moved, I added, “Alone.”

      Millie turned to Lila, as if to get her approval. Lila continued to nail me with that maniacal smile, daggers showing. “Fine. Come, Millie.” She headed toward the stairs, pausing on the first step to say, “Let yourself out when you’re finished, Miss Parker. We’ll be seeing you again soon, I hope.”

      Millie tramped up the stairs after her.

      I moved to where Wanda stood next to the sofa. “Wanda?”

      For a handful of seconds, I thought she wasn’t going to acknowledge me. Then her eyes met mine.

      “I need one more signature from you on this listing agreement.” Which was true, luckily for me. Since I hadn’t witnessed her signing it, I wanted to make sure Millie hadn’t forged her signature. I fished a pen from my bag and held it toward her.

      I heard rustling coming from the stairwell, so I lowered my voice. “Just sign right here on this line.”

      She took the pen, flattened the listing agreement on a side table, and signed without hesitation. The signature matched the other one. No foul play there. 

      Taking the pen and paper from her, I tri-folded the listing agreement. “Do you really want to sell your house, Wanda?”

      She nodded once.

      “Are you sure?”

      Another nod.

      “Why?”

      She frowned and looked toward her favorite corner, but said nothing. I counted to ten, waiting, then stuffed the listing agreement in my tote. Officially, I had everything I needed for a legitimate deal. But something about this whole setup smelled sour.

      Wanda wasn’t going to answer. I hoisted my tote over my shoulder. “Thank you, Wanda, for choosing Calamity Jane to represent you in this business matter. I’ll be in touch.”

      As I turned to leave, I heard a murmur come from her. I looked back at her. “What did you say?”

      She mouthed something that I didn’t catch. Miming was not my specialty. I always lost at charades.

      I stepped closer. “Sorry, what?”

      Her gaze locked onto mine, her eyes wide, frightened. My heart giddy-upped in response.

      “This house,” she whispered.

      “What about it?”

      “It’s haunted.”

       

      * * *

       

      The Deadwood library specialized in Black Hills legend and lore. It had a South Dakota room dedicated to that very subject, filled with all sorts of books, videos, and microfilm reels—which I was getting pretty handy at viewing in spite of my inability to speak
technologese
.

      The room also had a computer with a list of links to some of the best historical websites on the World Wide Web. As I sat at this computer minding my own beeswax, searching for information on the Carhart house, Doc came ramming in. The door rattled in its frame when he closed it.

      He stared me down, his jaw clenched along with the rest of his body. A five-o’clock shadow shaded the slight cleft in his chin and added a sexy flavor of ruggedness to his rigid demeanor. “You promised you wouldn’t sell it.”

      “You didn’t make me cross my heart.” Harvey must have been whispering sweet-and-sour nothings again, the big-mouth. “It’s nice to see you, too, by the way.”

      It was, in spite of his nostril-flaring resemblance to a bull. A black T-shirt and blue jeans molded to his torso, making me want to do the same.

      “Violet.” His tone warned.

      I didn’t feel like being chewed on any more today, especially after Wanda’s the-sky-is-falling disclosure. I turned my focus back to the website I’d been perusing before Doc’s interruption. “I guess you should have sealed that promise with a kiss.”

      He moved like a hot breeze, stealthy, breathing in my ear before I even realized he’d left the doorway. “There’s always that temptation with you.”

      The subtle scent of his woodsy cologne kicked my pulse into pitter-patter mode. “What are you doing here, Doc?”

      If this were going to be another tease and leave session, I’d like to know before my engine really got to choo-chooing. I turned and faced him. “Are you here to dig through some more death registry names? Or were you just passing by, saw my Bronco, and decided to come in and start poking at me for some Thursday afternoon fun?”

      He poked me, just above my left breast.

      “Hey!” I rubbed the spot. “That’s just a saying.”

      “You’re tense.”

      “You’re not supposed to really poke me.”

      “Why are you tense?” He looked at the computer screen. “And why are you reading about”—he leaned forward, his eyes scanning the screen, and read aloud my search criteria—“‘murders in Lead, South Dakota’?”

      “No reason.” I avoided his prying eyes. “Just killing time before my next appointment.” Which was twenty hours from now.

      He growled deep in his throat. “You are such a lousy liar.”

      “I’ll keep practicing.”

      “The Carhart murders were recent, but you’re looking further back.”

      “Stop playing Sherlock.”

      “What happened today?”

      How detailed a report did he want? “I woke up.” And checked my cell phone to see if you’d called, but you hadn’t.

      “Then what?”

      “Went to work.” Checked my cell phone, still no call.

      “Violet.”

      “What? Then I met Harvey and Cooper for lunch.”
No call, no message, nada
.

      “Harvey told me that part. What happened next?”

      “I paid a visit to the Carharts and got Wanda’s signature.” Where I learned that Wanda Carhart thought she was being visited by Casper and his wispy pals. But I sure wasn’t telling Doc the last bit.

      “And then you came here?” Doc prodded, putting some space between us.

      Not quite. First, I drove twenty-five miles to the Wyoming border where I cursed, spit, screamed and jumped up and down in the oven-hot air for ten minutes straight and scared a family of prairie dogs deep into their burrows. “Then I came here.”

      “So what aren’t you telling me?”

      Too much for one sitting. “It’s a beautiful house.” I still stood by that fact. “It’ll sell quickly.”

      At least I hoped it would, because if word got out to the tourist crowd that it was supposedly haunted, I was going to have to turn in my Calamity Jane business cards and start participating in some of those paid medical research studies. I heard the malaria ones promised big bucks.

      “Why are you being so evasive?” he asked.

      “I’ve been taking notes from you.”

      His grin reached the corners of his eyes. “Touché.”

      “That was pretty good, huh?”

      “Don’t get cocky.” He leaned against the long table holding down the center of the room. “What are you searching for?”

      A long-term relationship with a nice, non-serial-killer man. Was that too much to ask? Probably. Playing another card from Doc’s hand, I changed the subject. “Where did you run off to yesterday?”

      “I had an appointment.”

      “I thought you cancelled the appointment you had in order to be at the house inspection with me.”

      “This was another appointment.”

      “Scheduled at the same time? Now who’s the rotten liar?”

      “I’ll tell you my secret if you tell me yours.”

      I shook my head. “I prefer to take the ‘dare’ option.”

      “You really are getting good at this.”

      I was on a freaking roll. “What can I say? I’m taking lessons from a master.”

      One eyebrow lifted, his dark eyes challenging now. “Okay, dare it is.”

      I waited, my body tense for a whole different reason. Like a teenage girl, I wished and hoped for a dare involving my lips on his. I hadn’t tasted the erotic blend of sugar and spice that was Doc for too long.

      “I dare you to tell me the truth.”

      “Oh, come on.” My balloon deflated. “That’s cheating.” I turned back to the computer and reached for the mouse. “And boring, too.”

      His hands gripped my shoulders, his palms warm through my thin cotton shirt. “Boring, huh?”

      “What are you doing, Doc?”

      “Not being boring.” He leaned over and murmured, “Nice skirt. Shows off your knees.”

      I could hardly hear him. My shoulder muscles were scrunched high and tight, blocking all blood flow to my ears.

      “Relax, Violet.” He squeezed and then released, massaging, turning me into Play-Doh. “You’re so tight.”

      “Doc, stop.” I couldn’t handle casual caresses from him. It was either touch me all over or keep a six-foot field of play open between us.

      “Just relax and enjoy it.” He continued to work on my shoulders. My body clamored for so much more, starved for everything Doc. “I doubt you get this kind of attention very often.”

      Not without paying for it. I started sweating between my toes. “Doc.”
Don’t stop!
“Stop.”

      His hands moved to the outer edges of my shoulders, kneading my upper arms.

      Oh, sweet Jesus! I let my head loll back, resting on the seatback, and peeked up at him. Much more of this and I’d risk having my library card permanently revoked for lewd behavior. “Doc, I can’t handle this.”

      His eyes locked onto mine, his hands stopped. “Neither can I. Maybe it’s for the best to end it now.”

      Wait. His tone was all wrong. “Are we talking about the same thing?”

      “I think so.”

      “What are we going to do about it?”

      “Stick to friendship.”

      I lunged forward, pulling free from his grip. “Hold on a second. I was talking about sex, right now.” As in not having it in the library.

      “So am I.”

      “No, you’re talking about us and sex later.”

      “Or not.”

      Wow, if that wasn’t just a cooler of ice-filled Gatorade poured down my underwear. “This is about that control issue of yours, isn’t it?”

      “Violet.” He leaned on the edge of the table again and rubbed his jaw, the stubble rasping under his palm. “Whether or not
you
believe it, I have the ability to detect ghosts. And the reason I came to this town was to refine it. To control it, instead of it controlling me.”

      He looked at me as if that should explain everything.

      It didn’t. “What does that have to do with you and me?”

      “You mess with my head.”

      “You say that as if I’m Pandora, box in hand.”

      “No, more like a Siren.”

      “I’m not trying to lure you anywhere.” Except to bed. And maybe the back stairwell of his new house. Possibly the kitchen counter. Not that I’d put much thought into this.

      “Probably not on purpose,” he crossed his arms. “But you’re a distraction.”

      “Damn.” That one had a kick to it—to the gut. “You sure know how to sweet talk a girl.”

      His frown deepened, lining his cheeks now, too. “When you’re around, I lose my focus. I can’t concentrate on what I need to.”

      “Which is this elusive control you’re so determined to gain?”

      “Exactly. I used to deny this shit in my head, fight it. At my lowest point, I tried to hide from it inside a bottle of Jack Daniels.” He shook his head. “That didn’t work. I realized I had to learn to control it, before it killed me.”

      My stomach churned, stirring with frustration and anger. “And I represent what? Chaos?”

      He nodded. “You like to leap without looking first, like with this latest house. Right now, it’s just too much for me to handle.”

      Fire crawled up my throat, making me want to fry him with Godzilla-like, atomic heat-ray breath. Chaos? A distraction? Too much to handle? I didn’t ask for this
thing
going on between us. I didn’t enjoy the anxiety that came with it. And I sure as hell didn’t like being made to feel like a high-maintenance hassle.

      “Let me explain something to you, Mr. Nyce.” I closed the distance between us, grabbed his hand, and placed it just above my left breast. “This is my heart. It’s cast-iron tough. It doesn’t fall in love on a whim—as a matter of fact, it’s never even been in love—and it sure as hell doesn’t need a man to make it feel whole. But it does beat loud and strong for my two children, for whom I am responsible both physically and financially.”

BOOK: Optical Delusions in Deadwood
7.84Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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