by Ann Charles
While the hot water poured down my back, one fear that threaded through each scream-queen moment made my chest tight—what if my albino buddy was still alive? What if he’d killed Jane? Him still being alive after I buried a huge pair of scissors in his back, not to mention the whole spontaneous combustion and disappearing in a puff of smoke act, made my questions seem absurd to a rational person … but what if?
I put my head under the water, replaying that final scene with the albino, trying to make sense yet again of something that was beyond logic. Wiping the water from my eyes, I gave up and grabbed the shaving cream.
The razor shook in my hands. I took a couple of slow breaths and tried not to lacerate my legs. Scabs weren’t professional—or sexy.
Since the mess at Mudder Brothers, all I’d focused on was the albino’s twin showing up on my doorstep, but maybe I had two albinos waiting for the right moment to upend my world—and one of them itching for payback. If only I knew with whom I was dealing … or what. At least with Ray, I could see him for the snake he was and step on him before he struck.
I shut off the shower and dripped all of the way to my bedroom. Gray clouds filled the sky outside my window. Fall was on its way, along with its much cooler temperatures. I grabbed a calf-length, wispy blue-violet skirt from my closet and a modestly cut matching tunic, avoiding any cleavage display since I had a “career” meeting this morning with my new boss.
My purple boots would have looked great with the skirt and drawn some much-wanted attention from Doc, but Natalie still had them. She’d probably written Jezebel all over them with a black permanent marker by now.
After rousing the kids and chop-chopping them to get dressed and brush their teeth, I headed downstairs, lured by the smell of fresh brewed coffee. Aunt Zoe was sitting at the kitchen table staring into her cup like she was reading tea leaves.
“How was your date last night?” I asked, pouring myself some caffeinated breakfast.
“Enlightening,” she said, sarcasm present.
“What happened?” I pulled out the chair across from her.
She scratched at a crumb glued to the table. “I found out he’s in the midst of a divorce.”
“His choice or hers?”
“His.”
“That’s a good thing, isn’t it? He’s moving on.”
“I don’t want to get involved with a man who has been divorced for less than two years.”
I grinned. “You think they’re contagious?”
“I’ve been there, done that, and got my heart broken.”
“When was that?” Was she talking about Reid?
“A long time ago.”
“What happened?”
“He changed his mind.”
No, that couldn’t be Reid. He wasn’t married to anyone.
Aunt Zoe had dated on and off over the years. Maybe the broken heart explained why she’d never settled down with one man.
I opened my mouth to ask her more, but she interrupted with, “How did the open house go?”
An obvious change of subject.
Sipping my coffee, I went along with the change to give her some space for the moment. “We had a nice crowd.”
“Anyone act interested?”
“Yep.” Plenty—interested in Harvey and Cooper and Reid, but not in the house.
“Anything exciting happen?”
Besides some closet-nookie, a fire, and the discovery of Jane’s murder weapon? “Not really.”
Nothing I wanted to burden her with in her current Droopy-the-Dog state, anyway. I took a drink of coffee, searching for a way to return to the subject of men, particularly Reid.
Thunder from the stairwell announced the arrival of both kids at once, their bickering interrupted by an angry screech from Addy before they even stepped foot inside of the kitchen. It was no wonder Doc was keeping his distance. At the moment, I wanted to join him on the sidelines.
A second squeal from Addy had me on my feet.
“Criminy!” I pushed up my sleeves and went to play referee.
An hour-and-no-kids later, I sat in the Picklemobile in the parking lot behind Calamity Jane’s with my cell phone in hand. I scrolled to Detective Cooper’s number, then cancelled out of the screen and tossed the phone onto his clean kitchen curtains on the bench seat next to me.
I needed to talk to Cooper about that barbed hook and my albino pal, but how could I say anything without showing him all of my cards?
I reached for my cell phone, but pulled my hand back empty. If I called, he’d want me to come into his office. Once he got me there under those bright fluorescent lights, what was to keep me from spilling like an overflowing sewer grate under his brain-piercing glare?
Wait. Maybe if I were surrounded by other people, I could hide my telltale nose twitch better when truth-skirting became a necessity. I could even call in some backup to help keep me out of trouble.
I scooped up my phone and found Cooper’s number. My heart pounded in my throat, which was just silly, damn it. Before I could chicken out again, I hit the Call button.
Cooper answered midway through the second ring. “Make it quick, Parker, I’m in the middle of something.”
Someone needed to teach him a little phone etiquette.
“I have your curtains.” I rolled my eyes at how stupid that sounded as an opener and tried again. “I need to talk to you.”
“I don’t have time to talk right now.”
“Fine. Meet me at Bighorn Billy’s in an hour.” I looked down at the seat next to me. “That is if you want your curtains back.”
As extortion went, I could probably use some practice.
Silence came from the other end of the line. I wondered if he’d already hung up on me and looked at my phone’s screen—no, we were still connected. “Did you hear me, Detective?”
“Are you holding my curtains for ransom, Violet?”
“Yes,” I answered, and before I blurted out anything even more asinine, I hung up.
My heart was still pounding in my ears as I hopped out of the Picklemobile and slammed the door behind me. I’d set up a brunch date with the devil; what was next? Oh, right, a meeting with Goliath. Joy.
Crossing the parking lot, I noticed Doc’s Camaro wasn’t there, nor Mona’s or Ray’s SUVs. Unfortunately, Jerry’s silver Hummer was.
Damn. I wanted nothing more than to head back home to Aunt Zoe’s and just sit on her back porch watching Elvis the chicken peck at the ground until it was time to see Cooper. But since Ray had introduced his nephew—aka my possible successor, Benjamin—to Jerry last night, I needed to pull up my britches and at least act the part of a successful Realtor.
I stepped through Calamity Jane’s back door, hearing the deep sound of Jerry’s voice coming from Jane’s … or rather his open office door.
“Violet,” he called out as I walked past on the way to my desk.
I winced and stopped, then backed up, hovering in his doorway. His face looked freshly chiseled, the smell of citrus and sandalwood overpowering any remaining traces of Jane.
“I’ll call you back later,” he said into his phone and hung up. His gaze traveled down my outfit, his forehead wrinkling as he finished with my strappy, high-heeled sandals.
What? There were no shaving cuts or bandages visible. If he was going to insist on my wearing pantyhose, I was demanding a raise in my commission rates for putting up with those binding torture devices.
“Shut the door and have a seat, please,” he said, nodding toward the door.
Crudmongers.
I followed his orders, lowering into the chair across from him, pasting a smile on my lips.
Here it came, the comment on my lack of sales, the questions about what I was doing to lure buyers, the analysis of my wrongdoings after his open house observations yesterday, the reports showing my solo sale in three months, for which I could thank my boyfriend. I straightened my back, ready to be put through the wringer.
Tilting back in his cha
ir, Jerry steepled his fingers over his wide chest. “When was the last time you had a makeover?”
My smile slipped a little. “A what?”
“A makeover. You know, someone helping you with your choice of clothing, makeup, and hair style.”
I touched my curls, which were tamed with hair product today. “Uh, never.”
“Hmm.”
Hmm? What did that mean? Was I as much of a mess on the outside these days as I was on the inside?
He leaned forward, his forearms on the desk. “How well do you know Tiffany Sugarbell?”
The red-headed bombshell who used to have sex with my boyfriend? “We’re acquainted.”
“Then you know she works for one of the most successful real estate agencies in the Black Hills area.”
“Yes.” I also knew she was ultra-competitive in everything she did, including mattress bouncing, but Jerry didn’t need to know that—or maybe he already had firsthand experience. “She’s the agent I’m working with on The Old Prospector Hotel deal.”
“Right. I’ve been studying their business model, and from what I can tell, they use Tiffany for more than just her know-how when it comes to real estate.”
“What do you mean?”
“She’s their hook.”
“Hook?”
“Their lure, especially with male clients. They use her in eighty percent of their advertising pieces now.”
Oh, that kind of hook. “Is that legal?”
“As long as she isn’t exchanging sexual favors in return for a contract, sure.”
Define sexual favors, I thought, remembering some of my less professional dealings with Doc when I was his agent.
“It’s not exactly ethical,” Jerry continued, “but this day and age when sales are hard to come by, more and more agencies are trying new marketing techniques.”
His comment reminded me of Tiffany’s advice a couple of weeks back about using my hair and cleavage to win sales. Had she been sharing what her new employer had enforced? Or was that just innate for the Jessica Rabbit twin?
“The way they are using Tiffany to attract customers got me thinking about you.”
My smile fell off my face. I wasn’t sure I liked the way this was going. “What about me?”
“Well, with some help from a professional and a little photo manipulation, I think you have the potential to bring us some more sales.”
I blinked at his backhanded compliment. “What about Mona? Couldn’t you use her?”
“Mona is a redhead. We don’t want to look like we’re copying Tiffany’s agency. Plus, Mona has been around for a while and already has a reputation in place. You’re still new in town with a reputation to build.”
Oh, I had a reputation already building, one involving ghosts and killers. Apparently, he hadn’t yet heard of “Spooky Parker.”
“What are you doing tomorrow morning?” Jerry asked. “Do you have any appointments?”
His probing stare left me no fibbing room. “Not at this time.”
“Good.” He clapped his big hands together, the loud crack making me flinch. “You and I are going to Rapid City.”
“We are?”
“I’m taking you shopping.”
* * *
Bighorn Billy’s parking lot was only a third full.
I pulled in next to Cooper’s police-issued sedan and cut the engine. The Picklemobile sputtered for several seconds before going out with her usual bang. After my pep talk with Jerry about how we could fix me up so I was as appealing to the male sex as my boyfriend’s ex-hottie, I felt like going out with a bang myself—as in a serving tray upside Jerry’s thick skull.
Pulling out my cell phone, I tried to call Cornelius for the fifth time since running out of Jerry’s office with my pride between my legs. I really needed that big commission check from the hotel sale to be taken seriously as a real estate agent before my boss turned me into a Barbie Doll.
The call went to voicemail, as it had the previous four times. Cornelius’s voice came on the line. “I prefer messages to be left in Morse code.”
Why couldn’t I find semi-normal clients? I waited for the beep. “It’s Violet. Call me.”
I had no idea how many series of Morse code clicks those four words took. Maybe for the next message I could just burp out S-O-S.
Hopping out of the Picklemobile, I headed for the restaurant’s front doors. The dark gray clouds overhead were a great visual effect for going to meet my doom.
The smell of bacon and eggs hit me when I walked through the door. Buck Owens crooned from the overhead speakers about acting naturally. Good advice from the Buck-ster, but odds were before the week was up I’d be a runner-up for the biggest fool to hit the big time.
Cooper eyed me from the back corner booth, wearing a white button up shirt, a blue tie, a broken nose, and a scowl.
I ricocheted his scowl right back at him and joined him.
“Where are my curtains?” he said as a greeting.
“It’s nice to see you, too, smiley. You’ll get your curtains when we’re done here.”
I slid into the opposite seat and opened the menu. I needed something to chew on before I lunged over the table and took a chomp out of the detective glaring at me over his coffee cup.
“Done with what?” he asked.
“My interrogation.”
“You are interrogating me?”
“Yes.” The nervous jitters I’d had when I’d called him this morning were now buried under several layers of indignation, humiliation, and resentment thanks to Jerry.
“Did you order already?” I asked, looking up from the menu.
Cooper nodded. “For both of us.”
Last time Cooper had ordered on my behalf, he’d gotten me a salad. Being the ever-present gumshoe that he was, he’d noticed my sad attempt at dieting.
I closed the menu and dropped it on the table. “You’d better have ordered me something with meat.”
One blonde eyebrow lifted. “Feeling carnivorous this morning are we, Ms. Parker?”
“I filed my teeth on the way over.”
“Lucky me.”
The waitress brought over a cup of coffee for me. “Could you bring a second cup, please,” I asked her.
She nodded and left.
At Cooper’s squint, I said, “Company’s coming.”
“Who else are you extorting …” His attention targeted the door, his jaw tightening. “I should have known.”
“Scooch on over, girl,” Harvey said to me when he joined us. He looked more grizzled than usual, like he’d just rolled out of a bar.
The waitress delivered Harvey’s coffee as I settled my purse against the wall.
“I’ll have my usual,” Harvey told her, sounding a bit gruff instead of his usual flirty self.
Cooper’s rigid gaze measured both of us after the waitress left, his glare shooting back and forth. “What’s going on, Parker?”
“Breakfast,” I said. “And a few questions.”
His lips tightened. “What’s he doing here?” he nudged his head at Harvey.
“I came for the free food,” Harvey muttered.
“He’s my backup.” I took a sip of coffee and grimaced. Blech! Bitter. It was in desperate need of sweetener—so was Cooper.
“Backup? Are you going to read me my rights next?”
Lowering my cup, I leaned forward and didn’t waste any more time. “How was Jane killed?” I kept my voice low enough for our ears only.
Cooper scoffed. “As if I’m going to share any of the details with you of all civilians.”
“Was she murdered before she was dumped in the Open Cut?” I pressed.
He mimicked my elbows on the table pose, closing the space between us, his face full of furrows and crow’s feet. “What makes you think she was dumped there?”
Oh, nothing, much. I just might have met her killer up close and personal. “It’s a gut feeling.”
The waitress brought our food, interru
pting the staring contest I’d been having with the detective. She dropped a plate with a small pile of scrambled egg whites and a single piece of bacon in front of me, along with a small bowl of oatmeal. Cooper had ordered the same items, only with three times as much of everything.
“You got more than me,” I said to him, picking up my fork.
He shrugged. “You’re a girl. Every calorie counts.”
It was no wonder his grandmother had shot him.
“I’ll bring yours in a flash, honey,” she told Harvey with a wink and waggled her hips as she left.
Harvey didn’t seem to notice her prancing exit, fiddling with his spoon instead. Normally the old dog’s tongue would match her waggle. I glanced at Cooper to see if he’d noticed his uncle’s lack of piss and vinegar this morning, but he seemed too preoccupied with digging into his big fat pile of eggs to notice.
“What else does your gut tell you?” the detective asked me.
“It’s my interrogation, not yours,” I said, reaching for my one measly piece of bacon.
“Fine, but I’m not telling you anything, Parker. This is police business. Unless you own the property at the bottom of the Open Cut where we found Jane, you have no reason to stick your big nose into this case.”
I begged him one bloody hook to differ. “Who are your suspects?”
“Besides you?” His glower challenged.
“Yes.”
“None of your business.”
I swallowed more coffee, assessing Cooper’s stiff body language. Obviously, I was going to have to come at this from a different angle. “Did you know Jane was acting in an upcoming play up in Lead?”
“Yes.” He stabbed a forkful of eggs.
“Have you interrogated the cast?”
“Of course, Inspector Clouseau. That’s standard procedure.”
“What did you think of the director?” If the Napoleon wanna-be was as much of a hard-ass as Mona had said, Cooper should get along chummily with him.
“He’s five-foot-eleven, around two hundred pounds, Caucasian, Italian descent, and married. I’d pull his phone number for you, but that’s police business.”
