by Ann Charles
Earlier, while blasting off to Harvey and Aunt Zoe about Cooper’s half-assed interrogation, I’d shared my secret about Ray playing hide the pickle in Jane’s office.
“No.” Aunt Zoe turned around, sorrow fanning out from her eyes. “Jane’s pain ran deeper than some bruises and a cracked rib. She’d asked me to take her to the ER that awful night because she’d started bleeding.”
Oh, damn. I knew what was coming next and my heart ached for Jane all over again.
“She lost her baby,” Aunt Zoe finished. “Peter’s baby.”
A memory resurfaced from a couple of weeks before Jane had died. She’d told me to take the afternoon off and go spend time with my kids. At the time, I’d seen the grief in her eyes and wondered why she hadn’t had kids, figuring it had something to do with her need to succeed in business. Now I knew why—Peter. The bastard.
“She never could get pregnant after that.” Aunt Zoe joined us back at the table. “So she put all of her energy into her other baby—Calamity Jane Realty.”
This whole mess must have happened after Jerry and Jane divorced then. It was no wonder the thought of losing her business to that two-timing asshole she’d married had sent her into a drunken spiral.
I squeezed Aunt Zoe’s forearm. “Is that why Jane gave me the job at Calamity Jane’s? Because you helped her through all of that? Is that the favor she’d owed you?”
“Not just that,” Aunt Zoe said. “It took her a while to get rolling after losing the baby. I was there to lean on at first.”
Helen Tarragon’s words echoed in my head. “So, when Helen asked Peter, ‘Are you going to do to me what you did to Jane?’ Do you think she meant hit her?”
“That or kill her by accident while drunk,” Harvey said.
I turned to Harvey. “You said he wasn’t drinking anymore.”
“As far as we know. Maybe he’s tippin’ when nobody else is lookin’. Maybe Jane found him in the middle of a bender and said something that lit his fire, just like old times.”
The three of us sat there in silence for a moment, passing frowns around the table while in the living room the kids argued over who got to pick the next movie.
Aunt Zoe leaned forward. “I still want to know why Helen would tell you Jane was having an affair with Peter.”
“Maybe she knows something more about what happened all of those years ago,” I suggested. “Maybe Peter never got over Jane.”
Harvey stroked his beard. “Maybe Petey lied to his wife and told her he was having an affair with Jane to make her jealous.”
“If that is the case,” I said, “then maybe Helen killed Jane out of jealousy.” She had sounded pretty damned scary when she’d told Peter she’d rip his dick off and use it to fish with at Lake Pactola.
Aunt Zoe sighed. “There are a lot of ‘maybes’ at this table. Here’s one more for you, Violet—maybe you should go see Detective Cooper and talk to him about all of this, let him wade through it before someone else I love ends up dead at the bottom of the Open Cut.”
“I’m not talking to that handcuff-happy jerk.”
“Stop being so stubborn,” she said.
“I’m not being stubborn. Every time I try to talk to him, he threatens me in some new inventive way.” When Aunt Zoe just squinted at me, I added with a shrug, “Plus, he makes fun of my hair.”
“Fine. Just promise me you won’t go near either Helen or Peter alone.”
“I’ll stick by her side,” Harvey said.
Aunt Zoe grinned. “I was thinking more along the lines of Doc. You get distracted too easily by the opposite sex.”
“Me?” Harvey sputtered. “Have you ever watched Doc when Violet’s near? He follows her around like she’s a heifer in heat—always sniffin’ around her, pettin’ her, gettin’ her all frisky and cow-eyed.”
“Doc does not do that,” I said, smacking the back of Harvey’s hand. Doc was sniffing around for a whole other reason that had nothing to do with me or anyone else whose blood still ran red. “And could you not refer to me as a cow? Why not a mare in heat? Mares are pretty. Better yet, a unicorn in heat.”
Aunt Zoe leaned back in her chair. “Then we’re back to Detective Cooper. He might be the best bet to stick close to you.”
“Nope. I’m not going near that man. I’m done trying to get along with him. From now on, I’m flying under his radar.”
One of Aunt Zoe’s eyebrows crept up. “Isn’t he still your client?”
“Well, except for selling his house.”
Although, after our last bout, I fully expected to receive his contract in the mail, full of bullet holes.
“Did you tell your aunt about agreeing to sell the Carhart house again?” Harvey asked.
I glared at him. “Not yet, you bucketmouth.”
“Do you really think you can sell it after last month’s fiasco?” Aunt Zoe asked.
I couldn’t tell either of them that the real reason I’d agreed to sell it was so Doc had a chance to hang out alone with Prudence, so I just shrugged. “It’s worth a try. That Britton couple was still interested in it last time I talked to them, but then it went off sale due to the whole police investigation mumbo-jumbo.”
Harvey stood, shaking out his leg. “I need to go drain my lizard. Don’t forget to tell her about Prudence and the book, too.” He dropped that bomb and then left me to face the mushroom cloud alone as he shuffled off toward the bathroom.
I burned a hole in his backside with my evil eye.
“Tell me what about what book?” Aunt Zoe asked.
Here went nothing. I told her about the demon book, where I’d gotten it, when I’d sneaked it out, the gist of what was inside of it, and the mention of the “book” this morning—only I said Wanda warned me about it, not Prudence. I also avoided revealing Doc’s role in all of it, hiding his sixth sense and anything that might cause her to glance in his general direction.
“And Detective Cooper knows nothing about this book?” she asked.
Jeez, she really was liking the sound of Cooper’s name tonight.
“Nope. Nada. And I’d like to keep it that way.” I gave her the threatening look I usually reserved for Addy and Layne.
Aunt Zoe tweaked my nose. “Nice try but that doesn’t work on your elders. Who’s this ‘Prudence’ Harvey mentioned?”
“The ghost that lives in the Carhart house.” I hesitated, not sure how much I wanted to reveal to someone who shared my flesh and blood, someone whose opinion of me as a sane person I valued more than my own most days. “I kind of fibbed about Wanda warning me about the book—it was really Prudence the ghost talking through Wanda.” I watched Aunt Zoe closely, waiting for her to smirk or laugh or insist I start taking medication.
Her eyes narrowed slightly. “What makes you so certain Prudence was referring to this particular book?”
I scooted to the front of my chair. “You mean you believe that a ghost talked to me through Wanda?”
“You thought I wouldn’t?”
“Of course I thought you wouldn’t. You’re the most level-headed person I know.”
“Violet, I’ve lived in Deadwood a long time. I’ve seen a lot of things happen here. Some come with rational explanations, others don’t. After a while, you have to either check yourself into a mental institution or decide to believe there are things in this world that are beyond reason. This incident in Wanda Carhart’s house sounds like it falls into the latter class.”
I gaped at Aunt Zoe. After tonight’s revelation about Jane and ghosts, I felt like I was meeting the real Zoe for the first time. Until now, she’d just been my funny, loving aunt. Now she was a stranger full of stories, full of memories, full of experiences—all that had nothing to do with family, with me. It kind of knocked me sideways.
Then she smiled and patted my cheek, and she was back to being my favorite aunt who made the best homemade lemonade around.
“Close your mouth, Violet.” After I obeyed, she said, “Are you absolutely certain P
rudence was referring to this demon book?”
“What other book would she be referring to?”
Aunt Zoe started to say something, then stopped, her gaze searching my face. Whatever she saw made her look down at her hands and frown. “What do you think Prudence meant by you having a lot to learn yet?”
“I don’t know. I guess to brush up on my demonology, since that’s what Lila and her evil not-so-do-gooders were all giddy about.”
“Hmmm,” was all she said.
Since Aunt Zoe hadn’t laughed me off yet or called for a padded wagon, I whispered, “Sometimes I wonder …”
No, maybe I should keep my mouth shut.
“You wonder what, Violet?” Aunt Zoe’s gaze was intense, her hand squeezed mine, seeming to urge me onward. “Say it.”
I took a deep breath and plunged right into it. “I wonder if one of the demons in the book is real.”
Aunt Zoe stared at me, not laughing at the idea even a little.
“I had a nightmare about one,” I continued. “I could even smell the stench of sulfur coming from him, feel its heat.” Feel its spittle on my face when it screamed at me.
Again, her eyes scoured my face, looking for what, I didn’t know. “But you have doubts,” she said, not asking.
I squirmed on my seat. “We’re talking about ghosts and demons here. Fairytales. After that comes werewolves, vampires, and headless-horsemen.”
“Yes, but fairytales are often based on true events.”
Goosebumps prickled my skin. “Can’t we go back to talking about who murdered Jane?” I’d rather stick to the flesh and blood players in the game.
“I think you need to leave Jane’s murder to Detective Cooper and put your energy into figuring out what Prudence meant about the book.”
“Aunt Zoe, we don’t even know if what she’s talking about is real. I’m still not fully convinced Wanda wasn’t playing some elaborate parlor trick on me just to mess with my head. I did help put her only remaining child in prison, if you remember. She probably has some grudges stacked up.”
“Who has a grudge?” Harvey asked, hurrying back into the kitchen.
“You get lost somewhere? The bathroom is just down the hall.” I was still bristling about him throwing me under a bus about Prudence and then leaving the room.
“Prostate was being mule-headed, just like someone else I know. Same thing happened this morning at the opera house; you were being mule-headed then and I couldn’t rush my piss, so Coop got to you before I could come to the rescue.”
So that’s where Harvey had disappeared to.
“What did I miss?” he asked, dropping into his chair.
“Violet is going to bring me this demon book,” Aunt Zoe said.
“I am? Why?”
“Because I’m your aunt and I told you to.”
For some reason, the thought of her seeing the book made my armpits sweaty. Partly, I felt this overriding sense of guilt for stealing it, but mostly I was afraid she’d look at the book and find it quite silly and then call for a straitjacket along with the padded wagon.
“But it’s all written in Latin,” I said.
“I’m not surprised. I want to see it.”
“You’re not going to be able to read it.”
She smiled at me, looking a bit like Alice’s Cheshire cat. “What makes you think I can’t read Latin, Violet Lynn? I’ll have you know, your great grandmother insisted I learn how to read Latin when I was Addy’s age and went to great pains to teach me. I’ve kept up my reading ever since.”
“Really?” When she gave a single nod, I pressed, “Why did she insist you learn Latin?”
“Someday I’ll explain it all to you. For now, I want that book.”
Chapter Sixteen
Thursday, September 6th
By the next morning, my cell phone had dried off after its swim in the toilet, but something wasn’t quite right with it. The volume kept going up and down at random and there were black lines through part of the screen that no amount of shaking or banging on hard surfaces would erase.
On the upside, I could still retrieve and hear most of my voicemails, several of which had come in from Jerry during my lovely field trip yesterday to Con College.
The other two were from Doc, who’d called me on Aunt Zoe’s home phone last night when he couldn’t get through on my cell. He’d wanted to know when we could finish what we’d started earlier in my bedroom, and then he gave me the play-by-play of exactly how he’d “finish” me. My libido sat and whined, but between Harvey’s snores from the couch and the kids taking turns needing one more drink of water and then one more trip to the bathroom before they could fall asleep, reality lulled all of my passion-filled hopes back to sleep for the night.
Reality sucked.
If only my life took place in the pages of a romance novel. Then Doc and I would get days to frolic in bed, exploring every inch of each other’s bodies. Instead, I spent my nights with two kids, a chicken, or a crusty old man. Not to mention the demons, ghosts, ghouls, and creepy clowns who tore through my dreams. Stephen King should write my tell-all biography.
I pulled into the parking lot at Bighorn Billy’s and parked the Picklemobile in the back of the lot next to a couple of other ancient metal pickups. A Bluetick hound dog sat in the driver’s seat of an old blue beast with white and chrome trim. It barked at me when the Picklemobile backfired.
I glared through the closed window at its bared teeth. “Don’t judge.”
Dodging fat raindrops falling from the cloud-filled sky, I rushed through the three-quarter-full parking lot toward the restaurant’s front door for what I feared might be my last meeting while still on Calamity Jane’s payroll.
In my race through the rain, I hadn’t seen Jerry’s Hummer anywhere, but I was a few minutes early. I lucked out and landed a booth where it would be easier to hide under the table when the shit hit the fan. Coffee was all I ordered. I doubted I’d be able to choke down any food this morning since my stomach felt like it had a pair of pissed-off badgers tussling inside of it.
The waitress had just poured my coffee when Ray sauntered in, followed by Mona. What were they doing here? My face blazed. Was Jerry going to rake me over the coals in front of an audience of my peers?
Mona saw me and grabbed Ray’s arm, pulling him along behind her. She slid onto the booth seat next to me.
Ray scowled down at her. “This booth isn’t going to work, Red. Jerry’s legs are too long. You two will be all tangled up under there.”
Mona opened the menu. “We’ll make do. Sit.”
I was too mortified to do anything more than sip my coffee, all the while imagining the various Shakespearean tragedies that might play out shortly for the Bighorn Billy’s crowd. I’d left my vial of poison at home, so I’d have to settle for suicide by fork during the climax.
Ray settled in across the table, kicking me on purpose and then offering a smirk-filled apology. I was busy loathing him with my eyes when Mona said, “Knock it off you two. Jerry’s here.”
I dragged my gaze off the orange-faced orangutan in time to see Jerry grab a menu from the hostess podium on his way over. He slid into the booth. His shoulders filled half of the bench seat, bumping into Ray, but he didn’t complain.
He greeted each of us in turn, his eyes lingering on Mona before landing on me. I tried to read his expression for impending doom on the horizon, but all I got was a clear gaze and a smile. A Magic 8 Ball would have given me more of a clue on the surety of my future in Deadwood real estate.
After the waitress stopped by and took our orders, Jerry clasped his big hands together on the table in front of him. “Mona told me that Jane liked to have regular meetings here to catch up on what each of you are doing, discuss any problems you may have run into, and deliver group announcements.” His focus shifted back to Mona. “Since you’re sort of the team captain, Mona, why don’t you start?”
Mona waited until the waitress had finished pouring coffee
and then proceeded to fill us in on the status of her contracted properties in an even-keeled, matter-of-fact tone. When I grew up, I wanted to be like Mona, sexy bombshell sweaters, silky scarves, and all.
Ray was up next, his report topped with a good dollop of gloating and superiority about the bidding war going on over his most recent contract—a ranch northwest of town with six hundred and forty acres that spread through a couple of valleys dotted with multiple fresh water springs.
Having to check in after Ray always felt like being the follow up band to the Rolling Stones. His swansong included a big, fake smile and an announcement that it was his goal to bring in the first sale for our new boss.
What a freaking kiss-ass. I “accidentally” buried the toe of my pointy shoe into his shin while crossing my legs under the table.
He grunted.
“Sorry,” I said and sipped some black coffee. Its bitterness paled next to the acidity in Ray’s gaze.
His eyelids tightened into little slits. “Violet has some exciting news to share, don’t you, Blondie?”
That was the first time he’d used my nickname in front of Jerry, who cast a frown at Ray before focusing on me.
I lowered my coffee cup, not liking the way Ray was practically licking his chops. I had plenty of exciting news involving ghosts, zombie brides, and albinos, but I had a feeling Ray was getting his sneer on about something else—probably my getting thrown into jail. Hell, I was surprised he hadn’t dropped flyers from the sky to spread his joy about the whole mess.
“That depends on what you think is exciting, Ray,” I said.
“She’s agreed to try to sell the Carhart house again,” he told the table while staring me down.
How did he …? Oh, shit. I’d left the contract on the printer, totally forgetting about it after I’d dropped my phone in the toilet yesterday and scampered home all defeated and ready to raise my white flag.
“Oh, Vi,” Mona said, mixing her words with a sigh.
Ray’s face was alight like Christmas had come early and Santa’s elves had been replaced with tassel-clad pole dancers.
