by Ann Charles
“Don’t you want to see Wild Bill?”
“I’d rather see a green bill—make that a case of them, enough to pay for a certain hotel.”
He continued to point at the chair.
“No way. There’s a tour group wandering around here.”
“I can see them leaving right now, so sit.”
I grumbled under my breath and sat in the chair. “I really don’t have time for this, Cornelius.”
“Now close your eyes.”
I glanced around to make sure nobody was watching us besides the crows.
“I said close them.”
“Fine.” I did as told. “Now what?”
“I want you to picture a candle flame in a dark room.”
A cool breeze skimmed my face. The scent of the pines seemed stronger, as if shutting down one sense cranked up another. “A big candle or a little one, like a birthday candle?”
“It doesn’t matter. Just picture the flame. Watch how it dances and flickers as the air moves it.”
I pictured a flame, then flashed back to the sight of my old Bronco burning in the parking lot behind Calamity Jane’s last month and felt my shoulders tense. Taking a slow breath in through my nose, I pushed that memory aside and went back to the candle.
“See the line of smoke trailing up from the flame, fading into wisps and then nothingness.”
Fading wisps and nothingness. Got it.
“Get rid of all of your preconceived notions about the flame, any worries about the fire, and just feel the warmth emanating from it.”
I imagined how a candle flame felt when I ran my hand over it, when I snuffed it out with wet fingers. I pretended to lean close to the flame, letting the heat warm my nose, my cheeks, my lips.
“Now unfocus your mind’s eye and sense the glow around the flame, the balance of light near the center, the shifting shadows.”
My shoulders slumped. I let my head fall forward, my jaw go slack, and thought about the flame.
Cornelius began to hum quietly, the sound lulling me even deeper into relaxation. My fingers relaxed, curling slightly, my thighs and hips settled into the canvas. I concentrated on that candle, amazed how the flame danced to the rhythm of Cornelius’s humming.
He really did have a pleasant voice. It was no wonder the ghosts liked it, the clarity of his tone, the way I could practically hear his vocal cords vibrating.
As I watched the shadows dance with the flame, the whispering of the pines overhead faded, the deep pulsing of Cornelius’s hum the only sound. The heat of the candle filled me throughout; even my toes felt warm.
“Now look beyond the flame, beyond the glow,” he whispered in my ear, seeming almost to come from inside of my head. “Look deep into the shadows, finding comfort in the darkness.”
I looked, the sea of blackness soft like chenille, inviting. I stepped toward it, reaching out to touch it.
“Do you see anything in the darkness, Violet? Do you see any movement at all?”
It was so dark. The shadows curled all around me, like smoke shifting over my skin, almost tickling.
I stretched my hand out further, trying to feel the black softness on the tips of my fingers, trying to—
Something grabbed my wrist and yanked.
I stumbled forward into the dark. When I caught my footing and looked around, the candle’s light was gone, not even the glow visible.
Everything was black. Cold and black. I could feel shadowy fingers crawling over me, digging into my skin, trying to burrow inside of me.
The grip on my wrist tightened. I tugged against it, but it crushed like an iron band. The flesh felt rough and bumpy, like alligator skin.
I tried to scream, and the blackness filled my mouth, coating my throat, muzzling me. I tried to cough free of it, but inhaled even more.
I couldn’t see, I couldn’t …
Hot breath blew against my face, the rancid smell making me retch, my stomach roiling.
“I can smell it on you,” it said, its voice thick, each word gruff and rasping.
Terror chilled me to my core. I knew that rotten egg smell—sulfur. The last time I’d gagged on it, my ex-client had melted in front of me and torn off his own face.
I could hear its breath rattling in and out, the hot, sulfur gusts blowing my curls so they tickled my eyes and cheeks.
It was so close. Too close.
It tugged and squeezed my wrist until my fist spread open. Something hot and wet circled my exposed palm and then trailed up my forearm.
A tongue.
Oh, my God! Something was licking me!
“I can taste it in your flesh.” Its hot breath rippled over the wetness on my hand.
I couldn’t speak, I couldn’t move, I couldn’t think.
It started to lick my palm again.
Without thinking, I grabbed the slimy muscle and yanked as hard as I could. It let go of my wrist and scratched at my arm, but I squeezed tighter, pulled harder, grabbing on with both hands.
Its hellish scream pierced my head.
I screamed back, using the weight of my body to tug harder, feeling its tongue begin to tear away. Claws dug into my arms, my stomach, my thighs, shredding down my legs.
It thrashed but I held, not letting go, ripping the flesh.
“Violet!” It screamed somehow around my hold on its tongue.
With one last heave, I tore the thick, slimy tongue free.
“Violet!” It yelled again over its own squeals of pain.
What? How could it …?
“Wake up, damn it!”
It grabbed me by the shoulders, the squeals fading, the black surrounding me lightening to a soft gray.
“Violet, open your eyes.”
I knew that voice.
“Come on, Violet,” Cornelius ordered, “open them!”
I obeyed, and in a breath, the trees returned to their whispering and Cornelius swam into focus, his cornflower blue eyes wide.
“Where are your sunglasses?” I asked.
He gaped at me for a moment, and then let go of my shoulders, leaning back against the iron fence around Bill’s grave.
“Violet,” he said, holding his chest. “You scared the holy hell out of me. What just happened? What was going on inside your mind?”
I blinked several times and sniffed, still picking up a hint of sulfur in the back of my nose. “I think I had another nightmare.”
“You weren’t sleeping.”
“I must have been.”
Cornelius looked at me for a moment. “Do you have these kind of nightmares often?”
“Sort of.”
“That explains why you look like you’ve just come out of a dryer most times I see you.”
“Hey, there’s no reason to get insulting.”
“How long have you been having these nightmares?”
Since I killed Wolfgang. “For a couple of months.”
“Hmmmm.” He stroked his goatee. “What did you see in the nightmare?”
“I couldn’t see anything; it was pitch black.”
“Then why all of the screaming?”
“I was screaming?”
“You scared off the crows. Luckily, the tour bus was revving up to roll out of here, so we didn’t have an audience.”
“I thought it was screaming.”
“What was screaming?”
“The thing that was licking me.”
“There was something licking you in your nightmare?”
“Yeah. When I reached out into the darkness, it grabbed me and then licked my palm.”
I noticed then that I had both of my hands clenched tight. My fingers ached as I eased them open, my palms drenched in sweat. A lot of sweat. Slimy sweat.
I looked down at the little bubbles in the creases of my right palm. My heart throttled up, banging in my ears. Sweat didn’t make bubbles, did it? No, but spit did. I sniffed my hand; the stench of sulfur was subtle but there.
“Violet, did you hear me?” Corne
lius interrupted my panic attack.
Gulping, I wiped my hands on my skirt. It had to be just sweat. “No, what?”
“There was a reason I didn’t tell you to reach out with your hand, only with your mind. You don’t touch. You never, ever touch.”
“Why? What happens when you touch?” Besides getting grabbed and licked?
“Well, I don’t know exactly, but my grandmother was very strict about that when she would have me practice reaching out—no fingers, just thoughts.” He kneaded his hands. “Did it say anything?”
“No,” I lied, afraid of what I’d done.
He stroked his goatee some more. “Violet, have you ever considered that you might not actually be just a medium?”
“No.” I hated to blow out his birthday candles for him, but I wasn’t even a medium.
My phone rang, making both of us jump.
I looked at the screen, but the name was blacked out thanks to the toilet incident, the lines much worse now. I was going to have to get a new phone, damn it.
I had to take the call. It could be the kids. “Hello?”
“I need you to come down to the station, Parker.”
What? He couldn’t have heard me screaming clear down there, could he? Talk about nightmares! I swallowed the urge to scream again, and calmly told Cooper, “No.”
“Parker—” he started.
“Am I under arrest?”
He growled. “Don’t start that again.”
“I’m not coming down there, Detective. If you have something to say to me, say it now.”
Maybe I’d get a new number with the new phone and keep it unlisted. That wasn’t going to work. I was a real estate agent. Cooper’s agent. I needed a Plan B.
“Fine, meet me at Bighorn Billy’s,” he said.
“No.” He wasn’t going to call all of the shots, damn it. “You meet me in a location of my choosing.”
“Is this some kind of pissing contest, Parker?”
“Yep.”
He growled again. “Where?”
Nowhere. After the nightmare I’d just screamed through, I really wasn’t in the mood to lock horns with Cooper. “In the Deadwood library.”
“What?”
“You heard me.” At least if we were there, he couldn’t yell at me. He’d have to keep it to very tense whispering. “Be in the South Dakota room in fifteen minutes.”
I hung up on his curses.
“I gotta go talk to the cops.” Carefully, like I was ninety instead of thirty-five, I stood, testing my legs for any last shakes from the nightmare.
“We’ll have to make contact with Bill another time.”
Or never. “I’ll talk to the seller’s agent,” who just happened to be my boyfriend’s gorgeous ex, “and see if we can get a couple of weeks’ extension on the sale.”
“I’m coming with you.”
“To the library?” Cooper would not be happy if I brought backup.
“To the parking lot. The battery on my rental is dead. I tend to have that effect on anything with batteries.”
That explained the jumper cables. “Why did you need the mineral salt?”
He fell in beside me, his chair in hand. “The hotel only has over-processed table salt. I need the extra minerals.”
“And the extension cord?”
“For my boombox.”
Who used a boombox anymore? “I thought that’s what the D batteries were for.”
“No, I just like to keep seven batteries on me for good luck.”
And here I’d always thought a rabbit’s foot seemed odd.
“The candles and rubber gloves?”
“Those are self-explanatory,” he replied.
Ah, no, they weren’t, but I dropped the subject.
It took us an extra ten minutes to get Cornelius’s black rental car running, which made me five minutes late getting to the library.
Cooper’s sedan was still pinging and ticking in the parking lot when I walked by it. I climbed the library steps, wishing I’d seen Doc’s car parked there, too. I could use his broad shoulders right about now, especially after having my palm licked.
I stepped inside the library, the smell of varnished floors and old paper welcoming. The sight of Cooper standing by the main desk with Tiffany Sugarbell, Doc’s flame-haired ex, hanging off his bicep stopped me in my tracks. Her full, pouty lips made me long for a fly swatter.
What in the hell was she doing here? I hadn’t seen her Jeep in the parking lot. Had she come with Cooper? Was she the woman Cooper had the hots for? That would be just my luck—my two headaches hooking up.
I walked over to them, sucking in my gut as I tended to do when the ultra-competitive she-devil made an appearance.
Tiffany noticed me first, her smile fading around the edges. I could see her shoulders stiffen as I neared, making her all-star rack perk up even more under her tight blue sweater. In her pencil-thin white skirt and two inch heels, she looked straight off one of Addy’s Barbie Doll boxes. All she needed was a smart little purse and a picture of Ken in her locket.
Cooper turned toward me, his face stony, his bulldog-covered tie crooked and loose, like he’d been leashed by it and tried to tug free. “You’re late, Parker.”
“Shit happens,” I said, in no mood for his usual ass chewing extravaganza.
Tiffany’s eyes bulged while Cooper’s lips thinned.
“Really, Violet,” Tiffany whispered, making a point of glancing around the big, nearly empty room. “You can’t talk to your clients like that.”
I’d like Tiffany to walk a mile in my heels and see if she didn’t lose a little of her glossy coat.
“Cooper’s not a typical client.” He came with bullet holes and handcuffs.
Her laugh was husky, all coated with sex. She leaned into Cooper’s arm, brushing those centerfold boobs against his arm. “Tell me about it,” she practically purred next to his ear. “I was just telling the detective to give me a call if he needed help with anything.”
Like unzipping his pants with her teeth? Sheesh, she was throwing herself at Cooper. Doc was right about her. Someone needed to slap her upside the head with some self-esteem.
“Anything,” Tiffany emphasized. “I’ve been around longer than Violet. I know a few tricks when it comes to selling that I haven’t shared with her yet.”
Oh, come on! Like I needed any more kicks while I was down for the count. Ray and Jerry had already bruised me up enough, not to mention my experience with that freaky licker. The last thing I wanted to do today was arm wrestle Miss Perfect for a client.
I bared my teeth and tried to force my lips into a smile. “I don’t know, Coop. Do you think Tiffany will let you handcuff her like you do me?”
Tiffany’s lips parted with a gasp.
Yeah, take that, bitch.
I looked up at Cooper and ran smack-dab into two icy blue chips trying to freeze-ray me. “If you’re done getting your ego buffed by my associate, how about we take care of business. I’ve got other appointments this afternoon.” Like the standing one I had with my couch and the Duke on the TV.
He pointed at the door to the South Dakota room. “Go, Parker.” His voice sounded like he’d been gargling with rock salt again.
“Always good to see you, Tiffany,” I lied with a parting nod, and then I remembered Cornelius and the hotel situation. “I need to talk to you about the hotel sale.” Tiffany represented the seller on that deal. “How about I call you later this evening with the details?”
Her big, bright smile returned, her mode flipping from sexpot back to real estate agent. “Sure, Violet. I’m having dinner with an old friend, but I’ll be done early.”
It had better not be Doc, or I was going to go all Godzilla on him and fry his jewels with my laser eyes.
With a wave goodbye, and a mumbled “good riddance,” I clomped across the waxed wooden floor toward the room reserved for South Dakota books and information.
Cooper followed me into the room and shu
t the door behind him, leaning against it, caging me all alone with him and his temper.
I tried to find a positive thing to say. “Your nose is looking better.”
His chin twisted slightly, his eyes narrowing.
“What?” I asked when he remained silent, hiding my trembling hands behind my back.
“Handcuff you?”
“Well, you did.”
“Yeah, and then I threw your ass in jail. What the hell were you playing out there?”
“Chess. She’s trying to take my queen.”
“I’m no queen.”
“You know what I mean.” I crossed my arms. “Listen, if you want her to be your agent, just say so and I’ll rip up our contract. I promise it won’t hurt my feelings.”
Okay, that wasn’t completely true. Even though working with Cooper was like stringing a barbed-wire fence without leather gloves, he was still MY barbed-wire fence. She could go find her own.
“We’re not ripping up any contracts.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I don’t want her to be my agent.”
“Then why didn’t you tell her that?”
“I don’t have to. It’s none of her business.”
I rolled my eyes. Men!
“Now can we cut to commercial on this soap opera and focus on the task at hand?” he asked.
“What task? In case you don’t remember, you didn’t converse with me on the phone, you just ordered me about, as usual.”
“Quit your whining, Parker. Here’s the deal. Peter Tarragon called me this morning and told me that his wife has been taking depression medication for a few months.”
Helen was on depression meds? Was that why she was crying in the women’s bathroom at the opera house?
“I need you to tell me in detail everything you know about Helen Tarragon.”
“Is that an order?”
He sighed, leaning his head back against the door. “Will you please tell me what you know about Helen?”
I chewed on his request for a moment. “That depends.”
“On what?”
“Do you promise not to yell at me?”
“Yes, fine.”
“Or handcuff me again?”
The ridges down his cheeks softened. “I thought you liked it when I handcuffed you.”
“I like it about as much as you like it when I take your gun and shoot at albinos.”
That hardened his face right back up. “No yelling and no handcuffs. Now spill it. We need to get down to the bottom of this damned mess with Jane.”
