Optical Delusions in Deadwood

by Ann Charles

  Doc rounded the doorway as I struggled to clasp my bra, bent over with my ear to my cell, which I’d set on top of a box. I silently shushed him before he had a chance to laugh out loud at me.

  He set the glass of water and can of Diet Coke he’d been holding on a nearby box and came to my rescue.

  I lifted the phone to my ear in time to hear, “We need to find you a man who will ravish you, take his Playboy fantasies out on you.”

  Doc’s hands didn’t stop at the clasp. His palms slipped around and covered my breasts, stroking. His lips brushed my bare shoulder, then his teeth nipped my skin.

  “That isn’t necessary,” I told Natalie, closing my eyes as Doc’s hands ventured south.

  “Whatever. We can talk about this later. I’m almost there.”

  My eyelids sprang wide. “Almost where?”

  “At Doc’s office. I have a gut feeling he’s working late tonight. And when I get there, no more Betty Crocker. I’m back to being Catwoman from now on. I’m wearing my lucky Cookie Monster panties.”

  “He’s not there.” I grabbed Doc’s hand, stopping him from slipping further inside my underwear.

  “How do you know?”

  “I ...” I stepped away from Doc, pointing at the phone and mouthing Natalie’s name. “I stopped by my office earlier to grab a file. His car was gone, and his windows were dark.”

  “I’m gonna check anyway.”

  “No!”

  “What is your problem? You’re acting all weird. Have you been drinking tequila again?”

  “No, no.” I ran a hand through my hair, searching frantically for an explanation Natalie would buy. “I’m just frustrated with this whole Carhart deal.”

  “You really need to stop thinking about dead men. It’s unhealthy. The live ones are much less stressful.”

  I didn’t remind her about how upset she’d been earlier at the thought of Doc sleeping with another woman. Partly because I’m a nice friend, but mostly because I was the other woman. Ah, the twisted lives we lived.

  “Listen, Nat. I think it’s a bad idea for you to stop at Doc’s place.”

  That snared Doc’s attention. He crossed his arms, watching me with raised brows.

  “You think it’s a waste of time, huh?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  She sighed. “You’re right. Do you know which hotel he’s staying at?”

  Christ, she was relentless. One of her finer qualities, usually. “No. I think you should sleep on this.”

  “I’d rather sleep on him.”

  I ignored that. “Why don’t you meet me for a drink over at the Purple Door Saloon in ten minutes? Let’s come up with another plan.” I’d rather poke myself in the eye repeatedly with an icicle, but those were hard to come by in the summer.

  “All right. I’ll see you there.”

  I hung up and frowned at Doc. “I have to go.”

  “So I hear.” He nodded at my phone. “You need to take care of that.”

  “It’s not that easy.” I zipped up my dress with a little help from him. “She’s been my best friend since we were kids. I don’t want to break her heart.”

  “You already have. She just doesn’t know it yet.”

  That stung. I lashed back. “Maybe you should make it a little more clear to her that you’re not interested. Quit stringing her along.” Unfortunately, placing some of the blame on him didn’t lessen the sting; it just made me feel like I was something I’d find stuck in the tread of my boot.

  Doc frowned at me. “I’ve told her repeatedly that our relationship is and will remain strictly business. I reiterated that fact Saturday night after dinner with you and your date.”

  “That was a blind date. A debt payback to Natalie.”

  “A date nonetheless.” He jammed his hands in his pocket. “I don’t know how to make it any clearer to your friend than I already have. Now it’s up to you to quit encouraging her.”

  “By telling her about us?”

  “Exactly.”

  “You make it sound so simple.” He didn’t understand Natalie. He didn’t know about the claim she’d staked on him, one that meant I was supposed to keep my hands off. It wasn’t as simple as just announcing to her that I was having sex with her supposed “one,” about whom she had spun wedding dreams already. Not if I ever wanted her to talk to me again.

  I grabbed my purse. Taking the can of soda pop Doc held out for me, I hesitated in front of him. I didn’t know what to say to a guy who’d taken me to the moon and back. I was new to this dating business, if that’s what you called what we’d had tonight. “I’ll see you around.”

  “Violet.” Doc grabbed me, kissing me until my knees wobbled. “Tell her.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Tuesday, August 7th

  A mourning dove cooed outside my open window. If I’d had Harvey’s shotgun, I would have blown the noisy ball of feathers to smithereens.

  Beams of sunlight stabbed between the curtains and poked me awake, seeming a lot brighter than they should have for seven in the morning. I blinked at the clock and let out a yip when I read the numbers on it.

  I was babysitting the office while Ray and Mona visited actual paying clients, so being late was not an acceptable option.

  I crashed into the bathroom, trying to take the doorframe with me. My shoulder throbbing, I stepped under cool jets of water and shivered, with no time to wait for the water heater to kick in.

  That’s what I got for drinking tequila shots. Just thinking about last night at the Purple Door Saloon made my tongue recoil. I never did get around to telling Natalie about Doc. I just couldn’t do it, not with her waxing on about him and his qualities as a potential husband and me fresh from having sex with him, his musky scent still on my skin.

  Instead, I drank and listened. And listened. And drank. And listened some more, nodding at the appropriate times. But my head was still in Doc’s back room, full of guilt-ridden thoughts about his naked body. As best friends go, I was one of the shittiest around.

  It took Natalie two hours to finish lamenting. The tequila kept me nice and numb through the thick of it.

  Pounding on the bathroom door jarred me back to the present.

  “Mom!” Layne yelled. “I need to go to the bathroom.”

  I pulled my head out from under the shower nozzle. “Go downstairs!”

  “I can’t! Aunt Zoe is making Addy wash her chicken in the sink.”

  Wash her ... What? Why? I probably didn’t want to know.

  “Hold on a second,” I yelled, rinsed the last of the shampoo from my hair, and shut off the water. Not using conditioner meant my curls would riot, but Layne’s bladder trumped.

  A towel wrapped around me, a minty squirt of toothpaste in my mouth, I raced past Layne and zipped into my bedroom to dress with superhero speed. Fifteen minutes later, I stumbled out the front door as I slipped into my beaded mule sandals, my keys in hand.

  The sight of the empty driveway stopped me cold.

  What the hell? Where was my Bronco?

  Oh, right. Tequila. Natalie had driven me home. My Bronco was still parked at work, since I’d walked the four blocks to the bar from Doc’s last night.

  Lucky for me, old man Harvey’s pickup sat across the street in Ms. Geary’s drive.

  The mouth-watering smell of bacon greeted me when Harvey opened the door. The cantankerous old man standing in the doorway in his red satin boxers didn’t take kindly to my interrupting his breakfast, especially since I insisted he put on his pants before driving me down to work.

  “You could have just let me borrow your keys.” I told Harvey a few minutes later as he backed out of Ms. Geary’s drive. “I’d be back at noon to pick you up.”

  “No way! I’d be a shriveled raisin by then. That woman can’t get enough of me.”

  Red satin boxers and now this kernel of knowledge. Swell.

  “What’s wrong with your hair?” Harvey asked. “You jam something in a light socket?”

>   “I had chicken issues.”

  “Your feathers do look ruffled this mornin’.”

  My cell phone rang. I pulled it from my purse and flipped it open. Douglas Mann, again. I took a deep breath and took Douglas’ call. “Violet Parker speaking, how can I help you?”

  “Hello, Miss Parker.” Doug’s voice sounded strangely high and peppy with a squeak of bubblegum, like a sixteen-year-old girl’s. “This is Douglas Mann’s secretary. He’d like to speak with you if you have a moment.”

  He had his secretary call? Wow. That seemed pretty highfalutin’ for a Tuesday morning in Deadwood. “Sure.”

  She put me through.

  “Hello, Miss Parker.” This time Doug’s voice sounded more like I’d figured—baritone. Although I’d expected it to have a whiskey smoothness that came with years of luring young virgins, not a crust around the edges as if he was getting over a cold. “I’ve finally managed to catch you.”

  Did that have a double meaning? Or were tales of his dalliances skewing my opinion before I’d even met him? “What can I do for you, Mr. Mann?”

  We pulled into the parking lot behind Calamity Jane Realty. I could feel Harvey’s eyes on me. I ignored him.

  “I’d like to have lunch with you today.”

  “You would? Today? Why?” Douglas didn’t waste any time, did he?

  “I may be interested in purchasing some property.”

  “Of course.” Duh, Violet. My face warmed at the wrong conclusion I’d broad-jumped to. “Where do you want to meet? Bighorn Billy’s?”

  Harvey slowed to a stop behind my Bronco.

  “No. It’s too busy with bikers. Meet me at The Golden Sluice at eleven-thirty. I’ll be in the corner booth.”

  “The Golden Sluice, got it. See you then.”

  I tossed my phone in my purse and reached for the door handle. “Thanks for driving me down here, Harvey.”

  His caterpillar-like eyebrows were all crinkled. “Was that Doug Mann you were talking to?”

  “Yes. And if you are going to tell me he’s a womanizer, I already know.” He didn’t seem very womanizing on the phone. I hadn’t had a chance to get to that funeral video yet to confirm anything for myself, but I would remedy that before I sat across the table from him.

  “And you’re still going to go to lunch with him?”

  “He wants to buy something.”

  Harvey snorted. “He usually gets it for free. What makes him think you’re selling?”

  “I’m talking about a property, smartass”

  “Yeah, but is he?”

  “I’m going to say good-bye now, Harvey.” I shoved open the door. “And ignore your little innuendo.”

  “Fine, Miss High-n-Mighty, you do that. But watch Doug’s hands, or you might get pinched in-yer-end-o.”

  I could hear him laughing at his own pun as he drove off.

  A couple of hours later, I’d watched Douglas on the funeral disk over and over. That was no pinch. He’d cupped and squeezed, and Lila hadn’t visibly reacted at all. Either she’d been too grief-stricken to notice Douglas’ hand on her ass or she’d been cupped and squeezed by the man before. I’d place all of my chips on the latter.

  I was still pondering what this could mean in the grand scheme of murder as I made the winding drive up through traffic and curves to The Golden Sluice. As dingy, hole-in-the-wall bars go, it was unremarkable with its grimy wood floors, scarred tables, and crappy lighting. Not very golden at all.

  A few people—mostly men, mostly grizzled—sat at the tables, foamy beer in one hand and cigarette in the other. Wisps of smoke spiraled up toward the ceiling fans, the haze-filled air hiding all the dirty corners. A TV on the back wall reigned, entrancing the dozen or so men with a baseball game, the volume down to a low drone.

  Three hunched patrons held down stools at the bar. A Grizzly Adams lookalike cleaned glasses behind it, eyeing me as I crossed to the corner booth. My smile and small wave went unreturned. Not exactly Boston’s Cheers, this place.

  Douglas Mann rose to the occasion, as in he stepped out of the booth to greet me. He reminded me of a lollipop, his chin round, his jowls a little rounder, and his wire-rimmed glasses complete circles. But his torso and legs were long and straight, clear down to the pointed toes of his cowboy boots.

  A little too boyish to be handsome, I thought as I approached and he smiled. Actually, more like the kid next door on stilts. Not exactly lady-killer material. What was it about the guy that made him such a big babe magnet? Something I wasn’t seeing?

  “You must be Mr. Mann,” I said and took the hand he offered. The skin on his palm reminded me of raw steak—cool, smooth, and meaty. I let go as soon as I could.

  “Please, call me Douglas.” His gaze dipped to my neck, but no lower in spite of the semi-deep V of my navy-blue dress. “That’s a beautiful sapphire. Is it an heirloom?”

  I touched my grandmother’s heart pendant. The man knew a little about jewelry. “Thank you, and yes, it is.”

  His smile widened enough to show two rows of bright white teeth that stood out in the bar’s semi-gloom. “Is your hair naturally that curly?”

  I fingered one of the rampant spirals that had escaped my French knot, tucking it behind my ear. “Yes.”

  I waited, anticipating a fire-hose dousing of charm or charisma or something that would live up to his tail-chasing reputation.

  “Interesting,” was all he said. He gestured toward the bar. “Can I get you a drink?”

  Hmm. Nothing sleazy. A gentleman so far. Maybe I had the wrong Douglas Mann. “A Diet Coke would be great.”

  “I’ll be right back. Menus are on the table.”

  Ten minutes passed in a blip. Too soon, I was done with the menu and thus forced to make eye contact. “So, are you interested in a particular house or would you like to look at some of the MLS listings I’ve brought along?” I reached for my tote.

  Douglas’ lips curved downward. “I don’t usually like to talk business until after I eat. It gives me indigestion.”

  “Okay.” That left the weather to fill the next half hour. I didn’t think Mother Nature was going to cut it with all of the blue sky and sunshine lately.

  “How long have you lived in the area, Miss Parker?”

  “Six months. And you can call me Violet.”

  “Violet, it is.” His knee bumped mine.

  Was that on purpose? I thought of Harvey’s warning and made sure both of Douglas’ hands were accounted for.

  “Do you like living in the hills?” he asked.

  “Most days.”

  “What brought you to town?”

  My Bronco. What was with these formal questions? Was I being vetted for something? “Family and a job.”

  “You mean your current job?” His knee bumped mine again.

  Twice meant something, didn’t it? “Yes.”

  “How’s the realty business these days with this economic climate?”

  “A little slow.” Pinesap moved faster in the dead of winter.

  “I’ve noticed a few more For Sale signs than usual around town this spring.”

  Just a few? Try three times more than usual, according to Mona. “Times are tough in Deadwood.”

  “Lead, too. But I’m hoping I can help.” His knee nudged mine again.

  I shifted deeper into the booth, out of knee reach.

  “Was that you?” He peeked under the table. “I thought it was the table leg. I’m sorry.”

  I waved him off. “That’s okay.”

  So he wasn’t playing knee-sie with me on purpose? Why not? After all the badmouthing I’d heard about this would-be Don Juan, I’d expected to be battling an octopus all through lunch.

  “Has anyone ever told you that you have a very bony knee?” he asked with a lopsided grin.

  Boney knees and Raggedy Ann hair. I should have donned my red nose and clown shoes to complete the outfit. Was it really any wonder Douglas wasn’t hitting on me?

  The food showed up
at that moment, delivered by Grizzly himself. The plates clattered on the table, each followed by a grunt and a splashing refill.

  After dabbing the Diet Coke from my dress, I lifted the soggy top bun from my sandwich and frowned down at the charred sliver of meat. I could’ve sworn I’d ordered chicken, not Tweety Bird. I reached for the ketchup to cover the taste of burned poultry.

  When I glanced up at Douglas, he was frowning toward the doorway, shaking his head.

  I looked over my shoulder, attempting to follow his frown but instead locking eyes with a familiar pair of pale blue eyes at the bar.

  Harvey! What was he doing here? Oh, right. He’d heard me on the phone with Douglas.

  Harvey ducked behind a menu—a postcard-sized drink menu. I could still see his bushy brows and gold teeth. A familiar body slid onto the stool next to him. My jaw tightened. Cooper, too? Did Harvey really think Douglas was that bad? Why didn’t he just call in the National Guard?

  “You trying to drown that?” Douglas asked.

  “What?” I’d been pouring ketchup this whole time. Tweety floated in a pool of tomato blood. “Oh, crud.”

  Douglas chuckled and offered me a dry French fry.

  The rest of lunch was a blur of small talk and stolen scowls in Harvey’s direction. Not a single wink or flirty glance flowed from Douglas. Was this the same guy I’d watched cup and squeeze Lila’s ass on the video? Maybe he had an evil twin. That, or Douglas liked to chase any skirt but mine.

  Douglas insisted upon walking me out to my Bronco, and since he hadn’t allowed me to talk business inside, I agreed.

  I’d parked on a side street just off Lead’s main drag. He opened my door for me. Again, a gentleman.

  “Violet.” He leaned on the open window frame, his cheeks rounded. “I’m interested in the old Carhart place.”

  “Why?” It was out before I realized what I’d said. I tightened my slack jaw and smiled back. “I mean, would you like to do a walk-through?”

  “Sure, but not today.” He glanced toward Main Street, his forehead wrinkling. “Have you had any other offers on it yet?”

  “There’s some interest.”

  “But an actual offer?”