Optical Delusions in Deadwood

by Ann Charles

  “He also asked how I liked your services. Only he said ‘servicing’ until I corrected him.”

  I sat back against the cushions, covering my eyes with my hand. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

  “I’m sorry, Violet. I could live in my car for a few days.”

  “No, that’s crazy. We’re less than a week away from getting the keys to your place. I’ll deal with Ray if he comes at me with this.” Hell, I was already dealing with a cult-loving arsonist. Ray was a Twinkie by comparison.

  I heard Aunt Zoe’s truck pull into the drive. After our little standoff earlier, I didn’t want to be caught talking to Doc. “I have to go. Aunt Zoe’s here.”

  “Okay. Go to lunch with me tomorrow.”

  “What about Ray?”

  “This is business. You need help with your financial portfolio. You’re about to get your first commission check.”

  “The bulk of which is now going toward a replacement for my Bronco.”

  “All the more reason why you need my help. If you’d rather, I can meet you somewhere.”

  It was a bad idea all around, especially since I couldn’t seem to keep my hands to myself when Doc was within reach. “I don’t know. Whenever we try to do lunch, the sky falls on me.”

  “I’ll bring an umbrella.”

  Addiction was not usually a pretty sight, but in Doc’s case, it was damned good-looking. “Madam Chow’s, twelve-thirty.”

  “I’ll be waiting.”

  I hung up and groaned. The pickup door slammed. I grabbed the Magic 8 Ball and shook it again. “Does Ray know about Doc living in his back room?”

  My sources say no.

  Good. “Does Ray know about Doc and me?”

  Ask again later.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Friday, August 10th

  The next morning, I gave in to Aunt Zoe’s pressuring and drove her pickup to Calamity Jane’s, feeling mighty bleary-eyed after a late night spent rehashing the scene at Charles’ Club. In the end, my suspicions zeroed in on Lila—partly because of our warm and fuzzy relationship, but mostly due to her cult-copying tattoo. After my eyelids finally shut, all thoughts burned up in flame-filled nightmares, and I awoke with fire-engine red eyes.

  Inside the office, I trudged straight to the coffee maker. Ray leaned back in his chair, his Tony Lamas dirtying his desktop, his cell phone to his ear. Mona’s chair sat empty. According to the message she’d left on my voicemail, she’d be tied up at an appointment in Rapid for most of the morning. I missed the clack of her fingernails on her laptop keys, especially since her absence meant I had to deal with Ray on my own.

  A slurp of the thicker-than-usual bitter black coffee made my tongue shrivel. “Holy crikey. That’s strong.” I’d have to check for hair sprouts on my chest later.

  Ray shushed me with his finger to his lips and a glare.

  I lowered the cup to my desktop, sloshing the black sludge onto the pages splayed across my desk. Upon closer inspection, I realized it was Doc’s lease. A Post-it arrow pointed to where it specified that the office was not to be used as a domicile.

  Turns out that Magic 8 Ball I’d consulted last night was full of shit. Ray was on to Doc’s and my secret.

  By the time Ray hung up the phone minutes later, I’d worked myself into a fury-filled lather, my periwinkle silk camisole sticking to my lower back.

  “What’s this?” I held up the paper with the Post-It arrow.

  Ray smirked. “What’s it look like?”

  “I’m not in the mood for your bullshit today, Ray. What’s it doing on my desk?”

  “I thought you might need a refresher course on Jane’s rules for our next-door neighbor.”

  “Why? He’s buying a house from me, not leasing a building.”

  “Don’t play dumb, Blondie. I was here the other night when you dropped him off. I know what’s going on.”

  My heart pummeled my lungs like a pair of speed-punching bags, but I kept my breath steady. This was just Ray. He couldn’t fire me, but he could make my life utter hell—depending how much he actually knew. “Really? What’s going on?”

  “Your boyfriend is shacking up in the back room of his office.”

  Damn. I needed two smokescreens. I focused on the first one. “Doc is a friend, not boyfriend.”

  “You sure about that?”

  Not one iota. “Positive.”

  “I saw you two in the parking lot. You looked pretty lovey-dovey to me.”

  What had he seen? We hadn’t kissed. Came close, though. “He’s a good friend.”

  “I think you’re full of shit.” His gaze challenged me. “And I have proof.”

  Don’t freak out! Keeping my face blank took a group effort from all four corners of my body. “I don’t believe you.”

  “You calling my bluff, Sweetheart?”

  “I’m so not your sweetheart. And yes, consider it called.”

  “I was hoping you would.” He opened his top drawer, pulled out a pair of black satin panties, and threw them at me. They landed at my feet. “I found your panties on your friend’s bathroom floor.”

  I stared down at the black satin, jealousy combusting in a red-hot flash, filling my cheeks with heat. They weren’t my underwear. So, whose were they? What were they doing in Doc’s bathroom? More importantly, were they Tiffany’s? Had she been over there recently, bebopping on the beanbag with him?

  Whoa! The rational side of my brain slapped some sense into the crazy ranting side. Doc might have a perfectly good explanation for the panties. I needed to talk to him before I began sharpening my kitchen knives. If Doc confirmed Ray’s accusation, then I’d cut Doc’s heart out and feed it to Harvey’s whangdoodle.

  “Those are not mine.”

  “You sure about that?” Ray taunted.

  “One hundred percent.” While my undies had played hide and seek in Doc’s back room, I’d left his office wearing them every damned time.

  Ray laughed, loud and harsh, the clamor echoing in the still office and making me wince. “You’re right, they’re not. They’re Ginny’s. But you should have seen your face when you saw those panties.”

  “Who’s Ginny?” And how did she know Doc?

  “Ginny York. She left them at my place the last time she came by to wet her whistle. I was just testing my theory about you and your boyfriend. You walked right into my trap. I could have spotted your tell from Mount Roosevelt.”

  My knees gave way and I fell into my chair. I really, really wanted to cram the panties up Ray’s nose and follow them with my foot. I nailed him with loathing. “You’re a vile prick.”

  His smirk spread toward his ears. “You’re just pissed because you played right into my hands. Jane’s going to love hearing you screwed Nyce to make a sale.”

  I had to play my cards carefully here, not let Ray see how much I needed him to keep quiet about Doc and me. I collected the lease papers in one bunch and carried them over to the filing cabinet, avoiding his gloating gaze. “I didn’t screw Doc to make a sale.”

  “Sure, whatever you say, Blondie.” His sarcasm rang, pure and annoying. “Knowing about you two lovebirds is going to make it all that much sweeter when I tell Jane about your boyfriend’s living arrangements and get him kicked out.”

  “Jane wouldn’t kick out a paying renter.”

  “Ah-ha! So you admit he’s living there.”

  Maybe if I kept Ray’s focus centered on Doc and his lease, his interest in Doc and my relationship would fade. “Of course. I’m the one who gave Doc permission to stay there until his house closed.”

  “You gave him permission?” He said this as if I’d just told him I had a third nipple. “Jane is going to love this. You blatantly disregarded her rules, making her look the fool.” He rubbed his hands together. “She’ll can your sorry ass for sure this time.”

  “Jane isn’t going to fire me.” I sounded calm, my voice smooth, my tone strong. Inside, my gut was full of daredevil motorcyclists circling arou
nd and around. Damn Ray for digging in my sandbox, unearthing my secrets. “And she isn’t going to kick Doc out, either.”

  “Yes, she will. I know Jane. She doesn’t suffer liars, especially as employees.”

  “You’re confused about your facts. I haven’t lied to her about any of this.” I hadn’t even talked to her for days, what with her being out of town dealing with her divorce mess.

  “You overstepped the boundary, Blondie. Jane’s a stickler about this rule.”

  “And you follow every single one of her rules to the letter?” I slammed the file drawer closed. “I don’t think so.”

  “I sell houses and make her money. I’m allowed to break a few rules. You haven’t even sold one house yet. That means you don’t get to break any rules. On top of it, you stupidly agreed to sell that Carhart mess.”

  “That house will sell.”

  “At what cost to Jane’s reputation?” He lowered his feet to the floor, his gaze narrowing, his upper lip curling. “You were on thin ice before you climbed into bed with our neighbor. When Jane gets back on Monday, that ice is going to break. She’ll fire you on the spot, and Doc will have his lease torn up. Unless ...”

  “Unless what?” I crossed my arms over my chest, preparing mentally for whatever ultimatum he hurled at me.

  “You turn in your resignation. Then I’ll keep my mouth shut about your boyfriend.”

  “So I give up my job in order for Doc to get to stay put. Is this still about you being pissy because I took your nephew’s place here? Or is it because I’m a threat to your job?”

  He guffawed. “You, a threat? You must live on the moon, Blondie. With the sales commissions I bring in, I’m the king of the mountain around here.”

  “Maybe so—at the moment,” I skirted around the over-tanned baboon back to my desk, avoiding him. “But you’re living in a glass castle, throwing stones.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “What are you and the Mudder brothers smuggling in those crates?”

  There was a long pause from Ray, so long that I looked over and found his whole face scrunched in a snarl. “I told you before, you should mind your own business.”

  Apparently, I’d found a weak spot in his massive ego. “Guns? Drugs? Counterfeit money? Am I getting warm yet?” When he just glared at me, I added, “I wonder if Detective Cooper would be interested in checking out those crates. I’m pretty sure he’d be curious about why the crates keep leaving the funeral home loaded.”

  Ray shot out of his chair so fast it almost tipped over. His cheeks turned from orange to red to purple as he curled and uncurled his fists. “Keep your meddling nose out of my shit.”

  “Or what? You’ll tattle on me to Jane for that, too?”

  “You’ll wish Jane was the only devil raining down on you.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  “Consider it a friendly warning.”

  “We aren’t friends.”

  He snorted. “Yeah, and it’s a real shame after the way you spread your legs for all of your other ‘friends.’ I’m feeling a little left out.”

  It was times like this when I wish I carried a cast-iron skillet in my purse. “You’re not going to sidetrack me with your petty insults, Ray. I’m on to something with these crates, and you’re running scared.”

  Ray rushed me, looming over me. A vein throbbed in the middle of his forehead. “I’m telling you one last time, you prying cunt, mind your own goddamned business.”

  I grabbed my purse, needing to put some space between us—the state of Montana would do—or I might smash his dick in my desk drawer. But first, I wanted to make one thing crystal clear. I stood toe to toe with him, aiming my finger up at his face. “If you try to get me fired on Monday by telling Jane about Doc’s living arrangements, I’m going to consider that a threat to my family.”

  “Ohhhh, the tough little pussycat is mad. What are you going to do? Claw me? I like to be scratched, you know.”

  “I’m going to knock you off your fucking mountain.”

  I slammed the back door on his snide laughter.

  The air conditioner in Aunt Zoe’s truck did little to cool me down. I drove up the hill toward Lead, steering toward one of my favorite java joints. I still needed caffeine, even more so after my showdown with that loincloth-wearing buffoon.

  I zig-zagged through the back streets of Lead, avoiding some of the heavy late-morning motorcycle traffic that buzzed around Lead’s Open Cut. As I cruised by the dirt parking lot next to the YMCA, I did a double-take at the sight of a familiar long-legged, raven-haired she-wolf in red short-shorts. Lila.

  Spying by using my rearview mirror, I saw her bend down and reach into the driver’s-side window of a blue car. The whole scene reminded me of a rerun of Cops I’d watched with Harvey. It involved a prostitute, some methamphetamines, and a nasty bit of tooth rot; afterward, Harvey enlightened me on the benefits of a toothless whore, in gagging detail—literally.

  I circled the block and parked next to a ramshackle four-car garage within viewing distance of Lila. Twisting, I peeked through the pickup’s back window at Lila’s backside. From where I sat, I couldn’t see any dimples of fat on the backs of her thighs. My hatred for her tripled.

  Lila rested her arms on the top of the car, her face and chest filling the window. The rumble of motorcycles a block away on Main Street drowned out all sound, but actions spoke loudly—like the hand that snaked out from the car window and rubbed up and down her thigh, then cupped her ass. She playfully brushed the hand away, stepping back and partway out of one of her high-heeled sandals. She bent to straighten her shoe and I caught a full view of the driver—Douglas Mann.

  “Holy shit!”

  So that little scene at the funeral home wasn’t just a fly-by-night groping. I stayed frozen for another few minutes, my brain reeling as I watched the two of them tease and squeeze and kiss and fondle. When Douglas leaned out and licked her bared stomach, I couldn’t stand any more and got the hell out of there.

  By the time I’d made it halfway back to Deadwood, I knew with certainty who’d taken her jealous wrath out on my Bronco and why. If only the deranged bitch had paid attention, she’d have seen that Douglas had absolutely no interest in me beyond wanting to buy a house. Wait a second ... I pulled over into the parking lot of a small park sprinkled with a few mining machine castoffs from Homestake Mine’s golden days.

  My head spun from a barrage of “what ifs” and “buts” until I hit the brakes and took a deep, head-clearing breath. Why did Douglas want the Carhart house? Did it have something to do with Lila? Maybe there was a love triangle going on between him, Lila, and Millie. But that still didn’t explain why he would want to buy the house. Nor why they would need or even want a Realtor. And where did Wanda fit into all this?

  First and foremost, I needed proof that Lila burned my Bronco. Something more tangible than my Magic 8 Ball so that Cooper wouldn’t kick me out of his office when I asked him to drag Lila’s tight ass to jail. I turned the pickup around and rolled back up Main Street into Lead. I thought I knew where to find what I needed.

  As soon as I kicked Lila out of the picture, I could focus on why Douglas Mann had such a hankering for the Carhart house.

  * * *

  Millie opened the door on my third rat-a-tat-tat. She didn’t smile, just stared at me through those big, round glasses that magnified her pupils. A dusting of flour marked her cheek and her black apron. The smell of fried chicken made my mouth twang with anticipation, almost melting my resolve until I thought of Elvis the chicken, which led to Addy. The twang moved to my heart. I wanted my kids home and safe with me, sharing their day’s events over supper, and for that I needed proof.

  “Hi, Millie.” I pushed by her into the foyer, not wanting to give her a chance to shut the door in my face. “I was wondering if Wanda has had a chance to look at that other offer letter yet. The one I brought by yesterday.”

  Millie’s mouth opened and closed a co
uple of times as she glanced from me to the porch and back. “Uhhh, Mother isn’t here right now.” Her voice shuddered a little, making her sound nervous.

  “That’s okay. I’ll call her later.” I’d surprised Millie with my somewhat forced entry and needed to keep her one step behind me. “Listen, I’m really thirsty. Would you please get me a glass of water?”

  “Well, I was kind of busy.”

  I slapped my palm to my forehead, closing my eyes, pretending dizziness, and stumbled against the wall. “Oh, my. I don’t feel well. Please, Millie, some ice water.”

  “But we don’t have any ice.”

  “That’s right. I forgot,” I lied. “Just run the faucet for a bit then.”

  “Umm, okay.” Millie disappeared into the kitchen.

  I waited until I heard the faucet running and said, “I think I lost one of my earrings upstairs when I was here last time. I’ll just go check while you’re getting that.”

  “No,” her tone rang with alarm. “You shouldn’t go—”

  From halfway up the stairs, I called, “I’ll be down in a flash.”

  I took the remaining stairs two at a time, racing as if Lila was chomping at my tail. The sound of the faucet still gushing downstairs encouraged me across the landing into Junior’s bedroom, the one Lila seemed to be calling home.

  With only minutes to find some incriminating evidence that would nail Lila for torching my Bronco, I tore into the room. There had to be something here, like gas-splashed clothes wadded up in the corner of the closet, or the tool she’d used to carve SLUT into my paint stashed in a drawer or behind a book. Hell, I’d settle for a voodoo doll with curly blonde hair and needles poking its eyes.

  The closet held a mix of Junior’s faded shirts and scuffed-up boots and Lila’s skimpy pleather outfits. I kicked his boots aside, peering into the corners, but came up empty except for some mid-sized boxes that were taped closed. Under the bed, I discovered a few stray dust bunny tumbleweeds on a dust-covered floor. The dresser’s underskirt hid one marble and a sticky penny.

  Wiping my now-tacky fingers on my gauzy skirt, I frowned around the room. There had to be something damning here. Something that, when I handed it over to Cooper, would keep him from looking at me as if I were wearing a chicken suit complete with a snap-on beak.